Yes, It REALLY Says That.
Aug 11, 2019 22:59:08 GMT -5
via mobile
BonnieBlue, Allen Anderson, and 1 more like this
Post by Jaice Wilds on Aug 11, 2019 22:59:08 GMT -5
Jaice steps out of the terminal, his carry-on slung over his shoulder. He seems concerned as a familiar face walks up, tilting his head in an effort to get Wilds' attention.
Damien Kaine:
Earth to Jaice? Welcome to Vancouver!
Wilds looks up, almost shocked out of a trance. He gazes blankly into Damien's face, Kaine looking worried.
Damien Kaine:
Dayum. This must be serious if you're this far gone… Come on. Let's get you to my hotel.
Kaine helps Jaice with his bags, heading for the parking deck. A few hours later, Damien and Wilds sit on opposing beds, Kaine raising his brows and scratching his temple.
Damien Kaine:
Well, shit. I knew y'all were active; I didn't think you were going in raw...
Wilds looks up, almost flabbergasted.
Jaice Wilds:
That's what your takeaway is?? I'm about to be a father, and your only thought is "wow, she let you hit without a rubber"? Fuck!
Kaine stands, taking a step toward Wilds. He bends at the knee, placing a hand on Jaice's shoulder.
Damien Kaine:
Your real issue isn't being a dad, Jaice. So, yeah. That's my takeaway. Unless you wanna be real about what you're so afraid of.
Wilds looks up, shaking his head. He stands, pacing towards the window. He looks out, a deep sigh.
Jaice Wilds:
What if I'm no good as a dad? What if… what if this kid needs me to be something I'm not able to be for him? What if… what if I'm a bad father figure to my own son??
Damien lifts himself up, walking over to the mini-fridge. He grabs a pair of glasses, pours two shots of vodka and passes one to his brother-in-arms.
Damien Kaine:
The fact that you're worried about it tells me you're gonna be fine. Look; when Alli told me she was having my kid, I was freaked, too. But the thing is: if you do your best by your child, always put him above yourself? You're doing a good job. Yeah, you're gonna stumble. And there will be times when you second guess yourself, worrying if you've failed. But you lean on Kenz, keep your family first, and you'll be absolutely fine.
Kaine raises his glass. Wilds inhales deeply, turning to his closest friend before sighing. He raises his own glass, the clink sounding a toast to fatherhood. A quick gulp later, they sit back down to discuss their respective paths to fatherhood. Wilds shares images from Kennedy's sonograms as Kaine brings out pictures of his little girl.
------------------------
The following is a letter addressed to Masuda Jubei, Allen Anderson and Smith Jones; intercepted and published to the Alpha Pro Wrestling website.
It's almost exhausting being so definitively correct this often. Three formidable opponents, two triple threat matches, one inevitable outcome.
If I didn't have the vast level of experience over my opposition, I would almost feel like an Oracle. However; it only stands to reason that a decade of battling virtually every size and style of combatant has prepared me for whatever the industry has to throw at me. And since a majority of these men and women are relative newcomers to the sport, they can only hope to survive long enough in the ring with me when the time comes.
This week, however; I face a man with a bit of experience under his World Title belt. Belated congratulations are in order, Masuda. While I was defeated by a group of men and women bent on making a name for themselves, you were celebrating the defeat of Braxton Locus to become Alpha Pro's first official World Champion. A fine opponent and a definitive victory for you. This week, you stand across the ring from the proverbial measuring stick of the business and your first challenge to the World Title.
Even for a man like you, this has to be intimidating. Surely, either one of us would be a formidable opponent to square off with. But myself and Smith Jones teamed up together, across the ring from yourself and… of all people… Allen Anderson... let's call a spade a spade, here. Smitty has shown himself pretty damned capable thus far, and I couldn't be happier with management giving me a talented fighter to tag up with.
I will give you this, Master Jubei: I respect you. You have a level of skill and discipline unmatched by many in the business today, not just Alpha Pro. If I was to have made the predictions before Showdown, I would have named you as the preeminent title carrier. But make no mistake; this week is the first step on my path to becoming a World Champion in my own right. So, with all due respect: I will unleash hell on both yourself and your partner as a means to place myself closer to the front of the line. I look forward to facing you this week, and perhaps later on down the road when the title is on the line.
As far as the mongrel Allen Anderson is concerned; I have nothing but disdain for your very existence in this company. I called your punk ass out when you decided to whine like a child over your elimination at Alpha Showdown, and what did you do in response? You continued to whine, and bitch, and moan; until you could no longer separate the immature spoiled brat from your overall persona. At no point have you owned up to the fact that you were pinned clean in a match with no rules; and even worse is your actions when you finally allowed your balls to drop.
You attacked me.
From behind.
With a steel chair.
I don't know if you're uneducated about my past or simply delusional, boy. But allow me to explain what happens to a hardcore icon when you draw blood.
First, the blood flows out from the veins, down my face. Then it drips before my eyes, literally causing me to see red. It is at this point where things get complicated. You see, when a man of my style and experience sees red, the adrenaline starts pumping wildly through my veins. My mind goes blank, allowing my most primitive of instincts to kick in. And when you combine an adrenaline rush with unbridled primitive rage…
Well, let me put it this way: you wouldn't be the first man I've benched.
The least of men, certainly. But not the first.
Allen, you have- in the very definition of the terminology- "fucked up". You have released certain demons that I have, to date, kept under lock and key for the safety of my coworkers. You have allowed the beast within to become unhinged, and have painted a proverbial target on yourself for it to prey upon.
You are a dead man in every sense besides the literal, and to presume you are safe from a trip to the grave at my hands is a very bold prediction. This week, and every week until I have exacted every inch of vengeance for your cowardly attack, I will make your life a living hell.
Watch your back, boy. You are entirely unsafe until I say otherwise… And there is a reckoning of Rapture levels in store for you until then.
The Final General will see you both at Metal.
Prepare Thy Anus.
-------------------------
There is a large bit of commotion about the medical area. Irina Ivanova places a hand on Wilds' shoulder, shaking her head.
Irina Ivanova:
I don't care who he thinks he knows. Anderson has gone too far this time. I'm filing for his suspension immedia...
Jaice reaches up, touching Irina's hand. She stops, Wilds shaking his head as he grins.
Jaice Wilds:
I appreciate the concern, Irina. But when you're an icon of ultraviolence, this kind of thing is par for the course. Don't give him the satisfaction of running from the consequences; make him stand up and face the music.
Irina's brow furrows, a concerned look crossing her face.
Irina Ivanova:
If you're absolutely certain; I'll try to find another suitable punishment. But I'm warning you now, Wilds. While I condone your penchant for justice, I will not allow my roster to turn my show into a goddamn warzone.
Jaice Wilds:
No tanks. Noted.
Irina holds an index finger up in protest, but then sighs as she catches the sarcasm. She shakes her head, heading out the door. Kennedy Matthews whisks in, running up to Jaice and throwing her arms around him.
Kennedy Matthews:
Omigawd. That Neanderthal nearly killed you out there… how the hell am I supposed to raise our child if a mindless brute like that puts you in a wheelchair… or worse?!?!
Wilds pulls her away a bit, staring into her eyes. Kennedy is a bit taken aback by the grin on his face, tilting her head a bit as he responds.
Jaice Wilds:
Kenz. I am the unequalled GOD of hardcore wrestling. I've been through far worse than this by much more accomplished men. He spilled blood; that's nothing more than a minor flesh wound to me. By the time I'm finished with this wannabe badass trying to ride my coattails into relevancy; I'll make sure he's so mentally broken that he forgets his own goddamn name.
Kennedy sighs, placing a kiss on her beau's cheek. She steps back, a deep breath.
Kennedy Matthews:
Don't get yourself killed trying to be Simon Kalis. You call yourself the Final General, but you're not him… you won't come back from a gunshot.
Jaice laughs, shaking his head.
Jaice Wilds:
I'm finishing this inside the ring. No bullets; only my weapons of ass destruction.
Jaice motions to his barbed-wire embossed boots, Kennedy shaking her head. She kisses his forehead, pacing out of the room. Wilds looks into the mirror; a few spots of dried blood still remaining on his face. He grins darkly, beginning to chuckle as he slides off the examining table and walks out of the room.
Damien Kaine:
Earth to Jaice? Welcome to Vancouver!
Wilds looks up, almost shocked out of a trance. He gazes blankly into Damien's face, Kaine looking worried.
Damien Kaine:
Dayum. This must be serious if you're this far gone… Come on. Let's get you to my hotel.
Kaine helps Jaice with his bags, heading for the parking deck. A few hours later, Damien and Wilds sit on opposing beds, Kaine raising his brows and scratching his temple.
Damien Kaine:
Well, shit. I knew y'all were active; I didn't think you were going in raw...
Wilds looks up, almost flabbergasted.
Jaice Wilds:
That's what your takeaway is?? I'm about to be a father, and your only thought is "wow, she let you hit without a rubber"? Fuck!
Kaine stands, taking a step toward Wilds. He bends at the knee, placing a hand on Jaice's shoulder.
Damien Kaine:
Your real issue isn't being a dad, Jaice. So, yeah. That's my takeaway. Unless you wanna be real about what you're so afraid of.
Wilds looks up, shaking his head. He stands, pacing towards the window. He looks out, a deep sigh.
Jaice Wilds:
What if I'm no good as a dad? What if… what if this kid needs me to be something I'm not able to be for him? What if… what if I'm a bad father figure to my own son??
Damien lifts himself up, walking over to the mini-fridge. He grabs a pair of glasses, pours two shots of vodka and passes one to his brother-in-arms.
Damien Kaine:
The fact that you're worried about it tells me you're gonna be fine. Look; when Alli told me she was having my kid, I was freaked, too. But the thing is: if you do your best by your child, always put him above yourself? You're doing a good job. Yeah, you're gonna stumble. And there will be times when you second guess yourself, worrying if you've failed. But you lean on Kenz, keep your family first, and you'll be absolutely fine.
Kaine raises his glass. Wilds inhales deeply, turning to his closest friend before sighing. He raises his own glass, the clink sounding a toast to fatherhood. A quick gulp later, they sit back down to discuss their respective paths to fatherhood. Wilds shares images from Kennedy's sonograms as Kaine brings out pictures of his little girl.
------------------------
The following is a letter addressed to Masuda Jubei, Allen Anderson and Smith Jones; intercepted and published to the Alpha Pro Wrestling website.
It's almost exhausting being so definitively correct this often. Three formidable opponents, two triple threat matches, one inevitable outcome.
If I didn't have the vast level of experience over my opposition, I would almost feel like an Oracle. However; it only stands to reason that a decade of battling virtually every size and style of combatant has prepared me for whatever the industry has to throw at me. And since a majority of these men and women are relative newcomers to the sport, they can only hope to survive long enough in the ring with me when the time comes.
This week, however; I face a man with a bit of experience under his World Title belt. Belated congratulations are in order, Masuda. While I was defeated by a group of men and women bent on making a name for themselves, you were celebrating the defeat of Braxton Locus to become Alpha Pro's first official World Champion. A fine opponent and a definitive victory for you. This week, you stand across the ring from the proverbial measuring stick of the business and your first challenge to the World Title.
Even for a man like you, this has to be intimidating. Surely, either one of us would be a formidable opponent to square off with. But myself and Smith Jones teamed up together, across the ring from yourself and… of all people… Allen Anderson... let's call a spade a spade, here. Smitty has shown himself pretty damned capable thus far, and I couldn't be happier with management giving me a talented fighter to tag up with.
I will give you this, Master Jubei: I respect you. You have a level of skill and discipline unmatched by many in the business today, not just Alpha Pro. If I was to have made the predictions before Showdown, I would have named you as the preeminent title carrier. But make no mistake; this week is the first step on my path to becoming a World Champion in my own right. So, with all due respect: I will unleash hell on both yourself and your partner as a means to place myself closer to the front of the line. I look forward to facing you this week, and perhaps later on down the road when the title is on the line.
As far as the mongrel Allen Anderson is concerned; I have nothing but disdain for your very existence in this company. I called your punk ass out when you decided to whine like a child over your elimination at Alpha Showdown, and what did you do in response? You continued to whine, and bitch, and moan; until you could no longer separate the immature spoiled brat from your overall persona. At no point have you owned up to the fact that you were pinned clean in a match with no rules; and even worse is your actions when you finally allowed your balls to drop.
You attacked me.
From behind.
With a steel chair.
I don't know if you're uneducated about my past or simply delusional, boy. But allow me to explain what happens to a hardcore icon when you draw blood.
First, the blood flows out from the veins, down my face. Then it drips before my eyes, literally causing me to see red. It is at this point where things get complicated. You see, when a man of my style and experience sees red, the adrenaline starts pumping wildly through my veins. My mind goes blank, allowing my most primitive of instincts to kick in. And when you combine an adrenaline rush with unbridled primitive rage…
Well, let me put it this way: you wouldn't be the first man I've benched.
The least of men, certainly. But not the first.
Allen, you have- in the very definition of the terminology- "fucked up". You have released certain demons that I have, to date, kept under lock and key for the safety of my coworkers. You have allowed the beast within to become unhinged, and have painted a proverbial target on yourself for it to prey upon.
You are a dead man in every sense besides the literal, and to presume you are safe from a trip to the grave at my hands is a very bold prediction. This week, and every week until I have exacted every inch of vengeance for your cowardly attack, I will make your life a living hell.
Watch your back, boy. You are entirely unsafe until I say otherwise… And there is a reckoning of Rapture levels in store for you until then.
The Final General will see you both at Metal.
Prepare Thy Anus.
-------------------------
There is a large bit of commotion about the medical area. Irina Ivanova places a hand on Wilds' shoulder, shaking her head.
Irina Ivanova:
I don't care who he thinks he knows. Anderson has gone too far this time. I'm filing for his suspension immedia...
Jaice reaches up, touching Irina's hand. She stops, Wilds shaking his head as he grins.
Jaice Wilds:
I appreciate the concern, Irina. But when you're an icon of ultraviolence, this kind of thing is par for the course. Don't give him the satisfaction of running from the consequences; make him stand up and face the music.
Irina's brow furrows, a concerned look crossing her face.
Irina Ivanova:
If you're absolutely certain; I'll try to find another suitable punishment. But I'm warning you now, Wilds. While I condone your penchant for justice, I will not allow my roster to turn my show into a goddamn warzone.
Jaice Wilds:
No tanks. Noted.
Irina holds an index finger up in protest, but then sighs as she catches the sarcasm. She shakes her head, heading out the door. Kennedy Matthews whisks in, running up to Jaice and throwing her arms around him.
Kennedy Matthews:
Omigawd. That Neanderthal nearly killed you out there… how the hell am I supposed to raise our child if a mindless brute like that puts you in a wheelchair… or worse?!?!
Wilds pulls her away a bit, staring into her eyes. Kennedy is a bit taken aback by the grin on his face, tilting her head a bit as he responds.
Jaice Wilds:
Kenz. I am the unequalled GOD of hardcore wrestling. I've been through far worse than this by much more accomplished men. He spilled blood; that's nothing more than a minor flesh wound to me. By the time I'm finished with this wannabe badass trying to ride my coattails into relevancy; I'll make sure he's so mentally broken that he forgets his own goddamn name.
Kennedy sighs, placing a kiss on her beau's cheek. She steps back, a deep breath.
Kennedy Matthews:
Don't get yourself killed trying to be Simon Kalis. You call yourself the Final General, but you're not him… you won't come back from a gunshot.
Jaice laughs, shaking his head.
Jaice Wilds:
I'm finishing this inside the ring. No bullets; only my weapons of ass destruction.
Jaice motions to his barbed-wire embossed boots, Kennedy shaking her head. She kisses his forehead, pacing out of the room. Wilds looks into the mirror; a few spots of dried blood still remaining on his face. He grins darkly, beginning to chuckle as he slides off the examining table and walks out of the room.
