Hands

[Kyle]

"Often the hands will solve a mystery that the intellect has struggled with in vain."
~Carl Jung

"Have you ever had the thing you always wanted the most ripped out of your hands?"

Visual feed follows, and viewers immediately find themselves looking at a pair of hands, one white and one red. The hands are facing palm up to the camera, and then flip over so the back of the hands are visible.

"Of course you have; everyone has been in a situation where something they loved, something they desired, was taken away from them. From the old man whose wife dies beside him, to the newborn baby whose whisked away from his parents to a separate room, we have all faced loss. Some only face this every once, some face it all the time.

I fall closer to that latter, I think."

The hands close to fists, and viewers can see the veins straining as the two hands squeeze tightly.

"I had the Polar Phantasm, people. I finally, finally had the match that had been months in the making. I faced him in Hellimination, faced him in tag team encounters, even faced Jeff Purse on his behalf, but never, never was I given the chance to to get even with the man who turned my life upside down in May of 2012. I had him, had him in a cage where there was no escape. I had him, had him in a match where I could do anything I wanted without repercussions, without being frowned upon. I had the Polar Phantasm in the fucking Main Event of XIII, in my debut on the show. The Logan/Orbit rematch, the epic encounter between Oblivion and Corey Black, the street fight, the Purse/Twilight showdown, every, single, match. . . my encounter with the Polar Phantasm stood over it all.

And they took it all away from me."

The hands release, and hang limp.

"In one fell swoop, they took my Steel Cage, my Main Event, and most importantly my retribution; took it and threw it into the wind. They built up my confidence, my entire being, and crushed it beneath their feet. They played with my mind, and they tried to make it up by giving me a new opponent.

But, in reality, there only playing with my mind even more."

The camera finally zooms out and viewers are given a full-body look at Nathan, who was seated with his back against a brick wall. He taps his temple with his right index finger.

"XIII is playing with my mind, guys. They saw me and they were like 'he's fucked up in the head, so that's fuck with him some more.' So they pull Jay Price off the card and put me in his place, in the match that no one ever wants to find themselves in.

I now find myself battling mystery at XIII.

Mystery in the fucking flesh. I go from wrestling in the most-hyped match that never was, and now find myself facing off against a question mark over-top a silhouette head. While people have days to prepare for their upcoming match, I get all of the twenty seconds it takes my opponent to make its way down the ramp. In those twenty seconds, I have to decide what I'm going to do. And I don't think I can handle the pressure, even now."

To test this, Nathan starts counting off with his red hand. He gets to three fingers, but he snaps the fingers on his left hand.

"Wait, that wasn't so hard. Three seconds, and I knew what I was going to do.

I'm going to fucking win."

Nathan smirks at the camera.

"You see many people, they dwell over the mystery itself, and not how they're going to handle the mystery. Every waking moment is spent trying to determine the man behind the mask. They go crazy over it, and they get to the point that they just can't handle it anymore. And some people just assume they know who it is, and then they're floored when an entirely different person steps out on that ramp.

When you fight mystery with your mind, you're sure to lose.

But me? I'm fighting with my hands, like I fight with every single week. I have won over forty matches in my career, and never once did I win with my mind. Its never my witty remarks or brutal insults that win my matches. I win by out wrestling, outfighting my opponents.

And the best part about it, I can out wrestle anybody, regardless of whether or not I know who they actually are."

Nathan stands.

"So this Sunday, I'm coming to fight the mystery not with intellect, but with my fucking fists. Whoever you are, I expect you to put up a fight that replaces the fight I was going to have before you showed up. I was at the tip-top, and not I'm stuck fighting you. So whoever you are, make this fight count for both of our parts. I plan on winning, and I'm sure you're planning to do the same.

If I win, don't fret; you lost to the best in this company.

And if I lose. . ."

Nathan smirks at the camera.

"Just remember that I'm still the World Champ, and you're still not.

Because to me, that matters more than a match against someone who isn't even man enough to face me without mystery in front of you."

And with that, the scene fades.