Post by Nick Knight on May 27, 2023 3:11:14 GMT
Nick Knight sits on the massive deck overlooking his private beach sipping on a cup of coffee. Silently he watches as the waves crash onto the sand, so caught up in his own thoughts that he doesn’t hear Penny walk out of the house until she wraps her arms around him. “We need to talk?”
“I took out the trash like I said I would,” he replies, defensively.
“I saw, thank you. No, we need to talk about the way that you’ve been acting lately. Nicky, I’ve seen the videos you’ve been recording on your phone when you don’t think anyone else is around, and JC has shown me the things that you’ve been doing on TV. I’m really worried about you, and I know that Cin is too.”
“I’m just doing what needs to be done, Penny.”
“No, it’s more than that.” She walks around and sits in the chair across from him. “This is the kind of shit that you started doing before Florida. Are you taking your meds?”
“Just like I’m supposed to.” He takes a sip of his coffee. “I’m sorry I’m worrying you, but I promise I’m fine.”
“I think you need to talk to Dr. Goode about this, because you aren’t acting right, Nicky.”
“I’ll give him a call in the morning, I promise.”
“No need.” Penny holds up the phone to show that an elderly man in a hot pink golf shit was on video call. “I called him a couple days ago and he took a look at the things I sent him and just called wanting to talk to you.”
“How are you feeling, Nicky?”
“I’m good, Doc.”
“Please don’t lie to me Nicky. Penny showed me somethings that, to be frank I find troubling. I know that you’re in an industry to likes to skirt the line between sport and entertainment, but I get the feeling that there’s more going on with you.”
“You’re right Doc, there is a lot more going on with me. This industry that you were referring to is dying and I’m doing everything in my power to try to save it before it’s too late.”
“How long has this been going on?”
“Longer than I know, but I just noticed it.”
The doctor jots down a note. “When did you first notice it?”
“A few months ago now, but it’s really becoming clearer.”
Dr. Good makes another quick note. “Does this have anything to do with you being thrown off of the top of a scaffold several weeks ago?”
“I don’t know, maybe.”
“Nicky, I want you to go get another brain scan and MRI to see how they compare to your last set. You also need to get bloodwork done why you’re down there, because I want to be sure that your med levels are right.”
“I don’t know when I’m going to have time, Doc. My schedule is–”
“Make time, or hire a divorce lawyer because you have two young ladies extremely worried. Do you understand me?”
“Yeah, Doc.”
“Good, I’ll expect those results on my desk first thing Monday morning.”
“Alright, Doc.”
Penny hangs up the phone. “Nicky your brain is not something to fuck around with, and he obviously thinks it could be something serious.”
“The only thing serious Penny is what these fucks are doing to my business, but if it makes you happy I’ll go waste all day at the hospital.”
“Yes it makes me happy, and you’re sleeping in your office until you do it.” She stomps into the house and slams the door behind her.
“Why does everyone always think it's all in my head.”
____________________________________________________________________________
The scene opens with Nick Knight sitting in his electric chair illuminated by the single naked bulb. He is dressed in all black with a snow white plague doctor mask pulled up to reveal his face showing the signs of several days growth of stubble. His leg jiggles nervously as he begins to speak.
When I watch IWF it feels like I’m being forced to watch someone I love taking their last few breaths. My palms begin to sweat uncontrollably and my mouth goes dry; I am left a shaking mess as the anxiety takes over. I’m not sure exactly when this feeling of dread started, but it it was sometime during my TV Title reign. I remember sitting in my dressing room watching the show on a monitor and being overwhelmed by this sense of helplessness that I just couldn’t shake. It was the exact same feeling that I had when I was holding my father’s hand when life left his body.
I don’t know, but maybe it was because I realized for the first time that the so-called next generation is a fucking joke. Do you honestly think that people like John Blade, Latoya Hixx, Nick Danger, RAM, and Nanners can be the heart and soul of this sport? Even worse is the fact that the men and women that should be helping to groom the next generation are all a bunch of self absorbed assholes incapable of doing a fucking thing to make sure IWF lasts another six months let alone another decade.
You have no idea how bad it hurt sitting back as the sport that I love slowly died right before my eyes. I have lost friends that couldn’t overcome their demons, and damn near lost one of the women I love because I couldn’t overcome my own; this hurt a hundred times worse. It was a pretty fucking bitter pill to swallow, and I’m not ashamed to say that there were many Friday nights that I went back to my hotel room and cried myself asleep.
The nights when sleep wouldn’t come I found myself laying in a strange bed and looking up at strange ceiling trying to come up with a plan on exactly how I was going to save the business that has put food onto my family’s table for more than fifty years. Night after night nothing would come to me, but then the most amazing thing happened at High Stakes. When Angel Blake threw me off the top of that scaffolding I had a revelation; I don’t have to watch professional wrestling die. I have everything thing that I could possibly ever need to become ‘The Savior of Professional Wrestling.’
Knight’s leg stops jiggling and a smile came onto his face.
I knew that if I was going to have any success I was going to have to take out the people that have been sucking this business dry for far too long. Men and women like Angel Blake, Tara and Jennie Fenix, Dean Harper, Stephen Terrella, and Matthew Knox. I needed to cut down the old trees to see if younger stars like JC Keeton, Caroline Machado, Caleb Cannin, and even Wraith could ever grow into something special.
The freedom that this revelation brought me felt like a heavier burden than just watching IWF die. I knew what needed to be done, but I had no idea where to possibly begin; then Matt Knox returned to IWF and on night one started running his mouth. He called me out because his fragile ego couldn’t stand for one second that I broke his record for most wins as a TV Champion, and I knew that right there and then that I was going to start by taking him apart piece by fucking piece until there wasn’t enough of him left to bury.
Matthew made it pretty fucking clear from day one of his return that I was living inside of his pretty little head rent free. Week after week he would call me out and challenge me to a match, and I would just say no. Slowly I wormed my way deeper into his mind until, just like that Taylor Swift song that you fucking hate, I was the only thing that he was able to think about. I was pushing him towards a level of insanity that a man just doesn’t come back from, trust me.
Then as I was getting deep inside of his head I appeared in Charlotte and things turned physical. That night was nearly the end of Matthew Knox, but the CPD was there to save his life. Then in Dallas it was going to be more of the same as I had the ring surrounded by a group of young and hungry men just looking for an opportunity. It was the beginning of the end for ‘The Raven,’ but that son of a bitch Stephen Terrella had to ruin everything.
Nick stands up and begins to pace around the small space.
Weeks of planning were flushed down the fucking drain because Terrella doesn’t understand that there is an artform to violence. He ran into that ring like a bull in a China shop and left Knox laying in a pool of his own blood, but there was no elegance to the attack. Instead of the cold and calculating carnage of a true psychopath the fans were treated to nothing more than a toddler throwing a fit because someone is trying to take his toy.
That’s all the Invictus Championship is, Stephen, a fucking toy. Nobody in this business gives a shit about it, because you haven’t done a fucking thing to make them care. It’s nothing more than a shiny hunk of metal that you wear around thinking that you are the big swinging dick in IWF, because you and Portia are too fucking stupid to realize the truth; I made the Television Championship a hundred times more valuable than the Invictus Championship will ever be. Hell I’ll give the devil his due, Matthew Knox made the TV Championship more valuable than that ugly piece of shit that you’ve been wearing.
‘The Hollywood Butcher’ flops back in his chair, his leg once again begins to jiggle.
We've finally reached Night of the Immortals and nobody can give me one good reason for me to drive up to Vegas for Sunday. Not IWF and their lawyer writing checks that their asses can’t count, because my contract is air fucking tight. It’s not at the thought of facing Matt Knox because I’ve seen the footage of his brain getting splattered all over the ring two weeks ago, and I’m pretty sure he’s not going to be there.It sure as hell ain't gonna be to face Stephen Terrella for his fake fucking title, because I’m going to get even with him when I’m good and fucking ready.
Now I’m left trying to decide what to do with a quiet Sunday night at home. I’m thinking I’ll make a nice dinner with my family and serve it to them on our deck overlooking our private beach. Then when it’s time for the show to start we’ll all cozy up in our plush home theater to watch Night of the Immortals. I’ll sit and cheer for Dean Harper & JC Keeton to end the reign of terror of Angel Blake & Wraith. I’ll pull for Nick Danger to finally win the big one and become World Television Champion, because I know he’s put in a lot of hard work. Then I’m going to pop some popcorn and watch Terrell and Knox, if he can even get medically cleared, beat the living dogshit out of each other right there on my one hundred and forty-six inch TV. Then I’ll take two beautiful women to bed and we’ll se where the night takes us from there.
The one thing I can say for sure is that whoever wins Sunday night better grow eyes in the back of their heads because they’ve got a target on their ass. It’s not because I give a rats ass about the Invictus Championship, or that I think Knox and Terrella are both pieces of shit. No, I’m taking them out because its what’s best for business.
Nick pulls the mask down over his face.
Ticktock boys