Post by Cable Arcane on Aug 23, 2016 20:25:14 GMT
2:47 am.
He rolled over for about the hundredth time that night. His eyes refusing to stay closed for more than a few seconds as anticipation rose within him like a wave about to crash against the shore. And for the few heavenly moments his eyes were shut all he could see was the ring, his opponents, the matches to come. The insurmountable weight pressing down on his shoulders as Legacy crept ever closer.
His eyes opened with a look of determination, a look his father had each and every morning as he set about his day, never flinching in the face of his problems, only ever focusing on the solutions. A mentality beaten into him as a child with both fists and words.
To his right sat a still open bottle of Melatonin, an all-natural sleep aid because he refused to contaminate his body with drugs, alcohol or any kind of processed food, for a moment he contemplated taking another one, perhaps two would be enough to give him a few hours worth of sleep but he figured if one didn’t do the trick then two would be a waste of time at this point.
There was no rest for the wicked after all, something his father would always say.
He pushed himself up to a seated position on the edge of his mattress, groaning from the pain in his quads. He’d been pushing himself hard for the Heir to the Throne, perhaps too hard but he’d come too far to fail. At the same time his body needed to rest and it refused to do so. If he wasn’t going to sleep he might as well get back to work, he thought, an early morning run may tire him out enough to catch a couple hours’ worth of sleep before hitting the gym.
Standing with a groan he slipped his feet into his lace free black running shoes, his discarded cell phone on the kitchen island catching his attention as he passed. His hand floated over the center button near the bottom of the phone, pressing to see the still unanswered, unviewed message from his mother.
He imagined the tone of her voice when she sent the message, the almost condescending worry she used to address his father with just before an argument.
He scoffed again, let her worry, he had enough on his mind right now.
9:02 am.
Sweat poured from his body like a running faucet, his white “Tapout” t-shirt completely soaked through. He wore a wide smile on his face as he reached the front door of his shoe box sized studio apartment, he felt reinvigorated, recharged and ready to go. In his mind there was nothing better than a good work out, that feeling of accomplishment that washes over you as your body gets stronger…
His sweat soaked hand went to insert the key in the lock only to find the door was already open. He stiffened up at the realization, either someone broke in, which seemed doubtful given that the door was unlocked and not kicked in or someone with a key decided to let themselves in.
That thought is what sent a cold chill of anger running down his spine like a tremor before an earthquake.
The door creaked open with a gentle push from his hand and there he saw the elderly figure of his 65 year old mother, complete with her usual overabundance of makeup and fake concerned smile standing near the center of the room, her figure framed by what little light squeaked it’s way past the neighboring building.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
His words came like a hiss, not unlike an irritated snake before it strikes, the question seemed to truly hurt his mother’s feelings.
“I texted you, you didn’t answer, I’m worried about my boy.”
He laughed out loud at her statement, doubling over in both angry joy and pain as his burning abs suddenly began to lock up tighter than an uncared for engine. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked back up to her with a slight sadistic grin spreading slowly across his face.
“Since when are you worried about anyone but yourself?”
“I’ve always worried about you, this man I see on television, that isn’t you, that isn’t the boy I raised-“
He cut her off with a swift anger that caught her off guard.
“Let me tell you about the son you raised!”
9:09 am.
His rage flowed steady like lava beneath the Earth’s crust, building pressure slowly to the point of explosion. The absolute contempt he felt for the woman standing across from him was palpable to the point of choking on it.
“You’re a good boy-“
“NO!”
His mother shrunk back from the sudden burst of anger, flashes of her late ex-husband over took her sight as painful memories played through her mind like an old move projector.
“You do not tell me who I am! I’ll tell you who I am!”
He took two hard steps forward and his mother mimicked him as she stepped back and nearly tripped over the mattress haphazardly laying in the center of the tiny studio apartment.
“You raised a cold hearted, cold blooded, boarder line sociopath! You raised a man incapable of feeling ANYTHING but hatred and contempt!”
“Cable, I-“
“You ROBBED me of a childhood! ROBBED me of happy memories! You ROBBED me of a normal fucking life and the worst part is you don’t even accept the blame!”
He looked so much like his father it frightened her as she struggled to find the words to reply.
“It wasn’t my fault-“
“WRONG! It absolutely was your fault! You could have left WHENEVER you wanted but instead YOU chose to stay!”
“For you!”
“FOR ME!?”
He laughed an almost sadistic laugh as he craned his neck, the stress of the moment getting to him.
“No. You stayed because you were too goddamn stupid to do anything else. You stayed and used me as HUMAN fucking shield to keep yourself safe from his fists! And where did that get us in the end, mom!?”
His tone is accusatory and obviously angry as she doesn’t know what to say to him.
“We… We got to keep our family… For a little while longer…”
“Family? I don’t have any fucking family. The day that monster died was the happiest of my life.”
He steps forward once more so they are only inches apart, Cable looks down his nose at his elderly mother who suddenly looks just as he remembered her all those nights she cried herself to sleep in the bed next to him.
“Only to be topped by the day you join him.”
His words struck her like a knife through the chest, she felt her legs go weak as she reached out for her son but he moved away from, turning his back on her.
“You taught me what weakness is. Dad taught me how to exploit it. Perhaps I should thank you both for that little lesson but honestly? I just want you the hell out of my life.”
She felt her heart stop suddenly like a car crashing into a brick wall, she reached for her chest as her mouth went dry, unable to form the words to stop her son from walking back out the door of his studio apartment.
He couldn’t take any more of this right know, he thought, I’ve got work to do and an Imperial Championship to win.
He rolled over for about the hundredth time that night. His eyes refusing to stay closed for more than a few seconds as anticipation rose within him like a wave about to crash against the shore. And for the few heavenly moments his eyes were shut all he could see was the ring, his opponents, the matches to come. The insurmountable weight pressing down on his shoulders as Legacy crept ever closer.
His eyes opened with a look of determination, a look his father had each and every morning as he set about his day, never flinching in the face of his problems, only ever focusing on the solutions. A mentality beaten into him as a child with both fists and words.
To his right sat a still open bottle of Melatonin, an all-natural sleep aid because he refused to contaminate his body with drugs, alcohol or any kind of processed food, for a moment he contemplated taking another one, perhaps two would be enough to give him a few hours worth of sleep but he figured if one didn’t do the trick then two would be a waste of time at this point.
There was no rest for the wicked after all, something his father would always say.
He pushed himself up to a seated position on the edge of his mattress, groaning from the pain in his quads. He’d been pushing himself hard for the Heir to the Throne, perhaps too hard but he’d come too far to fail. At the same time his body needed to rest and it refused to do so. If he wasn’t going to sleep he might as well get back to work, he thought, an early morning run may tire him out enough to catch a couple hours’ worth of sleep before hitting the gym.
Standing with a groan he slipped his feet into his lace free black running shoes, his discarded cell phone on the kitchen island catching his attention as he passed. His hand floated over the center button near the bottom of the phone, pressing to see the still unanswered, unviewed message from his mother.
He imagined the tone of her voice when she sent the message, the almost condescending worry she used to address his father with just before an argument.
He scoffed again, let her worry, he had enough on his mind right now.
Here I am, Heir to the Throne Finalist. One match away from being a apart of the main event of Legacy and fighting for the Imperial Championship.
In other words.
Right where I belong.
Three years ago I made it this far in the inaugural Heir to the Throne to crown the first Imperial Champion, I was three seconds away holding that belt until my entire world came crashing down. That failure was the best thing that ever happened to me, as hard to believe as that may be. At the time I was too arrogant, too cocky, too damn full of myself and my ego, I wasn’t ready to hold the weight of an entire promotion on my shoulders.
A lot has changed since the night I battled Joe Everyman.
My time away gave me a new perspective, a new outlook, being the best in the world wasn’t simply a matter of saying it, I had to prove it!
So I went from working for the greatest promotion in the world to working in blood stained rings made out of card board and old gym mattresses in the back of dingy bars in Mexico City. I went from being in the first main event of our first pay per view to opening shows against jobbers in run down armory’s. From catering to fighting for scraps. From hotel rooms to the back seat of a run down 96 Kia. From dressing rooms to parking lots.
Losing everything was exactly the push I needed.
Those long lonely hours driving from show to show, state to state, sometimes country to country surviving just by the skin of my teeth taught me exactly how much I’m willing to sacrifice to be the Best in the World.
There isn’t a damn thing worth more to me than being just that.
So I fought my way up the ranks, beat everyone there was to beat in every promotion I set foot in, winning championships from Mexico City to my home in Hartford, Connecticut all the way to Tokyo, Japan, cementing my name from one continent to the next until there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that when Cable Arcane stepped into a ring you were about to witness the Best in the World.
A moniker I earned not by surviving but THRIVING as I clawed my way back to Imperial Wrestling tooth and nail.
I AM THE BEST IN THE WORLD!
There isn’t a man alive who can say different with a straight face. There isn’t an argument to be had that wouldn’t fall flat on its face. There isn’t a single iota of doubt in my mind, the crowd’s mind or anyone else who has ever had the luxury of seeing me do what I do better than anyone else who has ever set foot in the squared circle.
And that’s something you need to understand, Dre. I’m not just cocky, I’m confident, I’m not just arrogant, I’m self-assured, I know I’m the best because I’ve done nothing but prove it with every match I have wrestled since the day Imperial Wrestling handed me my walking papers. You come into this company, MY company as green as the White House lawn and think because you dropped that joke of a former Imperial Champion, Mike Laszlo like a bad habit that the main event is your destiny?
Wrong.
Mike Laszlo was a paper champion who defeated a psychotic alcoholic on the down stream of his career and immediately showed how much a fucking flop he was when faced with “real” competition in form of my former “employer”, Alex Jones.
You say you dominated Mike Laszlo and I say who the hell hasn’t?
But that’s not to say you aren’t talented, clearly you are, you’ve made it to Imperial Wrestling, they thought enough of you to throw you right into the mix with the Heir to the Throne. I’d be an idiot and a fool to look at what you’ve done since arriving and call it a fluke. There are no flukes in professional wrestling, you’re either better than the man across the ring from you or you’re not. It’s a simple as that.
What I am going to do is tell you that to be the best in this company, to not only win the Imperial Championship but retain it you need to be ready, willing and able to sacrifice everything you have and everyone you know. There is no room for attachments at the top of the mountain, no room for emotions and absolutely no room for failure.
Just look at the list of the men who have been to the mountain top here if you don’t believe me, take notice of the names of the men who stayed there the longest and ask yourself what’s the common denominator between them?
Spike Kane. Angel Blake. Roberto Verona.
Not a single one of them gave a damn if they had a “great” match or entertained the fans. Their one and only goal was to hold onto that big gold belt for one more minute, one more hour, for one more day, the health and safety of their opposition be damned!
I didn’t come back here just because I “love” wrestling or this is what I was “born” to do, I came back here to be the absolute best, to be Imperial Champion! Because that feeling of satisfaction I get at the end of a match when my opponent isn’t entirely sure if they can still move their legs, that’s what I love about this business. That feeling I get when I take someone who is supposedly better than me in the eyes of the unwashed masses and leave them laying face up without a clue of how they got there, THAT’S WHAT I LOVE ABOUT PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING
Being the unopposed Best in the World is what I love and I don’t give a damn what I have to do to keep that moniker, even if that means cutting the legs out from under a kid with a promising future.
I look at you, I see the same starry eyed idiot I wrestled in every country in every promotion across this world, your eyes burning bright with delusions of grandeur. It’s almost laughable if it wasn’t so damn sad because I know where those delusions are going to lead you, I know where those dreams will take you, I know, despite all your athletic ability you’re going to end up in the same hole as the very man you questioned last week, Mike Laszlo.
Accomplishing great things but never truly being great yourself.
I don’t have delusions, I don’t have dreams, I have reality, I have life, a life I live one day at a time, I’m not looking past you to Jayson Matthews, I’m not focused on when I hold that Imperial Championship, I’m looking right down the barrel of today at Dre Cutler.
The man I have to beat to become the Heir to the Throne.
The man I WILL beat just like everyone else who has crossed my path since returning.
You’re good kid, I see a bright future for you but good isn’t enough to beat me, you have to be the best and I’m sorry to break the news.
That’s me.
In other words.
Right where I belong.
Three years ago I made it this far in the inaugural Heir to the Throne to crown the first Imperial Champion, I was three seconds away holding that belt until my entire world came crashing down. That failure was the best thing that ever happened to me, as hard to believe as that may be. At the time I was too arrogant, too cocky, too damn full of myself and my ego, I wasn’t ready to hold the weight of an entire promotion on my shoulders.
A lot has changed since the night I battled Joe Everyman.
My time away gave me a new perspective, a new outlook, being the best in the world wasn’t simply a matter of saying it, I had to prove it!
So I went from working for the greatest promotion in the world to working in blood stained rings made out of card board and old gym mattresses in the back of dingy bars in Mexico City. I went from being in the first main event of our first pay per view to opening shows against jobbers in run down armory’s. From catering to fighting for scraps. From hotel rooms to the back seat of a run down 96 Kia. From dressing rooms to parking lots.
Losing everything was exactly the push I needed.
Those long lonely hours driving from show to show, state to state, sometimes country to country surviving just by the skin of my teeth taught me exactly how much I’m willing to sacrifice to be the Best in the World.
There isn’t a damn thing worth more to me than being just that.
So I fought my way up the ranks, beat everyone there was to beat in every promotion I set foot in, winning championships from Mexico City to my home in Hartford, Connecticut all the way to Tokyo, Japan, cementing my name from one continent to the next until there wasn’t a doubt in anyone’s mind that when Cable Arcane stepped into a ring you were about to witness the Best in the World.
A moniker I earned not by surviving but THRIVING as I clawed my way back to Imperial Wrestling tooth and nail.
I AM THE BEST IN THE WORLD!
There isn’t a man alive who can say different with a straight face. There isn’t an argument to be had that wouldn’t fall flat on its face. There isn’t a single iota of doubt in my mind, the crowd’s mind or anyone else who has ever had the luxury of seeing me do what I do better than anyone else who has ever set foot in the squared circle.
And that’s something you need to understand, Dre. I’m not just cocky, I’m confident, I’m not just arrogant, I’m self-assured, I know I’m the best because I’ve done nothing but prove it with every match I have wrestled since the day Imperial Wrestling handed me my walking papers. You come into this company, MY company as green as the White House lawn and think because you dropped that joke of a former Imperial Champion, Mike Laszlo like a bad habit that the main event is your destiny?
Wrong.
Mike Laszlo was a paper champion who defeated a psychotic alcoholic on the down stream of his career and immediately showed how much a fucking flop he was when faced with “real” competition in form of my former “employer”, Alex Jones.
You say you dominated Mike Laszlo and I say who the hell hasn’t?
But that’s not to say you aren’t talented, clearly you are, you’ve made it to Imperial Wrestling, they thought enough of you to throw you right into the mix with the Heir to the Throne. I’d be an idiot and a fool to look at what you’ve done since arriving and call it a fluke. There are no flukes in professional wrestling, you’re either better than the man across the ring from you or you’re not. It’s a simple as that.
What I am going to do is tell you that to be the best in this company, to not only win the Imperial Championship but retain it you need to be ready, willing and able to sacrifice everything you have and everyone you know. There is no room for attachments at the top of the mountain, no room for emotions and absolutely no room for failure.
Just look at the list of the men who have been to the mountain top here if you don’t believe me, take notice of the names of the men who stayed there the longest and ask yourself what’s the common denominator between them?
Spike Kane. Angel Blake. Roberto Verona.
Not a single one of them gave a damn if they had a “great” match or entertained the fans. Their one and only goal was to hold onto that big gold belt for one more minute, one more hour, for one more day, the health and safety of their opposition be damned!
I didn’t come back here just because I “love” wrestling or this is what I was “born” to do, I came back here to be the absolute best, to be Imperial Champion! Because that feeling of satisfaction I get at the end of a match when my opponent isn’t entirely sure if they can still move their legs, that’s what I love about this business. That feeling I get when I take someone who is supposedly better than me in the eyes of the unwashed masses and leave them laying face up without a clue of how they got there, THAT’S WHAT I LOVE ABOUT PROFESSIONAL WRESTLING
Being the unopposed Best in the World is what I love and I don’t give a damn what I have to do to keep that moniker, even if that means cutting the legs out from under a kid with a promising future.
I look at you, I see the same starry eyed idiot I wrestled in every country in every promotion across this world, your eyes burning bright with delusions of grandeur. It’s almost laughable if it wasn’t so damn sad because I know where those delusions are going to lead you, I know where those dreams will take you, I know, despite all your athletic ability you’re going to end up in the same hole as the very man you questioned last week, Mike Laszlo.
Accomplishing great things but never truly being great yourself.
I don’t have delusions, I don’t have dreams, I have reality, I have life, a life I live one day at a time, I’m not looking past you to Jayson Matthews, I’m not focused on when I hold that Imperial Championship, I’m looking right down the barrel of today at Dre Cutler.
The man I have to beat to become the Heir to the Throne.
The man I WILL beat just like everyone else who has crossed my path since returning.
You’re good kid, I see a bright future for you but good isn’t enough to beat me, you have to be the best and I’m sorry to break the news.
That’s me.
9:02 am.
Sweat poured from his body like a running faucet, his white “Tapout” t-shirt completely soaked through. He wore a wide smile on his face as he reached the front door of his shoe box sized studio apartment, he felt reinvigorated, recharged and ready to go. In his mind there was nothing better than a good work out, that feeling of accomplishment that washes over you as your body gets stronger…
His sweat soaked hand went to insert the key in the lock only to find the door was already open. He stiffened up at the realization, either someone broke in, which seemed doubtful given that the door was unlocked and not kicked in or someone with a key decided to let themselves in.
That thought is what sent a cold chill of anger running down his spine like a tremor before an earthquake.
The door creaked open with a gentle push from his hand and there he saw the elderly figure of his 65 year old mother, complete with her usual overabundance of makeup and fake concerned smile standing near the center of the room, her figure framed by what little light squeaked it’s way past the neighboring building.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
His words came like a hiss, not unlike an irritated snake before it strikes, the question seemed to truly hurt his mother’s feelings.
“I texted you, you didn’t answer, I’m worried about my boy.”
He laughed out loud at her statement, doubling over in both angry joy and pain as his burning abs suddenly began to lock up tighter than an uncared for engine. He cocked an eyebrow as he looked back up to her with a slight sadistic grin spreading slowly across his face.
“Since when are you worried about anyone but yourself?”
“I’ve always worried about you, this man I see on television, that isn’t you, that isn’t the boy I raised-“
He cut her off with a swift anger that caught her off guard.
“Let me tell you about the son you raised!”
I’m glad you’ve finally admitted to yourself that you don’t belong here, Jayson.
I’m glad reality has finally kicked that ignorant fucking daydream right out of your marble filled head and you finally see how grotesquely out matched you are every single time you step foot inside of MY ring.
I’m glad because it saves me the effort of beating you.
You’ve already beaten yourself.
I know reality isn’t going to change the false bravado you’re going to approach this match with, you’d be an incompetent fool to actually stand there and verbally admit defeat. You’re too much of an optimist to do that. No, you’re going to stand there like you always do with that big doofus looking grin on your face and promise me the fight of your life, as if you could ever deliver on such a fool hardy promise, then when the cameras turn off you’re going to see your reflection in that little lens and KNOW you just lied through your teeth.
At least you and I know the truth.
I’m a realist, Jayson, I don’t pull the wool down over my eyes for the sake of entertaining the fat sycophants in the crowd. Maybe putting a smile on Charlie “sick and dying” Brown makes you feel better about how worthless you are but I couldn’t care less if he cheers me.
I don’t do this for them.
I don’t do this for money.
I do this to be the best and that’s something you’ve clearly lost focus of, if you ever even focused on it at all. See, that’s my problem with professional wrestlers such as yourself, there is no concern to be better, you’re content just being good enough to be on the show. Happy just to see your name on the card, absolutely unconcerned about the man you’re about to face because hell, you do it for the show. That’s why men like myself steam roll right over you in less than five minutes. That’s why you failed to exact any real revenge against my partner in crime, Rob Diamond. That’s why WHEN you and I stand in the ring across from each other with the Imperial Championship on the line…
You will fail.
I expect a good match, I DEMAND your very best because I would be personally insulted if you just rolled over and died for me but you and I both know that it will not be enough to get the job done, Jayson. As good as you are you are nowhere near as good as me. Your speed, your agility, your endurance will mean nothing once I kick you so hard in the side of the head you’re seeing triple.
Kick after kick that loveable little smile is going to fade away, your inadequacy will shine brighter than the sun.
You’re going to lay flat on your back looking out into the crowd and see little Charlie Brown looking back with tears in his eyes because his hero failed him.
That’s what you are, Jayson, a failure.
A let down.
The living embodiment of a punch line that stopped being funny over three years ago.
That’s why it took the determination of a Kane to get you this title match, if it were up to you to actually earn it like myself there is no way in hell you’d be standing in the main event of Legacy. Had we met in the Heir to the Throne with points on the line I’d have embarrassed you, showing the whole damn world how much of a joke you are and exposed you as a poorly trained spot monkey.
Just another vanilla midget.
All thrill.
No skill.
No amount of flips or spring boards or show boating maneuvers would have gotten you past me in the Heir to the Throne. You’d have never been eligible as I’d have laid you out just like I did to Nighthawk and Adam Knite. Soaring past you in the points as I lay claim to the Imperial Championship that only belongs around my waist.
The “Man of 100 Holds” is MY bitch.
The crowned king of professional wrestling is MY personal court jester.
And you, Matthews? You’re going to be MY victim!
Yet here you are, regardless of my personal feelings, the man who did nothing to earn himself a shot at the Imperial Championship. A man who has done even less since not earning it. A man who hasn’t been able to string together two wins while I have been undefeated throughout the Heir to the Throne!
Jayson, this isn’t going to be a match, it’s going to be a massacre.
I will cut a bloody swathe right through you to the Imperial Championship and claim what should have been mine the second I walked back in the door of Imperial Wrestling. There isn’t a force on this Earth that can keep that championship from me, there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me.
You’re bringing unicorns, rainbows and clever quips to a gun fight Jayson and I promise you there will be no hesitation once I lock you into my cross hairs.
I AM walking out of Legacy as the Imperial Champion.
THE. BEST. IN. THE. WORLD.
You’ll be walking out with the all too familiar stench of failure.
But hey, you’re an optimist.
There’s always next week.
I’m glad reality has finally kicked that ignorant fucking daydream right out of your marble filled head and you finally see how grotesquely out matched you are every single time you step foot inside of MY ring.
I’m glad because it saves me the effort of beating you.
You’ve already beaten yourself.
I know reality isn’t going to change the false bravado you’re going to approach this match with, you’d be an incompetent fool to actually stand there and verbally admit defeat. You’re too much of an optimist to do that. No, you’re going to stand there like you always do with that big doofus looking grin on your face and promise me the fight of your life, as if you could ever deliver on such a fool hardy promise, then when the cameras turn off you’re going to see your reflection in that little lens and KNOW you just lied through your teeth.
At least you and I know the truth.
I’m a realist, Jayson, I don’t pull the wool down over my eyes for the sake of entertaining the fat sycophants in the crowd. Maybe putting a smile on Charlie “sick and dying” Brown makes you feel better about how worthless you are but I couldn’t care less if he cheers me.
I don’t do this for them.
I don’t do this for money.
I do this to be the best and that’s something you’ve clearly lost focus of, if you ever even focused on it at all. See, that’s my problem with professional wrestlers such as yourself, there is no concern to be better, you’re content just being good enough to be on the show. Happy just to see your name on the card, absolutely unconcerned about the man you’re about to face because hell, you do it for the show. That’s why men like myself steam roll right over you in less than five minutes. That’s why you failed to exact any real revenge against my partner in crime, Rob Diamond. That’s why WHEN you and I stand in the ring across from each other with the Imperial Championship on the line…
You will fail.
I expect a good match, I DEMAND your very best because I would be personally insulted if you just rolled over and died for me but you and I both know that it will not be enough to get the job done, Jayson. As good as you are you are nowhere near as good as me. Your speed, your agility, your endurance will mean nothing once I kick you so hard in the side of the head you’re seeing triple.
Kick after kick that loveable little smile is going to fade away, your inadequacy will shine brighter than the sun.
You’re going to lay flat on your back looking out into the crowd and see little Charlie Brown looking back with tears in his eyes because his hero failed him.
That’s what you are, Jayson, a failure.
A let down.
The living embodiment of a punch line that stopped being funny over three years ago.
That’s why it took the determination of a Kane to get you this title match, if it were up to you to actually earn it like myself there is no way in hell you’d be standing in the main event of Legacy. Had we met in the Heir to the Throne with points on the line I’d have embarrassed you, showing the whole damn world how much of a joke you are and exposed you as a poorly trained spot monkey.
Just another vanilla midget.
All thrill.
No skill.
No amount of flips or spring boards or show boating maneuvers would have gotten you past me in the Heir to the Throne. You’d have never been eligible as I’d have laid you out just like I did to Nighthawk and Adam Knite. Soaring past you in the points as I lay claim to the Imperial Championship that only belongs around my waist.
The “Man of 100 Holds” is MY bitch.
The crowned king of professional wrestling is MY personal court jester.
And you, Matthews? You’re going to be MY victim!
Yet here you are, regardless of my personal feelings, the man who did nothing to earn himself a shot at the Imperial Championship. A man who has done even less since not earning it. A man who hasn’t been able to string together two wins while I have been undefeated throughout the Heir to the Throne!
Jayson, this isn’t going to be a match, it’s going to be a massacre.
I will cut a bloody swathe right through you to the Imperial Championship and claim what should have been mine the second I walked back in the door of Imperial Wrestling. There isn’t a force on this Earth that can keep that championship from me, there isn’t a damn thing you can do to stop me.
You’re bringing unicorns, rainbows and clever quips to a gun fight Jayson and I promise you there will be no hesitation once I lock you into my cross hairs.
I AM walking out of Legacy as the Imperial Champion.
THE. BEST. IN. THE. WORLD.
You’ll be walking out with the all too familiar stench of failure.
But hey, you’re an optimist.
There’s always next week.
9:09 am.
His rage flowed steady like lava beneath the Earth’s crust, building pressure slowly to the point of explosion. The absolute contempt he felt for the woman standing across from him was palpable to the point of choking on it.
“You’re a good boy-“
“NO!”
His mother shrunk back from the sudden burst of anger, flashes of her late ex-husband over took her sight as painful memories played through her mind like an old move projector.
“You do not tell me who I am! I’ll tell you who I am!”
He took two hard steps forward and his mother mimicked him as she stepped back and nearly tripped over the mattress haphazardly laying in the center of the tiny studio apartment.
“You raised a cold hearted, cold blooded, boarder line sociopath! You raised a man incapable of feeling ANYTHING but hatred and contempt!”
“Cable, I-“
“You ROBBED me of a childhood! ROBBED me of happy memories! You ROBBED me of a normal fucking life and the worst part is you don’t even accept the blame!”
He looked so much like his father it frightened her as she struggled to find the words to reply.
“It wasn’t my fault-“
“WRONG! It absolutely was your fault! You could have left WHENEVER you wanted but instead YOU chose to stay!”
“For you!”
“FOR ME!?”
He laughed an almost sadistic laugh as he craned his neck, the stress of the moment getting to him.
“No. You stayed because you were too goddamn stupid to do anything else. You stayed and used me as HUMAN fucking shield to keep yourself safe from his fists! And where did that get us in the end, mom!?”
His tone is accusatory and obviously angry as she doesn’t know what to say to him.
“We… We got to keep our family… For a little while longer…”
“Family? I don’t have any fucking family. The day that monster died was the happiest of my life.”
He steps forward once more so they are only inches apart, Cable looks down his nose at his elderly mother who suddenly looks just as he remembered her all those nights she cried herself to sleep in the bed next to him.
“Only to be topped by the day you join him.”
His words struck her like a knife through the chest, she felt her legs go weak as she reached out for her son but he moved away from, turning his back on her.
“You taught me what weakness is. Dad taught me how to exploit it. Perhaps I should thank you both for that little lesson but honestly? I just want you the hell out of my life.”
She felt her heart stop suddenly like a car crashing into a brick wall, she reached for her chest as her mouth went dry, unable to form the words to stop her son from walking back out the door of his studio apartment.
He couldn’t take any more of this right know, he thought, I’ve got work to do and an Imperial Championship to win.
Maybe you’re fighting to forge a legacy…
Maybe you’re fighting because you think this is your destiny…
Maybe you’re just a dumbfounded moron with amazing luck…
Whatever your reason is for stepping into the ring against me I just want you to know what I’m fighting for.
Me.
Yesterday is a memory and tomorrow is a dream, for me there is only today.
There is only this moment.
And I will not allow it to pass me by.
There is nothing I won't give to see myself where I belong.
No sleep. No rest. No mercy.
Maybe you’re fighting because you think this is your destiny…
Maybe you’re just a dumbfounded moron with amazing luck…
Whatever your reason is for stepping into the ring against me I just want you to know what I’m fighting for.
Me.
Yesterday is a memory and tomorrow is a dream, for me there is only today.
There is only this moment.
And I will not allow it to pass me by.
There is nothing I won't give to see myself where I belong.
No sleep. No rest. No mercy.
Well howdy there pardner.