Post by Deleted on Jan 31, 2016 14:03:30 GMT -5
Part 1: Takeover (I.L.F. Part twelve)
Moonlight and cold temperatures were cast across the sky, complementing the layer of frost that covered everywhere from the lawn to the roof at McGrady’s. Those inside of the old farm house were fast asleep. The loud rattles and humming of Jeb’s beaten, old pickup creep across it’s familiar stomping ground on Father McGrady’s farm. McGrady’s pet border collie was the first to notice the noise, leaping off the bed in excitement at the sound of Jeb’s return. McGrady and his wife rolled about slightly from the weight that had sprung off the foot of their mattress.
: What’s going on?The sleepy older woman had rolled over, gazing about with squinty, crud filled eyes. McGrady with eyes still shut, mustered up an even more drowsy reply for her as he swung around an arm and gently laid it over her shoulder.
McGrady: Go back to bed, dear. It’s probably just a raccoon or something. You know how those things like to try to come up and mess around in the garbage cans.
He finishes his mumbled statement and the two doze back into their sleep once more as the dog begins to bark at the person approaching the porch. The yapping starts as the dog voicing it’s excitement, but transitions to a display of anger, showing off its protective nature. It’s teeth meet in the middle of the canine’s mouth, it’s lips snarling up, and it’s eyes forming a much sharper shape.
McGrady: What’s that old dog want now?
The frustrated older gentleman continues to toss and turn at the sound of the dog’s bark.
McGrady: Keep it down in there, girl! Go back to bed!
The barking continues.
McGrady: Oh, what the hell is it?
The old farmer leans up, tossing his half of the blanket over towards his wife’s side of the bed. McGrady lifts his feet off the bed and lets them drop down to the hardwood flooring below. He slides both feet into a pair of worn slippers as he slowly makes his way to his feet. The barking grows louder as the old man makes his way towards the door way and steps out into the upstairs hallway.
McGrady: What is it, girl?
The aging, old footsteps continue on through the house as the dog’s barking comes to an abrupt end. McGrady stops dead in his tracks, slowly surveying the household as his familiar feelings of paranoia fill his mind.
McGrady: Who’s there?!
Dead silence rings throughout as McGrady’s feet make little creaking sounds upon the tough flooring.
McGrady: Get on out of here right now! I mean it! I have a gun and I will shoot you!
McGrady jumps as he hears footsteps just behind him. He turns around to see a visitor that leaves him in disbelief.
McGrady: ...John?
The old man reaches for the light switch, flicking it upward as he gets a more complete look at the man in front of him. His clothes worn and dirty, his facial hair un-groomed and resembling that of a wanderer from a post apocalyptic world. He is overcome with a mix of joy and confusion at the sight of his lost son.
McGrady: I can’t believe it! How are you here?! How are you still alive?! I thought you had passed in that gunfire! None of us thought that we would ever see you again and to see you standing here, in the flesh and in front of my eyes, it’s incredible!
John says nothing as McGrady flings his arms around the beaten man standing in front of him.
: What’s going on down there?The old woman yells down at her husband from the doorway to the upstairs bedroom.
McGrady: John’s here! I...I don’t know how, but John is alive!
As McGrady speaks these words, he is still too excited to notice the look of disturbance on John’s face.
: John?! Our John?!The woman’s feet shuffle down the staircase as she sees her giddy husband looking on at the returning John Adams. She reaches the floor and rushes over to John, giving him a hug of her own. She steps back, noticing the unnerving demeanor of John that McGrady had not yet been able to see.
: John..what is it? What’s wrong?John continues not to speak as the couple steps back a bit, looking over the man, staring into the lost look in his eyes. He backs away, walking towards the front door. The couple hesitates, but soon follow behind him. They see John approach the darkened entrance to the house, a shape can barely be made out among the blackness.
McGrady: John, what is it son? You’re scaring mother..
John runs his long along the wallpaper, finding a small switch near the door. The couple staggers backward in horror at the site of a blood-soaked border collie sprawled out on top of the doormat among a mess of shoes and wrinkled coats.
: Lucy...what happened to you?!The woman drops down and begins weeping with the dog held against her arms and chest, her tears falling down and mixing with the matted blood that covers the dog's fur.
: What happened?! What happened to her?! What happened to our dog?! John, who did this to our dog?!McGrady: John...did y-
John: Did I what? Did I walk into your home, slaughter your stupid fucking dog, and decide to take this place over for myself?
McGrady begins to shake with anger and overwhelming emotion at John’s statement.
John: Yeah, that was me alright.
The word “why” is at the tip of McGrady’s tongue, yet he can’t seem to let it out. However, the look on his face displays the word for him.
John: Don’t you see? I’ve done exactly what you’ve been preaching for years! You wanted us to take the world into our own hands, to empower ourselves, to run the fucking globe! That’s what is happening right now. Why would owning the world stop at a certain point? Why should I be the one abiding by whatever the fuck you want?! I’m the one who runs this show! You may have given birth to the new religion, but I am it’s god!
McGrady: John, you can’t come in here and do this! You have no ri-
Blackness, pure blackness.
Part 2: They put a jobber in this match?
Once again, the camera cuts to show Spencer Adams in The People’s Choice locker room staring into the camera in front of him, ready to totally DOBIES more fools.
Spencer: This past Slam was huge. It was a show that filled out a card that looks to be the blueprint for the most exciting, star studded event that I’ve ever had the pleasure of competing in during my nine months in the company. I expected one, maybe two more people to be added to this Sunday’s Final Destination match. We knew either Lucious Starr or Bonnie Blue would end up in this situation with the rest of us and it ended up being Bonnie who got that sort of wildcard entry into this shit. We also heard Seth Lerch talk about there being a sixth, surprise entry into the match would come in and shake the very foundation of this bitch to the core (No Bernard) and he was coming for Orbit specifically. Automatically, we start racking our brains for the answer. Who could it be? Most of the legendary competitors who are still around the WCF had already been booked into their respective matches.
Now I already covered Gravedigger, but before I get into ranting about this second motherfucker, let me just tell those who don’t know about who the real favorite should be here. Who has been the one guy in this entire field of wrestlers who has been here week in and week out, putting in the work every single time a damn bell started to ring? It wasn’t an established legend and it wasn’t someone who was talked about because of their connections to other outlets or previously known competitors. It was Spencer motherfucking Adams, the guy who came in here and personally made sure that he molded himself into greatness. You’re looking at the match, because I’m the man on the rise, god dammit! My opponents were either shit that remained shit, shit that turned to fertilizer, or diamonds that turned to shit. I was a straight up fucking bowel movement when I debuted here, no doubt about it. I sucked compared to what I thought I was. I thought I was great and quickly learned otherwise, but with time I HAVE become great and I continue to creep my way up.
Onto that second match though, you want to know what really grinds my fucking gears? When we see a match where you think “Ooh, I can’t wait to see one of WCF’s rising stars really come in and bust their ass to take a world championship match at the time or their choosing!” only to see that same match be flooded with guys who are simply in it because of the name that they’ve already established. Can I see the justification to these legends getting shots at whatever they decide to go for? Fucking absolutely, but I don’t believe the inaugural Final Destination match is the place for people who have already been to the top. They went out there and made their names mean something in the first place, but to sell something as this big match for rising stars only to make half the field consist of blasts from the past is well...very meh, very fucking meh indeed, people.
It’s not like the three best, most exciting legends were tossed into this thing either. I mean, sure, Orbit has some degree of career integrity there, but Gravedigger spent an entire month throwing taco ingredients at the jobber roster and this motherfucker Logan has been eating out Kat’s asshole like it was a hot dog dispenser. Seriously? Fucking Logan, man? Yes, we understand that the guy CAN be good, but does this look like the match for people who MIGHT come hard? Fuck no. This shit should be chalk full of motherfuckers who are dead set on coming out and giving it all not just in this shit, but every single fucking night that follows otherwise, why the fuck are you competing for a title shot? Is half-assing it most weeks supposed to win somebody a championship? Fuck no, man.
If anybody deserves that criticism for not having their heart in this shit, it’s Logan. Why is it that on the biggest show in months, a legend turned jobber is just thrown into the mix? Is it because of his name? Is that all it is, trying to sell with a person’s name? Justify this shit to me, because right now, I’m not seeing it and I’m not at all buying the logic that Logan is going to somehow come back from the depths of jobber hell that HE put himself in and bring out this undying passion that he brings to the months for the long haul. Logan, you’re not in this shit for the long haul and you know that. So please, just do yourself a favor and give up now before Spencer motherfucking Adams leaves you so fucking crippled, that the only appearance you can make in a WCF ring is when you’re waving at the fan base, waiting for people to pity clap for the “legend”.
I understand that you have the physical ability and the mind to return to competing at a high level, but the fact remains, you just won’t fucking do it. You know the difference between Logan and Spencer Adams? When a jobber, say somebody like Adam Young, involves themselves in my business, I take them the fuck out and show the clear difference, I let the gap with in-ring ability be known and I go ahead and get back to the shit that really matters around here. When jobbers involve themselves in Logan’s business, he literally sinks to their spot on the card and stays there for fucking months. You actually lost against BioWalker. Wow. Good job, buddy. Way to really show us young breed how a legend does it. That shit was really funny, man. So happy to have the seventh man in this thing be a fucking jobber troll.
As a matter of fact, I don’t think that’s even a good enough way to describe you and all your fucking suckage in the ring. Is there even a word for somebody who goes out there and jobs to jobbers? No, because people don’t fucking do that, you dumb shit. This isn’t the “Hey, I used to be good. Does that count for anything?” club. Look at you, man. You’re gonna make people create new terminology just so that the rest of us are able to summarize how fucking awful you’ve been for what hasn’t just been an off week or two, but rather an extended period of time. It’s not in some hip fucking way either. Becoming the definition of terrible isn’t going to make all the angsty teens start idolizing you.
Your image, your legacy, it’s been tainted and you only have yourself to blame for that. You’ve just been dragging yourself so far down for so fucking long that it will prove to be too great of a challenge to truly redeem yourself and make you seem even a little big exciting or worth the price of admission. Do you think Seth is going to keep booking you on his show when we has to start paying the fans to come see you? People like me, I sell the tickets while you employ the scalpers waiting outside the arena. You’re one racist scandal, one rape accusation away from being removed from this place completely and forever being forced to live in total infamy. Is Logan still a fucking legend? Is Hulk Hogan still a wrestling legend, or is he really just that gross, leathery bastard who creepily rubs lotion on his daughter’s ass and drops racial slurs like an alcoholic uncle? That is you, motherfucker! Everything you are is shit now! Do you understand this?
I feel like I’m just stating the obvious at this point. Telling the world that Logan is a waste of space is like saying “Hey, I just took a shit in there, so it might smell.” or “Hey, you’re a grown adult, you probably shouldn’t ride your child’s scooter to the workplace.” People already know these things. I shouldn’t have to sit there and tell them shit they already know, but you know, the WCF promo team just fucking loves to have me around whenever I have the time to come in here and verbally torch stupid bastards like you and to be honest, I don’t really mind showing up to remind you that you’re shit and make you feel a little bit worse about yourself. Tell me, how far off are we from seeing a shitty indie documentary about your life as the wrestling world’s biggest has-been?
You know, I should actually be looking at the bright side in this situation. Booking may have gone ahead and shoved Mr. “Ten dollars for an autographed polaroid, Fifteen bucks and you can spit in my mouth” into this match, but I guess that I can maybe benefit a little from stealing any slight trace of importance from this man and advancing my own career just a little bit more from this win. I mean, a victory over Logan is still some kind of victory..I guess. There are seven, or rather six and a half competitors in this thing, so come on down and join in on the fun. I have an arsenal of superkicks and I might just have to send one your way. Think of it as a little going away present, my gift to you, you fucking boudle.
How silly of me! I almost forgot about that shit. Scratch that part about looking for the word to describe how much of an embarrassment you are to this sport, that shit’s been right in front of our eyes the entire time. You’ve been throwing that around at others, but you’ve been the fucking boudle king! You really are a new low in the realm of competition. Does it hurt to know that? Does it tear you up inside knowing that you’ve let your career go straight down the fucking drain? Maybe they would’ve been better off just throwing BioWalker in this shit rather than you since again, they proved to be better than you are in your current state. You are your own downfall and it’s going to come back to bite you in the ass this week.
Sunday, you’re stepping into the ring against the very next mega star in the WCF and if you don’t believe me, you’re about to. I understand that you’re probably struggling financially between a pay of mostly hot dogs and cookies, so I apologize that I can’t help you there, but hey, do you have any nieces or nephews? Maybe I’ll just send your entire family a box of Spencer Adams t-shirts so they aren’t forced to wear your name as part of their wardrobe. So go ahead and come down to that ring, show us all how awful you are, how out of breath a man who binge eats Oscar Mayer all day can get after a few minutes in the ring with the most electric motherfucker in the WCF today. Have fun collecting unemployment, fucking boudle.
Fade to black.
Part 3: In control (I.L.F. Part thirteen)
John: The files! Where are the fucking files, McGrady?!
He screams at the face of the old man strapped to an ancient looking rocking chair. The ceiling spins as a series of dots and lights appear in front of McGrady’s eyes. His forehead, pounding from a blow dealt by the crazed man who is shouting out threats and pointing a gun in his face.
: John..don’t do this to us..we don’t want any trouble! You don’t have to do this!John forces a stream of gunk up his throat, spitting a glob of phlegm at the aging woman tied to the table in front of him.
McGrady: Y...you’re crazy..
Blood shows along his gums and teeth as the wounded McGrady responds in disgust. John steps forward, leaning over with his chest at eye level with his beaten captive.
John: What was that? Did you say something, Father?
McGrady: I said yo-
John slugs McGrady across the face, causing him to spit out a stream of fresh blood out onto the hardwood at his feet.
John: Do you really want to play these games right now?! Who is the man with the gun in his hand?! It’s certainly not you! No, you’re all fucking tied up because of me! Now where are the motherfucking documents?!
The old man wobbles a bit, showing fatigue from the abuse.
McGrady: I..I don’t know what you’re talking about..
The farmer flinches as John yells directly in his face this time.
John: Don’t fuck with me! You’re playing stupid and I want the fucking papers! I know you fucking told Jeb about them!
McGrady: W...what are you talking about?
John: Your favorite little faggot of a son! You remember Jebediah, don’t you?! The one that you sent out there to fuck with my shit, to stick his nose in my affairs!
McGrady: ...What did you do to Jeb? What did you do to your brother?!
John: Jesus, you sound like such a fucking moron right now! I killed the bastard! That heightened paranoia you’ve all been feeling lately, it’s not just because of the cops, I’m taking the credit for that!
McGrady: This isn’t right..
He feels John touch the metal to the side of his neck
John: I don’t want to fuck around with this bullshit anymore! Tell me where they are! Now!
McGrady: ...You won’t get a thing out of me..
John: So you’re not gonna tell me where the files are on our previous lives, on MY family’s previous lives?
The angry gunman grabs the hair of the old woman as she yelps from the pain felt across her scalp. He reaches down, untying the woman and pulling her to her feet, the gun now pressed firmly against her arched back as his other arm wraps around her neck for control.
John: Now, would you do me a favor?
She begins to break down crying at the sound of his voice and the feel of his breath against her ear.
John: I asked you if you would please do me a favor. Is that a yes?
He presses his gun harder, forcing her spine to bow slightly more. She nods in panic.
John: Ask him..where the files are at.
Tears roll down her face as the sobbing becomes more audible.
John: God! You people are fucking pathetic!
He moves her closer to her husband, whispering into her ear once again.
John: You beat the answer out of him then.
: Wh...what?!John: Punch him.
: John pl-He moves the head to the back of her head.
John: I will shoot you! You will fucking die! Do you not get that part?! Punch him in the fucking face! Hit him! Hit him! Hit him!
McGrady: ...do it, honey...just do it..
John: Hit him! Now! Fucking hit him, bitch!
The old woman swings as hard as she can, landing a harsh strike right in the mouth. She moves to hug her husband who drops his head. John tightens his grip on her, pulling her back again.
: I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!John: I wonder if he’s going to talk now! Do you want to talk now?!
McGrady: You’re going to destroy everything that we’ve built here..
John: I’m sorry, WE?! You mean the world that YOU built for yourself as you drug me along as your fucking lap dog?! That’s what Jeb was doing, right?! Filling my fucking void as I was off as part of your experiment?!
McGrady: John..you need to understand..
John: I don’t need to listen to a fucking thing you say anymore! The tables have turned and I’m the one who has control over you! Don’t think that I won’t just rip the place apart until I get what I want! I am being fucking generous by not blowing your brains out and burning this son of a bitch to the ground!
McGrady: ...no..
John grits his teeth before smacking the side of the gun against his head in frustration. He points it at McGrady, then back onto his wife again.
John: All you have to do is tell me where the fuck they’re at! What is so difficult about that?!
McGrady: I keep them in my safe, but you’ll never get the combination, so good luck..
John: Never?
John pulls McGrady’s wife in so his mouth is pressed against his neck. He drags his tongue up and down her neck, his off hand running along her leg, pressing her nightgown to her skin.
McGrady: Let her go!
John: You ready to talk?
His finger creeps up the gown.
McGrady: Yes! Okay! ...seventeen...thirty-six...nine...everything is there...just let her go..please..
John gives off a wicked grin.
John: That’s more like it. Thank you so much for you cooperation, father.
He moves the woman back over to the table, tying her up once more before heading back up the stairs.
McGrady: Wait..
He stops halfway up as he hears McGrady’s weak voice.
John: What?
McGrady: What’s the plan then? What do you want with the files?
John: I know what Jeb was doing. He was fetching my family for you. I’ve decided to do it for him since I knew he lacked the confidence to be able to fulfill such a task properly.
McGrady: ...How?
He chuckles a bit to himself, looking down at the tied up couple in the living room.
John: Infamy lives forever, right?
Part 4: God given lameness
Spencer: Can you feel the energy right now? Every single person talking about this week, from the fans, to the crew, to the talent roaming the halls, giving interviews and shadow boxing like this week will be their last. For one person, Sunday will be a first. Only one competitor in the Final Destination match will be able to drag their injured body to the top of the ladder, scale the cables above the ring, or leap from the top rope to retrieve their ticket. This will be a once in a lifetime deal. Sure, it’s bound to make it’s return in the future, but I can’t see the hype of this one being replicated. You have a mix of the biggest up and comer’s and the biggest legends and..
Knock Knock Knock.
He turns his attention from the camera, towards the locker room door.
Spencer: Yeah?
The knob slowly turns as Teo peaks his head through.
Teo: Wasn’t sure if you were doing more promo work in here or not.
Spencer: You’re fine, man. What’s up?
Teo: Oh nothing, I had some free time, figured I’d come by and check it out it if you were about to.
Spencer: Of course, man.
Teo: Who are we talking about now?
The luchador pulls a chair up off to the side, leaning back a bit and stretching his arms outward.
Spencer: I’m about to get into Atreyu. I love a good challenge like this, but fuck, it’s pretty time consuming to sit here and verbally bury six motherfuckers in the span of a few days.
Teo: How are you doing on the physical side of things?
Spencer: I’m feeling sharp as hell right now. I’m winning this fucking match. I can feel it.
Teo: Well, don’t let me get in the way. Let’s hear it.
Spencer: Benjamin Atreyu, “God given greatness”, the man has the talent to hang with the best and that includes the people in this match. I may give people like him or Bonnie shit for not exactly being up at the level that some of the other people in this match are, but I’d be a fucking fool to think that this man isn’t hungry, that his hunger doesn’t create a problem for me and my pursuit of this top level dream. I know that as a competitor, he’s full capable of hanging with all of us. I’m making my mental notes. Scouting the way this guy moves, that’s an advantage for me that I don’t think everybody is going to have. I don’t think that everybody will be adjusting their approach to take on this man. I fucking will.
I’ll just get to the big personal issue that we all have with this guy. Benjamin Atreyu is kind of an ass wipe, I don’t think there’s much denying that, but we learned pretty quickly that he isn’t the worst possible person to have in a suit around here. No, while Atreyu was always sort of a douchebag, he left his position open to someone much worse, Katherine fucking Phoenix. I mean, really dude? Why would anybody in their right mind go from being somebody to letting a nobody have what was once theirs? “Congratulations, you played yourself.” I get the desire to focus more on being an active competitor, even though it’s kind of a lost cause if you think that you’re the one getting past me.
You know what’s really sad? Katherine Phoenix is actually making a more memorable desk worker than you ever did. Is she better? No, but people still know what she’s doing. I really couldn’t think of a more annoying piece of trash than KP and that’s why I can’t help but laugh at you for being outshined by somebody like her. Benjamin, you’re actually less notable than Katherine Phoenix. That fact alone should make you want to just take the entire week off to go bury your head in sand. Both your time as a corporate sellout and as a competitor are fucking footnotes. You’re forgettable and you know it, man.
What do you actually bring to the equation? Bonnie is like a wizard or some shit, Orbit has a hat or something, Rabid has the hair of two different men, Logan has his hot dogs, Gravedigger has his Maggal and his ability to dig a mean grave, and I’m the fucking antidote. You having a spot on this thing is a real headscratcher, isn’t it? What has Benjamin Atreyu done to make people actually think “Wow! I’d love to see that guy compete for a world title shot!” So where does that leave you, Mr. God Given Lameness? When that music hits, what do you think Kyle Steel should tell the viewers. “Introducing now, from St. Paul, Minnesota, um...uh...this guy!” That’s all you fucking are man. You’re just “this guy”. All you will ever be is “this guy”. I’m fucking calling it right now.
Can you honestly picture yourself being able to hang with the top dogs week after week? Do you think Benjamin Atreyu has the total package required to carry the weight of this business on his back? I sure fucking don’t. It’s so irresponsible, so wreckless for somebody to go out and throw themselves to the wolves in the way that you’re going to. You’re a very vulnerable number seven and that’s bad news for you and your ability to continue on. I’m about to go out there and take your head off as a damn mercy killing. After I do you the favor of ending the pain of embarrassment you feel here every week on the job, I bet you’ll be sending me a fucking care package, thanking me for putting you out of your misery. I’ll be sure to email you my address so that you know where to send the Panera Bread gift card.
Just like the other motherfuckers in this thing, you just don’t have that extra little something special that Spencer Adams does. I’m not saying I’m the most talented guy here, or the strongest, or the most accomplished. Whether I think they’re winning or not, I do recognize the talent that everyone in this match has on an in-ring basis, but Spencer Adams is the only one here who can dig unbelievably fucking deep to pull off the upset of the century. I am the X-factor and Benjamin Atreyu, you will not put an end to this fucking dream. This right here is The People’s Choice takeover.
I’m not totally casting you aside as no big deal when that match starts either. Benjamin, don’t think that the target on your head isn’t just as big as the other people in this match, if not bigger in certain ways. Those guys like Digger, Orbit, and Logan, those guys have titles that I’m working to triumph over. I’m stepping up to them. As far as me and you go, most people would consider us to be at that same level. We’re both in that midcard range of hungry competitors who are looking to capitalize on a situation like this and climb over the top of the rest in order to get ahead of them. It’s me, you, Bonnie, and Rabid in that group and I damn sure won’t be falling to any of you this time around. I’m sure that’s a tough pill to swallow for you, but it’s best to just get it over with, it eases the pain later on. After this match, you will remain on that same platform while Spencer Adams waves hello from the fucking clouds.
He backs away from the camera, turning towards Teo as the luchador nods in approval.
Teo: Never missing a beat. Good stuff as usual.
Spencer: You know, I think people are actually sleeping on The People’s Choice right now. It’s like we lose a couple matches and they think that’s it, but we both know that as long as the two of us are here, fighting for our spots, The People’s Choice is going to be here for a long, long time.
Teo: I know that Vic couldn’t be here, but you know that he’s feeling this right now. He’s really going to be smiling Sunday when he sees The People’s Choice living on and leaving it all in the ring.
Spencer: Oh, he’s gonna be real fucking proud after me and you take this show. You’re gonna be holding onto that title for a long time, man. As for me, I’m winning this and I’m winning the world championship as well and when I do, I’m sure me and you will end up going against each other for the big one. For now though, we just gotta get out there and show people what The People’s Choice is made of.
Fade to black.
Part 5: Near (I.L.F. Part fourteen)
The night before Fifteen was relatively quiet. After a couple of small interviews earlier on in the day, Spencer had gotten to his hotel room and immediately decided to hit the shower. He allowed it to get piping hot, feeling relaxed from the heat on his back.
This is the week, Spencer. Time to prove them all wrong. Fuck Rabid, Atreyu, Bonnie, Orbit, Logan, and especially fuck Gravedigger. I’m gonna show them all that Spencer Adams is the newest face of main event.
As the last bit of shampoo washes out of his hair, Spencer adjusts the shower, bringing the precise flow of water to a halt. He slides the curtain aside, stepping out onto a towel layed out at the foot of the tub. The feeling of air against him is heightened by the droplets of water clinging to his body.
Holy shit! Fucking cold out here!
Spencer dries himself off, looking into the mirror as he does it, examining himself from any bumps or bruises that he may have gained from weekly training that he hadn’t yet noticed.
All me this week, all me.
He dresses himself in a set of makeshift pajamas, an old band shirt and a pair of plain, grey sweatpants before heading out into the main area of the large hotel room. Snatching the remote off of a table beside the couch, he falls back onto the cushions, turning on the tv as he immediately begins to flip through the channels. Since it’s later in the evening, Spencer finds himself surfing through wave after wave of uninteresting programs
Figures.
It’s around nine at night as Spencer eventually gives up on the quest to find a show to watch. He sprawls out on his back more, laying his head on the arm of the couch. His right ear is turned towards the output of volume from the tv as he hears the voice of a well spoken woman.
News anchor: Tonight, a man found dead after freezing to death and suffering gunshot wounds. We’ll have more on that shortly, so stick around, we have that and much more for you this evening.
Jesus, that’s fucking rough. Wonder who that guy pissed off. The fucking mafia?
His brow tightens as he ponders what might have happened.
Hmmm...
Spencer hits the switch on the tv, lifting his phone in front of his face as curiosity and impatience gets the best of him. He begins searching for more about the man’s death. After going through the first few pages, he sees no sign of even a single related article.
That’s odd. It sounded like a big deal I would think that at least one or two of these local stations would have something on their site.
He hears a loud and intimidating pounding from the other side of the main door that leads out to the hallway. Spencer perks up, looking over towards the thick wood. Another series of hard knocks hit the outside of the door as Spencer gets up and heads towards the source.
Who the hell?..
He presses his eye to the peephole on the door, yet sees nobody waiting on the outside. Spencer pulls the door open, looking around the corners for the person that was knocking just seconds ago.
Probably some kids fucking around out here.
As he goes to close the door, he notices a folder has been left at the foot of the door.
The fuck..
Spencer reaches down and collects the folder before closing the door behind him. He freezes at the sound of a small rattling sound.
…….
He taps around the surface, searching for malfunction.
Shit!
His finger runs over the eyehole on the door, feeling it’s unusual looseness. He opens the door up again, peering through the hole from the outside. He steps back in a bit of panic as he is able to look straight into the hotel room. Spencer quickly steps back into the room, securing both locks before heading back to the couch with the envelope in hand. His blood pumps faster as he hold the envelope in front of his face. Nails dug into the top of it, creating a sloppy and uneven opening at the top. Spencer reaches inside and pulls out the contents, a small packet of papers.
What?..
The document that slides out in front of him includes a line of question marks along the top of it. Below that is a list of personal details such as detailed contact information, various addresses, travel patterns, etc. He traces his thumb along the picture of himself in the top left hand corner of the sheet. His eyes grow wide in horror as he turns the page over, catching sight of a handwritten message on the back. Below a chicken scratch address in the middle were three bold, familiar words.
Infamy Lives Forever.
Part 6: The legend of the misogynistic good guy
: Hey, whenever you have a minute, we need you out in the hallway for some final shots before the match.Spencer: I’ll be right out. Just give me a minute. I was just about to finish up something.
The antidote sits at the bench in front of his locker in The People’s Choice locker room. Knuckles crack as Spencer inspects his hands, both of them are formed into tightly clenched fists, hiis face displaying a fresh coat of paint to add the finishing touch to a look that already showcases a big match type of feeling. He looks up at the camera, his eyes focused.
Spencer: A few hours from now, that familiar entrance track will hit and I will step out in front of thousands of fans in attendance for one of the most talked about PPV events in history. The people, they know that this isn’t just any ordinary night for the antidote. Tonight, I’m going to get my fucking ass kicked. That’s something that I’ve known since the first Slam after One. This is going to take every bit of energy that I have in the tank. I will be exhausted, bloodied, beaten, and broken, but all of that will be worth it when I’m also victorious. I have a mountain in front of me and I’m going to scale that shit. I may be limping or even crawling my way to the top, but Spencer Adams is coming to place the flag at the summit of the WCF this week.
Now, onto the last of the antidote’s deadly shoots for the week. I really saved the most important motherfucker for last this time around. It’s only fitting that I tackle the one with the vegas odds in his favor as the final bit of promo before I go out there and make history. Are you ready for this shit? Are you going to show the newbie how much better you are then him? Is that how this shit is about to go down, man? After two weeks of being put on a team together, we finally get to see a match that pits Spencer Adams and Steve Orbit against each other. This is a clash that a lot of people have been wanting to see and believe me when I say that everyone is going to get to see this shit done right. I’m not holding back anything against Orbit just like I won’t hold anything back against any motherfucker who steps in the ring and wants to challenge the antidote.
You know Steve, ever since I first met you, there’s been this attitude you’ve tried to give off, this “I don’t have a problem with Spencer Adams, but I still see him as the lesser between the two of us” type of mentality and that’s a big fucking mistake on your part, Orbit. If you were really scouting me the the degree that you should have been, you would’ve known to never discredit just how fucking great of a competitor Spencer Adams is. I’m one of the hardest working guys to ever sign a WCF contract and that’s an absolute fact, man. I’ve always tried to be the guy to give credit where credit is due and I’ve done that with you and your in ring abilities, but I don’t much appreciate this condescending way that you’ve talked about me ever since you decided to come back.
Your legendary status doesn’t grant you the ability to discredit what I do even in the fucking slightest. I’m Spencer Adams, the guy who picked up the pieces that people like you left behind while you were gone and formed them into my own fantastic works of art. Whether the roster has been thin or stacked, I’ve been one of the few constants around here spending every fucking day on my grind. It does not mean that you get to talk about me like I’m just okay at this shit. I see what looks to be a sense of entitlement in people like you and it just fucking annoys you. Just go ahead and knock it off with that pretentious bullshit before I have to step in and do it myself.
You’d be hard pressed to find people with a work ethic that compares to the antidote’s. I stand up to everybody in this place and I can beat every single one of them if I come with the right game plan. I can say something like that, because I know the height of my abilities and take great pride in that. Seeing as you spent WAR trying to provide a cheap chuckle or two for fans who think that you can do no wrong, I don’t think you can even start in on questioning my work ethic, my ability to turn heads around here. While you were chowing down on the entrance ramp, I was busy having one of the best performances of any rookie in history in the WAR match. It could have very well been you down there taking the fight to me, showing me that I’m inferior to you, but you didn’t, did you?
So I took a loss in a tag match? Big fucking deal. It’s part of the business. You know when you’ll be able to dog on someone for a loss? When you show me that you have a record consisting of one hundred wins and zero losses, but you don’t, nobody does. Don’t you worry about the antidote losing a match from time to time, I’ll be just fucking dandy without a big thumbs up from The Mack. I wouldn’t have any sort of longevity and I certainly wouldn’t be able to make it to the top around here if I didn’t have the ability to deal with my losses the way I do, to take things in stride and look for the good and the bad from each and every performance. That’s actually a big part of what’s gotten me where I am today and what will continue to get me ahead in weeks to come.
Many people here would probably say that you’re worthy of a world title match regardless, that you don’t actually need to participate in Final Destination to get yourself back to that point. I could see wanting to win the first of a match of this caliber, but if you’re at that level where you can come back and compete with anybody on the roster for whatever you want basically, then wouldn’t it be sort of counterproductive for Stever Orbit to be in Final Destination? You probably could’ve just returned next month and just asked for that world title match and you’d either have that request granted or at least be heavily considered. Hell, Jayson Price was able to just sort of step into world title contention after just a couple months and I know that was based entirely off of his name. Think about what would happen to Steve Orbit if he loses this match. What is the next step when you lose to Spencer Adams in the inaugural Final Destination match? Do you know how much is really at stake for you, Orbit? Why would someone who most would consider to be already in the discussion for a title shot want to step in with the top prospects? It would have been in your best interest to sit this one out, but instead you will allow Spencer Adams to give you one giant fucking setback.
Judging from that little “discussion” we had before our match on Slam, I think that Steve Orbit could still be focused on showing his dick here tonight. You trying round up those nostalgia pops, Steve? We both know that’s the where the real support for your comes from. By the way, how in the hell is Steve Orbit supposed to be considered a stand up guy? Do you even know what year it is, man? Jesus, it’s like somebody let Vince McMahon take the wheel with your booking and he went on to call Vince Russo up to collaborate on the plan. “I call women bitches and think that I’m still a good guy.” Take that ass backward gimmick of yours home, throw out your Kat Williams DVD’s, and think about what it means to be one of the good guys because right now, you earn a big, fat pair of air quotes to go with the claim that you’re Mr. Wonderful.
Steve Orbit, The Mack, the last guy you would think would give a shit about public opinion is still trying his best to rally the people around him, to try to say “kekekek! I’m da most poplar!” while the antidote, the motherfucker giving his all to the world around him, is over here calling him out on that see through shit. Again, you’re fucking nostalgia pops, man. This shit might have been funny to people a few years ago, but now it’s just gotten to be uncomfortable. Allow me to end it this whole thing for everyone watching. Unfortunately for Steve Orbit, this won’t be a popularity contest. You’re gonna know what it’s like to be in the shoes of somebody like Kyle Kemp, a guy who has forced more than one big grudge matches out of Spencer Adams. This is no “friendly competition”, I’m coming to fucking body Steve Orbit, it’s what I must do to win this thing.
Tonight, you’re not getting Spencer Adams, you’re getting The Antidote. Steve Orbit will feel the fucking power of a man who truly has his heart in every aspect of this damn business. Everything that I thought I was when I entered this company is exactly what I am now. Final Destination will see the rise of The Antidote, the motherfucker who cuts away all the bullshit and forces everyone who steps to him to nut up or shut up. I will force Orbit and every other person in that match into having the best outting that they’ve ever had, even in defeat. So Steven, when you’re lying flat on the canvas, and you’re looking up at the rafters above, feel free to join in with the crowd on those sweet fucking chants. If you can manage to muster up the syllables, I imagine the words out of your mouth being that familiar “HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT! HOLY SHIT!”
I don’t want to see “The Mack” this Sunday, I want to see “Steve fucking Orbit”. Leave the misogyny and tacky pimp shit at home, that’s not what you need for this one. To be honest, I have felt a slight level of disrespect, because I think that Steve Orbit has been throwing an audible “pssshh” at me ever since we met, like I’m nothing to him. Steve, I am everything, motherfucker. You’re going to know what the fuck I’m about when it’s my hand getting raised and not yours. At the end of the night, it will be Steve Orbit whose hands will clap for the antidote like those of Shia LaBeouf. The conclusion of this match belongs to me, it’s my fucking spotlight. By the end of all of this, you won’t be doubting Spencer Adams in the least bit, but rather thinking of me for what I really am, an equal.
With that, all distraction was put behind him for the time being, shoved aside by a sense of complete focus and determination. The events from the hotel the previous night, the stress of worrying over who could be watching him, it all went away. Spencer Adams was winning Final Destination and adding a signature win to what is to be a long and prosperous career in the WCF. First, the briefcase. After that, the fucking hall of fame. He makes his way out the door, the camera getting one last glimpse of the painted warrior before he is set to wage war.
Fade to Black.
