Remember That.

Dante Jones was sitting in his office chair, looking out the glass window which watches out over the room that housed his business, The Gym. He was rocking on his chair with his feet on his desk and a pencil in his mouth as he always did when he was procrastinating completing paperwork He hated it, but thankfully, a necessary distraction opens the door to his chamber.

Tristan Cross walked into the room and slumped on the sofa that sat under the window which gave Jones a view into the Gym.

“Pretty sure I can go out of my own now, D?” says Cross as he breaks the silence. “This wrestling shit has really worked out for me.”

“I know.” Jones groans. “See ain’t go no one cleaning the floors overnight anymore.”

“I told ya it would only be temporary.” Cross speaks calmly and with gratefulness. “Thanks.”

“Don’t sweat it, T.” Jones just smiles. “But when are off my couch man?”

Cross leans forward from and rests his elbows on his knees. “When I get back from this show. Got an agent setting up a place.”

“Sweet! I get my favourite fucking spot back.” Dante laughs.

Cross just shakes his head and stands to leave. “Thanks, D. I mean it.”

Jones lets the feet of his chair his the floor as he removes his feet from his desk. “Hold up a minute.”

Cross stops with his hand on the door handle. “What’s up.”

Jones leans on the desk with a look of seriousness, “T, I want you to know - with everything that went down with Pen. I’m sorry. I’m sorry about your kids. I’m sorry about on the other side of the world. But your my best friend, well you and Q. We’re the Three Amigos of the Venice Gondoliers remember. We got your back always.”

“Yeh.” Cross casually interjects

“Where you heading out to this time?” Jones continues.

“Kentucky.”

“Kick some ass, bro. And I remember. Me and Q - we are always here.”

“I know, D, I know.”

“Love ya bro.” Jones throws out there as Cross turns the handle on the door and opens it to exit the office.

“You too, you too.” Cross answers back as he closes the door behind him.

---

“The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him.”

Spartan is sitting on a wooden stool in the middle of an otherwise empty warehouse, only the steel girders which are supporting the ceiling of his dilapidated are there keeping him company.

“Those are not my words, Road Dawg, but that of G.K Chesterton.”

He is wearing blue jeans, black boots and a black “Alpha Pro Hoodie.” with hood flicked back so that wrestling most glorious ginger beard is on full display.

“But I still felt they were most appropriate in this situation. I can’t sit here and say I hate you. I can’t make up false animosity just to drive a stake through your heart with verbal barbs sharper than the teeth of a great white shark. They would be lies and it just wouldn't sit right with me. And I’m not going to make a mockumentary KFC commercial just to reduce you to tears. That’s not my narrative.”

“Point being I’m not fighting you because I hate you Road Dawg, far from it. I’m fighting you because of what I have left behind. This ring wasn’t my first choice, but my circumstances have brought me here. And I have found out that I am pretty good at this shit. Sure, I don’t have thirty years of experience behind me - hell, I’ve barely got more than thirty days experience. Doesn’t matter when I think back to what I have lost - but not forgotten. It will never be forgotten. But will fight, because I have only ever stopped fighting once and I lost everything because of it.”

“I will not let that happen again.”

“Ever again.”

“And that’s why I am right here - waiting for you, Dawg. I respect your years in the business. Anyone that can last that long throwing punches, dishing out beatings and taking them back when the cards don’t fall their way has to be one tough hombre. And you to respect that toughness. But you don’t have to fear them, do you?”

“No, you don’t.”

“And I don’t fear you. In fact, if I am really being truthful - I have been counting off the days until I get to face between the ropes with the APW North American TItle on the line. From the moment, I threw Allen Anderson off the top of the cage in Japan right up until now. I have been counting time. Because when I step into that ring with you - because when that happens - I will have an unprecedented opportunity.”

“That opportunity?”

“To become the first multiple title holder in Alpha Pro. That’s history book stuff right there. Something to be proud of. Something to tell my children. And I’m sorry that you will be the one to succumb to my history. Especially, when you have fought and fought for little recognition of your entire career and kicking ass and taking names. I understand titles don’t make a man, Road Dawg. I really do.

“But, winning titles are a measurement of worth and come Supremacy - I will be taking the North American TItle from around your waist and putting it around mine.”

“No disrespect.”

“You earned the title when you won it back at Alpha Showdown, but the time has come for your reign to end at Supremacy. That might sound arrogant, and to a degree it is, but I have too much to lose not to defeat you. Remember, Road Dawg - I won’t stop fighting for something I want ever again.”

“Unfortunately, for you - I want to be North American Champion.”

“Sorry.”

Spartan stands up, turns around and throws the stool and slams the stool against the steel girder that he was sitting immediately next to, leaving only the two legs he was holding in his hands. He drops them to the ground and stands tall as he talks.

“Sorry. Well that was how I felt about having to defeat a bonafide veteran. That was until I heard the latest promo you through out last week. Sure, you’re a man of few words - I can dig that. Some people prefer weapons to words. That’s you. That’s cool. My problem with you - your complaining, your bitching, your moaning just because you weren’t selected to be in the contendership match on last week’s Metal.”

“Sure, we all wanted to be chosen for that slot. A chance to beat Smith Jones and put the big belt around our waists. But we don’t get out there and shed more tears than a Lindsay Lohan rehab tantrum do we? No. We go and earn our chances. You’ve been around for thirsty fucking years - you have to know nothing is handed to you on a silver platter.”

“I haven’t got everything I want.”

“But you don’t see my crying a fucking river about it, do you Road Dawg?”

“I go out and make the change. I go after what I want. I make the most of the opportunities that I am presented. That’s what I do.”

“That’s what you should’ve done too.”

Spartan crouches down.

“That little bitch fest though, that got me thinking. What has Road Dawg done as champion. Masuda, God rest his soul, pushed his own demented agenda. The Junior Heavyweight belt is fought over constantly and Wolf is out there making sure the Hardcore Title is one of the hottest products in all of wrestling, let alone Alpha Pro.”

“You, as North American Champion, you ride on your hog, throw a few punches and kicks in the wrestling ring and sometimes you win and sometimes you lose. Then you ride out on your hog. If someone blinked they probably even recognise you as the North American Champion.”

“That’s disrespectful.”

“You cry about not getting enough respect to be competing for the World Title, but you can’t even give respect to the title that you should feel privileged to be holding.”

“Simple.”

“So Simple, that when Supremacy comes around I will put you down with the Revolutionizer for the simple reason that a champion must respect the belt and a champion must respect the people. You have done none of that. Not even once.”

“You don’t deserve to be champion.”

“Road Dawg, you have to remember that respect is nothing that is handed out because of longevity. Nor is it something that is offered because of tantrums and feet stomping.”

“Respect is earned. Respect is gained through words and actions, it’s lost the same way. Whatever comes at Supremacy you brought on yourself through your own actions.”

“Remember that.”

Spartan stands up with one of the wooden legs in his hand and taps the steel girder to allow a ringing sound to echo throughout the empty space.

“At some point in time, no matter how long something stays standing time passes it by. Sure, anything can have a renaissance, a rebirth as such.But at the end of the day an old building covered in graffiti is still an old building covered in graffiti, even when the hipsters want to a new coffee shop. But when the fad has passed by - it’s just another empty shell - seen but ignored until it is demolished and replaced by something new.”

“Much like an old fighter with a title belt. Eventually someone takes that title and that surge in popularity is gone and said fighter is consigned to the annals of time.”

Spartan starts walking forward.

“Maybe you should remember that, too.”

---

He whistled as he walked.

Today was a great day for Tristan John Cross. He had worked hard at the gym he was sole proprietor of; The Muscle Factory. He had managed his early morning sessions where he pushed the corporate types harder than they wanted because they wanted to rid themselves of their soft bellies. In the morning, he walked the gym floor and liaised with the regulars and then at lunch time he sat and worked the finances. He had bought The Muscle Factory after moving to Australia. He was from California, but his wife, Penelope was Australian and after falling pregnant with their first child, Georgia, she wanted to be closer to her family for support. As a loving husband, he accepted the decision and graciously uprooted his life for her. He started the Muscle Factory from the ground up - building a solid clientele with a reputation for getting results through hard work and a positive attitude.

Today was a great day because the monthly bookkeeping and accounting was complete, because he was able to move all of tomorrow’s clients around to other days for this one off special occasion. Today was a great day because tomorrow was his daughter, Georgia, was going on her first excursion. She was going to the zoo. And when he got home today was he going to lift her up in arms and spin her in circles like a helicopter, and then he was going to tell her that ‘Daddy was going to the zoo with her tomorrow’. He could see her goes wide with happiness and the smile start cute and petite before stretching from ear to ear right now as the news processed through her mind.

Today was a great day.

Tristan enjoyed the fact he was able to walk between work and home, it wasn’t so much about the convenience but the ability to stay fresh mentally and keep his thoughts clear without having to deal with the grind that is maneuvering through traffic. As Tristan approached his property, he noticed a strange car parked in the street in front of neighbour’s house. He thought it was odd that they had visitors in the middle of the day, and then he thought nothing more of it. He continued on until he reached the little white gate in his low brick fence that opens inward to allow him to walk up his garden path to his front door.

As he neared his front door, the excitement flowing through his body reached a fever pitch - he could barely contain the energy as he got closer to telling Georgia his news. He pulled his keys out of his pocket and placed them in the front door lock, as he turned to open the door he had strange crashing and thumping sounds from inside his house. He shrugged and thought the kids were playing rough and tumble games. He almost waited for his wife to yell at them to calm down, before pushing the door open.

As the door opened onto his lounge room. Excitement turned to something else. He wasn’t quite sure in this second, but right now, time had stopped.

There was Penelope, the love of his life, on her knees, with her back to him, but most definitely naked with another man’s dick in her mouth.

Tristan was seen by his unwelcome house guest as he stood frozen in time at the front entrance way. The guest, also in his naked glory, tapped Penelope of the shoulder who stopped doing was she was doing. She slowly turned around and looked at Tristan, her husband, with the look of disbelief. Tristan opened his mouth but not words would come out, they too were frozen someplace else with the rest of his body.

Penelope stood up, the sumptuous curves of her body and ample bosom on full display, as was the neatly-trimmed ginger pubic hair of her vagina. She stood next to the guest, whose raging boner was rather small, but he had tried to make his penis appear bigger by removing all pubic hair from his body.

Tristan twitched. His mind had started to move again and he wondered why he was starting at this strange man’s dick and why this same strange man felt the need to shave all of his pubes off. He shook his head in disbelief.

Then it came.

Like the first wave of tsunami, completely unexpected, rage wash through his body. Tristan Cross could not control it.

He surged forward and tackled the stranger with the force of a linebacker sending him backwards into and through the glass doors of a display cabinet. Cross grabbed him again and lifted him off his feet before slamming him furiously into the tiled floor. Cross mounted the naked man and started punching with an animalistic intensity. Each punch causing more damage to the face of their victim.In between blows, the recipient was murmuring in pain and begging Cross to stop the assault, but Cross with ina trance overtaken by powers he could not control nor understand.

Only moments had passed, but time was immaterial to Cross right now. He just wanted to rid the body of what he felt and this man that was naked and pinned underneath him, this man who had caused his feelings he was no experiencing, he wanted him to suffer the same experience. Tristan’s punches had caused a nose lips to bleed, eyes to blacken and lips to split. It wasn’t enough for the animal, he grabbed the head of this man underneath and started slamming the back of it against the tiled floor.

That’s when he felt something climb onto his back. He didn’t know what it was in this moment of consumption but he reached around and swatted it away like a fly. It was his wife, she had tried to stop his vicious beating, but he had tossed her away and she went flying across the floor and crashed into the cabinet with the broken glass doors. Her back, arms and face were cut by the broken glass and collision.

Tidal wave and tidal wave of rage flowed out of his body as he slammed his head into the floor.

“Daddy!?” came the gentle murmur of a young girls voice.

Georgia’s voice broke whatever curse had taken hold of him, as he stood in the hallway door looking into the lounge room. He stopped and surveyed the damage. He realised this had been caused by his own hand. He tried to make his way over to his wife on hands and knees.

“Get Out!” she mustered with whispered anger unable to raise her voice much more than that.

Tristan slowly rose to his feet and backed away towards the front door of the house. He looked at his door and stopped moving, but them he looked at his wife and she had raised her arm was pointing at the front door.

“Get OUT!” she screamed with everything she had.

Tristan backed out the front door and down the garden path towards the little white gate in the low brick fence.

His daughter, Georgia, had ran to the front door of the house and was looking at him as he backed out onto the street.

Her mother pulled back inside as she screamed “DADDY!”