Post by Benjamin Atreyu on Mar 2, 2014 17:06:29 GMT -5
Last Sunday ended in defeat, brutal defeat, suffocating defeat. Michael Steele had managed to slip a victory out from under Benjamin, and the effects were devastating; Benjamin had locked himself in his locker room after the show and was brooding in self-pity while he waited for when he could slip out without the rest of the roster seeing him. It wasn’t just the fact that he lost, he had lost when so many eyes were looking on him to win; he was collectively selected as one of the wrestlers most likely to take the tournament, being that he had such a great track record with tournaments in the past, but he didn’t even make it out of the first round, so he was forced to watch the rest of it from the sidelines, witnessing all the matches he could have win and watch as the winner gets to take the prize that should have been his. Should it have been his, though? If he wasn’t even good enough to get on top, then what right did he have to win the whole thing? The trilogy tournament was to a spectacle to showcase the greatest talents in the federation and show who stood out among then, which means he wasn’t even better than most of the people in the tournament; he was a mediocre monument that praised itself while everyone walked on to the true pieces of art.
Outside stood Herbert Goldman, who was waiting for Benjamin to get over his little fit and come out of his locker room, but he knew when Benjamin got like this, there was very little in the world that would be able to sway his mood. Herbert simply just toughed it out, occasionally checking his watch and sighing as the rest of the roster emptied out through the back doors, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyways. Though, an interesting happenstance was in the works as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hank Brown approaching the locker room with a cameraman closely following behind. Herbert smiled as he realized that his chance to hurry this process up was unwittingly on its way. Herbert stepped in front of the door as Hank neared, blocking his way into the locker room, forcing him to interact with S-PAC’s legal advisor.
“Mr. Goldman, I was wondering if there was a chance that we could get a post-match interview with Benjamin Atreyu for a internet exclusive?” Hank had his best “professional” voice on as it appeared that the camera was running.
“Sorry, but Mr. Atreyu is not to be disturbed,” Herbert replied, thinking about how funny it would be if Hank, feeling dejected, actually did give up and turned away, letting the running camera capturing his failed attempt to extract an interview, “He has had a very difficult night and wants to be left alone. Go find someone else to help you capitalize on your website, not that its going to amount to much, the internet is just a trend anyways, I give it three more years, tops.”
“Sir, I implore you, we will be quick,” Hank spoke with a little less of a professional voice, hoping that maybe a little pleading would change the mind of the cold hearted Herbert, “We’ll run in, ask a couple questions, and leave, simple and quick as that.”
“Sorry, thems the rules,” Herbert smirked, clearly enjoying the act of tearing down Hank’s attempts, “However, I’m not an unreasonable man. I might be willing to look the other way and let you have your interview…”
“Oh, that would be amazing-“
“For a fee…”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I allow myself a few stereotypes every now-and-then. So, are we going to do business, or am I going to stand as the Golem, refusing you entrance from the treasure which you seek?”
“I don’t think that’s the mythology-“
“Are we going to do this or not.”
“Fine,” Hank Brown reached into his pocket and dug out his leather bound wallet, opening it up and pulling out a twenty. Herbert quickly reached over and swiped the money out of Hank’s hand.
“…I can’t seem to remember where I put my key for the locker room. Geez, if I only had some sort of mnemonic device to help me,” Herbert pressed his hand to his forehead, as if he was trying, with any sort of effort, to find his keys. It took a moment, but eventually Hank realized what he was doing.
“Are you kidding me?” Hank again reached into his wallet and pulled out a couple more twenties, which Herbert quickly grabbed and stuffed into his pocket alongside the previous twenty, pulling his hand out with his keys.
“Ah yes, there they were, right in my pocket the whole time,” he turned around and pushed his keys into the lock and turning them until there was an audible click signifying the unlocking of the door. He turned the knob and pushed forward, letting the door swing open.
“Close the fucking door, I told you I don’t want to be bothered,” a voice emanated from inside the locker room, obviously that of Benjamin
“He is all yours, boys,” Herbert smirked again as the Hank and the cameraman walked into the locker room.
“What the fuck, d- Oh, fuck no, get out,” Benjamin shot up from his chair as he saw the two men entering his quiet sanctuary.
“Mr. Atreyu, we are looking just to get a quick interview for our internet exclusive,” Hank tried to plead his case, but Benjamin wasn’t listening.
“I don’t give two shits, get out, get the fuck out now,” Benjamin walked over to the two of them, looking about ready to use physical force to get his way.
“We just think that the audience would be interested in hearing how you are feeling after your recent loss in the tournament, knocking you out of the running.”
“Of course they want to know my feelings, because it would make them feel good to see someone they hate fail,” Benjamin was clearly in a rage of sorts, his hands clenched in tight fists as he stood toe-to-toe with the interview barely even up to his nose.
“Mr. Atreyu, I’m sure that the audience wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t what?! Be that malicious?” Benjamin reluctantly backed away as he saw they had no intention on leaving, “You must be one naïve mother fucker if you think that, out of the thousands in attendance, or the millions watching around the world, a single one of them didn’t find some sort of pleasure out of watching the ‘Bad guy’ falling in the first round after running his mouth for the last two years. Think about that, two years; two years of fighting; two years of WCF bullshit; two years of exhaustion; two years of not quite being good enough; two years of stopping just short of being a true champion; two years of being that shadow of my former self that I have been trying desperately to recapture; two years of this.” Benjamin raised his hands, gesturing to his locker room, signifying the whole of his time in WCF.
“I wouldn’t say that those two years have been fruitless for you,” Hank Brown tried to interject, but Benjamin quickly interrupted him.
“You want to know what those two years have added up to? Three title reigns, two of which I had to share as a tag partner, the other a short reign that no one will look back on with fond memories besides the person who took it from me; a list of failures that will be forever attached to my name; and twenty-two losses, out of my fifty-seven matches, twenty-two of them have been defeats.
---“See, every defeat feels like cancer slowly spreading through my body. They absorb everything good about my victories and just send out more cancerous cells that are slowly killing me. My first match in this company was a loss, and I should have known right there that it was just the beginning of a very rough road. I’m ashamed of every time I wasn’t good enough to get the victory, and there are nights when I spend hours just reviewing my old matches, trying to figure out what I can improve to make sure it never happens again, but you want to know what I found out? Nothing. Sometimes you just lose, that is the unfortunate truth that I think every competitor secretly fears, that sometimes there is nothing you can do, you just lose, and I have lost so many times that I’m starting to question a few things about myself.
---“For instance, my nickname. I’ve been calling myself ‘God Given Greatness’ for years, because I felt there was some truth to it, but lately all I can think of is that if I am God given greatness, then it must be from a pretty shitty God, because no talented maker would purposely make something as pathetic as myself, right? Or, maybe I am some kind of fucked up joke that he planted on this planet to make look like a fool; I come in, flexing my muscles and acting like I’m the shit, but then when it comes to act on it, I ended up falling on my ass, staring at up someone whom God clearly put more work into than myself.
---“Know what bothers me even more than that, though? I’m currently a part of a group where I am the least talked about member. You have Scott, who is the head of the whole thing, a sort of mysterious figure who everyone tries to keep their eyes on in case he tries something; you got Waylon who has actually held the fucking World title, and he has had some of the most memorable matches in the company; you have Chelsea, who is an up-and-coming talent, defeating some of the big names like Sarah Twilight; and of course you have John Gable, who people are still talking about despite the fact that he isn’t in the company at the moment. That’s right, more people talk about someone not even wrestling more than they talk about me, but I can’t blame them, they are all great competitors, and I haven’t done anything worth remembering. I’m fucking no one, there was a time I was one of the most dominant stars in this company, but nothing ever came out of it, and now I’m on the down slope and I’m watching my chances at a World title slowly slipping out of my grip and out of possibility as I feel like my best years are behind me. I’m done growing, I’m not going to get any stronger or bigger, and every day from here on out I’ll be a little weaker, ever so subtle of a decline until it all adds up and I am just a sagging old body waiting for the day that Death takes it all away. I am the weak link in S-PAC and that isn’t going to change any time soon. FUCK!”
Benjamin reels his fist back. Hank flinches, thinking the fist is meant for him, but Benjamin turns and jams his fist into a locker door, leaving a very visible dent in it.
“This is all so fucking stupid,” Benjamin storms out of the room, leaving a frightened Hank and a cameraman by themselves in the locker room as it quickly fills with silence, “Herbert! Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Hmm,” Herbert started up at his quickly followed behind his client, “that took a bit longer than I thought it would.”
“You ever pull that shit again,” Benjamin replied, “I’ll leave you in ditch on the side of the road with two broken legs. Don’t you ever do that to me again, got that.”
“Whatever you say.”
Hank Brown, seemingly struck dumb by the sudden departure of Benjamin, quickly regains himself and looks over into the camera.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Hank Brown’s voice suddenly devoid of that professionalism from earlier as it shakes a little, “while I cannot comment on Benjamin’s state of being, it appears that maybe we have just witnessed one of WCF’s many personalities spiraling out. Tune in this Sunday to see if he can pull out a victory and save himself from his current descent.”
The camera fades out.
-.-.-
“See, the problem is that people think that S-PAC is going soft,” Seth Dominics spoke passionately in front of the whole group, “but we have to prove them wrong. We have to show them that S-PAC is still hard, S-PAC is rock hard!”
“Um, excuse me,” Scott Savage piped up, “but…who are you again?”
“Seth,” both Waylon and Benjamin replied in unison.
“Seth who?”
“Seth Dominics,” Benjamin replied with his fore finger and thumb rubbing his forehead.
“Who?”
“A friend,” both Waylon and Benjamin again replying in unison.
“So, why is he here?” Scott’s confusion.
“I ask that question every day of my life,” Benjamin replied, “but for all my asking, all I get is more Seth.”
“Well, the reason I’m here, as I’ve mentioned to Benjamin,” Seth said.
“Please don’t bring me into this,” Benjamin mumbled to himself.
“Is because I was hoping I could join S-PAC, maybe, possibly, please, if you’d be so kind,” Seth shrunk into himself as he felt terribly intimidated by Scott Savage, being that he was one of the few members of the group that he hadn’t met before in some capacity. He had managed to become familiar, over the years, with many of S-PAC’s members; John Gable, Waylon Cash, and Benjamin Atreyu, strangely all in completely separate and unrelated circumstances, leaving unaware that any of the other members had been aware of his existence until one of them had happened to hear one of the other members complaining about him. Thought, despite their best efforts, they couldn’t get rid of him; apparently Waylon had injured him during his wrestling career and felt really guilty about it, Benjamin had been ‘friends’ with him for the better (or worse, depending who you are talking to) of seven years, and apparently Gable owed him for saving him from the jobbers who were planning on killing him…so they were kind of stuck with him.
“Are you serious?” Scott raised an eyebrow, unable to believe someone as silly as Seth would actually want to be a part of the intense fighting force that was his group.
“You’ll unfortunately be hard-pressed to find a time when he is joking when you wish he was,” Benjamin sighed.
“I’m very serious. I mean, I see you guys on television, and its all like ka-pow and bam, kicking ass and taking names, and I want to be in on that shit…homie?” Seth smiled his stupid smile as if that would help Scott make a decision in his favor. Spoiler; it won’t.
“Well, I guess there is no such thing as having too many members,” Scott says as a smirk forms on his lips, a plan forming in his head.
“I disagree, Seth is too many members,” Benjamin rolled his eyes.
“And since it seems Benjamin feels fairly talkative today, it seems he would be best to put Seth through his initiation.”
“You’re fucking kidding me…” Benjamin looked over at Scott with disbelief.
“Oh, Benjamin, you know me better than that,” Scott looked over, a full fledge spread across his face, “I wouldn’t rob you of your opportunity to bring in a promising new talent into S-PAC.”
“He isn’t even in WCF,” Benjamin’s hand gripped tightly around the arm of the chair he was sitting in.
“Oh, how small of a vision you must think I have, Benjamin,” Scott shook his head in feigned disappointment, “if we focused solely on WCF, then we’d be missing a whole world of possibilities.”
“What initiation process anyways,” Benjamin asked, not sure what point Scott was trying to prove. Was it to punish him for losing two different opportunities at gold in the last two months?
“Oh, be creative, Benjamin,” Scott gave a stern look at Benjamin as if to say ‘just go, don’t test me’.
Benjamin grumbled as he got out of his seat and began to move towards the door, “C’mon, Seth. We got an initiation test or some shit to put you through.”
“YAY! OH HAPPY DAY…I mean, cool dude, lets kick ass,” Seth quickly followed behind Benjamin.
-.-.-
Benjamin sits at a bar with a drink in hand as Seth sits beside him looking confused.
“So, when are we going to do my initiation test, or is this my test, I have to be patient,” Seth asked, not knowing how to shut the fuck up, “I can be patient, patient like a fox. I can sit here in silence and wait for when the test is over and show you I can be a valuable member to S-PAC, but I just want to know if that is the test, unless I’m supposed to wait to see if that is the test, oh that would be cool, real smart, you’ve always been real smart Benjamin, like big brain smart, like if Einstein and Stephen Hawkins had a baby smart…well, I mean if that baby had a little brain damage, but I mean, that’s still real smart.”
“If it’ll help you shut up, there is no test,” Benjamin replied before taking another sip of his drink.
“I don’t understand, if Scott told…oh wait, I get it, this is part of the test, all Fight Club like,” Seth spoke triumphantly, “don’t worry, boss, I won’t fall for it. I’ve got the mind of a hawk.”
“Not a creature exactly known for its brains,” Benjamin sighed, “but, no, its not part of a test, there is seriously no test.”
“Suuuure, boss, no test, I got it,” Seth winked with pure obliviousness.
“Goddamn it,” Benjamin set his drink down and looked over at Seth, “Seth, I promise you this isn’t part of any test, I assure you there is no test.”
“…Pinkie promise?” Seth lifted his hand with his pinkie finger pointing outwards.
“No, I’m not going to pinkie promise you in public,” Benjamin picked up his glass again.
“Ah, so it is a test!”
“Oh, for god sake,” Benjamin reached over and wrapped his pinkie begrudgingly around Seth’s, “there, I pinkie promise.”
“So, if there isn’t a test, then why did Scott…”
“Send us out on this pointless venture?” Benjamin finished Seth’s sentence, “A simple answer, my dear Seth; to get us out of his hair. See, he has no real interest in making you a member, and as far as me, I haven’t been his most profitable investment, so to speak. So what better way to get us off out of his way than to send us on a quest without an end. That way he can focus on how he can move his team forward.”
“What do you mean, ‘not his most profitable investment’?”
“Not sure if you’ve been paying attention lately, Sethy boy, but I haven’t been having the best luck as of late and its starting to affect me. I just lost out on my chance to put my career back on top and I’m not sure when I’ll get a second one. See, I haven’t done anything note worthy in quite some time and I’m taking that as a bad sign. My victories are going to start to dwindle more and more, and when I find that I’m on the losing end of even the easiest of fights, I’m not sure I’ll have the constitution to retire. I think I might be one of those wrestlers who just keep going, because not being able to do it would leave me so empty that I rather be a miserable failure than empty.
---“Sometimes I just wish that someone would just break my hands so I would be forced to retire, because I know I am never leaving of my own volition. I’m not sure what is it, but my life’s purpose has always been this sport. For as long as I can remember, my dreams and thoughts were filled with this urge to be one of the best this world has ever seen, but now look at me, I’m a mid-carder on my best days, barely able to scrape by with a victory.”
“You were nearly world Champion,” Seth replied.
“Correction, I was nearly number one contender for the world championship,” Benjamin corrected, “and that was fucking months ago.”
“Still, you were up there, you got close.”
“From luck, it hasn’t happened since, plus, did you see what happened during that match? I choked hard.”
“So what? It happens to everyone. When I met you, you were-“
“WERE being the operative word there, Seth. Was, had, were, all past-tense, and that’s all my career is going to be, what it could have been when I WAS better.”
“Maybe you’re right old friend,” Seth sighed, shrugging as he got up from his stool, “but there is more to competition than last week’s defeat.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home, if Scott doesn’t want me on S-PAC, fine, just figure I would at least been able to help.”
“Not going have a few drinks with me?”
“Nah, I got a couple episodes of Happy Hamster Fun Time I need to catch up on.”
“Suit yourself, more alcohol for me.” With that, Seth Dominics departed and left Benjamin by himself at the bar as he reflected on his career. He had some good matches, some real hair raisers, but there was a part of him wondering if he ever really had that classic, would there be a match that people would look back on and think ‘yeah, that was one for the ages’. What if he hadn’t had that match yet, what if he never will have that match?
Suddenly, there was a tapping on his shoulder. Benjamin knew what this meant, ‘fans’ standing right behind him wishing for a sort of ‘dialogue’ with the superstar. He just ignored it and continued to sip his drink. Again, the poking continued, but he continued to ignore it.
“Hey, aren’t that ‘God’s Gift’ Benjamin Atreyu?” One of them decided to pipe up.
“First of, its ‘God Given Greatness’, and no, now go away, I don’t feel like being bothered right now,” Benjamin just took a deep breath as he felt the tapping continue.
“What? Too good to turn around and talk to us?”
“Frankly, yes,” Benjamin quickly snapped back, “I find this half-empty cup of beer far more interesting than even a half-an-hour of conversation with most of you brain dead slack jawed idiots.”
“Fuck did you just call us?”
“Brain dead, slack jawed, idiots, or should I repeat it louder?”
“You mother fucker!” Suddenly, Benjamin was swung around in his seat and saw the man’s fist reeled back to strike him. Now, Benjamin doesn’t remember how quickly the first fist was thrown, but he did remember hearing on the news later that night that it broke the man’s jaw. Benjamin was out of his seat and had his fists raised up. There was a ping of excitement shooting through him as he saw that there were three other guys waiting for him, all with the same stupid look on their face as the first one. Now, this fight, I can win. Benjamin thought as he ducked down under a fist hurled in his direction. He quickly brought his fist up in a thunderous uppercut that the news reporter would say ‘made the man’s teeth click so hard together that a number of his teeth cracked or chipped’. The next one was even easier, the man was too busy looking at his fallen friends to notice that Benjamin was already taking another swing, one aimed right for his face, the connecting fist would end up breaking the orbital bone severely, if the reports were to be believed. The last one about to turn away and run, but Benjamin was already going full steam and used his moment to wrap his arms around the guy’s waist and drive him straight through a nearby table, forcing the man’s head to knock head against the ground, knocking him out cold.
Benjamin’s favorite part of the broadcast airing later that night about the bar fight was that the ‘assailant’ remained ‘unidentified’ as he fled from the scene, which leaves Benjamin with 100% of the reward and 0% of the consequences…Maybe not all was for lost. Maybe he still has a good amount of fight left in him. S-PAC would be together for this coming Slam against the Tag-team champions, and if there were ever a way to cement how ‘rock hard’, as Seth Dominics put it, was, it was this.
“Come hell or high water, S-PAC will be back on track.”
Outside stood Herbert Goldman, who was waiting for Benjamin to get over his little fit and come out of his locker room, but he knew when Benjamin got like this, there was very little in the world that would be able to sway his mood. Herbert simply just toughed it out, occasionally checking his watch and sighing as the rest of the roster emptied out through the back doors, it wasn’t like he had much of a choice anyways. Though, an interesting happenstance was in the works as he saw, out of the corner of his eye, Hank Brown approaching the locker room with a cameraman closely following behind. Herbert smiled as he realized that his chance to hurry this process up was unwittingly on its way. Herbert stepped in front of the door as Hank neared, blocking his way into the locker room, forcing him to interact with S-PAC’s legal advisor.
“Mr. Goldman, I was wondering if there was a chance that we could get a post-match interview with Benjamin Atreyu for a internet exclusive?” Hank had his best “professional” voice on as it appeared that the camera was running.
“Sorry, but Mr. Atreyu is not to be disturbed,” Herbert replied, thinking about how funny it would be if Hank, feeling dejected, actually did give up and turned away, letting the running camera capturing his failed attempt to extract an interview, “He has had a very difficult night and wants to be left alone. Go find someone else to help you capitalize on your website, not that its going to amount to much, the internet is just a trend anyways, I give it three more years, tops.”
“Sir, I implore you, we will be quick,” Hank spoke with a little less of a professional voice, hoping that maybe a little pleading would change the mind of the cold hearted Herbert, “We’ll run in, ask a couple questions, and leave, simple and quick as that.”
“Sorry, thems the rules,” Herbert smirked, clearly enjoying the act of tearing down Hank’s attempts, “However, I’m not an unreasonable man. I might be willing to look the other way and let you have your interview…”
“Oh, that would be amazing-“
“For a fee…”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I allow myself a few stereotypes every now-and-then. So, are we going to do business, or am I going to stand as the Golem, refusing you entrance from the treasure which you seek?”
“I don’t think that’s the mythology-“
“Are we going to do this or not.”
“Fine,” Hank Brown reached into his pocket and dug out his leather bound wallet, opening it up and pulling out a twenty. Herbert quickly reached over and swiped the money out of Hank’s hand.
“…I can’t seem to remember where I put my key for the locker room. Geez, if I only had some sort of mnemonic device to help me,” Herbert pressed his hand to his forehead, as if he was trying, with any sort of effort, to find his keys. It took a moment, but eventually Hank realized what he was doing.
“Are you kidding me?” Hank again reached into his wallet and pulled out a couple more twenties, which Herbert quickly grabbed and stuffed into his pocket alongside the previous twenty, pulling his hand out with his keys.
“Ah yes, there they were, right in my pocket the whole time,” he turned around and pushed his keys into the lock and turning them until there was an audible click signifying the unlocking of the door. He turned the knob and pushed forward, letting the door swing open.
“Close the fucking door, I told you I don’t want to be bothered,” a voice emanated from inside the locker room, obviously that of Benjamin
“He is all yours, boys,” Herbert smirked again as the Hank and the cameraman walked into the locker room.
“What the fuck, d- Oh, fuck no, get out,” Benjamin shot up from his chair as he saw the two men entering his quiet sanctuary.
“Mr. Atreyu, we are looking just to get a quick interview for our internet exclusive,” Hank tried to plead his case, but Benjamin wasn’t listening.
“I don’t give two shits, get out, get the fuck out now,” Benjamin walked over to the two of them, looking about ready to use physical force to get his way.
“We just think that the audience would be interested in hearing how you are feeling after your recent loss in the tournament, knocking you out of the running.”
“Of course they want to know my feelings, because it would make them feel good to see someone they hate fail,” Benjamin was clearly in a rage of sorts, his hands clenched in tight fists as he stood toe-to-toe with the interview barely even up to his nose.
“Mr. Atreyu, I’m sure that the audience wouldn’t…”
“Wouldn’t what?! Be that malicious?” Benjamin reluctantly backed away as he saw they had no intention on leaving, “You must be one naïve mother fucker if you think that, out of the thousands in attendance, or the millions watching around the world, a single one of them didn’t find some sort of pleasure out of watching the ‘Bad guy’ falling in the first round after running his mouth for the last two years. Think about that, two years; two years of fighting; two years of WCF bullshit; two years of exhaustion; two years of not quite being good enough; two years of stopping just short of being a true champion; two years of being that shadow of my former self that I have been trying desperately to recapture; two years of this.” Benjamin raised his hands, gesturing to his locker room, signifying the whole of his time in WCF.
“I wouldn’t say that those two years have been fruitless for you,” Hank Brown tried to interject, but Benjamin quickly interrupted him.
“You want to know what those two years have added up to? Three title reigns, two of which I had to share as a tag partner, the other a short reign that no one will look back on with fond memories besides the person who took it from me; a list of failures that will be forever attached to my name; and twenty-two losses, out of my fifty-seven matches, twenty-two of them have been defeats.
---“See, every defeat feels like cancer slowly spreading through my body. They absorb everything good about my victories and just send out more cancerous cells that are slowly killing me. My first match in this company was a loss, and I should have known right there that it was just the beginning of a very rough road. I’m ashamed of every time I wasn’t good enough to get the victory, and there are nights when I spend hours just reviewing my old matches, trying to figure out what I can improve to make sure it never happens again, but you want to know what I found out? Nothing. Sometimes you just lose, that is the unfortunate truth that I think every competitor secretly fears, that sometimes there is nothing you can do, you just lose, and I have lost so many times that I’m starting to question a few things about myself.
---“For instance, my nickname. I’ve been calling myself ‘God Given Greatness’ for years, because I felt there was some truth to it, but lately all I can think of is that if I am God given greatness, then it must be from a pretty shitty God, because no talented maker would purposely make something as pathetic as myself, right? Or, maybe I am some kind of fucked up joke that he planted on this planet to make look like a fool; I come in, flexing my muscles and acting like I’m the shit, but then when it comes to act on it, I ended up falling on my ass, staring at up someone whom God clearly put more work into than myself.
---“Know what bothers me even more than that, though? I’m currently a part of a group where I am the least talked about member. You have Scott, who is the head of the whole thing, a sort of mysterious figure who everyone tries to keep their eyes on in case he tries something; you got Waylon who has actually held the fucking World title, and he has had some of the most memorable matches in the company; you have Chelsea, who is an up-and-coming talent, defeating some of the big names like Sarah Twilight; and of course you have John Gable, who people are still talking about despite the fact that he isn’t in the company at the moment. That’s right, more people talk about someone not even wrestling more than they talk about me, but I can’t blame them, they are all great competitors, and I haven’t done anything worth remembering. I’m fucking no one, there was a time I was one of the most dominant stars in this company, but nothing ever came out of it, and now I’m on the down slope and I’m watching my chances at a World title slowly slipping out of my grip and out of possibility as I feel like my best years are behind me. I’m done growing, I’m not going to get any stronger or bigger, and every day from here on out I’ll be a little weaker, ever so subtle of a decline until it all adds up and I am just a sagging old body waiting for the day that Death takes it all away. I am the weak link in S-PAC and that isn’t going to change any time soon. FUCK!”
Benjamin reels his fist back. Hank flinches, thinking the fist is meant for him, but Benjamin turns and jams his fist into a locker door, leaving a very visible dent in it.
“This is all so fucking stupid,” Benjamin storms out of the room, leaving a frightened Hank and a cameraman by themselves in the locker room as it quickly fills with silence, “Herbert! Let’s get the fuck out of here.”
“Hmm,” Herbert started up at his quickly followed behind his client, “that took a bit longer than I thought it would.”
“You ever pull that shit again,” Benjamin replied, “I’ll leave you in ditch on the side of the road with two broken legs. Don’t you ever do that to me again, got that.”
“Whatever you say.”
Hank Brown, seemingly struck dumb by the sudden departure of Benjamin, quickly regains himself and looks over into the camera.
“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” Hank Brown’s voice suddenly devoid of that professionalism from earlier as it shakes a little, “while I cannot comment on Benjamin’s state of being, it appears that maybe we have just witnessed one of WCF’s many personalities spiraling out. Tune in this Sunday to see if he can pull out a victory and save himself from his current descent.”
The camera fades out.
-.-.-
“See, the problem is that people think that S-PAC is going soft,” Seth Dominics spoke passionately in front of the whole group, “but we have to prove them wrong. We have to show them that S-PAC is still hard, S-PAC is rock hard!”
“Um, excuse me,” Scott Savage piped up, “but…who are you again?”
“Seth,” both Waylon and Benjamin replied in unison.
“Seth who?”
“Seth Dominics,” Benjamin replied with his fore finger and thumb rubbing his forehead.
“Who?”
“A friend,” both Waylon and Benjamin again replying in unison.
“So, why is he here?” Scott’s confusion.
“I ask that question every day of my life,” Benjamin replied, “but for all my asking, all I get is more Seth.”
“Well, the reason I’m here, as I’ve mentioned to Benjamin,” Seth said.
“Please don’t bring me into this,” Benjamin mumbled to himself.
“Is because I was hoping I could join S-PAC, maybe, possibly, please, if you’d be so kind,” Seth shrunk into himself as he felt terribly intimidated by Scott Savage, being that he was one of the few members of the group that he hadn’t met before in some capacity. He had managed to become familiar, over the years, with many of S-PAC’s members; John Gable, Waylon Cash, and Benjamin Atreyu, strangely all in completely separate and unrelated circumstances, leaving unaware that any of the other members had been aware of his existence until one of them had happened to hear one of the other members complaining about him. Thought, despite their best efforts, they couldn’t get rid of him; apparently Waylon had injured him during his wrestling career and felt really guilty about it, Benjamin had been ‘friends’ with him for the better (or worse, depending who you are talking to) of seven years, and apparently Gable owed him for saving him from the jobbers who were planning on killing him…so they were kind of stuck with him.
“Are you serious?” Scott raised an eyebrow, unable to believe someone as silly as Seth would actually want to be a part of the intense fighting force that was his group.
“You’ll unfortunately be hard-pressed to find a time when he is joking when you wish he was,” Benjamin sighed.
“I’m very serious. I mean, I see you guys on television, and its all like ka-pow and bam, kicking ass and taking names, and I want to be in on that shit…homie?” Seth smiled his stupid smile as if that would help Scott make a decision in his favor. Spoiler; it won’t.
“Well, I guess there is no such thing as having too many members,” Scott says as a smirk forms on his lips, a plan forming in his head.
“I disagree, Seth is too many members,” Benjamin rolled his eyes.
“And since it seems Benjamin feels fairly talkative today, it seems he would be best to put Seth through his initiation.”
“You’re fucking kidding me…” Benjamin looked over at Scott with disbelief.
“Oh, Benjamin, you know me better than that,” Scott looked over, a full fledge spread across his face, “I wouldn’t rob you of your opportunity to bring in a promising new talent into S-PAC.”
“He isn’t even in WCF,” Benjamin’s hand gripped tightly around the arm of the chair he was sitting in.
“Oh, how small of a vision you must think I have, Benjamin,” Scott shook his head in feigned disappointment, “if we focused solely on WCF, then we’d be missing a whole world of possibilities.”
“What initiation process anyways,” Benjamin asked, not sure what point Scott was trying to prove. Was it to punish him for losing two different opportunities at gold in the last two months?
“Oh, be creative, Benjamin,” Scott gave a stern look at Benjamin as if to say ‘just go, don’t test me’.
Benjamin grumbled as he got out of his seat and began to move towards the door, “C’mon, Seth. We got an initiation test or some shit to put you through.”
“YAY! OH HAPPY DAY…I mean, cool dude, lets kick ass,” Seth quickly followed behind Benjamin.
-.-.-
Benjamin sits at a bar with a drink in hand as Seth sits beside him looking confused.
“So, when are we going to do my initiation test, or is this my test, I have to be patient,” Seth asked, not knowing how to shut the fuck up, “I can be patient, patient like a fox. I can sit here in silence and wait for when the test is over and show you I can be a valuable member to S-PAC, but I just want to know if that is the test, unless I’m supposed to wait to see if that is the test, oh that would be cool, real smart, you’ve always been real smart Benjamin, like big brain smart, like if Einstein and Stephen Hawkins had a baby smart…well, I mean if that baby had a little brain damage, but I mean, that’s still real smart.”
“If it’ll help you shut up, there is no test,” Benjamin replied before taking another sip of his drink.
“I don’t understand, if Scott told…oh wait, I get it, this is part of the test, all Fight Club like,” Seth spoke triumphantly, “don’t worry, boss, I won’t fall for it. I’ve got the mind of a hawk.”
“Not a creature exactly known for its brains,” Benjamin sighed, “but, no, its not part of a test, there is seriously no test.”
“Suuuure, boss, no test, I got it,” Seth winked with pure obliviousness.
“Goddamn it,” Benjamin set his drink down and looked over at Seth, “Seth, I promise you this isn’t part of any test, I assure you there is no test.”
“…Pinkie promise?” Seth lifted his hand with his pinkie finger pointing outwards.
“No, I’m not going to pinkie promise you in public,” Benjamin picked up his glass again.
“Ah, so it is a test!”
“Oh, for god sake,” Benjamin reached over and wrapped his pinkie begrudgingly around Seth’s, “there, I pinkie promise.”
“So, if there isn’t a test, then why did Scott…”
“Send us out on this pointless venture?” Benjamin finished Seth’s sentence, “A simple answer, my dear Seth; to get us out of his hair. See, he has no real interest in making you a member, and as far as me, I haven’t been his most profitable investment, so to speak. So what better way to get us off out of his way than to send us on a quest without an end. That way he can focus on how he can move his team forward.”
“What do you mean, ‘not his most profitable investment’?”
“Not sure if you’ve been paying attention lately, Sethy boy, but I haven’t been having the best luck as of late and its starting to affect me. I just lost out on my chance to put my career back on top and I’m not sure when I’ll get a second one. See, I haven’t done anything note worthy in quite some time and I’m taking that as a bad sign. My victories are going to start to dwindle more and more, and when I find that I’m on the losing end of even the easiest of fights, I’m not sure I’ll have the constitution to retire. I think I might be one of those wrestlers who just keep going, because not being able to do it would leave me so empty that I rather be a miserable failure than empty.
---“Sometimes I just wish that someone would just break my hands so I would be forced to retire, because I know I am never leaving of my own volition. I’m not sure what is it, but my life’s purpose has always been this sport. For as long as I can remember, my dreams and thoughts were filled with this urge to be one of the best this world has ever seen, but now look at me, I’m a mid-carder on my best days, barely able to scrape by with a victory.”
“You were nearly world Champion,” Seth replied.
“Correction, I was nearly number one contender for the world championship,” Benjamin corrected, “and that was fucking months ago.”
“Still, you were up there, you got close.”
“From luck, it hasn’t happened since, plus, did you see what happened during that match? I choked hard.”
“So what? It happens to everyone. When I met you, you were-“
“WERE being the operative word there, Seth. Was, had, were, all past-tense, and that’s all my career is going to be, what it could have been when I WAS better.”
“Maybe you’re right old friend,” Seth sighed, shrugging as he got up from his stool, “but there is more to competition than last week’s defeat.”
“Where are you going?”
“Home, if Scott doesn’t want me on S-PAC, fine, just figure I would at least been able to help.”
“Not going have a few drinks with me?”
“Nah, I got a couple episodes of Happy Hamster Fun Time I need to catch up on.”
“Suit yourself, more alcohol for me.” With that, Seth Dominics departed and left Benjamin by himself at the bar as he reflected on his career. He had some good matches, some real hair raisers, but there was a part of him wondering if he ever really had that classic, would there be a match that people would look back on and think ‘yeah, that was one for the ages’. What if he hadn’t had that match yet, what if he never will have that match?
Suddenly, there was a tapping on his shoulder. Benjamin knew what this meant, ‘fans’ standing right behind him wishing for a sort of ‘dialogue’ with the superstar. He just ignored it and continued to sip his drink. Again, the poking continued, but he continued to ignore it.
“Hey, aren’t that ‘God’s Gift’ Benjamin Atreyu?” One of them decided to pipe up.
“First of, its ‘God Given Greatness’, and no, now go away, I don’t feel like being bothered right now,” Benjamin just took a deep breath as he felt the tapping continue.
“What? Too good to turn around and talk to us?”
“Frankly, yes,” Benjamin quickly snapped back, “I find this half-empty cup of beer far more interesting than even a half-an-hour of conversation with most of you brain dead slack jawed idiots.”
“Fuck did you just call us?”
“Brain dead, slack jawed, idiots, or should I repeat it louder?”
“You mother fucker!” Suddenly, Benjamin was swung around in his seat and saw the man’s fist reeled back to strike him. Now, Benjamin doesn’t remember how quickly the first fist was thrown, but he did remember hearing on the news later that night that it broke the man’s jaw. Benjamin was out of his seat and had his fists raised up. There was a ping of excitement shooting through him as he saw that there were three other guys waiting for him, all with the same stupid look on their face as the first one. Now, this fight, I can win. Benjamin thought as he ducked down under a fist hurled in his direction. He quickly brought his fist up in a thunderous uppercut that the news reporter would say ‘made the man’s teeth click so hard together that a number of his teeth cracked or chipped’. The next one was even easier, the man was too busy looking at his fallen friends to notice that Benjamin was already taking another swing, one aimed right for his face, the connecting fist would end up breaking the orbital bone severely, if the reports were to be believed. The last one about to turn away and run, but Benjamin was already going full steam and used his moment to wrap his arms around the guy’s waist and drive him straight through a nearby table, forcing the man’s head to knock head against the ground, knocking him out cold.
Benjamin’s favorite part of the broadcast airing later that night about the bar fight was that the ‘assailant’ remained ‘unidentified’ as he fled from the scene, which leaves Benjamin with 100% of the reward and 0% of the consequences…Maybe not all was for lost. Maybe he still has a good amount of fight left in him. S-PAC would be together for this coming Slam against the Tag-team champions, and if there were ever a way to cement how ‘rock hard’, as Seth Dominics put it, was, it was this.
“Come hell or high water, S-PAC will be back on track.”
