Post by Dean Wolf on Oct 21, 2018 22:56:21 GMT -5
Port Jefferson Station is where DW Wolf is starting his new life. He’s rented an apartment for the time being. He put his home in Centereach up for sale when he moved into his own private wing of Bernard Core’s mansion back in 2015. There isn’t much in the apartment. Just the essentials. He’s trying to rid himself of possessions. The last three years have been a glut of possessions, a glut of the high life. The most lavish thing he has is a stereo that he bought at a yard sale, and he really only plays it when he’s working out, and the only thing he plays is Metallica. There’s no TV and no computer. The only food he keeps in the kitchen are vegetables, fruit, grilled chicken, eggs, and water. The clothes hanging in his closet are all from a thrift store. He is living simply and is at peace with his simplicity.
Since he doesn’t own a computer, he’s walked across the street to the Comsewogue Public Library. He got himself a library card and uses it to get onto the library’s computers. Unfortunately, in today’s day and age, you can’t really avoid using a computer. He checks his e-mail, reads some of the news of the day, checks out some houses for sale, and skims the WCF Network to do a little research for the Hardcore Championship Match against Stephen Singh.
Towards the end of his time on the computer, he sees a video suggestion. It’s an archived video from September 25, 2015 titled “No F---ing Joke.” It’s a promo he cut in a locker room somewhere (he couldn’t remember the city) in the lead-up to War XIV. He clicks on it and watches.
Wolf was angry on this night, not that Wolf being angry is a surprise, but this was him at one of his angriest moments. His first month in the WCF at that point had been lackluster. He debuted at Revenge in a tag match. His team won, but his partner recorded the pinfall. Two weeks later, he had a match against Cletus T. Clyde, and while he walked away that night, leaving Cletus lying unconscious in the ring, it was still a disqualification loss. The next week, he was supposed to fight in a fourway against John Gable, Kyle Kemp, and Spencer Adams. It was his first match against some legitimate guys, and the whole thing went to shit. Two of the guys had outside issues that prevented them from coming to the ring and the third guy refused to wrestle. Wolf demanded competition and was met by a jobber named Red Trunks. Wolf destroyed the guy and picked up his first win, but the thought that the other three guys abandoned the match for whatever reason felt like his opponents, and the roster as a whole, were not taking him seriously. He’d heard the comments the guys in the locker room had made.
“He hasn’t cut his teeth yet.”
They mocked him for calling himself Wolf. They said a bunch of shit. The gist of their comments was that he was not meant to be taken seriously. He wasn’t a threat. He was sub-par. He didn’t deserve to be there.
He let all of his frustrations out in that promo.
“I am not a fucking joke” he proclaimed. He got himself so worked up that he ended up headbutting a locker and busting himself open. Seth handed him the bill the arena sent for the damaged property but Wolf wiped his ass with it. The thought of that makes Wolf chuckle, but he was at his wits end by that point. All he wanted to do was wrestle. All he wanted was a chance. All he wanted was for people to take him seriously. He had been fighting for that distinction all his life. That fight cost him some time from school as a kid, but now, fighting was his livelihood. It was his life’s work, and he wanted to be seen on the same level as his peers. He contemplates that time in his career and compares it to where he’s at now.
DW Wolf: Not much has changed since then. Well, I shouldn’t say that. The Core Institute thing didn’t happen. But as far as my single career in WCF goes, not much has changed. Three years ago, I was at the bottom of the totem pole, reaching for the brass ring, trying to claw my way up but getting nowhere. I demanded respect and wasn’t getting any of it. I just needed my chance to show that I was something, that I was legit.
And here I am now, doing the same thing. I’m at the bottom again. I’m still trying to reach the top. The real top. I’m not talking about the seven-figure job and the ritzy lifestyle. I’m talking about being at the top of a profession that you actually care about and having the admiration of the people that practice that same profession.
I know in my heart that I can be the best in the WCF. I think that I’m already the best. Call it premature, but that’s the mindset you have to have when you enter a business like this where everybody wants to prove they’ve got a bigger dick than you.
Still, this thing is a marathon, not a sprint. I don’t expect people to take me seriously, especially considering what I did to myself after War XIV. People are probably eyeing me with suspicion. People are probably waiting for me to fuck-up and end up being Wolf Ryder again.
Goddamn, I must have been real high coming up with that fucking name.
I didn’t think that I’d have the chance to be a champion in just the second match of my comeback, but here I am, with a Hardcore Title shot in my lap. I see this as another War XIV. I see this as a chance to show people just how good I am. Last week, it was impressive, but it was one match, and not everyone’s convinced yet. Jazzy John, the guy I pinned, the guy whose face I smashed with Easy Prey and whose throat I crushed with The Kill, says it’s going to take me beating James Wolf at Helloween to earn his respect. On the one hand, I could just say “John, I kicked your ass. Fuck you.” On the other hand, I can go out to the ring and put up a fucking fight against one of the best wrestlers in the company, Stephen Singh, or, you know, pin Singh and win the Hardcore Title. I’d like the latter to happen, but I didn’t win War XIV either and people were looking at me with more admiration after that.
I know beating Singh is a tall order. I’ve only wrestled a hand full of matches in the last three years while Singh has been grinding week in and week out for the last two years, winning the World Title two times in the process. He’s got the experience over me. He’s fought better wrestler than I’ve fought. No offense to Destroyer or Jazzy John, but they are not John Rabid, Michael X, or Odin Balfore. The only way to get better in this sport is to compete against the best, and Singh is one of the best. If I beat Singh, my stock will increase tenfold and I’ll have the Hardcore Title around my waist. If I lose, I’ll have gained experience fighting one of the best in the world, and the experience will serve me well when I step into the ring against men of his caliber, like Balfore or Dune or Flash or even in a rematch against Singh. Hell, it’ll serve me well when I’m in the fight of my motherfucking life next week in a goddamn electrified cage against James Wolf.
I don’t like Singh. I don’t like him as a person. I don’t like the false way he carries himself. That doesn’t mean that I can’t respect him as a wrestler. You’d be a complete idiot to not respect his ability in that ring. Bernard Core didn’t respect anybody’s ability in the ring and looked like a big dumbass when he was getting pinned by Biff Mustache or tapping out in the middle of the ring to Cliff of Doom. If there’s one thing that I learned from Bernard Core’s mistake, it’s to respect your opponent, no matter who they are. Every man that steps into that ring has earned his right to be there, and I will give them the respect with earning that spot deserves. I may not think that every man is the best. I can acknowledge that there are better wrestlers than others, but at least I can acknowledge that every man deserves their spot and could beat me on any given day.
That’s the difference between me in 2015 and me now. The guy in the video losing his goddamn mind for not being respected wasn’t willing to give that respect to others. What a hypocritical piece of shit.
It’s funny what three years can do to your humility.
I was humbled when Occulo beat me in no time on national television because I was too fucked up to fight.
I was humbled every time I had my head in a toilet in God knows where throwing up all the contents of my stomach.
I was humbled when I was going through withdrawal because my body needed opioids and wasn’t getting them.
I was humbled when Cliff of Doom superkicked me twice, hit me with the Doomerang twice, and dropped me on my head to pin me and make it to the finals of the Sixth Dimension Tournament.
I’ve gotten a real education in life ever since that video was recorded. I am human, and so it everybody else around me. That fact alone demands that I show respect to the men I share this great sport with.
Stephen Singh hasn’t learned that lesson, which perplexes me because he’s had his failings in life. He’s been an addict. He’s lost people in his life that he’s loved. He’s fucked-up. He’s lost the big matches. Still, he doesn’t acknowledge his humanity. He denies that it’s there. He’s called himself a “Golden God” so much that he actually thinks he is one, and that everyone below him, including me, are just mere mortals.
Wake the fuck up, Stephen. You are a man and you’ve lost just like I’ve lost. You’ve failed just like I’ve failed. You are just as susceptible to fucking up and relapsing as I am. Your head is so far up your ass that you can’t see that. Your so blinded by your golden gloriousness that you can’t see that someone like me has just as much a chance of beating you as you have beating me.
What’s going to happen if I do beat you, Stephen? Here’s my best guess. First, you go into a state of shock because you, the guy who couldn’t fathom the thought of losing to me, lost TO ME. Then, the blinders will be taken off of your eyes and you’ll see the truth about yourself- that all the assumptions you’ve made about yourself and people like me are all false. You’ll realize that living the lavish life that you’ve tried to build to mask your own faults and insecurities has not made you indestructible.
Then I think the main event of this unraveling is going to commence. Since you’ve failed to try to live without acknowledging anything human about yourself, you’re going to try and seek consolation the only way you know how- in things that aren’t real. First, you’ll try the possessions. You’ll go out and buy new clothes and drink new coffees and run up huge tabs and fill your days with an endless consumption of high priced materials. When that fails to make you feel better, maybe you’ll move on to pussy and try to find comfort in some whores who don’t really give a shit about you and are only sucking your dick because you’re flashing Benjamins in front of their faces. Then when that doesn’t happen, you’ll try and find anything, ANYTHING, that will make you forget your own mortality.
And we both know what does that.
Alcohol. That always works. That always helps you forget. You’ll fall back into that addiction, and every time you sober up and have to remember that I’m the guy that beat you for the Hardcore Title and exposed you for the fraud that you are, you’ll go back to the bottle and waste away in a dream state, like a soma sleep. And all the pain of your life will melt away temporarily until it comes back and you have to numb it again.
Am I wishing this on you? Of course not, but I don’t think you are as strong willed as you want all of us to believe, especially when you have to lie to yourself and show yourself off as something that you’re not. If I lose, I’ll be fine. I don’t live in the illusion that you live in anymore. If I fall, I’m going to pick myself back up and live to fight another day, which is even more imperative now that I have an Electric Cage Match to prepare for. I’m not going to sulk and piss myself for days on end because I didn’t become the Hardcore Champion. Will it suck? Yeah, but I’ll use the loss as motivation to make James Wolf ride the motherfucking lightning, and eventually, I’ll find my way back into the ring against you, for the title or not.
Some people might say, “But Wolf, Singh has turned a new leaf. He’s vowed to be a fighting champion.” I don’t believe it, just like I don’t believe that he wants his mother’s help. I think the whole thing is a PR stunt, just like everything else in his life. He wants the rest of us to believe that he’s noble and valiant when in reality, he hasn’t changed a bit. If he makes it past me, he’ll tire of the whole magnanimous champion act and go back to being Thievin’ Steven. He’ll start avoiding title shots. He’ll start hiding behind this excuse and that excuse. He’ll have his mom call into work for him and tell him he’s too sick to come in and wrestle. He’ll do whatever he has to do to hold onto the title because that’s his true colors. He has to keep the facade of cosmetic success that he’s been running since 2016, and the only way to do that is by doing what most businessmen like him do- cheat and cut corners whenever possible.
And shit, if he loses to me, you’ll see Thievin Steven come back real fucking quick, if he hasn’t fallen off the wagon by that point. He’ll get desperate to be back on the top of the pile again and play his little games and use his mom to do his dirty work for him and try to sit back on the throne that he’s occupied for a long time now. Problem is, I’m going to be on that throne. I’m going to be in that exclusive club that only champions belong to. The roles are going to be reversed. I’m going to be the one in the castle and he’s going to be the one banging on the door begging to come back inside. I’ll be the one pushing him back, telling him that there are better people than him, people that he disrespected, people that actually are worthy of holding the Hardcore Championship, that will get the shot first. He’ll try to scheme and make deals to make it back to the top, but I’ll be standing there stopping him at every turn.
I will handle victory or defeat with the same graciousness.
He’ll handle victory like a huge dick and defeat like a little bitch.
Seeking the wolf isn’t my only motivator this week. Winning the Hardcore Title isn’t my only motivator this week. The thing that is fueling me the most in this match is teaching Stephen Singh about motherfucking respect.
He may kick my ass, but he’s going to give me his fucking respect.
He gets up from the computer and leaves the library. While walking across the parking lot, he notices that there’s only one car left. It was closing time, around 9 PM. He keeps walking but can’t shake the feeling that something is behind him. He crosses the street, but when he gets to the other side, he looks back. There was nobody there. He must have been hearing things.
He gets up to his apartment and unlocks the door. He hangs his hooded sweatshirt and walks into the kitchen, where he pulls out an apple. He goes to the room that’s acting as a makeshift office for the time being and picks up a red spiral notebook. He opens up to the middle of the book and observes a list that he wrote. He always wrote lists. It's what helped him get shit done in his life. At the top, it reads simply “Comeback Goals.”
1. World Championship
2. Win War
3. Win Ultimate Showdown
4. Win Trilogy Tournament
5. Streamers Thing
6. Make-up for XIII loss against Super Stache Brothers
7. Hardcore Championship
8. TV Championship
9. Main Event One
10. Fight the best, beat the best, become the best
.
He added another goal to the list.
11. Give Respect
He looked at it before adding one more item in all capital letters.
12. EARN RESPECT
He underlines it three times to emphasize this goal.
:Ding Dong:
Wolf looks up. Who the hell could be at his door? Nobody ever rings his doorbell. He gets up and looks through the peephole.
DW Wolf: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
He puts his head up against the door.
Jesus fucking Christ. How did he know that I was here? What the fuck?
The person on the other end rings the doorbell and bangs on it loudly.
Fuck.
He takes one deep breath in and breaths out. He grabs a hold of the knob. He takes one more second to get himself ready. He scowls and looks raises his eyes. He quickly swings the door open and cocks his fist back, but the person on the other end gets the first punch in.
Wolf falls onto the floor. A man walks in and charges Wolf, but he pushes the man away with his feet. The man goes up against the wall. Wolf gets up. The man throws a right but Wolf ducks and punches him in the stomach. He grabs the man’s head and throws him across his small dining table. The table topples over and the man struggles to get up. Wolf stands in a fighting pose. The man looks up at Wolf and grows even more determined.
Man: Gaaaaaa!
He charges Wolf and tackles him. Wolf falls but gets the man in a front face. He traps him in a body scissors and clamps down on the hold.
DW Wolf: Enough! Give up! Give up!
I don't want to knock you out!
The man doesn’t respond. In fact, he doesn’t even move.
DW Wolf: Shit.
Wolf lets go. The man rolls onto his back. Wolf stands over him.
DW Wolf: Hey. Hey! You alright.?!
The man doesn’t respond.
DW Wolf: Fuck.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes pop open. Wolf looks stunned.
The man punches Wolf in the throat. Wolf stands straight up holding his throat, giving the man the opportunity to kick him in the nuts. In a throaty exclamation, Wolf groans “Fuuuuuuck.” He falls to his knees. The man gets up and knees Wolf in the face. Wolf collapses. The man looks down on Wolf.
Man: Welcome back, asshole!
The man spits on Wolf and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Wolf coughs violently as soon as the door shuts. He tries to catch his breath. He finally gets control of his breathing and rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.
DW Wolf: Thanks for stopping by, Dad.
Since he doesn’t own a computer, he’s walked across the street to the Comsewogue Public Library. He got himself a library card and uses it to get onto the library’s computers. Unfortunately, in today’s day and age, you can’t really avoid using a computer. He checks his e-mail, reads some of the news of the day, checks out some houses for sale, and skims the WCF Network to do a little research for the Hardcore Championship Match against Stephen Singh.
Towards the end of his time on the computer, he sees a video suggestion. It’s an archived video from September 25, 2015 titled “No F---ing Joke.” It’s a promo he cut in a locker room somewhere (he couldn’t remember the city) in the lead-up to War XIV. He clicks on it and watches.
Wolf was angry on this night, not that Wolf being angry is a surprise, but this was him at one of his angriest moments. His first month in the WCF at that point had been lackluster. He debuted at Revenge in a tag match. His team won, but his partner recorded the pinfall. Two weeks later, he had a match against Cletus T. Clyde, and while he walked away that night, leaving Cletus lying unconscious in the ring, it was still a disqualification loss. The next week, he was supposed to fight in a fourway against John Gable, Kyle Kemp, and Spencer Adams. It was his first match against some legitimate guys, and the whole thing went to shit. Two of the guys had outside issues that prevented them from coming to the ring and the third guy refused to wrestle. Wolf demanded competition and was met by a jobber named Red Trunks. Wolf destroyed the guy and picked up his first win, but the thought that the other three guys abandoned the match for whatever reason felt like his opponents, and the roster as a whole, were not taking him seriously. He’d heard the comments the guys in the locker room had made.
“He hasn’t cut his teeth yet.”
They mocked him for calling himself Wolf. They said a bunch of shit. The gist of their comments was that he was not meant to be taken seriously. He wasn’t a threat. He was sub-par. He didn’t deserve to be there.
He let all of his frustrations out in that promo.
“I am not a fucking joke” he proclaimed. He got himself so worked up that he ended up headbutting a locker and busting himself open. Seth handed him the bill the arena sent for the damaged property but Wolf wiped his ass with it. The thought of that makes Wolf chuckle, but he was at his wits end by that point. All he wanted to do was wrestle. All he wanted was a chance. All he wanted was for people to take him seriously. He had been fighting for that distinction all his life. That fight cost him some time from school as a kid, but now, fighting was his livelihood. It was his life’s work, and he wanted to be seen on the same level as his peers. He contemplates that time in his career and compares it to where he’s at now.
DW Wolf: Not much has changed since then. Well, I shouldn’t say that. The Core Institute thing didn’t happen. But as far as my single career in WCF goes, not much has changed. Three years ago, I was at the bottom of the totem pole, reaching for the brass ring, trying to claw my way up but getting nowhere. I demanded respect and wasn’t getting any of it. I just needed my chance to show that I was something, that I was legit.
And here I am now, doing the same thing. I’m at the bottom again. I’m still trying to reach the top. The real top. I’m not talking about the seven-figure job and the ritzy lifestyle. I’m talking about being at the top of a profession that you actually care about and having the admiration of the people that practice that same profession.
I know in my heart that I can be the best in the WCF. I think that I’m already the best. Call it premature, but that’s the mindset you have to have when you enter a business like this where everybody wants to prove they’ve got a bigger dick than you.
Still, this thing is a marathon, not a sprint. I don’t expect people to take me seriously, especially considering what I did to myself after War XIV. People are probably eyeing me with suspicion. People are probably waiting for me to fuck-up and end up being Wolf Ryder again.
Goddamn, I must have been real high coming up with that fucking name.
I didn’t think that I’d have the chance to be a champion in just the second match of my comeback, but here I am, with a Hardcore Title shot in my lap. I see this as another War XIV. I see this as a chance to show people just how good I am. Last week, it was impressive, but it was one match, and not everyone’s convinced yet. Jazzy John, the guy I pinned, the guy whose face I smashed with Easy Prey and whose throat I crushed with The Kill, says it’s going to take me beating James Wolf at Helloween to earn his respect. On the one hand, I could just say “John, I kicked your ass. Fuck you.” On the other hand, I can go out to the ring and put up a fucking fight against one of the best wrestlers in the company, Stephen Singh, or, you know, pin Singh and win the Hardcore Title. I’d like the latter to happen, but I didn’t win War XIV either and people were looking at me with more admiration after that.
I know beating Singh is a tall order. I’ve only wrestled a hand full of matches in the last three years while Singh has been grinding week in and week out for the last two years, winning the World Title two times in the process. He’s got the experience over me. He’s fought better wrestler than I’ve fought. No offense to Destroyer or Jazzy John, but they are not John Rabid, Michael X, or Odin Balfore. The only way to get better in this sport is to compete against the best, and Singh is one of the best. If I beat Singh, my stock will increase tenfold and I’ll have the Hardcore Title around my waist. If I lose, I’ll have gained experience fighting one of the best in the world, and the experience will serve me well when I step into the ring against men of his caliber, like Balfore or Dune or Flash or even in a rematch against Singh. Hell, it’ll serve me well when I’m in the fight of my motherfucking life next week in a goddamn electrified cage against James Wolf.
I don’t like Singh. I don’t like him as a person. I don’t like the false way he carries himself. That doesn’t mean that I can’t respect him as a wrestler. You’d be a complete idiot to not respect his ability in that ring. Bernard Core didn’t respect anybody’s ability in the ring and looked like a big dumbass when he was getting pinned by Biff Mustache or tapping out in the middle of the ring to Cliff of Doom. If there’s one thing that I learned from Bernard Core’s mistake, it’s to respect your opponent, no matter who they are. Every man that steps into that ring has earned his right to be there, and I will give them the respect with earning that spot deserves. I may not think that every man is the best. I can acknowledge that there are better wrestlers than others, but at least I can acknowledge that every man deserves their spot and could beat me on any given day.
That’s the difference between me in 2015 and me now. The guy in the video losing his goddamn mind for not being respected wasn’t willing to give that respect to others. What a hypocritical piece of shit.
It’s funny what three years can do to your humility.
I was humbled when Occulo beat me in no time on national television because I was too fucked up to fight.
I was humbled every time I had my head in a toilet in God knows where throwing up all the contents of my stomach.
I was humbled when I was going through withdrawal because my body needed opioids and wasn’t getting them.
I was humbled when Cliff of Doom superkicked me twice, hit me with the Doomerang twice, and dropped me on my head to pin me and make it to the finals of the Sixth Dimension Tournament.
I’ve gotten a real education in life ever since that video was recorded. I am human, and so it everybody else around me. That fact alone demands that I show respect to the men I share this great sport with.
Stephen Singh hasn’t learned that lesson, which perplexes me because he’s had his failings in life. He’s been an addict. He’s lost people in his life that he’s loved. He’s fucked-up. He’s lost the big matches. Still, he doesn’t acknowledge his humanity. He denies that it’s there. He’s called himself a “Golden God” so much that he actually thinks he is one, and that everyone below him, including me, are just mere mortals.
Wake the fuck up, Stephen. You are a man and you’ve lost just like I’ve lost. You’ve failed just like I’ve failed. You are just as susceptible to fucking up and relapsing as I am. Your head is so far up your ass that you can’t see that. Your so blinded by your golden gloriousness that you can’t see that someone like me has just as much a chance of beating you as you have beating me.
What’s going to happen if I do beat you, Stephen? Here’s my best guess. First, you go into a state of shock because you, the guy who couldn’t fathom the thought of losing to me, lost TO ME. Then, the blinders will be taken off of your eyes and you’ll see the truth about yourself- that all the assumptions you’ve made about yourself and people like me are all false. You’ll realize that living the lavish life that you’ve tried to build to mask your own faults and insecurities has not made you indestructible.
Then I think the main event of this unraveling is going to commence. Since you’ve failed to try to live without acknowledging anything human about yourself, you’re going to try and seek consolation the only way you know how- in things that aren’t real. First, you’ll try the possessions. You’ll go out and buy new clothes and drink new coffees and run up huge tabs and fill your days with an endless consumption of high priced materials. When that fails to make you feel better, maybe you’ll move on to pussy and try to find comfort in some whores who don’t really give a shit about you and are only sucking your dick because you’re flashing Benjamins in front of their faces. Then when that doesn’t happen, you’ll try and find anything, ANYTHING, that will make you forget your own mortality.
And we both know what does that.
Alcohol. That always works. That always helps you forget. You’ll fall back into that addiction, and every time you sober up and have to remember that I’m the guy that beat you for the Hardcore Title and exposed you for the fraud that you are, you’ll go back to the bottle and waste away in a dream state, like a soma sleep. And all the pain of your life will melt away temporarily until it comes back and you have to numb it again.
Am I wishing this on you? Of course not, but I don’t think you are as strong willed as you want all of us to believe, especially when you have to lie to yourself and show yourself off as something that you’re not. If I lose, I’ll be fine. I don’t live in the illusion that you live in anymore. If I fall, I’m going to pick myself back up and live to fight another day, which is even more imperative now that I have an Electric Cage Match to prepare for. I’m not going to sulk and piss myself for days on end because I didn’t become the Hardcore Champion. Will it suck? Yeah, but I’ll use the loss as motivation to make James Wolf ride the motherfucking lightning, and eventually, I’ll find my way back into the ring against you, for the title or not.
Some people might say, “But Wolf, Singh has turned a new leaf. He’s vowed to be a fighting champion.” I don’t believe it, just like I don’t believe that he wants his mother’s help. I think the whole thing is a PR stunt, just like everything else in his life. He wants the rest of us to believe that he’s noble and valiant when in reality, he hasn’t changed a bit. If he makes it past me, he’ll tire of the whole magnanimous champion act and go back to being Thievin’ Steven. He’ll start avoiding title shots. He’ll start hiding behind this excuse and that excuse. He’ll have his mom call into work for him and tell him he’s too sick to come in and wrestle. He’ll do whatever he has to do to hold onto the title because that’s his true colors. He has to keep the facade of cosmetic success that he’s been running since 2016, and the only way to do that is by doing what most businessmen like him do- cheat and cut corners whenever possible.
And shit, if he loses to me, you’ll see Thievin Steven come back real fucking quick, if he hasn’t fallen off the wagon by that point. He’ll get desperate to be back on the top of the pile again and play his little games and use his mom to do his dirty work for him and try to sit back on the throne that he’s occupied for a long time now. Problem is, I’m going to be on that throne. I’m going to be in that exclusive club that only champions belong to. The roles are going to be reversed. I’m going to be the one in the castle and he’s going to be the one banging on the door begging to come back inside. I’ll be the one pushing him back, telling him that there are better people than him, people that he disrespected, people that actually are worthy of holding the Hardcore Championship, that will get the shot first. He’ll try to scheme and make deals to make it back to the top, but I’ll be standing there stopping him at every turn.
I will handle victory or defeat with the same graciousness.
He’ll handle victory like a huge dick and defeat like a little bitch.
Seeking the wolf isn’t my only motivator this week. Winning the Hardcore Title isn’t my only motivator this week. The thing that is fueling me the most in this match is teaching Stephen Singh about motherfucking respect.
He may kick my ass, but he’s going to give me his fucking respect.
He gets up from the computer and leaves the library. While walking across the parking lot, he notices that there’s only one car left. It was closing time, around 9 PM. He keeps walking but can’t shake the feeling that something is behind him. He crosses the street, but when he gets to the other side, he looks back. There was nobody there. He must have been hearing things.
He gets up to his apartment and unlocks the door. He hangs his hooded sweatshirt and walks into the kitchen, where he pulls out an apple. He goes to the room that’s acting as a makeshift office for the time being and picks up a red spiral notebook. He opens up to the middle of the book and observes a list that he wrote. He always wrote lists. It's what helped him get shit done in his life. At the top, it reads simply “Comeback Goals.”
1. World Championship
2. Win War
3. Win Ultimate Showdown
4. Win Trilogy Tournament
5. Streamers Thing
6. Make-up for XIII loss against Super Stache Brothers
7. Hardcore Championship
8. TV Championship
9. Main Event One
10. Fight the best, beat the best, become the best
.
He added another goal to the list.
11. Give Respect
He looked at it before adding one more item in all capital letters.
12. EARN RESPECT
He underlines it three times to emphasize this goal.
:Ding Dong:
Wolf looks up. Who the hell could be at his door? Nobody ever rings his doorbell. He gets up and looks through the peephole.
DW Wolf: You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
He puts his head up against the door.
Jesus fucking Christ. How did he know that I was here? What the fuck?
The person on the other end rings the doorbell and bangs on it loudly.
Fuck.
He takes one deep breath in and breaths out. He grabs a hold of the knob. He takes one more second to get himself ready. He scowls and looks raises his eyes. He quickly swings the door open and cocks his fist back, but the person on the other end gets the first punch in.
Wolf falls onto the floor. A man walks in and charges Wolf, but he pushes the man away with his feet. The man goes up against the wall. Wolf gets up. The man throws a right but Wolf ducks and punches him in the stomach. He grabs the man’s head and throws him across his small dining table. The table topples over and the man struggles to get up. Wolf stands in a fighting pose. The man looks up at Wolf and grows even more determined.
Man: Gaaaaaa!
He charges Wolf and tackles him. Wolf falls but gets the man in a front face. He traps him in a body scissors and clamps down on the hold.
DW Wolf: Enough! Give up! Give up!
I don't want to knock you out!
The man doesn’t respond. In fact, he doesn’t even move.
DW Wolf: Shit.
Wolf lets go. The man rolls onto his back. Wolf stands over him.
DW Wolf: Hey. Hey! You alright.?!
The man doesn’t respond.
DW Wolf: Fuck.
Suddenly, the man’s eyes pop open. Wolf looks stunned.
The man punches Wolf in the throat. Wolf stands straight up holding his throat, giving the man the opportunity to kick him in the nuts. In a throaty exclamation, Wolf groans “Fuuuuuuck.” He falls to his knees. The man gets up and knees Wolf in the face. Wolf collapses. The man looks down on Wolf.
Man: Welcome back, asshole!
The man spits on Wolf and leaves, slamming the door behind him. Wolf coughs violently as soon as the door shuts. He tries to catch his breath. He finally gets control of his breathing and rolls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling.
DW Wolf: Thanks for stopping by, Dad.
