And I stand validated by Selena’s audacity.
By her desperation shown by her deceit, all to keep her precious image intact.
She uses lies as spackle to patch the many holes and cracks in her psyche. Watch her cake even more makeup on her face, to hide the true ugliness of the person underneath.
I said, go ahead! Look at her! God damn it! Look at her! She’s your beloved heroine after all. The chosen one. The one that is supposed to the Face of SCW! The corporate ambassador to the world! The perfect role model for those little girls out there, all those little darlings that need to be empowered by a strong, feminist symbol. Where is this morality she’s peddling? She’s supposed to instill virtue in those little shits, so they can grow up and be functioning members of our society. But here she is. Listen to her lie straight through teeth without an ounce of shame. She’s a pathological liar, if not compulsive. She twists the truth, as if its clay to be molded. She rewrites history, over and over, whiting out her shortcomings and personal failings, writing over propaganda, always needing to be cast in a good light.
A lesser person has never been promoted so much.
But I’ve had enough, Selena.
Let me set you straight. One last time. While I’m at it, I’ll refresh everyone’s terrible memory. I never chose you. I never chose Regan. I definitely not a victim of professional jealousy, one that would have blossomed out of the blue. This insecurity I supposed to possess, overwhelmed by, blinded by, is nothing but make-believe. If I had been so insecure about the success women have had in this sport, then why would I have supported Calli’s wrestling career when we were married. I would have kept her home, make focus simply being a good wife and mother. And if I was so threatened and alarmed by the crop of dominant women wrestlers, then it’s pretty vain for you to think you’d be on top of the list. If I did have a hit list, to join your name wouldn’t just be Regan’s, you would have kept company with the Kellecy Wallaces, the Amy Chaistines, and the Syrens. And I would have made sure that before they had the impact that they did have in this sport, I would have pickled them in a steel drum, buried in an unmarked grave underneath a trash heap in some dump. No, I encourage competition. I welcome. We all know I love a challenge.
But enough with false pretenses.
We all know Regan started this affair. She threatened me first. January 2018. I expected someone of her pedigree would have followed through with the threat. To shut me up. To put me out. But she never did. And honestly, at the time, it was really just a blip on the radar. I had more important matters to deal with. I had to fight to save my career. The closest I was to being finished in this business, wasn’t by your knockout kicks, but by red tape and poor management. I finally snapped. I had enough years toiling fruitlessly, with nothing but disrespect and contempt from the man I helped make a successful businessman. Now he was openly sabotaging my career, singling me out, punishing him for his short sightedness. I hurt him like he had hurt me. I robbed him of some of his livelihood, like he had done me.
BUT here comes the calvary to the rescue. Our gallant knights in shining armors and on white steeds. Frozen Hell to the fucking rescue. I don’t know if you two were overwhelmed by self-righteous or simply being opportunistic, smelling a chance to secure even more favor, even more preferential treatment from ownership. But either way, you both stepped forward, You promised to end me. You volunteered to put down this rabid dog who had bit the hand that feeds.
That’s right. You signed up for this. You asked for this. All the bad things that had happened since, all the pain and suffering you and your loved ones have experienced. It’s all your fault. You provoked my wrath. You got involved in my business, my affairs. You butted in. Of course, I made it personal. You both publicly claimed to extinguish me, speaking of justice or some other virtue signaling, but I had to be exterminated.
But you don’t understand, you still don’t. No one ends me. I decided when it’s over. And I’ve decided it isn’t over yet. I’m not done with you yet.
But still, both of you fool yourselves believing you still can. Obviously, you do, Selena, you still think this. Stop with the sob stories. Stop with the self-victimization. Take responsibility for your actions. Is this time going to be the moment where you finally deliver on your promise!? Selena, is it? I’m sick of this fraud. I’ve grown tired of this game. To believe I once thought you worthy of respect. I was wrong to think you were someone remarkable, something special, someone like me, a superior breed of wrestler, of competitor. But you’re nothing but another disappointment, one of many in this world. You had my respect. You lost it all. And now it’s to know that our good girl is so fragile she had to turn to an alternative reality and lie, lie, lie. You say I attacked children, I never did. You said I only beaten you once, belittling me with a comparison to that Japanese mockery of wrestling, but we all know I defeated you multiple times now. More than once I’ve left your body broken, unable to move. I must have done more damage to your head than I thought. Here I was the one that had been gifted concussions. I could easily write those victories off. I could easily say you hit the lottery not just once or twice, all while gambling on a puncher’s chance. But no, I give you more credit than you do me. Yes, you knocked me out, not once and twice. You mastered that trick, but it isn’t a silver bullet. It isn’t perfect. It didn’t save you when I had no restraints. It didn’t save you when I took your United States Championship.
It won’t save your tag team.
Because, I’m growing stronger each week, I’m growing better each match. I once again have hit my stride in this sport. No more distractions. No more self-destruction. I’m marching on, soldering on to the beat of my own drum now, and I say this, I’m good as I ever been. You shouldn’t let the announcers’ praise about my dominance bother you so much. I am finally getting my due. I’m finally getting my recognition. Yes, it came at your cost. But don’t tell me, you want to be the only one that ever gets attention. It drives you nuts that the whole wrestling community is buzzing about my performances. But it’s okay to be jealous, Selena. See, we can both be petty.
But enough with this he-said, she-said bullshit. I’ve grown tired of you, Selena. You’ve worn out your welcome. I am running out of uses for you.
Regan, is this really the company you wish to keep? Don’t bother answering that. I know a hostage situation when I see one. Don’t worry, I’ll set you free.
After this show, we don’t need the princess side show. We can focus on each other.
This feud is more than about respect and revenge now.
It’s bigger now. It’s all about two different worlds, and how they’re on a collision course.
Straight out of a Hollywood scene, an extremely long dining table spanned across the length of the room. The surefire symbol of the extremely rich greeted the three late guests. The maids lined up behind the host, all uncomfortable in their elegant uniforms. Chad had claimed his rightful place at the head of the table. Aside him, Bianca sat, glaring daggers at everyone not Chad, with babe always present in her arms, on her lap, often nibbling on the exposed tit dangling out of her top. On the opposite end, Katelyn sat, submerging her face behind a glass of red wine or kicking about peas on her plate with her spoon. She seemed uninterested in the affair. In fact, Xander sensed she was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Beside her were the three empty chairs set out for them. Xander didn’t take a moment to consider his choices, having immediately claimed the seat directly opposed to Chad, at the foot. He wanted his eyes on Chad, watch for every sign, any warning for the amusements his boss had planned. Artemis sat in the chair to his right. Shawn, to the left, forming a wall between Katelyn and himself.
Magnificent silver chandeliers basked the room in warm light. But the most notable feature of the room was the dark squares that served as patchwork across the oak paneled walls, where heavy picture frames held once prized paintings. The walls were bare. The lack of décor wasn’t a testament to Chad’s ineptitude in interior design, but instead, a calling card that told Xander this house was another temporary lair. The setting might have changed, but the setup reminded Xander of the old, dusty mansion he snuck into its basement, where he fatefully met Hunter. Xander turned to her for a moment. His appreciation for her dawned on him. She had been the one constant in his life ever since, somehow in the ashes of the destruction he wrought, she grew to be the stability he needed in life. Not only as a stark reminder of the perils his unchecked behavior provided, but also, she represented the hope he held that he could find redemption.
“I had a great feast planned to welcome you all. But I’m afraid that latecomers must suffice with cold food. Let it teach you damn saves a lesson in manners,” Chad announced. He turned towards the maids, waved them on, seemingly annoyed that he had to gesture for them to follow his will. They all hurried, almost afraid of Chad’s ire. In turn, they each snatched the prepared meal resting on silver platters. They ran a circuit, serving each guest a helping of turkey, mash potatoes, corn, squash, a whole fucking Thanksgiving Dinner in August. “Now, who will lead us to say grace. After all, I’m here in the room, listening.”
No one humored Chad. He frowned.
“I invited you all here for one reason. One reason only. I hate every single one of you fuckers with a passion,” Chad explained. Bianca nodded with every word; her chin upturned to throw her own harsh judgement on the newcomers. He sensed her disdain towards them. Xander never met Chad’s wife but had to guess that only someone completely miserable and insane would ever take his hand in marriage. She seemed to fit the bill. Her thick, matte black hair towered into the air, layered on top of itself. Her eyebrows kept thick, long, directed inwards with an angry slate. Her pale skin completed what Xander would have expected a porn actress to portray the Bride of Frankenstein. “You’re all so quiet. I thought at least you would muster up some balls to throw some insults, to complain, whine. But I’m shocked to see all you, tails between your legs, already defeated? Let’s hope not.”
“You dragged us all out to the middle of nowhere for what? You’re that lonely, that void of friendship, you had to conscript this sad group to flesh out a dinner party. We’re the only people that know you. Is that how shitty your social life?” Shawn Winters answered the challenge. While he waited for Chad’s response, he thanked every servant in passing, even winking at a few. Xander figured Shawn was going to try to befriend the waiting staff. Smart thinking, but Xander knew they too had to be pressed into service. This a hostage situation, no other way about it.
“You all should be happy he feeds you at all,” Bianca spoke up, alarmed at Shawn’s dissension.
“Did I say you could speak?” Chad asked his wife, seeming disgusted that she even opened her mouth. Despite the toxicity, Bianca closed her mouth, almost unaffected by the scolding. No, Xander saw the twinkle in her eyes, she enjoyed the abuse. So that was what their relationship had been built on? Perversion, a man with a constant need to domineer and a woman who needed a stronger ego to dominate her. It would explain a lot. Chad addressed the group, “Now this is all just a formality, really. I can’t have my guests starved before the entertainment begins. That would be fucking rude, wouldn’t it?”
“Fuck this,” Katelyn uttered underneath her breathe. Her patience had already run out. Xander didn’t blame her. She had been blackmailed, extorted, flown across the country. Xander saw the exhaustion in her eyes, she blinked in order to fight off the jet lag. Xander understood her restlessness.
“Okay, Chad, you got us all here. You must feel pretty proud that you can strong arm people into coming to your shitty party. So what is it going to be? What do you have in store for us?” Shawn questioned loudly, shoving his plate forward. He hadn’t even taken a single bit. Rebellion already? He thought Shawn would be a little more tactful. Meanwhile, Xander decided to only listen. Let the others have their fun, get their frustration out. He decided to shovel in as much of the chilled food as possible. He didn’t care that it was cold. Not knowing when his next meal would be, better get something in his stomach. Keep up his strength. Hunter followed his suit. He washed down the food with the wine. HE didn’t particularly like the sour taste, but he was never a wine connoisseur. He guessed that meant he had a primitive palette.
“I am not going to ruin the surprise, Shawn. I know you’re gotten used to bossing around poor interns on the set, but here… you’re the lowest common denominator. Take to Xander for the perfect example of how you should behave while in my care. Every single one of you, remember this: you’re my bitch now,” Chad announced. Xander almost choked as he laughed at Chad’s assertion. No one else found humor in the assessment. Xander didn’t know if Shawn acted upset, but he too joined Katelyn and Hunter with sour expression. They were offended.
Bianca pointed her fork at Katelyn, “Don’t worry, slut. I bet it will be like It’s like riding a bicycle. I bet you’re going to enjoy this. Just like the good ol’ times, huh whore?”
Katelyn didn’t take that jab well. She stood up, pushing her squealing chair back. She slammed her hands on the table, her plate and glass jumped, spilling the remaining food and drink onto the tablecloth. Her fists shook. Her entire body shook. “Fuck you. And fuck you. I’m here, what more do you want? I don’t care! I’m going to make you all wish never got… me in—”
“Kate?” Shawn hurried to his feet, just in time to catch Katelyn. Her legs went from underneath her. Her hand went flying up to her head. She fainted. The wine, Xander knew, but he didn’t feel the effects from his. But he looked over at Hunter, seemingly normal. She might not have enough. Katelyn had downed the wine in the time waiting on us. They drugged the wine. Xander wanted to laugh as a tired Hollywood cliché played out, but alarm jolted him. He feared that due to his mass, he had a delayed effect. Was he about to be just as helpless at Katelyn? He hid his nervousness as he watched Shawn gently seat her back in her chair. They definitely would have increased the dosage for him and Shawn. Shawn hadn’t taken a sip. Had he foreseen this? Shawn confirmed Xander’s suspicion: “I was worried you’d drug us. Seems like a very Chad thing to do. So what is it? Not so confident that we were completely subservient. Worried that one of us planned to take you out?”
“I didn’t drug everyone.”
“The women obviously. Mine too?”
“Oh, yes, of course, I drugged yours. Applaud you on your foresight. I always forget you’re smarter than you appear, but never as clever as me. Never,” Chad repeated. He nodded towards the maid standing behind Shawn, holding an empty silver platter against her chest. She suddenly wielded a syringe, stabbed it right into Shawn’s upper arm. Shawn recoiled, trying to knock the needle out, but the maid pumped whatever drug into Shawn’s veins. Shawn labored to his feet, shoved the maid with a stiff arm, knocking her onto her ass. He yanked out the needle and discarded it. He turned to Chad, enraged, but he too dropped like a sack of brick. Xander barely caught him in time, having reached over, grabbing a handful of his shit to prevent him from striking his head on the table’s edge. What sedative did they feed them?
“Look at them, they’re dropping like flies!” Bianca exclaimed, bouncing the infant onto her lap. She seemed very excited for the events unfolding around them. Xander heard the boy’s giggles, enjoying her mother’s animation. For some reason, that haunted him.
“Chad,” Xander followed the pattern. He stood up properly, bracing for weak knees, a sudden loss in muscle control. He imagined it being like falling into a bottomless pit. He had passed out drunk before. “What the fuck?”
“Oh, come on, Xander. Don’t be fucking stupid. I didn’t drug you. You’ve proven to be obedient, plus… who else here is going to move the bodies?”
“And her? Is she safe?” Xander motioned to Hunter. He prepared himself for the wrath that was going to follow Chad’s answer. But to his relief, Hunter too had stood. She seemed alert, if not a bit anxious. She probably went through the same fearful thought process he had, worried she too had been drugged like their fellow guests. But they weren’t exactly guests, were they now? No, they were Chad’s agents. His servants. Spies. No wonder Katelyn didn’t trust him. She knew he worked for Chad.
“Now, now, we can’t have you throw a temper tantrum. Besides, she can open up the doors for you, make your life slightly easier. Let’s get the show on the road though. Don’t feel excluded, I have fucking fun planned out for the both of you too,” Chad waved his arms up into the air, leaping from his chair. Bianca grinned at the scene but disappeared along Chad through a back door. The maid that had attacked Shawn waited over Katelyn’s and Shawn’s body. Her eyes remained fixated on Xander, expectantly. Xander sighed, finding that even he found himself disgusted. Knowing very well that things don’t play out like they did in Bond films, this act had probably condemned Katelyn and Shawn to whatever fate Chad had planned out for them. He lowered himself, first hoisted Shawn over his shoulder and then Katelyn on the other.
“Well, show the way,” Xander said the servant. She jumped. She nodded eagerly, hurrying ahead. She was petrified. Scared of what she had become a part of. What did Chad hold over these servants? What entangled so many into fulfilling his whims? They probably were blackmailed, extorted too. Maybe they were given great pay. Maybe something else. He couldn’t be concerned about them and their welfare.
Xander didn’t hesitate ditching Shawn’s body in the designated room. He didn’t feel an ounce of sympathy towards the man; after all, he volunteered for this. Let him face the circumstances of his decision to come. Katelyn, on the other hand, was a different story. He lingered by the bed, have laid her lifeless body onto the mattress. The room seemed normal enough. Nothing like the stage he had shared with Hunter several years prior. But still, Xander knew the full extent of Chad’s sadistic desires. He wanted to break her spirit. And here, Xander promised to keep her safe, protect her. So, how could he leave her in this room, helpless.
“What am I to do? I can’t leave her here,” Xander lamented loudly. He turned to Hunter. She stared at Katelyn.
“Leave her. Earlier, she rejected your help. Fuck it.”
“I know, but that’s because she doesn’t trust me. To be honest, I don’t blame her. We work for Chad. We’re obvious in his pocket. I wouldn’t trust us one bit either,” Xander said. Conflicted, he lingered there. The gravity of this next decision paralyzed him. He prayed for some act of God to decide for him, to rid him of this choice. He knew such prayers were ever answered. He had an awful decision to make: stay true to his word, intervene with Chad’s plan and endure his wrath or continue to kowtow to Chad, let Katelyn be his next victim. His stomach turned. He was no hero, so why was he pretending to be?
The maid cleared her voice. He had forgotten about her, too absorbed in the situation. “Master said, after you two delivered the bodies to their rooms, he’d like for me to escort you to him.”
“You!” Xander reared his head back. He pointed at the maid. Startled by his feature, almost as if he had pulled a loaded gun on her. She reeled from his approach. Shaking her head fervently, she feared Xander’s intention. She pressed her back against the wall beside the doorway. There, having her cornered, he reached out with his hand and leaned over her. He breathed heavily on her. “What’s Chad’s plan? What is he going to do to her?”
“I… I don’t know! I swear!”
“Surely, you must know something.”
“I don’t!”
Xander’s hand slid down the wall. He patted her shoulder before reaching up. He took a lock of her blonde hair in his hand. He inhaled sharply, smelling her coconut shampoo. “What were the exact directions Chad gave you? You were supposed to do something after you guide us to our next location. You supposed to return here and do what exactly?”
“Please leave me alone. I don’t know nothing but anything. I’m only doing what I’m told. Please, don’t hurt me,” the maid cried. She directed her face away from him, trying to avoid eye contact. Fearful tears welled. She did know. He sensed it. She might not know every miniscule detail of Chad’s intent, but she had some inkling, some idea what he planned. He needed to know.
Hunter approached him from behind. Without looking back, he waved her off. She wanted to come to the poor maid’s defense, but Xander knew better. She lied. He lowered his head now, spoke right beside her ear with a whisper. “There’s no need to lie. I work for Chad too. There doesn’t need to be secrets between us.”
“I’m… I’m supposed to fetch the video equipment from the basement, bring it here.”
“And?”
“I also need to prep a needle… and grab my stash,” She revealed. Shame devoured her. She suspected the reasoning for Chad’s requests. Xander stepped back, giving her enough space to escape into the hallway. She didn’t go far, but she kept her distance towards Xander.
Xander turned back towards the room, let the scenery soaked in and his imagination run. He pictured it now. There, on the side table, a charred spoon rested alongside the culprit lighter and some white powder. The unconscious mother sprawled out across the bad. A syringe rested on her forearm. A cloth strapped around the upper arm. Taking the entire scene in, the camcorder rested atop a tripod, capturing every moment of Katelyn’s downfall. This had always been a trap. He knew Chad’s modus operus by now. Much like the recording Chad still possessed of Hunter’s rape, Chad was conscripting Katelyn to be another plaything, another dog. Chad wanted complete control. He wanted the ability to manipulate Katelyn into doing everything he asked. Eventually, he would ground her into dust, leave behind a lifeless husk.
“The bastard,” Xander exclaimed.
“What? What have you realized?” Hunter questioned, each word oozing with concern as she hurried to his side. He tugged at his arm now, almost as if to pull him away from Katelyn and away from the scene. What happened to Hunter’s sense of responsibility towards Katelyn for being stuck in this shit situation? That seemed to have evaporated quickly. Was the combination of Katelyn’s attitude and her attack on Hunter enough for Hunte’s guilt to disappear, just like that? Xander shouldn’t judge. There was a part of him too that wanted to abandon Katelyn for being such a bitch.
“This is only the appetizer. He’s going to stage Katelyn as a relapsed drug addict. Unfit to be a mother. He’ll use that to own her,” Xander said. Hunter chewed on her knuckle. Her harsh expression softened. “I don’t even want to know what’s after this round.”
“She was an addict?”
“If I’m remembering right. Either way, she’d lose custody of her children probably if that’s leaked to the tabloids. She said it herself, she’d do anything for those girls.”
“They’re not actually going to inject that shit into her veins though, right?” Hunter already knew the answer. Horror dawned on both of them. They would go that far. A disgusted sigh, almost a roar, erupted from his chest as he shook his head. That was the worst case scenario: Katelyn actually relapsing because of this bullshit. His memory felt foggy. He didn’t remember the details around Katelyn’s substance abuse, had it been alcohol? No, she drank wine at dinner. He must had chosen heroin for a reason. Maybe that was her ultimate weakness. He had heard it to be the wrost of all drugs, the most addicting because it brought to the user the closest thing to Heaven on Earth. And if she had battled to overcome that kind of addiction, having another taste, could destroy her.
Fuck, what could he do? He knew.
Xander left the room, entering the hallway. “What’s your name?”
“Meghan”
“Meghan,” Xander repeated. He snatched the woman’s hand before she could react. She immediately try to yank it free, her sleeves running up her arm. As he expected, circular bruises dotted her arm. Needle holes. Chad hired an expert junky, someone who knew exactly how to get high. Xander brought her arm around her back, lifted up on it to exert pressure on her frail limb. She shrieked. “Listen here, Meghan. I don’t know what Chad has on you. Maybe he’s just giving you a fix whenever you have an itch. But I’m going to have to leave Katelyn’s in your care for the next while. You better make sure that shit doesn’t get pumped into her. You got that?”
“But— what if—” Meghan protested.
“I don’t care if that might make Chad angry. Fake it. Figure something out. But if I find out that she gets any of that poison in her veins, I’ll kill you. And if I was you, Meghan, I’d make that my utmost concern right now,” Xander suggested, every word came out as a violent hiss. He hoped she didn’t try to call his bluff. He didn’t plan on killing anyone, anytime soon. But this temper on the other hand might weigh in with a differing opinion on that matter.
“Okay. Okay. I understand,” Meghan answered. Xander released her arm. She covered her arms. She muttered, barely audible to Xander’s ears, “It’s not like I would wish this curse on anyone else.”
“With that settled, mind leading the way? We’ll be right behind you.” Hunter closed the door behind her. Perhaps the guilt had returned, and she didn’t want to see that scene any longer than she had to. Meghan, however, pushed past her, hurrying to stab a key into the door. Which a click, she locked the room and released a sigh of relief. Hunter and Xander gave her space, to allow the woman to collect herself before resuming her duties. Meghan only gave them a precursory glance before hurrying away. Once a certain distance separated them, she slowed down enough for them to follow her trough the labyrinth of corridors.
“What a shitshow,” Xander commented. He kept the volume low. He didn’t want Meghan to eavesdrop on whatever conversation followed forth.
“You actually trust a junkie to keep their word? They’d do anything for the next hit. If Chad’s her supply, she’d probably risk death itself to keep the drugs flowing,” Hunter questioned. Xander nodded, sharing the same concern, but what other choice did he have? He supposed instead of dropping the body in that room as ordered, he could have taken Hunter’s hand and ran to the boat launch in the back of the estate. Hoped the keys were left with the boat. It’d be a gamble, but wouldn’t it be worth it? No, the time to take risks wasn’t now.
“We’ll see. I think I scared her enough.”
“And then what does it change? They can still stage a photoshoot, regardless or not she’s injected with that crap. She’s passed out cold. What difference would it make?”
“For a recovering addict, everything.”
“I suppose you’re right.”
“We’ll figure out how to destroy the video later. Right now, I’m only trying to keep her mind and body sound. We have no clue what Chad has planned for her… or for us. I don’t know if there will be anything we can do. The best we can do is to keep a low profile. Look for an opening. Look for some out. Be patient,” Xander said. He wished he had a better solution. He chewed on his bottom lip. He sold out again. Be right now, brazenly defying Chad wouldn’t improve the situation. Chad held all the cards for now. He should be grateful that Chad hadn’t split them up yet. Fuck, Chad might be pleased enough with his control over Xander to focus his efforts on the other two.
“If that’s the torture he had planned for Katelyn, what about the other man? What fate awaits him?” Hunter pondered.
“Shawn? Who cares? He signed up for this vacation. He thought it’s going to be a walk in the park. I wish I could see his face when he wakes up and finds himself in his own personal hell,” Xander commented. He expected a smile in regard to the fate that had befallen Shawn. He used to hate the man. He guessed he might not had despised him as much as he thought he did. But he didn’t worry about the man. No, of course not. He liked he had options open. Shawn might had proved to be of some use. But now, he was probably another victim in another one of Chad’s games.
For now, they were alone. There was no other support.
Shawn awoke with a jolt, brought by to life by choking on the pungent smell of piss. He immediately tossed about his body, finding himself confined. Blurry eyes opened, he tried to look at his hands, but they were held in place. A thousand hands held him down. A hundred bearhugs squeezed him. He immediately understood danger. That cunt stabbed him with a syringe! He definitely thought he was getting some positive vibes from her, especially how she slightly smiled when he winked to her. But he wasn’t exactly surprised some sideshow whore stabbed him in the back. Typical women. He blinked away the thick tears that congealed on his eyeballs. Enough mucus displaced to grant him vision. Duct tape, fucking duct tape, wrapped around, making him one with a wooden chair. They didn’t even give him a nice desk chair to enjoy the torture in. And he knew it was going to be an utter bitch when they finally free him, tearing that tape off his bare skin. He didn’t have another clothes. While he was unconscious, they undressed him. He guessed that saved his clothes if he had to urinate or shit. He didn’t think he was going to be given any bathroom breaks. They took a long time fixing him to his seat.
Around him, an array of five monitors had been erected around him. He looked for the person in the room, but he couldn’t even turn his head properly. He could only face forward. Someone had to be there. They had just given him smelling salts to slap him back into reality. But they weren’t in his limited field of vision. Instead, he went to call out for them, but realized why he had been struggling to breathe freely. Not only did the tape pressed down on his chest but they also touched the whole thing with a ball gag as the cherry on top. Please no gay stuff. Please no gay porn. To each their own, but that’s not for me. This better not be Chad’s attempt at a reverse gay conversation camp. Oh, he definitely better not place Adam’s productions, I don’t ever want to see that shriveled up dick again.
“Awake?” Chad’s voice asked.
“MMMMhhhmmmm,” Shawn answered. He remained calm though. He didn’t panic. Chad would enjoy that too much.
“I really had to think hard on what to do for you. I hope this will be as memorable for as it will be for me,” Chad’s voice echoed. The click-click of a computer mouse followed the clatter of key beings pressed. The monitors came to life with color. All at once, it showed a YouTube and a custom playlist, entitled ‘Why Does Shawn Suck So Bad At Acting’. Relief washed over Shawn. No homosexual brainwashing. No Adam’s hairy ass crack. This was going to be easy. Besides, he figured Chad would have a hard time finding reviews critical of his acting. He was an awarding-winning Hollywood superstar. This mantle at home had all the trophies. He starred in the blockbusters of the summer.
Then Shawn spotted the number of videos in the play list. He was on 1/204. Fuck me.
And the first neckbeard started out with the line, “I know everyone says how popular Shawn Winters douche is but can we all agreed that he can’t act! He plays like the same role in every film, himself! And sorry, I don’t find an eternal frat boy to be a compelling protagonist—”
Two worlds are going to collide. Perfect fireworks to bring in the New Year. You have a battle between the lone wolf and the social butter-fucking-flies. The outcast, the pariah, the solitary solider against the pillars of our wrestling community.
I toyed with the idea that we had commonality. I fooled myself thinking Selena was another like me. I hoped Regan was kindred spirit. But that’s impossible. We come from entirely two different walks of life. Two different existences. Two separate realities.
And that’s really why we can’t seem to come to an understanding. I want you two to be more than you are capable of being. And you two don’t understand how darkness could be holed up in one man.
But let me explain.
Let me show you.
Doctor, you wanted to know about my childhood? Mine was nothing like theirs. See, everyone likes to drone on and one about Selena’s fucking Cinderalla story. I get it, the rag-to-riches story makes for a fantastic fairytale to amaze the brats. Makes you feel warm inside hearing about her success story, doesn’t? Well, it would do so if it’s not over played, shoved down our throats whenever Selena’s life is examined. I get it, Alaska’s cold and it sucks. No one wants to be born there. No one wants to grow up there. And no one definitely wants to stay there. And I get it too. Daddy disappeared a young age. She had her share of struggles, hardships, turmoil to fight through to get to where she was today. I’m not going to rob her of those personal triumphs. But fuck, at least she had a father. At least she had some semblance of a childhood. Her father must have dotted on his little Winter Diamond. She probably turned out to be the only jewel in the legion of bastards he probably also abandoned.
And it was nothing like Regan’s upbringing. I don’t know how there was a Hallmark Channel movie was made about her not so inspirational life. I don’t know what it was about, but I have to assume this story’s premise was one at least based in reality. Born with a silver spoon, young Regan was given everything she ever wanted in life. She had it all. And even then, she came into adulthood as an unhinged bitch. Spare the rod, spoil the child. But she used her connections, her relations to propel her into this career. And granted, she took all that wind in her sails and reached new horizons. And let’s forget about the years of being the most wretch person. She’s a changed woman now. She turned over a new leaf. All is forgotten. She’s a mother! A wife!
But all my sins are carried with me, albatross around my neck. Any attempt of me to extend an olive branch, they recoiled in disgust. Like I said, I’m untouchable. They’re too prim and proper for a savage like me.
Woe is me. I’m sure everyone’s tired of hearing me complain, complain about what have been given to you by life, by society, and by this company. I’m tired of hearing me drone on about it. No one cares for the comparison of the haves and the haves not. It’s tiresome. It’s futile.
The point that I wanted to make is that I’ve gotten here, achieved all I could by myself. I didn’t have parents. I didn’t have a childhood. I don’t even know if my upbringing could be called on, surely no one was bringing me anything and I wasn’t heading up. That probably explains why I’m an unlikable asshole. I wasn’t socialized properly. Socially awkward? No, fucking socially illiterate. I didn’t get the cues, the verbal hints were lost in translation and facial expressions. Manners didn’t exist. I only knew how to fight, the only ability that God gave to me. My only mode of communication for so long. And even today, outside of wrestling, there’s no place for me. I can’t function in this society. I’m already this close to be locked up.
So here I am, very much alone. But that’s the only way I ever knew.
I didn’t know how to be a husband. I didn’t know how to be a father. I don’t know how to be a friend. I’m the living embodiment of Frankenstein’s monster. The closer thing a human get to at least. And I’ve dragged my ass this far. It might have been a struggle every step of the way, but it was well worth it.
Believe it, I have pride.
But then I’m spoken in the same breath as Selena Frost and Regan Street. I’m told they’re tough too, like me. Their wills are just as strong as mine. And I admit, they’re two of the most formidable opponents I’ve ever faced, but they don’t have the same bite I do. They don’t pack the same punch as I do. They don’t hit as hard. And they don’t fight as hard. They’re pampered, the only struggles for them is when they’re either trying to keep face when I embarrass them or when I’m punishing their bodies in that ring. They have spouses. Handsome, beautiful, supporting. They have children, adopted or not, they reconcile love. And then they have the support of the crowd. They’re cheered on. Loud and proud. The fans root for them. And to top it all off, they have the backing of their employers, the full weight of the corporate juggernaut in SCW.
See, while you have a fan-fucking-tastic support system in place, I have nothing but my two hands. And every relationship I’ve been in, is a ‘use-me, abuse-me, discard-me’ clusterfuck. The only reason Calli stuck with me with some foolish hope that I could become a better man. She was the only idiot that stuck it out. No one else did. Where were my old friends when she passed? Where was the New Blood Rebellion when I was down on my luck, without cent to my name, reeling from demons I didn’t understand. Fuck Damian. Fuck Dillusion. All my relationships. They were temporary. All monetary. All cold transactions for invisible ledgers.
So I had to do it alone. Fuck it, I did it alone. And I’m proud that I fought this far. I climbed back from oblivion and now I’m the legend.
But if you want to know what about Frozen Hell sickens me, it’s because it’s essential to what I see going wrong for both of you. It’s a far cry from a symbiotic relationship. It’s mutually parasitic. It’s eating away at your mental fortitude. Both of you proved you were capable standing alone, fighting against the odds, just like me. But now you’re co-dependent, you unison didn’t make you stronger, but lesser. We didn’t see the greatest tag team ever. We saw a forced pairing, creaking and disappointing. The softness of acceptance has dulled the sharp blades that you were. Here I thought messing with you both, I’d be cut, but those cuts never got deep. But now, I feel disrespected by your lack of claws. Sure, at first, I was jealous that something beautiful could exist, such a perfect union. But when I saw the corruption take root. It made me thought it was another romanticism. There’s a reason why you both are without title belts, something that much be driving you both crazy given your addiction to gold.
So I’ll be honest, I wanted to destroy that bond. But now, I want to disprove it ever existed in the first place. I sense the undertones. I can read body langue now, and everyone can see the frustration building, the tension climbing. Cannon and Knight ran off with your belts. Selena keeps failing Regan, but is it entirely her fault? Have you mentally checked out, Regan? And you both are still clueless on what to do about me. And this night in history, I get to put Frozen Hell through the stress test. It’s just me, all alone, no one having my back, no support system for me, no patrons, few fans, just me. And you know the hilarious part of this arrangement, it’s that you only signed on because you want another taste me, take another bite of me. You’re not proving anything by defeating, other than there is a little bit of sadism still life in the two of you. But consider this, the fact that you and the entire rest of the world believes this match will be competitive, two future hall-of-famers, two Supreme Champions against one lone man.
But it isn’t just one man, is it?
It’s Xander Valentine.
This is testament to me.
Everyone’s thinking, if anyone could end Frozen Hell, all by his lonesome, is the lone white hunter. The Executioner himself. And that, my dears, why millions and millions are going to be tuning in on New Years Eve, instead of breaking quarantine and social distancing measures, they want to see if this car wreck is truly the end for Selena and Regan’s sisterhood. And the thing is, they all believe it could happen. We all know it might happen. That’s why they’re going to being watching this event, forget about Bree vs. Jordan fighting to keep David’s belt warm as he recovered from me knocking him around a bit too hard. They want to see this. They want to see history. And many of them, want to witness tragedy.
And to their enjoyment, I’m not going to back down. I’m not going to blink. I’m going to set out what I intend to do and that is introduce you to what hell is really like. I’m going down swinging, I’m going to take you both with me, inject with you a dosage of my harsh reality, crush you underneath the gravity of my cruel world. I’ll have you singing my violent lyric, further reducing your souls into ashes. You might be alien to me, having been given everything, but I’m going to take it all away. I took the belts first, then your pride, and finally your supposed friendship.
I already can’t wait to see the finger pointing that’s going to follow this match. I already can predict the future. You’re going to turn on each other because you both collectively fail to rise to this ultimate challenge. It’s going to be a sweet melody in my ear. I always knew that such a friendship, such a bond, couldn’t possibly be for real.
Another fairytale disproven.
Executioner's Plight 