The Return and the Relapse

[Deleted]

Part 1: I’m b-b-b-back, bitches 

Body paint was beginning to flake off, running down his back in harmony with occasional beads of sweat. This could more easily be attributed to a familiar rush of adrenaline that Spencer hadn’t felt in months.

: Spence! Welcome back, my man!

A crew member passes by, one in a long line of men before him who had congratulated The Antidote on his return at tonight’s show. He pats Spencer on the back as Betty Adams’ baby boy continues to gleam from ear to ear.

Spencer: Thanks, man. Feels fucking awesome right now.

: So what’s the plan then?

Spencer chuckles at the employee’s response and places a hand on his shoulder. He shakes his head a bit and smiles once more.

Spencer: Good talk, man, good talk.

The Antidote continues rhythmically weaving his head horizontally as he departs from the conversation and continues to make his way through the backstage area, catching the occasional warm greeting.

: Spencer Adams.

He hears the voice just as he reaches for the handle to the locker room door. Adams turns around to see the source of the angelic tone, a petite young brunette woman whose hair gives off a vibrant yet professional glow that compliments her pristine looking suit rather nicely.

Spencer: Oh shit! What happened to Hank? I’d make a trans joke right now, but you know, number one face reputation to uphold and shit.

She extends a well manicured hand out for a shake which Spencer accepts.

: Elisse Sheppard. I’m an assistant of sorts to Mr. Lerch.

Spencer: Oh….you poor thing. I’m so, so sorry.

Elisse: I assure you that things are going just fine with me. Speaking of Mr. Lerch, he’s asked me to come find you before you take off for the night. He’d like to have a word with you.

Spencer: Oh, would he now?

Adams continues cheesing out from the excitement of the night as Elisse shoots him an awkward half smile of sorts before signaling the general direction to Seth’s office.

Elisse: Right this way.

Spencer: I know what’s up. This isn’t my first rodeo with boss man.

After a bit a stroll filled with mild flirting and a series of digs at Seth from Spencer, the two reach a door not much unlike the one Spencer had approached earlier when he was about to enter the locker room. The main difference between that door and this door is that this one is overtaken by a large gold star with Seth’s first and last name centered between the five points. This creates an eyesore that brings a slight touch of acid to Spencer’s throat as the cringe juices start to flow.

Spencer: Is this guy serious? That ego never stops growing, does it? Fuck, have people not been doing their job while I’ve been away?

Elisse: What job would that be exactly?

Spencer: Crushing Seth’s self esteem on a regular basis. Fight the power, get money, fuck shit up, and all that good jazz...or something like that.

The door before them swings open as a roided out looking young wrestler decked out in generic raven black attire from head to toe. The twenty something year old athlete looks a bit shaken, perhaps from his meeting with the boss or maybe from having noticed The Antidote standing just in front of him.

: Holy crap! You’re Spencer Adams!

Spencer grins as the young wrestler is clearly starstruck, a clear indicator of his suspected inexperience.

Spencer: You new here?

: Hopefully! It looks like I might get to go down and do some workouts with WCF trainers next week!

Spencer: Go get’em, man. Hope to see you around here again before too lon-

Seth: Spencer!

The familiar voice of the man in charge of WCF violates Spencer’s ear hole, letting out a sound like a dying cat caught in a tar pit.

Spencer: Seth fucking Lerch.

The boss waves Spencer in as both The Antidote and Seth’s assistant step into his office. Elisse stands in front of the door with her arms crossed over one another like a nightclub bouncer.

Seth: Elisse?

She focuses in on her employer’s greeting/short form question.

Elisse: Yes, Mr. Lerch?

Seth: Would you mind stepping out so for a moment so that I can have a word with Spencer in private?

Elisse nods and steps back out through the door, pulling it shut behind her as Spencer is left alone with a version of Seth Lerch who has adopted a see through smile with a ten dollar price tag.

Seth: Elisse, nice girl! Giant-

Spencer: Careful, boss man. Wouldn’t want a lawsuit on your hands.

Seth: Heart! I was going to say heart! Don’t get me started on the lawsuits!

Spencer: Well, Elisse said you wanted to speak with me..

Seth: Awh, yes! Of course!

Spencer: Alright, let’s get this over with then..

Seth: Why such a rush? Don’t you want to savor the moment just a little? I mean, Spencer Adams has returned to WCF! I don’t think a lot of people thought this would happen. Hell, neither did I to be perfectly honest.

The Antidote exhales a deep sigh of reluctance, showcasing his lack of amusement towards the man sat behind the oak desk in front of him.

Seth: You thirsty? Want me to call Elisse back in here and have her run and grab you something?

Spencer: That’s not necessary.

Seth: Well, how have you been? How’s the family doing?

Spencer’s brow crinkles as his eyelids draw closer to each other at Seth’s words.

Spencer: What’s this really about?

Seth: Can’t a boss just sit down and catch up with one of his biggest stars?

Spencer: Let’s cut the bullshit. Me and you, we were never buddies. What the fuck is this then?

A devilish smirk spreads over Seth’s face as his fingers cross and weave between one another.

Seth: I’ve got something special that I’d like to offer you, something that I don’t think you’ll be able to refuse.

Spencer: Oh, really now? What might that be?

Seth: We might not be best buds, but I could make you something big. I could make you the next Logan if I wanted to. You want to chase that world championship? I can make that journey a whole lot easier on you. Of course, I’d ask that you do something for me in return.

Spencer: Are you kidding me?

Seth: Come on. You join The Family and help me out, help us stand up to Bates and those renegades of his and I’ll make it well worth the trouble.

Spencer: Let me get this straight. I’ve spent every minute of my WCF career pushing myself to the limit and going high risk, putting my health and well being on the line while you were one of the first people to jolt up and hit the panic button, because you thought I was putting too much in jeopardy and risking you another lawsuit or another healthy dosage of bad press, but now that you’re the one backed into a corner by The Mountain, you want me to be your next henchman to try to stop my former teammate?

Seth: Look, I-

Spencer: I’m not here for any secret deals from the guy who runs the place and I’m not interested in your little gang warfare. I’m here for one reason and one reason only and that is to get the belt the right way by going out there and ripping it from the champion’s hands via my own performance, no bullshit necessary. Sorry to burst your bubble, but Spencer motherfucking Adams is playing servant to nobody.

Seth’s face grows red as he rubs at his temple in frustration. The Antidote rises to his feet and turns about halfway towards the door before responding once more.

Spencer: Tell you what I will do though. I’ll go out next Sunday and dismantle whoever the hell it is that you decide to try to throw at me, whoever it is that you think is going to be booked against me with the hope that they’ll somehow teach me some sort of “lesson” or make me see where I “went wrong” by turning down this stupid fucking offer of yours. I’ll take THAT guy and send his ass to the waiver wire. I’ll crush every single person until I’ve earned my way into Ultimate Showdown and if for some reason you decide NOT to give me that opportunity, I’ll just keep on dissecting your roster until I get what I want.

Steam practically shoots from Seth’s ears like an old cartoon character as Spencer walks to the door.

Seth: There. Just booked you.

Spencer ignores Seth’s retort as the door opens and the hallway outside becomes visible.

Seth: Aren’t you going to ask who it is?!

Spencer: Bye, Seth.

The boss is fuming now after being ignored and shoots to his feet, his right fist pounding against the desk in pure anger.

Seth: It’s you against Danny Anderson.

Spencer has already made it out into the hallway, but stops as he hears Seth shout out before closing the door. He turns to his boss and begins to laugh in his direction.

Spencer: I guess this whole getting into Ultimate Showdown thing is gonna be a lot easier than I thought.

As the door closes, Spencer continues once more down the hall, the sound of Seth throwing a not so private temper tantrum fading into the distance.

Part 2: Up to speed 

Months had passed since the end of it all, yet the damage done to those with the last name Adams was still very fresh. How exactly can one even begin to explain the sort of things that Spencer, Betty, Erica, and Robbie had to endure over the years? The level of hardship was akin to the devil’s work and that’s what John Adams was, the devil in disguise, stashed away under a simple man’s wardrobe, hiding behind a bottle of Wild Turkey and a rage that seemed to fueled simply by a passion to watch people suffer from his own actions.

For as long as Spencer remembered, he was the man of the house, someone who felt it to be a personal responsibility and handle the burdens of a deranged and abusive father, picking up the pieces for a couple of bruised and battered loved ones and trying his best to ensure a happy childhood and bright future for his kid nephew as he was the closest thing to a father figure that Robbie has given that his own father was never around to take part in his kid’s life. That’s not even including the history he had only learned about earlier in the year.

Spencer had only recently discovered that his parents had met in a small rural cult based out of McGrady’s farmhouse, a hellish place located approximately an hour outside of Spencer’s home in Chicago. This secret was something that was buried deep by Betty and never discussed by John while in his own home. A loving pair of parents who shared a deep connection with one another? Not quite. Betty Adams was always a caring and considerate parent who wanted more for her children, but the same could not be said about his father John. To him, Spencer’s mother was closer to a piece of property than she was a partner, someone who he felt no real emotional attachment towards.

See, John and Betty shared a relationship formed not by choice, but by instruction from McGrady, the one who watched over all of his “children” with eyes in the back of his head. He ruled not by physical violence or blatant emotional abuse like John did to his family. Instead, McGrady maintained a level of influence that would make Charles Manson look like a bad babysitter by comparison. From the time that John Adams became an orphan child clear up until he was a young adult learning the ins and outs of society from a mind with a warped perspective, he would be groomed into someone with the personality of Otis Driftwood from The Devil’s Rejects.

In the time that Spencer was away from the WCF spotlight, John Adams and McGrady both had been locked away tight in a maximum security facility with extra pairs of eyes on them at all times. Finally, life started become something that resembled normalcy for Spencer and his fractured family. Whether it was in Japan for a short period of time carrying on the wrestling dream after he’d recovered from injury or getting into the management side of professional wrestling in other promotions, things were finally to a point where for once, Spencer was free of the burdens of severe abuse. For his return to WCF, Spencer was alone with his family insisting that they’d now be able to look after themselves. He’d recently rented out a place of his own, paying for a separate place for his mother, sister, and nephew. Now, it was about focusing on what he was passionate about and getting to the very top of the federation.

: Here you go, man.

The voice of a hot dog vendor catches Spencer’s attention as he reaches across the steel counter for a quick bite to eat, a Chicago style hot dog with all the toppings one could think to put on a piece of meat.

Spencer: Thanks, buddy.

Spencer places a large bill in the man’s tip jar, something that garners a grateful smile from the food vendor. He returns the smile with one of his own before proceeding down the street, taking an occasional peak at the city’s dazzling scenery between bites of his food.

Oh, Chicago. How I’ve missed you.

He turns the street corner, taking notice of a nearby record store just a few buildings away from him. Due to his absence from both WCF and the home he’d known his entire life, Spencer felt that he had a lot of catching up to do. Whether that was street food or record stores, Spencer decided to use today to make his rounds and visit a few of his favorite locations. While there were of course small holdups due to the fans who would recognize him and ask for a picture or autograph, he was still making decent time with visiting the places that he wanted.

Spencer: Reggie!

As he entered the record store, Spencer waved towards the man behind the counter who had a phone pressed to his ear, but gave a small nod to acknowledge his long time customer. He travels across the tables, browsing through a wide variety of genres before approaching the section for the store’s new arrivals. He flips a few vinyls towards himself, occasionally finding an album or two to add to what would become a quickly expanding stack that was beginning to surpass a reasonable carrying limit.

Spencer: You trying to make me go bankrupt over here, Regg?

He gives a lighthearted chuckle before loading up an armful of records and heading up to the counter. As the price is totaled and his items are loaded up into a cardboard box, Spencer’s eyes wander around the shop examining the slight change in decor from the last time he had visited Reggie’s shop. His attention moves to observe the few customers standing throughout the store. Reggie passes the loaded box over to Spencer as a couple of large bills are passed to the shop owner.

Spencer: Thanks, man. Call me up the next time you stock up again. I’d love to drop by and raid you of your valuables again.

Spencer backs up against the door, lightly pushing it open with his back as he carries his haul down the street towards his apartment. Among the chatter of the crowded sidewalk and the honking of traffic is the relatively quiet sound of one of the shop’s customers exiting and a rush and chasing after Spencer. The man bobs and weaves through the waves of citizens before catching up to Spencer.

: You’re Spencer, right? Spencer Adams?

The Antidote turns towards the man, caught off guard by having a total stranger rush up and grab him by the shoulder. Not that it was the first time, but it definitely wasn’t his favorite thing in the world.

Spencer: Uh...yeah.

: Do you have a minute? I think we need to talk..

Spencer: Look, man. I’d love to chat about wrestling and take a picture and all that good stuff, but I’ve kinda got my hands full at the moment.

: It’s kind of important..

Spencer looks at the man confused.

: I...think you might be my brother.

Part 3: The return and the relapse 

We open the scene with Spencer leaned back on a locker room bench, his signature face paint freshly applied. He leans down a bit, tightening up his boots prior to his first “real” return match against Danny Anderson. He leans back as the last couple of new signees exit the locker room area. A moment of silence passes as Spencer closes his eyes, breathing slowly in and out as he escapes to a place of deeper thinking.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

The sudden sound of a fist pounding against the exterior metal causes Spencer’s eyes to immediately shoot back open.

Spencer: Come in!

The door slowly opens as a shy looking interviewer steps into the room.

Spencer: Can I help you?

The reporter smiles, letting out one of those awkward forced chuckles as he gives a nervous wave of his left hand while his right hold a small camera up.

: Hi, my name is Alex. I...was sent to come talk to you and see if you’d be interested in doing a promo before your match tonight, just for the WCF network.

The Antidote shoots Alex a funky look as he scans the room a bit.

Spencer: I mean, I’ve never been one to shy away from the shit talk in the past, but really? They want me to cut a promo on fucking Danny Anderson? Don’t worry, I’ll give you ten or fifteen minutes to lay down that signature ether of superior roasting ability, but I’m honestly a bit surprised. Shit, the damn match isn’t even going to last five minutes. Seems like overkill, don’t you think?

Alex: Um...do I..?

Spencer: Yeah, turn that shit on. I got some cobwebs to dust off the old body bag machine.

Alex looks at Spencer a bit confused.

Spencer: My...my mouth, dude. Fuck, where’s the sense of humor at? You from some hick ass town in fucking Southeast Iowa or some braindead part of the country like that?

Alex: I-

Spencer: Relax, I’m just fucking with you, man. Little warm up exercise for ya.

A brief moment of silence separates the conversation.

Spencer: Just count me in when you’re ready.

The young cameraman steadies his rig and hold out a few fingers, counting Spencer in before giving him a thumbs up.

Spencer: Take a look at this shit right here, ladies and gents. It’s been a little while and I have to admit, I really have started to miss this place. Sure, I could’ve stayed in Japan or gone from business venture to business venture trying to find a fit the rest of my life, but I just don’t know if that’s for me. I mean, I have to admit that Spencer Adams and the people of WCF, we had something pretty fucking special going. Whether we were down or we were up, there was always a major aura to this little connection, a special sort of dynamic. The indie scene is one thing, but it just can’t measure up to a platform like this. This is the place where I grew, blossomed into the bonafide fucking ring warrior known as “The Antidote”.

There was a moment in time where I wasn’t sure of myself, of what I would truly be or what kind of legacy I would create at the end of each day. Was I destined to be nothing more than an “okay” tag team wrestler? Would I really be able to get to the top of the mountain like the legends who came before me and hoist the world title above my head in triumph? When you take the kind of stumble into a pair of ring steps that has medical professionals on the fence about whether or not you can physically continue doing what you love, it takes a heavy toll, a very emotional toll at that. Last time the world saw me in WCF action, I was being carted to the back with my brains rattled and my confidence at an all time low.

I got to thinking though, thinking about how much I accomplished in my rookie season here, being dubbed the most improved competitor in my first season. How about being in the final four of one of the biggest WAR matches in the federation’s history or being one of only two men to hold both tag and trios championships at the same damn time? There came a point not too long ago where I got that itch again, the itch to peek my head around the corner and see the four corners of a WCF ring and get that adrenaline rush that only WCF can give someone in this business. That level of prestige, that’s something that I was eager to chase once more.

Around this time last year, I was gearing up to face one of my biggest rivals in Kyle Kemp inside a hellacious structure of my own creation, something that would serve as a sort of rocket to shoot me to the fucking moon, the Bates Boot of feud enders if you will. Both Kemp and myself knew that the winner of that match would be the next in line, so what did I do? I took Kyle Kemp and slammed his beaten and battered carcass to the mat with authority. At an event like Ultimate Showdown, something often regarded as a “one match event”, I was the motherfucker that people were looking at.

Now, onto tonight. I choose to think of this as the real week one of the Spencer Adams’ comeback. BioWalker? Hardly a challenge, a showcase for all the bottom card fodder that has arrived in my absence. I mean, somebody has to remind the endless waves of generic scrublords who the standard bearer is and around here, that’s yours truly. This week, The Antidote will reunite with the people and absolutely fucking shit stomp Danny Anderson to death. Last week, I barely broke a fucking sweat, this week isn’t something that I predict to be much different either.

Me and Danny, well I guess you could say that we’ve got some connections. We both gained a name for ourselves while under the DRG banner. Me? I went out there in week one and made Tom Bates, the up and coming golden boy around here take notice. He noticed what I possessed in the way of limitless potential, that “wow” factor. Of course, The Antidote and the Dark Riders Gang would eventually go their separate ways, but it wouldn’t be fair not to acknowledge that fact that upon my exit, I was red fucking hot, one of the biggest prospects in professional wrestling.

See, when I was being called the next big thing in WCF, I made damn sure to go out there and do what I could to keep that reputation and deliver, to exceed those expectations. Whether it was in victory or defeat, I remained the one to look out for. If I ended up looking towards the rafters, it wasn’t for long. I’d bounce back and come at the next one even harder. I learned and grew a ton from every single contest and took what I could from them better than anybody else on the roster. Success to me is when you recognize your own potential and ability and continue to chase that improvement, always aiming to climb that next rung on the way to greatness. I was always on that grind, but I can’t say the same about Danny Anderson.

What’s really sad is that Danny actually had similar potential and could’ve been one of the highlights of the 2015 rookie class in WCF. The issue however, was that Danny lacked any real sense of drive. I’m a bit smarter than Danny boy here. This dumb bastard seems perfectly content with trying to drag around a liability like Caraid or being the most forgettable member of his former stable, somebody who walks with a lifelong hunch. He had all the tools and opportunity presented to him, but what did Danny Anderson do? Hell, I guess I’d be a fucking slouch too if I was assigned the responsibility of dragging Caraid around by the ankles like a pair of cinderblocks.

Yeah, Danny Anderson was given the fucking shit end of the stick as Tom Bates volunteered the poor bastard to take on the burden of the Caraid charity, a cause to carry a couple of washed up motherfuckers around on your back, acting as the Stanley Yelnats to their Hector Zeroni. That’s exactly what that was too, a struggle where Danny “underwhelming” Anderson had to carry the unconscious along the side of a mountain and bite into the raw fucking onion of a trios challenge that Bates tried his best to disguise as a hot fudge sundae.

Still, both me and Danny Anderson were newer guys at that time, not that a shitty hand should be considered a valid excuse for the sort of mediocrity that Danny has built his brand off of. We were in that same spot. One of us became something and the other didn’t simply because of his own lack of really giving a shit about what it means to be great in a company like WCF. Now, I wonder who is who in this conversation. Hmmm...I’m just gonna take a wild guess here and assign myself the title of “motherfucking superstar” and Danny, well pass me a Sharpie marker and “Hello, my name is ___” sticker so I can go ahead and remind everyone ahead of tonight’s bout to refer to Danny boy as the flop that he is, an Anthony Bennett level flop, somebody who looked simply winded the minute they stepped into the spotlight.

Yeah, sports knowledge insults to this motherfucker’s dome. For all the newbies hanging around the bottom of the card, this is what you call a casual example of The Antidote slaughtering a lesser opponent. Go ahead, pull out the pads and take notes, motherfuckers. Need another one? How about you go back and watch a little tape on Danny Anderson and try to tell me that he doesn’t move like he’s taking part in a lackluster MMA bout against Kimbo Slice. Honestly, that might not even be a fair comparison to draw, might actually be an insult to compare the athletic sluggishness and lack of caring that Danny Anderson displays on a regular basis to that of Dada 5000.

People can go ahead and hype this up as some sort of amazing double return, a comeback trail for both myself and Danny Anderson, but let’s not give the man too much credit here. The people who really know what’s up, the people who were around to see both me and Danny in action back then already know that this is about as one sided as it gets around here. I’m sure Danny is pacing around a hall right now, shouting his fair share of obscenities, knowing that he’s been put in a position that he has zero chance of succeeding in and to be honest, he should be. Danny Anderson is utterly fucked.

Slam will be a display of two things this week. The first is that Danny Anderson has been and always will be a fucking slouch, somebody who comes in for a week or two just to bury himself under the weight of his opponents’ superiority. I expect no real fight or struggle from Danny this week. Instead, I’ll go ahead and put a Benjamin on Mr. Anderson making himself at home in a casket of The Antidote’s choosing. It can be a vaccine, a quarantine, or even the dreaded poke of death. No matter fucking what, I’ll go out and do what I do best when I show Danny to be everything that I claim he is.

Bring that basket of rude dude nicknames and I’ll be glad to put their reasoning on full display. We got Danny “Danarky” Anderson, the most well known of his self given titles. Come on, Danny. What are you really rebelling against with a pun of such shit quality? Talent maybe? That must be it, right? Danny Anderson, the anarchist against competitive productivity. We got “The Disturbed One”. What’s disturbing is the fact that Seth was actually fucking stupid enough to waste a contract on this motherfucker in the first place. How about instead of cutting down a tree to make the employment of this man official, we just go ahead and hang him from it instead? That’s what would really be best for business. Corporate wins, fans win, and trees win. Spencer Adams: Roastmaster extraordinaire and environmentally considerate human being. Ooh! Here’s my favorite! You ready? “The Unpredictable” Danny Anderson.

Spencer stops for a moment, letting a moment of silence follow him.

Alex: Um...are you done then?

Spencer: Just about. I figured I’d go ahead and leave that break in there for you to insert the laugh track post edit. I mean, what a silly fucking thing to try to call yourself. I’d argue that Danny Anderson is about as predictable as they come and that I’ve just spent fifteen minutes predicting everything that he’s going to do. Danny Anderson is going to absolutely fucking drown here tonight. Spencer Adams is back not only to spoil the return of a slacking son of a bitch like Danny boy, but to take the throne and the torch carrying dreams of the locker room as I spend week after week mowing down people just like Danny Anderson until I am holding that world championship in my hands. For all you newbies out there, “The Antidote” means providing the answer, the perfect opposition against the flow of toxic bullshit like a returning Danny Anderson or Seth Lerch’s failing excuse for a stable. Danny, it’s your head on a fucking platter this week. See you out there, old friend.

Fade to black.