Post by "Iron Heart" Ethan King on Apr 24, 2016 14:40:40 GMT -5
Buzzing.
I can only hear an eerie, buzzing sound, almost like a static that’s repeatedly rolling around in my mind, stopping me from thinking straight, stopping me from seeing properly. Faintly, I can hear the sound of both cheering and something oddly familiar, like someone counting out a set of numbers.
“FIVE!”
My eyes flutter, my lips part and take a sharp intake of breath, my chest rises upward briskly, as if I’m just starting to rise from the dead, like life has been injected into my system and allowing me to the strength to break free from this trance.
“SIX!”
My eyes flash open in a heartbeat, spreading open and now completely unblinking, they narrow partially at the sight of the bright, vibrant lights that are presently hanging on the ceiling. Only now does it really start to hit me.
I’ve fucking made it.
Look at where I am.
“SEVEN!”
I’m in a WCF ring, in the match of my life, against a living legend in Steve Orbit. A man that’s carried the world title on numerous occasions, has been the face of the company and a mainstay in the industry for what must be years at this point. My gaze swings around rapidly, eyes darting in a desperate flurry. Only now do I notice the referee, and not too far away from him, the prone figure of Steve Orbit, who looks about equally as dazed and exhausted as I’m feeling at this point.
“EIGHT!”
I need to get up.
I can’t let this opportunity slip by me, not like this.
Not like the tag title chance I once had.
With what feels like a monumental effort, I begin to stir and pick myself back up to my feet, with a quick sidelong glance, I notice that Orbit’s performing a very similar set of motions. The crowds starting to cheer wildly, like they’ll somehow motivate us to pop back up and begin the back and forth exchanges that Orbit and I had been trading throughout this entire match.
And that’s the most surreal part of this all. They’re cheering for a guy like me, they’re this excited and hyped up for a guy like me, some regular city kid out of Los Angeles just trying to make a name for himself. An insecure fuck with no clue about how the real world works, but always knew he wanted to be a wrestler under the big lights for as long as he could remember.
What in the world is going on?
“NINE!”
Get up, Ethan.
In one last final push, I try to will my wobbling, unsteady legs to a vertical base, they slowly began to rise upward. Desperately, I begin to push against the mat with the palm of my hand, using it to support me and get me back up before that damned count.
“TEN!”
I get up.
My eyes widen, did I make it in time?
The crowd have momentarily gone silent, like they’re shocked at something. Did I do something wrong? Did Orbit get up just a second faster than I did?
Don’t let it be that.
Now, the all-too-familiar sound of booing begins to emanate through the arena, fans in the front row are looking disappointed and downright upset, I fucked it up again.
For the third time in a row, I let them down.
For the third time in a row, I’ve failed to come through with the promises that I’ve made, the confident words and the reassuring smiles, the certainty that I surround myself with, like I actually believe that I’m good enough to hang with the competition that continues to outperform each and every week.
And, for the third time in those three weeks, I realize exactly what I am, the one thing I didn’t want to become. The one thing I wanted to avoid the most.
I’m just an actor. I’m not presenting the real Ethan King, I’m not representing who I truly am, or what I was taught when I was just a little kid with a dream.
I’m just trying to be something that I’m not, an ultra-talented wrestler with unparalleled charisma and an incredible personality.
I’m not any of that, yet I try to be.
In reality?
I’m just Ethan King.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Kyle Steel stumbling out at ringside with a microphone in hand, ready to announce my defeat. That I failed again, that I’ve been consistently dropping the ball, and all in one line. A line where he announces Steve Orbit as the winner. His music will hit, and I’ll once again walk out with my head held high, with a false sense of pride.
Kyle Steel: This match has been declared… A DRAW!
What?
Once again, the crowd begin to jeer, clearly agitated that the match didn’t get a conclusive ending. But right now? That’s not even a factor right now, I’m more hung up on something else.
I didn’t lose.
Well, not entirely, anyway.
I came up against a bonafide main-eventer, a former World Champion, a virtual fucking god in the WCF Ring, and fought him to a standstill.
I guess reality really is stranger than fiction.
BACK IN THE GAME
The darkness of the oncoming night has only just begun to tinge the sky, which has now formed itself into a glistening orange that’s challenged only by the departing sun, a sun slowly fading away past the far off horizon.
Two days had passed since the eventful night at Sunday Night Slam, where an uncertain and doubtful Ethan King finally silenced the critics, at least in one way or another. The talk was still out, there was still the lingering question that both he and Eddie Felt never seemed to be able to avoid.
“What’s happening to The Pride?”
In truth, it was a question that had played at the pairs mind as well, even they couldn’t come up with a straight answer in response to the query. Too much had happened at this point to even come up with a reasonable next move, the mysterious disappearance of Gabriel Torres meant that the remaining members of The Pride were certainly in a rough spot.
Just one more thing to add to the doubts of their young minds.
But really, what were their options at this point? There was only so much that could be changed at this point, the two had formed what could basically considered a pact, one that determined they would remain standing side by side in the face of adversity such as the one looming over them.
The plan had been drastically changed, at first? There was only one thing on the young groups mind, and that was to make an impact. To step into the WCF and take every opportunity they could, to take advantage of the chances they were given and to make the most of the time they got to compete.
But, Pride certainly did come before the fall, but neither Ethan or Eddie could’ve expected the fall came so quickly, and so shockingly.
One down, and now there was only two of them left. And what had happened since their third had gone down? Two lost matches against a team they NEEDED to beat, something that they should never have let slip, something that was all-important in their grand scheme of picking up the pieces of the walls that had begun to fall around the, and rebuild them into something great.
But it just wasn’t meant to be, now was it?
A tired and weary Ethan King arrived at the College Campus that he had begun to consider his one and only home, the only place where he was given moments of reprieve from the life that came with wrestling, but even so, there were still the awkward moments, the exchanged glances of disbelief as he walked onto school grounds with a sense of guilt and an aura of failure lingering over him.
After all, everyone knew it.
The Pride were falling apart before their very eyes, the representatives of their great school, some of the most popular and eager members of the entire student body, the ones people looked up to, were being knocked around like a group of punching bags that simply couldn’t defend themselves from the predators that surrounded them (or the sharks that swum around them.)
It was simply embarrassing.
So, when the young wrestling sensation in Ethan King was greeted by his fellow peers and teachers at school, his responses were sharp and to the point. Blunt and brusque. With agitated undertones that made people cautious to be around him, the young man wasn’t one to take his anger out physically, but rather in rants. He needed to vent out, and he needed someone to vent too, and at a school as small as theirs, there were minimal options available.
Basically, everyone stayed the fuck out of Ethan’s way.
The extra note of authority in his step, his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, that was all anyone needed to see for them to realize that just for tonight, Ethan was not to be trifled with.
But, there was one person on campus who thought better than to just avoid the angered King, the one who felt as though he had let down so many people in such a short space of time. He thought it was time to reel him in, to offer him words of support, to give him something to work off of, rather than just leave him to destroy himself with his inner thoughts, the thoughts that ate away at his very core and left him a shell of the energetic being he once was.
Miguel Myles welcomed Ethan King with an easy-going grin and a curt nod of the head, whilst the latter barged through the front door with his shoulders hunched forward, looking downward at the woollen carpet making up the flooring of their dorm room. Ethan took no notice of Miguel, who was sitting down on a revolving black leather chair, which he had spun around upon hearing the door open. Miguel coughed dramatically, earning him a disapproving look from Ethan.
Ethan: What is it?
Miguel: Nothing much, dude. Just wanted to see what’s been going on with you, you haven’t been showing up to class as much as you used to.
Ethan: Yeah. It’s called being on the road. Working, you know? Something that you’ve avoided for the past two years.
Miguel laughed in response to the obvious slight.
Miguel: Hey, you know me. Always doing just enough to get by.
He received a grumble in reply. Slowly, he leaned forward, trying to get Ethan to look at him.
Miguel: Listen dude, I get that you might be feeling a little pissed off at what’s been going on in the past few weeks. But you need to snap out of it, you’ll pick yourself up out of the slump real fucking quick if you don’t let it get to you, you know what I’m saying?
Ethan: And what would you know about it? You’re not a wrestler, you don’t know what I’m dealing with at the moment. You just think you can tell me it’ll get better, and that I’ll smile happily and nod along. Is that what you want? You want me to agree with you and tell you that I’m going to make a concerted effort to pick myself back up to my feet? Because guess what? It’s not going to happen.
Miguel: Say what you want, but you know this ain’t the real you. This ain’t the Ethan that anyone knows, you’re not some weak-willed motherfucker who begins losing all sense of reality the moment he drops the ball a few times. You aren’t some random kid who’s just now being given a shot after years of failure and lack of acceptance. You’re Ethan King, you and Eddie are some of the most talented dues I know, even if sometimes you choose to throw it away because of bullshit like this.
Ethan: You don’t know me.
Miguel: Get out of here dude. I’m not about to pull that pretentious bullshit like “I know you better than you know yourself.” But the point still stands, I know when something’s up with you, and I know when something’s just not right.
Ethan: That shit sounds like something Mikey eXtreme would say, dude’s just another F-Grade movie villain with dreams of ruling the world. Delusional motherfucker.
Miguel: See? This is what I mean. You’re so caught up with how other people are doing, you aren’t looking at yourself and making sure that you’re at the top of your game. You’re looking at all the negative shit and refusing to accept that you’re actually putting in some fucking work over at WCF. Why don’t we take a look at some things?
Ethan: Sure, fine. Whatever.
Miguel: You came into the federation and got the hype train rolling real quick, in less than a fortnight The Pride became one of the most talked about things in the wrestling world, you picked up two quick wins and got the ball rolling. Everything was going great, and then you got one unlucky count out loss to two guys you could knock the fuck out in your sleep, if you weren’t so busy being a pretentious little shit seventy-five percent of the time.
Ethan’s eyes narrowed at that, but he remained silent.
Miguel: And so what that you lost? You gave it your all, you were a little unfocused for just a split-second and you ended up getting counted out, did you let that shit hold you down? No fucking way. Just two weeks later, you came up against the same competition, arguably the top tag team in the federation at this point, and you gave them a fight that they’re bound to remember. Most importantly? You didn’t quit, you didn’t tap out, you didn’t get pinned, you fought to the very end and made everyone realize that you’re not just another flash in the pan like Steve Orbit seems to think. That’s not you, that’s never been you, so why’re you acting all uncertain now? You’ve been dealing with this shit your entire fucking life! People looking down at you because you’re just some kid who thought he could make a career out of beating people up for a living, by being a dude in an industry that leaves people’s minds and bodies broken and shattered into a million pieces. You got heart dude, and don’t you let anyone tell you any differently, because that’s the goddamn truth. Alright?
Ethan’s eyes raised to meet his, he gave a slight nod and whispered the word “Okay.” Miguel still wasn’t convinced.
Miguel: And don’t forget, you’re still finding your feet around here. Think about it. Not even two months into your damn career and you’ve got Seth throwing you into the lions’ den in a match against Steve fucking Orbit. A dude that’s kicked so many asses he could retire for good and be set for life, and still be remembered as one of the best in the business. You looked at that challenge and you took it as a test, not as a match you were bound to lose. You acknowledged that you needed to be on top of your game to come up against a guy of this calibre, and you took him to the fucking limit. You took his best shots and kept getting back up, kept fighting. And now? You’ve been rewarded with the opportunity of a lifetime.
He paused, looking at Ethan with a steady gaze.
Miguel: Facing two of the best on the entire roster, in a match for the United States Championship. That’s how far you’ve come, bro. You went from being a regular college kid, to a guy facing off in one of the biggest matches of the night. A match that’s gonna steal the show thanks to the performance of one of the fastest rising talents in the industry today.
Ethan: …Me?
Miguel: Nah, Mikey eXtreme.
They both go silent for a moment, before chuckling.
Ethan: You almost had me there.
Miguel: I know I did. But for real dude, don’t let your judgement be clouded by all of these losses and “failures” that you think you’ve been going through. Every time you get back up to fight again, that’s another victory to add to the Win Column, that’s another moment where you spit in the face of every hater that you come up against. Haters like Orbit and Mikey, who think that a young gun like yourself shouldn’t be stepping into the ring with the likes of them, because that’s what they be thinking, right? They think you don’t deserve the shot, so you gotta go out there and take it from them, prove that you’re one of the best in the game today. That you’re coming in hot with a fire in your belly, that you’ve got an unmatched spirit and an indomitable will. That’s what this is all about, yeah? Proving that you got what it takes, proving that you aren’t just another weak, petty motherfucker that’s going to give up after just a couple of losses. Just remember something, dude. Aftermath’s going to be a moment where history is made, where if you play your cards right and put in the work I know you can, the WCF will be acknowledging that their young superstar in Ethan King has just picked up his first major title in the organization. This is your moment, bro.
He extends his arm out, his hand curled up into a fist.
Miguel: You just gotta step up and take it.
Ethan seems to be contemplating a response, he takes a moment, before sighing and allowing a small smile to play at his lips.
Ethan: You know what? You got it, dude.
He too extends out his arm, and the two touch knuckles. Ethan’s shoulders sag down in relief, Miguel offers him one more smile, before spinning around in his chair.
Ethan: Thanks for that… I honestly didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do in preparation for this match. Now I know what’s up, I’m gonna rest up for the night, and come out swinging tomorrow.
Miguel: That’s it man. Just put in the work, and you’ll be walking out with that strap firmly around your waist. You got this.
Ethan chuckles, and then slowly turns around, walking confidently into his bedroom. He flops onto his plush bed, head resting delicately against the pillow. Soon enough, audible snores echo throughout the small room, leaving Miguel to smile deviously. His fingers fly over the computer situated on the desk in front of him, after typing out a message in a quick flurry, he nails the enter button, sending a message to *UNKNOWN*
“Just got him back on track, he got that stupid spark back in his eye like he’s ready to make a splash. I think we can start the first stages of the plan next week, you cool with that?”
Almost immediately after sending the message, Miguel receives one back.
“Absolutely, make sure to keep him on a leash. If he starts getting suspicious, ensure that he doesn’t start up some type of makeshift investigation. Especially if he involves Eddie, that kid could potentially expose everything.”
Miguel’s amused expression remains planted over his face as he types one last message to *UNKNOWN*
“Don’t worry, he’s already onto the trail of something completely different. Ethan knows it too, which is exactly why he WON’T let Eddie in on this, if he even realizes somethings amiss. You really need to stop worrying, this has been in the works for months at this point, you got nothing to fear. Anyway, I’m out for the night. Need to get my sleep before offering some more words of encouragement to our mutual friend.”
*UNKNOWN* responds with a
TIME TO BURN IT ALL DOWN (KILLIN’ IT WITH FIRE – PART ONE)
Rays of light lit up the ground in a vivid yellow, trees swayed softly in tune with the lightly blowing winds that howled softly in the background. The camera, clearly being propped up on someone’s shoulder, shook roughly as it panned over to a smiling Ethan King.
Ethan: Dude, think you can aim the camera without having it shake everywhere?
Miguel: I’m not a professional, just give me a second.
After a few moments of fidgeting, the camera remains deadly still, perfectly centred over the face of Ethan, who spreads his arms out wide in a gesture saying “Well, here I am.”
“Orbit, how’re you doing man? You still sitting backstage with all of your friends, wondering what went wrong when you failed to put away the young upstart looking to take your place among the greats? You still sitting there thinking that you had me, but just failed to capitalize, like every other time you’ve stepped in the ring in the past few months and failed to do anything noteworthy?
How does it feel bro? Knowing that a rookie took you to the limit, left you barely able to stand after a back and forth match that left you shell-shocked. Was that the moment your realized that maybe, just maybe, you don’t got it anymore?
Nah, fuck outta here with that. You were coming up against one of the fastest rising stars in the WCF today, you were pitted against that boy Ethan King, the fiery young kid who not only upstaged you by taking your best shots and then continued to get back up, but is going to outsmart you at Aftermath when he pins Mikey eXtreme and walks out with his first major title in the WCF.
This is history in the making, dude. You spend your whole life working your way up for moments like these, moments where you need to clutch up and stop giving a fuck about all the doubters, haters and critics. Ever since I came into the WCF, that’s all I’ve been surrounded by. Guys like you, Steve. Who seem to think that just cause I’m new and have a bit of heart, that I don’t have the talent and the skill to back it all up.
Well, did I prove something to you at Slam? Did I show you that you aren’t as fucking great as you say you are? Did I prove that there’s a new influx of talent coming into the WCF that’s soon going to overtake you, while you stay in your own little lane, in your own little world, still believing that you’re the best, when it’s already been proven that you simply aren’t?
Don’t get me wrong. You still gave the crowd a show, you still took some of MY best shots and kept getting back up, and you know what? That’s exactly what I expected from you, you’re a legend, a former world champion. All of that shit, I don’t need to keep saying it, we already know what the deal is. You’re one of the all-time greats, and I expected nothing less than for you to give me the fight of my life…
But you didn’t take everything out of me.
I’m still standing, I’m still here laughing at the fact you think you’re still one of the top talents around here. Sure, you’ve got that potential, and when you’re hot, you’re hot. But to think that you thought I’d be an easy draw? That you’d be able to take our match last week and just run with it, kick my ass and then go on to face Mikey for that US Title? You’re tripping my dude, like every other egomaniacal prick out there, you can’t fathom the idea that you aren’t able to beat everyone around here.
And let me tell you something right now, you can’t fucking beat everyone. And certainly not me, when I’m coming in hot, not when I’m coming in with the mentality of a fucking killer, a guy that’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
You’re right, man. I lose to you or Mikey, what does that do for me? I just drop a match, I waste an opportunity, sure. But I can pick myself back up to my feet, I can get right back up and start kicking ass like I’ve been doing ever since I came into the federation.
But if you lose?
What does that say about you, dude? You’ve put all this pressure on yourself, telling everyone that you’re one of the top draws around, that you’ve still got what it takes to reach the top of the federation and reign supreme over all the guys that in the past, you would’ve been able to beat without breaking a sweat.
But what’s happening now?
You’re just like everybody else, you’re stuck in a position that you’re probably thinking is too low for you, like, for real. in hot, not when I’m coming in with the mentality of a fucking killer, a guy that’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
You’re right, man. I lose to you or Mikey, what does that do for me? I just drop a match, I waste an opportunity, sure. But I can pick myself back up to my feet, I can get right back up and start kicking ass like I’ve been doing ever since I came into the federation.
But if you lose?
What does that say about you, dude? You’ve put all this pressure on yourself, telling everyone that you’re one of the top draws around, that you’ve still got what it takes to reach the top of the federation and reign supreme over all the guys that in the past, you would’ve been able to beat without breaking a sweat.
But what’s happening now?
You’re just like everybody else, you’re stuck in a position that you’re probably thinking is too low for you, like, for real. You STARTED your real run here as the United States Champion, that’s when everybody realized that you were the real deal, and now you’re coming back here trying to repeat history, but that’s not how this goes down. You don’t just walk in here and take what you thinks rightfully yours, you haven’t earned that shit. You’ve just been taking the spots of other people that have earned this shit way more than you have, people that haven’t had their chance to step into the spotlight.
In the end, that’s all this United States Title is to you, now isn’t it? A stepping stone, something that’s going to help re-establish you as one of the top dogs here, you take out two of the more promising talents in Mikey and I, and all of a sudden you think that everyone’s going to look at you in the same light they did when you were the champ, when you were THE MAN.
Times are changing, dude. You’re just not willing to accept that shit, you can’t help but think that you still got what it takes, and like I said last week, you still DO. But you’re so caught up about your personal image and how you haven’t been able to come through with the goods in recent times, that you’re starting to lose sight of everything that’s important. You’re so caught up on results and shit that you don’t even know how to get the big wins in the big match situations. You went from being one of the most clutch motherfucker’s on the roster to just another guy who can’t get it done when it matters most.
And don’t be mistaken, THIS is when it matters most. Forget last week, forget where you failed to beat a little rookie who you thought you could steamroll through, this is where legends are made, this is where you need to nut up and take your best fucking shot, and hope and pray to god that it goes through. Otherwise? You get knocked the fuck out, you experience your worst nightmare and you drop yet another match that you thought you had in the bag.
And then what happens?
You fade into obscurity, one little piece at a time, all of your legacy forgotten because of the way you’ve been embarrassing yourself.
Because you, Steve Orbit, like to prance around and puff out your chest, you want everyone to think that you’re able to just come back up in here and take over the federation like you did once upon a time.
How fucking arrogant can you get?
That’s almost Mikey eXtreme levels of delusion, my dude. Come on, I know you’re better than that. Don’t fall into the same hole all these guys have been digging themselves, you come in here talking all this shit, without realizing that sometimes, you just can’t get the job done. Admit it, man. Everyone has to take their losses every once in a while, but you just don’t seem to be able to handle that. You take a loss, and your whole world falls apart, you go into this vicious cycle that messes with your mentality. And all that potential you have? It fades away along with you, with every negative thought and every broken promise, you drop further and further down. You start having your doubts, you start wondering why you’re being used as a stepping stone for young guns such as myself, you start wondering…
“Do I really still got it?”
Let me answer that for you. You still got it. Sure, you still know what it takes to come away with victories every now and again, but you’re not half as consistent as you used to be. You don’t have that fire coursing through your veins all the time, you go from hot to cold in an instant. What was all that shit you were talking last week about me, huh? That I won’t be able to hang with you, that I can’t compete with a guy of your calibre? That you were certain you were going to be walking out with the W?
And what the fuck ended up happening? Oh, yeah. That’s right. You dropped the ball again, for every big move and near fall you got, you ended up falling just a little bit short. Something that’s been happening so much recently, it may as well be what you’re known for at this point. I don’t understand how people can be all up on Bonnie Blue’s shit for failing to come through on title opportunities, when this motherfucker right here is the epitome of choking in the clutch. Give this guy a chance at the game winning shot and you throw your chances straight out the fucking window. Give this guy a chance to come through and reach that main-event level status again, and he takes it for granted. He thinks that he’s deserving of this shit just because of what he’s done in the past.
The WCF? It’s evolved man. You should know that. The level of competition has only increased since your last run through here, even when you hopped into Trios for 2015, the amount of people that could beat you has probably doubled, and guess what? I’m in that group of people, I proved it last week, I proved that you don’t have what it takes to keep me down for good.
And sure, you could say that I still need to prove that I can actually take you out, but the jobs already been done. I’m already in your head, I’ve already pushed you to your breaking point, you were so fucking sure of yourself, weren’t you? So positive that you could take our match last week and have it be a complete whitewash, like I was some kind of perpetual mid-carder that didn’t deserve to be in the same ring as you. But look what ended up happening, you thought all of that shit, you gave it everything you could, and once again in typical Steve Orbit fashion, you suffered yet another morale breaking defeat, another crushing blow to the deteriorating thing that we know goes by the name of ‘Steve Orbit’s Confidence.’
I wasn’t the one ready to step into the ring with you? Seems like it’s the other way around dude, because you’re so scared of what’s standing in front of you right now. You look at me and all your fears and nightmares become a reality, it’s what’s running through your mind right now, isn’t it? You’re so fucking worried about losing to a newcomer, about losing to a guy that you think has nothing on you, yet has all the potential in the world.
My training’s been on point, my mentality is one hundred percent focused on treating you like a fucking punching back in that ring, you got a bullseye planted on your forehead and believe me when I say you’re going to be eating more shots then you could ever fucking imagine.
For all your strength, I’ll be just a little smarter with my movements.
For all your speed, I’ll be just that little bit faster.
For all your experience, I’ll have just a little more heart.
For all your pride and self-belief, I’ll be the one to tear that shit away from you the moment I walk out of Aftermath as the United States Champion, carrying that title proudly over my shoulder, while you wonder what could’ve been.
The balls in your court, man. This is your time to step up into the limelight and take what’s truly yours. Pressure? That’s non-existent for me. I’m just going to walk up into this match and do what I do best, I’m going to flip the tables, I’m going to fight, scratch and claw my way to a hard earned victory, I’m going to sacrifice everything to take the fight to both you and Mikey and ensure that the two of you fucking remember that I’m not just a limp-wristed, unimportant scrub that’s not going to make an impact around here.
No matter what the result is, I’m still walking out a winner, I’m still walking out as a true champion. Title belt or not, it doesn’t matter, because you’re going to be experiencing a rude awakening when I knock your teeth straight down the back of your throat. You’re going to choke on that shit just like how you start choking up every time the bright lights start shining down upon you, when the sweat starts flowing and you start feeling a little nervous. Because for all of your experience, you never could’ve imagined that you’d be staring in the face of a monumental challenge that you never saw coming.
Last week? You caught me in the corner of your eye at just the right second, the exact moment that gave you JUST enough time to prepare, but there’s no preparation for what comes at Aftermath. Where I solidify the foundation of my legacy, where I build upon everything I’ve walked towards, where I look at you right in the eye and make sure that you remember me, that you realize that I ain’t no joke.
Where you realize…
That I’m The One."
LIGHT EM UP (KILLIN’ IT WITH FIRE - PART TWO)
Miguel: You ready, dude?
Ethan: Yeah, I got this.
Ethan takes a short breath, and flashes a brilliant smile at the camera. The scenery has changed from the last time, signifying that there’s been a break since the last cut. Now, the two are standing in a gym hall, with the United States flag hanging behind Ethan King himself.
“Mikey, how’s everything been dude? I still can’t get over the look you had on your face when you realized you’d be defending against your toughest challengers yet, when you realized last Slam that you’re well and truly fucked.
Because, let’s be honest dude. You seriously don’t stand a chance.
You can be as pretentious as you want, you can be the arrogant little shit that we all know you are, you can look at the United States flag behind me and smile proudly as you continue to believe that everyone’s living in ‘Mikey’s America.’ But I’m going to tell you what everyone else has wanted to say ever since you started running with that bullshit, dude.
It’s time to get the fuck outta here.
Seriously.
Calling you a joke isn’t even accurate at this point, you’re a fucking imbecile who’s delusional enough to not realize he’s one of the biggest hypocrites on the entire goddamn roster. You sit around telling everyone, especially the fans, that they don’t deserve to witness you competing each and every week, and what the fuck do you end up doing?
You come out and compete each and every week, inadvertently proving that you’re just an absolute dickhead who has no idea what he’s talking about. Whatever comes to mind first, you just come out and say it, for all of your derogatory remarks and the elitist bullshit you preach every week about this being YOUR America, when you constantly come out here and are overshadowed by the vast majority of people around here.
Nobody respects you, Mikey.
And that eats away at you on the inside, doesn’t it? While the crowd cheers and chants for guys Orbit and I, you’re still sitting around, desperately hoping that people start to believe in your ridiculous little speeches, where you try and get people to gather around and accept the fact that YOU’RE their champion. But the truth hurts, doesn’t it Mikey? The truth is all around you. Every time you step into that ring, people are booing the fuck out of you because you’re a despicable little cunt with nothing better to do other than bully other people into accepting you, into having some type of respect for you.
You’ve done nothing to earn any type of respect.
You go around telling the world that you don’t give a fuck about the fans, that they mean nothing to you, that they don’t deserve to watch you, that they don’t deserve to listen to you, that they don’t even deserve to be anywhere NEAR you…
Yet every fucking week, you’re out here trying to tell them that this is Mikey’s America, that this is your playground and you’re the ruler of it. That you’re the King. But in reality, you’re just placing yourself up on that pedestal, nobody else sees you in that light, nobody even knows what the fuck you’re on about. They just see a fucking lunatic, a guy so insecure about losing what’s most important to him, that he does everything in his power to remind the SAME people he says ‘aren’t deserving of him’ that he’s one of the best, and they should treat him that way.
But Mikey, you know that’s not how this goes down. You know this isn’t the way things are gonna be, you can feel your grip slipping slightly, you’re getting a little tense. You’re starting to sweat, you’re seeing the oncoming challenge and starting to ball up, throwing out those defensive mechanisms, that natural inclination that makes you lash out at the people who’ve never believed in you.
You spout out all these harsh words, throw out all these unnecessary slogans, try to make people buy into this idea that you’re their one and true ruler, but you know what everybody sees?
A scared rat, an insecure child that doesn’t want his favourite toy taken away from him. What did you do moments after Vengeance took your title away from you? Oh, yeah. You went and brought a fake one, carrying that around like some kind of trinket, devaluing the title to the point where you turned it into a fucking joke. Sure, you’ve had your defences and great battles for it. Sure, there’s been epic wars fought for the championship that you’re currently in possession of, but look at the guy who gets to carry it around everywhere he goes.
Mikey eXtreme.
The self-proclaimed ruler of America, the guy who turns into a desperate little bitch the moment there’s any risk of him losing the championship. And when he does manage to hold onto it? He claims that he’s the rightful owner of the championship, when he loses possession of the one thing that matters most, he flounders and flails. He cries and whines, hoping that he gets an opportunity to make things right, to set the record straight.
You lose to a respectable guy like Vengeance, you drop the title, and when you manage to get it back, what is it that you do?
Yeah, you try and shit all over the guy, like he wasn’t even worthy of carrying that championship around, like you’re the only one who has put in the time and effort to be deserving of such a prize. Let’s get something straight, Mikey. You’re nothing fucking special, you weren’t destined to be the holder of this title, you weren’t destined to be some image or representative of America. Rather, you were just the one at the right place, at the right time. Don’t get it twisted, you WON the championship, you gave it your all and you came out on top. And you’ve done it three times now, and that’s something that should be acknowledged.
But, it’s what you’ve done after winning those titles that’s made you the piece of shit everybody recognizes you as today, the way you act as if it was all predetermined, as if nobody stood a fucking chance against a guy like you.
Like how you call a hard worker like Cormack MacNeil a nobody. How do you propose that works, huh? Explain that shit to me, dude. Explain how somebody who, in all of his time here, has been nothing but a fair and respectable competitor, is a nobody in comparison to you.
Well? I’m waiting.
Let’s rewind back to Ultimate Showdown last year, Mikey. Yeah, that’s right. You remember that time, right? Back when you were a fucking nobody as well, do you remember that? While you were being overshadowed by the rest of the DRG, while Thomas Uriel Bates was carrying all the hopes and dreams of that fucked up little squad, who where you in the grand scheme of things?
That’s right, a nobody.
You were just a pawn in his little game, he wanted to use you to get himself a championship, he wanted you to take the fall while he went on to bigger and better things, and what ended up happening on that fateful night? He walked home with the United States Championship, and you came out with nothing. You walked away empty-handed, while your ‘friend’ carried home what you’ve always thought was yours and yours only, that US Title. Your one saving grace, the one thing that’s elevated you to something above ‘nobody status.’ But here’s the thing, dude. While you may be a champion, are you REALLY a champion?
And I know, I know. This might be a little harder for that idiotic mind of yours to comprehend, but there’s a difference between a champion such as yourself, and a respectable champion who puts everything he can into representing that belt with pride.
Look at Teo Del Sol, the guy you faced off against last week. HE is the definition of a champion. He fights for what’s right, he has his own opinions about what a true People’s Champion is, just like yourself, but unlike him, you try to FORCE those opinions onto everyone else. While he remains a fighting champion, you grow scared at the prospect of a challenge. How did it feel knowing that you would have to defend your belt, Mikey? You walked out there, all proud and excited, as realization dawned on you. When it suddenly hit you that you would be able to carry that title around for just a little longer, giving you just a tad more influence over the people who are still hesitant to accept you as their real champion, because they know there are two far better alternatives just a moment away from fucking eviscerating you and taking that belt from you.
Orbit and I? No matter which one of us walks away with this shit, it comes out in good hands. I’m coming out swinging, I’m going all-out, full force. This is gonna be the type of shit you’ve never experienced before, Mikey. You’ve come up against some hardcore opponents, some guys who really know how to get the job done, and now? You’re coming up against another one of those guys, someone who doesn’t give a fuck about your reputation and the crap you’ve been saying. A guy who won’t be affected by all your talk about this being ‘Mikey’s America’ and how it’s just ‘not my time.’
Don’t be mistaken, Mikey. Sure, I’ve only been around here for a little, but this is my fucking time.
Not just my time, but The Pride’s time. This is where we come out with everything we got and take the federation by storm, just like we planned all those months ago, while you were cradling that United States Championship to your chest and whispering all your fake promises into it, telling the world that you would be the one everyone wanted to be, when in reality everyone wanted nothing more than to watch you fall, to watch you fail and be humbled by someone who’s ultimately going to be a better champion than you ever were.
That time has come, Mikey. You’re looking up at the clock and you’re seeing 14:59 on the clock, Aftermath is when that fatal fifteenth minute finally hits and you start seeing stars, stars such as myself, swooping onto the scene and elevating that title of yours to heights it’s never seen before, and removing it from the depths you took it into. Just like the title you’re now carrying, you’re going to hit rock fucking bottom, except you’re not going to have an Ethan King to help you recover, to help bring you back up to the Promised Land.
After this, Mikey? You’re all alone. There’s nothing left for you, you can try calling up some old friends, you can try pick up the pieces, you can try reach the potential and the heights you seemingly think you can get up to. You can have another shot at this United States Title, you can try to make everyone believe that you’re the only real champion in the WCF, and that this belt is the one saving grace of a federation that doesn’t deserve someone as great as you…
But we all know it’s a lie, manufactured and perpetuated by you and you only. You aren’t some type of higher power, Mikey. You aren’t a legend, you aren’t a god, and you certainly aren’t a king. You’ve got nothing but the lies you spread and the tales you tell. In each sharp intake of breath you take, with your head barely above the waters that are slowly starting to drown both you, and your vision of ‘Mikey’s America’ out, you shout and scream, telling the world that you’re confident in your abilities, that you have what it takes.
But how many times do you have to reiterate that point, how many times must you stand out before the world and tell them that ‘you’re the best’, that ‘you’re the one’. How many times are you allowed to claim those roles before your words lose your weight? If you weren’t aware of it Mikey, your words stopped having meaning a long, long time ago. The moment you took it upon yourself to act as some self-made god was the exact moment in time that your fifteen minutes began. And now you’re looking up into the stars, hoping that you’ll one day be one of those select few that shine brighter than the rest.
Little do you know… there’s another star zooming in on the scene, one that’s built itself from the ground up and shot into space like a fucking rocket.
All I needed was a little direction, Mikey. All I needed was to be aimed at something, and off I go. That’s all it was, there just needed to be a target, something to focus all of my time and energy into, someone to look at and say “I can beat that guy, I can take him.”
And Mikey… I can certainly fucking take you. Forget pushing you to the limit, forget even pushing Orbit to the limit, I’m going to break those boundaries and leave you questioning why you ever thought you were better than anyone else. I’m going to have you re-evaluate your entire fucking career here, and it’s all going to come in one fell swoop. While you start falling from grace, while you start dropping back down into reality and begin understanding that you can’t just claim these roles, but you have to grow into them and PROVE that you’re worthy of them, before you can just tell everyone that you’re the end all be all.
But don’t get it twisted, Mikey. This IS the end, the end of the beginning for you. Aftermath for the two of us will end with you getting pinned by me, and once you’re done watching me hoisting that title proudly above my head, it’ll hit you. You’ll know exactly what you need to do, you’ll look to improve, you’ll change, you’ll be humbled.
You’ll know.
That this just wasn’t your moment, that everything you’ve done leading up until this point screwed you up in the long run.
It’s hard to accept. I know, I get it. I’ve been through the rough times too, I’ve struggled to comprehend exactly what went wrong in these moments, I’ve questioned everything I’ve ever known. And that’s why… when you DO end up losing this title, and you’re looking at the guy that’s going to carry it into the foreseeable future… I want you to understand something.
That you can improve.
That there’s still time for you to fix things, NO-ONE is irredeemable. You’ve done some shitty things, your friends have done some shitty things, but there’s still hope, and I believe that you really will be able to better yourself from this.
Just believe in it, dude. Remember this bright shining star that took your most prized possession away from you, remember what he told you, remember that he said these words…
“I believe in you, Mikey.”
Because, as much as I make dislike you, I know you got what it takes dude. It’s gonna take time, it’s gonna take effort, and it’s gonna take heart, but you can do it.
It’s just not going to happen now, alright?
You’re in a tough spot, my man. Without me, you wouldn’t get the chance in the next few months to repair yourself, but WITH me?
You don’t get to carry that United States Championship.
Like I said, tough spot. Let’s just hope you make the right choice, man.
Good luck.”
Sometimes, I Dream.
A vibration sounded out, an alarm bells began to ring. A hand instinctively swooped toward the phone on the wooden bedside table and flicked across the screen, a tired groan escaped from Cara’s lips. Her eyes blinked rapidly, amber iris’ flashing brilliantly as she languidly started to push herself up to a seated position, with her back resting against the back of the bed. She composed herself, running a hand through her already messy brown locks. Slowly, she turned her gaze to the left, making sure that he was still here.
Ethan King was also sitting upward, although much more straight than his partner. By the looks of things, he had not just woken up. His eyes were locked directly ahead, the steely blue-green reflecting the early morning sun, almost like a mirror. His hands were rested in his lap, a contemplative expression crossed over his defined features. Cara gradually slithered her hand upward onto his shoulder, touching down onto it delicately, sending a shiver down his spine.
Cara: You okay babe?
He let out a short sigh, before shooting her a sidelong glance – coupled with a weary grin.
Ethan: Yeah. Just been thinking a lot.
The worried look she gave him made him chuckle somewhat.
Ethan: Don’t worry, it’s nothing major. I’m just a little nervous.
He paused, before turning his head to face her, an apologetic smile spread over his lips.
Ethan: Thanks for letting me crash here the night, staying on campus this week was tough. Need a break, honestly.
Cara: You still didn’t give me an explanation for that. And I missed the extra room I had before last night, so I think you owe me one.
He nodded, conceding the point. He kicked his feet out to the side, away from underneath the bedsheets, before steadily planting his two feet onto the ground beneath him. He wobbled at first, but quickly shot up to his feet. His eyes scanned around momentarily, then slowly swung back to her.
Ethan: There’s just a lot of pressure, you know? When you’re in the biggest wrestling company in the world, and you’re spending half of your time at a school… people tend to put you up on a pedestal. They don’t treat you like you’re… like you’re…
Cara: Real?
Ethan: Yeah. People that I used to spend time chilling with now seem to think that because I’m some ‘sensation’ that they don’t even deserve to be in the same room as me. The conversations aren’t the same, nothing’s the same. The only guys I’ve got by my side and Miguel and Eddie… and I’m not even sure on Eddie, to be honest.
Cara: I already told you, Eddie’s fine. He’s just independent, something that YOU should probably look into becoming.
Ethan: You think I’m in the wrong here, wanting to just be a regular guy? Sure, wrestling was the dream, it’s everything I ever wanted to be. It’s ALL I ever wanted to be, but that shouldn’t mean I don’t get to live out my life the way I want to. I’m not just a product for their entertainment, I’m not some robot being programmed to cut promos and shit, hyping up the crowd 24/7 and making sure people tune in to watch my matches. I train, I work hard, and when I want to relax… fuck… I don’t even get the opportunity to. People are way too busy critiquing me, or asking me about how my damn career’s going.
She frowned, watching him carefully. He paced forward, glancing out the window for a split-second, taking in the outside world in all its glory, the one place he felt he didn’t belong in anymore thanks to the position he had been given and the opportunities he had been granted. Briskly, he made for the door, Cara’s hand shot out, as if from this distance it would be able to stop him.
Cara: Stop.
Sharply, Ethan stopped moving toward the door, giving her a tired look.
Ethan: Look, I know. I get it. I’m not looking at things from the right perspective, I’m thinking about all the negatives and forgetting about all the good things. I realized this about two weeks ago, alright? I just need to take things at my own pace, it’ll work out. Okay? You don’t have to-
Cara: It’s not that, Ethan.
His quizzical expression prompted her to continue.
Cara: I’m coming to your match.
He went silent.
Cara: I wanted to come, I’m bringing Kylie along too.
Ethan: Dad… Dad would let her come?
She smiled and nodded, he took a step back.
Ethan: O-Okay…
She got up and out of bed, throwing the sheets to the side as she closed the distance between herself and Ethan.
Cara: You can be whatever you want to be, okay? Don’t let ‘them’ stop you from that.
Her head turned marginally to the right, he mirrored the movement, the two of them sharing a soft kiss on the lips before separating. His lips twitched upward in a smile, nodding.
Ethan: I think I can get behind that.
Cara: You better. Now… when’s your flight?
Ethan: Ten hours, I’ve got time.
She saw the interest in his eyes, interest piqued, her own eyes narrowed partially.
Cara: Time for what?
He beckoned down towards his phone, and took a deep breath.
Ethan: To make a call.
THIS IS MY STORY (KILLIN’ IT WITH FIRE – PART THREE)
His right foot struck against the concrete flooring underneath him impatiently, while he held up the sleek black phone in his hand right up against his ear, hearing it dial and subsequently ring the requested the number once, twice, three times…
Someone picked up.
Kylie: Hello?
Ethan: Hey! It’s me.
Kylie: ETHAN? Oh my god, I can’t believe you called! Don’t you have to catch a flight soon, I was talking to Dad and Cara and they both said that you’d be busy and that you wouldn’t want to-
Ethan: Hey, hey. Slow down, it’s alright. I’m here, I’m not going to go anywhere.
She hesitated, he could hear her quick intake of breath.
Kylie: It’s just… I don’t know when I’m going to get to talk to you again. You’ve been dealing with so much and I thought that…
Ethan: That?
Kylie: You wouldn’t want to talk to me.
He grimaced, while gritting his teeth.
Ethan: No, don’t ever think like that. I’ve always got time for you and Dad, I’m just having trouble figuring some things out…
His lips pursed together slightly, realizing how stupid he must sound.
Kylie: Well… did you hear the news?
The excited note that rung out in her voice made him smile.
Ethan: Yeah, I can’t believe Dad decided to let you come.
Kylie: It took a little bit of convincing… I still don’t think he’s fully on board. You know how he feels about the whole wrestling thing…
Ethan: That’s okay, I don’t ever expect him to agree with it. As long as he accepts that this is what I want to do, then I’m fine.
Kylie: Is… is that why you don’t want to see him? Because he doesn’t like you being a wrestler?
Ethan: What? No, no! That’s not it at all, sometimes I just think it’s good for the two of us to be able to think things through on our own at first, before we start talking. You know how things get sometimes between us…
Kylie: Yeah…
Disappointed with how he answered her, he tried to lighten up his tone somewhat.
Ethan: So, how do you think I’ll do?
Kylie: What? In your match? You’re going to do awesome, I know it Ethan. You’ve trained so hard and you deserve this so, so much. It’s what you’ve been working towards your whole life, hasn’t it?
He sighed.
Ethan: Yeah… yeah it has been.
Kylie: Why don’t you sound happy?
He thought about his next words very carefully.
Ethan: Sometimes, Kylie… to get everything you want… you need to make sacrifices.
Kylie: Oh… is everything alright?
Ethan: That’s what I’m trying to figure out.
Kylie: You’ll get through it, Ethan. You’re strong.
Ethan: Thanks, sis.
He glanced down at the time on the phone, and frowned.
Ethan: Look… I’ve… I’ve got to start packing. I left it all till last minute, hopefully I’ll see you guys after the match? Tell Cara to call me.
Kylie: I will… good luck, Ethan.
He went silent, and hung up. He looked down at the phone screen and saw the smiling face of Kylie looking up at him.
“I’ll make you proud, Kylie.
“I’ll win it for everyone.
“Even you, Dad.”
I can only hear an eerie, buzzing sound, almost like a static that’s repeatedly rolling around in my mind, stopping me from thinking straight, stopping me from seeing properly. Faintly, I can hear the sound of both cheering and something oddly familiar, like someone counting out a set of numbers.
“FIVE!”
My eyes flutter, my lips part and take a sharp intake of breath, my chest rises upward briskly, as if I’m just starting to rise from the dead, like life has been injected into my system and allowing me to the strength to break free from this trance.
“SIX!”
My eyes flash open in a heartbeat, spreading open and now completely unblinking, they narrow partially at the sight of the bright, vibrant lights that are presently hanging on the ceiling. Only now does it really start to hit me.
I’ve fucking made it.
Look at where I am.
“SEVEN!”
I’m in a WCF ring, in the match of my life, against a living legend in Steve Orbit. A man that’s carried the world title on numerous occasions, has been the face of the company and a mainstay in the industry for what must be years at this point. My gaze swings around rapidly, eyes darting in a desperate flurry. Only now do I notice the referee, and not too far away from him, the prone figure of Steve Orbit, who looks about equally as dazed and exhausted as I’m feeling at this point.
“EIGHT!”
I need to get up.
I can’t let this opportunity slip by me, not like this.
Not like the tag title chance I once had.
With what feels like a monumental effort, I begin to stir and pick myself back up to my feet, with a quick sidelong glance, I notice that Orbit’s performing a very similar set of motions. The crowds starting to cheer wildly, like they’ll somehow motivate us to pop back up and begin the back and forth exchanges that Orbit and I had been trading throughout this entire match.
And that’s the most surreal part of this all. They’re cheering for a guy like me, they’re this excited and hyped up for a guy like me, some regular city kid out of Los Angeles just trying to make a name for himself. An insecure fuck with no clue about how the real world works, but always knew he wanted to be a wrestler under the big lights for as long as he could remember.
What in the world is going on?
“NINE!”
Get up, Ethan.
In one last final push, I try to will my wobbling, unsteady legs to a vertical base, they slowly began to rise upward. Desperately, I begin to push against the mat with the palm of my hand, using it to support me and get me back up before that damned count.
“TEN!”
I get up.
My eyes widen, did I make it in time?
The crowd have momentarily gone silent, like they’re shocked at something. Did I do something wrong? Did Orbit get up just a second faster than I did?
Don’t let it be that.
Now, the all-too-familiar sound of booing begins to emanate through the arena, fans in the front row are looking disappointed and downright upset, I fucked it up again.
For the third time in a row, I let them down.
For the third time in a row, I’ve failed to come through with the promises that I’ve made, the confident words and the reassuring smiles, the certainty that I surround myself with, like I actually believe that I’m good enough to hang with the competition that continues to outperform each and every week.
And, for the third time in those three weeks, I realize exactly what I am, the one thing I didn’t want to become. The one thing I wanted to avoid the most.
I’m just an actor. I’m not presenting the real Ethan King, I’m not representing who I truly am, or what I was taught when I was just a little kid with a dream.
I’m just trying to be something that I’m not, an ultra-talented wrestler with unparalleled charisma and an incredible personality.
I’m not any of that, yet I try to be.
In reality?
I’m just Ethan King.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Kyle Steel stumbling out at ringside with a microphone in hand, ready to announce my defeat. That I failed again, that I’ve been consistently dropping the ball, and all in one line. A line where he announces Steve Orbit as the winner. His music will hit, and I’ll once again walk out with my head held high, with a false sense of pride.
Kyle Steel: This match has been declared… A DRAW!
What?
Once again, the crowd begin to jeer, clearly agitated that the match didn’t get a conclusive ending. But right now? That’s not even a factor right now, I’m more hung up on something else.
I didn’t lose.
Well, not entirely, anyway.
I came up against a bonafide main-eventer, a former World Champion, a virtual fucking god in the WCF Ring, and fought him to a standstill.
I guess reality really is stranger than fiction.
BACK IN THE GAME
The darkness of the oncoming night has only just begun to tinge the sky, which has now formed itself into a glistening orange that’s challenged only by the departing sun, a sun slowly fading away past the far off horizon.
Two days had passed since the eventful night at Sunday Night Slam, where an uncertain and doubtful Ethan King finally silenced the critics, at least in one way or another. The talk was still out, there was still the lingering question that both he and Eddie Felt never seemed to be able to avoid.
“What’s happening to The Pride?”
In truth, it was a question that had played at the pairs mind as well, even they couldn’t come up with a straight answer in response to the query. Too much had happened at this point to even come up with a reasonable next move, the mysterious disappearance of Gabriel Torres meant that the remaining members of The Pride were certainly in a rough spot.
Just one more thing to add to the doubts of their young minds.
But really, what were their options at this point? There was only so much that could be changed at this point, the two had formed what could basically considered a pact, one that determined they would remain standing side by side in the face of adversity such as the one looming over them.
The plan had been drastically changed, at first? There was only one thing on the young groups mind, and that was to make an impact. To step into the WCF and take every opportunity they could, to take advantage of the chances they were given and to make the most of the time they got to compete.
But, Pride certainly did come before the fall, but neither Ethan or Eddie could’ve expected the fall came so quickly, and so shockingly.
One down, and now there was only two of them left. And what had happened since their third had gone down? Two lost matches against a team they NEEDED to beat, something that they should never have let slip, something that was all-important in their grand scheme of picking up the pieces of the walls that had begun to fall around the, and rebuild them into something great.
But it just wasn’t meant to be, now was it?
A tired and weary Ethan King arrived at the College Campus that he had begun to consider his one and only home, the only place where he was given moments of reprieve from the life that came with wrestling, but even so, there were still the awkward moments, the exchanged glances of disbelief as he walked onto school grounds with a sense of guilt and an aura of failure lingering over him.
After all, everyone knew it.
The Pride were falling apart before their very eyes, the representatives of their great school, some of the most popular and eager members of the entire student body, the ones people looked up to, were being knocked around like a group of punching bags that simply couldn’t defend themselves from the predators that surrounded them (or the sharks that swum around them.)
It was simply embarrassing.
So, when the young wrestling sensation in Ethan King was greeted by his fellow peers and teachers at school, his responses were sharp and to the point. Blunt and brusque. With agitated undertones that made people cautious to be around him, the young man wasn’t one to take his anger out physically, but rather in rants. He needed to vent out, and he needed someone to vent too, and at a school as small as theirs, there were minimal options available.
Basically, everyone stayed the fuck out of Ethan’s way.
The extra note of authority in his step, his narrowed eyes and furrowed brow, that was all anyone needed to see for them to realize that just for tonight, Ethan was not to be trifled with.
But, there was one person on campus who thought better than to just avoid the angered King, the one who felt as though he had let down so many people in such a short space of time. He thought it was time to reel him in, to offer him words of support, to give him something to work off of, rather than just leave him to destroy himself with his inner thoughts, the thoughts that ate away at his very core and left him a shell of the energetic being he once was.
Miguel Myles welcomed Ethan King with an easy-going grin and a curt nod of the head, whilst the latter barged through the front door with his shoulders hunched forward, looking downward at the woollen carpet making up the flooring of their dorm room. Ethan took no notice of Miguel, who was sitting down on a revolving black leather chair, which he had spun around upon hearing the door open. Miguel coughed dramatically, earning him a disapproving look from Ethan.
Ethan: What is it?
Miguel: Nothing much, dude. Just wanted to see what’s been going on with you, you haven’t been showing up to class as much as you used to.
Ethan: Yeah. It’s called being on the road. Working, you know? Something that you’ve avoided for the past two years.
Miguel laughed in response to the obvious slight.
Miguel: Hey, you know me. Always doing just enough to get by.
He received a grumble in reply. Slowly, he leaned forward, trying to get Ethan to look at him.
Miguel: Listen dude, I get that you might be feeling a little pissed off at what’s been going on in the past few weeks. But you need to snap out of it, you’ll pick yourself up out of the slump real fucking quick if you don’t let it get to you, you know what I’m saying?
Ethan: And what would you know about it? You’re not a wrestler, you don’t know what I’m dealing with at the moment. You just think you can tell me it’ll get better, and that I’ll smile happily and nod along. Is that what you want? You want me to agree with you and tell you that I’m going to make a concerted effort to pick myself back up to my feet? Because guess what? It’s not going to happen.
Miguel: Say what you want, but you know this ain’t the real you. This ain’t the Ethan that anyone knows, you’re not some weak-willed motherfucker who begins losing all sense of reality the moment he drops the ball a few times. You aren’t some random kid who’s just now being given a shot after years of failure and lack of acceptance. You’re Ethan King, you and Eddie are some of the most talented dues I know, even if sometimes you choose to throw it away because of bullshit like this.
Ethan: You don’t know me.
Miguel: Get out of here dude. I’m not about to pull that pretentious bullshit like “I know you better than you know yourself.” But the point still stands, I know when something’s up with you, and I know when something’s just not right.
Ethan: That shit sounds like something Mikey eXtreme would say, dude’s just another F-Grade movie villain with dreams of ruling the world. Delusional motherfucker.
Miguel: See? This is what I mean. You’re so caught up with how other people are doing, you aren’t looking at yourself and making sure that you’re at the top of your game. You’re looking at all the negative shit and refusing to accept that you’re actually putting in some fucking work over at WCF. Why don’t we take a look at some things?
Ethan: Sure, fine. Whatever.
Miguel: You came into the federation and got the hype train rolling real quick, in less than a fortnight The Pride became one of the most talked about things in the wrestling world, you picked up two quick wins and got the ball rolling. Everything was going great, and then you got one unlucky count out loss to two guys you could knock the fuck out in your sleep, if you weren’t so busy being a pretentious little shit seventy-five percent of the time.
Ethan’s eyes narrowed at that, but he remained silent.
Miguel: And so what that you lost? You gave it your all, you were a little unfocused for just a split-second and you ended up getting counted out, did you let that shit hold you down? No fucking way. Just two weeks later, you came up against the same competition, arguably the top tag team in the federation at this point, and you gave them a fight that they’re bound to remember. Most importantly? You didn’t quit, you didn’t tap out, you didn’t get pinned, you fought to the very end and made everyone realize that you’re not just another flash in the pan like Steve Orbit seems to think. That’s not you, that’s never been you, so why’re you acting all uncertain now? You’ve been dealing with this shit your entire fucking life! People looking down at you because you’re just some kid who thought he could make a career out of beating people up for a living, by being a dude in an industry that leaves people’s minds and bodies broken and shattered into a million pieces. You got heart dude, and don’t you let anyone tell you any differently, because that’s the goddamn truth. Alright?
Ethan’s eyes raised to meet his, he gave a slight nod and whispered the word “Okay.” Miguel still wasn’t convinced.
Miguel: And don’t forget, you’re still finding your feet around here. Think about it. Not even two months into your damn career and you’ve got Seth throwing you into the lions’ den in a match against Steve fucking Orbit. A dude that’s kicked so many asses he could retire for good and be set for life, and still be remembered as one of the best in the business. You looked at that challenge and you took it as a test, not as a match you were bound to lose. You acknowledged that you needed to be on top of your game to come up against a guy of this calibre, and you took him to the fucking limit. You took his best shots and kept getting back up, kept fighting. And now? You’ve been rewarded with the opportunity of a lifetime.
He paused, looking at Ethan with a steady gaze.
Miguel: Facing two of the best on the entire roster, in a match for the United States Championship. That’s how far you’ve come, bro. You went from being a regular college kid, to a guy facing off in one of the biggest matches of the night. A match that’s gonna steal the show thanks to the performance of one of the fastest rising talents in the industry today.
Ethan: …Me?
Miguel: Nah, Mikey eXtreme.
They both go silent for a moment, before chuckling.
Ethan: You almost had me there.
Miguel: I know I did. But for real dude, don’t let your judgement be clouded by all of these losses and “failures” that you think you’ve been going through. Every time you get back up to fight again, that’s another victory to add to the Win Column, that’s another moment where you spit in the face of every hater that you come up against. Haters like Orbit and Mikey, who think that a young gun like yourself shouldn’t be stepping into the ring with the likes of them, because that’s what they be thinking, right? They think you don’t deserve the shot, so you gotta go out there and take it from them, prove that you’re one of the best in the game today. That you’re coming in hot with a fire in your belly, that you’ve got an unmatched spirit and an indomitable will. That’s what this is all about, yeah? Proving that you got what it takes, proving that you aren’t just another weak, petty motherfucker that’s going to give up after just a couple of losses. Just remember something, dude. Aftermath’s going to be a moment where history is made, where if you play your cards right and put in the work I know you can, the WCF will be acknowledging that their young superstar in Ethan King has just picked up his first major title in the organization. This is your moment, bro.
He extends his arm out, his hand curled up into a fist.
Miguel: You just gotta step up and take it.
Ethan seems to be contemplating a response, he takes a moment, before sighing and allowing a small smile to play at his lips.
Ethan: You know what? You got it, dude.
He too extends out his arm, and the two touch knuckles. Ethan’s shoulders sag down in relief, Miguel offers him one more smile, before spinning around in his chair.
Ethan: Thanks for that… I honestly didn’t know what the fuck I was going to do in preparation for this match. Now I know what’s up, I’m gonna rest up for the night, and come out swinging tomorrow.
Miguel: That’s it man. Just put in the work, and you’ll be walking out with that strap firmly around your waist. You got this.
Ethan chuckles, and then slowly turns around, walking confidently into his bedroom. He flops onto his plush bed, head resting delicately against the pillow. Soon enough, audible snores echo throughout the small room, leaving Miguel to smile deviously. His fingers fly over the computer situated on the desk in front of him, after typing out a message in a quick flurry, he nails the enter button, sending a message to *UNKNOWN*
“Just got him back on track, he got that stupid spark back in his eye like he’s ready to make a splash. I think we can start the first stages of the plan next week, you cool with that?”
Almost immediately after sending the message, Miguel receives one back.
“Absolutely, make sure to keep him on a leash. If he starts getting suspicious, ensure that he doesn’t start up some type of makeshift investigation. Especially if he involves Eddie, that kid could potentially expose everything.”
Miguel’s amused expression remains planted over his face as he types one last message to *UNKNOWN*
“Don’t worry, he’s already onto the trail of something completely different. Ethan knows it too, which is exactly why he WON’T let Eddie in on this, if he even realizes somethings amiss. You really need to stop worrying, this has been in the works for months at this point, you got nothing to fear. Anyway, I’m out for the night. Need to get my sleep before offering some more words of encouragement to our mutual friend.”
*UNKNOWN* responds with a
TIME TO BURN IT ALL DOWN (KILLIN’ IT WITH FIRE – PART ONE)
Rays of light lit up the ground in a vivid yellow, trees swayed softly in tune with the lightly blowing winds that howled softly in the background. The camera, clearly being propped up on someone’s shoulder, shook roughly as it panned over to a smiling Ethan King.
Ethan: Dude, think you can aim the camera without having it shake everywhere?
Miguel: I’m not a professional, just give me a second.
After a few moments of fidgeting, the camera remains deadly still, perfectly centred over the face of Ethan, who spreads his arms out wide in a gesture saying “Well, here I am.”
“Orbit, how’re you doing man? You still sitting backstage with all of your friends, wondering what went wrong when you failed to put away the young upstart looking to take your place among the greats? You still sitting there thinking that you had me, but just failed to capitalize, like every other time you’ve stepped in the ring in the past few months and failed to do anything noteworthy?
How does it feel bro? Knowing that a rookie took you to the limit, left you barely able to stand after a back and forth match that left you shell-shocked. Was that the moment your realized that maybe, just maybe, you don’t got it anymore?
Nah, fuck outta here with that. You were coming up against one of the fastest rising stars in the WCF today, you were pitted against that boy Ethan King, the fiery young kid who not only upstaged you by taking your best shots and then continued to get back up, but is going to outsmart you at Aftermath when he pins Mikey eXtreme and walks out with his first major title in the WCF.
This is history in the making, dude. You spend your whole life working your way up for moments like these, moments where you need to clutch up and stop giving a fuck about all the doubters, haters and critics. Ever since I came into the WCF, that’s all I’ve been surrounded by. Guys like you, Steve. Who seem to think that just cause I’m new and have a bit of heart, that I don’t have the talent and the skill to back it all up.
Well, did I prove something to you at Slam? Did I show you that you aren’t as fucking great as you say you are? Did I prove that there’s a new influx of talent coming into the WCF that’s soon going to overtake you, while you stay in your own little lane, in your own little world, still believing that you’re the best, when it’s already been proven that you simply aren’t?
Don’t get me wrong. You still gave the crowd a show, you still took some of MY best shots and kept getting back up, and you know what? That’s exactly what I expected from you, you’re a legend, a former world champion. All of that shit, I don’t need to keep saying it, we already know what the deal is. You’re one of the all-time greats, and I expected nothing less than for you to give me the fight of my life…
But you didn’t take everything out of me.
I’m still standing, I’m still here laughing at the fact you think you’re still one of the top talents around here. Sure, you’ve got that potential, and when you’re hot, you’re hot. But to think that you thought I’d be an easy draw? That you’d be able to take our match last week and just run with it, kick my ass and then go on to face Mikey for that US Title? You’re tripping my dude, like every other egomaniacal prick out there, you can’t fathom the idea that you aren’t able to beat everyone around here.
And let me tell you something right now, you can’t fucking beat everyone. And certainly not me, when I’m coming in hot, not when I’m coming in with the mentality of a fucking killer, a guy that’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
You’re right, man. I lose to you or Mikey, what does that do for me? I just drop a match, I waste an opportunity, sure. But I can pick myself back up to my feet, I can get right back up and start kicking ass like I’ve been doing ever since I came into the federation.
But if you lose?
What does that say about you, dude? You’ve put all this pressure on yourself, telling everyone that you’re one of the top draws around, that you’ve still got what it takes to reach the top of the federation and reign supreme over all the guys that in the past, you would’ve been able to beat without breaking a sweat.
But what’s happening now?
You’re just like everybody else, you’re stuck in a position that you’re probably thinking is too low for you, like, for real. in hot, not when I’m coming in with the mentality of a fucking killer, a guy that’s got nothing to lose and everything to gain.
You’re right, man. I lose to you or Mikey, what does that do for me? I just drop a match, I waste an opportunity, sure. But I can pick myself back up to my feet, I can get right back up and start kicking ass like I’ve been doing ever since I came into the federation.
But if you lose?
What does that say about you, dude? You’ve put all this pressure on yourself, telling everyone that you’re one of the top draws around, that you’ve still got what it takes to reach the top of the federation and reign supreme over all the guys that in the past, you would’ve been able to beat without breaking a sweat.
But what’s happening now?
You’re just like everybody else, you’re stuck in a position that you’re probably thinking is too low for you, like, for real. You STARTED your real run here as the United States Champion, that’s when everybody realized that you were the real deal, and now you’re coming back here trying to repeat history, but that’s not how this goes down. You don’t just walk in here and take what you thinks rightfully yours, you haven’t earned that shit. You’ve just been taking the spots of other people that have earned this shit way more than you have, people that haven’t had their chance to step into the spotlight.
In the end, that’s all this United States Title is to you, now isn’t it? A stepping stone, something that’s going to help re-establish you as one of the top dogs here, you take out two of the more promising talents in Mikey and I, and all of a sudden you think that everyone’s going to look at you in the same light they did when you were the champ, when you were THE MAN.
Times are changing, dude. You’re just not willing to accept that shit, you can’t help but think that you still got what it takes, and like I said last week, you still DO. But you’re so caught up about your personal image and how you haven’t been able to come through with the goods in recent times, that you’re starting to lose sight of everything that’s important. You’re so caught up on results and shit that you don’t even know how to get the big wins in the big match situations. You went from being one of the most clutch motherfucker’s on the roster to just another guy who can’t get it done when it matters most.
And don’t be mistaken, THIS is when it matters most. Forget last week, forget where you failed to beat a little rookie who you thought you could steamroll through, this is where legends are made, this is where you need to nut up and take your best fucking shot, and hope and pray to god that it goes through. Otherwise? You get knocked the fuck out, you experience your worst nightmare and you drop yet another match that you thought you had in the bag.
And then what happens?
You fade into obscurity, one little piece at a time, all of your legacy forgotten because of the way you’ve been embarrassing yourself.
Because you, Steve Orbit, like to prance around and puff out your chest, you want everyone to think that you’re able to just come back up in here and take over the federation like you did once upon a time.
How fucking arrogant can you get?
That’s almost Mikey eXtreme levels of delusion, my dude. Come on, I know you’re better than that. Don’t fall into the same hole all these guys have been digging themselves, you come in here talking all this shit, without realizing that sometimes, you just can’t get the job done. Admit it, man. Everyone has to take their losses every once in a while, but you just don’t seem to be able to handle that. You take a loss, and your whole world falls apart, you go into this vicious cycle that messes with your mentality. And all that potential you have? It fades away along with you, with every negative thought and every broken promise, you drop further and further down. You start having your doubts, you start wondering why you’re being used as a stepping stone for young guns such as myself, you start wondering…
“Do I really still got it?”
Let me answer that for you. You still got it. Sure, you still know what it takes to come away with victories every now and again, but you’re not half as consistent as you used to be. You don’t have that fire coursing through your veins all the time, you go from hot to cold in an instant. What was all that shit you were talking last week about me, huh? That I won’t be able to hang with you, that I can’t compete with a guy of your calibre? That you were certain you were going to be walking out with the W?
And what the fuck ended up happening? Oh, yeah. That’s right. You dropped the ball again, for every big move and near fall you got, you ended up falling just a little bit short. Something that’s been happening so much recently, it may as well be what you’re known for at this point. I don’t understand how people can be all up on Bonnie Blue’s shit for failing to come through on title opportunities, when this motherfucker right here is the epitome of choking in the clutch. Give this guy a chance at the game winning shot and you throw your chances straight out the fucking window. Give this guy a chance to come through and reach that main-event level status again, and he takes it for granted. He thinks that he’s deserving of this shit just because of what he’s done in the past.
The WCF? It’s evolved man. You should know that. The level of competition has only increased since your last run through here, even when you hopped into Trios for 2015, the amount of people that could beat you has probably doubled, and guess what? I’m in that group of people, I proved it last week, I proved that you don’t have what it takes to keep me down for good.
And sure, you could say that I still need to prove that I can actually take you out, but the jobs already been done. I’m already in your head, I’ve already pushed you to your breaking point, you were so fucking sure of yourself, weren’t you? So positive that you could take our match last week and have it be a complete whitewash, like I was some kind of perpetual mid-carder that didn’t deserve to be in the same ring as you. But look what ended up happening, you thought all of that shit, you gave it everything you could, and once again in typical Steve Orbit fashion, you suffered yet another morale breaking defeat, another crushing blow to the deteriorating thing that we know goes by the name of ‘Steve Orbit’s Confidence.’
I wasn’t the one ready to step into the ring with you? Seems like it’s the other way around dude, because you’re so scared of what’s standing in front of you right now. You look at me and all your fears and nightmares become a reality, it’s what’s running through your mind right now, isn’t it? You’re so fucking worried about losing to a newcomer, about losing to a guy that you think has nothing on you, yet has all the potential in the world.
My training’s been on point, my mentality is one hundred percent focused on treating you like a fucking punching back in that ring, you got a bullseye planted on your forehead and believe me when I say you’re going to be eating more shots then you could ever fucking imagine.
For all your strength, I’ll be just a little smarter with my movements.
For all your speed, I’ll be just that little bit faster.
For all your experience, I’ll have just a little more heart.
For all your pride and self-belief, I’ll be the one to tear that shit away from you the moment I walk out of Aftermath as the United States Champion, carrying that title proudly over my shoulder, while you wonder what could’ve been.
The balls in your court, man. This is your time to step up into the limelight and take what’s truly yours. Pressure? That’s non-existent for me. I’m just going to walk up into this match and do what I do best, I’m going to flip the tables, I’m going to fight, scratch and claw my way to a hard earned victory, I’m going to sacrifice everything to take the fight to both you and Mikey and ensure that the two of you fucking remember that I’m not just a limp-wristed, unimportant scrub that’s not going to make an impact around here.
No matter what the result is, I’m still walking out a winner, I’m still walking out as a true champion. Title belt or not, it doesn’t matter, because you’re going to be experiencing a rude awakening when I knock your teeth straight down the back of your throat. You’re going to choke on that shit just like how you start choking up every time the bright lights start shining down upon you, when the sweat starts flowing and you start feeling a little nervous. Because for all of your experience, you never could’ve imagined that you’d be staring in the face of a monumental challenge that you never saw coming.
Last week? You caught me in the corner of your eye at just the right second, the exact moment that gave you JUST enough time to prepare, but there’s no preparation for what comes at Aftermath. Where I solidify the foundation of my legacy, where I build upon everything I’ve walked towards, where I look at you right in the eye and make sure that you remember me, that you realize that I ain’t no joke.
Where you realize…
That I’m The One."
LIGHT EM UP (KILLIN’ IT WITH FIRE - PART TWO)
Miguel: You ready, dude?
Ethan: Yeah, I got this.
Ethan takes a short breath, and flashes a brilliant smile at the camera. The scenery has changed from the last time, signifying that there’s been a break since the last cut. Now, the two are standing in a gym hall, with the United States flag hanging behind Ethan King himself.
“Mikey, how’s everything been dude? I still can’t get over the look you had on your face when you realized you’d be defending against your toughest challengers yet, when you realized last Slam that you’re well and truly fucked.
Because, let’s be honest dude. You seriously don’t stand a chance.
You can be as pretentious as you want, you can be the arrogant little shit that we all know you are, you can look at the United States flag behind me and smile proudly as you continue to believe that everyone’s living in ‘Mikey’s America.’ But I’m going to tell you what everyone else has wanted to say ever since you started running with that bullshit, dude.
It’s time to get the fuck outta here.
Seriously.
Calling you a joke isn’t even accurate at this point, you’re a fucking imbecile who’s delusional enough to not realize he’s one of the biggest hypocrites on the entire goddamn roster. You sit around telling everyone, especially the fans, that they don’t deserve to witness you competing each and every week, and what the fuck do you end up doing?
You come out and compete each and every week, inadvertently proving that you’re just an absolute dickhead who has no idea what he’s talking about. Whatever comes to mind first, you just come out and say it, for all of your derogatory remarks and the elitist bullshit you preach every week about this being YOUR America, when you constantly come out here and are overshadowed by the vast majority of people around here.
Nobody respects you, Mikey.
And that eats away at you on the inside, doesn’t it? While the crowd cheers and chants for guys Orbit and I, you’re still sitting around, desperately hoping that people start to believe in your ridiculous little speeches, where you try and get people to gather around and accept the fact that YOU’RE their champion. But the truth hurts, doesn’t it Mikey? The truth is all around you. Every time you step into that ring, people are booing the fuck out of you because you’re a despicable little cunt with nothing better to do other than bully other people into accepting you, into having some type of respect for you.
You’ve done nothing to earn any type of respect.
You go around telling the world that you don’t give a fuck about the fans, that they mean nothing to you, that they don’t deserve to watch you, that they don’t deserve to listen to you, that they don’t even deserve to be anywhere NEAR you…
Yet every fucking week, you’re out here trying to tell them that this is Mikey’s America, that this is your playground and you’re the ruler of it. That you’re the King. But in reality, you’re just placing yourself up on that pedestal, nobody else sees you in that light, nobody even knows what the fuck you’re on about. They just see a fucking lunatic, a guy so insecure about losing what’s most important to him, that he does everything in his power to remind the SAME people he says ‘aren’t deserving of him’ that he’s one of the best, and they should treat him that way.
But Mikey, you know that’s not how this goes down. You know this isn’t the way things are gonna be, you can feel your grip slipping slightly, you’re getting a little tense. You’re starting to sweat, you’re seeing the oncoming challenge and starting to ball up, throwing out those defensive mechanisms, that natural inclination that makes you lash out at the people who’ve never believed in you.
You spout out all these harsh words, throw out all these unnecessary slogans, try to make people buy into this idea that you’re their one and true ruler, but you know what everybody sees?
A scared rat, an insecure child that doesn’t want his favourite toy taken away from him. What did you do moments after Vengeance took your title away from you? Oh, yeah. You went and brought a fake one, carrying that around like some kind of trinket, devaluing the title to the point where you turned it into a fucking joke. Sure, you’ve had your defences and great battles for it. Sure, there’s been epic wars fought for the championship that you’re currently in possession of, but look at the guy who gets to carry it around everywhere he goes.
Mikey eXtreme.
The self-proclaimed ruler of America, the guy who turns into a desperate little bitch the moment there’s any risk of him losing the championship. And when he does manage to hold onto it? He claims that he’s the rightful owner of the championship, when he loses possession of the one thing that matters most, he flounders and flails. He cries and whines, hoping that he gets an opportunity to make things right, to set the record straight.
You lose to a respectable guy like Vengeance, you drop the title, and when you manage to get it back, what is it that you do?
Yeah, you try and shit all over the guy, like he wasn’t even worthy of carrying that championship around, like you’re the only one who has put in the time and effort to be deserving of such a prize. Let’s get something straight, Mikey. You’re nothing fucking special, you weren’t destined to be the holder of this title, you weren’t destined to be some image or representative of America. Rather, you were just the one at the right place, at the right time. Don’t get it twisted, you WON the championship, you gave it your all and you came out on top. And you’ve done it three times now, and that’s something that should be acknowledged.
But, it’s what you’ve done after winning those titles that’s made you the piece of shit everybody recognizes you as today, the way you act as if it was all predetermined, as if nobody stood a fucking chance against a guy like you.
Like how you call a hard worker like Cormack MacNeil a nobody. How do you propose that works, huh? Explain that shit to me, dude. Explain how somebody who, in all of his time here, has been nothing but a fair and respectable competitor, is a nobody in comparison to you.
Well? I’m waiting.
Let’s rewind back to Ultimate Showdown last year, Mikey. Yeah, that’s right. You remember that time, right? Back when you were a fucking nobody as well, do you remember that? While you were being overshadowed by the rest of the DRG, while Thomas Uriel Bates was carrying all the hopes and dreams of that fucked up little squad, who where you in the grand scheme of things?
That’s right, a nobody.
You were just a pawn in his little game, he wanted to use you to get himself a championship, he wanted you to take the fall while he went on to bigger and better things, and what ended up happening on that fateful night? He walked home with the United States Championship, and you came out with nothing. You walked away empty-handed, while your ‘friend’ carried home what you’ve always thought was yours and yours only, that US Title. Your one saving grace, the one thing that’s elevated you to something above ‘nobody status.’ But here’s the thing, dude. While you may be a champion, are you REALLY a champion?
And I know, I know. This might be a little harder for that idiotic mind of yours to comprehend, but there’s a difference between a champion such as yourself, and a respectable champion who puts everything he can into representing that belt with pride.
Look at Teo Del Sol, the guy you faced off against last week. HE is the definition of a champion. He fights for what’s right, he has his own opinions about what a true People’s Champion is, just like yourself, but unlike him, you try to FORCE those opinions onto everyone else. While he remains a fighting champion, you grow scared at the prospect of a challenge. How did it feel knowing that you would have to defend your belt, Mikey? You walked out there, all proud and excited, as realization dawned on you. When it suddenly hit you that you would be able to carry that title around for just a little longer, giving you just a tad more influence over the people who are still hesitant to accept you as their real champion, because they know there are two far better alternatives just a moment away from fucking eviscerating you and taking that belt from you.
Orbit and I? No matter which one of us walks away with this shit, it comes out in good hands. I’m coming out swinging, I’m going all-out, full force. This is gonna be the type of shit you’ve never experienced before, Mikey. You’ve come up against some hardcore opponents, some guys who really know how to get the job done, and now? You’re coming up against another one of those guys, someone who doesn’t give a fuck about your reputation and the crap you’ve been saying. A guy who won’t be affected by all your talk about this being ‘Mikey’s America’ and how it’s just ‘not my time.’
Don’t be mistaken, Mikey. Sure, I’ve only been around here for a little, but this is my fucking time.
Not just my time, but The Pride’s time. This is where we come out with everything we got and take the federation by storm, just like we planned all those months ago, while you were cradling that United States Championship to your chest and whispering all your fake promises into it, telling the world that you would be the one everyone wanted to be, when in reality everyone wanted nothing more than to watch you fall, to watch you fail and be humbled by someone who’s ultimately going to be a better champion than you ever were.
That time has come, Mikey. You’re looking up at the clock and you’re seeing 14:59 on the clock, Aftermath is when that fatal fifteenth minute finally hits and you start seeing stars, stars such as myself, swooping onto the scene and elevating that title of yours to heights it’s never seen before, and removing it from the depths you took it into. Just like the title you’re now carrying, you’re going to hit rock fucking bottom, except you’re not going to have an Ethan King to help you recover, to help bring you back up to the Promised Land.
After this, Mikey? You’re all alone. There’s nothing left for you, you can try calling up some old friends, you can try pick up the pieces, you can try reach the potential and the heights you seemingly think you can get up to. You can have another shot at this United States Title, you can try to make everyone believe that you’re the only real champion in the WCF, and that this belt is the one saving grace of a federation that doesn’t deserve someone as great as you…
But we all know it’s a lie, manufactured and perpetuated by you and you only. You aren’t some type of higher power, Mikey. You aren’t a legend, you aren’t a god, and you certainly aren’t a king. You’ve got nothing but the lies you spread and the tales you tell. In each sharp intake of breath you take, with your head barely above the waters that are slowly starting to drown both you, and your vision of ‘Mikey’s America’ out, you shout and scream, telling the world that you’re confident in your abilities, that you have what it takes.
But how many times do you have to reiterate that point, how many times must you stand out before the world and tell them that ‘you’re the best’, that ‘you’re the one’. How many times are you allowed to claim those roles before your words lose your weight? If you weren’t aware of it Mikey, your words stopped having meaning a long, long time ago. The moment you took it upon yourself to act as some self-made god was the exact moment in time that your fifteen minutes began. And now you’re looking up into the stars, hoping that you’ll one day be one of those select few that shine brighter than the rest.
Little do you know… there’s another star zooming in on the scene, one that’s built itself from the ground up and shot into space like a fucking rocket.
All I needed was a little direction, Mikey. All I needed was to be aimed at something, and off I go. That’s all it was, there just needed to be a target, something to focus all of my time and energy into, someone to look at and say “I can beat that guy, I can take him.”
And Mikey… I can certainly fucking take you. Forget pushing you to the limit, forget even pushing Orbit to the limit, I’m going to break those boundaries and leave you questioning why you ever thought you were better than anyone else. I’m going to have you re-evaluate your entire fucking career here, and it’s all going to come in one fell swoop. While you start falling from grace, while you start dropping back down into reality and begin understanding that you can’t just claim these roles, but you have to grow into them and PROVE that you’re worthy of them, before you can just tell everyone that you’re the end all be all.
But don’t get it twisted, Mikey. This IS the end, the end of the beginning for you. Aftermath for the two of us will end with you getting pinned by me, and once you’re done watching me hoisting that title proudly above my head, it’ll hit you. You’ll know exactly what you need to do, you’ll look to improve, you’ll change, you’ll be humbled.
You’ll know.
That this just wasn’t your moment, that everything you’ve done leading up until this point screwed you up in the long run.
It’s hard to accept. I know, I get it. I’ve been through the rough times too, I’ve struggled to comprehend exactly what went wrong in these moments, I’ve questioned everything I’ve ever known. And that’s why… when you DO end up losing this title, and you’re looking at the guy that’s going to carry it into the foreseeable future… I want you to understand something.
That you can improve.
That there’s still time for you to fix things, NO-ONE is irredeemable. You’ve done some shitty things, your friends have done some shitty things, but there’s still hope, and I believe that you really will be able to better yourself from this.
Just believe in it, dude. Remember this bright shining star that took your most prized possession away from you, remember what he told you, remember that he said these words…
“I believe in you, Mikey.”
Because, as much as I make dislike you, I know you got what it takes dude. It’s gonna take time, it’s gonna take effort, and it’s gonna take heart, but you can do it.
It’s just not going to happen now, alright?
You’re in a tough spot, my man. Without me, you wouldn’t get the chance in the next few months to repair yourself, but WITH me?
You don’t get to carry that United States Championship.
Like I said, tough spot. Let’s just hope you make the right choice, man.
Good luck.”
Sometimes, I Dream.
A vibration sounded out, an alarm bells began to ring. A hand instinctively swooped toward the phone on the wooden bedside table and flicked across the screen, a tired groan escaped from Cara’s lips. Her eyes blinked rapidly, amber iris’ flashing brilliantly as she languidly started to push herself up to a seated position, with her back resting against the back of the bed. She composed herself, running a hand through her already messy brown locks. Slowly, she turned her gaze to the left, making sure that he was still here.
Ethan King was also sitting upward, although much more straight than his partner. By the looks of things, he had not just woken up. His eyes were locked directly ahead, the steely blue-green reflecting the early morning sun, almost like a mirror. His hands were rested in his lap, a contemplative expression crossed over his defined features. Cara gradually slithered her hand upward onto his shoulder, touching down onto it delicately, sending a shiver down his spine.
Cara: You okay babe?
He let out a short sigh, before shooting her a sidelong glance – coupled with a weary grin.
Ethan: Yeah. Just been thinking a lot.
The worried look she gave him made him chuckle somewhat.
Ethan: Don’t worry, it’s nothing major. I’m just a little nervous.
He paused, before turning his head to face her, an apologetic smile spread over his lips.
Ethan: Thanks for letting me crash here the night, staying on campus this week was tough. Need a break, honestly.
Cara: You still didn’t give me an explanation for that. And I missed the extra room I had before last night, so I think you owe me one.
He nodded, conceding the point. He kicked his feet out to the side, away from underneath the bedsheets, before steadily planting his two feet onto the ground beneath him. He wobbled at first, but quickly shot up to his feet. His eyes scanned around momentarily, then slowly swung back to her.
Ethan: There’s just a lot of pressure, you know? When you’re in the biggest wrestling company in the world, and you’re spending half of your time at a school… people tend to put you up on a pedestal. They don’t treat you like you’re… like you’re…
Cara: Real?
Ethan: Yeah. People that I used to spend time chilling with now seem to think that because I’m some ‘sensation’ that they don’t even deserve to be in the same room as me. The conversations aren’t the same, nothing’s the same. The only guys I’ve got by my side and Miguel and Eddie… and I’m not even sure on Eddie, to be honest.
Cara: I already told you, Eddie’s fine. He’s just independent, something that YOU should probably look into becoming.
Ethan: You think I’m in the wrong here, wanting to just be a regular guy? Sure, wrestling was the dream, it’s everything I ever wanted to be. It’s ALL I ever wanted to be, but that shouldn’t mean I don’t get to live out my life the way I want to. I’m not just a product for their entertainment, I’m not some robot being programmed to cut promos and shit, hyping up the crowd 24/7 and making sure people tune in to watch my matches. I train, I work hard, and when I want to relax… fuck… I don’t even get the opportunity to. People are way too busy critiquing me, or asking me about how my damn career’s going.
She frowned, watching him carefully. He paced forward, glancing out the window for a split-second, taking in the outside world in all its glory, the one place he felt he didn’t belong in anymore thanks to the position he had been given and the opportunities he had been granted. Briskly, he made for the door, Cara’s hand shot out, as if from this distance it would be able to stop him.
Cara: Stop.
Sharply, Ethan stopped moving toward the door, giving her a tired look.
Ethan: Look, I know. I get it. I’m not looking at things from the right perspective, I’m thinking about all the negatives and forgetting about all the good things. I realized this about two weeks ago, alright? I just need to take things at my own pace, it’ll work out. Okay? You don’t have to-
Cara: It’s not that, Ethan.
His quizzical expression prompted her to continue.
Cara: I’m coming to your match.
He went silent.
Cara: I wanted to come, I’m bringing Kylie along too.
Ethan: Dad… Dad would let her come?
She smiled and nodded, he took a step back.
Ethan: O-Okay…
She got up and out of bed, throwing the sheets to the side as she closed the distance between herself and Ethan.
Cara: You can be whatever you want to be, okay? Don’t let ‘them’ stop you from that.
Her head turned marginally to the right, he mirrored the movement, the two of them sharing a soft kiss on the lips before separating. His lips twitched upward in a smile, nodding.
Ethan: I think I can get behind that.
Cara: You better. Now… when’s your flight?
Ethan: Ten hours, I’ve got time.
She saw the interest in his eyes, interest piqued, her own eyes narrowed partially.
Cara: Time for what?
He beckoned down towards his phone, and took a deep breath.
Ethan: To make a call.
THIS IS MY STORY (KILLIN’ IT WITH FIRE – PART THREE)
His right foot struck against the concrete flooring underneath him impatiently, while he held up the sleek black phone in his hand right up against his ear, hearing it dial and subsequently ring the requested the number once, twice, three times…
Someone picked up.
Kylie: Hello?
Ethan: Hey! It’s me.
Kylie: ETHAN? Oh my god, I can’t believe you called! Don’t you have to catch a flight soon, I was talking to Dad and Cara and they both said that you’d be busy and that you wouldn’t want to-
Ethan: Hey, hey. Slow down, it’s alright. I’m here, I’m not going to go anywhere.
She hesitated, he could hear her quick intake of breath.
Kylie: It’s just… I don’t know when I’m going to get to talk to you again. You’ve been dealing with so much and I thought that…
Ethan: That?
Kylie: You wouldn’t want to talk to me.
He grimaced, while gritting his teeth.
Ethan: No, don’t ever think like that. I’ve always got time for you and Dad, I’m just having trouble figuring some things out…
His lips pursed together slightly, realizing how stupid he must sound.
Kylie: Well… did you hear the news?
The excited note that rung out in her voice made him smile.
Ethan: Yeah, I can’t believe Dad decided to let you come.
Kylie: It took a little bit of convincing… I still don’t think he’s fully on board. You know how he feels about the whole wrestling thing…
Ethan: That’s okay, I don’t ever expect him to agree with it. As long as he accepts that this is what I want to do, then I’m fine.
Kylie: Is… is that why you don’t want to see him? Because he doesn’t like you being a wrestler?
Ethan: What? No, no! That’s not it at all, sometimes I just think it’s good for the two of us to be able to think things through on our own at first, before we start talking. You know how things get sometimes between us…
Kylie: Yeah…
Disappointed with how he answered her, he tried to lighten up his tone somewhat.
Ethan: So, how do you think I’ll do?
Kylie: What? In your match? You’re going to do awesome, I know it Ethan. You’ve trained so hard and you deserve this so, so much. It’s what you’ve been working towards your whole life, hasn’t it?
He sighed.
Ethan: Yeah… yeah it has been.
Kylie: Why don’t you sound happy?
He thought about his next words very carefully.
Ethan: Sometimes, Kylie… to get everything you want… you need to make sacrifices.
Kylie: Oh… is everything alright?
Ethan: That’s what I’m trying to figure out.
Kylie: You’ll get through it, Ethan. You’re strong.
Ethan: Thanks, sis.
He glanced down at the time on the phone, and frowned.
Ethan: Look… I’ve… I’ve got to start packing. I left it all till last minute, hopefully I’ll see you guys after the match? Tell Cara to call me.
Kylie: I will… good luck, Ethan.
He went silent, and hung up. He looked down at the phone screen and saw the smiling face of Kylie looking up at him.
“I’ll make you proud, Kylie.
“I’ll win it for everyone.
“Even you, Dad.”
