Post by Cable Arcane on Mar 16, 2017 0:01:20 GMT
2/26/17
11:04 AM.
New Orleans, Louisiana
Betrayal.
That was the only thing on his mind as he came through the curtain backstage. Instinctively the men and women in the gorilla position moved out of his way but he wasn’t mad at them.
He was mad at himself.
He trusted Laura Howlett, he listened to Laura Howlett, he even cared about Laura Howlett and in the end she proved she was no better than 99% of the people in this world. She betrayed him, stabbed him in the back and cost him the single most prestigious prize in this sport.
The IWF Imperial Championship.
Cable Arcane had worked for years just to earn the opportunity to fight for the championship and when he went on to win it he promised himself that when he lost it it would be to someone as determined and driven as himself. When he lost it it would be to someone who deserved it as much as he did. Instead the championship was taken from him and awarded to someone Laura could more easily control, promote and whore out to the multi media masses.
As he stood there backstage surrounded by men and women who bleed just as much or more as he did for the IWF he couldn’t help but feel foolish for ever thinking Laura Howlett was more than the shameless self promoter she originally presented herself as.
He hated himself for allowing his guard to fall, for ever listening to a single word she had to say, for ever believing she actually gave a damn about him.
But all this hatred and self loathing was quickly thrust to the back of his mind when a group of men caught his attention.
Before him stood three men in full police body armor shouldering impressive looking machine guns, the exact designation escaping the mind of Cable Arcane as guns had never been his thing, before them stood two men in suits straight out of your standard police procedural. He almost laughed under his breath as he looked at them.
”Cable Arcane?” The suited man with the slicked back black hair to the right said, it was less a question and more of a statement.
”Yeah?” Cable responded, wondering what this was all about.
”We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.” The suited man with the poor comb over said as Cable looked the whole group over.
”What is this about?” Is he under arrest? Was this another clever ploy by Laura Howlett? What the hell was going on? All of these thoughts were running through his mind.
”I’m not entirely sure this is the place to discuss such matters.” Slick back said.
”We should really discuss this back at the precinct.” The comb over chimed in.
”Am I under arrest?” Cable almost stammered but tried to remain calm.
The man with the slicked back hair looked to his partner before replying to Cable, his eyes seemed almost cold in comparison to his partner who almost appeared sad about this whole situation.
”As a matter of fact, you are.” The suit with the slicked back hair said as he removed some handcuffs from within his jacket.
”What the hell for?” Cable barked back without thinking.
The suit with the bad comb over stepped forward and took the cuffs from his partner. “Just come with us.”
”Not before you tell me what I did!?” Cable stepped back from the balding man who reached out with the cuffs.
”You’re under arrest for manslaughter, Mr. Arcane. You killed someone.” Slick back said with a sly grin he tried to hide.
”W-what?” The whole world began to spin around Cable as the balding man began to wrap the first cuff around his wrist, being careful not to tighten the clamp around his wrist too hard as he bent his arms around his back and connected the other side to his other wrist.
”W-wait…” Cable tried to find the words as the man with the comb over leaned from behind.
”The less you say the better until you have a lawyer.
His partner cut in. “Cable Arcane, you have the right to remain silent…” His words trailed off as Cable became dizzy, the armed police officers moving in around him to escort him out of the building.
He felt the eyes of the locker room on him now as the five men lead him toward the nearest exit, he thought about his personal belongings, his cell phone, a pair of pants for Christ’s sake but he couldn’t find the words to ask them to stop.
He was under arrest.
For manslaughter.
What the hell was going on?
Heh…
You could say I’ve had a rough couple of weeks…
I’d say that’s a goddamn understatement.
I was betrayed by Laura Howlett, I lost the single most important thing in my life, the one thing that proves I am better than every single other wrestler in this promotion and in this world today, the Imperial Championship and to top it all off I got to spend two weeks behind bars…
You could say I’m a little irriatable…
A little upset…
I’d say I’m pissed the fuck off and ready to punch someone in the head until they stop moving!
I pride myself on one thing, my ability to beat anyone on any given night inside of a professional wrestling ring. I have been training for damn near two decades, dripping sweat, spilling blood and breaking bones on every goddamn continent that has professional wrestling. There isn’t a single part of this world I haven’t wrestled with and beaten the best they had to offer save for the big iceberg down south.
Wrestling, for lack of better terminology, is my life.
That ring, the daily grind to prepare my body for a match, the brutal determination it takes to not only wrestle with but defeat some of the best men to ever lace up a pair of boots is why I get up in the morning. I love competition, I love a fair fight, I love the feeling I get at the end of a match when I’m standing over a man who did everything he could to beat me and all he got for his trouble was a loss to Cable Arcane.
The Best in the World.
It’s like a drug to me, that feeling, it never gets old, it never dims, each time is as satisfying and as amazing as the first and I constantly yearn for it again and again and again. I push myself past normal human limits, I wake up way before the sun and don’t see a mattress until long after it’s set all in a ritual to assure my body is in perfect condition, my abilities are acutely honed because a single mistake can cost you the world…
I made a single mistake.
I trusted Laura Howlett.
I allowed her tendrils to work their way into my mind and before I even knew what hit me everything I’ve worked for since I was a child was ripped away and given away like a present to a petulant child on Christmas morning.
Seeing Noah Field carry around MY TITLE like he earned it rips me apart inside.
But I don’t blame him.
I’ve known since day one there are men in this business who don’t have what it takes to compete with the best and so they sink to lower levels. They justify their inadequacy with false victories and pride, never earning a goddamn thing they have but pointing to it like it actually matters.
They have a word for men like that.
Bitches.
And where I come from?
Bitches get stitches.
I’ve got a guaranteed rematch against Noah Field and I promise each and every one of you, whether you’ve loved me or hated me, you will see me as Imperial Champion again because in this business, no matter how good you are at playing the odds, only the strong survive.
That’s why men like Nighthawk and Andrew Jacobsen are still lacing them up after all these years and all the beatings they’ve taken. They don’t win every match or every feud but they don’t let those losses take to sub human levels to achieve their goals, they put their nose to the grind stone and keep pushing no matter what happens.
I respect that.
I may not like them as people but I sure as hell recognize their drive and determination. It’s exactly that that keeps them in the ring wrestling against the next batch of supposed superstars who saw a blond haired buffoon cheat his way to sixteen world titles and think that’s making it in this business.
Andrew Jacobsen? He’s never given up on himself, never faltered in his own self belief, from day one he has believed he could be one of the best given enough training and practice. You can argue all day long about whether or not Andrew Jacobsen is half the star he dreamed he would be but you can’t argue about his wrestling ability.
Pound for pound he’s one of the best despite what his record may lead you to believe.
I’m not ignorant enough to think the past dictates the future, if that were the case I’d still be wearing a mask and answering to a delusional moron in face paint.
Andrew Jacobsen has all the ability and determination in the world to achieve everything he’s ever wanted, the only man standing in his way is himself. There is something inside of him that won’t let him move on to that next level. Excuse the cliché, but there is something in Andrew Jacobsen that won’t allow him to break that glass ceiling. I don’t know what it is, I’m not a psychologist, I just know I see it every time he steps into the ring.
Andrew Jacobsen has wrestled some of the best matches I have ever had the pleasure to witness and lost to men who did little more than power moves and gloat.
It’s baffling.
Andrew, I’m not here to insult your ability or mock your accomplishments, I’m here to wrestle, to reclaim what was taken from me and once again secure my place on top of the professional wrestling world.
I AM the Best in the World.
Two weeks ago that was undisputed fact.
Now? Now I start from the ground up just like I did in the Heir to the Throne and defeat every single man put in front of me until I am once again the IWF Imperial Champion.
You’ve got the ability to make this a contest but I’ve got the track record to make this a massacre. I hope to God you find whatever it is that’s holding you back and let go of it because Andrew, as much as I respect you, I don’t give a goddamn shit about you.
I WILL hurt you if need be. No false threats, no blustering bravado. I don’t care about stretching your limbs or working you over. I care about seeing you face up on the mat drooling out of the side of your mouth damn near unconsciousness.
You’ve got three choices at the end of this match.
Tap out.
Pass out.
Lay out.
I’m not the best technical wrestler in the world. I’m not the best high flyer in the world. I’m not the best brawler in the world.
I’M THE BEST IN THE WORLD!
And when you step into the ring with me my only goal is hurting you as quickly and as efficiently as possible until only I am left standing.
No sleep. No rest. NO MERCY.
11:04 AM.
New Orleans, Louisiana
Betrayal.
That was the only thing on his mind as he came through the curtain backstage. Instinctively the men and women in the gorilla position moved out of his way but he wasn’t mad at them.
He was mad at himself.
He trusted Laura Howlett, he listened to Laura Howlett, he even cared about Laura Howlett and in the end she proved she was no better than 99% of the people in this world. She betrayed him, stabbed him in the back and cost him the single most prestigious prize in this sport.
The IWF Imperial Championship.
Cable Arcane had worked for years just to earn the opportunity to fight for the championship and when he went on to win it he promised himself that when he lost it it would be to someone as determined and driven as himself. When he lost it it would be to someone who deserved it as much as he did. Instead the championship was taken from him and awarded to someone Laura could more easily control, promote and whore out to the multi media masses.
As he stood there backstage surrounded by men and women who bleed just as much or more as he did for the IWF he couldn’t help but feel foolish for ever thinking Laura Howlett was more than the shameless self promoter she originally presented herself as.
He hated himself for allowing his guard to fall, for ever listening to a single word she had to say, for ever believing she actually gave a damn about him.
But all this hatred and self loathing was quickly thrust to the back of his mind when a group of men caught his attention.
Before him stood three men in full police body armor shouldering impressive looking machine guns, the exact designation escaping the mind of Cable Arcane as guns had never been his thing, before them stood two men in suits straight out of your standard police procedural. He almost laughed under his breath as he looked at them.
”Cable Arcane?” The suited man with the slicked back black hair to the right said, it was less a question and more of a statement.
”Yeah?” Cable responded, wondering what this was all about.
”We’re going to have to ask you to come with us.” The suited man with the poor comb over said as Cable looked the whole group over.
”What is this about?” Is he under arrest? Was this another clever ploy by Laura Howlett? What the hell was going on? All of these thoughts were running through his mind.
”I’m not entirely sure this is the place to discuss such matters.” Slick back said.
”We should really discuss this back at the precinct.” The comb over chimed in.
”Am I under arrest?” Cable almost stammered but tried to remain calm.
The man with the slicked back hair looked to his partner before replying to Cable, his eyes seemed almost cold in comparison to his partner who almost appeared sad about this whole situation.
”As a matter of fact, you are.” The suit with the slicked back hair said as he removed some handcuffs from within his jacket.
”What the hell for?” Cable barked back without thinking.
The suit with the bad comb over stepped forward and took the cuffs from his partner. “Just come with us.”
”Not before you tell me what I did!?” Cable stepped back from the balding man who reached out with the cuffs.
”You’re under arrest for manslaughter, Mr. Arcane. You killed someone.” Slick back said with a sly grin he tried to hide.
”W-what?” The whole world began to spin around Cable as the balding man began to wrap the first cuff around his wrist, being careful not to tighten the clamp around his wrist too hard as he bent his arms around his back and connected the other side to his other wrist.
”W-wait…” Cable tried to find the words as the man with the comb over leaned from behind.
”The less you say the better until you have a lawyer.
His partner cut in. “Cable Arcane, you have the right to remain silent…” His words trailed off as Cable became dizzy, the armed police officers moving in around him to escort him out of the building.
He felt the eyes of the locker room on him now as the five men lead him toward the nearest exit, he thought about his personal belongings, his cell phone, a pair of pants for Christ’s sake but he couldn’t find the words to ask them to stop.
He was under arrest.
For manslaughter.
What the hell was going on?
Heh…
You could say I’ve had a rough couple of weeks…
I’d say that’s a goddamn understatement.
I was betrayed by Laura Howlett, I lost the single most important thing in my life, the one thing that proves I am better than every single other wrestler in this promotion and in this world today, the Imperial Championship and to top it all off I got to spend two weeks behind bars…
You could say I’m a little irriatable…
A little upset…
I’d say I’m pissed the fuck off and ready to punch someone in the head until they stop moving!
I pride myself on one thing, my ability to beat anyone on any given night inside of a professional wrestling ring. I have been training for damn near two decades, dripping sweat, spilling blood and breaking bones on every goddamn continent that has professional wrestling. There isn’t a single part of this world I haven’t wrestled with and beaten the best they had to offer save for the big iceberg down south.
Wrestling, for lack of better terminology, is my life.
That ring, the daily grind to prepare my body for a match, the brutal determination it takes to not only wrestle with but defeat some of the best men to ever lace up a pair of boots is why I get up in the morning. I love competition, I love a fair fight, I love the feeling I get at the end of a match when I’m standing over a man who did everything he could to beat me and all he got for his trouble was a loss to Cable Arcane.
The Best in the World.
It’s like a drug to me, that feeling, it never gets old, it never dims, each time is as satisfying and as amazing as the first and I constantly yearn for it again and again and again. I push myself past normal human limits, I wake up way before the sun and don’t see a mattress until long after it’s set all in a ritual to assure my body is in perfect condition, my abilities are acutely honed because a single mistake can cost you the world…
I made a single mistake.
I trusted Laura Howlett.
I allowed her tendrils to work their way into my mind and before I even knew what hit me everything I’ve worked for since I was a child was ripped away and given away like a present to a petulant child on Christmas morning.
Seeing Noah Field carry around MY TITLE like he earned it rips me apart inside.
But I don’t blame him.
I’ve known since day one there are men in this business who don’t have what it takes to compete with the best and so they sink to lower levels. They justify their inadequacy with false victories and pride, never earning a goddamn thing they have but pointing to it like it actually matters.
They have a word for men like that.
Bitches.
And where I come from?
Bitches get stitches.
I’ve got a guaranteed rematch against Noah Field and I promise each and every one of you, whether you’ve loved me or hated me, you will see me as Imperial Champion again because in this business, no matter how good you are at playing the odds, only the strong survive.
That’s why men like Nighthawk and Andrew Jacobsen are still lacing them up after all these years and all the beatings they’ve taken. They don’t win every match or every feud but they don’t let those losses take to sub human levels to achieve their goals, they put their nose to the grind stone and keep pushing no matter what happens.
I respect that.
I may not like them as people but I sure as hell recognize their drive and determination. It’s exactly that that keeps them in the ring wrestling against the next batch of supposed superstars who saw a blond haired buffoon cheat his way to sixteen world titles and think that’s making it in this business.
Andrew Jacobsen? He’s never given up on himself, never faltered in his own self belief, from day one he has believed he could be one of the best given enough training and practice. You can argue all day long about whether or not Andrew Jacobsen is half the star he dreamed he would be but you can’t argue about his wrestling ability.
Pound for pound he’s one of the best despite what his record may lead you to believe.
I’m not ignorant enough to think the past dictates the future, if that were the case I’d still be wearing a mask and answering to a delusional moron in face paint.
Andrew Jacobsen has all the ability and determination in the world to achieve everything he’s ever wanted, the only man standing in his way is himself. There is something inside of him that won’t let him move on to that next level. Excuse the cliché, but there is something in Andrew Jacobsen that won’t allow him to break that glass ceiling. I don’t know what it is, I’m not a psychologist, I just know I see it every time he steps into the ring.
Andrew Jacobsen has wrestled some of the best matches I have ever had the pleasure to witness and lost to men who did little more than power moves and gloat.
It’s baffling.
Andrew, I’m not here to insult your ability or mock your accomplishments, I’m here to wrestle, to reclaim what was taken from me and once again secure my place on top of the professional wrestling world.
I AM the Best in the World.
Two weeks ago that was undisputed fact.
Now? Now I start from the ground up just like I did in the Heir to the Throne and defeat every single man put in front of me until I am once again the IWF Imperial Champion.
You’ve got the ability to make this a contest but I’ve got the track record to make this a massacre. I hope to God you find whatever it is that’s holding you back and let go of it because Andrew, as much as I respect you, I don’t give a goddamn shit about you.
I WILL hurt you if need be. No false threats, no blustering bravado. I don’t care about stretching your limbs or working you over. I care about seeing you face up on the mat drooling out of the side of your mouth damn near unconsciousness.
You’ve got three choices at the end of this match.
Tap out.
Pass out.
Lay out.
I’m not the best technical wrestler in the world. I’m not the best high flyer in the world. I’m not the best brawler in the world.
I’M THE BEST IN THE WORLD!
And when you step into the ring with me my only goal is hurting you as quickly and as efficiently as possible until only I am left standing.
No sleep. No rest. NO MERCY.
Well howdy there pardner.