Chapter One.

[Cable Arcane]

Introduction

I believe there are moments in every person’s life that more or less shape the kind of person you are going to be for however long you have left on this Earth. Whether it’s how you react to a bad break up to how you accept or don’t the death of a loved one, everyone has these key moments in their life where they can either rise above the hurdle placed in front of them or sink down into the cease pool of humanity.

February 26th, 2017 was one of those moments for me. That was the day I was charged with Voluntary Manslaughter in the state of Louisiana.

Even as I sit here writing these words in my freshly renovated cape style home with the Long Island sound just outside my window it is still unbelievable to me.

How did this happen?

Why did this happen?

How did I survive it?

Those were the questions I was asked when the idea of writing a book was first introduced to me. I was told people would want to know what happened and why and even though I don’t really care what anyone thinks of me there is a certain desire to get the truth out there. When new finally broke of why I was arrested there were certain “news” websites, or dirt sheets as they’re called in the wrestling business who wanted to paint me a murderer.

I will say while the evidence against me, a video I would later come to find had its own seedy beginning, is rather damning it does not prove that I am some cold blooded killer running around just ending lives whenever it suits me. What it proves to me is how one mistake can completely alter the course of someone’s life, whether it’s for the better or not is completely up to the one’s it effects most directly.

Hopefully I made a change for the better.

My name is Cable Arcane, self-proclaimed Best in the World at professional wrestling and this story of how I survived the single worst thing that has ever happened to me.

I bet you thought you were done with me, didn’t you Noah?

I bet you thought you could just take the Imperial Championship from me and that would be the end of it. I’d just go away, my head held low and you and Laura would take my place as the Best in the World.

You’re delusional enough to believe it too.

Here’s the thing, Noah, the thing that makes you and I so very different. I’ve never had an easy path, not a single damn thing in my life was ever handed to me. From the day I was old enough to walk I have been earning my keep in this world. My father made damn sure of that. He beat perseverance into my head with both the back of his hand and his drive to see me be more successful than he could possibly imagine.

I don’t give up.

I don’t walk away.

I don’t take a single thing for granted.

So if you think I’m just going to let you parade around with the Imperial Champion as if you actually accomplished something then you’ve got a big fucking wake up call coming you way.

Noah, I WILL BE taking the Imperial Championship back and placing it around the waist of not just the Best in the World but the hardest working man in the history of professional wrestling. There is no one, past or present, who pushes themselves harder than me. There is no one in this business who lives and breathes this sport more than me. There is no one who wants to prove they alone are the best to ever lace up a pair of boots more than me.

Noah, when you and Laura took that Imperial Championship from me you did more than piss me off, you signaled the beginning of the end of your career.

Because I don’t just want to take the belt back, I want to hurt you, I want to break you, I want you to cry out and beg me to stop, I want you to admit in no uncertain terms that I am and will always be better than you. Then I want you gone, not just from an IWF ring but from professional wrestling in general because people like you are a goddamn disease in this sport.

A fucking cancer.

You don’t rely on talent or ability, you don’t even rely on the reaction of the crowd, you rely on how many people you can suck into your nexus of bullshit until you are a champion. You don’t even care about what it means to be a champion, you just want to strut around with a belt on your shoulder. That’s why it was so easy for you to disregard the Invictus Championship when you finally lost it, the honor of being among the best in the world means nothing to you. You just move on to the next shiny object like a special education student who just noticed a new penny on the ground.

That belt, it isn’t some empty trinket to me. It isn’t just a means to increase my net worth. That belt to me means you are the undisputed Best in the World of Professional Wrestling. Imperial Wrestling is the epitome of our business, there is no promotion bigger or more world renown and while I don’t care for or like the ego in charge, I do recognize what it means to step inside of his ring.

That belt is everything to me and I will not stop until I hold it in my hands again.

But you don’t care about any of that. All you care about is the exposure, how you can use that belt to further your net worth, how you can leverage the company you carry on your bac into a big pay day when you eventually slip away into the darkness of the independents to repeat on a much smaller scale what you did at High Stakes against men who aren’t good enough to wrestle here.

I know who you really are Noah.

You don’t have what it takes to become a legend in this sport.

You needed Laura Howlett to give you the Imperial Championship because left to your own devices you could never beat me.

Never.

And that is what you’re going to learn Sunday Night at High Stakes when you are locked inside of a steel cage with me. Laura won’t be able to get in and help you with a distraction, she won’t be able to throw you a steel chair or give you a pair of brass knuckles. It’s going to be you and me, one on one, for the biggest prize in the industry and once I’m done with you Noah you will know beyond a shadow of a doubt you were never in my league.

I’m the Best in the World, you just wish you were.

Monday morning I will once again be the undisputed Imperial Champion and you? You’ll be lucky if you’re well enough to sign autographs in high school gymnasiums for ten dollars a pop.

A lot of things separate us Noah but the one big difference is while you’ve been enjoying the free ride you’ve been on I’ve been following the moto that has made me who I am.

No sleep. No rest. No fucking mercy.

Chapter One

Danger Zone, 2017.

Noah Field has just beaten me for the IWF Imperial Championship.

Everything was a blur as I stumbled backstage. There were men waiting for me with guns, full on swat gear minus the helmets with fully automatic rifles. There were two men in suits, one with slicked back hair and a smug smile who I would later come to refer to as Mr. Smith and the other one, a kinder looking fellow with a receding hair line who I called Mr. Picard.

Mr. Picard was the one who cuffed me, thankfully he didn’t latch them too tightly, I don’t how many of you have ever been arrested before but in the wrong hands those things can dig right into your flesh.

I was lead past the whole locker room, everyone pouring out to see what was going on, including the owner of the company, a man I hate both as an in ring performer and as a person, Roberto Verona. I remember him looking especially smug that night as I was lead past him, hands in shackles.

It was when they put me in the police car at the back of the arena that everything really started to come into focus. I felt like a blind man really seeing for the first time as I noticed how bright the street lamps were, the glow around the arenas marquee, even my sense of smell was heightened as I was suddenly over powered by the scent of Old Spice.

The hard plastic of what was considered a back seat was extremely uncomfortable, I tried to adjust but even the slightest movement caused the cuffs to dig a little bit and so I stopped. Smith and Picard too their seats in front of me, Picard driving and Smith deciding now was the right time to light up a cigarette.

I’ve never smoked in my life and I find the smell absolutely sickening.

“Can you open my window?” I asked but Smith only chuckled.

“Son, do you have any idea how much trouble you’re in?” He retorted with what I could see was a sly smirk. You’d think he just shot a prized deer the way he kept looking at me in the rear view mirror that folded down from the ceiling.

“As a matter of fact,” I said “I haven’t a clue.”

“Kid, you’re being charged with voluntary manslaughter.” He said it in an almost mocking tone. “You’re right to creature comforts is gone.” He was enjoying this a little too much.

“Tell us,” Picard glanced into his own mirror, “What do you remember of the night of January 3rd, 2016?”

Were they serious? Were they actually going to try and play good cop/bad cop on the ride to the police station like this was an episode of Law and Order?

“You were performed at show for Valentine something or other?” Smith chimed in now.

They were serious. They were actually going to try and get a confession out of me before I even made it to the police station, knew the full details of what I was being charged for or even had a chance to call someone.

“I’m sorry fellas, I don’t think I’ll be saying anything until I’ve talked to a lawyer.” I leaned back as confidently as I could but I could tell Smith wasn’t too happy with my answer.

“Have it your way, son.” Smith snorted, taking a deep drag on his cigarette and making sure none of the smoke made it out the tiny slit he had opened in his window as he blew it back toward me.

This was definitely going to be a long night, I thought…