Post by Deleted on Mar 9, 2019 16:11:04 GMT
As Nighthawk walks in the front door of a small tailor and bespoke clothing manufacturer in the Pilsen section of Chicago that has happily made his wrestling gear since his first professional bout we canāt help but see in the faces of the few employees unmitigated joy at the return of their hero. For while IWF fans have always viewed him as an acquired taste, the constant striver for the glory that belongs to others, his hometown has seen him, through thick and thin, as the absolute archetype of heroism, the defender of all things good and decent.
Smiling as the grandmother behind the counter hands him his new custom-made gear accompanied by the benediction of āGood Luckā and āGod Blessā in letter-perfect Spanish the āWrestling Machineā walks out of the front door, whistling āHail to the Victorsā as he heads towards his car. Clad in a black hooded heavy leather trenchcoat with a full-scale mural of the city of Chicago Leaning against the front door, smiling with wolf-like intensity with his face lit only by a street light above him, Nighthawk crouches down and lets out one deep breath of cold air.
Nighthawk: āI am from Chicago, and I am of it. Every inch of this city, from the rich men on the Miracle Mile to the Ukranian Village, flows through me and stands alongside me. But that knowledge, that faith, is hollow and cheap. Because, if I am being honest, I wish Devlin Raine was here.
My brother, my friend, and my fellow Chicagoan should be here for the homecoming that will happen on the night of the Roulette. He should hear that crowd roar for him. He should see, in their eyes, the love that they, and all of us who call this city home, have for him. But heāll be in a hospital. Because of what our āchampionā chose to do to him.
So when I walk into that ring, when my lot is drawn, I will be thinking of my friend. I will be hoping I can live up to his example, and be to our city what he was. And if I am lucky enough to survive, to be the last man in the Roulette left with a card to play, I want Xavier Cross to hear my words. The man who would be champion. The king who sits on a throne of blood, betrayal, and lies.
If I am the last man standing, if my number is the only one left unplayed, understand this Xavier: When all your games are over, youāll be left with empty arms.
Goodnight IWF. May sleep give you the courage to go on.ā
Smiling as the grandmother behind the counter hands him his new custom-made gear accompanied by the benediction of āGood Luckā and āGod Blessā in letter-perfect Spanish the āWrestling Machineā walks out of the front door, whistling āHail to the Victorsā as he heads towards his car. Clad in a black hooded heavy leather trenchcoat with a full-scale mural of the city of Chicago Leaning against the front door, smiling with wolf-like intensity with his face lit only by a street light above him, Nighthawk crouches down and lets out one deep breath of cold air.
Nighthawk: āI am from Chicago, and I am of it. Every inch of this city, from the rich men on the Miracle Mile to the Ukranian Village, flows through me and stands alongside me. But that knowledge, that faith, is hollow and cheap. Because, if I am being honest, I wish Devlin Raine was here.
My brother, my friend, and my fellow Chicagoan should be here for the homecoming that will happen on the night of the Roulette. He should hear that crowd roar for him. He should see, in their eyes, the love that they, and all of us who call this city home, have for him. But heāll be in a hospital. Because of what our āchampionā chose to do to him.
So when I walk into that ring, when my lot is drawn, I will be thinking of my friend. I will be hoping I can live up to his example, and be to our city what he was. And if I am lucky enough to survive, to be the last man in the Roulette left with a card to play, I want Xavier Cross to hear my words. The man who would be champion. The king who sits on a throne of blood, betrayal, and lies.
If I am the last man standing, if my number is the only one left unplayed, understand this Xavier: When all your games are over, youāll be left with empty arms.
Goodnight IWF. May sleep give you the courage to go on.ā
Well howdy there pardner.