Post by Notorious B.O.B. on Jan 28, 2018 0:19:46 GMT
“Back, hey … both of you, back!”
He wasn’t sure who was holding him by the waist, but Bob twisted and turned, trying to free himself to get another shot at Laszlo and Blake. The bell had already sounded, the match rendered a double count out as things, again, had devolved into a mele on the outside. The four men, separated by a sea of bodies, of faces, it didn’t matter who it was between them – Pooler would fight his way past each and every single one in order to wipe the smile of Blake’s face.
To his right he could just make out Jacobsen being pushed backwards until his back made contact with the ring apron. The look on Andrew’s face, Bob knew that look … it was probably what his face looked like. He’d had enough, Andrew had been pushed far enough and was pushing back. Personnel, other superstars, security, all doing their best to not only halt the forward progress of Laszlo and Blake, but push them backwards and up the ramp. It took several minutes, but as Mike and Angel disappeared behind the curtain the chorus of boos and cheers from the crowd began to die down. Bob stopped fighting to free himself and leaned backwards against the barricade.
“Hey, you two,” the referee was barking at the pair, “hang out here for a minute until the backstage is cleared out a little. Mr. Arcane doesn’t want more of this happening back there, got it?!”
Pooler looked at Jacobsen, nodding slightly and turning to face the fans. Young kids began clambering forward to get a high five, a hand shake, a pat on the back from their Imperial champion. Pooler stood and watched the joy on the fans faces as Andrew took the time to greet as many as he could. The anger was, no doubt, still there – but he hid it well for their benefit. Andrew was the definition of a champion; someone who knew when to push his own wants, his own needs, to the side to be there for the fans.
A few minutes passed, and after the umpteenth selfie, Bob and Andrew were given the all clear. Andrew bade the fans goodbye and joined Bob heading towards the ramp. Halfway to the curtain, Pooler turned to Jacobsen and without a sideways glance Andrew answered the unasked question,
“No, this isn’t over – we know that, they know that, Cable knows that; you up for a visit to our fearless leader?”
Bob doesn’t answer, he just smirks and nods his head.
“Nope, nope, nuh-uh,” he said with a grin as the stream introduction tapered off and his face filled the screen. “No, the plan was to land over here near the school and pick this area clean. I’ve got,” he pauses, “at least four people dropping in around me so if you guys want to change where we’re headed then you better make up your minds now!”
He continues to smile as he navigates his avatar lower and lower until he touches down in a wooded area on the outskirts of a small town. “Alright, so I guess for the benefit of those of you who are first time viewers – I’m Bob, this is Fortnight, and that …” he furrows his brow as he manages to dodge a spray of bullets and duck behind a building, “that is why you don’t change the damn plan mid-flight!”
He laughs with a shake of his head. His eye bounce back and forth between the chat and stream window that’s been set up on a secondary monitor and the game he’s playing on his main. “So if you’re just finding me for the first time it’s either because you heard that I was the worst Fortnight player,” he growls as he begins popping off a couple rounds through the window of the house he currently finds himself in, “or it’s because you googled my name ‘cause you’re a fan of IWF. Either way,” he smiles, “welcome to the stream and if you like what you see, don’t forget to subscribe! Now, what say we get down to business?” He licks his lips, his eyes narrowing as he creeps around the abandoned house, “I know you guys were watching and rooting for Fr0zen in the Hearthstone World Championships with me, but who the hell could have seen Tom come back from being two games down to win the whole thing?”
Pooler shakes his head, “I mean, seeing how soundly he was beaten in that second game – to the point that somebody set off the celebratory confetti all over them before they could even play that third game. It was like watching the Patriots coming back from being down in last year’s Super Bowl; Tom refused to give up and just started making good trades, minimized his misplays, and ended up capitalizing on Fr0zen’s mistakes. It was a hell of a thing to see,” he says with a nod of his head, “and made me think about this weekend. Nobody’s expecting me to be the one to walk out of Metamorphosis with the victory – but you know what they say, eh? Never say never.”
He taps at his keyboard; his avatar spinning around in a circle and managing to take out two opposing players before being struck down by an unseen third. “Well, shit” he mutters under his break, “guys, anybody nearby that can get me back up?” He looks at his surroundings, “He’s hiding in that bush next to the car – no, look out …” he sighs as one of his friends takes a headshot as they crouched to help. “Now,” he sighs, “we’re both dead.”
He manages a laugh as he rubs his face with the palm of his left hand. “Alright, well, while I’m waiting for you guys to either die or win,” he nods in the direction of his game monitor, “I guess we talk about this weekend. See, it’s been a pretty crazy couple weeks now and, from what I hear, this weekend is supposed to settle things once and for all.”
There’s a pregnant pause as he deadpans at the webcam.
“When,” he grins, “has anything in this company been settled ‘once and for all’? I mean, how many times are we gonna see guys in these grudge matches over, and over, and over …” his right eyebrow arches skyward, “and over again? Hell, how many of the has Angel been in over the years? Seems like he can’t go a year without pissing in someones Cheerios. Seems to be your thing, huh Blake?”
He lets the question hang there for a moment. “You just can’t seem to get through life without ruffling feathers. I mean,” he says with a shrug, “it’s worked for you this far in your career so why bother trying to fix what ain’t broke, eh? Thing is,” he says with a smile, “all that talk has just put a bigger target on your back. There may be four guys in this match looking to walk away with that Imperial title, but there’s three that know for sure that it isn’t gonna be you! We’ve let you spit your venomous sermons for long enough, and it’s time to put to rest this idea that you stand heads above the rest of us.
You are one of the most talented men I’ve seen in this business, there’s no denying that; but you, sir, are no God. Underneath all that face paint, all those spikes and buckles, and leather, you’re nothing but a man.
Angel …
Blake …
A man who has done what few in this industry, let alone company, have managed. There’s a reason why you’re a Hall of Famer; you’re a walking legend, but you are far from infallible. You’ve already shown that your weakness is you hubris,” he says with a sly grin. “You think that for all your huffing and puffing, the rest of us will just lay down submissively. You’re not the alpha here anymore, Angel. Those days are gone; and the men and women who once blindly followed you without a single doubt … there all gone; save for one.
Me.
Yeah,” he chuckles as he continues to spectate his teammates play, “most people remember the Age of X for what it attempted to do … tear down the status quo of IWF and rebuild it in their own image. You assembled a motley crew of individuals to help not only secure your position at the top of the mountain, but maintain your strangle hold until you decided you were done. Well, you grew tired of your playthings and one by one we were discarded, thrown by the wayside and told to fend for ourselves. On one hand,” he laughs, “it was the straw that broke the camels back. That final rejection was the last piece of the puzzle that created the means by which I cracked. It took me a long-ass time to get put back together, to get my head straight and figure out where my heart was … but you know what?” He asks the question with a smile on his face. “At the end of the day, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I would never have been able to get out from beneath your shadow, and I would never have found the strength to try and be more than what I was allowing myself to be. Under you I had grown stagnant, complicit to doing what was necessary to remain relevant; but was I relevant? I look back now and there’s no way that I can say that riding your coattails made me any more legitimate, and more relevant, any more of a threat to anyone than I could have achieved on my own. It’s my fault,” he says solemnly, “I allowed myself to buy in to the hype, I allowed your flowery words to take root in my head and suffocate that little piece of reason that I was still holding on to.
I’ve moved on, gotten my shit together, and stand here before you a different man. I mean,” he says with a grin once more, “I gotta say that I feel like I stand a pretty good chance here at walking away with the title. I shook off the rust a long time ago, I ditched the training wheels, and best of all … I stopped listening to all the talking heads who said I’d never live up to my potential.
Of the challengers walking into this match, Angel, I’ll admit that you,” he chuckles, “stand out as the biggest threat. Hopefully, though, all your blustering has made you a bigger target than me; ‘cause with you out of the way I’m sure that Andrew and I can put Laszlo on his back and then get down to brass tacks against each other.”
He pauses and looks at the chat window, a smile breaking across his face as he shakes his head from side to side.
“Well,” he says, nearly giggling, “do you really see Laszlo walking out of this thing with the title? Like,” he shakes his head vigorously, “I honestly don’t see him standing a chance against Andrew one-on-one, I still think his win over Angel was a bit of a fluke, and I’m in the best shape of my life,” he rolls his shoulders and mockingly flexes for the camera, “I think I can take him.”
He sighs, “Jesus, Mike, where the hell do we begin … again? More of the tired reteric about how I’ve always been complacent, about how I’ll never reach my potential, about how wading through mediocrity is the only thing that I’ll be remembered for.
Shit man,” he laughs, “six or seven months ago I might have agreed with you. Thing is, though, I take a little umbrage about you calling our Invictus and Man-of-Steel champions mediocre. I mean, I’m pretty sure that nobody ‘round here has ever called Spike Kane mediocre. Dean Harper?” He stifles a shudder, “dude is messed up in the head, but there’s nothing mediocre about him. What about the former champions? Raine? Karn? Shane? Any of those guys mediocre? Any of those guys not have what it takes to beat the Imperial champion on any given night? Last I remember, it was one of those ‘any given night’ wins that propelled you to your Imperial title win.
You did it, man” he says, clapping his hands together, “no sarcasm either, you’ve done what very few in this company have. You knew what it took to reach the top, the problem is you just couldn’t figure out what it took to stay there. So while you want to think that you stand shoulder to shoulder with men like Angel, like Alex, like Spike or Andrew; what makes you think you’re name won’t be remembered as being on par with the Everyman or Ortega’s?
Your rise to that championship title was a thing of beauty and nobody out there can deny that fact. But what have you accomplished since then? What have you done to truly put yourself on the same level as those who came before you?
I’m not being a dick here, Mike, I just honestly want to know – because from my perspective you’ve been using that win over Angel like a bargaining chip a little too long. Andrew, Angel and I all have wins over guys like Spike Kane and Alex Jones, but we’re not hanging our hats on those victories. Sure, it feels good knowing that, at least for me, I was able to beat someone that nobody figured I’d stand a chance against. Me; the guy who presses his cheek so lovingly against the cool glass ceiling that you’ve so effortlessly broken through already. Me; the guy who has overcome each and every obstacle that’s been placed in my path. Me; the guy who refuses to know what’s good for him and plans to meet the freight train of adversity heading straight for him with his damn head held high.
We’ve known each other a long ass time, Mike. In all those years, through all those companies you’ve never seen me as the legitimate threat that I am. Now, it probably doesn’t help that I tended to flip flop from being mister care-free, hippy dippy to a guy with a guy one The Cure album away from painting his bathtub red. I was a little all over the place; but time, therapy, and medication heals all things. I am so much more than the sum of my failings; my mistakes and regrets, though many, do not define me. What defines me are the actions that I take every day to make, not just myself, better … but IWF as well. Guys like you, the ones who want to be the cool anti-hero, they think that they can just say what they want, do what they want, whenever they want, and the fans will just eat it up.
Well, there has got to be something more you want than to be a poor man’s Alex Jones, Lasz, ‘cause AJ had that whole shtick down when you were still dating lil’ Ms. Crazy-train. I respect you, man, I always have. The feeling, I feel, it’s mutual simply because I don’t fit the mold that you expect me to; that your expectations of me don’t fit the reality standing in front of you. No, Mike, I don’t sit when you say so – and I sure as hell don’t walk away from this fight just because you don’t think I’m qualified enough. Me and you, we’ve got a long history together; maybe even longer than me and Spike. But I’m putting all that aside this weekend when I prove that the only man in this match capable of taking that title from Andrew … is me.”
“Yup” was the answer to the knock at the office door of Cable Arcane. Bob pushed the door open and the pair found Cable sitting behind his desk, papers scattered here and there but the man in charge leaning backwards to give them his full attention.
“I appreciate you knocking,” he says to the pair, “not everyone is so polite.”
“Listen, Cable” Andrew began as he stepped forward, but he was stopped in his tracks by Arcane who pushed back from the desk and stood up.
“Don’t bother. I saw what happened and I’ll tell you what I told Laszlo when I saw him. If you guys can’t seem to get through a since match without it turning into a brawl then I guess I’ll have to go and let you four beat on each other until you get it out of your system.”
Bob and Andrew look at each other. Bob opens his mouth but Cable interrupts, “Metamorphosis, fatal four-way.”
Bob nods his head, a smile flashing across his face. “Okay,” he says to Arcane, “I can get behind that.”
“Good,” Cable says, sitting back down at his desk and inclining his head towards the door, “now if you two don’t mind I’ve got some paperwork to figure out; something about Mr. Happy and Craigslist and …” Arcane shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll you two in two weeks. Good luck!”
Pooler and Jacobsen exit the room but pause on the other side of the door. There’s a moment of silence between them that Bob is the first to break.
“Andrew, I just want to say that I really appreciate everything you’ve had to say lately. Seems like you’re one of the few who still believes in me. It might not be the ideal match that either of us would have wanted, but I’m still honored to have the opportunity to face you.”
Bob extends his hand which Andrew doesn’t hesitate to take hold of. “I know he will” Jacobsen answers as the pair go their separate ways.
“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew,” he croons. “I really wish you and I could have had this dance one-on-one. There’s just,” he stops, searching for the right word, “just so many variables going on here that this match could very well be decided without really testing either of us. I mean, who’s to say Angel doesn’t try and quickly take out Laszlo for the win. I wouldn’t put it past him, nor would I for Laszlo either. The fact remains that there are four of us walking into that ring together and only one of us is going to walk out with the win; with the title.
I guess,” he shrugs, “a few weeks ago you hit the nail on the head when you mentioned that, at least for me, this isn’t just about the title. Sure, don’t get me wrong,” he holds his hands up defensively, “I’ve been dreaming about becoming Imperial champion for a long, long time – but more than that, this is about proving to myself that I have what it take. For years I’ve heard the same thing from guys like you, Andrew. People telling me that I have what it takes to be one of the greats. That I have the ability to stand toe to toe with with best that IWF has to offer. You know what I don’t hear, though? My name being used as the stick to measure others by.
My name is always thrown out there as an example of the bridesmaid that’s never been the bride. But you know what? I have stood face-to-face and shoulder-to-shoulder with the best in this business, and I’ve won some, and I’ve lost some. At the end of the day, none” he jabs his finger into the desk in front of him to drive home the point, “of those matches, none of those men have been what’s separated me from transitioning from being ‘one of’ to THE great. No, what’s kept me from making that leap has been a whole hell of a lot of self defeating behavior. Every time I get close to, maybe,” he winks, “living up to that potential …” he puffs out his cheeks before smashing his palms into them, expelling the air in one, big, raspberry.
“I’m done,” he says with a smirk and a shrug, “I’m done with the woulda, coulda, shoulda crap. I’m ready to move on and be the guy that I’ve known I could be all along. You, Andrew, above all others has always been there, believing in me. It’s been four years, give or take, since you and I first faced each other. Four years where you and I both struggled with our sense of who we were; only you’ve managed to bridge that gap between who you were, and who you could be. You took the bull by the horns and refused to let go; now it’s my turn.
Don’t get me wrong, I have the highest respect for you and what you’ve done for this company as a champion. You won’t hear a single disparaging word from me about you; you’ve been nothing but a stand-up guy for as long as I’ve known you. Winning the Imperial title didn’t go to your head and you haven’t walked around with the bravado of some of your predecessors. You’re the first champion in a long time to not have needed to gather an entourage around him to secure his grasp on the title. Time and time again you’ve proven that you’re no paper champion; but like they say, all great things must eventually come to an end.
We both know that each and every time you step into that ring it could be your last as the champion. This week you find yourself in the ring with three other men, each as formidable as the last. Individually, we’d pose a significant threat to that title, but I can’t decide if putting all three of us in there with you compounds the threat, or negates it a little. The match isn’t going to be pretty; nobody out there expects the four of us to coexist in anything resembling a typical fatal four way. What they expect is to see four men willing to do whatever it takes to succeed; to survive; to secure their position at the apex of this company.
Only one of us will be able to make that final climb, to find that foothold and pull ourself up to the top of that mountain – I’ve skirted that mountain for too long, it’s my time to stand tall, stand proud; to stand up as the Imperial champion.”
He wasn’t sure who was holding him by the waist, but Bob twisted and turned, trying to free himself to get another shot at Laszlo and Blake. The bell had already sounded, the match rendered a double count out as things, again, had devolved into a mele on the outside. The four men, separated by a sea of bodies, of faces, it didn’t matter who it was between them – Pooler would fight his way past each and every single one in order to wipe the smile of Blake’s face.
To his right he could just make out Jacobsen being pushed backwards until his back made contact with the ring apron. The look on Andrew’s face, Bob knew that look … it was probably what his face looked like. He’d had enough, Andrew had been pushed far enough and was pushing back. Personnel, other superstars, security, all doing their best to not only halt the forward progress of Laszlo and Blake, but push them backwards and up the ramp. It took several minutes, but as Mike and Angel disappeared behind the curtain the chorus of boos and cheers from the crowd began to die down. Bob stopped fighting to free himself and leaned backwards against the barricade.
“Hey, you two,” the referee was barking at the pair, “hang out here for a minute until the backstage is cleared out a little. Mr. Arcane doesn’t want more of this happening back there, got it?!”
Pooler looked at Jacobsen, nodding slightly and turning to face the fans. Young kids began clambering forward to get a high five, a hand shake, a pat on the back from their Imperial champion. Pooler stood and watched the joy on the fans faces as Andrew took the time to greet as many as he could. The anger was, no doubt, still there – but he hid it well for their benefit. Andrew was the definition of a champion; someone who knew when to push his own wants, his own needs, to the side to be there for the fans.
A few minutes passed, and after the umpteenth selfie, Bob and Andrew were given the all clear. Andrew bade the fans goodbye and joined Bob heading towards the ramp. Halfway to the curtain, Pooler turned to Jacobsen and without a sideways glance Andrew answered the unasked question,
“No, this isn’t over – we know that, they know that, Cable knows that; you up for a visit to our fearless leader?”
Bob doesn’t answer, he just smirks and nods his head.
“Nope, nope, nuh-uh,” he said with a grin as the stream introduction tapered off and his face filled the screen. “No, the plan was to land over here near the school and pick this area clean. I’ve got,” he pauses, “at least four people dropping in around me so if you guys want to change where we’re headed then you better make up your minds now!”
He continues to smile as he navigates his avatar lower and lower until he touches down in a wooded area on the outskirts of a small town. “Alright, so I guess for the benefit of those of you who are first time viewers – I’m Bob, this is Fortnight, and that …” he furrows his brow as he manages to dodge a spray of bullets and duck behind a building, “that is why you don’t change the damn plan mid-flight!”
He laughs with a shake of his head. His eye bounce back and forth between the chat and stream window that’s been set up on a secondary monitor and the game he’s playing on his main. “So if you’re just finding me for the first time it’s either because you heard that I was the worst Fortnight player,” he growls as he begins popping off a couple rounds through the window of the house he currently finds himself in, “or it’s because you googled my name ‘cause you’re a fan of IWF. Either way,” he smiles, “welcome to the stream and if you like what you see, don’t forget to subscribe! Now, what say we get down to business?” He licks his lips, his eyes narrowing as he creeps around the abandoned house, “I know you guys were watching and rooting for Fr0zen in the Hearthstone World Championships with me, but who the hell could have seen Tom come back from being two games down to win the whole thing?”
Pooler shakes his head, “I mean, seeing how soundly he was beaten in that second game – to the point that somebody set off the celebratory confetti all over them before they could even play that third game. It was like watching the Patriots coming back from being down in last year’s Super Bowl; Tom refused to give up and just started making good trades, minimized his misplays, and ended up capitalizing on Fr0zen’s mistakes. It was a hell of a thing to see,” he says with a nod of his head, “and made me think about this weekend. Nobody’s expecting me to be the one to walk out of Metamorphosis with the victory – but you know what they say, eh? Never say never.”
He taps at his keyboard; his avatar spinning around in a circle and managing to take out two opposing players before being struck down by an unseen third. “Well, shit” he mutters under his break, “guys, anybody nearby that can get me back up?” He looks at his surroundings, “He’s hiding in that bush next to the car – no, look out …” he sighs as one of his friends takes a headshot as they crouched to help. “Now,” he sighs, “we’re both dead.”
He manages a laugh as he rubs his face with the palm of his left hand. “Alright, well, while I’m waiting for you guys to either die or win,” he nods in the direction of his game monitor, “I guess we talk about this weekend. See, it’s been a pretty crazy couple weeks now and, from what I hear, this weekend is supposed to settle things once and for all.”
There’s a pregnant pause as he deadpans at the webcam.
“When,” he grins, “has anything in this company been settled ‘once and for all’? I mean, how many times are we gonna see guys in these grudge matches over, and over, and over …” his right eyebrow arches skyward, “and over again? Hell, how many of the has Angel been in over the years? Seems like he can’t go a year without pissing in someones Cheerios. Seems to be your thing, huh Blake?”
He lets the question hang there for a moment. “You just can’t seem to get through life without ruffling feathers. I mean,” he says with a shrug, “it’s worked for you this far in your career so why bother trying to fix what ain’t broke, eh? Thing is,” he says with a smile, “all that talk has just put a bigger target on your back. There may be four guys in this match looking to walk away with that Imperial title, but there’s three that know for sure that it isn’t gonna be you! We’ve let you spit your venomous sermons for long enough, and it’s time to put to rest this idea that you stand heads above the rest of us.
You are one of the most talented men I’ve seen in this business, there’s no denying that; but you, sir, are no God. Underneath all that face paint, all those spikes and buckles, and leather, you’re nothing but a man.
Angel …
Blake …
A man who has done what few in this industry, let alone company, have managed. There’s a reason why you’re a Hall of Famer; you’re a walking legend, but you are far from infallible. You’ve already shown that your weakness is you hubris,” he says with a sly grin. “You think that for all your huffing and puffing, the rest of us will just lay down submissively. You’re not the alpha here anymore, Angel. Those days are gone; and the men and women who once blindly followed you without a single doubt … there all gone; save for one.
Me.
Yeah,” he chuckles as he continues to spectate his teammates play, “most people remember the Age of X for what it attempted to do … tear down the status quo of IWF and rebuild it in their own image. You assembled a motley crew of individuals to help not only secure your position at the top of the mountain, but maintain your strangle hold until you decided you were done. Well, you grew tired of your playthings and one by one we were discarded, thrown by the wayside and told to fend for ourselves. On one hand,” he laughs, “it was the straw that broke the camels back. That final rejection was the last piece of the puzzle that created the means by which I cracked. It took me a long-ass time to get put back together, to get my head straight and figure out where my heart was … but you know what?” He asks the question with a smile on his face. “At the end of the day, it was the best thing that could have happened to me.
I would never have been able to get out from beneath your shadow, and I would never have found the strength to try and be more than what I was allowing myself to be. Under you I had grown stagnant, complicit to doing what was necessary to remain relevant; but was I relevant? I look back now and there’s no way that I can say that riding your coattails made me any more legitimate, and more relevant, any more of a threat to anyone than I could have achieved on my own. It’s my fault,” he says solemnly, “I allowed myself to buy in to the hype, I allowed your flowery words to take root in my head and suffocate that little piece of reason that I was still holding on to.
I’ve moved on, gotten my shit together, and stand here before you a different man. I mean,” he says with a grin once more, “I gotta say that I feel like I stand a pretty good chance here at walking away with the title. I shook off the rust a long time ago, I ditched the training wheels, and best of all … I stopped listening to all the talking heads who said I’d never live up to my potential.
Of the challengers walking into this match, Angel, I’ll admit that you,” he chuckles, “stand out as the biggest threat. Hopefully, though, all your blustering has made you a bigger target than me; ‘cause with you out of the way I’m sure that Andrew and I can put Laszlo on his back and then get down to brass tacks against each other.”
He pauses and looks at the chat window, a smile breaking across his face as he shakes his head from side to side.
“Well,” he says, nearly giggling, “do you really see Laszlo walking out of this thing with the title? Like,” he shakes his head vigorously, “I honestly don’t see him standing a chance against Andrew one-on-one, I still think his win over Angel was a bit of a fluke, and I’m in the best shape of my life,” he rolls his shoulders and mockingly flexes for the camera, “I think I can take him.”
He sighs, “Jesus, Mike, where the hell do we begin … again? More of the tired reteric about how I’ve always been complacent, about how I’ll never reach my potential, about how wading through mediocrity is the only thing that I’ll be remembered for.
Shit man,” he laughs, “six or seven months ago I might have agreed with you. Thing is, though, I take a little umbrage about you calling our Invictus and Man-of-Steel champions mediocre. I mean, I’m pretty sure that nobody ‘round here has ever called Spike Kane mediocre. Dean Harper?” He stifles a shudder, “dude is messed up in the head, but there’s nothing mediocre about him. What about the former champions? Raine? Karn? Shane? Any of those guys mediocre? Any of those guys not have what it takes to beat the Imperial champion on any given night? Last I remember, it was one of those ‘any given night’ wins that propelled you to your Imperial title win.
You did it, man” he says, clapping his hands together, “no sarcasm either, you’ve done what very few in this company have. You knew what it took to reach the top, the problem is you just couldn’t figure out what it took to stay there. So while you want to think that you stand shoulder to shoulder with men like Angel, like Alex, like Spike or Andrew; what makes you think you’re name won’t be remembered as being on par with the Everyman or Ortega’s?
Your rise to that championship title was a thing of beauty and nobody out there can deny that fact. But what have you accomplished since then? What have you done to truly put yourself on the same level as those who came before you?
I’m not being a dick here, Mike, I just honestly want to know – because from my perspective you’ve been using that win over Angel like a bargaining chip a little too long. Andrew, Angel and I all have wins over guys like Spike Kane and Alex Jones, but we’re not hanging our hats on those victories. Sure, it feels good knowing that, at least for me, I was able to beat someone that nobody figured I’d stand a chance against. Me; the guy who presses his cheek so lovingly against the cool glass ceiling that you’ve so effortlessly broken through already. Me; the guy who has overcome each and every obstacle that’s been placed in my path. Me; the guy who refuses to know what’s good for him and plans to meet the freight train of adversity heading straight for him with his damn head held high.
We’ve known each other a long ass time, Mike. In all those years, through all those companies you’ve never seen me as the legitimate threat that I am. Now, it probably doesn’t help that I tended to flip flop from being mister care-free, hippy dippy to a guy with a guy one The Cure album away from painting his bathtub red. I was a little all over the place; but time, therapy, and medication heals all things. I am so much more than the sum of my failings; my mistakes and regrets, though many, do not define me. What defines me are the actions that I take every day to make, not just myself, better … but IWF as well. Guys like you, the ones who want to be the cool anti-hero, they think that they can just say what they want, do what they want, whenever they want, and the fans will just eat it up.
Well, there has got to be something more you want than to be a poor man’s Alex Jones, Lasz, ‘cause AJ had that whole shtick down when you were still dating lil’ Ms. Crazy-train. I respect you, man, I always have. The feeling, I feel, it’s mutual simply because I don’t fit the mold that you expect me to; that your expectations of me don’t fit the reality standing in front of you. No, Mike, I don’t sit when you say so – and I sure as hell don’t walk away from this fight just because you don’t think I’m qualified enough. Me and you, we’ve got a long history together; maybe even longer than me and Spike. But I’m putting all that aside this weekend when I prove that the only man in this match capable of taking that title from Andrew … is me.”
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“Yup” was the answer to the knock at the office door of Cable Arcane. Bob pushed the door open and the pair found Cable sitting behind his desk, papers scattered here and there but the man in charge leaning backwards to give them his full attention.
“I appreciate you knocking,” he says to the pair, “not everyone is so polite.”
“Listen, Cable” Andrew began as he stepped forward, but he was stopped in his tracks by Arcane who pushed back from the desk and stood up.
“Don’t bother. I saw what happened and I’ll tell you what I told Laszlo when I saw him. If you guys can’t seem to get through a since match without it turning into a brawl then I guess I’ll have to go and let you four beat on each other until you get it out of your system.”
Bob and Andrew look at each other. Bob opens his mouth but Cable interrupts, “Metamorphosis, fatal four-way.”
Bob nods his head, a smile flashing across his face. “Okay,” he says to Arcane, “I can get behind that.”
“Good,” Cable says, sitting back down at his desk and inclining his head towards the door, “now if you two don’t mind I’ve got some paperwork to figure out; something about Mr. Happy and Craigslist and …” Arcane shakes his head, “doesn’t matter. I’ll you two in two weeks. Good luck!”
Pooler and Jacobsen exit the room but pause on the other side of the door. There’s a moment of silence between them that Bob is the first to break.
“Andrew, I just want to say that I really appreciate everything you’ve had to say lately. Seems like you’re one of the few who still believes in me. It might not be the ideal match that either of us would have wanted, but I’m still honored to have the opportunity to face you.”
Bob extends his hand which Andrew doesn’t hesitate to take hold of. “I know he will” Jacobsen answers as the pair go their separate ways.
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“Andrew, Andrew, Andrew,” he croons. “I really wish you and I could have had this dance one-on-one. There’s just,” he stops, searching for the right word, “just so many variables going on here that this match could very well be decided without really testing either of us. I mean, who’s to say Angel doesn’t try and quickly take out Laszlo for the win. I wouldn’t put it past him, nor would I for Laszlo either. The fact remains that there are four of us walking into that ring together and only one of us is going to walk out with the win; with the title.
I guess,” he shrugs, “a few weeks ago you hit the nail on the head when you mentioned that, at least for me, this isn’t just about the title. Sure, don’t get me wrong,” he holds his hands up defensively, “I’ve been dreaming about becoming Imperial champion for a long, long time – but more than that, this is about proving to myself that I have what it take. For years I’ve heard the same thing from guys like you, Andrew. People telling me that I have what it takes to be one of the greats. That I have the ability to stand toe to toe with with best that IWF has to offer. You know what I don’t hear, though? My name being used as the stick to measure others by.
My name is always thrown out there as an example of the bridesmaid that’s never been the bride. But you know what? I have stood face-to-face and shoulder-to-shoulder with the best in this business, and I’ve won some, and I’ve lost some. At the end of the day, none” he jabs his finger into the desk in front of him to drive home the point, “of those matches, none of those men have been what’s separated me from transitioning from being ‘one of’ to THE great. No, what’s kept me from making that leap has been a whole hell of a lot of self defeating behavior. Every time I get close to, maybe,” he winks, “living up to that potential …” he puffs out his cheeks before smashing his palms into them, expelling the air in one, big, raspberry.
“I’m done,” he says with a smirk and a shrug, “I’m done with the woulda, coulda, shoulda crap. I’m ready to move on and be the guy that I’ve known I could be all along. You, Andrew, above all others has always been there, believing in me. It’s been four years, give or take, since you and I first faced each other. Four years where you and I both struggled with our sense of who we were; only you’ve managed to bridge that gap between who you were, and who you could be. You took the bull by the horns and refused to let go; now it’s my turn.
Don’t get me wrong, I have the highest respect for you and what you’ve done for this company as a champion. You won’t hear a single disparaging word from me about you; you’ve been nothing but a stand-up guy for as long as I’ve known you. Winning the Imperial title didn’t go to your head and you haven’t walked around with the bravado of some of your predecessors. You’re the first champion in a long time to not have needed to gather an entourage around him to secure his grasp on the title. Time and time again you’ve proven that you’re no paper champion; but like they say, all great things must eventually come to an end.
We both know that each and every time you step into that ring it could be your last as the champion. This week you find yourself in the ring with three other men, each as formidable as the last. Individually, we’d pose a significant threat to that title, but I can’t decide if putting all three of us in there with you compounds the threat, or negates it a little. The match isn’t going to be pretty; nobody out there expects the four of us to coexist in anything resembling a typical fatal four way. What they expect is to see four men willing to do whatever it takes to succeed; to survive; to secure their position at the apex of this company.
Only one of us will be able to make that final climb, to find that foothold and pull ourself up to the top of that mountain – I’ve skirted that mountain for too long, it’s my time to stand tall, stand proud; to stand up as the Imperial champion.”
Well howdy there pardner.