Post by Deleted on Feb 4, 2014 12:34:19 GMT -5
He didn't know how to feel...
For most who had lived abroad for so long, being back in their homeland brings some sort of warm, fuzzy feeling associated with being somewhere familiar once again. After all, its a good feeling to turn around and find someone who speaks the same language as yourself and be able to convey information or converse at a whim. And of course you know how everything is done. There isn't some social struggles to deal with that most would find "weird" or "dumb". Yes, coming back home is usually something everyone looks forward to...
Well, almost everyone...
For Michael Steele, he didn't know how to feel about it. Anger, mostly. And rightly so. It was five years ago when the United States turned their back on him. He had served in the best interest of the United States for ten of his best years, only for the country to deny all knowledge and leave him to the wolves. He still bore the scars that al-Qaida had left on his body as a result of that abandonment. And it wasn't like it was the first time that he had been abandoned. He didn't know his parents. He was left in an alleyway during a bitter cold December in 1980. According to the State of New York, it was a miracle that he survived the exposure.
He had spent most of his childhood alone and had to deal with abusive people growing up. Abusive foster parents, abusive boys in the homes, abusive students who made it a point to make sure he felt inferior to normal children. He was unable to develop a good rapport with anybody his own age. But he did have two things that he found that he was good at, and pursued them. Those two things were martial arts and academics.
Ironically, it was an abusive foster father who had turned him on to martial arts. Actually, the foster parent needed a "punching bag". It was an unintended consequence that the "punching bag" would punch back at some point. It didn't take long for Michael to be moved from the home after he ruptured one of his foster fathers testicles during one of their "training sessions". But the love of combat was ingrained in him after that, and he found that the skill would serve him well for the rest of his life.
The other skill of note was academics. Especially math and science, though he was a sponge that would pick up any and all information disseminated. His tremendous knowledge base allowed him to escape the hell that is high school three years early, and allowed him to graduate college before he reached his second decade. If there was one good thing about being a ward of the State, it was the free education benefits, and boy did he benefit! He earned a Bachelors of Science in Aeronautical Engineering and immediately joined the U.S. Army, getting himself a commission and a selection for Special Forces.
In a few years time, with the Iraq War about to begin, he found himself assigned to Delta Force, spending his time observing the Iraqi population prior to invasion. He had found his place in the world, and that was as a soldier. And they loved him. He took orders with almost no question and followed through on his orders with what his superiors called "panache". He was a rising star in the world of Special Operations, and every government agency with a Special Operations team either wanted to work with him or have him as their own. For once in his life, he was loved, if only for his ability to get the job done.
That came to a crashing end in December of 2009, when insurgents got the drop on him and his team in the wrong part of the world. When the smoke cleared, most of his team laid dead and he was a captive. He had hoped that perhaps there would be a prisoner exchange, but that never happened. It was six months before he figured that the U.S. government had denied all knowledge, leaving him to rot in Pakistan.
It took another six months to formulate an escape plan. By this time, he was being used as slave labor, cleaning out latrines and doing other dirty work. After observing that the guards didn't thoroughly check what was going out as waste, he buried himself inside a pile of shit and allowed himself to be carted out of the compound. It was one of the most disgusting and degrading things he had ever done, but he managed to gain his freedom, and he made his way to India.
It was in India, where he was able to access a U.S. Embassy that he found the details of the mission. As he feared, there was a denial of all information regarding his mission. He was assumed to be dead by the United States Government and given full honors. Infuriated, he left the embassy and embarked on a four-year journey throughout Asia, before making his return to the United States.
And now he was back where it all began. New York City. The place where he was born, abandoned, abused, tempered, and honed into the killing machine that he is. As he stood waiting for his luggage to arrive, he saw something on the television that caught his eye. It was a wrestling promotion called WCF. He scoffed at what he did see. A bunch of sweaty men and women struggling with each other on the screen. What a joke. Most of these guys and girls wouldn't know a real fight if it struck them in the face and knocked them flat. HE could get a job doing this!
And why not? It would give him an opportunity to go around and see what kind of country he spent the majority of his adult life defending. See what kind of place turns its back on someone who did what needed to be done in order to secure a nation's freedom. Even if it meant doing some truly despicable things. Things that guaranteed his entry into Hell once the book of his life is closed.
The next big event was to be held in New Orleans, Louisiana. Michael nodded his head, as he grabbed his bags from the conveyor belt. He walked back up to the ticket counter and placed his bags on the scales. The attendant the says...
Attendant: Destination?
Michael: New Orleans.
Attendant: Getting a jump on Mardi Gras?
Michael: Yeah, I guess so...
Whatever he had to say to get this woman to quit prying. He could care less about some gigantic party. But it did make a good cover story, regardless of what was to go down. After several moments of exchanging ID and plastic, his bags were checked and he was waiting for the next flight out of there to New Orleans. Now to formulate a plan on how to get accepted into the WCF. He had spent the vast majority of his life fighting, so how hard could it be to get a job "fake-fighting"?
___________________________________________________________________________
It was unseasonably cold for New Orleans. Must be that whole "global warming" thing everyone was up in arms about these days.
After a bit of difficulty, Michael was able to secure a meeting with Seth Lerch, the owner and operator of WCF. WCF had a track record these days of taking pretty much anybody with a pulse on as a wrestler. Whether or not they became a star was completely up to them.
The meeting was not as long as he anticipated. After being prompted for qualifications, Michael dropped his resume in front of Seth. Among his qualifications, he had been decorated for heroism on multiple occasions, to include nomination for the Congressional Medal of Honor. He didn't get the medal due to political reasons involving his work, but the nomination was something that Michael was proud of. Instead, he had to settle for the Distinguished Service Cross, three Silver Stars, two Bronze Stars, and three Purple Hearts among several of his most distinguished decorations.
Seth's eyes really widened when he saw the amount of confirmed kills that Michael had sported. Especially when a significant number of those kills were in close quarters. That was when Michael started to get nervous, thinking that Seth might take issue with a guy who can KILL in the ring with his bare hands. How would that play out if he was to kill one of his stars in the ring.
Then he got past all of the military records and into the underground fighting portion. He had went undefeated in several underground fights in India, China, Hong Kong, Japan, and Russia before returning to the United States. Most of his points of references were prominent underground gangsters and even a few well-known politicians in those respective countries.
His medical record was an interesting read as well, with twelve broken bones, two concussions, three gunshot wounds, and more stitches than a Kings of Comedy tour. Another moment in time when Michael thought he might get shot down for work. But at the end, he was pleasantly surprised when Seth said...
Seth: When can you start?
__________________________________________________________________________
His first matches were a combination of a joke and an insult! Three opponents in all, and none of them have ever had to fight for their lives. What kind of challenge were these men?
The first, and quite possibly the most hilarious of his challengers, was the one who called himself Johnny Deep. Some sort of play on the name of the actor Johnny Depp, he presumed. He spent most of his time on this thing called Twitter trying to sway over the ladies, rather than focusing on his opponents, and it showed in his record. He spent most of his time in the wrestling ring on his back, and not in the good way. And while he showed promise, that was all he showed was promise. Promise only goes so far. It would take drive to get places, something that Johnny Deep has not shown. His only drive is to score more tail, and that was sad. He would probably have an easier time if he was to dedicate his talent and ability in the ring, rather than run at the mouth on social media. Perhaps another beating would be needed to drive this point home for Johnny Deep.
And there was Dex Zenith. A new wrestler who was trained by the "legendary" Adam Young, a man who revels in the hatred he garners both in and out of the ring. Too bad all that hatred has not equated into more success in the ring. All of his title runs relied on another man to help him. Adam Young had no clue how to fight as his own man, and has probably passed that trait on to Dex Zenith. And to top it off, Dex was another "pretty boy" trying to cash in on his promise. Maybe try to score some tail. Does anybody in the WCF actually present an actual challenge from somebody who actually takes the art of combat seriously? Again, all the promise in the world, but promise means nothing until its delivered and made into something meaningful.
And what's a good fight without some monstrous beast? The seven-foot, four-hundred pound man known only as "The Ultimate Destroyer" was in this match. He had gained a reputation as being a wild and unpredictable fighter in the ring with varying degrees of success. If history had taught Michael anything, it was that even this beast can be brought down just like any other man. He can be hobbled and crippled. Made useless by his own size. Hell, Michael had started to wish he was smaller once again. This weight, while it has helped to pad and protect his body, had weighed him down and made him slower. He could've made quick work of these guys. Maybe a heavy cardio program was needed.
No time to get sidetracked! Some guy and a camera crew was going to come in and record Michael talk trash to these guys. The door opened up, and in came Hank Brown with a camera. Hank walks over with a microphone and says...
Hank: This is Hank Brown with new signee Michael "The Forsaken" Steele. What fans want to know is where you come from and what you did before coming to the WCF.
Michael was shocked by the frankness of the question. Most of the time, he avoided press, but now, it was part of the deal. So Michael says...
Michael: I grew up in New York City. I spent the last fifteen years fighting a war both in and out of the ring.
Hank holds the microphone in front of Michael, waiting for him to embellish on what he said. Hank then pulls the microphone back and says...
Hank: Can you be more specific as to what wars?
Michael give him a hard stare, as he says...
Michael: What other war have we been fighting in lately, numb nuts? After my services were no longer needed, I spent time all over Asia, underground fighting.
Hank: That comment was unappreciated and unnecessary...
Michael: You know something? You're a joke! This match I'm going into is an even bigger joke. All of these clowns wouldn't last a day doing what I've had to do to survive! Have anybody here ever have to escape a terrorist prison camp by covering themselves in fecal matter? No! And you have the gall to ask me "what war" I fought in! The only damn war that matters to the American people! The only war that has mattered in the last ten years in the civilized world, that is if you want to call it "civilized".
Michael snatches the microphone from Hank, as he continues his tirade...
Michael: Everyone want to know what qualifies me to enter the ring with these so-called superstars of wrestling? Its real simple. Its because I have a track record. A track record of survival and winning. There has not been a man placed in front of me that I have not been able to overcome and defeat. Many have tried, and all have failed. And it seems here in the WCF all will try and all will fail!
Johnny Deep will be one of those failures. While he tries to troll for pussy, I will be planting my foot so far up his ass that he'll be shining my boots with his tongue! And this Dex Zenith will be yet another Adam Young failure here in the WCF! After all, Dex Zenith will probably be doing the same thing Johnny Deep will be doing, and that's trolling for pussy when he should be paying attention to what is going on in the ring. Or maybe he'll take his cues from Adam Young, and have to rely on someone to watch his back because he's not good enough to do it all on his own! And of course, "The Ultimate Destroyer"! Oh, I'm quaking in my boots at such a name! All seven feet of him and the four-hundred pounds of man meat is going to come crashing down when I step into the ring! They say he won't quit? I'll find a way! They say he can't be beat? I'll find a way! Because that is what I do, I find a way! I always have, and I always will. These three have stepped into the ring with their worst nightmare! And that nightmare is a man who is focused on doing one thing, and that is winning at all cost.
So unless you have something else stupid to say, this interview is over.
Michael tosses the microphone back at Hank Brown, as Hank stands there dumbfounded at what he just heard. The cameraman makes haste as he departs the locker room, while Michael grabs Hank and shakes him out of his stupor. Hank is startled. He looks around and sees that he is alone with Michael. He exclaims before he finds his way out of the room. Michael then sits back down on the bench and awaits his match.
Another battle.
The reason for his existence.
The never ending thrill of combat.
The rush of adrenaline.
His reason for living.
