#TheSadBalladOfGraysonPierce #OneV1

[Wade Moor]

"All I smell is smoke when I step outside
And the mountains keep crying cause we're burning alive
And the people fight the people like they forgot we were equal"

- State Of Nature (King 810)

Prologue: Through One Set Of Eyes

CLYHNHK-RREGGSGSERT
*buzz-static*

The sound of an old tape recorder sounds through the darkness, beating the drum of your ears like a psychotic death march. Boots thud down a narrow hallway until the wooden scrape of chair legs against a concrete floor start to disconcert you. Your teeth start to itch as your eyes well red, puffing, pussing. Your hands cut through the darkness, but all they find is the empty, miserable abyss you've fallen into.

Is that a light at the end of the tunnel? Who's the shadow figure playing against the frame? Is it your savior, the one to take you whisk you away from this plight you've happened into? Your questions are answered only with stark laughter, and in that instant, you're fate becomes uncertain.

"So this is what it all comes down to, isn't it? The culmination of a man's place in this business rests on finding their spot - that highly coveted spot! - at the top of the One card with the World Heavyweight Championship on the line. Fuck your feud of the year...this is the feud of the year. This is where men find their mettle and step into the ring to solidify in everyone's mind that they belong here without a shadow of a doubt.

"At the same time, it's an attempt at immortality. Your name gets inscribed on golden plates and printed on silky smooth pages...but what people really remember is the fight. Your moment can be replayed over and over again on television screens, but what people remember is the path traveled, and the fact they were able to live the fight vicariously."

Wade clicks his tongue in the darkness, and even that seems to carry a heavy Florida drawl like sticky sap creeping down a tree.

"That reason alone is why the idea of an underdog makes me sick to my stomach. There's absolutely nothing inspiring about the extraordinarily normal, and the fact that people choose to live life through their eyes makes me want to puke on the floor. They should choose to live through THE ONE who put his foot down a long time ago, THE ONE who the 'underdog' decides to step up to out of willful ignorance.

"Humans aren't worth the skin they're printed on. They see me as an opressor, a tyrant...but can't you see? Open your eyes, look out from your own living hell's for once, and see...that I am your liberator. I've never told you any lies. I've never given you reason to distrust me. It's been me all along. I am THE ONE who will set you free.

"Quit believing the lies propogated onto you by one Grayson Pierce. The lies Grayson tell you spill like venom draining from his snake mouth. They fill you up. The venom is euphoric, an intense meth like high...but eventually, you come down and the poison eats away at you inside until eventually...well, eventually you die. And your lives, one by one, were completely wasted.

"I offer each and every one of you listening a different way to live. A life unschackled by the chains that exist only to oppress you. A way of life where you never have to worry about what other people think about you...because chances are they've perpetrated just as many times as you have. Sitting on their high horses like they're somehow better than you. Grayson Pierce believes himself above you, believing that you must look up to him, worship at his feet as he fights for your honor like soms kind of false god.

"But there can be only one Godnilla...and I ask you not to bow down to me, instead stand at my side. Live as real Gods do, unbound by ideals of morality and free of sin, because there are no such thing as sins. Live an unadulterated, #BeachKrew life, and reap the rewards that follow with it. Buck these so called heroes from their pale horses. Quit treading water and drown the real opressors in it instead! The ones who truly wish to hold you down, men like Grayson Pierce.

"Every time I've spoken...I've always been nothing but honest with you people. From the moment I stepped foot in this ring. I told you I wanted Scarecrow dead. He died. I told you #BeachKrew would run rampant at War. We did. I told you I would win this World Champion...and I did. I tell you that I'll beat the enigma Grayson Pierce, and I'll do just that.

"But Grayson Pierce has made you promise after promis that he just couldn't keep. He has tried to take this World Championship before from a man who is barely fit to lick my boots...ICE Beckmen. Grayson promised that he would walk out of that match as your World Champion, but he failed to do so, instead eating the pin that he promised to dish out!

"Then he let loose from his mouth that he would be the Greatest United States Champion in WSeaF history...yet another area where Grayson Pierce failed you. You could say I robbed him, that I handed that victory to Mikey on a silver platter...but this is a cut throat world we live in, and Grayson just HAD to learn that lesson the hard way. This world will chew you up and spit you out...and well, I'm its jaws. The ocean is my mandible, and BOI! You're thirty thousand leagues below sea level.

“Then, he made a promise to his wife that he would keep theirs safe in this world...but there are some things that are just out of your control, aren't there? That didn't turn out so well for you, did it Grayson?

"Among all the lies that Grayson has touted, none of them even come close to him believing that he is - somehow - a better human being than me. That he stands higher than me on an evolutionary scale, that he possesses the mythical 'heart' and 'honor' everyone keeps talking about. But strip away the fancy flair, and you have me. The man Grayson claims to hate: a drug addict.

"He couldn't even fall off the horse because he was glued to the saddle. This man ate vicodins like they were gummy worms. It started off harmless enough, taking them to curb the pain from damage sustained in the ring...but then it began to consume him faster than he could consume them. Eventually he was taking them to dull the senses and numb his emotional pain. Probably from spending time with the father who abandoned and disowned him as a child. Sounds like something that would pop up if you Google 'drug addict'. It's everyone's story and it doesn't make you anything special Grayson.

"And now you have a new addiction, Grayson. One you can't shake as easily as your kindergarten painkiller abuse...bit that's a story for a different time.

"You think you know pain, Grayson? You think you know suffering? Those feelings will pale in comparison to what I'm going to bring to your front door and put you through at One. You'll beg for your father's brand of torture once I start up with you come Sunday. Kiss your women goodbye Grayson...because you WILL NOT be the same after One."

*buzz-static*
CLYHNHK-RREGGSGSERT

---

Part I: Leven and the Owls

Leven woke from his slumber, hacking up a lung as he did.. Exhausted limbs and a dried sliver of drool running down his chin told him that it had been medically enduced. He pinched the sleep from his eyes and climbed off a uncomfortable bunk. His legs buckled underneath him and he fell to his knees, crashing into the cold concrete floor below. He crawled towards the only light pouring in the room through a small hole in the door.

Using the bed railing, he climbed to his feet and peered through the reinforced glass. All he could see in the dimly lit hallway was more doors that - he imagined - matched the one he was currently behind. He looked around as long as he could for any signs of life, but none came into view. He reached for the door handle, pushed it down...and to his surprise, the door creaked open in front of him. The air wafted into his large nostrils, reeking of a very familiar smell...

Death.

Leven stepped out into the hallway, keeping to the shadows, and scanned up and down the hallways. No noise came from anywhere nearby, other than the frantic scramble of the man's beating heart. It pounded against his breast bone as he quietly edged out of the hallway and around a corner. He saw a staircase down the way - and with the agility belying his size – crossed the room and ascended the stairs.

His eyes had become adjusted to the dark, and now he no longer felt like the prey...he was the hunter once more, and again he was on the prowl. He ducked to the floor as he came to a low hanging observation window, where a pair of whispering voices floated through. Leven quietly tip-toed underneath, passing by unnoticed by those on watch. He silently opened a door on the opposite side of the hall and slipped through as slumberous as a specter.

He found himself in some sort of antechamber, lit only by a single candle burning in the middle of a table. It looked like the occupants of the room had only just cleared out, as the candle burned at half mass, and half eaten plates of food remained on the table. Leven quickly scarfed down half a chicken leg and drank a half carafe of water before moving on. His mind was a great asset, but he needed to rebuild his strength to keep an edge in this foreign territory.

He grabbed a knife from the table and put his back to the wall as another pair of voices whistled by the door. The click of the handle granted them entrance. They began clearing the table, but the man made quick work of the two as he jabbed the knife into the base of one of their skulls. He slumped to the ground as the other turned to Leven with a look of true horror on his face. Leven grabbed the man by the neck and twisted it roughly and the satisfying snap put the robed man on the ground. He pulled the knife out of the man's head and went on his way.

He pushed the door open in front of him...and now found himself inside the grand chamber itself...

But this one wasn't empty.

At the head of the room sat a hooded figure in a throne carved from stone, his legs pushed out in front of him and his arms dangling over the side. Leven would have thought he was dead, if he hadn't immediately raised his hands in front of him and started clapping.

“I was wondering when you would be joining us Leven!” a voice cut through the chamber like a hot knife in butter, “Nikita...Minerva...seize him.”

Two pairs of hands grabbed Leven around his thick biceps, but he tore out of one's grip. He whipped around on the spot and went for a right hook, but one nimbly dodged and reached their back leg up around their back, kicking Leven directly in the face. His vision blurred as the other went for a roundhouse, planting the heel of her boot in Leven's jawbone. He hit the ground as the other one mounted him, flipped him over with her legs, and started choking him from behind. He started to fade out again, slipping into unconsciousness...

“Enough!” the voice shouted again, “He went through all this trouble...he at least deserves an explanation. I can't talk to him if you keep knocking him out. Bring him to me at once!”

The grabbed him under his arms once more, this time dragging him on his chest along the floor towards the throne. They tossed Leven at the man's feet and planted their boots into his back, keeping him down on the floor, but the man on the throne cleared his throne.

“Stand him up, damn it”, his voice sounded off, annoyed, as if he were already growing tired with the whole situation, “We're both men. We should talk like men do. Face to face.”

The two heaved Leven to his knees and kept him upright.

“Leven, right?” the hooded man asked.

Leven kept his mouth shut tight.

“Why am I asking? I know it's Leven. I have a dossier on you already. I keep a dossier on everyone I meet. It's only the professional thing to do. Part of my manifesto, as it's called. My grand Magnum Opus!”

The hooded man reached his arms wide and high, as if he were shouting this information to the world. He stood out of his seat, placing his hands on the arm rests to assist him. He slowly walked towards Leven, pacing a circle around him. Leven's eyes followed him everywhere he went, anticipating death at any moment. It didn't come, and the idea of waiting for it became a cruel agony. The half eaten drumstick felt like a pittance for a last meal, and Leven found himself wishing for a slow boiled pot of gator soup.

“Wh-why don't y...you ju-just kill me?” Leven asked, his voice exhausted and exasperated.

The hooded man laughed, a high pitched laughter that seemed to fill the chamber around them. Leven shook his head as the man rounded in front of him.

"Kill you?!" the hooded man exclaimed, "Why would I want to kill a man with such extraordinary talents?"

Leven's glare wavered, as if he didn't want the conversation to flow in this particular direction.

"Wh-what talents?" Leven asked, his strength fading.

The hooded man bent down right in front of Leven and set his hand on his cheek. Leven still couldn't see the face of the man, or if he even had a face at all. He found himself in a state he wasn 't often in...fear.

"You're a killer, Leven", the hooded man whispered, and even that seemed to carry throughout the chamber, reverberating off of every nook and cranny.

Leven tried to meet the man's gaze, but the light of his eyes weren't visible underneath the hood.

"I'm no killer", Leven replied.

The hooded man hawked a guttural laugh, throwing his hands up as he did.

"Then how do you explain the decaying bodies we found in your cabin, Leven? And my two apostles that you made short work of in the mess room?"

Leven licked his chops, recalling the moment he took thier lives...but it was not out of malice, or some deep seated emotional damage, that he killed these people.

"I didn't kill them", Leven replied, a single tear dripping from his dry, red eyes, "I set them free."

"Free from what?" the hooded man asked, his morbid curiousity suddenly piqued.

"You know what's coming", Leven spat, "You wouldn't have brought me here if it weren't for the Prophecy. I know who you people are. My father spoke of you, and what you would do."

"Then tell me...", the hooded man started, "...did William also tell you of your brother's role in all this?"

Leven's gaze shifted, and suddenly the massive man was trying to choke back a flood of tears.

"Please...leave Wade out of this", Leven pleaded, "He has no idea what he's gotten himself into. He isn't the Harbinger, and you know it."

The hooded man laughed once again and Leven's gut wrenched like a knife jabbed into his abdomen.

"Do you question my knowledge of the Prophecy, Leven?" he asked, "Or do you think I'm just that stupid?"

Leven didn't speak. He knew what Wade's role in the Prophecy was. His father had drilled it into his brain ever since he was born and he was realized the Prophecy. That's why their father had always been harder on Wade. He was trying to break his spirit, make him consider himself sub-human...like he didn't deserve to live on this planet with the rest of them.

That's why Leven couldn't take part in this twisted game where the fate of the human race hung in the balance. So he left...and by proxy, left Wade to fend for himself against their father. Their mother was kind...but that was only a weakness, and she left too. That's when Wade needed Leven the most, but he had already abandoned him long before, just as the world at large had. Wade didn't even know he had a brother.

So Leven kept an ecer watchful eye on Wade, always attempting to set him far and apart from the people who would wish him dead...or worse, the ones who would have him fulfill their Prophecy. He was the Arbiter. The right hand of the Harbinger; the Celestial Shark.

Leven decided what he needed to do. He knew had not a role to play in the Prophecy, but Prophecy's had always been considered more of guidelines instead of eventual fate. Leven knew this, and so for years he had derailed the success of the Prophecy as much as he could. He killed people so they would not know the pain and suffering the Grey's would unleash upon humankind. He was saving the world by letting it die. It was the only way he knew how.

But now he was only one man...in the hands of those who would wish to fight the Grey's...but he wouldn't let them hurt Wade. He was the only person left in this world that Leven cared about, even if Wade didn't reciprocate - or even knew of his existance.

"Are you done resisting Leven?" the man asked, "Or should I have Minerva here snap your neck?"

Leven considered letting Minerva kill him...but he needed to know what fate bestowed his brother, and he couldn't do that from the bottom of a dirt hole.

"I will...I will help you..." Leven replied.

The hooded man smiled, dropped down to one knee, and threw his hood back - revealing the megalomaniacal face of WSeaF owner Seth Lerch underneath.

"Good boy Leven!" He remarked while gently slapping Leven's cheek, "Your first and only mission will be to kill your brother...And if I get one inkling that you're going to betray me?"

He stood up and turned his back to Leven.

"Then I will kill you myself", he said coldly, "Do I make myself clear?"

Leven sighed.

"Crystal."

Seth nodded and walked away.

---

CLYHNHK-RREGGSGSERT
*buzz-static*

That devils recording starts up again, the gears of an old tape player whirred to life as the cycle began again. This was the part that Wade favored the most. The part where he got to take a once capable wrestler and break them down until they feel – and are – absolutely nothing.

"Damn shame what happened to your boy, Grayson. Truly, I mean it. I like kids, you know? They remind me of a more innocent, simpler time. They have their whole lives ahead of them. Full of hope. Full of promise. Maybe – if they're lucky – they won't end up like us, right? I guess Teddy won't really end up like anyone, considering. Not really his fault. It's just the way the cards have fallen.

“Hey Grayson, ever hear of Munchausen by Proxy? It's a serious mental disorder and deception tactic that someone typically uses to their advantage to gain attention or sympathy from others. Results in these instances are usually...fatal. All those poor kids. Murdered by their parents out of a need to feel important, somehow. I don't know if it's impotence, or an inability to kindle something for themselves?

“Wait? You thought I was talking about you? No, no...not the innocent Grayson Pierce, right? Can't be. After all, he's the 'face' of the WSeaF? Good guys don't do horrible things like that, do they?

“Then why are you so hot around the ears, Pierce? Why is the back of your neck burning red? Is it because I have to be out of my mind to even insinuate something so terrible?! Or maybe it's because I brought Teddy into this to begin with? I mean...he has no place in all of this right? Why bring your dead infant into the ring – metaphorically speaking, of course.

“I guess I asked the right person...because what the fuck does that have to do with anything come Sunday Night? Why do you feel the need to consistently bring it up? It couldn't be because you're trying to draw sympathy, could it? Why else would somebody mention their dead child every nine seconds unless they're really trying to drive that point home?

“Or maybe...we should be asking that wife of yours? Kat? That's her name, right? Now think about this for a while, and let this burn into your mind: how well do you really know her? You're out traveling the road about ninety-five percent of the year...and up until a few months ago, you weren't even around her. You didn't even know you had a son...if he ever was your son. It's a funny thing women like to do...

“They like to fucking lie, Gray. Can I call you Gray? I feel like we're at that point in our relationship already? I digress, though. These women...they'll lie to you. Women of this world...they measure you up. They size you up by what they can take from you...and you're pretty well off. You're a decent wrestler, I guess. A former United States Champion...and before that, you were doing pretty great as a Trio's Champion with the DRG...well, not you, but something like that. Anyways, you got to cash the check...and she smelled blood in the water.

“A real coincidence that she decided to come back in your life? Yeah, I don't believe in coincidences. Not when it comes to matters of women, money, power, and sex. These are their real addictions. They crave it, can't get enough of it. It's euphoric, an intense high...and they get off on it too. Why else would she want to be so deeply involved in your life? She obviously doesn't care about you, Gray. She couldn't.

“Or maybe it wasn't her. You ever have a fugue state, Grayson? You ever feel like a large chunk of time just disappeared from your memory, Pierce? Wait...who the fuck am I asking? You've lived that. For the better part of a year you were going as Gemini Battle, like a different person entirely. Was that even real, Grayson? Or was it a clever ruse to systematically write off every terrible thing you've ever done? It was a red herring! A fucking Scooby Doo adventure! Take off the mask and it's the creepy old amusement park owner!

“That's bullshit, Grayson. A fucking scapegoat. You lack the gumption and consistency to own up to your actions – no matter how shortcoming they are. You're inconsistent Grayson, and you don't even know what the truth is. Without the truth, you've got nothing. What do you perceive this match to be? Do you think this is 'The Tale of Pierce'? And that I only exist to hand this belt over to you? Get fucked, Grayson you egotistical piece of shit. This isn't fantasy. Lives don't always have happy endings. You don't always get your cathartic finish. This is One. This is the house that Godnilla built.

“Where do you think this company would be if #BeachKrew hadn't come in at just the right time? The ratings would flounder because nobody wants to watch a bunch of children 'respecting' each other. They want to see men like me ruthlessly destroy men like you. Nobody cares about your 'big moment' anymore. Life is miserable, and the people in it are too. Misery loves company.

“They want to watch you suffer. How is it that I grew up in a fucking swamp, and I'm more in touch with what's going on with these people then you are? That's a sad state of affairs you've found yourself in. Not we, Grayson...there is no we. Just I. Wade Moor. The Leviathan. Godnilla. BROSEIDON PUNCH. Catch phrases.

“That's all you've seemed to hurl my way. You haven't managed to say anything of substance, or form a coherent thought, and drive that thought across with a few simple phrases. It took you about an hour to say 'Wade is cunning.' That's code for 'I didn't do any fucking research.' This is the One main event, Grayson. You could at least scrounge up something for the MAIN EVENT OF ONE? I mean, it's not like I've been here for five years. Just a few months. Not that hard. You seem to have a lot of time on your hands now, what with Teddy dying and all that BOI.

“But no, you sit back Pierce, and keep pretending like this is another one of your easy Slam victories. Keep thinking I'm not going to bring everything that I've got into this match this week. You thought Dune was tough? Dune doesn't care 'right now'. I don't care at all. That's the Wade Moor promise...and like I said, when I promise something:

“I keep it.”

*buzz-static*
CLYHNHK-RREGGSGSERT

---

Part II: No. Pound Works.

The hotel room was devoid of all things that indicated a large party was taking place on the block. #BeachKrew had rented out the floor, and were now throwing a rather debauchees shindig...but Wade was keeping to himself. He had a big moment coming up on Sunday – and while most of them were in the same boat – none of them carried the levity that Wade's match had. He was now the spine and jaws of #BeachKrew...and he had to keep them both intact, for the entire groups sake.

A feeling that had previously eluded him – or he had been running away from – was one that he now embraced with open arms. He felt that he could lead #BeachKrew to another round of domination now that #they had relinquished control over WSeaF. Though they no longer held the 'keys to the kingdom', they were still very much in full power over the Dub Sea – and as Wade stared at the World Heavyweight Championship sitting upon a tall round table – he knew that to be true.

Most people had brought to argument whether or not Wade had 'deserved' to win this championship, Grayson being principle among this school of thought , but Wade refuted their claims time and time again with ancient logics. It had never been about what you deserve. If everyone had measured their earnings on what they deserve, then this world would see no limit to what they think they deserve.

Wade stood up and crossed the room, gently rubbing his fingers across the smooth leather and cool metal. The nameplate on the front still read Jay Omega. He had never felt the need to get it changed. He didn't see the reason why people needed to read a nameplate to know who was the World Champion. It's the man with the big gold belt. Not too hard to find.

Most men claimed the championship belt as theirs prior to actually winning the thing. Most people wrap their entire lives around winning this World Championship...but one little title reign was a pittance compared to what you could achieve. Winning this belt was easy – as Wade had proved already. It was what came beyond it that was hard. Cutting your path, carving your legacy in your own niche of the world. The World Championship was just the key to opening that door.

Wade imagined – even if he somehow lost this match at One – that he would already be beyond the World Championship. The thick and thin of it was that Wade didn't need the World Championship for any kind of relevance. He had #BeachKrew, he had been in control of WSeaF, and now he was in the main event of One. If anyone needed this belt...it was Grayson Pierce.

'Fucking scrub', Wade thought to himself.

He grabbed the World Championship off the table and held it before him. He still had no intentions of losing this championship. It wasn't even in play. He had many more defenses before him...and this was the ticket to the highest level of competition that WSeaF had to offer. Though Wade was looking to his match on Sunday, he was already looking at competition beyond Pierce. Pierce wasn't the end all be all of this business...Wade was.

Somebody burst through the door, and Wade turned to see Dustin Beaver making out with some random college girl on Christmas break from whatever university she was flunking out of. Dustin turned to see Wade staring at the World Championship.

“Please”, Wade spoke in a cold voice, “Leave.”

Dustin stopped the girl and grabbed her by the hand.

“Come on...let's get out of here”, Dustin said and pulled the girl out of the room.

Wade watched as the two left the room, closing the door shut behind them. He had felt bad for his outburst towards Beaver on Twitter...but he needed to know that Wade was serious. Life might be one big party for the rest, but Jared, Wade, and – to an extent – Rabid were always the one making the heavy plays. Looking at the bigger picture. The rest of #BeachKrew needed to rise up to their level. That's what this match on Sunday was. It was the bigger picture. It was the second coming of #BeachKrew, and they hadn't even stopped yet.

The door opened again, and Wade turned to chastise yet another pair of people...but instead of two drunk college kids, Nikita walked through the door and closed it delicately behind her. Wade turned on his heels to face her, and noticed a fear in her eyes that had never been there before. Her features were just as beautiful as ever, and Wade guessed that was part of her mask too.

“What are you doing here Nik -”, Wade started, but he was cut off as Nikita approached him and planted a kiss right on his lips.

She ripped his shirt off and threw him on the bed. They passionately kissed on the bed...and Wade was filled with notions and feelings that had never crossed his mind. Smashing somebodies face was pretty awesome...but this was great too. She pulled his bottoms off and mounted him, thrusting her hips as elegantly as she could. She climaxed and pulled her nails down Wade's chest, causing him to finish with the force of a thousand waves.

She collapsed onto Wade's chest and rolled over on the bed. Wade only lay there, his chest heaving, with one arm and leg hanging off the edge of the bed. She rolled over and curled into his arm...which he wrapped over his delicate shoulder. He held it there for a moment until the reality of the situation sank in. Wade pushed her away, sitting himself up in the bed, and started to pull his pants on.

His chest pounded and his mind raced.

'What the hell just happened?' he thought to himself as he pulled his tank on and slipped his arms through his Hawaiian shirt.

As he sat down to pull his boots on, Nikita sat up in bed.

“Wade!”, she exclaimed, “Where are you going?”

“I'm not going!” he replied, “You are! What the hell are you doing here?”

She bit her bottom lip.

“You know why I came here”, she said as her expression shifted to one of extreme hesitation, “Wade I...”

“Don't”, Wade interjected, “Don't say it. I don't want to hear it.”

“I don't give a fuck what you WANT to hear Wade. I came here to tell you I love you.”

Wade threw her clothes on the bed and she quickly began to dress herself.

“Get the fuck out of here Nikita. I don't care.”

“Wade...you know you feel it to. You might not know exactly what you're feeling...but what you're feeling is love.”

Wade moved towards the door to leave himself, but Nikita crossed the room lightning fast and stood in the way of the door.

“I'm not leaving until you hear everything I have to say.”

Wade went to move her out of the way, but she stood her ground, steadfast as a boulder.

“Wade!” she shrieked, which caused Wade to take a step back, “Somebody is plotting to kill you.”

Wade's eyes scanned Nikita's face, looking for a sign that she was fabricating this nonsense...but her eyes never shifted and she kept full contact with him.

“What?” Wade questioned.

“There are people in this world who want you dead, Wade. They're called the Owls. They know how important you are...how dangerous you are.”

For some reason, this information seemed to comfort Wade and validate him at the same time. He took a step back, feigning exasperation...but Nikita wasn't buying it.

“Did you just get off on that?” she asked.

Wade looked up and smiled toward Nikita. He wanted to throw her down again...but the next sentence she uttered completely killed the vibe.

“Well, here's something you won't smile at...they're using your brother to do the job.”

Wade's jaw dropped as fell backwards into a chair and slung his arm over the back.

“Oh.” Wade exclaimed.

“What?” Nikita asked.

“Didn't know I had a brother”, Wade replied.

---

CLYHNHK-RREGGSGSERT
*buzz-static*

“Grayson...I have to say that you are one of the dumbest motherfuckers I have ever met. For weeks, you dodged my challenge, talking about how your measly United States Championship was going to main event the biggest event of the year. That you would walk out with that ten pound leather strap instead of this fifteen pound bad motherfucker and stand at showcase as this company's top star. That was as big a pipe dream as you have of actually winning this World's Championship off of me.

“I couldn't believe it at first, that you were denying a shot at the World Championship. I mean, I had guys literally breaking down my door to get a shot at the title, and men who would kill for a shot at it. Dune. Mikey eXtreme. Doc Henry, among some of the names. But you...were a special case. You thought you had it made with your United States Championship, but you didn't make that belt as relevant as you think you did.

“The most relevant moment you had with the United States Championship was when you dropped it to Mikey eXtreme...at my hand, of course. That moment made you, just as I've made many others careers mean something. Bonnie Blue. Preecha Kamon. SeaMAC. These are people I've made relevant, Grayson. I could make a paper bag relevant. That's how much my talent's speak for me...

“But you? You have nothing but a handful of failed title reigns that mean absolutely nothing in the long run. You think they all exist to build you up, get you ready for this main strap run...but I proved that – if you're just that fucking good – you don't need to handle all these other lesser belts. Not to discredit my teammates or anything...but this World's Championship is what everyone aims for.

“It's what I have. It's what you want. It's something you're not going to get. I'm not even defending this belt. To defend would mean that I'm actually facing somebody worthy of challenging me. Literally anyone else would have done. I'm not going to split hairs, Grayson. You're solid. Holding down that United States Championship was right up your alley, and you couldn't even do that righr...you're just too thirsty. Real champions don't 'defend' their belt. They absolutely annihilate anyone put before them.

“Is this really what the people want? To see this jaw jacking BOI spouting off catch phrases like they're breaths of fresh air? You're a kid playing a man's game, Grayson. This isn't some throwaway event man. This is ONE! Can't you feel it? You're too caught up in your own little world, and you're going to pay dearly for it.”

*buzz-static*
CLYHNHK-RREGGSGSERT