Post by tai4165 on Sept 18, 2016 15:04:15 GMT -5
Cheers…boos… both suffocating the air of anyone within earshot of the ring. In the center of the ring laid one body beaten and bruised by the mat under it, looking up at the roof of the building almost unbelieving of the situation. Eyes stricken with emotions that everybody in the WCF knew very well, but this was not the man that had the crowd’s attention. Another body had propped itself up by the ropes, beaten and bruised but watching with the intensity of a caged animal from behind the ropes that had become steel as he was imprisoned behind them. His eyes told the story of his unsatisfaction, his stare was ice cold as he watched his competitor run out of the ring back to the safety of the locker room. There were no winners that night, not in the mind of that knight that is.
As the lights flashed, his head throbbed and the noise of the stadium became muffled the one thought that had crossed his mind as the rest of the events of Slam were beginning to take place was,
“Is this what you are made of Steven...?”
- Preface End -
...
Hospitals were no places for wrestlers. They were designed for the hurt, the sick, the damaged but not the fighters. Armstrong had no time to rest in the cubical that was barely lit from the diffused light of the one curtained window. He had no time to breathe in the stale and stuffy air that smelled of fresh bleach and filled his nostrils from the corridor. He wrestled out of the starch filled sheets that his legs were currently under, freeing them so that he could jump on the chilled laminate floor. The nurses shuffled past the room, showing no hurry in their steps and surely not in a hurry to get him out of there. His opponents wouldn’t wait for a doctor to give him the okay and he had no reason to wait either. But the WCF, their medical team and their management wouldn’t give him the okay to go back into the ring until he was checked out so here he was, doing tricep dips from the side of the bed. Three sets in and Bruno noticed someone pass the ugly picture of a flower that was hanging near the entrance of the room
I see that getting rest isn’t in your plans for today eh?
Nope…Are you going to stop me?
A smile rests on the older gentleman’s visage as he becomes clearer in the fluorescent lighting. His face was wrinkled with distinguishing lines above his brow and deep lines around his mouth. His eyes were dark and seemed larger than they were due to the horn rimmed glasses that covered them. A head peppered with gray and small signs of balding were pretty apparent just from a glance. Draped over his body was a lab coat with the hospital’s insignia etched just right of the lapel along with his badge with the bold letter “DR. GREENE” at the bottom of it. He gave off an air of authority and wisdom despite his shorter stature as he shuffled over to the foot of the bed shaking his head slowly.
I’ve had enough of my share of wrestling patients to try and stop you Mr…”
He perused the chart, supposedly finding the name and the information he was there to talk to him about.
Armstrong is it?
That…it is…
He responded, pushing out his last rep for now and sitting on the bed, he didn’t want to make this meeting go for any longer than it had to. However, the doctor was taking his time to read over the charts thoroughly as the features of the room once again started to frustrate and suffocate the wrestler. The cream colored walls were scraped and scuffed, most likely from years of trolleys bumping into them. The TV was playing some kind of sitcom, but was muted which showed the awkwardness of the laugh breaks the actors had to take. They were nearly frozen. Nothing happening except the occasional perspective change to the other actors for their expressionless reaction to the obviously dry joke that at least the laugh track seemed to enjoy. Under the mounted television was a white board riddled with sloppily wiped off marker streaks and the nurse’s and doctor’s names for the room scribbled onto it in bright red colors. After what felt like hours of being trapped under polystyrene gridded bars, the doctor flipped the papers in the chart and looked at Bruno.
So it says here you took a pretty nasty bump to the head
Pretty nasty is exaggerating it
A hit to the head, no matter how hard is pretty nasty in my books
I understand, but I’m fine, I can count backwards from ten and could go all night at trivia. So can I go?
The doctor seemed to roll his eyes at his statement and looked back at the chart for more conformation on these claims.
You wrestlers need to get it through your notoriously thick skulls that this stuff is serious
I’m taking everything you’re saying very seriously, but of everything that you’re saying, I’m not hearing you say I need to stay
The doctor sighs and continues
You took a nasty hit but no signs of concussion and other than some bruising here and there you’re in good shape.
So I’m good to go?
Yes, but if you experience any problems like headaches or dizziness come back here immediately you understand Mr. Armstrong?
Crystal clear doc, and just call me Bruno
Then make sure to call me Dr. Greene, spent too many years in medical school for some kid to call me doc.
They both have a chuckle as the doctor tells him he’s free to go. Throughout the whole building the same smell of disinfectant and stale air. From the room, to the elevator, to the main lobby. Same polystyrene tiles that ridded the ceiling and the same smell that burned his nose hairs. The waiting room was filled with those in obvious need of treatment, from the woman wearing a mask used for mowing lawns with bloodshot eyes, to the boy with the neck brace on sitting not to far from her to the dozen or so other people who filled the room behind the glass wall. The automatic sliding doors opened to reveal the parking lot along with ambulances in pairs on either side of the doorway. The warm air hit Bruno’s face and the hospital smell wafted away with the warm breeze. He was finally free again and off to Lexington Kentucky.
Raven Run
A place paved in trails of beauty, a sanctuary to nature itself that is preserved for observational and recreational reasons. The would inside this nature preserve is something all on it’s own and Bruno “Iron” Armstrong felt as though he could just take it all in, if only for a moment. His body was back in action after only a day or two of “resting” and he was ready to be back in the ring…but first a hike.
His body moved swiftly through the Yellow Trail, supposedly the most difficult but most beautiful of the trails. He was keeping a good pace and passing many other hikers in the process. They all had on specially designed hiking couture, name brand, and seemed to only be there to show off their taste or get likes on Instagram. No dirt, not even so much as a scuff on the shoes of these groups of people who casually jogged or walked this trail. Why come to a place like this if you want to keep clean? He just couldn’t understand these kinds of people and didn’t care to give them any more thought than that as he raced through the trail.
His own attire was nothing fancy, a hoodie whose sleeves were cut off by hand revealing his chiseled arm and the tattoo of a knight’s shoulder plate on his left shoulder. The hoodie was ash gray and had a white knight’s helmet etched on the front of it with the words “IRON AGE” stenciled right under it in the same color. It was a gift from a friend, more of a bet really but with real emotion behind it. He still remembered his words, “You make it to the big league, the hoodie is yours…Just make sure that you give those big shots a beating that even the scriptures wouldn’t touch!”. He still had no idea what that meant, but the sincerity behind his words were felt and the hoodie reminded himself what he had to do when he went into that ring. It was his age, the Iron Age, and anyone who wanted to say otherwise could take a spear and see if they wanted to reconsider. But for right now, the trail had his attention.
Nature is all the same, whether it be the sparks and flames from the clash of the anvil and hammer or the leaves that litter the path of autumn as summer comes to an end. The same flash of color passes the eyes, the bright reds, oranges, and yellows of fire. It may be all different, but everything is the same. The same people, different faces. Same feeling different places.
The ravens ran next to him as his footsteps trotted harder and louder before he realized he was coming past a stream. The moss covered rocks were nearly completely submerged in water, leaving only the very tops of green to emerge. A simple idea had already started to take fruition. Step by step, Bruno had started jumping from rock to rock only to balance on them for seconds at a time without one wavering movement. With every jump he added a squat for fun. The burn to his legs told him everything he needed to know. His body was ready to move, it was on fire to fight, it was made to win and he planned to give it those things in that order.
He noticed that he was attracting stares from the prim and proper faux hikers he had seen earlier. Of course they didn’t stare for too long, afraid of making eye contact or coming off as rude. Whatever the case, they were the farthest thing from his mind. His mind was on beating himself, becoming better and stronger with every step that he took but as he got closer to the water’s edge he noticed one person. It was a girl with fair light brown eyes, caramel kissed skin and long black hair tied in a ponytail. She couldn’t be older than her early twenties. She watched the man return to dry land and instead of judging his albeit strange looking actions, she handed him an unlabeled bottle of water without saying a word.
Sorry, not in the business for taking strange liquids from strangers
Well what’s your name?
Armstrong…Bruno Armstrong
And I’m Carter…Nikkia Carter, there! No longer strangers
He didn’t want to admit it to himself but he had gotten thirsty making his way around the trail. So with a defeated sigh, he took her offer of the drink and finished it off in no time.
I’ll pay you back for this
Don’t worry about it, it’d be bad for the trail if some dehydrated weirdo fell over in the creek
I always payback what I owe… and I’m not a weirdo…
Riiiigggghhhhtttt, so then you’re some kind of athlete I presume?
How do you figure?
If the body didn’t give it away, you were squatting in the middle of a creek…
Oh yea…
The girl chuckled at him as he rubbed his neck with embarrassment.
So, what do you do?
I fight
Like…a boxer?
No I’m a wrestler
Definitely my second guess
He smiles and starts walking toward the track, wasting more time than he wanted talking.
And you’re just going to leave this beautiful lady here after you take her water
Wanted me to hold your hand? I still owe you so you should try and keep up
With that she sprints back to the the trail, making it there before Armstrong even with the head start he had. A smirk appeared on her face as she waited for him to make it to the track.
You were saying?
And like that the two were racing along the track, Nikkia moving through the groups of slowly jogging while Bruno apologized quickly as he passed them by. The girl’s speed was nothing short of impressive but it seemed that neither of their competitive mindsets would let the other pass them. Time passed, the pitter pattering of their feet still echo along the track. More time passed.
Sweat glistening off their brows, hands clenching their knees as they try desperately to catch their breath. They had been running at top speed all the way until the park had closed and were now outside of the nature sanctuary smiling their tired smiles.
How…are you…that…. fast…
Track star…in…college…
They both erupted in laughter, most likely due to exhaustion but after taking a water break, they could at least speak properly.
You came really close Bruno, I’m impressed
You know you don’t come close when you win right?
Yea, and I won
It’s not befitting of a lady to lie like that
So you think you won?
I know I won
Then how about we go again?
Raven Run’s closed for the day, besides I’d rather beat you again at one-hundred percent
You scared?
Never, but how about a bite to eat first?
She didn’t even need to answer; her stomach did all the talking for her with a growl that rivaled anything in Raven’s Run. With a smile on his face and an embarrassed look on hers they went in her car for food on him. The ride didn’t take long and they stopped by a run down hole in the wall burger joint that had hands down the best burgers that Armstrong had ever sunk his teeth into. After dinner she insisted on seeing what kind of place a wrestler stayed at and needed a shower anyways.
It’s nothing much, just a hotel not to far from The Rupp Arena
So? I want to see how the other side lives
Don’t you think it’s odd, I mean we just met and I’m already taking you to my hotel?
Stop being so stiff, not like you’re going to do anything goody two shoes
…
She smiled as he conceded and they made their way to the hotel, and shortly after the room. The door closed on the two. The sound of the shower turned on and Bruno laid there on his bed trying to ignore the situation. He had fully immersed himself in the show he was watching when he heard the shower head turn off. Seconds passed that felt like minutes until the bathroom door squeaked open and out Nikkia came. She was dressed in one of his shirts that was way too big for her and drooped off of one of her shoulder. Her hair was still wet as she looked at him with a smile. He couldn’t keep his eyes on all of her as she said one word that let them get to know each other for the next few hours.
Rematch?
Exhaustion hit them hard and laying down watching Netflix never felt so rewarding. They had stopped keeping score after the second noise complaint and decided that they would keep it as a draw for now. They were browsing through shows when the WCF Slam for the last week showed up on the recommended shows list. She looked at him with a puppy dog stare and he shrugged turning it on to show her how his first promo and match went. They had watched everything, including the gory ending between Thomas Bates and Corey Black. She broke the silence as he changed to something a little less graphic like a Quinton Tarantino movie.
So you have a match here?
Mhmm
And have you already shot your promo for it?
I’m scheduled for tomorrow
So you’ve thought of what you’re going to say already?
Nope
She rose from the spot next to him on the bed and looked at him confused. He really didn’t understand her reaction to what he had said and shrugged.
The promo is the best part; you have to think of something!
I usually just go off of what I know
This is the big leagues! You can’t just ramble about some statue and hope that the fans will like it
I liked the statue though…
The girl sighed as she plopped back onto the comforter wondering how he was a wrestler.
Alright, we’re going to look up your opponents and spitball some ideas
Why?
So you don’t start blabbering about a statue again…
…Fine
The two looked over his opponent’s stats and gimmicks, even though he knew at least two of them fairly well. They researched, took a break, made some popcorn, watched Kill Bill, rinse and repeated.
He woke up to see an empty spot next to him with a folded note on hotel parchment. After reading it quickly he smiled, running his fingers through his hair as he got up and started to prepare for his second time addressing the world as a wrestler in the WCF.
Kentucky Horse Park
The scene fades in from black with Hank Brown standing in front Bruno “Iron” Armstrong who was looking up at a statue of a horse. They’re recording from the Kentucky Horse Park in The Horse Capital of the world, so why not shoot a promo here?
So y-
But before Hank could even start his sentence Bruno interrupted him with a quick raise of his hand. He stayed silent for moments, only for everyone watching those moments that could fill a lifetime. One hand silencing Hank and the other around a mic with the WCF logo on it.
For the Kingdom of Lexington, Kentucky…Let the Iron Age…Begin!
These words resonated in the air as Armstrong brought his attention to Hank.
This Sunday I have a tag team match with Joe Smarts and Jaice Wild against Steven Singh, Jay West and El Fuego del…El Fuego del… and El Fuego.
I’ve seen my opponents, and they are a group of talented individuals. Notice the words, individuals. And if this was a tag individuals match…well they’d still have their noses on the grindstone by the end of it. Their bodies would still be bruised and battered by a Brainiac Bomb, get the taste knocked out of them by a well placed Xtreme Dream to the face, and find themselves crawling to tag their partners before being knocked off their high horse by the Iron Man Buster.
Even so, these guys are tough competitors. I’ve seen and felt what they can do and what they will do to win.
But as a tag team…they couldn’t have been dealt a worse hand. On one side there’s the brain and technical prowess of Joe Smarts just coming from a win last Sunday and ready to make it happen again. Along with him we have the high flying Brazilian wild card, Jaice Wilds, ready to compete with any self proclaimed king of the sky to see who has the right stuff. And then we have the man who doesn’t quit, the one that’ll take anything that you throw at him and tell you to give him seconds if you dare, the Iron Clad Knight of disaster himself… Now I’m only going to say it once, so try not to forget it…
He cocked his arm toward himself and with an outstretched thumb he pointed right at his chest as his gaze cut through the camera.
Bruno…
IRON…
Armstrong…
He smiled a pearly white smile after his introduction before continuing.
Now I can’t speak on the other team, I’ve never seen any of them work together with anyone. It might be the one and only time if I’m to be honest.
But that doesn’t matter.
They don’t matter.
Because there is no they in their mind, just “me”.
You see I’ve seen the egos of two of those three men and no matter how much you sugar coat it by saying you can work with anyone; Doing it and putting your money where your mouth is, is a much different story. These are the same guys that call themselves “Golden Gods” and “Kings of the the Skies”, the only one that hasn’t been running their mouth about how great they are is the one that doesn’t speak.
Now I’ve had my share of tag matches and there’s a give and take that you have to feel when you’re in that ring. Go out too early you’ll leave your partner open to strike, go out too late and well…ding, ding, ding…
And I’m just not sure that these guys can get past themselves even if it is to win. But even if a divided pack of wolves loses against a united one,
wolves are still wolves…
and these guys individually are wolves nonetheless.
Jay West, what can I say about you? You went into the ring with me, fought me square on your feet and were pinned. It’s a shame, I know, but these are the facts as they stand. And now we stand against each other once again as competitors…and unfortunately history must repeat itself. You’ve got to get in that ring, fight with everything that you’ve got and because only one of us can be declared the winner, you have fall. Everything that you have will not be enough. Your teammates will not be enough, because your hubris will limit you. Your desire to be the king of the skies, to rule all of those under you will crush you under it’s own weight.
You’re a flyer, you have to fly! I understand that, believe me I do. In fact, I want you to get higher, and higher, and a little bit higher.
Because I know…
that what comes up, must come down and when you’re on your way down I’ll be right there waiting for you with a move that’ll leave you seeing cartoon birds and crowns circling your head. Because whether it be in the sky, on the ground, even in flames of the inferno itself, I will be there. And you will fall.
Now, I don’t speak Spanish so I’ll just say it in English and hope it gets across. The Eternal Silent Hellfire, a warrior, a fighter an insane daredevil. I look forward to seeing your skills first hand in the ring, but for now you have my respect. You are a man who took flames to your face so that you wouldn’t take a dive. You show honor to the mask that you wear and that tells me more of your character than words ever could.
That being said, you are no exception to my list of people who have to survive my spear. You may be a silent hellfire, but I was born breathing ash with a taste of fire burning my tongue. I have seen the depths of hell and come back after shaking hands with the eternal. We may both be flesh, but iron coats my skin, the tundra lives in my eyes, and the storm in my veins will electrify every single person in that audience the moment I step into that ring.
Because I am the Knight who stared death down until he blinked
and I will not lose to you…
A moment went passed and Armstrong realized who was next. He looked uninterested as he sighed before getting what he needed to say off his chest.
You’re not really worth my time at this point, but the WCF wants us in the ring again…and I won’t back down from a challenge…even if the challenge is keeping you quiet…a challenge indeed…
So I’ll start with a question.
Steven Singh…how’re your ribs doing? I ask because I care, although it doesn’t really matter at this point right? They seemed fine when you crawled back into the ring so I’ll assume you can take another spear when we meet. Just looking at the way your scurried from the ring last time I’m betting you can still take another spear…and I’m looking forward to it…
But back to your gift of the gab. You wanted time on the mic right?
You got that.
You needed to make a big statement on the grand stage of the WCF?
You did.
So what did you use your 15 minutes of fame for?
Wait, now I remember! You needed to make a big show out of the two of us having the same intro?! Am I hearing this correct? You were done, and if you call what I did a cheap shot that is fine by me. The shot was only as cheap as the person it was pummeling. In fact, I think that after I pounded your face over and over again my right hand came up green.
But you should know that inside of that ring, you are not safe. You are never safe. And I wanted to remind you of that fact. Bell or no bell, if you walk into a lion’s den with a pot to piss in and a silver spoon, clang them together in such an annoying way that emulates your voice on that mic, it won’t matter whether it’s meal time or not. You became the main course at that moment. Besides if I was really being cheap, I wouldn’t have let you up. Don’t forget that I relented, I showed mercy even when you didn’t deserve it. You sully wrestling every time you speak. Your promos show it and your actions show it. And I am not a fan.
And if I have to give time to the claim of me “stealing your theme music”, I shall give it the time it deserves. One word. No. I would like you to listen to your assistant for once as she tells you that I claimed that theme music first and then I want you to never bring this up with me again…
Don’t mention it in anymore of your promos, don’t talk to the GM about, don’t even look like the word “Power” is going to come from your lips…
That is…unless you are man enough to get into the ring and fight me for it.
I would gladly put something as simple as that on the line for a real fight. If you’re able to give me one that is. I’ll even draw up a contract on my iron clad boot, and when it’s printed all over your backside I want you to promise to never bring up this stupidity in or outside of the ring ever again. So take out your cheap golden pen from your pocket because I know you’re not happy to see me…and Singh…
And audible sigh can be heard from Armstrong as he gives a sad smile to the camera.
Before our time in the ring last Sunday I thought of you as a fighter, a warrior but now I’m actually disappointed in you Superstar. For all your talk I thought you’d be fighting a little bit more, not ringside with the commentators. You talk the talk and for the little time you were in the ring I thought you were…average as a wrestler. Don’t get me wrong, a knight never looks down on any opponent that fights with vigor and determination, but you fought with cowardice and dirty tricks. So cling to your words and your titles and stay out of the ring, you seem to be more suited for a life there anyways.
Even after I was sent on my head outside of the ring, I found my way back in there without a second thought. That’s where we differ. That’s how I show my respect for what I do. I get up, and I keep fighting. You may find that high flyers exist only to fall, and you may say that it was showboating or hubris that had me fall from the top rope.
But that’s not it.
For someone who doesn’t respect his opponents it may look like Icarus flying too close to the sun, but to me it’s a sign of honor. Jay West fought honorably, he fought like a man and deserved to win or lose by a signature move. Nothing more nothing less. The Vambrace Lariat is a move that encompasses everything I stand for. Fight to your last, and risk it all.
But that’s enough about the past. Sunday is a new day and a new match.
And you know what? The people in that ring on Sunday paid good money to see the main event. But before that, I want to give them a bit of a treat. Something before the main course that can get everyone in Lexington Kentucky raving. Something that can turn a city into a kingdom. Something that can turn the horse tracks into coliseums. THE SURE THING to turn your Jack of all trades self into a real wrestler and that is me showing you exactly what honor means. So on Sunday I will show you what it means to kiss the mat and pay your respect. Because there’s only one truth you need to know “Golden God”.
There are no gods here, only one god and he doesn’t like you.
Armstrong exits the scene ending the interview with that. His mind was now clear to focus on what really mattered, the goal that everyone that was entering that ring on Sunday shared. A win. Nothing more, nothing less. As he left he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with words scribbled out in cursive,
“I’ll be watching <3”
As the lights flashed, his head throbbed and the noise of the stadium became muffled the one thought that had crossed his mind as the rest of the events of Slam were beginning to take place was,
“Is this what you are made of Steven...?”
- Preface End -
...
Hospitals were no places for wrestlers. They were designed for the hurt, the sick, the damaged but not the fighters. Armstrong had no time to rest in the cubical that was barely lit from the diffused light of the one curtained window. He had no time to breathe in the stale and stuffy air that smelled of fresh bleach and filled his nostrils from the corridor. He wrestled out of the starch filled sheets that his legs were currently under, freeing them so that he could jump on the chilled laminate floor. The nurses shuffled past the room, showing no hurry in their steps and surely not in a hurry to get him out of there. His opponents wouldn’t wait for a doctor to give him the okay and he had no reason to wait either. But the WCF, their medical team and their management wouldn’t give him the okay to go back into the ring until he was checked out so here he was, doing tricep dips from the side of the bed. Three sets in and Bruno noticed someone pass the ugly picture of a flower that was hanging near the entrance of the room
I see that getting rest isn’t in your plans for today eh?
Nope…Are you going to stop me?
A smile rests on the older gentleman’s visage as he becomes clearer in the fluorescent lighting. His face was wrinkled with distinguishing lines above his brow and deep lines around his mouth. His eyes were dark and seemed larger than they were due to the horn rimmed glasses that covered them. A head peppered with gray and small signs of balding were pretty apparent just from a glance. Draped over his body was a lab coat with the hospital’s insignia etched just right of the lapel along with his badge with the bold letter “DR. GREENE” at the bottom of it. He gave off an air of authority and wisdom despite his shorter stature as he shuffled over to the foot of the bed shaking his head slowly.
I’ve had enough of my share of wrestling patients to try and stop you Mr…”
He perused the chart, supposedly finding the name and the information he was there to talk to him about.
Armstrong is it?
That…it is…
He responded, pushing out his last rep for now and sitting on the bed, he didn’t want to make this meeting go for any longer than it had to. However, the doctor was taking his time to read over the charts thoroughly as the features of the room once again started to frustrate and suffocate the wrestler. The cream colored walls were scraped and scuffed, most likely from years of trolleys bumping into them. The TV was playing some kind of sitcom, but was muted which showed the awkwardness of the laugh breaks the actors had to take. They were nearly frozen. Nothing happening except the occasional perspective change to the other actors for their expressionless reaction to the obviously dry joke that at least the laugh track seemed to enjoy. Under the mounted television was a white board riddled with sloppily wiped off marker streaks and the nurse’s and doctor’s names for the room scribbled onto it in bright red colors. After what felt like hours of being trapped under polystyrene gridded bars, the doctor flipped the papers in the chart and looked at Bruno.
So it says here you took a pretty nasty bump to the head
Pretty nasty is exaggerating it
A hit to the head, no matter how hard is pretty nasty in my books
I understand, but I’m fine, I can count backwards from ten and could go all night at trivia. So can I go?
The doctor seemed to roll his eyes at his statement and looked back at the chart for more conformation on these claims.
You wrestlers need to get it through your notoriously thick skulls that this stuff is serious
I’m taking everything you’re saying very seriously, but of everything that you’re saying, I’m not hearing you say I need to stay
The doctor sighs and continues
You took a nasty hit but no signs of concussion and other than some bruising here and there you’re in good shape.
So I’m good to go?
Yes, but if you experience any problems like headaches or dizziness come back here immediately you understand Mr. Armstrong?
Crystal clear doc, and just call me Bruno
Then make sure to call me Dr. Greene, spent too many years in medical school for some kid to call me doc.
They both have a chuckle as the doctor tells him he’s free to go. Throughout the whole building the same smell of disinfectant and stale air. From the room, to the elevator, to the main lobby. Same polystyrene tiles that ridded the ceiling and the same smell that burned his nose hairs. The waiting room was filled with those in obvious need of treatment, from the woman wearing a mask used for mowing lawns with bloodshot eyes, to the boy with the neck brace on sitting not to far from her to the dozen or so other people who filled the room behind the glass wall. The automatic sliding doors opened to reveal the parking lot along with ambulances in pairs on either side of the doorway. The warm air hit Bruno’s face and the hospital smell wafted away with the warm breeze. He was finally free again and off to Lexington Kentucky.
Raven Run
A place paved in trails of beauty, a sanctuary to nature itself that is preserved for observational and recreational reasons. The would inside this nature preserve is something all on it’s own and Bruno “Iron” Armstrong felt as though he could just take it all in, if only for a moment. His body was back in action after only a day or two of “resting” and he was ready to be back in the ring…but first a hike.
His body moved swiftly through the Yellow Trail, supposedly the most difficult but most beautiful of the trails. He was keeping a good pace and passing many other hikers in the process. They all had on specially designed hiking couture, name brand, and seemed to only be there to show off their taste or get likes on Instagram. No dirt, not even so much as a scuff on the shoes of these groups of people who casually jogged or walked this trail. Why come to a place like this if you want to keep clean? He just couldn’t understand these kinds of people and didn’t care to give them any more thought than that as he raced through the trail.
His own attire was nothing fancy, a hoodie whose sleeves were cut off by hand revealing his chiseled arm and the tattoo of a knight’s shoulder plate on his left shoulder. The hoodie was ash gray and had a white knight’s helmet etched on the front of it with the words “IRON AGE” stenciled right under it in the same color. It was a gift from a friend, more of a bet really but with real emotion behind it. He still remembered his words, “You make it to the big league, the hoodie is yours…Just make sure that you give those big shots a beating that even the scriptures wouldn’t touch!”. He still had no idea what that meant, but the sincerity behind his words were felt and the hoodie reminded himself what he had to do when he went into that ring. It was his age, the Iron Age, and anyone who wanted to say otherwise could take a spear and see if they wanted to reconsider. But for right now, the trail had his attention.
Nature is all the same, whether it be the sparks and flames from the clash of the anvil and hammer or the leaves that litter the path of autumn as summer comes to an end. The same flash of color passes the eyes, the bright reds, oranges, and yellows of fire. It may be all different, but everything is the same. The same people, different faces. Same feeling different places.
The ravens ran next to him as his footsteps trotted harder and louder before he realized he was coming past a stream. The moss covered rocks were nearly completely submerged in water, leaving only the very tops of green to emerge. A simple idea had already started to take fruition. Step by step, Bruno had started jumping from rock to rock only to balance on them for seconds at a time without one wavering movement. With every jump he added a squat for fun. The burn to his legs told him everything he needed to know. His body was ready to move, it was on fire to fight, it was made to win and he planned to give it those things in that order.
He noticed that he was attracting stares from the prim and proper faux hikers he had seen earlier. Of course they didn’t stare for too long, afraid of making eye contact or coming off as rude. Whatever the case, they were the farthest thing from his mind. His mind was on beating himself, becoming better and stronger with every step that he took but as he got closer to the water’s edge he noticed one person. It was a girl with fair light brown eyes, caramel kissed skin and long black hair tied in a ponytail. She couldn’t be older than her early twenties. She watched the man return to dry land and instead of judging his albeit strange looking actions, she handed him an unlabeled bottle of water without saying a word.
Sorry, not in the business for taking strange liquids from strangers
Well what’s your name?
Armstrong…Bruno Armstrong
And I’m Carter…Nikkia Carter, there! No longer strangers
He didn’t want to admit it to himself but he had gotten thirsty making his way around the trail. So with a defeated sigh, he took her offer of the drink and finished it off in no time.
I’ll pay you back for this
Don’t worry about it, it’d be bad for the trail if some dehydrated weirdo fell over in the creek
I always payback what I owe… and I’m not a weirdo…
Riiiigggghhhhtttt, so then you’re some kind of athlete I presume?
How do you figure?
If the body didn’t give it away, you were squatting in the middle of a creek…
Oh yea…
The girl chuckled at him as he rubbed his neck with embarrassment.
So, what do you do?
I fight
Like…a boxer?
No I’m a wrestler
Definitely my second guess
He smiles and starts walking toward the track, wasting more time than he wanted talking.
And you’re just going to leave this beautiful lady here after you take her water
Wanted me to hold your hand? I still owe you so you should try and keep up
With that she sprints back to the the trail, making it there before Armstrong even with the head start he had. A smirk appeared on her face as she waited for him to make it to the track.
You were saying?
And like that the two were racing along the track, Nikkia moving through the groups of slowly jogging while Bruno apologized quickly as he passed them by. The girl’s speed was nothing short of impressive but it seemed that neither of their competitive mindsets would let the other pass them. Time passed, the pitter pattering of their feet still echo along the track. More time passed.
Sweat glistening off their brows, hands clenching their knees as they try desperately to catch their breath. They had been running at top speed all the way until the park had closed and were now outside of the nature sanctuary smiling their tired smiles.
How…are you…that…. fast…
Track star…in…college…
They both erupted in laughter, most likely due to exhaustion but after taking a water break, they could at least speak properly.
You came really close Bruno, I’m impressed
You know you don’t come close when you win right?
Yea, and I won
It’s not befitting of a lady to lie like that
So you think you won?
I know I won
Then how about we go again?
Raven Run’s closed for the day, besides I’d rather beat you again at one-hundred percent
You scared?
Never, but how about a bite to eat first?
She didn’t even need to answer; her stomach did all the talking for her with a growl that rivaled anything in Raven’s Run. With a smile on his face and an embarrassed look on hers they went in her car for food on him. The ride didn’t take long and they stopped by a run down hole in the wall burger joint that had hands down the best burgers that Armstrong had ever sunk his teeth into. After dinner she insisted on seeing what kind of place a wrestler stayed at and needed a shower anyways.
It’s nothing much, just a hotel not to far from The Rupp Arena
So? I want to see how the other side lives
Don’t you think it’s odd, I mean we just met and I’m already taking you to my hotel?
Stop being so stiff, not like you’re going to do anything goody two shoes
…
She smiled as he conceded and they made their way to the hotel, and shortly after the room. The door closed on the two. The sound of the shower turned on and Bruno laid there on his bed trying to ignore the situation. He had fully immersed himself in the show he was watching when he heard the shower head turn off. Seconds passed that felt like minutes until the bathroom door squeaked open and out Nikkia came. She was dressed in one of his shirts that was way too big for her and drooped off of one of her shoulder. Her hair was still wet as she looked at him with a smile. He couldn’t keep his eyes on all of her as she said one word that let them get to know each other for the next few hours.
Rematch?
Exhaustion hit them hard and laying down watching Netflix never felt so rewarding. They had stopped keeping score after the second noise complaint and decided that they would keep it as a draw for now. They were browsing through shows when the WCF Slam for the last week showed up on the recommended shows list. She looked at him with a puppy dog stare and he shrugged turning it on to show her how his first promo and match went. They had watched everything, including the gory ending between Thomas Bates and Corey Black. She broke the silence as he changed to something a little less graphic like a Quinton Tarantino movie.
So you have a match here?
Mhmm
And have you already shot your promo for it?
I’m scheduled for tomorrow
So you’ve thought of what you’re going to say already?
Nope
She rose from the spot next to him on the bed and looked at him confused. He really didn’t understand her reaction to what he had said and shrugged.
The promo is the best part; you have to think of something!
I usually just go off of what I know
This is the big leagues! You can’t just ramble about some statue and hope that the fans will like it
I liked the statue though…
The girl sighed as she plopped back onto the comforter wondering how he was a wrestler.
Alright, we’re going to look up your opponents and spitball some ideas
Why?
So you don’t start blabbering about a statue again…
…Fine
The two looked over his opponent’s stats and gimmicks, even though he knew at least two of them fairly well. They researched, took a break, made some popcorn, watched Kill Bill, rinse and repeated.
He woke up to see an empty spot next to him with a folded note on hotel parchment. After reading it quickly he smiled, running his fingers through his hair as he got up and started to prepare for his second time addressing the world as a wrestler in the WCF.
Kentucky Horse Park
The scene fades in from black with Hank Brown standing in front Bruno “Iron” Armstrong who was looking up at a statue of a horse. They’re recording from the Kentucky Horse Park in The Horse Capital of the world, so why not shoot a promo here?
So y-
But before Hank could even start his sentence Bruno interrupted him with a quick raise of his hand. He stayed silent for moments, only for everyone watching those moments that could fill a lifetime. One hand silencing Hank and the other around a mic with the WCF logo on it.
For the Kingdom of Lexington, Kentucky…Let the Iron Age…Begin!
These words resonated in the air as Armstrong brought his attention to Hank.
This Sunday I have a tag team match with Joe Smarts and Jaice Wild against Steven Singh, Jay West and El Fuego del…El Fuego del… and El Fuego.
I’ve seen my opponents, and they are a group of talented individuals. Notice the words, individuals. And if this was a tag individuals match…well they’d still have their noses on the grindstone by the end of it. Their bodies would still be bruised and battered by a Brainiac Bomb, get the taste knocked out of them by a well placed Xtreme Dream to the face, and find themselves crawling to tag their partners before being knocked off their high horse by the Iron Man Buster.
Even so, these guys are tough competitors. I’ve seen and felt what they can do and what they will do to win.
But as a tag team…they couldn’t have been dealt a worse hand. On one side there’s the brain and technical prowess of Joe Smarts just coming from a win last Sunday and ready to make it happen again. Along with him we have the high flying Brazilian wild card, Jaice Wilds, ready to compete with any self proclaimed king of the sky to see who has the right stuff. And then we have the man who doesn’t quit, the one that’ll take anything that you throw at him and tell you to give him seconds if you dare, the Iron Clad Knight of disaster himself… Now I’m only going to say it once, so try not to forget it…
He cocked his arm toward himself and with an outstretched thumb he pointed right at his chest as his gaze cut through the camera.
Bruno…
IRON…
Armstrong…
He smiled a pearly white smile after his introduction before continuing.
Now I can’t speak on the other team, I’ve never seen any of them work together with anyone. It might be the one and only time if I’m to be honest.
But that doesn’t matter.
They don’t matter.
Because there is no they in their mind, just “me”.
You see I’ve seen the egos of two of those three men and no matter how much you sugar coat it by saying you can work with anyone; Doing it and putting your money where your mouth is, is a much different story. These are the same guys that call themselves “Golden Gods” and “Kings of the the Skies”, the only one that hasn’t been running their mouth about how great they are is the one that doesn’t speak.
Now I’ve had my share of tag matches and there’s a give and take that you have to feel when you’re in that ring. Go out too early you’ll leave your partner open to strike, go out too late and well…ding, ding, ding…
And I’m just not sure that these guys can get past themselves even if it is to win. But even if a divided pack of wolves loses against a united one,
wolves are still wolves…
and these guys individually are wolves nonetheless.
Jay West, what can I say about you? You went into the ring with me, fought me square on your feet and were pinned. It’s a shame, I know, but these are the facts as they stand. And now we stand against each other once again as competitors…and unfortunately history must repeat itself. You’ve got to get in that ring, fight with everything that you’ve got and because only one of us can be declared the winner, you have fall. Everything that you have will not be enough. Your teammates will not be enough, because your hubris will limit you. Your desire to be the king of the skies, to rule all of those under you will crush you under it’s own weight.
You’re a flyer, you have to fly! I understand that, believe me I do. In fact, I want you to get higher, and higher, and a little bit higher.
Because I know…
that what comes up, must come down and when you’re on your way down I’ll be right there waiting for you with a move that’ll leave you seeing cartoon birds and crowns circling your head. Because whether it be in the sky, on the ground, even in flames of the inferno itself, I will be there. And you will fall.
Now, I don’t speak Spanish so I’ll just say it in English and hope it gets across. The Eternal Silent Hellfire, a warrior, a fighter an insane daredevil. I look forward to seeing your skills first hand in the ring, but for now you have my respect. You are a man who took flames to your face so that you wouldn’t take a dive. You show honor to the mask that you wear and that tells me more of your character than words ever could.
That being said, you are no exception to my list of people who have to survive my spear. You may be a silent hellfire, but I was born breathing ash with a taste of fire burning my tongue. I have seen the depths of hell and come back after shaking hands with the eternal. We may both be flesh, but iron coats my skin, the tundra lives in my eyes, and the storm in my veins will electrify every single person in that audience the moment I step into that ring.
Because I am the Knight who stared death down until he blinked
and I will not lose to you…
A moment went passed and Armstrong realized who was next. He looked uninterested as he sighed before getting what he needed to say off his chest.
You’re not really worth my time at this point, but the WCF wants us in the ring again…and I won’t back down from a challenge…even if the challenge is keeping you quiet…a challenge indeed…
So I’ll start with a question.
Steven Singh…how’re your ribs doing? I ask because I care, although it doesn’t really matter at this point right? They seemed fine when you crawled back into the ring so I’ll assume you can take another spear when we meet. Just looking at the way your scurried from the ring last time I’m betting you can still take another spear…and I’m looking forward to it…
But back to your gift of the gab. You wanted time on the mic right?
You got that.
You needed to make a big statement on the grand stage of the WCF?
You did.
So what did you use your 15 minutes of fame for?
Wait, now I remember! You needed to make a big show out of the two of us having the same intro?! Am I hearing this correct? You were done, and if you call what I did a cheap shot that is fine by me. The shot was only as cheap as the person it was pummeling. In fact, I think that after I pounded your face over and over again my right hand came up green.
But you should know that inside of that ring, you are not safe. You are never safe. And I wanted to remind you of that fact. Bell or no bell, if you walk into a lion’s den with a pot to piss in and a silver spoon, clang them together in such an annoying way that emulates your voice on that mic, it won’t matter whether it’s meal time or not. You became the main course at that moment. Besides if I was really being cheap, I wouldn’t have let you up. Don’t forget that I relented, I showed mercy even when you didn’t deserve it. You sully wrestling every time you speak. Your promos show it and your actions show it. And I am not a fan.
And if I have to give time to the claim of me “stealing your theme music”, I shall give it the time it deserves. One word. No. I would like you to listen to your assistant for once as she tells you that I claimed that theme music first and then I want you to never bring this up with me again…
Don’t mention it in anymore of your promos, don’t talk to the GM about, don’t even look like the word “Power” is going to come from your lips…
That is…unless you are man enough to get into the ring and fight me for it.
I would gladly put something as simple as that on the line for a real fight. If you’re able to give me one that is. I’ll even draw up a contract on my iron clad boot, and when it’s printed all over your backside I want you to promise to never bring up this stupidity in or outside of the ring ever again. So take out your cheap golden pen from your pocket because I know you’re not happy to see me…and Singh…
And audible sigh can be heard from Armstrong as he gives a sad smile to the camera.
Before our time in the ring last Sunday I thought of you as a fighter, a warrior but now I’m actually disappointed in you Superstar. For all your talk I thought you’d be fighting a little bit more, not ringside with the commentators. You talk the talk and for the little time you were in the ring I thought you were…average as a wrestler. Don’t get me wrong, a knight never looks down on any opponent that fights with vigor and determination, but you fought with cowardice and dirty tricks. So cling to your words and your titles and stay out of the ring, you seem to be more suited for a life there anyways.
Even after I was sent on my head outside of the ring, I found my way back in there without a second thought. That’s where we differ. That’s how I show my respect for what I do. I get up, and I keep fighting. You may find that high flyers exist only to fall, and you may say that it was showboating or hubris that had me fall from the top rope.
But that’s not it.
For someone who doesn’t respect his opponents it may look like Icarus flying too close to the sun, but to me it’s a sign of honor. Jay West fought honorably, he fought like a man and deserved to win or lose by a signature move. Nothing more nothing less. The Vambrace Lariat is a move that encompasses everything I stand for. Fight to your last, and risk it all.
But that’s enough about the past. Sunday is a new day and a new match.
And you know what? The people in that ring on Sunday paid good money to see the main event. But before that, I want to give them a bit of a treat. Something before the main course that can get everyone in Lexington Kentucky raving. Something that can turn a city into a kingdom. Something that can turn the horse tracks into coliseums. THE SURE THING to turn your Jack of all trades self into a real wrestler and that is me showing you exactly what honor means. So on Sunday I will show you what it means to kiss the mat and pay your respect. Because there’s only one truth you need to know “Golden God”.
There are no gods here, only one god and he doesn’t like you.
Armstrong exits the scene ending the interview with that. His mind was now clear to focus on what really mattered, the goal that everyone that was entering that ring on Sunday shared. A win. Nothing more, nothing less. As he left he pulled out a crumpled piece of paper with words scribbled out in cursive,
“I’ll be watching <3”
