Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Mar 31, 2012 19:20:23 GMT -5
The Saturday before Explosion was one of celebration. Glasses of champagne clinked together as Benjamin Atreyu and Blake Updegraff IV sat side by side at the hotel bar. Both felt utterly in-tune with the world, like a sort of complete enlightenment, the kind that comes at three hundred dollars a bottle. As far as it mattered to them, “doubt” was a foreign word and anyone who could translate it wasn't worth the time. The bitter resentment of past defeats evaporate against the idea of a bright future, and that was exactly the idea Blake and Benjamin had. Fate be willing, there would be many nights ahead of them that would end up like this.
Benjamin Atreyu was heading into his first Pay-per-view since coming out his self-imposed exile and he felt better than he did when he walked into his first Pay-Per-View almost ten years ago. The world of wrestling had hardly changed since then, heroes loved to pander, the crowd loved being pandered to, and Benjamin Atreyu had more talent in him than most of the locker rooms on this side of the Pacific. The only difference this time was that Benjamin was walking into this Pay-per-view with years of experience and wisdom behind him. He felt like Jake LaMotta, The Raging Bull, ready to dominate and come home with the gold.
His signing with Future Gods Incorporated had given him a leg up in the media. Years ago, the chances of him being on television, other than something wrestling based, was slim to none. Now, having barely been back for more than two weeks, he found himself making talk-show dates all over the United States. Blake Updegraff, on his own, could talk faster than most could think and he knew it. All night long, he had been making calls to his media/dirt-sheet connections, letting them know that the headlines should read “Benjamin, The World's First Internet Champion”, exclaiming how proud he was of his new signed talent, between sips of champagne.
Lastly, Benjamin's victory was all but assured. He was feeling healthier than he had been in years. His senses were razor sharp, allowing him to plan with surgeon like precision, and he would be damned if two junkies and a B-baller reject were going to pull a fast one on him. The only words spoken were ones of confidence as he mentally prepared himself for when he would be able to raise the Internet title over his head with pride. The world was theirs, but all the confidence in the world seemed to fall silent as the referee made the three-count the next night.
The defeat provided a sense of clarity, but it came with a sick kind of soberness. So unprepared for it all, Benjamin seemed to be dumbfounded, as he walked up the entrance ramp titleless. He sat in his locker room, silent, unable to fathom a world where a title would be around Zombie McMorris' waist and not his own. He just sat, unable to find the worlds to sum up the kind of dread that was shooting through his mind. His arms hung limp at his side, his eyes gazing off into a vast nothingness. His hopes of becoming the world's first Internet Champion were dashed in a single swipe of God's hand.
On the following Monday morning, Benjamin Atreyu found himself sitting in a corner of his hotel room, his eyes focused on a beam of light that passed through a tiny slit between the drawn curtains. His hands tightly clenched together as he ran through the events of Sunday night over and over again. Probing every detail with an almost obsessive nature, but nothing seemed to fit. He remembered, at the end of the match, feeling like it was slipping through his fingers, like sand through a sieve.
The math was simple; three inferior competitors pitted against someone with actual talent, the result should have been victory, but in the end, it was his shoulders on the mat. The result was invariable, so it was the information that was faulty. Some how, through the course of the week, he had underestimated his opponents. The thought was subtle at first, but soon enough it engulfed him. He recalled something his father once said, “It will be God's children who would end up godless.” An apt metaphor for the kind of disappointment he was feeling.
Benjamin Atreyu: FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!
The table before Benjamin Atreyu shook as he slammed his fists down upon it repeatedly. His 'mistake' cost him another win and forced him to undergo another week of endless ridicule from his fellow, albeit inferior, competitors. He could feel a head-ache coming on, slowly scattering his mind. The few coherent thoughts he could hold onto were all unwelcome.
The ghosts of his past, which has plagued him for years in his sub-conscious, were now haunting him in his waking hours. Flash backs to the years of injustice, management doing what they could to give him whatever disadvantage they could muster, and what had felt distant seemed to flood his mind with crystal clearness. History, as the saying went, seemed to be repeating itself almost...
RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING...RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING
Benjamin Atreyu's concentration was broken by the abrasive screeching of his own cell phone. He was hesitant, unsure if it would be a good idea to answer it, imagining only more bad news was waiting on the other end. The television had only brought anxiety and frustration, would the phone really be any better? After a few rings passed, despite how hesitant he was about it, he picked it up and answered.
Benjamin Atreyu: Hello?
Blake Updegraff IV: Hey Benjy, its Blake.
Despite the fact that Benjamin was relieved to hear the familiar voice of his manager, he knew that a call from Blake meant he wanted to talk business and that was the last thing Benjamin wanted to even think about. Benjamin just wanted to stick himself in some dark corner of the world, enjoying the silence of his own company. He wanted time to just slip by as he secluded himself into complete solitude, at least for a little while. The problem is Blake couldn't be derailed, he was all business and if he thought something needed to get done, it got done.
Benjamin Atreyu: Look, can we talk some other time, I'm don't really feel like...
Blake cut Benjamin off, immediately. Whatever momentum and ambition Benjamin had lost Sunday, Blake seemed to have found it and rolled with it. It sounded as if he was completely wired on nothing but caffeine and sugar. Benjamin, hardly awake enough to leave his hotel room, could barely keep up with him.
Blake Updegraff IV: Benjy, buddy. I know how you feel, it's looking pretty bad, but figure this, we are way better off this way. Do we really want an internet title? All the internet has is cat pictures and kiddie porn, let the garbage wrestlers keep that one between themselves. Its time we focused on some real gold.
The thought of a title, especially the internet title, churned Benjamin's stomach. The wounds were still fresh and it felt as if someone was prodding them with a sharp stick. Benjamin just rested his head in his hands, waiting for Blake to finish.
Benjamin Atreyu: I don't even want to talk about titles right now...
Again, Blake started up before Benjamin even had a chance to finish. He didn't try to speak over him or try to stop him, it would be a battle he wouldn't have a chance in winning. He figured just to let Blake go on and wait until he could find an opening. Either way, Benjamin was in no mood to fight with anyone today, over the phone or otherwise.
Blake Updegraff IV: Look, look, look, you need to stay focused. I'm sure if we can turn this streak around, we'll be number one contenders in no time and then its only a matter of time until The World Title is around our waists. When we have the gold, that's when we start making some money. Your Cinderella story will have people lining up around the corner to sign with Future Gods Incorporated. I'll start calling everyone I know, get you a few television appearances, show the world that what happened at Explosion isn't going to slow you down.
Those were Blake's two major talents; talking and calling people, but he did them damn well. No matter how much Benjamin wanted to just curl up and sleep the week away, he knew that Blake was right. He couldn't show that losing against some one like Zombie or Bo-Stoned was effecting him as bad as it was. What kind of message would that send? “Benjamin Atreyu loses in Internet title match, becomes a recluse, refuses to make comment.” It would destroy everything he was working towards. In the end though, it wasn't the media that he was really worried about.
Benjamin Atreyu: Oh yeah, if I keep eating dirt in these four-ways it'll be no time until I'm champ.
The comment was meant as a jab to the company, but it came out as a jab at Blake. Benjamin wanted to retract it and try again. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, the longest there had been through that entire conversation, but before Benjamin Atreyu had a chance to apologize, Blake started up again.
Blake Updegraff IV: I'm doing everything in my power to take care of that. I've been releasing statements since Sunday Night, telling everyone how the unrelenting four-ways matches shows the management's complete disregard for YOUR health. I couldn't do anything about this coming week, but if it continues, Future Gods Incorporated will be taking serious action to insure your safety.
Benjamin felt like a dick. While he sat, idly, in the hotel room, Blake had been working around the clock to do what he could. He just wanted to change the subject and find something to look forward to, something that would take the edge off of the incredibly uncomfortable phone call.
Benjamin Atreyu: Speaking of which, did you find out who I'm booked against this week?
Blake Updegraff IV: Yeah, in fact, that's why I called you. This week you are facing the Jap, that new nerdy broad, and that Snoop-dogg wanna-be Jayway. You could beat Jayway if you were crippled and half-retarded. At the top of his game, the kid is hardly a concern. You could sit on your ass all week and lay him out flat during the match, so I'm not worried about him.
Benjamin had no argument there. He had been in a match once before with Jayway and he was hardly a problem. Though he was the reason that Benjamin lost his first match, would be nice to exact some over-due revenge.
Benjamin Atreyu: What about the other two?
Blake Updegraff IV: Well, the foreigner is a crowd favorite, kind of a back and forth win/loss record, but I wouldn't worry your hair gray over him. As for the chick, she's is new and I haven't been able to drudge up much information on her, but from what I've heard, she is fucking nuts. I'll get you what I can if I find anything.
Benjamin Atreyu: Okay, keep me posted. I think I'm just gonna sleep through today, collect myself, and start back up tomorrow.
Blake Updegraff IV: Sounds like a plan, I'll set up a training schedule for you, something that'll pump you up without wearing you out.
Usually, Benjamin found the idea of training to be a drag. An, unfortunately, necessary part of wrestling that seemed to waste time he could be using to do, literally, anything else. However, now it was a fairly welcome idea. It would be nice to do something constructive that would keep his mind off everything that was bothering him. If training was anything, it was cathartic.
Benjamin Atreyu: Okay, see ya.
Blake Updegraff: Yeah, talk to you later. Remember, your success is our success.
Benjamin Atreyu hung up. Benjamin was overcome with exhaustion, his eyelids felt like weights. He leaned back, comfortable in the chair he was sitting in and he let his eyes gently shut. His mind dwelled on the conversation, letting it fragment as he drifted over particular moments and onward into a stream of consciousness. That “Your success is our success” line seemed to stick with him. His mind wandered, touching upon a variety of unfocused thoughts, only circling back to current affairs for a moment or two before they eventually dissipated and gave way to sleep.
Time passed and Benjamin slowly emerged from his sleep. As he went to grab his phone to check the time, he found that his arm could barely move. It felt as if some giant, invisible, force was weighing down on his entire body. Panic hit Benjamin as his inability to move conjured up age-old fears he had since childhood. After a moment or two, though, Benjamin was able to pull together his thoughts and calm himself down. He began to try to movie his fingers, a painfully frustrating activity, but a successful one. His fingers began to wiggle, which gave way to the rest of his hand, then arms, until his whole buddy became functional again.
As soon as possible, Benjamin leaped out of the chair and continued to shake his arms and legs. He was familiar with the phenomenon known as sleep paralysis. Early on in his retirement he would wake up and be completely unable to move for spans of minutes. These episodes would alarm him to such a degree that he made an appointment with a doctor as soon as possible. Back then he had no idea what was going on, the idea of a sort of body failure occurring in his sleep was almost nerve wracking.
The doctor in formed him about the causes and symptoms of sleep paralysis. A number of things can increase the chances of it, but he figured that it was either the increased stress or the extreme change in environment. Eventually, when Benjamin finally got use to the idea of retirement, the cases of sleep paralysis ceased altogether. He feared, though, that the increased stress of the two recent losses were...
RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING … RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING
Benjamin's eyes darted over to his phone. He walks over to it slowly, in disbelief of the name displayed on caller-ID. He picked it up, just staring at it, incredibly hesitant to answer. He just let it ring as he tried to reason why the person, whom it claimed it was, would be trying to call him, after so many years. The name read: “Derek Stone”.
Derek Stone was a former partner of Benjamin's for a couple years before retiring. Benjamin and Derek shared the same distaste for the biased treatment they seemed to be given. So, in an attempt to make management sweat, they had decided to form a team, an idea Benjamin has regretted ever since. Derek was dangerous; where Benjamin was a fierce competitor, Derek was a reckless one. Constantly putting his, and his follow competitor's, health at risk with his psychotic stunts. He was always trying to push Benjamin. He wanted to see Benjamin, a man of integrity and pedigree, to tear someone apart in the ring.
Benjamin can still recall the time when Derek had finally got him to cross the line. He had beaten an opponent bloody, with an unrelenting assault of chair shots. The most prominent image was of Benjamin walking into the locker room and seeing Derek, just sitting on a bench, smiling at him. That grin, the one that seemed to speak so many things without saying a word, had burned itself into Benjamin's mind. It was Derek's way of saying that he had manipulated him to do exactly what he wanted. It was never a matter of shared interests. Derek was just messing around with Benjamin the same as he was messing around with management. It seemed to all lead to one cause, his amusement.
Eventually, serious injuries had put Derek out of commission for a while, but he didn't feel the need to ever come back. He didn't bother to renegotiate his contract. He just up and left and that was the last time Benjamin had ever seen Derek. Rumor always had it that Derek was working his own radio show somewhere in the south, plenty of crazy wingnuts to rile up. Now, all of a sudden, Derek was calling Benjamin.
The phone, eventually, stopped ringing and Benjamin had received a new voice mail. He clicked through his phone, every button close seemed to make his stomach clench up. He had no reason to listen to the message, but for some reason, he had to. He knew there would be no closure to the message, there was a good chance he would be strung along into something he wouldn't want to be apart of, but he just had to hear the message.
Answering Machine: You have one new message.
BEEP!
Derek Stone: Hey, Atreyu. How does it feel to put your foot in your mouth? Its been a couple years, but I'm sure its all too familiar, haha. I watched that twitter war all week, I've never seen four bigger idiots go at it for the same fake title. Okay, I'm being a little mean, I'm not calling to bust your balls about how poorly you're doing. Seeing you on television gave me the urge to call you and see how you were doing.
Benjamin already regretted it, the copious amounts of bullshit coming out of Derek's mouth wasn't hard to detect. Derek and him both knew that he was full of it.
Derek Stone: Look, I know we didn't split on the most amicable terms, but let me make it up to you. I want you to come down to Florida and do an interview with me for my radio show. I know you have a high-price monkey to usually book this kind of shit, but I wanted to ask you personally. If you are wondering what the catch is, I just need the ratings, fuckers don't seem to wanna watch unless I got some sort of celebrity down here with me and considering how I'd rather blow my brains out than deal with a Karadashian, I'd figure I should call you. Are there better wrestlers I could call to do this? Sure, but just figure I'm sort of in a good mood. Call me back, this offer ain't gonna last all fucking day. You know my number.
BEEP!
Answering Machine: If you want to safe this message press...
Benjamin hung up and chose to do something he never thought he would willingly do sober, he called Derek back. He listened as the phone rang a couple times, doubt slipping in a bit more after each one. He was just about to hang up when he heard someone pick up.
Derek Stone: Hey, Atreyu. Glad to know you remembered my number after all this time.
Benjamin Atreyu: I have it saved to my phone to know when not to pick up.
Derek Stone: And yet here you are, calling me back. So, I can assume by that, that you're interested?
Benjamin Atreyu: I'll be there Saturday, no bullshit or I walk out and you'll have to find another way to fish for listeners. I'm going to have my manager with me, that's not negotiable. If you have a problem with any of my demands, tough shit. I'm not traveling all the way to the Penis of the United States just to deal with an assholes like you. Frankly, I need all the press I can get right now.
Derek Stone: Good to hear, I'll be glad to meet your little premium errand boy, I'm sure...
Benjamin hung up before Derek had a chance to finish.
---
Days passed ever so slowly, the minutes trudging on like hours as his week seemed to turn into nothing more than a countdown until he was down in Florida. The radio show manifested in the back of his mind and crew like cancer, prominently overwhelming every waking moment. Relief washed over him when he finally exited the plane and stepped out into the Tampa Bay Airport, Blake Updegraff IV following close behind. Blake had called ahead for a limo to meet them there, renting a car would have been simpler, but Blake got it more for appearances than practicality. After being greeted by the chauffeur and being sat comfortably inside the car, Benjamin felt safe to speak.
Benjamin Atreyu: I think the stress is starting to get to me.
Blake Updegraff IV: What?
Benjamin Atreyu: All the stress, its been effecting my sleep, its been effecting how I think. Hell, I don't think I would have been able to find my way through the airport if you hadn't arranged for someone to drive us through it.
Blake Updegraff IV: Hash tag you're welcome.
Blake moved his pointer and middle finger to make the hash tag symbol. He was starting to develop the habit of real life hash tagging, but Benjamin just shrugged it off, it was hardly a pressing matter.
Benjamin Atreyu: I'm serious, I think all these fatal four-way matches are fucking with my head.
Blake reached into the front of his suit and pulled something out of the inner pocket, it was a card. He handed it over to Benjamin, letting him examine it. “Jefferson Goldman, World Renowned Athlete Therapist.”
Blake Updegraff IV: Jeff is a friend of mine, handles most of my clients experiencing breakdowns or problems of some sort. His number is on the back, if you think it is effecting you that badly, give him a call.
Benjamin Atreyu: Thanks, Blake.
Blake Updegraff IV: Don't mention it...No, seriously, don't mention it. Don't want information like this getting out if you did decide to seem him, with appearances and all.
Benjamin Atreyu: I understand.
Benjamin stuffed the card into one of his front pants pockets, not completely sure if he was going to call the therapist's number. Blake looked out the window and saw they were approaching the radio station.
Blake Updegraff IV: Okay, game time, Benjy boy. Better put on your war face.
The limo made a sharp turn into the parking lot, Benjamin took a look and saw a familiar face taking a drag off of a cigarette right outside the radio station. As the car limo came to a complete stop, Benjamin saw Derek grinning from ear to ear. That same haunting grin he had saw years ago, the grin that had broken up their tag-team. Derek dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his shoe before slowly approaching the limo.
Blake was first to get out, holding the door open for Benjamin. Derek just stood in front of him with his hands deep in his pants pockets. Benjamin emerged from the car and stood face to face with Derek for the first time in about two to three years. Derek still carried a number of scars, many of them big enough to be noticed from a good twenty feet away.
Derek Stone: About goddamn time you got here. My show starts in a couple minutes.
Benjamin Atreyu: Derek, this is my manager.
Benjamin pointed over to Blake, but Derek Stone seemed less than interested at the moment as he just stared at him. Blake reached for a handshake, but Derek just kept his hands in his pockets, the same way Benjamin had made Hank Brown wait for a handshake in his first week at the World Championship Federation.
Blake Updegraff IV: Hello, Derek. My name is Blake Updegraff IV, I am the C.E.O. Of Future Gods Incorporated, its nice to meet a former partner of...
Derek Stone: Times-a-wastin'. There will be enough time for introductions when we get into the station.
Derek turned away and began to walk towards the doors. Benjamin could see Blake's mild frustration boiling to the surface. Benjamin just shook his head and followed Derek into the building. This was the first time that Benjamin had ever been in a radio station. Some how, it felt less comfortable than being on camera, like a sort of untraversed territory.
Despite what he said, when they entered the station, Derek made no attempt at introductions. He just walked on, hardly paying any attention to Blake's slew of questions; “What questions will you be asking?”, “How many people listen to your show on a regular basis?”, “what companies sponsor your show?”. Eventually, Blake stopped trying and just looked around at the station as they strolled on. He seemed unphased by it all, as if having walked into one a million times, but truth is he probably had.
Finally, they had reached the end of the long hallway and arrived at an empty studio. Derek unlocked the door and held it open as both Blake and Benjamin entered. Derek closed the door behind them and told them where to sit. He plopped down in his seat and threw his headphones on.
Derek Stone: Okay, just some ground rules. You wait until I am done asking a question before you answer it, this is my show and I reserve the right to kick you off of it when I please, and, lastly, if you have to cough or sneeze, please do it AWAY from my microphones. Other than that, its free range, and don't worry about swearing, the station has to pay the citations and my sponsors aren't going to drop me anytime soon.
A person in the next room, only separated by a glass window, was motioning to Derek that they were about to be on the air, counting down from five...four...three...two...one..
Derek Stone: Hello viewers, I hope you enjoyed Ed's Eighty Hits From the Eighties. Now its time for the Stone Show, where its all wrestling all the time. Today, I have two very special guests on the show, “God Given Greatness” Benjamin Atreyu and Blake Upde-something the sixth.
Blake Updegraff IV: UpdeGRAFF the forth, C.E.O. Of Future Gods Incorporated.
Derek Stone: Okay, whatever. For those of you who don't know, Benjamin Atreyu is a new “rising star” in the World Championship Federation, and with two losses and no wins, I use the term “Star” lightly. Now, Benjamin here...
Benjamin Atreyu: Mister Atreyu will do fine, thank you.
Benjamin shot a piercing glance over at Derek, reinforcing the fact that he wasn't going to take any of his bullshit. Derek just seemed to roll his eyes.
Derek Stone: Okay, my apologies, Mister Atreyu. As I was saying, you are heading into your third week with the company and facing some of the brightest young stars in the business, any worries going into this coming match?
Benjamin Atreyu: Let me put it this way for you, Stone. I'm not going up against anyone I can't handle. I've spent the last two weeks shaking off some ring rust and now I am feeling better than ever. No way in hell some gamer bitch, an immigrant, and a gangster-wannabe are going to beat me.
Derek Stone: Well, lets say one of them just happens to bring their game just a little bit harder? Sure, you can account for how you are feeling, but who's to say these guys aren't going to find their peak in that match and who's to say that there A-game isn't going to be better than your's?
Benjamin Atreyu: Lets be realistic here. When you look at any of my opponents, do you really see anything that can top me, even at my worst? Jayway is worthless to begin with, the man is hardly an athlete. It should be a crime to let a man like him step into the same ring as me. His ghetto-act is a joke, he has the wrestling ability of a toddler, and I'm scared that I could put him in the hospital just by pushing him to hard. I wouldn't hire him to wash my balls, let alone to be a wrestler.
Blake Updegraff: Hash-tag Hardly Worth The Time.
Derek Stone: Okay, what about Kira Sakazaki? He has the most victories out of all of you, that must count for something.
Benjamin Atreyu: Hardly, the guy comes out of bumfuck-nowhere, Japan and thinks he can wrestle in the states. To be frank, any idiot can stumble into a win or two, but luck only goes so far and a lack of talent will eventually catch up to him. Maybe, after facing me, he will realized he should have stayed home, instead of traveling across an ocean just to get his ass kicked. Maybe if it was just Jayway and him, he would have a chance, but unfortunately for him, that isn't the case.
Derek Stone: What about the newest star to grace the Wrestling Championship Federation, Erin Archer. Having no real wrestling history, she is really the wild card in this match, someone to look out for. Wouldn't you agree?
Benjamin Atreyu: It's just some spoiled bitch with a hole-in-the-wall comic book shop. As far as I've heard all she does is play video games and watch anime, the fucking weeaboo. Give her the chance and I'm sure she'll fuck it up somehow, incompetency runs rampant in high-school drop outs and social rejects. That's why they have their fantasy world, because they were a failure in the real one. No magical force-field is going to protect her when she goes flying through the air and lands on the back of her neck. A broken bone hurts like all hell and that's all she is going to end up doing like every other weekend warrior who thinks they can jump into wrestling. Maybe I'll be able to knock some sense into her before she finds herself sitting at home with a cast on her arm.
Derek Stone: Anything you would like to add to that, Mister...um...
Blake Updegraff IV: Updegraff...
Derek Stone: Yeah, that.
Blake Updegraff: I'd only like to add one more thing, in case of Erin Archer...I'd tap that. Hash-tag KaBANG!
Derek Stone: ...Right...Well, Mister Atreyu, one final question. What exactly is it that makes you think you can beat these people? Given your win loss record, most of them have better odds at winning than you. Remember the fact that you retired, at one point you gave up. Just because you came back doesn't mean you are as good as you were back then. In a world of freak accidents and coincidences, what one goddamn reason do you have to think that you have no chance of losing?
Benjamin Atreyu: My effortless brilliance, of course.
For a moment, Derek just sat there staring at Benjamin. A grin started to form, but not like the one before. It was a more light-hearted grin. He laughed heartily and reached over the table to shake Benjamin's hand.
Derek Stone: Okay Benjamin, it was nice talking to you again. I have to admit, you aren't the push over you once were. Unfortunately, we have to go to commercial, but don't be a stranger.
Benjamin accepted the hand shake, any animosity they had, faded and now there was just the respect shared by two lovers of the sport of wrestling. Benjamin and Blake both got up and exited the radio station. Benjamin felt good about the whole ordeal, as if the weight of his past years had been lifted from his shoulder. It was a sign of things to come, fortunes to be had, and a world just ready for the taking.
Benjamin Atreyu was heading into his first Pay-per-view since coming out his self-imposed exile and he felt better than he did when he walked into his first Pay-Per-View almost ten years ago. The world of wrestling had hardly changed since then, heroes loved to pander, the crowd loved being pandered to, and Benjamin Atreyu had more talent in him than most of the locker rooms on this side of the Pacific. The only difference this time was that Benjamin was walking into this Pay-per-view with years of experience and wisdom behind him. He felt like Jake LaMotta, The Raging Bull, ready to dominate and come home with the gold.
His signing with Future Gods Incorporated had given him a leg up in the media. Years ago, the chances of him being on television, other than something wrestling based, was slim to none. Now, having barely been back for more than two weeks, he found himself making talk-show dates all over the United States. Blake Updegraff, on his own, could talk faster than most could think and he knew it. All night long, he had been making calls to his media/dirt-sheet connections, letting them know that the headlines should read “Benjamin, The World's First Internet Champion”, exclaiming how proud he was of his new signed talent, between sips of champagne.
Lastly, Benjamin's victory was all but assured. He was feeling healthier than he had been in years. His senses were razor sharp, allowing him to plan with surgeon like precision, and he would be damned if two junkies and a B-baller reject were going to pull a fast one on him. The only words spoken were ones of confidence as he mentally prepared himself for when he would be able to raise the Internet title over his head with pride. The world was theirs, but all the confidence in the world seemed to fall silent as the referee made the three-count the next night.
The defeat provided a sense of clarity, but it came with a sick kind of soberness. So unprepared for it all, Benjamin seemed to be dumbfounded, as he walked up the entrance ramp titleless. He sat in his locker room, silent, unable to fathom a world where a title would be around Zombie McMorris' waist and not his own. He just sat, unable to find the worlds to sum up the kind of dread that was shooting through his mind. His arms hung limp at his side, his eyes gazing off into a vast nothingness. His hopes of becoming the world's first Internet Champion were dashed in a single swipe of God's hand.
On the following Monday morning, Benjamin Atreyu found himself sitting in a corner of his hotel room, his eyes focused on a beam of light that passed through a tiny slit between the drawn curtains. His hands tightly clenched together as he ran through the events of Sunday night over and over again. Probing every detail with an almost obsessive nature, but nothing seemed to fit. He remembered, at the end of the match, feeling like it was slipping through his fingers, like sand through a sieve.
The math was simple; three inferior competitors pitted against someone with actual talent, the result should have been victory, but in the end, it was his shoulders on the mat. The result was invariable, so it was the information that was faulty. Some how, through the course of the week, he had underestimated his opponents. The thought was subtle at first, but soon enough it engulfed him. He recalled something his father once said, “It will be God's children who would end up godless.” An apt metaphor for the kind of disappointment he was feeling.
Benjamin Atreyu: FUCK! FUCK! FUCK!
The table before Benjamin Atreyu shook as he slammed his fists down upon it repeatedly. His 'mistake' cost him another win and forced him to undergo another week of endless ridicule from his fellow, albeit inferior, competitors. He could feel a head-ache coming on, slowly scattering his mind. The few coherent thoughts he could hold onto were all unwelcome.
The ghosts of his past, which has plagued him for years in his sub-conscious, were now haunting him in his waking hours. Flash backs to the years of injustice, management doing what they could to give him whatever disadvantage they could muster, and what had felt distant seemed to flood his mind with crystal clearness. History, as the saying went, seemed to be repeating itself almost...
RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING...RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING
Benjamin Atreyu's concentration was broken by the abrasive screeching of his own cell phone. He was hesitant, unsure if it would be a good idea to answer it, imagining only more bad news was waiting on the other end. The television had only brought anxiety and frustration, would the phone really be any better? After a few rings passed, despite how hesitant he was about it, he picked it up and answered.
Benjamin Atreyu: Hello?
Blake Updegraff IV: Hey Benjy, its Blake.
Despite the fact that Benjamin was relieved to hear the familiar voice of his manager, he knew that a call from Blake meant he wanted to talk business and that was the last thing Benjamin wanted to even think about. Benjamin just wanted to stick himself in some dark corner of the world, enjoying the silence of his own company. He wanted time to just slip by as he secluded himself into complete solitude, at least for a little while. The problem is Blake couldn't be derailed, he was all business and if he thought something needed to get done, it got done.
Benjamin Atreyu: Look, can we talk some other time, I'm don't really feel like...
Blake cut Benjamin off, immediately. Whatever momentum and ambition Benjamin had lost Sunday, Blake seemed to have found it and rolled with it. It sounded as if he was completely wired on nothing but caffeine and sugar. Benjamin, hardly awake enough to leave his hotel room, could barely keep up with him.
Blake Updegraff IV: Benjy, buddy. I know how you feel, it's looking pretty bad, but figure this, we are way better off this way. Do we really want an internet title? All the internet has is cat pictures and kiddie porn, let the garbage wrestlers keep that one between themselves. Its time we focused on some real gold.
The thought of a title, especially the internet title, churned Benjamin's stomach. The wounds were still fresh and it felt as if someone was prodding them with a sharp stick. Benjamin just rested his head in his hands, waiting for Blake to finish.
Benjamin Atreyu: I don't even want to talk about titles right now...
Again, Blake started up before Benjamin even had a chance to finish. He didn't try to speak over him or try to stop him, it would be a battle he wouldn't have a chance in winning. He figured just to let Blake go on and wait until he could find an opening. Either way, Benjamin was in no mood to fight with anyone today, over the phone or otherwise.
Blake Updegraff IV: Look, look, look, you need to stay focused. I'm sure if we can turn this streak around, we'll be number one contenders in no time and then its only a matter of time until The World Title is around our waists. When we have the gold, that's when we start making some money. Your Cinderella story will have people lining up around the corner to sign with Future Gods Incorporated. I'll start calling everyone I know, get you a few television appearances, show the world that what happened at Explosion isn't going to slow you down.
Those were Blake's two major talents; talking and calling people, but he did them damn well. No matter how much Benjamin wanted to just curl up and sleep the week away, he knew that Blake was right. He couldn't show that losing against some one like Zombie or Bo-Stoned was effecting him as bad as it was. What kind of message would that send? “Benjamin Atreyu loses in Internet title match, becomes a recluse, refuses to make comment.” It would destroy everything he was working towards. In the end though, it wasn't the media that he was really worried about.
Benjamin Atreyu: Oh yeah, if I keep eating dirt in these four-ways it'll be no time until I'm champ.
The comment was meant as a jab to the company, but it came out as a jab at Blake. Benjamin wanted to retract it and try again. There was a moment of silence on the other end of the phone, the longest there had been through that entire conversation, but before Benjamin Atreyu had a chance to apologize, Blake started up again.
Blake Updegraff IV: I'm doing everything in my power to take care of that. I've been releasing statements since Sunday Night, telling everyone how the unrelenting four-ways matches shows the management's complete disregard for YOUR health. I couldn't do anything about this coming week, but if it continues, Future Gods Incorporated will be taking serious action to insure your safety.
Benjamin felt like a dick. While he sat, idly, in the hotel room, Blake had been working around the clock to do what he could. He just wanted to change the subject and find something to look forward to, something that would take the edge off of the incredibly uncomfortable phone call.
Benjamin Atreyu: Speaking of which, did you find out who I'm booked against this week?
Blake Updegraff IV: Yeah, in fact, that's why I called you. This week you are facing the Jap, that new nerdy broad, and that Snoop-dogg wanna-be Jayway. You could beat Jayway if you were crippled and half-retarded. At the top of his game, the kid is hardly a concern. You could sit on your ass all week and lay him out flat during the match, so I'm not worried about him.
Benjamin had no argument there. He had been in a match once before with Jayway and he was hardly a problem. Though he was the reason that Benjamin lost his first match, would be nice to exact some over-due revenge.
Benjamin Atreyu: What about the other two?
Blake Updegraff IV: Well, the foreigner is a crowd favorite, kind of a back and forth win/loss record, but I wouldn't worry your hair gray over him. As for the chick, she's is new and I haven't been able to drudge up much information on her, but from what I've heard, she is fucking nuts. I'll get you what I can if I find anything.
Benjamin Atreyu: Okay, keep me posted. I think I'm just gonna sleep through today, collect myself, and start back up tomorrow.
Blake Updegraff IV: Sounds like a plan, I'll set up a training schedule for you, something that'll pump you up without wearing you out.
Usually, Benjamin found the idea of training to be a drag. An, unfortunately, necessary part of wrestling that seemed to waste time he could be using to do, literally, anything else. However, now it was a fairly welcome idea. It would be nice to do something constructive that would keep his mind off everything that was bothering him. If training was anything, it was cathartic.
Benjamin Atreyu: Okay, see ya.
Blake Updegraff: Yeah, talk to you later. Remember, your success is our success.
Benjamin Atreyu hung up. Benjamin was overcome with exhaustion, his eyelids felt like weights. He leaned back, comfortable in the chair he was sitting in and he let his eyes gently shut. His mind dwelled on the conversation, letting it fragment as he drifted over particular moments and onward into a stream of consciousness. That “Your success is our success” line seemed to stick with him. His mind wandered, touching upon a variety of unfocused thoughts, only circling back to current affairs for a moment or two before they eventually dissipated and gave way to sleep.
Time passed and Benjamin slowly emerged from his sleep. As he went to grab his phone to check the time, he found that his arm could barely move. It felt as if some giant, invisible, force was weighing down on his entire body. Panic hit Benjamin as his inability to move conjured up age-old fears he had since childhood. After a moment or two, though, Benjamin was able to pull together his thoughts and calm himself down. He began to try to movie his fingers, a painfully frustrating activity, but a successful one. His fingers began to wiggle, which gave way to the rest of his hand, then arms, until his whole buddy became functional again.
As soon as possible, Benjamin leaped out of the chair and continued to shake his arms and legs. He was familiar with the phenomenon known as sleep paralysis. Early on in his retirement he would wake up and be completely unable to move for spans of minutes. These episodes would alarm him to such a degree that he made an appointment with a doctor as soon as possible. Back then he had no idea what was going on, the idea of a sort of body failure occurring in his sleep was almost nerve wracking.
The doctor in formed him about the causes and symptoms of sleep paralysis. A number of things can increase the chances of it, but he figured that it was either the increased stress or the extreme change in environment. Eventually, when Benjamin finally got use to the idea of retirement, the cases of sleep paralysis ceased altogether. He feared, though, that the increased stress of the two recent losses were...
RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING … RIIIIIIIIIIIIING RIIIIIIIIIIIIING
Benjamin's eyes darted over to his phone. He walks over to it slowly, in disbelief of the name displayed on caller-ID. He picked it up, just staring at it, incredibly hesitant to answer. He just let it ring as he tried to reason why the person, whom it claimed it was, would be trying to call him, after so many years. The name read: “Derek Stone”.
Derek Stone was a former partner of Benjamin's for a couple years before retiring. Benjamin and Derek shared the same distaste for the biased treatment they seemed to be given. So, in an attempt to make management sweat, they had decided to form a team, an idea Benjamin has regretted ever since. Derek was dangerous; where Benjamin was a fierce competitor, Derek was a reckless one. Constantly putting his, and his follow competitor's, health at risk with his psychotic stunts. He was always trying to push Benjamin. He wanted to see Benjamin, a man of integrity and pedigree, to tear someone apart in the ring.
Benjamin can still recall the time when Derek had finally got him to cross the line. He had beaten an opponent bloody, with an unrelenting assault of chair shots. The most prominent image was of Benjamin walking into the locker room and seeing Derek, just sitting on a bench, smiling at him. That grin, the one that seemed to speak so many things without saying a word, had burned itself into Benjamin's mind. It was Derek's way of saying that he had manipulated him to do exactly what he wanted. It was never a matter of shared interests. Derek was just messing around with Benjamin the same as he was messing around with management. It seemed to all lead to one cause, his amusement.
Eventually, serious injuries had put Derek out of commission for a while, but he didn't feel the need to ever come back. He didn't bother to renegotiate his contract. He just up and left and that was the last time Benjamin had ever seen Derek. Rumor always had it that Derek was working his own radio show somewhere in the south, plenty of crazy wingnuts to rile up. Now, all of a sudden, Derek was calling Benjamin.
The phone, eventually, stopped ringing and Benjamin had received a new voice mail. He clicked through his phone, every button close seemed to make his stomach clench up. He had no reason to listen to the message, but for some reason, he had to. He knew there would be no closure to the message, there was a good chance he would be strung along into something he wouldn't want to be apart of, but he just had to hear the message.
Answering Machine: You have one new message.
BEEP!
Derek Stone: Hey, Atreyu. How does it feel to put your foot in your mouth? Its been a couple years, but I'm sure its all too familiar, haha. I watched that twitter war all week, I've never seen four bigger idiots go at it for the same fake title. Okay, I'm being a little mean, I'm not calling to bust your balls about how poorly you're doing. Seeing you on television gave me the urge to call you and see how you were doing.
Benjamin already regretted it, the copious amounts of bullshit coming out of Derek's mouth wasn't hard to detect. Derek and him both knew that he was full of it.
Derek Stone: Look, I know we didn't split on the most amicable terms, but let me make it up to you. I want you to come down to Florida and do an interview with me for my radio show. I know you have a high-price monkey to usually book this kind of shit, but I wanted to ask you personally. If you are wondering what the catch is, I just need the ratings, fuckers don't seem to wanna watch unless I got some sort of celebrity down here with me and considering how I'd rather blow my brains out than deal with a Karadashian, I'd figure I should call you. Are there better wrestlers I could call to do this? Sure, but just figure I'm sort of in a good mood. Call me back, this offer ain't gonna last all fucking day. You know my number.
BEEP!
Answering Machine: If you want to safe this message press...
Benjamin hung up and chose to do something he never thought he would willingly do sober, he called Derek back. He listened as the phone rang a couple times, doubt slipping in a bit more after each one. He was just about to hang up when he heard someone pick up.
Derek Stone: Hey, Atreyu. Glad to know you remembered my number after all this time.
Benjamin Atreyu: I have it saved to my phone to know when not to pick up.
Derek Stone: And yet here you are, calling me back. So, I can assume by that, that you're interested?
Benjamin Atreyu: I'll be there Saturday, no bullshit or I walk out and you'll have to find another way to fish for listeners. I'm going to have my manager with me, that's not negotiable. If you have a problem with any of my demands, tough shit. I'm not traveling all the way to the Penis of the United States just to deal with an assholes like you. Frankly, I need all the press I can get right now.
Derek Stone: Good to hear, I'll be glad to meet your little premium errand boy, I'm sure...
Benjamin hung up before Derek had a chance to finish.
---
Days passed ever so slowly, the minutes trudging on like hours as his week seemed to turn into nothing more than a countdown until he was down in Florida. The radio show manifested in the back of his mind and crew like cancer, prominently overwhelming every waking moment. Relief washed over him when he finally exited the plane and stepped out into the Tampa Bay Airport, Blake Updegraff IV following close behind. Blake had called ahead for a limo to meet them there, renting a car would have been simpler, but Blake got it more for appearances than practicality. After being greeted by the chauffeur and being sat comfortably inside the car, Benjamin felt safe to speak.
Benjamin Atreyu: I think the stress is starting to get to me.
Blake Updegraff IV: What?
Benjamin Atreyu: All the stress, its been effecting my sleep, its been effecting how I think. Hell, I don't think I would have been able to find my way through the airport if you hadn't arranged for someone to drive us through it.
Blake Updegraff IV: Hash tag you're welcome.
Blake moved his pointer and middle finger to make the hash tag symbol. He was starting to develop the habit of real life hash tagging, but Benjamin just shrugged it off, it was hardly a pressing matter.
Benjamin Atreyu: I'm serious, I think all these fatal four-way matches are fucking with my head.
Blake reached into the front of his suit and pulled something out of the inner pocket, it was a card. He handed it over to Benjamin, letting him examine it. “Jefferson Goldman, World Renowned Athlete Therapist.”
Blake Updegraff IV: Jeff is a friend of mine, handles most of my clients experiencing breakdowns or problems of some sort. His number is on the back, if you think it is effecting you that badly, give him a call.
Benjamin Atreyu: Thanks, Blake.
Blake Updegraff IV: Don't mention it...No, seriously, don't mention it. Don't want information like this getting out if you did decide to seem him, with appearances and all.
Benjamin Atreyu: I understand.
Benjamin stuffed the card into one of his front pants pockets, not completely sure if he was going to call the therapist's number. Blake looked out the window and saw they were approaching the radio station.
Blake Updegraff IV: Okay, game time, Benjy boy. Better put on your war face.
The limo made a sharp turn into the parking lot, Benjamin took a look and saw a familiar face taking a drag off of a cigarette right outside the radio station. As the car limo came to a complete stop, Benjamin saw Derek grinning from ear to ear. That same haunting grin he had saw years ago, the grin that had broken up their tag-team. Derek dropped his cigarette to the ground and crushed it under the heel of his shoe before slowly approaching the limo.
Blake was first to get out, holding the door open for Benjamin. Derek just stood in front of him with his hands deep in his pants pockets. Benjamin emerged from the car and stood face to face with Derek for the first time in about two to three years. Derek still carried a number of scars, many of them big enough to be noticed from a good twenty feet away.
Derek Stone: About goddamn time you got here. My show starts in a couple minutes.
Benjamin Atreyu: Derek, this is my manager.
Benjamin pointed over to Blake, but Derek Stone seemed less than interested at the moment as he just stared at him. Blake reached for a handshake, but Derek just kept his hands in his pockets, the same way Benjamin had made Hank Brown wait for a handshake in his first week at the World Championship Federation.
Blake Updegraff IV: Hello, Derek. My name is Blake Updegraff IV, I am the C.E.O. Of Future Gods Incorporated, its nice to meet a former partner of...
Derek Stone: Times-a-wastin'. There will be enough time for introductions when we get into the station.
Derek turned away and began to walk towards the doors. Benjamin could see Blake's mild frustration boiling to the surface. Benjamin just shook his head and followed Derek into the building. This was the first time that Benjamin had ever been in a radio station. Some how, it felt less comfortable than being on camera, like a sort of untraversed territory.
Despite what he said, when they entered the station, Derek made no attempt at introductions. He just walked on, hardly paying any attention to Blake's slew of questions; “What questions will you be asking?”, “How many people listen to your show on a regular basis?”, “what companies sponsor your show?”. Eventually, Blake stopped trying and just looked around at the station as they strolled on. He seemed unphased by it all, as if having walked into one a million times, but truth is he probably had.
Finally, they had reached the end of the long hallway and arrived at an empty studio. Derek unlocked the door and held it open as both Blake and Benjamin entered. Derek closed the door behind them and told them where to sit. He plopped down in his seat and threw his headphones on.
Derek Stone: Okay, just some ground rules. You wait until I am done asking a question before you answer it, this is my show and I reserve the right to kick you off of it when I please, and, lastly, if you have to cough or sneeze, please do it AWAY from my microphones. Other than that, its free range, and don't worry about swearing, the station has to pay the citations and my sponsors aren't going to drop me anytime soon.
A person in the next room, only separated by a glass window, was motioning to Derek that they were about to be on the air, counting down from five...four...three...two...one..
Derek Stone: Hello viewers, I hope you enjoyed Ed's Eighty Hits From the Eighties. Now its time for the Stone Show, where its all wrestling all the time. Today, I have two very special guests on the show, “God Given Greatness” Benjamin Atreyu and Blake Upde-something the sixth.
Blake Updegraff IV: UpdeGRAFF the forth, C.E.O. Of Future Gods Incorporated.
Derek Stone: Okay, whatever. For those of you who don't know, Benjamin Atreyu is a new “rising star” in the World Championship Federation, and with two losses and no wins, I use the term “Star” lightly. Now, Benjamin here...
Benjamin Atreyu: Mister Atreyu will do fine, thank you.
Benjamin shot a piercing glance over at Derek, reinforcing the fact that he wasn't going to take any of his bullshit. Derek just seemed to roll his eyes.
Derek Stone: Okay, my apologies, Mister Atreyu. As I was saying, you are heading into your third week with the company and facing some of the brightest young stars in the business, any worries going into this coming match?
Benjamin Atreyu: Let me put it this way for you, Stone. I'm not going up against anyone I can't handle. I've spent the last two weeks shaking off some ring rust and now I am feeling better than ever. No way in hell some gamer bitch, an immigrant, and a gangster-wannabe are going to beat me.
Derek Stone: Well, lets say one of them just happens to bring their game just a little bit harder? Sure, you can account for how you are feeling, but who's to say these guys aren't going to find their peak in that match and who's to say that there A-game isn't going to be better than your's?
Benjamin Atreyu: Lets be realistic here. When you look at any of my opponents, do you really see anything that can top me, even at my worst? Jayway is worthless to begin with, the man is hardly an athlete. It should be a crime to let a man like him step into the same ring as me. His ghetto-act is a joke, he has the wrestling ability of a toddler, and I'm scared that I could put him in the hospital just by pushing him to hard. I wouldn't hire him to wash my balls, let alone to be a wrestler.
Blake Updegraff: Hash-tag Hardly Worth The Time.
Derek Stone: Okay, what about Kira Sakazaki? He has the most victories out of all of you, that must count for something.
Benjamin Atreyu: Hardly, the guy comes out of bumfuck-nowhere, Japan and thinks he can wrestle in the states. To be frank, any idiot can stumble into a win or two, but luck only goes so far and a lack of talent will eventually catch up to him. Maybe, after facing me, he will realized he should have stayed home, instead of traveling across an ocean just to get his ass kicked. Maybe if it was just Jayway and him, he would have a chance, but unfortunately for him, that isn't the case.
Derek Stone: What about the newest star to grace the Wrestling Championship Federation, Erin Archer. Having no real wrestling history, she is really the wild card in this match, someone to look out for. Wouldn't you agree?
Benjamin Atreyu: It's just some spoiled bitch with a hole-in-the-wall comic book shop. As far as I've heard all she does is play video games and watch anime, the fucking weeaboo. Give her the chance and I'm sure she'll fuck it up somehow, incompetency runs rampant in high-school drop outs and social rejects. That's why they have their fantasy world, because they were a failure in the real one. No magical force-field is going to protect her when she goes flying through the air and lands on the back of her neck. A broken bone hurts like all hell and that's all she is going to end up doing like every other weekend warrior who thinks they can jump into wrestling. Maybe I'll be able to knock some sense into her before she finds herself sitting at home with a cast on her arm.
Derek Stone: Anything you would like to add to that, Mister...um...
Blake Updegraff IV: Updegraff...
Derek Stone: Yeah, that.
Blake Updegraff: I'd only like to add one more thing, in case of Erin Archer...I'd tap that. Hash-tag KaBANG!
Derek Stone: ...Right...Well, Mister Atreyu, one final question. What exactly is it that makes you think you can beat these people? Given your win loss record, most of them have better odds at winning than you. Remember the fact that you retired, at one point you gave up. Just because you came back doesn't mean you are as good as you were back then. In a world of freak accidents and coincidences, what one goddamn reason do you have to think that you have no chance of losing?
Benjamin Atreyu: My effortless brilliance, of course.
For a moment, Derek just sat there staring at Benjamin. A grin started to form, but not like the one before. It was a more light-hearted grin. He laughed heartily and reached over the table to shake Benjamin's hand.
Derek Stone: Okay Benjamin, it was nice talking to you again. I have to admit, you aren't the push over you once were. Unfortunately, we have to go to commercial, but don't be a stranger.
Benjamin accepted the hand shake, any animosity they had, faded and now there was just the respect shared by two lovers of the sport of wrestling. Benjamin and Blake both got up and exited the radio station. Benjamin felt good about the whole ordeal, as if the weight of his past years had been lifted from his shoulder. It was a sign of things to come, fortunes to be had, and a world just ready for the taking.