No Regrets

Upon my liar's chair 

Full of broken thoughts 

I cannot repair 

Beneath the stains of time 

The feelings disappear 

You are someone else I am still right here”

---

“Brah, don’t stress it. We’ve all done things we aren’t proud of, but we're doing them for the right reasons”

Quinn Black was sitting in the booth of a dark unnamed bar that populated a corner of Los Angeles that wasn’t visited by tourists. It wasn’t particularly busy, but there was enough of a crowd to say the venue wasn’t dead. Sitting opposite the booth was Tristan Cross, the man who wrestled under the moniker of Spartan. Both men have half-finished meals in front of them, and these meals were accompanied by half-finished glasses of an unidentifiable liquid with an amber tinge.

“I don’t know.” shrugs Tristan Cross, his mind clearly on other things.

“What don’t ya know, brah? Let’s be real here for second, you’re only back is Los Angeles because you caught your wife with another man’s dick in her mouth. You only started wrestling because you hated the night shift cleaning job at the gym. Now the crazy Russian broad offers your access to her lawyers and her finances to get your kids back living with you. All you have to do is enforce her rules and run a few errands for her. Hell, brah - there is no indecision to that. You do what you need to do to get your children back, brah.” Quinn finishes his spiel to Cross.

Cross sits still, his eyes focused on Black. He rubs his gingerbeard and just sits in silence. This is a situation that Black recognises from their years of friendship, he allows the silence to linger for a little longer before interjecting himself to shake Cross from his trance.

“Tee, brah. You’re doing the right thing. No doubt.” Black reaffirms his position on the matter at hand.

Ever since Tristan Cross lost the custody battle for his children he has been torn apart internally, seeking ways to gain access to his children. And now, the opportunity has fallen into his lap and he feels ‘dirty’ because of the trade-off.

“Q, I don’t know man. Of course - I want William and Georgia in my arms above all else but it doesn’t feel right. Trading away… swapping… Doing whatever Irina wants just to have them on this side of the ocean with me.” Cross frowns as he speaks.

“Tee, brah. It’s Will and Georgie… they’re your blood, man. There is no deal with the devil or anyone else for that matter. It’s worth it.” Black smiles at his brother in arms and reaches out to touch his hand to let him know everything is a-ok.

“Guess, you’re right, Q.” Cross nods.

“Damn straight.” Quinn chuckles. “Now you’re single and I’m horny. Let’s mingle… Unless you got eyes for that Russian chick… She's hot for a woman.”

They both laugh.

“Nah, Q. I’m good. You find someone out there. I’m gonna head home.” Cross says through a forced smile.

“Oh hell no. You’re coming out with me. And brah, one of us is gonna get our dick sucked tonight.”

Cross shakes with a wry knowing smile. Poor Q, always back to sex with him. “I’ve got a World Championship match to prepare for.”

“All the more reason to party, brah.”

---

Jerry Eisenhower

Tristan Cross had neglected the worn out canvas ring of Eisenhower’s place since he had made the trip to Chernobyl for Horror Kore. The loss of the North American Title had weight heavy on his mind. Not because he lost, but because he felt that he had failed to adequately prepare for the battle with Steven Osbourne. The mental battle had stayed with him right up until his defeat at the hands of Voshon Jackson at Omega. His inability to handle the mental battle was what led to tendering his resignation from Alpha Pro Wrestling. It was that resignation that led to his current arrangement of convenience with Irina Ivanova. It wasn’t a situation he was proud of, but it was the situation he was in. At this moment, he found himself sitting across from Eisenhower. Eisenhower was drinking scotch - straight and puffing aggressively on a cigar. Jerry was looking at Cross with a crooked eye as both men sat in an eerie, awkward silence.

Eisenhower is the first to break the silence, after finishing the last mouthful of scotch from its tumbler.”Bout time ya got a set of balls, Son.” he says with a snigger.

Cross tilts his head to the side. While he respects Jerry Eisenhower for what he has taught, the old man has a way of rubbing the nerves of Tristan Cross the wrong way and this was no exception. Cross could never place whether it was the words, the tone or even the look on his face. But, it was something.

“Cat got ya tongue, Son.” Jerry presses. “The way I see it, Son, you been doing alright with that natural ability of yours, but you weren’t succeeding. So I’m proud of you, hooking up with the Russian broad. Now, ya gonna get your kids back and ya might even get yourself a new, smoking hot looking woman on your arms.” Jerry laughs, pouring himself another drink as he finishes talking.

“It’s not like that, Jerry.”

“Oh, Son. It’s always like that. See, you came into this game with some sort of morals and standards. This game doesn’t have time for standards and morals. Eventually you break or it breaks you.”

“That’s the same thing, Jerry.” Cross interjects.

“No. It ain’t. See, if you break - you’re just giving up whatever pointless code you live by. If it breaks you, will you quit. Seems you broke, For sure, I thought you were going to be broken.

Cross remains silent, knowing that he was ready to give it all away.

“Now, look at ya, Son. Now, you’ve got limitless resources at your back to get your children back and now you’re walking into a World Heavyweight Title Match. Because, you did what you needed to do, rather than worrying about what was right or wrong. I’m proud of you, Son.”

Cross is dumbfounded, from his recollection that’s the first time ever that Jerry has rewarded him with any positivity and truthfully, he doesn’t know if he feels he wants it, given the circumstances of which it was born.

“Thanks.” That is that Cross can muster as Jerry blows smoke from his cigar into his face.

---

Dante Jones was one of Tristan Cross’ oldest friends, the other being Quinn Black. Jones and Cross were sitting in the black leather lounges of Jones’ theater room. The lounges swallowed the bodies of their occupants - even those with titanic frames the size of Cross and Jones. Dante was as laid back as Quinn, both were a sort of balance for Cross who was always the more tightly wound and anxious of the trio. Jones had a voracious sexual appetite and refused to settle for just one woman. While he always supported Cross, he openly mocked him for ‘wanting to buy the cow’. That being said, he was there for Cross when his marriage broke down.

“So, Tee, you banging her yet.” Jones prods at Cross with his verbal jabs.

“No, Dee. I’m not.” says Cross shaking his head knowing what Jones is like.

“Have you tried?” asks Jones with an almost sadness in his voice.

“No, Dee. I have not. Our agreement isn’t like that. She provides me with the resources to bring Georgia and Williams back to my arms. And I make sure that the inmates of Alpha Pro don’t overstep the mark.”

“Cool.” nods Jones absentmindedly.

“Are you even listening, Dee?” asks Cross, knowing the answer.

“No. Not really. I was thinking. Do you know if she has a boyfriend?”

Cross chuckles.

“What’s funny, brah?”

“You are, Dee.”

“How, so?”

“You’re always the same. Thinking about how you can get into bed with any and every woman.”

“Nah, I’m not like that.”

“Yeh, you are, Dee. But it’s ok. I love you, bro.”

“So can I get her phone number.”

“No.”

Cross shakes his head, not in disgust, but as a way of suppressing laughter at the sheer courage of Dante to push for the phone number of the woman that is his employer.

“Why not, brah. I thought it was bros before hoes, brah?”

Tristan Cross is no longer able to suppress his laughter and openly laughs at his friend. Jones frowns in a joking manner while he waits for Tee to compose himself.

“You know, Tee - everytime I try to get a phone out of you and refuse. You know you marry the girl.”

Tristan gives Dante the ‘what the hell’ look.

“Dee. Really? I’ve been married once.”

Dante takes a moment, but comes to realise his mistake and how he has comes to upset Tristan.
“Sorry, brah. I didn’t mean it like that.”

The two friends fist bump in affirmation that everything is ok, despite poor choice of words in the previous moment.

“It’s good, Dee. It’s good.”

“So, can I get her number?

Tristan Cross shoots daggers from his eyes at Dante Jones who is looking back at Cross with eyes of a puppy dog that has done something wrong, but doesn’t understand what it has done wrong. Eventually, the pair break down in laughter. Cross is the first to gather himself from the craziness.

“No.”

---

Gregory and Angelica Cross

“THERE ARE ALWAYS OTHER OPTIONS.” Angelica was incredulous as she shouted at her only son Tristan Cross who sat only a few feet from her face.

Her husband, Tristan’s father, Gregory sat in silence as he usually did when his wife climbed aboard her soapbox and shouted for all the world to hear, even when they did not want to. This was one of those times. Gregory would say his piece, but first he was going to have to let all the fire and brimstone erupt from his wife. And given the gravity of these circumstances he feared that his son, Tristan was going to be hearing about for a time to come.

“Mom,” was all Tristan Cross could get out.

“DON’T YOU MOM, ME. THERE WERE OTHER OPTIONS. YOU DIDN’T NEED TO MAKE DEALS. THEY ARE MY GRANDKIDS. YOU REALLY THINK THAT SHE IS GOING TO LET OUT OF HER GRASP ONCE YOU GET YOUR CHILDREN BACK. AND THAT’S EVEN IF SHE HONORS HER END OF WHATEVER DIRTY HANDSHAKE YOU HAVE AGREED TO.”

“Mom,” Tristan tries to interrupt his mother’s ranting. But the saying goes that hell hath no fury like a woman scorned and given the rage that burns behind the eyes of Angelica Cross it could be said that the fury doubles, even triples when you have earned the wrath of your mother.

“I TOLD YOU NOT DO THAT. LOOK AT IT, TRISTAN! LOOK AT IT! SHE IS USING YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE WEAK. IT WANTED TO QUIT TO GET YOUR KIDS. QUIT BE STRONG. WE ARE YOUR FAMILY. WE WOULD OF HELPED YOU. BUT INSTEAD YOU ARE WEAK AND TRIED TO TAKE THE EASY OPTION. NOW YOU’RE FUCKED.”

The room suddenly lost its air. To hear her swear was almost a sign of the apocalypse in itself. Gregory Cross tried to put his hand on his wife’s shoulder but she just shrugged it off as the lasers emitted from her eyes into the soul of her son.

“SHE HAS HER TENTACLES INTO YOU. SHE IS NOT GOING TO LET YOU GO. YOU ARE GOING TO BE HER LITTLE ERRAND BOY, DOING THE DIRTY WORK. CLEANING UP THE MESS. IT IS A TERRIBLE SITUATION YOU HAVE PUT YOURSELF IN. YOU ARE WEAK. ASK FOR HELP. NO YOU WON’T DO THAT YOU WOULD RATHER SELL OUT LIKE A COWARD AND TAKE DIRTY MONEY INSTEAD OF DOING THINGS THE RIGHT WAY. I AM ASHAMED OF YOU. I LOVE YOU, BUT THIS IS A HORRIBLE. IT MAKES ME SAD THAT I AM YOUR MOTHER RIGHT NOW. IF YOU DON’T GET MY GRANDCHILDREN BACK. GOD HELP YOUR SOUL.”

Angelica Cross stops, she allows herself to catch her breath, before getting up and walking out of the room leaving the two Cross men sitting in a rather awkward silence. Gregory looks at his son.

“You shouldn’t upset your mother.” he says rather matter of fact.

Tristan just nods, completely at a loss for words.

---

It’s funny, Jones.

I was originally expecting Ultimate Destroyer to call his card and seek his retribution at Liberty or Death. Then he decided he wanted to chop down Odin first. So, I was without a dance partner, but that’s ok. I was going to do my job and keep my eyes and ears open looking for someone out to cause trouble. It’s my job after all. Never did I expect you to be the one to start shaking the tree.

But I did what I had to do.

I called you out for your petty childish behaviour.

And now we are here.

Smith Jones versus Spartan for the Alpha Pro Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship.

If you were to ask me if I was going to be competing for this title on July Seven last year, I would have scoffed in your face. If you were to ask me after Omega, I probably would have cried.

Yet here we, Jones.

Right here.

I know you are what they would call an Alpha Original. To be here from day one that’s an achievement. But, let’s be real - I wasn’t far behind you. I missed rising, but I made it to Showdown. So, we’ve danced around each other without ever crossing paths for the better of the last six months, but come Liberty or Death. That changes. Liberty or Death makes the first time that Spartan steps into the ring against Smith Jones. And honestly I would wish I could say that this match came about in a better way. I wish it hadn’t started by you channelling your inner toddler and throwing a tantrum that even Jason Ryan would be proud of. Sure, you want to be a fighting champion, I can accept and respect that. Standing there stomping your feet and shaking your fist in an effort to get your own, Jones.

That’s pathetic.

That being said though, Jones. That doesn’t take away from your ability inside the ring, no way in hell, does your little outburst take away from that. Your motives make sense. Just your execution… it was… off. But none of that will matter in Boston. No should it, what will matter in Boston is you versus me and who walks out of the TD Garden with the Alpha Pro Wrestling World Heavyweight Championship Title strapped around their waist.

That’s what matters.

I honestly believe you and I are cut from the same cloth, Jones. We both respect the ring. We both respect the combat. We both respect the result. We both, in most instances, respect our opponents. Sure, we have different madness within our methods, but in the end. It’s about the fight to victory that drives both of us forward to our end goal. So, how did we get here. Well, to put it simply I decided winning some battles was more important than winning others. You, well you’re a champion and you feel the only way you can cement your reputation as a real champion is to be the fighting champion. Jones, that tells me you are too worried about how others view you. When you are more worried about others opinions of your ability, of your motives - it tells me there is something inside of you that believes you don’t deserve to be champion. That little piece of self doubt. That. That is what I am going to latch onto. That is what I am going to exploit. That is what I am going to use to take the title from your grasp.

Sure, you and others could say I sold out to get here. But, truth I am only here because of you. You asked for this match, I gave you this match. That doesn’t mean I’m not grateful for the opportunity. I am. But, just because I didn’t expect to be here, it doesn’t mean I am not going to leave everything I am on that canvas. I promise you, Jones. That I will dig to the deepest pits of myself to ensure that I am the one to walk with that title. I am the best athlete in Alpha Pro right now, and quite possibly the best athlete that has ever stepped through those ropes. That doesn’t mean that genetics alone will be enough to overcome you. No, I am not so naive that I think my athletic ability beats without strategy, but I have watched you many times over. I have watched your title defeats. I have watched your title victories. I have a game plan to unseat you. I have a back up plan. I have a way to counter your favourite moves. These are the things I have done to ensure that I am the one that walks out of Liberty or Death - the World Heavyweight Champion. And history shows that I have a pretty good ability when it comes to winning titles. Everything you seek to build, I will tear it down - brick by brick. Can you lead The Architects without the title? Only the future can tell us that. And I am no clairvoyant.

But I can see one future. Revolutionizer. One. Two. Three.

Or is that a point of controversy?

Jones. Thank you for allowing your pride to grant me this opportunity.

Don’t regret your defeat.

I won’t.

---