Violence is regrettable but... effective.

"Violence is regrettable but... effective."

***

“That’s none of your business… Jaice.”

Tristan Cross was currently engaged in a Skype call with his partner for this tag team tournament, the other half of the Uncanny X-Men, Jaice Wilds. The purpose of this call had been to establish tactics going into the tournament against some of history’s greatest teams. Yet, Jaice had side tracked it asking about Spartan and Irina’s relationship. In the quickest way possible, Tristan shut it down and redirected the conversation back to its original purpose.

“As I was saying Jaice. You climb onto my shoulders and I throw you off like a rocket launcher you do whatever flippy shit you want to do wipe out whoever. Hell, I can even climb up the turnbuckles for my height and give you more impact.”

Cross watches Jaice nod in agreement, even if he is a little apprehensive about the suggestion that is currently being put to him.

“Brah, you’ve got to see this is classic Colossus and Wolverine. Its perfect pop culture. You, the little jack in the box firebrand fighter and me, the hulking beast that just smashes through everything until they stop… for good.”

Wilds nod along to everything that Cross is saying, yet Tristan senses that his tag team partner is distracted by something. Given the earlier nature of the conversation, Cross senses that Wilds has a degree of apprehension regarding his relationship with Irina Ivanova. Cross moves to the re-assure Jaice.

“Look, Jaice. We’re cool as a team. For the duration of this tournament - I got your back and I expect you’ve got mine.”

Jaice nods.

“We cool?”

Jaice nods.

“Good. Anyways, I have things I need to do. I will catch you on the flip side.”

Tristan ends the Skype call and turns off the monitor.

---

“The Dead, right?”

Spartan is sitting in front of a Metal Banner on a wooden stool. He is wearing a APW Cap turned backwards, a black singlet and black shorts. His gingerbeard is dominant, as are the tattoos on his massive contoured arms are just as prominent.

“It’s a cool nickname, I guess. I mean I took the name of an historic warrior race. But I saw the name I chose as symbolic of my attitude. That being that I never quit in the fight - that I battle until the bitter end no matter what the odds that are put out in front of me. It’s served me well in most facets so far. Sure I fell against Smith Jones, but I showed him what it meant to fight. I showed him that no matter what he was going to earn his victory over me. Sure, he did that - but he knows that I will be coming back for the belt he wears - sooner, rather than later. And if he forgets the rules again. I will be there to remind him of the expectations of Alpha Pro Wrestling. But, I digress. This isn’t about me. This about you. Your name. The Dead. It’s symbolism, right. An image you are trying to project to those that are in front of you. To cast your shadow across those in front of you, behind you, around you. Yet, I see a problem with that my friend - when you stand against someone as I - I don’t fear the day of my death. I have long ago connected the dots to the fact everyone has a time. My time will come and my time will go.”

“So the shadow of fear you seek to cast - it fails to reach me. The intimidation of darkness that you seek to throw across those who face. It fails to reach me. That leaves you and me fighting in the ring as two men seeking the prize at the end of the match. In this case, it’s another week to fight in this tag team tournament. This is a prize I seek to claim. We both have help for this encounter, you with PKA, me with Jaice. The functionality of tag team wrestling is that you need to be able to work together with your partner and this match cobbles together some wild card scenarios as, really both yourself and your partner, as well as Jaice and I are thrown together teams - out there for glory. Battlelines have been drawn and no we are thrown to war. Something that I have been built for - the endless battle until only one team is left standing. I am built for this, bro. You, you are built to channel on the fears and the weakness those fears expose. That in itself leaves you with a problem.”

“I ain’t afraid of you.”

“Or what you can do.”

“That leaves you will nothing to exploit against me. Which means you only have the option to lose control of your evil. You have to embrace your inner chaos and unleash it upon me with fury. That’s your only option. Is a bad option - I don’t know that. But you will. But I will embrace the right that your loss of control will bring to the battle. And then - I will defeat you. Not because I hate you. I don’t. I can’t. I don’t know you. But I do know competition, and that is what we are competing in right now. The right to earn the prize of becoming Champion. It’s what we all seek - Glory. The problem is that you have cast yourself as someone who doesn’t need the glory of the Championship. Which begs the question - why are you, here?”

“If it's to inflict pain and suffering. Again - why are you here? There is no place for your plans in this tournament. None. You don’t seek glory. You don’t seek to prove yourself. Again…”

“Why are you here?”

“Either you’re salvation of your past, you're seeking to inflict your own pain upon others, or everything you’ve laid out for the faithful fans of APW is a lie.”

“You can’t be who you say you are if you seek the same thing as me. At least, Z-Mac has the courage of his convictions and sticks to his narrative of I’m just here to fuck shit and if I win a title cool. Not you, you are trying to be cool, trying to be scary, trying to be dark, trying to be demonic, trying to escape your past, trying to inflict fear, trying to fight…”

“Trying to be a wrestler.”

“Poor PKA, you pulled the wool over his eyes, but that’s on him. Monday is Metal and this week it will be cuando el guerrero vence la muerte.”

Spartan stretches his arms backs over his head and reposistions himself on the stool.

“I don’t really know what led us down this path. There is no rivalry, there is no hatred, there is no need to settle a blood feud. But here we are facing off in battle. You and El Meurtos against Jaice Wilds and I. All standing there for a shot at the crowning glory of the Alpha Pro Wrestling Tag Team Championship. Something on the line in a battle that was built from nothing but the drawing of names from a hat to create a bracket. It’s fun this sort of stuff. Random… chaos. How does that sit with you? A perfectionist. Everything about this tournament, except the teams, is random without order, without perfection - yet there you are, the perfectionist. Someone who thrives on everything in its place and a place for everything. Someone who needs to make sure that each and every intangible is accounted for. That the outcome has been plotted and planned to the finest detail. And now as a perfectionist you’ve placed yourself in an industry where nothing can be predicted, no outcomes can be pre-defined. Every intangible can change in an instant and all your ideas are thrown out with baby and the bath water. Not only that - this is a tag team tournament, where every occurence of chance has just doubled. And you’re a perfectionist. How does this disorder make you feel?”

“Or is just a name. A moniker to try and sell yourself to the masses. A point of difference to stand out from the crowd. Well, brah, if that is the case then you are in a world of pain then aren’t you. Because you are just another of the vanilla generation, cut from the same mould, telling the same stories - just begging to be different. Begging for the world to notice you are something more than what you are. Problem is, when everyone is trying to do the same thing to be different everyone ends up being the same again. When you paint blue on blue you can’t tell the difference between the ocean and the sky. That’s you, the same as everyone else, you just THINK you’re different. That makes me feel sorry for you. But, not sorry enough for you that I will go easy on you. No, I will take this opportunity to show to you that you don’t need to stand out from the crowd. I will show that you do need to be different. You just need to be you - another opponent defeated by Spartan. Another one to ride the Revolution. Another to end the night staring at the lights.”

“People like you, PKA. They enter through the front door and pass out the back door before anyone has ever noticed they have entered the house. A few may get stuck in the kitchen and get to hang around a little longer making small talk with other small people. But in the end, you are gone and no one ever remembers you. That’s what will happen to you. You will be gone and you will be forgotten because you are forgettable. I don’t mean to sell you short, you probably have talent… but it’s nothing worth remembering. Your best chance is to try and do something different.”

“Problem is, you’re trying that. Problem is, you bought the same mass produced mould as everyone else that tried the same thing. “

“You can still change, PK. But the problem is there is something in Alpha Pro Wrestling blocking your path of change.”

“Me”

“Well not only me - Jaice and I are going make the next step in the tournament and we are going to do it by stepping over the defeated the bodies of PKA and El Muertos. It’s nothing personal. It just has to be done.”

“It’s nothing different.”

Spartan gets up and walks away.

---

“What do you mean it takes time!” Tristan Cross shouts down the phone he is currently holding to his right ear.

There is silence in the room as Cross listens intently to a voice on the other end of the phone. The words are unclear but the distinct tone of a female asserting her authority with a Russian accent can be heard.

“We have a deal!” Cross remains steadfast.

The distinct sound of a phone hanging up is heard. Cross looks angrily at the phone in his head before slamming it down on the floor. In an engineering miracle the phone doesn’t break as it bounces off to the side as Cross drives his right fist through the drywall in front of his face.

“ARRGH!” he screams in pure frustration, his face beetroot red.