Hazardous To Your Health

[Nick Knight]

The sun is barely up over the horizon casting a long shadow across the beach. Nick, Penny, and Cin are sitting around their patio table enjoying the sound of the crashing waves and a cup of coffee. The morning is cool and they are all dressed in sweats and hoodies that advertise their various companies.

“Are you going to meet with JJ and Fi while you’re in Texas,” Penny asks.

“I really don’t see much of a reason to.” Nick takes a sip of his coffee. “My school is doing well, and I’m assuming thiers is as well.”

“I thought you’re supposed to be business partners,” Cin says.

“We business partners, but that doesn’t mean we have to talk all of the time. I’m honestly not sure I want to see any of them, except maybe Caroline.”

“What happened with you guys?” Penny lays her hand on top of Nick’s. “You were so close, and now you don’t even want to face them.”

“It’s just a difference of opinion and what to do once we were done with The Work. They wanted to go back to being a group of happy-go-lucky puppies, while I knew that I was going to have to go to a darker place to get the job done.”

“I think you’re just afraid of having people get close to you,” Penny says.

“You’re probably right because people can only stab you in the back if you let them get close,” Nick replies.

“Do you feel that way about us,” Cin asks.

“No.”

“Then why Nick, JJ, and Fi?”

“Because professional wrestling is a fucking cease pool and eventually someone is going to try to pull you under. Look at what RAM did to JJ and tell me that going my own way isn’t smart.”

“You know you worry us sometimes, Nicky.” Cin places her hand atop the one Penny isn’t holding. “It’s just not happy to push everyone away all of the time. I’m sure Dr. Goode will tell you the same thing.”

“He has, but he’s also really happy with the progress I’ve made with letting people into my life. I have two great families that I love that five years ago I would have done everything in my power to hate them.”

“That is going way better than when we were married the first time,” Penny says.

“You need to find someone in wrestling that you can trust,” Cin says.

“I’ll try.”

____________________________________________________________________________

{Nick Knight sits on a bench just outside of his hotel with just a camera operator for company. He is wearing a long-sleeved Revolution Academy LA rashguard and bouncing a racketball on the sidewalk out of boredom until finally catching it, Slowly he looks up at the camera and speaks.}

I’ve spent weeks of my life talking with shrinks trying to fix myself. I’ve come a long fucking way and during my journey to figure out exactly what makes me tick I’ve come to one conclusion the brain is a fucked up thing. It doesn’t matter if things aren’t quite wired right like most of the crazy bastards I met on Gator Island, or you’re an average run-of-the-mill housewife when you start talking about emotion things get really fucking complicated.

Through the years I’ve noticed things here and there, but one of the strangest I noticed for the first time while the kid and I were at a bookstore. I was absentmindedly walking around when I found myself in a whole aisle of Teen Paranormal Romance Fantasy. I still have no idea exactly what a Teen Paranormal Romance Fantasy is, but it got me thinking about how the human brain wants us to put everything into little boxes and tie them closed with a bow.

I don’t give a shit if it’s books, movies, TV, food, or music we have to break it into parts and find just the right box to shove it into or we’re not happy. I mean, what better place to meet your tribe than at your favorite Mexican Fusion Sushi Bar and Brewery or a James Bond-themed tike bar and Korean Barbecue joint, or maybe at Barry Manilow Karaoke Night at the local Chuck E Cheese?

The more than these divide us into groups and subgroups over and over there is one thing that every one of us can relate to, having some overbearing asshole in our lives that just loves to boss us around. They are all the kind of miserable fucks that get off on making your life as difficult as possible and we’ve all got one. Mine just happens to be that ungrateful piece of shit Roberto Verona.

{‘The Hollywood Butcher’ gives a big smile.}

Maybe he doesn’t like that I won’t let him or anyone else in this world just push me around. I went thirty-five years of my life surviving without him, and I sure as Hell can go the rest of my life without his help. I refuse to kiss his ass just to earn a paycheck, so his ego makes him need to punish me for it. That’s why he’s decided to spank my bottom by booking me in a match against a mystery opponent for the Invictus Championship.

Listen closely Berty because I’m probably only going to say this once I don’t give a fuck. I’m not some primadonna who has been coddled most of their career by having days if not weeks to prepare for their next match. No, I am the guy who once worked over four hundred matches in one year all over the world, and half the time didn’t even know my opponent's name. You can put anyone that you want across the ring from me and the results are going to be the same, them staring up at the lights.

{He stands up and begins to pace back and forth like a caged beast.}

The only question that I can think of is why bite the hand that feeds you? You might sign my paycheck Roberto, but don’t mistake who keeps your bank accounts filled. It’s not Angel Blake who might grace us with his presence once a month, Wraith who hasn’t bothered to defend his TV Championship in over two months, Pax Stormcrow who has just fallen off the face of the fucking planet since losing the World Championship, or Tara Fenix who we really should send the cops to do a welfare check on it’s been so long since we’ve seen here.

I’ve demanded to have my face on television screens every single Tuesday night. I keep the lights on back at IWF Headquarters by using this championship to become the face of Odyssey. Then again this isn’t the first time that I’ve taken one of the supposed mid-card titles and used it to keep this place afloat, and maybe your fragile billionaire ego is a little bit jealous that my run as TV Champion wasn’t your idea so you’re trying to sabotage this run.

This is your first and last warning Roberto, fuck with me, and IWF just might turn into a hazardous place to work. So do everyone in this company a favor, go away and leave us alone because things were going just fine without you. Honestly, I don’t give a fuck if you shove off on your super yacht, go to the fucking moon, or hang out in your secret lair inside of Mount Shasta with Elon and the other lizard people. Just leave us alone and keep cashing those fat multimillion-dollar checks each month.

{Knight stops pacing and stares into the lens of the camera}

Sadly, I know that Roberto will not listen to my warning and he’s going to get people hurt. I have proven time and again that I am the most violent son of a bitch in all of professional wrestling. Tuesday night is just going to be another example of why they call me ‘The Hollywood Butcher’ because I am going to paint the canvas fucking red with blood. This match might as well be hardcore because even if I’m disqualified I’m taking this championship home with me, so the only thing I care about is proving my fucking point.

I need to apologize to the hired gun who is being brought in to face me Tuesday night because you are not going to be leaving Arlington as the same person. You will feel pain unlike you have ever felt before, your body will be scarred forever, but worse of all your mind will be fucked up for the rest of your life. I will tell you from years of experience you will wake up screaming covered in a cold sweat and never be able to figure out why.

That dark part of my mind is one that I have to fight to keep away every fucking second of my life, but Verona has forced my hand. I am going to have to release my inner monster on a person who wants nothing more than to make the boss happy and maybe become the next IWF Invictus Champion. Whoever it might be is about to pay a damn high price for a chance at a prize that is only worth its weight in gold.

Then again, maybe this mystery opponent is someone who knows me very well and is comfortable walking into the monster’s den. It could be someone like a returning Tara Fenix who has chesticles of steel, maybe it’s my old friend Abraxes returning from the hinterlands for a little taste of revenge, or Ulf Hednir looking to slay one more dragon with The Thor Punch. Hell, maybe I pissed Roberto Verona off so badly last week that he’s dusting off the boots and stepping back into the ring long enough for me to break his fucking neck with half a dozen Banned In Memphis ‘22s.

It doesn’t fucking matter who it is because, at the end of the day, I’m leaving Arlington with this belt still firmly around my waist. Just like I am every single week from now until at least June 27 when I become the longest reigning IWF Invictus Champion of all time, and there’s not a fucking thing that Roberto Verona or anyone else can do about it.

{The scene fades to black.}