Know how a Savage get

[Nate Harris]

Nate Harris was determined and driven, and pushed himself relentlessly at the gym. While others around him celebrate victories or enjoy leisure time, he remains laser-focused on his goals. For Nate, it's not just about the physical gains; he needs the money to give his little sisters the life they deserve but selfishly he also craves the recognition that comes with success.

“You keep pushing yourself like that you’re gonna be too tired to enjoy the party.” Jack sat down on the weight bench next to Nate as he pushed up another rep.

“You could get in on this.” Nate grunts.

“I did my gym time this morning.” Jack looked at his nails briefly. “You good?”

“Focused. But ya, I’m good.”

“You’re lookin obsessed.”

“Maybe.”

“So all that talk about not needing gold was just shit, huh?”

“Bitch.” Nate put the bar back on the rack and sat up. “You know why we need this.”

“I do…just feeling…” Jack shrugged.

Nate stood up, “I ain’t leavin’ ya behind. Just because I’m gonna try and get a singles belt doesn’t mean I forgot what we really want. We gonna get those tag team belts sooner or later. Trust. But I gots a better chance of getting us that shot if I get on the poster.”

“I just feel like the weak link sitting here doing dick all.” Jack stood up, shrugging.

“You’ll get your time in the sun if I got to shake down Randon and Jennie myself,” Nate promised.

“I just feel like I’m wasting time tagging along when only you and Pax are getting booked.”

“I need you here.”

“Why?” Jack's eyes, usually so fierce and determined, softened as he looked at Nate, seeing the mix of courage and vulnerability in his gaze.

Without a word, Nate stepped closer, the weight of what was to come heavy on his shoulders. Jack reached out, his hand finding Nate's, their fingers intertwining in a silent promise. The world seemed to hold its breath as they drew nearer, their hearts beating in a synchronized rhythm. Nate cupped Jack's face in his hands, his touch tender yet firm. He could feel the rough stubble on Jack's jaw, a reminder of the man he had fallen for. Jack's eyes fluttered closed, his breath hitching as he leaned into Nate's touch. The space between them disappeared as their lips met in a fervent kiss, a kiss that spoke of unspoken words and unbreakable bonds.

It was a kiss of desperation and hope, of love and fear. Nate's lips moved against Jack's with a fervor that belied the calm exterior he often wore. Jack responded with equal intensity, pouring every ounce of his emotion into the kiss. Their mouths moved in a synchronized dance, exploring, tasting, and savoring each moment as if it were their last. Nate's hands slid to the back of Jack's neck, pulling him closer, and deepening the kiss. Jack's arms wrapped around Nate's waist, holding him as if letting go would mean losing him forever. The world around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them, locked in a moment of pure, unadulterated passion.

As they finally pulled apart, breathless and with hearts racing, their foreheads rested against each other. Nate's thumb gently caressed Jack's cheek, his eyes searching Jack's for reassurance and finding it there. Jack smiled, a small, tender smile that spoke volumes.

"I always need you," Nate whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion.

"Thank you," Jack replied, his voice equally thick with feeling.

---

Imperial...Wrestling...Federation...

'sup motherfuckers? Heard you were talkin' some shit. Now you gotta eat up your words. That’s right I’m tallkin’ to you Danger. Punk ass bitch. You talking that good shit on twitter but now its time to eat crow. I beat your ass just like I said I would.

Trust.

Let me take a minute and remind management that Jack is still bench-warming, that seems fair to ya’ll? Since you sleepin on him let me remind you here ready to just pop off as soon as you fuckers book him. You shoulda given me and him a chance to get our hands on those big motherfuckers all legal-like. But I don’t get paid to book, do I?

Pax out there gonna mix it up in a clusterfuck of a match and shit. That looks complicated as fuck. But you know I got nothing but faith he gonna come out the winner there. Tied with most people’s number one pick for Heir to the throne. Fucking undefeated.

THAT’S MY BOY! Fuck em up, Pax.

Only my boys had faith in me winning the match last week. Which is fine. I believe in myself enough to trust the process. I work hard and I don’t pretend to be anything else than what I am. And I’m a trash-talking uppity motherfucker.

Have I lost to motherfuckers like Daniels and Rost? Yeah. Was seeing my boy and my shit rocked by those motherfuckers in what felt like a sideline in someone else’s story demoralizing as fuck? Yeah.

Do I win every time? Nah. Have I been here every minute of every day? Nah. I got shit to do and I don’t know if ya’ll notice that sometimes management don’t always book a motherfucker even when you are present. But I don’t let bitches act like they know me just because they ain’t got the balls to come direct.

I survived a match with four pipe-hitting motherfuckers and Danger.

All that wouldn’t be possible if I’d let myself hang my head, leave my dick in the dirt, pretend that I couldn’t do it. One door closes, you find another one and kick that motherfucker open. That’s what I do. That’s who I am. Hell, I didn’t even go undefeated in that tournament ages back. I ain’t ever held a title IN MY LIFE. But I got shots at the gold more than once. And I earned those shots by doing the goddamn work.

Who did that? I did.

I did it once, I can do it again. I WILL do it again. Because that’s how I do. That’s what I do. I step up. And we ask that same. Damn. Question.

Are...you...READY?!

'cause let me tell y'all something. You ain't! No way in HELL are y'all ready for what you're about to experience, but let me set the stage for you anyway. We ain’t the main event but we about to be the match that steals the whole damn show. J-TV and Nate Harris fighting for the IWF GLADIATORS CHAMPIONSHIP?

You ain’t ready. You better get your ass ready. If y'ain't? Check us out. Google, YouTube, Dailymotion, shit, check Snapchat if you have to because y'all ain't seen nothin' like what we bout to bring to your TV. Trust.

I could sit here and overthink this. I could sit back, try to write this shit out ahead of time. But I’ve never been that kinda guy. You put me in a booth, let me spit. Let me flow. Let me find my voice on the track as it comes, ain’t gotta overthink this. I don’t need to think twice. I just go.

All those motherfuckers who talk about respect, they just ask for it ‘cause they ain’t gonna give it to you.

J-TV. Shit, I like the grind. I like the presentation. You make a motherfucker laugh. I got nothing but mad respect for ya. Unlike some champions I could mention. Warren and Sabin. Motherfuckers, you sneer down on everyone you see.

But you? You I respect.

Gladiator Championship. Being the top of the stack for Coliseum might not be the hot shot for most but I look at every motherfucker in that division and I see you. You earned that shit. You called your shot and you went for it. Admirable shit.

Ain’t gonna lie and say I don’t think that I’d make that belt look good. I see a chance to make that shit work.

We of similar mindset and shit, J-TV. We grind, we move, we push, we fucking make this shit work. We ain’t gotta get someone else to give us material, we bring it ourselves. More bars than Kdot, more style than Paris, hit you harder than moonshine and leave you twice as fucked up. When you have the drive we do, the need to make it, you find that next gear. You find that extra gas tank, you find one more rep, one more mile because that’s the difference between success and failure. That’s the difference between three and two point nine.

You and me about the blow this fucking roof off.

Trust.

You got skills, you got fists, you got hops, but you ain’t got it like I got it. And I don’t have to pin your ass to end your night. Punch your ass, leave you feeling Thor with the thunder I got in these hands.

I don’t give a fuck what else y’all gotta say. It ain’t about your words. It’s about what I fuckin’ do. And I came here to fucking work and get that fucking bread. End result’s gonna be the same. I’m gonna run this division. No matter how many jaws I gotta loosen, teeth I gonna knock out, blood I gotta spill, tears y’all gonna cry. I’m silencing motherfuckers left and right. I respect ya but I’m coming for ya.

Let’s. Fuckin’. Go.