Post by Logan on Jan 29, 2016 10:04:19 GMT -5
The C4 match that transpired a few years back and the amateur surgery conducted by a robotic cat that followed after had left the end of my right leg a nub. Thanks in part to the modern age of technology, the missing foot had been replaced with an oil greased mechanic wonder. One glance at this metal bad boy underneath a sock and boot and you’d never know. Definitely increased the damage of an Impact Style – if anything. Slipping it on was nothing new. The metal foot had become routine as popping into an old shoe. A harness ran up from the fake footing and hooked over my shin to keep it secure. I was strapping up for another date with destiny, the chance to take the ball and run, and all I had to do was yank that ball away. Would it be Spencer Adams I’d have to snatch it from? Bonnie Blue? Johnny Rabid? Benjamin Atreyu? Or my old friends, Steve Orbit and Gravedigger? I wasn’t over confident. I had no intention to do the fools work and expect to come away without a doubt that I’d win. A victory never comes easy, especially in WCF. Even someone as experienced or accomplished as me still felt the need to stay competitive, and what better way to warm myself up before a big bout at Fifteen then joining a buddy at the gym. Earlier that day we decided to meet at noon sharp, and sure enough, just as he always had before – he was the early bird. His name was Bob. He had joined me before on gym work outs, someone to burn time with while you’re burning yourself. We hadn’t met in a long time, but he hadn’t aged a day. Good genes I suspected. I however can’t cringe when looking in a mirror and then seeing myself in a past WCF video highlight. Oh, how wars, blood, and rage have hardened us all – hardened right to the aching bone.
Bob: Making that big return again, yeah?
His grin found each ear.
Bob: Four hundred says you’re gone by next week, back hiding in some shack in Virginia kicking empty whiskey bottles.
That Boston accent of his could make a deaf man cover his ear
Logan: It’s different this time.
Bob: It always is. You ready to bang and clang, boy?
Gave him a nod and he followed behind me into the gym. He kept me updated on his current life events, which mostly included picking up women from bars or slinging off Tom Brady statistics.
Logan: Steve Orbit is in the match.
Bob: Damn I thought that nigga hug up his hat.
I never found my tongue licking at a chance to spit the N-word, but Boston Bob’s tongue never shied.
Logan:His hat?
Bob: Yeah… the one with the feather in it.
Logan:What’re you saying, Bob?
He collected a towel off the community gym rack. I brought my own.
Bob: You know how people say… oh, going to hang up the boots, retire and so. He hung up his hat.
Logan:Fuck his hat.
Another grin met both of his ears.
Bob: I bet you’d like to.
My lungs could not resist the air provided to unleash a groan. Orbit and I had quite an unusual history. Did I find another man attractive? No. I couldn’t say the same for a mentally broken man dawning a red wig however.
Logan:Well, I don’t think he ever retired or nothing – more of a break.
Bob: I seen the card. I know what the story is, but you brought up Steve Orbit first.
Logan:Because despite that my goals right now reach beyond Steve Orbit, we do have unfinished business. The last time we met he had the WCF championship around his waist and it was up for grabs one on one with yours truly. I had him ripped apart from head to toe and in that moment of rage filled stupidity left him outside the ring to get counted out.
Bob: And he held onto the belt because of that, because you were a dumbass.
Logan:So I’m to blame for him taking a timeout outside the ring to retain the belt? I don’t think so. I’m I to blame for WCF’s shitty rules? No. Didn’t make them – don’t like them. And that’s all that saved Steve Orbit from our last encounter – rules. I feel like the door to our chapter is wide open and I need to close it.
Bob: What is it then with Steve Orbit? Revenge?
Logan:Look at me, Bob.
Before we made the treads he stopped and did exactly as instructed.
Logan:You think an emotion as pity as revenge motives me?
Bob: Nah man… you been through the gutters of WCF, but there is something driving your attention towards Orbit.. I mean… out of everybody… he’s the first name you mentioned.
Logan:This, Bob, isn’t about revenge. It’s simply about winning and not only just the match… but winning back myself. Steve Orbit, to me, poses a threat, probably the greatest threat in the match. Winning this match that he also competes for closes the door I should have closed on him long ago. I know he wants this too. But that doesn’t matter to me… because this is the time to redo every mistake I’ve ever made these last few years. This match just isn’t about a history with Orbit, though it’s hard not to shine a light on it, but this to me, Bob, is solely about redemption.
Bob: Redemption for what? You done your fair share.
Logan:I pissed that share all away. You know what the greatest tragedy of my career was?
Bob: Dressing up like a woman?
Logan:Go fuck yourself.
Bob: You first, ‘Twilight’.
Logan:It was not retiring. That’s it. You remember 2010? When I defeated WCF hotshit, Slickie T, won that third War, and got the championship? You remember that?
Bob: Of course. I was creaming in my fuckin’ pants.
Logan:That should have been it right then and there. It was a perfect ten years, a record setting career. Nobody had anything on me. If only I went into that light and walked away… if only…
Bob: What the hell you saying man?
Logan:It was downhill after that. It wasn’t an increase in competition; the WCF had plenty of that from day one. It was me, Bob. I couldn’t let myself walk away so I let myself go; go down a hill of garbage until there came an actual time where people questioned rather or not I could even hang with an Adam Young. Who the fuck is that? Huh? That isn’t me. This is why Fifteen matters, Bob, because an opportunity exists to take everything back, redo it, right the wrongs and erase the mistakes. This dog has always been the top one, Bob, just been sleeping under an old rusted truck too long.
Bob: I think I’ve found a way.
Logan: A way to what?
Bob: Assuring victory.
Hours later we picked back up on a two line desert road. I rode passenger to Bob’s rust bucket of a 1980’s Dodge Ram. We were traveling towards his house which turned out to be a shack more rust covered than his truck. The seventeen minute track to New Orders “Elegia” hummed through the truck’s cab during the read, giving a perfect pace to the tale I would soon take through his words.
Bob: It’s not the most expensive trailer in the park.
Logan: What park?
We were alone for a span of hundreds of miles. Eventually New Order faded out in part to the lonely terrains difficulty to latch onto a signal. An ocean of sand in every direction. This place wasn’t meant for the living.
Bob: We hit the silent zone. Check your phone.
No signal.
Bob: Fasten your seatbelt.
A second after the click the belt produced after snapping in, he took the truck off the road and woke the desert dust.
Logan: Bob?
He didn’t respond. His eyes glued onto the waves of sand splashing over the windshield, trying to navigate his way through a dusty hell. I couldn’t make out any sight in front of his other than the giant rock that made us stop and sent my skull into the dash. I don’t recall how much time had passed between the dashboard forcing my eyes shut and the noise of someone jerking on the handle of the passenger door. Was that him…? My neck ached and I picked my head up and drug it towards the doors window, staring into the eyes of a man I hadn’t seen in over six years… Jack of Blades.
Logan: Jack?
Jack: Logan, it’s me.
My body felt limp from the crash but I was able to stagger out of the truck where Jack caught me and guided me along. I took a glance back to the truck finding no sign of Bob.
Logan: Where’s Bob?
He didn’t answer while he continued to help me track along through the sandstorm.
Jack: Here.
The sea of dirt parted before us revealing a staircase. I limped down the entrance while Jack followed behind.
Logan: Blades.
He pushed something, didn’t manage to see where but it sealed the overhead opening shut and lightening sparked, flickered, and then gave us light. Jack walked past me. I grabbed at his arm.
Logan: Blades!
I hadn’t seen this man in a long time. I honestly thought he was dead. He seemed to be captured in an emotionless state while he signaled me to follow, and I did. We walked down a corridor made of steel hidden beneath the desert. Finally confronting a dead end, Jack held his hand against the wall and the blockade in front of his seemingly slid open. The room held a row of standing glass test tubes begin enough for a man – big enough for Jack of Blades. He walked into an opened tube and casually stood in place. The tube closed, as did his eyes.
Logan: Jack?!
My fist slammed into the heavy glass that trapped him. His stare never drifted. His face never expressing any concern. I looked up above his human test tube to see a plate engraved with the name, ‘Jack of Blades’. Was this really him? Then another test tube beside his… and another… all empty and nameless.
Bob: You were already the legend by the time you first met.
He appeared next to my side, a slight cut on his head indicated he had left the crash and made it down here before I awoke. He looked over the Jack of Blades tube while he spoke to me.
Bob: Perhaps your dearest ally and deadliest enemy… back in the flesh!
Logan: What…?
Bob: He’s AI. I’m not entirely sure where the real Jack of Blades is… or if he’s even alive.
Logan: That isn’t real?
Bob: He’s quite real. A prototype really. I haven’t exactly fingered the personality down yet.
Logan: I don’t think Jack himself ever did either.
Bob: He’s all for your benefit, Logan. I’m building a resurrection down here to aid your redemption. I’ve even begun an AI version of yourself so we can eliminate any potential future injuries from crippling your chances of competing and recommencing your legacy. With Jack of Blades, yourself, we can take back your past and bring it to fight for the future.
Logan: Never been a big fan of machines.
Bob: You do not approve? The process would’ve been much faster had I not run out of funds. That’ s why you have to succeed for Fifteen and beyond, Logan. Bringing your legend back to light will re-oil that merchandise machine and get us running again. Imagine the spike in sales of a SHUT UP T-shirt with Logan World Champion in 2016. Who would’ve ever thought? With those funds I can properly finish Jack and a very own version of yourself. Just imagine a Logan in WCF that never ages or gets hurt. Not only would you smash the nail in the coffin of having the most legendary career WCF could produce, but the revenue would flow for many, many years to come.
Logan: And me?
Bob: You sit back in the shadows and let the AI Logan continue to build your legacy.
Logan: This…
My eyes followed over the sleeping grave of Jack’s soulless body.
Logan: … is below even me.
Bob: How could you say that? It’s everything you’ve ever talked about. Your path to redemption begins here!
Logan: From the shadows, letting lifeless AI do the dirty work while I keep my hands clean? No. You misunderstood. WCF will be mine again, it will, and this time I’ll do things differently, but it will be mine for the taking… not a machines. It’ll be my hands that are covered in blood. The fight is the only purpose I have to keep me alive and without it I might as well already be dead.
Bob: But, Logan…
Logan: Cancel the operation.
Bob: At least give it tim –
Logan: Shut it down, Bob.
A few days had passed. I was invited to a charity ball, aimed at helping adults suffering from PTSD attributed specifically to the traumatic experiences of naive children who once were Gravedigger fans. To some extent I myself created this organization and it had finally come to fruition to bear its very own Ball. I hadn’t worn a tuxedo in years, but I admit… I felt comfortable in it. Damn comfortable.
Logan: My thanks.
I stood behind the podium on the stage, looking over a formally dressed audience taking up the entire ball room. Everyone here was a victim in one sense or another to the vicious tyranny of Gravedigger. Long boring promos in the ring, over exposure to WCF television, and now a leach to our ears every Sunday night.
Logan: I dearly thank you all for asking me to speak tonight. I know that perhaps without my contributions to the ‘DiggerBoys’, the poor children innocent children who knew any better during his rise to fame, then maybe none of you would have a chance to heal. But tonight we celebrate the Digger Boys that have healed and the ones that WILL heal.
Applause erupted within the ball room.
Logan: You’ve all grown since those bitter 2004 days. I’ve read the e-mails, Boys, I’ve opened the letters. Some of are you still wake in the night in cold sweats from dreams of Gravedigger carrying a WCF championship and filling your eyes with generic messages over and over. I am here to tell you, Digger Boys, those dreams will never reach the light of reality… NOT ON MY WATCH!
Digger Boys: LO-GAN! LO-GAN! LO-GAN!
I raised my hands to calm them.
Logan: Please, please, please. It’s my duty to each and everyone one of you poor souls who still suffer from post-traumatic Gravedigger disorder. The healing will begin, Digger Boys, it shall, and after I’ve finally knocked the last peg off ole man Digger and put him to rest… we can all finally rest.
I loosened up a bit, stepping off the podium and onto the stage with the microphone and letting its cord drag behind.
Logan: We’ve all heard the old man jokes haven’t we? Of course. But here’s one more…
Tugged at my tuxedo collar a little nervously before executing.
Logan: You know why Gravedigger really got the job for announcing? The guy loves to sit because he can barely fuckin’ stand from all the times I’ve beaten him!
Huge applause erupted for yours truly.
Logan: Heh. Heh. What does a Gravedigger get for crossing the road?
I let the Digger Boys chatter amongst themselves in anticipation of the punchline.
Logan: His walker.
Another pause followed and then…
Logan: After I stick it right up his ass and send that limp old fuck packing to Connector City at Fifteen!
With the applause came my bow. Roses were thrown to my feet along with numerous panties. Once it died down, I retook my more serious place back behind the podium.
Logan: And now, Digger Boys, for tonight’s entertainment I bring you a guest to perform a very special song for us.
Stepping aside, I clapped for the appearance of Katherine Phoenix as she made her way out from the side stage and onto the main one wearing a rather gorgeous pink dress. The lights dimmed within the ball after all the hooting and hollering stopped. I took my place at the stages black Grand Piano. Katherine turned to me with a microphone in her hand.
Katherine: This song is dedicated to tonight’s host, Logan. Thank you for everything you’ve done to support the innocent victims suffering from post-traumatic Gravedigger disorder.
She nodded to me and I nodded back, my fingers tapping over keys to begin song.
Katherine: You’ve seen the world,
Done it all, had my snatch now,
War wins, brilliant, and Five-Time now,
Hot summer nights, mid-July,
When you and I were forever wild,
The crazy days, the arena lights,
The way you’d place with me like a child
Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful,
Will you still love me when I can no longer make sandwiches,
I know you will, I know you will,
I know that you will,
Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful
You’ve seen the world, lit it up as your stage now,
Channeling boudles in, the new age now,
Hot summer days, rock and roll
The way you’d wrestle for me at the show,
And all the ways I got to know,
Your pretty face and electric soul
Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?
I chimed in, killing the piano noise.
Logan: Not in the slightest chance.
She balled her fists and planted them into her hips.
Katherine: Logan!
The audience laughed after such a heart warming moment. I stood from the bench of the Grand Piano, joining Katherine by her side.
Logan: Ladies and gentlemen, Katherine Phoenix. Anything you’d like to say about Oblivion?
Katherine: Yes! That ungrateful –
Logan: Shut it, whore. Save it for your own promo.
Massive laughter followed.
Taking Katherine’s hand in mine I guided her down the stage and onto the red carpet where we walked to the ball room dance floor. The actual song she mimicked moments before poured life into the speakers as we joined hands and swayed a slow dance under the ball room lights. Many audience members of the Digger Boys gathered to form a circle around us while Katherine stared into my eyes like a giddy school girl looking upon her first love.
Katherine: You said things would be different, Logan, I wanted to believe you but now… I really do. No more broken hearts or promises?
Logan: Never.
I was lying through my teeth. We didn’t have hearts to break.
Logan: WCF is ours now.
She watched me in silence while we swayed.
Logan: Redemption comes to me at Fifteen. It begins there.
Katherine: And Gravedigger?
Logan: I’m the least worried about. To be honest I only thrown this ball to make fun of the sorry bastard.
Katherine: These… Digger Boys… aren’t real?
Logan: Oh no, surprisingly enough this organization actually exists. I can’t imagine how emotionally sensitive someone would have to be in order to be affected by Gravedigger in such a way. Post traumatic Digger disorder is a legitimate medical condition.
Katherine: Wow.
Logan: No need to worry your pretty gigantic head about this. Gravedigger poses zero threat to me. There may’ve been a time, a mere second that he once was a great competitor but those days have longed passed. Some people age quicker than others. Gravedigger is one of them. He’s literally like the opposite of Wolverine. Yes, if he were in a comic book he’d be the mutant that sat around rambling and gaining wrinkles by the second. The man we see today has a backup plan for his inevitable defeat, and that’s walking back to the announcers booth – if surprisingly possible – and plopping his old wrinkled rear back down to ramble on about glory days while trying to call his way through another match without having a heart attack. I will find a way to make WCF whole again and full of nothing but people paying attention to me. I will make sure not to only become the World Champion, but to bring back my political power. It does not matter how it will be accomplished. I will make sure Gravedigger never puts on another headset to bleed our ears. Gravedigger, for all intents and purposes, will be forgotten and erased from the history books of WCF. That time will come. My redemption will come, and Gravedigger’s will finally end. That is the way it shall be, dear Kathy.
Katherine: I like it. Everything. Especially erasing Gravedigger’s name from the halls of WCF. How will you do it?
Logan: Rome wasn’t built in a week. By the way, what did you think of Bob? Once things are in place I’m thinking of him becoming my head of security. Being World Champion certainly puts a target on ones back you know.
Katherine: Bob?
Logan: Yes. The other day we all met for lunch and discussed his AI program.
Katherine: What?
Logan: You don’t remember?
Katherine: I do. You and I met for lunch, Logan, and you were the one babbling on about robots… I honestly had no idea what you were talking about.
Logan: You fool. He was sitting right beside you.
Katherine: We were alone, Logan…
My brain swelled with confusion. Either she was pulling my leg or…
Katherine: Who knows, man? I ate like five pounds of skittles that day so maybe I just blanked him out.
Yes. Of course. Why would I trust her judgment anyway? No reason to begin questioning myself. She was simply a dimwit. Surprised she even functioned enough to sing that song earlier without going on a lunatic rant. I felt reassured.
Logan: Much like Gravedigger this party has gotten stale and old.
I left as quickly as I entered. The ride home provided me time to reflect back on the history Gravedigger and I shared.
Logan: When do we first meet, old dog? I know myself it was at least a decade plus ago. You see, the thing to me though, Gravedigger, is that you’re quite different than myself. I’ve been here longer than even you, but yet you have come the butt of the old man jokes, which is perfectly fine with me, Gravedigger. You know why? Because you never bring anything fresh to the table. Excluding your small stint as the man in the mask, Hector, everything else has literally been the same story over and over. You were already an old man by the time you entered WCF. Me? Let me explain why you and I aren’t on the same level. It’s true that I’ve been here a little longer than you, which is crazy to think in this companies storied history, but it’s true. I have. I’ve been here longer than any wrestler ever. The thing is Gravedigger, I was the one who transpired and competed with all generations, and by competed I mean actually win matches. You had a moment here or there but most of the highlights of your career span during times I was fired from WCF or off playing owner with Seth Lerch. The fact of the matter is, Gravedigger, that we both know what separates us from this match at Fifteen is that you’re there for the nostalgia pop, and I’m there to win it. You will lose and carry your retired ass back to the announcers table to call and watch my redemption as it unfolds, and as I take WCF back for myself.
A night passed by and brought in a new day. I met with Bob in Mesa near a strip mall.
Bob: You know the other day about how I was on with Steve Orbits hat?
Logan: Yeah.
That damn accent of his.
Bob: Nobody really knows who Steve Orbit… I mean, we see him, but do we really know?
Logan: The hell are you talking about?
Bob: To beat Steve Orbit you got to know Steve Orbit – that kinda thing.
Logan: I know Steve Orbit is a bitch that squeaked by our last match when he let himself get counted out. I know that much for sure.
Bob: No, you got to go pimp. Dress up like one, get some hookers. I even found a few bitches on Craigslist.
Logan: No way. Never.
An hour later I was standing on the sidewalk with Bob, wearing a purple fuckin’ hat, purple velvet west, slacks, even a fancy walking stick.
Bob: Now you got to refer to yourself in third person.
Logan: Why?
Bob: All pimps refer to themselves in third person. Try it.
Logan: You got Logan’s money?
Bob: No, no… throw ‘daddy’ in front of it.
Logan: You got Daddy Logan’s money?
Bob: And bitch at the end.
Something came over me and I slapped the spit out of Bob’s mouth.
Logan: You got Daddy Logan’s money ya whack ass whore?
Bob: You’re ready.
The women off Craigslist arrived within a few minutes. I knew this was at least how Orbit got his start, pimping, probably sold crack too. I didn’t know rather or not this would bring me any closer to understanding Steve Orbit, even if I wanted to, but it was amusing nonetheless.
Candy: My name is Candy.
Logan: You can… you WILL call me Daddy.
Candy: Piece of cake, Daddy.
Logan: Actually let’s go with Daddy Treachery.
Candy: Got it.
Logan: Let’s bounce, bitch.
The camera slowed down on us, giving us a slow motion capture down the sidewalk while I adjusted my purple hat with the feather in it, pushing my cane out in front of me with every step, swagging the joint up. Staying alive.
Logan: You know where Daddy can score himself some crack?
She reached inside her shorts pulling a wet baggie out of them with a white rock inside.
Candy: Right here, Daddy.
For some reason I assumed Steve Orbit sold crack, maybe at one point. Maybe he did.
Logan: You changing your name.
Candy: Whatcha goin’ call me?
Logan: Candy Orbit. But I’m probably just going to call you Orbit. So, you ready to go make Daddy Treachery some bills, Orbit?
Candy: Yes, Daddy.
Logan: Go on then, bitch. Get that ass moving, Orbit, and make Logan some dough.
She shuffled up to a corner doing her thing. I slipped out a fat cigar from my inner vest. I figured pimps smoked cigars… seemed like something they might do. I liked the taste either way.
Logan: I don’t feel a second closer to you, Steve Orbit. Don’t think I ever wanted to really. You and I have a strange history, maybe thanks to my part, but it exists nonetheless. I can’t erase the past. We both know what happened. I was seeing imaginary serpents, transformed myself into believing I was Sarah Twilight and came after you night and day. I almost murdered your therapist and in the end I went away to the nut house for quite some time. You on the other hand? You blossomed. My fit of insanity literally pushed you into the spotlight. You never once thanked me. Never. You owe me your jumpstart, shit, maybe your career. Did that over occur to you? Is that ignorant of me to blame your success on myself? Maybe. Probably. The fact is, Steve, you made it big when I wasn’t around. You know what happened the last few times you and I shared a ring? The shit has never gone your way. Matter of fact the last time you and I battled it out, it didn’t go your way not even an ounce. I had you on the ropes, it was like Apollo Creed getting murdered in the ring, but luckily for you the bell saved your ass and you got yourself counted it before I could finish the deed. You remember how one sided it was. You might not admit it. But we were both there and I held nothing back. What makes you think things are going to be different for Fifteen, Steve Orbit? There are no count outs this time. You have nowhere to hide this time, no stable to back you up, nothing to run to for protection. It isn’t just you and I here, Orbit, there are others and they will be addressed. But we both know now is finally the time that I slam the door on your face. You had a great chapter in WCF’s history, Orbit, you really did. It was impressive. Things are different now. I’m different now. I’m not running around in a red wig. You’re not another bitch boy in another super group of egos. It’s you and I with no one in our corners. We’re fighting, at least I am, for more than the right to say who is the better man in the Orbit versus Logan saga, because to me I already gained the upperhand in our book, but this… this cements it. We’re fighting for just THE CHANCE to both take WCF back for ourselves. We both know this isn’t another Sunday Slam appearance, this is fifteen years bottled up and ready to explode, and for the better part of those fifteen years I have been the most dominate figure that ever stood. You see, Orbit, you’re just here for the ride, but Fifteen to me is something different… it’s a celebration of how far we’ve come, and how far you and I have come. Do you realize that, Steve Orbit? Do you take it for granted? Don’t you get it man… this Sunday, at a PPV named Fifteen to celebrate fifteen years; you’re going in a match with a wrestler who wrestled at the very first WCF PPV. This isn’t me talking shit, Orbit. This is real. I’ve endured more than you ever will in WCF. My class room of WCF I started in doesn’t even exist anymore. The people are gone, not the type of show up once a year gone, they’ve fuckin’ vanished. I hadn’t seen my first WCF friend, Cyrus, in eight years. I haven’t seen my first enemy, Hellz Angel, in nine. Everyone from the very first era of WCF hasn’t been heard from since before you even started wrestling here. I am all that remains of the originals. Shit, Creeping Death didn’t even come along until the THIRD War. I had already been in two of those motherfuckers. He isn’t no original. He’s just an old washed up fuck that hangs on the nuts of the newer guys to try and keep up some kind of status. Jonny Fly is going have his way with him at Fifteen and that’ll be that. No more fucktard. Our match doesn’t have anything to do with them, of course. I’m just trying to explain to you something that maybe you haven’t come to appreciate it – you’re facing the past of WCF AND the future. Nobody here will hold a candle to what I will do, becoming the only man to endure every injury, every humiliation, every bitter defeat, and keep coming back time after time. But this just isn’t a comeback, Steve Orbit, this isn’t a one and done. I’m in this for the long haul. I always have been. That’s why after I win at Fifteen I’m going to sit your ass down and tell you what’s going to happen. Rather you like it or not, you’d be good for my plans.
Candy came running back with a few bucks in her hand. Literally that’s it, just a few one dollar bills.
Logan: Who the hell did you suck off, Seth Lerch?
I slapped the bills out of her hand.
Logan: Orbit, you worthless shit.
Candy: I tried, Daddy. I really did.
Logan: Not hard enough.
And then I slapped her.
Candy: Daddy Treachery I am so sorry!
Logan: You think I like treating you like this, Orbit? You think I want to treat you like a low down bitch? I don’t want to, but you forced me to do this.
Candy: No, Daddy Treachery, no!
Logan: Should have picked a better dick to suck, Orbit.
I didn’t hold back. To be honest I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, dressed up in some Halloween pimp costume, beating a girl on a public sidewalk with my cane, but hey… it was better than anything else I planned for the day.
Logan: Take the cane. It belongs to Daddy Treachery. You got me, Orbit? You’re just a bitch that ain’t good for nothing but beating on.
By this point she was unconscious and I’d probably go to jail if I didn’t wrap this up and hit the road, so I finished the task at hand, taking out my pecker and pissing on her.
Logan: Closest you’re ever going to get to gold again, Orbit.
My yellow piss wetted her swollen closed eyes. Maybe she was better off this way and this would teach her a life lesson on how dangerous tricking was. Maybe she’d turn things around. Yes. I justified beating her to a pulp and pissing on her by the odd chance that her life would work out for the better afterwards.
Logan: Take a bath, Orbit.
After my escape, if that’s what you’d like to call it, I met back up with Bob in the desert. Obviously he wasn’t listening when I told him to shut down the AI program, and he brought me back out in an attempt to reassure me. It was interesting; interesting enough to travel back out there with him. We were back in the underground laboratory. The Jack of Blades he built seemed so damn lifelike, let’s just say it looked real enough to bring back memories.
Logan: Another relic of the past.
I said looking over the Jack of Blades model. I knew like so many of the others that joined me and bled for me in the Team of Treachery days would never be seen again. They were either dead or living another life. I was all that remained.
Logan: If he were here today… if the real Jack of Blades were here… I wonder what’d he say about all of this.
I looked down to the empty capsules that had yet to be completed. A few names like Lawnmower Jones, JJ Biggs, Cyrus, and other former comrades were etched above man sized test tubes.
Logan: We can’t rebuild the past. It isn’t that simple, Bob.
Bob: With this technology though… it’s possible.
Logan: Those were different times. We were young. When you’re young you don’t think about the person you’ll be ten years down the road. You just assume things will work out, but they didn’t. We didn’t. We bled week in and week out. And as much as I looked up to him…
I literally looked up to the Jack of Blades AI.
Logan: He betrayed me.
Bob: Why?
Logan: He gave up fighting. He seen the world WCF offered, and it was too much for someone as intelligent and cold as him. He left me here.
Bob: WCF has the archives and with it I can rebuild the identity of Jack of Blades. Bring him back, Logan. I can bring them all back. Jones, Cyrus…
Logan: We fought to change WCF from its over exposure of Torture and the path it was leading to. We even disbanded his group, the New Dynasty. I thought we won the war at the time. I thought it would be over, but it only got worse as did my hatred for Torture. The WCF has only existed for me on two sole purposes, to be the best and to rid the era of Torture and his political triumph. Till this day you can still see shades of it coming through. We never truly defeated him. No. Time defeated Torture. And just like time, it has a past, and bringing back the past isn’t going to change the future.
Bob: These were your top comrades. Your buddies. Your warriors. Why not? I can program them to the point that nobody would even know they weren’t real.
Logan: They don’t bleed… they won’t bleed for me. The past is best off not being remembered, especially in WCF. It’s a bitter truth everyone here has to deal with at one point. Maybe they think they were better when things went their way. I don’t need these AI’s, Bob, I can build a future without them.
Bob: Why not reclaim the past, Logan? Nobody else in this federation holds the mantel of doing so more than you.
Logan: Because we never succeeded. Even with the disbandment of New Dynasty, even with every single test tube in this lab holding every championship WCF had at the time – we were never top dogs. We were just mutts, fighting to exist as the bad apples in WCF. There has to be more than just being a stable, Bob. We never had purpose. Repeating the past will only repeat mistakes. I’m fighting for the future, a future where a bad guy or good guy doesn’t have to be one or the other to fight for what they believe in. I want to bring people together for a cause we can all fight for.
Bob: And what’s the cause?
Logan: Redemption. Self-respect. Making sure things like Torture can never happen again. I don’t need your AI. This, Bob, is a fight much different than any computer could ever calculate.
Bob: What about Bonnie Blue?
Logan: Haven’t talked to her.
Bob: She has seen the future. Hell, she’s from it.
Logan: So she says.
Bob: You don’t believe her?
Logan: It’s a leap.
Bob: Not buying it?
Logan: We need more answers. Just because someone claims to be from the future doesn’t mean they are. Do you know how many nuts have strolled the halls of WCF? Too many to keep count.
Bob: We need those answers, Logan. It’ll help us with our own future.
Logan: It is intriguing. I’ll admit that. But nothing she could say would convince me she was… to be honest.
Bob: Not even predicting your own future?
Logan: I don’t need a prediction, Bob. I control my own fate from here on out. We don’t need Bonnie, but I’ll talk to her after Fifteen. It’d be foolish not to question her.
Bob: She may just hold the answers. If you don’t want to work with the AI then maybe Bonnie is the key to discovering how you should approach WCF in 2016.
Logan: Bob… we have to destroy this.
Bob: What?
Logan: The past.
His face fell into his hands.
Bob: The work, Logan. I’ve spent years!
I laid my hand over his shoulder.
Logan: Jack… he was a good man, a mentor, a friend. He taught me a lot.
He began to sniffle.
Logan: Jack of Blades is dead. Jones, Cyrus… the Team of Treachery is dead. Nothing but more than memories. They no longer need me and we’ll never need them anymore.
I reached down grabbing the charge cord to Jack of Blades crypt.
Logan: ‘Meet you halfway, Jack.’
And I ripped the cord from the tube. I knew he was nothing more than AI, but watching his fake fleshly eyelids hop up and down brought my own eyes to water. I placed my hand against the test tube.
Jack of Blades: Jack versus God… this time it’s personal!
My head sank.
Jack of Blades: Remember when we did it? Before it was consider cool for main event One opponents to become tag team champions going into the show?
Logan: We did it first, Jack.
Jack of Blades: The anatomy of Jack of Blades. I care little for children. Brain section two behind the eighth.
Logan: … Jack.
Jack of Blades: Defeat Torture. Without you, Logan, the WCF will fall into the same path of Adam Sandler movies. No substance you see.
I grinned through the sorrow.
Jack of Blades: Promo number eighty-seven. Burying HIV needles in a school yard sandbox. Commence. Logan?
I knew it was only AI, but it drew me in. I couldn’t help it.
Logan: I’m here.
He raised his hand onto the test tube to meet mine, only an inch of glass separating touch.
Jack of Blades: You must defeat Torture.
Logan: That doesn’t matter anymore, Jack. He’s defeated himself. The WCF no longer accepts Torture like they once used to. We won, Jack.
Jack of Blades: How comforting. Ha! Ha! Ha! The tides have turned.
Logan: They did, Jack. This is a different world. We no longer fight to enthrone, we fight for ourselves.
Jack of Blades: Jones, he’s marrying the love he picked out at Lowes. We must not be late. Hurry. Logan, my internal core is bleeding. I need charge. You must help me, Logan. Energy is required for me to live.
Logan: …
Jack of Blades: Logan promo three eighty six, Expired Youth. Do you remember my response?
Logan: ‘Above our times.’
Jack of Blades: Above our times, Logan. I hadn’t head such a view in ages. Malfunction. Team of Treachery, Logan, Lawnmore Jones, Jack of Blades, JJ Biggs, Shuan Se –
Logan: Jack?!
Jack of Blades: Meet you half way.
Logan: .. JAAAACK!
His final words were.
Jack of Blades: Code seven eight. Take WCF. You’re the last tie to us all. Keep the fire lit. Logan, goodbye.
And then his eyes closed and from what I can tell he short circuited.
Logan: … Blades..
His hand slid off the glass, sliding away from mine.
Logan: You were always the best of us, rather you seen it or not. I will carry on your will. I will make your dream come true.
And then like simply flicking a switch, the AI of Jack of Blades died.
Logan: Goodbye… Jack.
I stepped away from the test tube, leaving Jack in his final resting place.
Bob: What did he fight for, Logan? What was the will of Jack of Blades?
Logan: To show how precious everything could be once it was taken away.
Bob: And you’re going to take everything away?
Logan: No, Bob. I’m going to take everything back.
Bob: The WCF?
Logan: Every little piece of it.
Bob: Are you going to find Bonnie Blue?
Logan: It’s on the agenda.
Bob: You must, Logan.
He grabbed my shoulders.
Bob: If we can’t remember the past, maybe we can discover the future. She’s the answer, Logan. Find her!
I took his hands away.
Logan: I’ll talk to her, Bob. This future I’m building is my own. She can’t change that.
A few days passed once more. Bonnie Blue was harder to find than I once assumed. Maybe she was the type that didn’t want to be found, if that was the case I’d set bait.
Logan: Bonnie Blue. You’re a hard person to reach. Maybe you’re out of reach, considering you believe you’re a mold of Reb. I don’t buy it. But my people do and I’ll do anything for them. Bonnie, it’s no secret, as you’ve discussed in your twitter, you and I meet at Fifteen. To be honest I am more interested in your ‘powers’ rather than your ability to win this match. Rather or not you’re from the future, you can’t call my will. It’s unstoppable. Even I cannot deny it. However, Bonnie, after Fifteen is up in the clouds and settles into history I have a proposition for you. As we speak there are forces unknown to you and the rest of the WCF that are coming together for a cause – you could join that cause. We want to make the WCF whole again. No more stable wars. Is that what fuels us into 2016? More stable versus stable craploads? I started this, Bonnie, with Team of Treachery. And now… Fifteen years into this history.. I’m trying to clean up the mess I created. Bonnie, this isn’t about good or bad. That no longer exists when you come to me. Right or wrong has no page in this book. We do what we have to; to ensure survival. WCF cannot have another repeat of Torture, and that’s where Wade Moor and the Beachkrew are heading. I’m not just simply creating a stable, Bonnie, I am creating a community that believes in expressing their own will. We don’t exist because we’re good or bad. We exist because we have to. Bonnie, you’re going to lose at Fifteen. I’m not trying to be harsh to you, it’s just the way it is. You can supposedly see into the future because you are the future, and because of that other than your warrior spirit you have no idea how many of my people you interest. But, Bonnie, I’m not from the future. If I was… my road to redemption would be a much easier path. But… maybe a chance exists that you are. Maybe it does. Maybe you’re the one who knows the fate of Fifteen. Me? I control my own fate. I don’t see everything as a time machine booked inside a car. You’re different, I’ll admit that, Bonnie, and after Fifteen you’ll see the way… because no matter rather we’re painted good or bad, we’re all the same. A gray area exists, even if you, even if you deny it. The WCF is changing with the times and we’re forced to change with it if we want to continue a legacy – a will. Bonnie, I have the blue prints, and hopefully you and I can sit down long enough to discuss a future – maybe one you haven’t seen. Time isn’t set in stone. Things are constantly changing as speak. People have died and people have been born since I mentioned your name seconds ago. We live in the world of the NOW, not the future, but together… I think you and I can build a future that even the WCF never foresaw. We can build not just a stable, but a nation; a nation of interest that fights for common beliefs. We don’t have to love each other, but in time, I hope that you will shed blood as I will shed blood for you in WCF and grow the respect deserved as comrades. I see nothing but potential in you, Bonnie. So please my victory as a stepping path to the future, and not stepping on your head. I do what I must to fulfill the legend of Logan, and with the legend comes stories, and with the stories becomes facts…. Facts… that we’re building a better future for the WCF? Bonnie, will you be a part of that future?
The camera faded while it stared at my face. Once a face of treachery, now a face of...
Bob: Making that big return again, yeah?
His grin found each ear.
Bob: Four hundred says you’re gone by next week, back hiding in some shack in Virginia kicking empty whiskey bottles.
That Boston accent of his could make a deaf man cover his ear
Logan: It’s different this time.
Bob: It always is. You ready to bang and clang, boy?
Gave him a nod and he followed behind me into the gym. He kept me updated on his current life events, which mostly included picking up women from bars or slinging off Tom Brady statistics.
Logan: Steve Orbit is in the match.
Bob: Damn I thought that nigga hug up his hat.
I never found my tongue licking at a chance to spit the N-word, but Boston Bob’s tongue never shied.
Logan:His hat?
Bob: Yeah… the one with the feather in it.
Logan:What’re you saying, Bob?
He collected a towel off the community gym rack. I brought my own.
Bob: You know how people say… oh, going to hang up the boots, retire and so. He hung up his hat.
Logan:Fuck his hat.
Another grin met both of his ears.
Bob: I bet you’d like to.
My lungs could not resist the air provided to unleash a groan. Orbit and I had quite an unusual history. Did I find another man attractive? No. I couldn’t say the same for a mentally broken man dawning a red wig however.
Logan:Well, I don’t think he ever retired or nothing – more of a break.
Bob: I seen the card. I know what the story is, but you brought up Steve Orbit first.
Logan:Because despite that my goals right now reach beyond Steve Orbit, we do have unfinished business. The last time we met he had the WCF championship around his waist and it was up for grabs one on one with yours truly. I had him ripped apart from head to toe and in that moment of rage filled stupidity left him outside the ring to get counted out.
Bob: And he held onto the belt because of that, because you were a dumbass.
Logan:So I’m to blame for him taking a timeout outside the ring to retain the belt? I don’t think so. I’m I to blame for WCF’s shitty rules? No. Didn’t make them – don’t like them. And that’s all that saved Steve Orbit from our last encounter – rules. I feel like the door to our chapter is wide open and I need to close it.
Bob: What is it then with Steve Orbit? Revenge?
Logan:Look at me, Bob.
Before we made the treads he stopped and did exactly as instructed.
Logan:You think an emotion as pity as revenge motives me?
Bob: Nah man… you been through the gutters of WCF, but there is something driving your attention towards Orbit.. I mean… out of everybody… he’s the first name you mentioned.
Logan:This, Bob, isn’t about revenge. It’s simply about winning and not only just the match… but winning back myself. Steve Orbit, to me, poses a threat, probably the greatest threat in the match. Winning this match that he also competes for closes the door I should have closed on him long ago. I know he wants this too. But that doesn’t matter to me… because this is the time to redo every mistake I’ve ever made these last few years. This match just isn’t about a history with Orbit, though it’s hard not to shine a light on it, but this to me, Bob, is solely about redemption.
Bob: Redemption for what? You done your fair share.
Logan:I pissed that share all away. You know what the greatest tragedy of my career was?
Bob: Dressing up like a woman?
Logan:Go fuck yourself.
Bob: You first, ‘Twilight’.
Logan:It was not retiring. That’s it. You remember 2010? When I defeated WCF hotshit, Slickie T, won that third War, and got the championship? You remember that?
Bob: Of course. I was creaming in my fuckin’ pants.
Logan:That should have been it right then and there. It was a perfect ten years, a record setting career. Nobody had anything on me. If only I went into that light and walked away… if only…
Bob: What the hell you saying man?
Logan:It was downhill after that. It wasn’t an increase in competition; the WCF had plenty of that from day one. It was me, Bob. I couldn’t let myself walk away so I let myself go; go down a hill of garbage until there came an actual time where people questioned rather or not I could even hang with an Adam Young. Who the fuck is that? Huh? That isn’t me. This is why Fifteen matters, Bob, because an opportunity exists to take everything back, redo it, right the wrongs and erase the mistakes. This dog has always been the top one, Bob, just been sleeping under an old rusted truck too long.
Bob: I think I’ve found a way.
Logan: A way to what?
Bob: Assuring victory.
Hours later we picked back up on a two line desert road. I rode passenger to Bob’s rust bucket of a 1980’s Dodge Ram. We were traveling towards his house which turned out to be a shack more rust covered than his truck. The seventeen minute track to New Orders “Elegia” hummed through the truck’s cab during the read, giving a perfect pace to the tale I would soon take through his words.
Bob: It’s not the most expensive trailer in the park.
Logan: What park?
We were alone for a span of hundreds of miles. Eventually New Order faded out in part to the lonely terrains difficulty to latch onto a signal. An ocean of sand in every direction. This place wasn’t meant for the living.
Bob: We hit the silent zone. Check your phone.
No signal.
Bob: Fasten your seatbelt.
A second after the click the belt produced after snapping in, he took the truck off the road and woke the desert dust.
Logan: Bob?
He didn’t respond. His eyes glued onto the waves of sand splashing over the windshield, trying to navigate his way through a dusty hell. I couldn’t make out any sight in front of his other than the giant rock that made us stop and sent my skull into the dash. I don’t recall how much time had passed between the dashboard forcing my eyes shut and the noise of someone jerking on the handle of the passenger door. Was that him…? My neck ached and I picked my head up and drug it towards the doors window, staring into the eyes of a man I hadn’t seen in over six years… Jack of Blades.
Logan: Jack?
Jack: Logan, it’s me.
My body felt limp from the crash but I was able to stagger out of the truck where Jack caught me and guided me along. I took a glance back to the truck finding no sign of Bob.
Logan: Where’s Bob?
He didn’t answer while he continued to help me track along through the sandstorm.
Jack: Here.
The sea of dirt parted before us revealing a staircase. I limped down the entrance while Jack followed behind.
Logan: Blades.
He pushed something, didn’t manage to see where but it sealed the overhead opening shut and lightening sparked, flickered, and then gave us light. Jack walked past me. I grabbed at his arm.
Logan: Blades!
I hadn’t seen this man in a long time. I honestly thought he was dead. He seemed to be captured in an emotionless state while he signaled me to follow, and I did. We walked down a corridor made of steel hidden beneath the desert. Finally confronting a dead end, Jack held his hand against the wall and the blockade in front of his seemingly slid open. The room held a row of standing glass test tubes begin enough for a man – big enough for Jack of Blades. He walked into an opened tube and casually stood in place. The tube closed, as did his eyes.
Logan: Jack?!
My fist slammed into the heavy glass that trapped him. His stare never drifted. His face never expressing any concern. I looked up above his human test tube to see a plate engraved with the name, ‘Jack of Blades’. Was this really him? Then another test tube beside his… and another… all empty and nameless.
Bob: You were already the legend by the time you first met.
He appeared next to my side, a slight cut on his head indicated he had left the crash and made it down here before I awoke. He looked over the Jack of Blades tube while he spoke to me.
Bob: Perhaps your dearest ally and deadliest enemy… back in the flesh!
Logan: What…?
Bob: He’s AI. I’m not entirely sure where the real Jack of Blades is… or if he’s even alive.
Logan: That isn’t real?
Bob: He’s quite real. A prototype really. I haven’t exactly fingered the personality down yet.
Logan: I don’t think Jack himself ever did either.
Bob: He’s all for your benefit, Logan. I’m building a resurrection down here to aid your redemption. I’ve even begun an AI version of yourself so we can eliminate any potential future injuries from crippling your chances of competing and recommencing your legacy. With Jack of Blades, yourself, we can take back your past and bring it to fight for the future.
Logan: Never been a big fan of machines.
Bob: You do not approve? The process would’ve been much faster had I not run out of funds. That’ s why you have to succeed for Fifteen and beyond, Logan. Bringing your legend back to light will re-oil that merchandise machine and get us running again. Imagine the spike in sales of a SHUT UP T-shirt with Logan World Champion in 2016. Who would’ve ever thought? With those funds I can properly finish Jack and a very own version of yourself. Just imagine a Logan in WCF that never ages or gets hurt. Not only would you smash the nail in the coffin of having the most legendary career WCF could produce, but the revenue would flow for many, many years to come.
Logan: And me?
Bob: You sit back in the shadows and let the AI Logan continue to build your legacy.
Logan: This…
My eyes followed over the sleeping grave of Jack’s soulless body.
Logan: … is below even me.
Bob: How could you say that? It’s everything you’ve ever talked about. Your path to redemption begins here!
Logan: From the shadows, letting lifeless AI do the dirty work while I keep my hands clean? No. You misunderstood. WCF will be mine again, it will, and this time I’ll do things differently, but it will be mine for the taking… not a machines. It’ll be my hands that are covered in blood. The fight is the only purpose I have to keep me alive and without it I might as well already be dead.
Bob: But, Logan…
Logan: Cancel the operation.
Bob: At least give it tim –
Logan: Shut it down, Bob.
A few days had passed. I was invited to a charity ball, aimed at helping adults suffering from PTSD attributed specifically to the traumatic experiences of naive children who once were Gravedigger fans. To some extent I myself created this organization and it had finally come to fruition to bear its very own Ball. I hadn’t worn a tuxedo in years, but I admit… I felt comfortable in it. Damn comfortable.
Logan: My thanks.
I stood behind the podium on the stage, looking over a formally dressed audience taking up the entire ball room. Everyone here was a victim in one sense or another to the vicious tyranny of Gravedigger. Long boring promos in the ring, over exposure to WCF television, and now a leach to our ears every Sunday night.
Logan: I dearly thank you all for asking me to speak tonight. I know that perhaps without my contributions to the ‘DiggerBoys’, the poor children innocent children who knew any better during his rise to fame, then maybe none of you would have a chance to heal. But tonight we celebrate the Digger Boys that have healed and the ones that WILL heal.
Applause erupted within the ball room.
Logan: You’ve all grown since those bitter 2004 days. I’ve read the e-mails, Boys, I’ve opened the letters. Some of are you still wake in the night in cold sweats from dreams of Gravedigger carrying a WCF championship and filling your eyes with generic messages over and over. I am here to tell you, Digger Boys, those dreams will never reach the light of reality… NOT ON MY WATCH!
Digger Boys: LO-GAN! LO-GAN! LO-GAN!
I raised my hands to calm them.
Logan: Please, please, please. It’s my duty to each and everyone one of you poor souls who still suffer from post-traumatic Gravedigger disorder. The healing will begin, Digger Boys, it shall, and after I’ve finally knocked the last peg off ole man Digger and put him to rest… we can all finally rest.
I loosened up a bit, stepping off the podium and onto the stage with the microphone and letting its cord drag behind.
Logan: We’ve all heard the old man jokes haven’t we? Of course. But here’s one more…
Tugged at my tuxedo collar a little nervously before executing.
Logan: You know why Gravedigger really got the job for announcing? The guy loves to sit because he can barely fuckin’ stand from all the times I’ve beaten him!
Huge applause erupted for yours truly.
Logan: Heh. Heh. What does a Gravedigger get for crossing the road?
I let the Digger Boys chatter amongst themselves in anticipation of the punchline.
Logan: His walker.
Another pause followed and then…
Logan: After I stick it right up his ass and send that limp old fuck packing to Connector City at Fifteen!
With the applause came my bow. Roses were thrown to my feet along with numerous panties. Once it died down, I retook my more serious place back behind the podium.
Logan: And now, Digger Boys, for tonight’s entertainment I bring you a guest to perform a very special song for us.
Stepping aside, I clapped for the appearance of Katherine Phoenix as she made her way out from the side stage and onto the main one wearing a rather gorgeous pink dress. The lights dimmed within the ball after all the hooting and hollering stopped. I took my place at the stages black Grand Piano. Katherine turned to me with a microphone in her hand.
Katherine: This song is dedicated to tonight’s host, Logan. Thank you for everything you’ve done to support the innocent victims suffering from post-traumatic Gravedigger disorder.
She nodded to me and I nodded back, my fingers tapping over keys to begin song.
Katherine: You’ve seen the world,
Done it all, had my snatch now,
War wins, brilliant, and Five-Time now,
Hot summer nights, mid-July,
When you and I were forever wild,
The crazy days, the arena lights,
The way you’d place with me like a child
Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful,
Will you still love me when I can no longer make sandwiches,
I know you will, I know you will,
I know that you will,
Will you still love me when I’m no longer beautiful
You’ve seen the world, lit it up as your stage now,
Channeling boudles in, the new age now,
Hot summer days, rock and roll
The way you’d wrestle for me at the show,
And all the ways I got to know,
Your pretty face and electric soul
Will you still love me when I’m no longer young and beautiful?
I chimed in, killing the piano noise.
Logan: Not in the slightest chance.
She balled her fists and planted them into her hips.
Katherine: Logan!
The audience laughed after such a heart warming moment. I stood from the bench of the Grand Piano, joining Katherine by her side.
Logan: Ladies and gentlemen, Katherine Phoenix. Anything you’d like to say about Oblivion?
Katherine: Yes! That ungrateful –
Logan: Shut it, whore. Save it for your own promo.
Massive laughter followed.
Taking Katherine’s hand in mine I guided her down the stage and onto the red carpet where we walked to the ball room dance floor. The actual song she mimicked moments before poured life into the speakers as we joined hands and swayed a slow dance under the ball room lights. Many audience members of the Digger Boys gathered to form a circle around us while Katherine stared into my eyes like a giddy school girl looking upon her first love.
Katherine: You said things would be different, Logan, I wanted to believe you but now… I really do. No more broken hearts or promises?
Logan: Never.
I was lying through my teeth. We didn’t have hearts to break.
Logan: WCF is ours now.
She watched me in silence while we swayed.
Logan: Redemption comes to me at Fifteen. It begins there.
Katherine: And Gravedigger?
Logan: I’m the least worried about. To be honest I only thrown this ball to make fun of the sorry bastard.
Katherine: These… Digger Boys… aren’t real?
Logan: Oh no, surprisingly enough this organization actually exists. I can’t imagine how emotionally sensitive someone would have to be in order to be affected by Gravedigger in such a way. Post traumatic Digger disorder is a legitimate medical condition.
Katherine: Wow.
Logan: No need to worry your pretty gigantic head about this. Gravedigger poses zero threat to me. There may’ve been a time, a mere second that he once was a great competitor but those days have longed passed. Some people age quicker than others. Gravedigger is one of them. He’s literally like the opposite of Wolverine. Yes, if he were in a comic book he’d be the mutant that sat around rambling and gaining wrinkles by the second. The man we see today has a backup plan for his inevitable defeat, and that’s walking back to the announcers booth – if surprisingly possible – and plopping his old wrinkled rear back down to ramble on about glory days while trying to call his way through another match without having a heart attack. I will find a way to make WCF whole again and full of nothing but people paying attention to me. I will make sure not to only become the World Champion, but to bring back my political power. It does not matter how it will be accomplished. I will make sure Gravedigger never puts on another headset to bleed our ears. Gravedigger, for all intents and purposes, will be forgotten and erased from the history books of WCF. That time will come. My redemption will come, and Gravedigger’s will finally end. That is the way it shall be, dear Kathy.
Katherine: I like it. Everything. Especially erasing Gravedigger’s name from the halls of WCF. How will you do it?
Logan: Rome wasn’t built in a week. By the way, what did you think of Bob? Once things are in place I’m thinking of him becoming my head of security. Being World Champion certainly puts a target on ones back you know.
Katherine: Bob?
Logan: Yes. The other day we all met for lunch and discussed his AI program.
Katherine: What?
Logan: You don’t remember?
Katherine: I do. You and I met for lunch, Logan, and you were the one babbling on about robots… I honestly had no idea what you were talking about.
Logan: You fool. He was sitting right beside you.
Katherine: We were alone, Logan…
My brain swelled with confusion. Either she was pulling my leg or…
Katherine: Who knows, man? I ate like five pounds of skittles that day so maybe I just blanked him out.
Yes. Of course. Why would I trust her judgment anyway? No reason to begin questioning myself. She was simply a dimwit. Surprised she even functioned enough to sing that song earlier without going on a lunatic rant. I felt reassured.
Logan: Much like Gravedigger this party has gotten stale and old.
I left as quickly as I entered. The ride home provided me time to reflect back on the history Gravedigger and I shared.
Logan: When do we first meet, old dog? I know myself it was at least a decade plus ago. You see, the thing to me though, Gravedigger, is that you’re quite different than myself. I’ve been here longer than even you, but yet you have come the butt of the old man jokes, which is perfectly fine with me, Gravedigger. You know why? Because you never bring anything fresh to the table. Excluding your small stint as the man in the mask, Hector, everything else has literally been the same story over and over. You were already an old man by the time you entered WCF. Me? Let me explain why you and I aren’t on the same level. It’s true that I’ve been here a little longer than you, which is crazy to think in this companies storied history, but it’s true. I have. I’ve been here longer than any wrestler ever. The thing is Gravedigger, I was the one who transpired and competed with all generations, and by competed I mean actually win matches. You had a moment here or there but most of the highlights of your career span during times I was fired from WCF or off playing owner with Seth Lerch. The fact of the matter is, Gravedigger, that we both know what separates us from this match at Fifteen is that you’re there for the nostalgia pop, and I’m there to win it. You will lose and carry your retired ass back to the announcers table to call and watch my redemption as it unfolds, and as I take WCF back for myself.
A night passed by and brought in a new day. I met with Bob in Mesa near a strip mall.
Bob: You know the other day about how I was on with Steve Orbits hat?
Logan: Yeah.
That damn accent of his.
Bob: Nobody really knows who Steve Orbit… I mean, we see him, but do we really know?
Logan: The hell are you talking about?
Bob: To beat Steve Orbit you got to know Steve Orbit – that kinda thing.
Logan: I know Steve Orbit is a bitch that squeaked by our last match when he let himself get counted out. I know that much for sure.
Bob: No, you got to go pimp. Dress up like one, get some hookers. I even found a few bitches on Craigslist.
Logan: No way. Never.
An hour later I was standing on the sidewalk with Bob, wearing a purple fuckin’ hat, purple velvet west, slacks, even a fancy walking stick.
Bob: Now you got to refer to yourself in third person.
Logan: Why?
Bob: All pimps refer to themselves in third person. Try it.
Logan: You got Logan’s money?
Bob: No, no… throw ‘daddy’ in front of it.
Logan: You got Daddy Logan’s money?
Bob: And bitch at the end.
Something came over me and I slapped the spit out of Bob’s mouth.
Logan: You got Daddy Logan’s money ya whack ass whore?
Bob: You’re ready.
The women off Craigslist arrived within a few minutes. I knew this was at least how Orbit got his start, pimping, probably sold crack too. I didn’t know rather or not this would bring me any closer to understanding Steve Orbit, even if I wanted to, but it was amusing nonetheless.
Candy: My name is Candy.
Logan: You can… you WILL call me Daddy.
Candy: Piece of cake, Daddy.
Logan: Actually let’s go with Daddy Treachery.
Candy: Got it.
Logan: Let’s bounce, bitch.
The camera slowed down on us, giving us a slow motion capture down the sidewalk while I adjusted my purple hat with the feather in it, pushing my cane out in front of me with every step, swagging the joint up. Staying alive.
Logan: You know where Daddy can score himself some crack?
She reached inside her shorts pulling a wet baggie out of them with a white rock inside.
Candy: Right here, Daddy.
For some reason I assumed Steve Orbit sold crack, maybe at one point. Maybe he did.
Logan: You changing your name.
Candy: Whatcha goin’ call me?
Logan: Candy Orbit. But I’m probably just going to call you Orbit. So, you ready to go make Daddy Treachery some bills, Orbit?
Candy: Yes, Daddy.
Logan: Go on then, bitch. Get that ass moving, Orbit, and make Logan some dough.
She shuffled up to a corner doing her thing. I slipped out a fat cigar from my inner vest. I figured pimps smoked cigars… seemed like something they might do. I liked the taste either way.
Logan: I don’t feel a second closer to you, Steve Orbit. Don’t think I ever wanted to really. You and I have a strange history, maybe thanks to my part, but it exists nonetheless. I can’t erase the past. We both know what happened. I was seeing imaginary serpents, transformed myself into believing I was Sarah Twilight and came after you night and day. I almost murdered your therapist and in the end I went away to the nut house for quite some time. You on the other hand? You blossomed. My fit of insanity literally pushed you into the spotlight. You never once thanked me. Never. You owe me your jumpstart, shit, maybe your career. Did that over occur to you? Is that ignorant of me to blame your success on myself? Maybe. Probably. The fact is, Steve, you made it big when I wasn’t around. You know what happened the last few times you and I shared a ring? The shit has never gone your way. Matter of fact the last time you and I battled it out, it didn’t go your way not even an ounce. I had you on the ropes, it was like Apollo Creed getting murdered in the ring, but luckily for you the bell saved your ass and you got yourself counted it before I could finish the deed. You remember how one sided it was. You might not admit it. But we were both there and I held nothing back. What makes you think things are going to be different for Fifteen, Steve Orbit? There are no count outs this time. You have nowhere to hide this time, no stable to back you up, nothing to run to for protection. It isn’t just you and I here, Orbit, there are others and they will be addressed. But we both know now is finally the time that I slam the door on your face. You had a great chapter in WCF’s history, Orbit, you really did. It was impressive. Things are different now. I’m different now. I’m not running around in a red wig. You’re not another bitch boy in another super group of egos. It’s you and I with no one in our corners. We’re fighting, at least I am, for more than the right to say who is the better man in the Orbit versus Logan saga, because to me I already gained the upperhand in our book, but this… this cements it. We’re fighting for just THE CHANCE to both take WCF back for ourselves. We both know this isn’t another Sunday Slam appearance, this is fifteen years bottled up and ready to explode, and for the better part of those fifteen years I have been the most dominate figure that ever stood. You see, Orbit, you’re just here for the ride, but Fifteen to me is something different… it’s a celebration of how far we’ve come, and how far you and I have come. Do you realize that, Steve Orbit? Do you take it for granted? Don’t you get it man… this Sunday, at a PPV named Fifteen to celebrate fifteen years; you’re going in a match with a wrestler who wrestled at the very first WCF PPV. This isn’t me talking shit, Orbit. This is real. I’ve endured more than you ever will in WCF. My class room of WCF I started in doesn’t even exist anymore. The people are gone, not the type of show up once a year gone, they’ve fuckin’ vanished. I hadn’t seen my first WCF friend, Cyrus, in eight years. I haven’t seen my first enemy, Hellz Angel, in nine. Everyone from the very first era of WCF hasn’t been heard from since before you even started wrestling here. I am all that remains of the originals. Shit, Creeping Death didn’t even come along until the THIRD War. I had already been in two of those motherfuckers. He isn’t no original. He’s just an old washed up fuck that hangs on the nuts of the newer guys to try and keep up some kind of status. Jonny Fly is going have his way with him at Fifteen and that’ll be that. No more fucktard. Our match doesn’t have anything to do with them, of course. I’m just trying to explain to you something that maybe you haven’t come to appreciate it – you’re facing the past of WCF AND the future. Nobody here will hold a candle to what I will do, becoming the only man to endure every injury, every humiliation, every bitter defeat, and keep coming back time after time. But this just isn’t a comeback, Steve Orbit, this isn’t a one and done. I’m in this for the long haul. I always have been. That’s why after I win at Fifteen I’m going to sit your ass down and tell you what’s going to happen. Rather you like it or not, you’d be good for my plans.
Candy came running back with a few bucks in her hand. Literally that’s it, just a few one dollar bills.
Logan: Who the hell did you suck off, Seth Lerch?
I slapped the bills out of her hand.
Logan: Orbit, you worthless shit.
Candy: I tried, Daddy. I really did.
Logan: Not hard enough.
And then I slapped her.
Candy: Daddy Treachery I am so sorry!
Logan: You think I like treating you like this, Orbit? You think I want to treat you like a low down bitch? I don’t want to, but you forced me to do this.
Candy: No, Daddy Treachery, no!
Logan: Should have picked a better dick to suck, Orbit.
I didn’t hold back. To be honest I didn’t have a clue what I was doing, dressed up in some Halloween pimp costume, beating a girl on a public sidewalk with my cane, but hey… it was better than anything else I planned for the day.
Logan: Take the cane. It belongs to Daddy Treachery. You got me, Orbit? You’re just a bitch that ain’t good for nothing but beating on.
By this point she was unconscious and I’d probably go to jail if I didn’t wrap this up and hit the road, so I finished the task at hand, taking out my pecker and pissing on her.
Logan: Closest you’re ever going to get to gold again, Orbit.
My yellow piss wetted her swollen closed eyes. Maybe she was better off this way and this would teach her a life lesson on how dangerous tricking was. Maybe she’d turn things around. Yes. I justified beating her to a pulp and pissing on her by the odd chance that her life would work out for the better afterwards.
Logan: Take a bath, Orbit.
After my escape, if that’s what you’d like to call it, I met back up with Bob in the desert. Obviously he wasn’t listening when I told him to shut down the AI program, and he brought me back out in an attempt to reassure me. It was interesting; interesting enough to travel back out there with him. We were back in the underground laboratory. The Jack of Blades he built seemed so damn lifelike, let’s just say it looked real enough to bring back memories.
Logan: Another relic of the past.
I said looking over the Jack of Blades model. I knew like so many of the others that joined me and bled for me in the Team of Treachery days would never be seen again. They were either dead or living another life. I was all that remained.
Logan: If he were here today… if the real Jack of Blades were here… I wonder what’d he say about all of this.
I looked down to the empty capsules that had yet to be completed. A few names like Lawnmower Jones, JJ Biggs, Cyrus, and other former comrades were etched above man sized test tubes.
Logan: We can’t rebuild the past. It isn’t that simple, Bob.
Bob: With this technology though… it’s possible.
Logan: Those were different times. We were young. When you’re young you don’t think about the person you’ll be ten years down the road. You just assume things will work out, but they didn’t. We didn’t. We bled week in and week out. And as much as I looked up to him…
I literally looked up to the Jack of Blades AI.
Logan: He betrayed me.
Bob: Why?
Logan: He gave up fighting. He seen the world WCF offered, and it was too much for someone as intelligent and cold as him. He left me here.
Bob: WCF has the archives and with it I can rebuild the identity of Jack of Blades. Bring him back, Logan. I can bring them all back. Jones, Cyrus…
Logan: We fought to change WCF from its over exposure of Torture and the path it was leading to. We even disbanded his group, the New Dynasty. I thought we won the war at the time. I thought it would be over, but it only got worse as did my hatred for Torture. The WCF has only existed for me on two sole purposes, to be the best and to rid the era of Torture and his political triumph. Till this day you can still see shades of it coming through. We never truly defeated him. No. Time defeated Torture. And just like time, it has a past, and bringing back the past isn’t going to change the future.
Bob: These were your top comrades. Your buddies. Your warriors. Why not? I can program them to the point that nobody would even know they weren’t real.
Logan: They don’t bleed… they won’t bleed for me. The past is best off not being remembered, especially in WCF. It’s a bitter truth everyone here has to deal with at one point. Maybe they think they were better when things went their way. I don’t need these AI’s, Bob, I can build a future without them.
Bob: Why not reclaim the past, Logan? Nobody else in this federation holds the mantel of doing so more than you.
Logan: Because we never succeeded. Even with the disbandment of New Dynasty, even with every single test tube in this lab holding every championship WCF had at the time – we were never top dogs. We were just mutts, fighting to exist as the bad apples in WCF. There has to be more than just being a stable, Bob. We never had purpose. Repeating the past will only repeat mistakes. I’m fighting for the future, a future where a bad guy or good guy doesn’t have to be one or the other to fight for what they believe in. I want to bring people together for a cause we can all fight for.
Bob: And what’s the cause?
Logan: Redemption. Self-respect. Making sure things like Torture can never happen again. I don’t need your AI. This, Bob, is a fight much different than any computer could ever calculate.
Bob: What about Bonnie Blue?
Logan: Haven’t talked to her.
Bob: She has seen the future. Hell, she’s from it.
Logan: So she says.
Bob: You don’t believe her?
Logan: It’s a leap.
Bob: Not buying it?
Logan: We need more answers. Just because someone claims to be from the future doesn’t mean they are. Do you know how many nuts have strolled the halls of WCF? Too many to keep count.
Bob: We need those answers, Logan. It’ll help us with our own future.
Logan: It is intriguing. I’ll admit that. But nothing she could say would convince me she was… to be honest.
Bob: Not even predicting your own future?
Logan: I don’t need a prediction, Bob. I control my own fate from here on out. We don’t need Bonnie, but I’ll talk to her after Fifteen. It’d be foolish not to question her.
Bob: She may just hold the answers. If you don’t want to work with the AI then maybe Bonnie is the key to discovering how you should approach WCF in 2016.
Logan: Bob… we have to destroy this.
Bob: What?
Logan: The past.
His face fell into his hands.
Bob: The work, Logan. I’ve spent years!
I laid my hand over his shoulder.
Logan: Jack… he was a good man, a mentor, a friend. He taught me a lot.
He began to sniffle.
Logan: Jack of Blades is dead. Jones, Cyrus… the Team of Treachery is dead. Nothing but more than memories. They no longer need me and we’ll never need them anymore.
I reached down grabbing the charge cord to Jack of Blades crypt.
Logan: ‘Meet you halfway, Jack.’
And I ripped the cord from the tube. I knew he was nothing more than AI, but watching his fake fleshly eyelids hop up and down brought my own eyes to water. I placed my hand against the test tube.
Jack of Blades: Jack versus God… this time it’s personal!
My head sank.
Jack of Blades: Remember when we did it? Before it was consider cool for main event One opponents to become tag team champions going into the show?
Logan: We did it first, Jack.
Jack of Blades: The anatomy of Jack of Blades. I care little for children. Brain section two behind the eighth.
Logan: … Jack.
Jack of Blades: Defeat Torture. Without you, Logan, the WCF will fall into the same path of Adam Sandler movies. No substance you see.
I grinned through the sorrow.
Jack of Blades: Promo number eighty-seven. Burying HIV needles in a school yard sandbox. Commence. Logan?
I knew it was only AI, but it drew me in. I couldn’t help it.
Logan: I’m here.
He raised his hand onto the test tube to meet mine, only an inch of glass separating touch.
Jack of Blades: You must defeat Torture.
Logan: That doesn’t matter anymore, Jack. He’s defeated himself. The WCF no longer accepts Torture like they once used to. We won, Jack.
Jack of Blades: How comforting. Ha! Ha! Ha! The tides have turned.
Logan: They did, Jack. This is a different world. We no longer fight to enthrone, we fight for ourselves.
Jack of Blades: Jones, he’s marrying the love he picked out at Lowes. We must not be late. Hurry. Logan, my internal core is bleeding. I need charge. You must help me, Logan. Energy is required for me to live.
Logan: …
Jack of Blades: Logan promo three eighty six, Expired Youth. Do you remember my response?
Logan: ‘Above our times.’
Jack of Blades: Above our times, Logan. I hadn’t head such a view in ages. Malfunction. Team of Treachery, Logan, Lawnmore Jones, Jack of Blades, JJ Biggs, Shuan Se –
Logan: Jack?!
Jack of Blades: Meet you half way.
Logan: .. JAAAACK!
His final words were.
Jack of Blades: Code seven eight. Take WCF. You’re the last tie to us all. Keep the fire lit. Logan, goodbye.
And then his eyes closed and from what I can tell he short circuited.
Logan: … Blades..
His hand slid off the glass, sliding away from mine.
Logan: You were always the best of us, rather you seen it or not. I will carry on your will. I will make your dream come true.
And then like simply flicking a switch, the AI of Jack of Blades died.
Logan: Goodbye… Jack.
I stepped away from the test tube, leaving Jack in his final resting place.
Bob: What did he fight for, Logan? What was the will of Jack of Blades?
Logan: To show how precious everything could be once it was taken away.
Bob: And you’re going to take everything away?
Logan: No, Bob. I’m going to take everything back.
Bob: The WCF?
Logan: Every little piece of it.
Bob: Are you going to find Bonnie Blue?
Logan: It’s on the agenda.
Bob: You must, Logan.
He grabbed my shoulders.
Bob: If we can’t remember the past, maybe we can discover the future. She’s the answer, Logan. Find her!
I took his hands away.
Logan: I’ll talk to her, Bob. This future I’m building is my own. She can’t change that.
A few days passed once more. Bonnie Blue was harder to find than I once assumed. Maybe she was the type that didn’t want to be found, if that was the case I’d set bait.
Logan: Bonnie Blue. You’re a hard person to reach. Maybe you’re out of reach, considering you believe you’re a mold of Reb. I don’t buy it. But my people do and I’ll do anything for them. Bonnie, it’s no secret, as you’ve discussed in your twitter, you and I meet at Fifteen. To be honest I am more interested in your ‘powers’ rather than your ability to win this match. Rather or not you’re from the future, you can’t call my will. It’s unstoppable. Even I cannot deny it. However, Bonnie, after Fifteen is up in the clouds and settles into history I have a proposition for you. As we speak there are forces unknown to you and the rest of the WCF that are coming together for a cause – you could join that cause. We want to make the WCF whole again. No more stable wars. Is that what fuels us into 2016? More stable versus stable craploads? I started this, Bonnie, with Team of Treachery. And now… Fifteen years into this history.. I’m trying to clean up the mess I created. Bonnie, this isn’t about good or bad. That no longer exists when you come to me. Right or wrong has no page in this book. We do what we have to; to ensure survival. WCF cannot have another repeat of Torture, and that’s where Wade Moor and the Beachkrew are heading. I’m not just simply creating a stable, Bonnie, I am creating a community that believes in expressing their own will. We don’t exist because we’re good or bad. We exist because we have to. Bonnie, you’re going to lose at Fifteen. I’m not trying to be harsh to you, it’s just the way it is. You can supposedly see into the future because you are the future, and because of that other than your warrior spirit you have no idea how many of my people you interest. But, Bonnie, I’m not from the future. If I was… my road to redemption would be a much easier path. But… maybe a chance exists that you are. Maybe it does. Maybe you’re the one who knows the fate of Fifteen. Me? I control my own fate. I don’t see everything as a time machine booked inside a car. You’re different, I’ll admit that, Bonnie, and after Fifteen you’ll see the way… because no matter rather we’re painted good or bad, we’re all the same. A gray area exists, even if you, even if you deny it. The WCF is changing with the times and we’re forced to change with it if we want to continue a legacy – a will. Bonnie, I have the blue prints, and hopefully you and I can sit down long enough to discuss a future – maybe one you haven’t seen. Time isn’t set in stone. Things are constantly changing as speak. People have died and people have been born since I mentioned your name seconds ago. We live in the world of the NOW, not the future, but together… I think you and I can build a future that even the WCF never foresaw. We can build not just a stable, but a nation; a nation of interest that fights for common beliefs. We don’t have to love each other, but in time, I hope that you will shed blood as I will shed blood for you in WCF and grow the respect deserved as comrades. I see nothing but potential in you, Bonnie. So please my victory as a stepping path to the future, and not stepping on your head. I do what I must to fulfill the legend of Logan, and with the legend comes stories, and with the stories becomes facts…. Facts… that we’re building a better future for the WCF? Bonnie, will you be a part of that future?
The camera faded while it stared at my face. Once a face of treachery, now a face of...
