This War Is Ours

[Kaz]

[Segment 1 – End of the Line]

The hot sun beat down like open flames, lapping at my man flesh, laughing the entire time it did. The ocean spray should be providing comfort, but it only existed to torture me more. The creak and miserable carp of the ship only made it easier for the fact to sink in.

Colin Marshall: (Voiceover) Cast off. Strung out like a ship on the ocean. Left somewhere in the middle. Abandoned. Derelict. Slowly sinking to depths I couldn’t begin to fathom. Who was at the helm, steering the ship into this rot?

The harder I gawked at the wheel, the more jaded my vision became. I blacked out, ogling the sun of the morning.

[Segment 2 – By My Dictation]

My phone buzzed in my hand and I looked at the screen. Each vibration of the device bore shivers down my spine.

Unknown
Answer End

I put my phone face down on the table and looked around. I was in a hole in the wall restaurant decorated in classic cinema imagery where a few families sat down to there well deserved time together. They all looked so peaceful while they fed their little ones and talked amongst one another.

Ding! Ding!

The door gently tapped the bell above it as a man walked in, standing at about my height with a ten dollar hair cut. He was wearing a pair of black slacks, black dress shoes, and a white button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The lanyard hanging from his neck swung when he nodded his head up in greeting. My phone buzzed in my hand again and a message appeared on the screen. Unknown: “You’re done.”

Mathew Shaw: Hey Colin! How are you doing?

He extended his hand for a shake, but I mostly ignored it, instead choosing to focus my attention at the parking lot outside. Had he been followed? Did they know I was here? He sat down at the opposite side of the table from me and pulled out a laptop, looking a little upset that I had forgone his handshake. The door to the kitchen flew open and I jumped in anticipation…but it was only one of the wait staff carrying a tray of food to another one of the patrons.

Mathew Shaw: Should we get started?

Again, I ignored him. Another car had just pulled in to the middle of the parking lot and sat there. The driver side door opened and a thick looking man exited the vehicle. He began to walk up to the restaurant…

Mathew Shaw: …you ok? Are you ok? Hey, Colin…are you ok?

My gaze shifted back to Mathew. His face was different now as an air of concern took over his soft features. He looked at me, genuinely terrified for me.

Mathew Shaw: Where are you right now?

Colin Marshall: I’m right here with you, Mathew. Right here with you for what could be the very last time.

His face contorted in to a look of mortified confusion.

Mathew Shaw: What are you talking about?

Colin Marshall: I’m talking about the end of the line…and I haven’t even reached the end of my story yet.

Mathew raises an eyebrow as a waitress approaches our table and asks for our drink orders. Mathew starts to order something but I cut him off.

Colin Marshall: I wouldn’t order…

Mathew apologizes to the waitress, who looks sullied by my forwardness. She takes off in a huff and Mathew and I continue our conversation.

Colin Marshall: Listen, Mathew, I didn’t come here for your standard interview. I came here to get something off my chest and you’re the perfect medium to do so. Please, Matt, write this down.

He pulls out his laptop and begins typing furiously as I speak.

Colin Marshall: The other night, I had a terrible nightmare. Colin Marshall put it all on the line at Blast against Marina Valdivia and Waylon Cash. I pulled out all the stops, fighting valiantly until fight I couldn’t. The crowd was chanting for The Real Deal...and then Marina slithered like a serpent and pulled out the pinfall victory over Waylon Cash. I woke up the next morning and that’s when it happened…I remembered it was all true. Marina Valdivia scored the win over Waylon Cash…and Colin Marshall was tossed to the side. What do I get? I didn’t win and I didn’t lose…so what happens? Now I get thrust back somewhere in the...

Mathew Shaw: Middle?

Colin Marshall: Mid. Card. Hell. That hurts worse than being future endeavored. Like, thanks for the crumb, you know? That title shot was mine, Shaw. Winning that title shot meant the world to me and she said that I cared TOO MUCH? How can somebody care too much? Please, clarify for me, because the explanation you provided answered absolutely none of my questions. How dare she question my resolve when she carries the same inside herself? And how many times will she bring up Zenith? I mean, beating a dead horse much? Playing at that match like she was the queen bee…but we all knew who sold the tickets. We all know who put the asses in the seats…and with wrestlers dropping like flies left and right around here, that’s something that somebody should stand up and take notice of. WCF is a circus right now and I’ll be the ringmaster soon.

Mathew stopped typing and looked past his computed towards me.

Mathew Shaw: What?

Colin Marshall: A circus, you know? Monkeys in cannons and fucking clowns. Clowns…kind of like my opponents this week, Seifer Black and Chelsea Armstrong. These two haven’t even seen each other in a month but they still plan on winning a tag team match together? If that happens, color me impressed, but I don’t see it swinging that way. You see, when Colin Marshall enters that match at Slam on Sunday, he enters with a new mindset. I don’t care about putting on a match “For The People”…I’m only going in that ring to kill.

Mathew cocked an eyebrow.

Colin Marshall: What do you want? I’m tired, Matt. I’m tired of not getting what I deserve because “I care too much”. Is Seifer the kind of man who “cares too much”? I don’t think so, because the last time he and his wife were speaking to each other, ICE was out with her giving her Natural Beckman D. If Seifer cared at all, he wouldn’t let something like that go unchecked. ICE slipped in on his women and put her through the ringer. Seifer is a man who kills in effigy…I swear, I caught his promo last week and somebody should have slapped that on documenting reality dot com, you know?...but he still let that pathetic excuse for a United States Champion whimper and whine at his wife’s heels until Chelsea couldn’t help but give up the poon.

Mathew Shaw: That’s all hearsay, you know?

Colin Marshall: Hearsay? That shit happened. I’m not saying anyone knows definitively…but Chelsea sure is wearing a huge smile on her face with that People’s Championship while Seifer scours the globe looking for his next helpless victim. What he doesn’t realize is that none of us in the WCF are as feeble as the victims he slays for the public eye…especially Colin Marshall. I’m one of the toughest guys to enter this ring since men like Gravedigger and Odin Balfore graced the WCF ring. I bring the spirit that this company has been seriously lacking, while Seifer muses over himself outside of the ring. He forgets why he’s here and he’s stunned that he can never win? What do the prophecies all mean when at the end of the day, you’re just another scrub in face paint that can’t save his marriage, yet alone win a match.

I stop talking and look at Mathew real serious like.

Colin Marshall: Are you truly ready to die, Seifer? Have you made peace with this world and are willing to move on to the next? Are you willing to leave behind the ones you love without having any tangible glory of your own? Here’s a prophecy for you Seifer…when you start feeling that wrench in your gut and it slowly rises to your chest, you will know that you’re just as lost a soul as you have claimed others to be before you. One of us won’t be walking away from that ring at Slam! Can you guess who it will be? Spoiler alert: It’s you.

I turned my attention back to the parking lot. The car that had pulled in earlier was still sitting there. The large man that had exited was standing outside of it still, leaning against the front end.

Mathew Shaw: And what about Chelsea?

Colin Marshall: What about Chelsea? She’s the person who can show up and win when her precious belt is on the line…but the rest of the time, she just sidelines herself and allows people to walk all over her. What kind of champion is that, Mathew? I’ll tell you…the kind that’s going to let it happen over and over again. This Sunday won’t be like Asesinato De Mayo. I won’t have to outlast three other opponents to whip Chelsea back and forth across the ring. It will just be the four of us in that ring, provided Scott Savage doesn’t pull her number before I do. She won’t be able to pander to the fans in this match. The people wont be able to save her from the pain I’m about to unleash on her…it will be ten times worse than anything Scott Savage could even imagine doing to her.

Mathew Shaw: Do you want to do my interview now?

Colin Marshall: I’m not even talking to you anymore Matt. I’m talking to them, the ones who are listening. I’m not going to follow these “guidelines” the WCF likes to set out for me. Colin Marshall is his own man and the world will know after this dictation. I’m done with the apologies. I’m done with the naysayers. From now on it’s just Colin Marshall and the rest of the WCF. If you’re behind me, that’s great…if you’re against me, well, then that’s just a fucking tough break for you. I’m going to step in to the ring with my partner Terry Roberts and we’re going to tear The Seraphim limb from limb. Seifer can kill all the Colin Marshall look-alikes he wants but he will know that none of them are the real Colin Marshall. I’m THE REAL DEAL and I’m right fucking here.

I step up from the table and walk outside. The man in the parking lot comes to attention. As I approach him, he begins reaching in his suit jacket for something. As soon as I reach the car, I feel a hard hit against the back of my head and all I see is black.

[Segment 3 – Rest Assured, That With A Heart That’s Pure]

The first thing I notice is how dry my mouth is. I begin to lick my lips but no saliva is present. I take a deep breath but choke in my dry throat as I begin to cough and dry heave. I try to move my hands towards my face but they are bound tight behind my back. I begin to pull at my bindings which feel like they’re made of a strong rope, three strand most likely. Fucking sailing shit. I looked around and tried to get a bearing for my surroundings, but the room I was in was completely dark…but it seemed to be moving. I got to my knees first and tried pulling at the rope behind my back again. It was tightly bound in what felt like a boa knot. I tried to pull at it some more but the material kept slipping in between my sweaty hands. As I gave it another yank, a door flew open, spilling light in to this dark prison. In the doorway stood a man whose face I couldn’t see, but his voice gave it all away.

Miguel Vibaros: You think you could hide from us, puta? It’s all over now, mother fucker.

I tried to spit at him but the spit in my mouth was still nonexistent. Miguel walked in and grabbed me by the scruff of my collar, picking me up off the ground and leading me wherever he pleased. We traveled down a short corridor and hooked a right. I was now standing by a large porthole with crystal blue water all around us. This was international waters.

Colin Marshall: What…the fuck…are you going to do me?

Miguel Vibaros: I’m going to fucking kill you, kid.

I turned my head to face Miguel eye to eye.

Colin Marshall: Before this is over…You’ll be dead.

This time, I found a little spit in my mouth and the wad landed right next to his eye. He threw me to my knees and punched me across the face. I felt warm blood fill my mouth but I began to laugh anyways, letting the blood dribble from my lips. He lifted me up again but I made it as hard as possible for him. He led me up a flight of stairs and on to the deck of the ship. Rabuele and Sykes both stood there in the middle. Sykes reached around the corner and grabbed something. Miguel threw me to the ground and I felt another body hit me as he did. I scrambled to my feet and sat face to face with my friend Patrick. His face was beaten and he was bleeding badly. He looked completely out of it.

Miguel Vibaros: Oh yeah…I had my turn with your puta friend too. He put up a fuck of a fight for you…why the hell would he do that? Your both pathetic wastes of MY FUCKING TIME…

He kicked me in the stomach and I crumpled over in pain. Patrick remained completely silent as Miguel accentuated each one of his words with a kick.

Miguel Vibaros: MY FUCKING MONEY…AND MY FUCKING LIFE!!!

I dry heaved after the punishment Miguel put on my abdomen.

Rabuele Picardos: Miguel!!! Please, stop it.

I looked up at Rabuele…a single tear in his eyes. Sykes was averting my gaze. Fuck them both. Miguel jumped on top of Patrick and began pounding his face some more. I yelled at him through retches, but sounds barely escaped my throat.

Rabuele Picardos: Miguel, that’s enough!!!

Miguel stopped hitting Patrick and stood up, facing Rabuele.

Miguel Vibaros: Don’t tell me you’re still defending this pedazo de mierda?

I began to stand up, getting to my knees first and trying to work up to my feet. I stumbled and fell back down to my knees.

Rabuele Picardos: Not everything is about money, Miguel. Colin has been like a son to me…more than I can say for you.

I saw Miguel reach in to the back of his pants where a gun rested in the waist of his slacks. He slid it out and held it up to Rabuele. I tried to scream but no sound came out. Miguel pulled the trigger and the gun exploded in years of pent up fury and rage. Rabuele was dead before he hit the deck.

Sykes: What the fuck?!

Sykes leaped at Miguel, knocking him off balance. Sykes held a knife in his right hand. He stabbed at Miguel, who sidestepped this movement and brought his hand with the gun down on Sykes knife hand. The knife clattered from Sykes hand and bounced towards me. Sykes held Miguel’s attention as I turned a one eighty and picked the knife up off the deck. I got it in to place and began slicing the sharp knife in to the thick rope. I could feel it cutting pretty easy in to the bindings but time wasn’t on my side. Miguel had gained the upper hand on Sykes and was now holding the gun to his face. I cut the rope some more, each slice taking away just a little bit at a time. Sykes knocked the gun from Miguel’s hand and it clattered to the deck, a few inches out of reach for either of them to get it. I cut the rope even faster still attempting to escape my bindings. Miguel reached in to his boot and pulled out a knife. He planted it directly in to Sykes chest and the movement ceased. Miguel dismounted Sykes right as I felt the ropes loosen. I pulled them off of my wrists and stood to my feet. Miguel whipped around with his pistol just as I was about two feet away from him. He stood there with a twisted smile on his face, fresh blood spatter and gun powder on his hand.

Miguel Picardos: Are you ready to die, Colin?

I stared down the barrel of the pistol…and everything went blank.

[Segment 4 – We’ll Be Victorious]

I could see bright lights. I squinted my eyes and my view came in to focus. I was staring at the arena ceiling. The great dark match in the sky…But there was a title above me. I looked harder and The People’s Championship came to center. All at once, I could hear the roar of the crowd around me.

CROWD: COLIN MARSHALL!!! COLIN MARSHALL!!! COLIN MARSHALL!!!

I looked down and saw Chelsea Black Armstrong climbing up the ladder I was standing on.

Robert: (Voiceover) Take it! Take it Colin! It’s yours! You’ve earned it!

I reached up for the People’s Championship, gripping the leather strap, feeling the cool gold against my fingers. I yanked it down…it was my People’s Championship.

[Segment 5 – This Is More Than A Pulse Beneath My Wrist, Or A Beat Beneath My Ribs]

I snapped back. I was still on the boat, staring down the barrel of Miguel’s loaded pistol.

Robert: (Voiceover) Take it!

I pushed towards Miguel. He tried to fight back but he was too slow. I kicked him hard in the stomach and pulled the pistol from his hands. He was on his knees now with the pistol reversed on him. I held it, extended, confident. He looked me dead in the eye as I pulled the trigger. I dropped the pistol to the ground and fell backwards against the railing. I sat with my back to the wall, looking at my hands in the bright sun.

Colin Marshall: (Voiceover) Are these mine? Am I here? Did I just do that? Are these the hands of a killer? Am I just like Seifer Black?

Robert: (Voiceover) No. You’re not. You killed to protect somebody who matters to you. Something Seifer could never do. He can’t even kill to protect his own wife…he just takes lives in his senseless campaign. He kills for his own amusement…something you would never do. He means to start a war…one you must stop before this blood crusade continues.

I stand up, using the railing of the deck to pull myself up. I stare up and over the deck at the clear blue water, the serenity of the ocean stealing me away.

Colin Marshall: (Voiceover) I know what I have to do now. Seifer…I’m going to punish you like you’ve been punishing the world. I’m going to beat you within an inch of your life. Every hit will feel worse than the blades you put to your own skin. Every kick will hurt worse than your wife abandoning you. By the time I’m done with you…you’ll be begging for death. But I won’t grant it to you. You deserve to live your life with that image in your head for the rest of it. Gone are the days of the underdog. I’m the new standard, Seifer. Your message is lost on me. I’m going to finish your crusade with you as your latest helpless victim.

I turn around to tend to my injured friend.

[Segment 6 – This Blood On My Hands]

I sat in the hospital room near my friend Patrick. He had been unconscious since we got off the boat that day. It’s so weird to see him lying here…probably doesn’t even know if he’s alive or not. I pulled my phone out of my pocket and began cutting a promo to get away from the eerie silence enveloping the room.

Colin Marshall: Seifer and Chelsea…this weekend at Slam, you better be prepared. The days are counting by and no amount of votes or ritual killings are going to save you. When I have my sights set on something, it will happen regardless of what’s happening in my personal life. I wouldn’t let anything step between and somebody I care about. Seifer…how could you let that happen…and Chelsea, what the fuck? You’re emotional cheating is probably what drove him over the edge. Neither of you have made forgivable actions in the past couple of months.

Colin Marshall: I don’t plan on letting either of you forget that this weekend. I don’t need to tell you that Terry Roberts is my partner this weekend. I stepped in to the ring with him the night I debuted in this company. He was tough, taking me to the limit. He was the first to let me know that this journey I’m making won’t be a walk in the park. I beat him, but the fight was real. We were aiming to cripple each other in that match but we both stood up to the challenge that night, pushing each other passed breaking point. Even though the match ended, we never reached that peak.

Colin Marshall: You see, just like me, Terry Roberts was raised by wolves. We learned to fight to live and live to fight. We learned to bathe in the blood of our foe, inhaling the kill and committing it to the earth. We won’t back down because the weak won’t survive in this company. We push on, through the crippling matches and devastating losses. You’ll need to know Seraphim…you’re just another doorway for me. It might be made of thick fucking oak but I’m going to kick that shit in regardless. You’re just standing in my path right now. It’s not an easy one…but it’s one I’m ready to travel.

Colin Marshall: And here we’ll go, once again, like a pack of wolves. You’ve made the grave that you’ll die in…but we’ll be here to give you that extra push. Just like the undead…I have a taste. Just like the undead…it’s getting harder to just feel alive. I need this, now more than ever. This match will be my ticket in. When I tear you in to less of a man than you already are, it will be the sweetest day of my life. When I superkick Chelsea’s head off her shoulders…that loss to her at Asesinato De Mayo will be avenged. I will feel alive again.