Adams vs Alexander vs James vs Cassidy vs Wayne vs Stoner

You know, people like to talk about ambition. People like to lay claim to accolades. They like to believe that becoming a champion; even having the opportunity to become one open up to them, is an indication of their prestige. Of their name being elevated and put up in the lights. Of the metaphorical rocket being strapped to them as they go -to the moon-.

When in reality, that isn't the case at all.

Oh no.

Sorry to burst your little bubble, but all it shows is the lack of identity you truly have. See, you can claim that it is the gold. The glory. The fame that defines us. That makes us who we are, when that couldn't be any further from the truth.

Yet if you wish to believe that. If you wish to hold onto that fragment of glass as it cuts deep inside of you. Encasing itself with your blood, then I'm not going to stop you. It's your creed; your means of allowing the walls to cave in around you.

Your shield as it all shatters into pieces, leaving you in its wake. Protected by nothing but the bubble you have crafted for yourself.
---

I sit atop a lime green beanbag within the living room of the apartment I rented out for myself and Bianca to reside in for the duration of our time here in Manchester. Well, us more specifically --- Chilli and obviously Lucina are with us. Whilst we plan on travelling between here and Auburn, we figured it would be best to at least have -some- of our accessories and funiture here. Makes it easier when we do fly in as well.

So, why do this instead of simply staying in a hotel, if we're gonna be dividing our time? Well, if you know me well --- or even at all, you'd know I'm not somebody to stay in hotels. It's just not my style, plus --- apartments have more of an -intimate- compontent inherant to them. A more modest aspect to them as well.

Believe me though, just like a lot of things --- if it were up to Bianca, we'd likely be in a lavish, 5 star hotel. Just like most of the other talents are. Yet she also realises that I'm somebody who is very modest. Very much a -this is who I am; this is where I came from- sort of person, who doesn't see the need in luxeries beyond what is necessary. It's how I was raised. It's what I know best. It's what suits me.

Smiling over at Bianca as she glances down at her phone, I then grab my bottle of Dare Double Espresso iced coffee, unscrewing the lid before taking a swig. Allowing myself to savor the refreshing taste as it flows down my throat. It's the simple things in life like this, that always bring a smile to my face.

"Babe,"

Returning my glance to Bianca, she gazes over at me, a gentle smile on her own face.

'Yeah?'

I clear my throat, trying to remember what it is I wanted to ask her. Though, judging by her expression, she suspects that it may have just been me trying to get her attention.

After all, it's something we're both known for. Between ourselves, anyways. Both in public and in private. Yet that is not the purpose of this discourse.

"Did you remember to drop the forms off when we arrived?"

She looks at me, slightly confused as to which forms I'm talking about, before I slightly raise my eyebrows as a way to jog her memory. It is then that she -thinks- she remembers and nods her head.

'Yeah. Dropped them off at the post office. They said they should be posted within 3 days.'

"Alright, good. They said they needed them by the end of the month. So, we have time."

She then shakes her head at me, realising that my comments to her about them being an urgent manner were a ploy. A means to ensure that she did it sooner rather than later. A soft laughter then follows.

'You devil.'

I simply shrug.

"Hey, at least it's done."

She smirks, nodding.

'Yeah.'
---

For you see, it is that bubble that allows you to hold your beliefs. To manufacture whatever you so desire. To an extent, it is a bubble we all have surrounding us. It is something that resides within us all; enables us to block out the reality that surrounds us.

For as much as people can claim their -truth-. As much as people can state that their reality is the one that shall shine through, they know that it couldn't be further from the actual truth.

That what might be known to them, is not as such to those around them. Hence why they feel the need to convince themselves. To repeatedly hammer home to those around them. Or to anyone who will give them an audience, that they are this superior being.

That the accolades.

The glory.

The acclaim.

Will all belong to them when the smoke clears. Yet they don't believe that themselves. For if they -did- truly believe it. If they truly understood it to be truthful, they wouldn't need to state a single word to reinforce it. It would be known and acknowleged by those around them.

Yet it isn't.

And that festers within them. Eating away at their mind. Their own prison within their souls, waiting for the moment when their anguish. They misery and agony can all come to an end. Yet that bliss never reaches them. They are left in a prepetual state of frustration. Of anger that it is all falling apart. That their claims radiate within them, as if they were an echo.

A constant reminder of the torture they must internally confront.

A road that I have wandered down; a road that helped me realise that the only person I was -truly- attempting to convince. The -only- person I was trying to plead to with my previous mentality. With my previous words, was myself.

It was then, that I became truly liberated. It was then that I understood the gravity of it all. The solemn truth that encapsulates us all.

So, what is that truth?
---

Slowly pushing myself up from the beanbag, I slightly groan as I feel my back tweak. A by-product of scoliosis plus years of wear and tear. Both inside and outside of the ring. I've often joked that I'm 32 with the body of a 60 year old --- though that is a tad of an exaggeration. It's probably closer to a 50 year old's body if we're being real.

Either way, I'm not the athlete I had been in high-school or my earlier wrestling career. That much is for certain.

Yet I don't need to be.

To me, as long as I can walk. As long as I can still do the tasks that are required. Both professionally and privately, that is all that matters. For as bad as I might have it. As worn down as I might be, there are those who have it worse off. There are those who would kill to be in my position. I should know, 12 year old me would kill to be in this position.

Hell, even 16 year old me would. It's just a part of life.

At one point or another, the little green bug of envy and jealousy has bitten us all. Even if you wish to deny it, you know it's the truth. And that's okay. As I said, it happens to all of us.

What matters most though, is how we go about handling it and putting ourselves in position to become what we desire. To achieve the status we felt we deserved. Well, not entirely deserved but more so held -ambition- of achieving.

That is what I did.

I didn't just sit back and wallow in self-pity like so many did. I didn't cry and claim it was unfair they were in those positions. I went out there and made sure that -I- would be in that very same position. I made sure that it would be me in their shoes. Yet there are many who cannot claim the status. Whether it be through their own designs or situations outside of their control.

It is those people who I strive to help. That I desire to open up doors that they may not have otherwise been able to reach, through Adams Enterprises. Through my work within the community outside of the ring.

For it is them who shall be the shepards. The -next generation- that we so often hear about. Or in some cases, those who the system have forgotten about. Shunted off to one side. They are the ones who need assistance. Guidence the most --- and at one point, I was one of them.

I know what it's like to be trapped in a system that treats you as just another name. A system where you have been taken away from your family, regardless of the circumstances. The rationale they had at the time.

But that's a story for another time, as right now, I have made my way into the hallway of the apartment --- headed towards the kitchen in order to help Bianca with preparing dinner. Though before then, I'm going to make a pit stop into our 'office', as I had promised Sheridan Kinsley that I would call her when we arrived to discuss a few things.

Mostly surrounding her farm, but also about her potential contract with AXB magazine as a model/host. Pivoting right, I pull out my phone as I enter the office, scrolling through my contacts until I reach *Sheridan K*, closing the door behind me.
---

That is a question that one must answer for themselves. Take an introspective look within themselves in order to find the answer. For it is them; them alone who knows it. It is their search, much like it was my search.

Nobody else can answer it for them. No other person holds their reality in their hands, as much as they may have allowed themselves to believe. No matter how far down the rabbit hole they find themselves. That is what they must learn.

It is that reality. That truth that shall liberate them. That shall make them understand that it is them that molds their accolades. It is them that makes their acclaim and not the other way around.

Yet they must also wish to understand that.

They must be willing to open their eyes and realise that within the shrine. Within the passage of themselves, the flames are merely their own design. Their own lust. Their own greed, manifested before them.

For the 5 that have been chosen. The 5 little soldiers that have had their names called, must confront what it is they fear most if they are to free themselves. If they are to transverse the passage that awaits them.

For to them, the glory and fame is their endgame. The desire to be champion, or at least have a window to become one is what motivates them. It is their primary desire. Yet it is what shall lead to their own solitude. Their own demise.
---

"Yeah, I'll see if I can book you a flight here."

I state, answering Sheridan's question on whether she can come and discuss more of the details in person, as it would be easier for her to explain some of the more -legally-oriented- components of the contract face to face. Sure, we could easily do it over zoom or e-mail, but it gives her a means to travel again.

Something she hasn't been able to do since 2019, for obvious reasons. Or COVID-19 restrictions if you wanted it defined. It's why I had to jump through hoops to attain the travel arrangements I have in place.

"Alright. The offer is there if you want it though."

Replying to her statement about being okay when it comes to arranging a flight, I softly laugh to myself before exhaling. It's the least I can so for her, seeing as I know she's been having a bit of financial issues herself. What with the stress of being a parent and all, as well as preparing to buy a new home.

"Nah, everything's okay here. Just thinking."

I calmly remark, as she had heard my sigh and assumed something was wrong. Which is natural. I've made the same assumptions myself when talking to people on the phone. Especially when discussing subjects that provoke such thoughts.

"Nah, it's fine."

Pondering the discourse so far, I hear Bianca's footsteps outside the hallway, as the door swings open; she peers in. Probably because she knew I was gonna help with dinner and wanted to know what was taking so long. I slightly pull the phone from my ear as I nod towards her.

"I'll be there shortly hun. Just talking to Sheridan."

'Oh, alright. Tell her I said hello.'

I gently nod as she closes the door and begins to make her way back to the kitchen.

"It was just Bianca. Supposed to be helping her with dinner (laughter). She said to say hello."

I remark after putting the phone back to my ear, as Sheridan had enquired about who I was talking to. Though she knew it probably was indeed Bianca.

"Will do."
---

They are the ones who brought this upon themselves, even if they are too blind to see beyond the wool. Even if their own feeble husks cannot truly comprehend it. For they have allowed their passage to become blinded. Fragmented by the supposed -ambition- they hold.

Yet all it is, is masking their own lack of belief. Their inability to truly claim any convictions. That is why they engage. That is why they feel like the only fibre they can hold, is that of a championship.

Failing to understand that it is the one who holds the title that defines the legacy of said title. Not the artibrary prestige slapped on it by those who crafted it. Who simply slotted it into whatever crack they saw fit.

They refuse to see beyond the surface, for the surface is all they have known. And it is that very same surface that strangles them. That leaves them to burn within the mire as the poison filters through their body.

As they allow it to submerge them in the belief that it shall lead them to their goals.

Futilely.

Whereas to me, the supposed -key- to success is merely another cog. Another piece, ready to be fitted snuggly within the grander puzzle. It is merely a portion of the phase; -not- the endgame. I am uninhibited by what it claims to hold. I do not need the glory. The acclaim.

Yet that doesn't mean I don't desire it. For each piece, leads us closer to what the industry desires. Each cog fuels the machine as it churns. As it purges the poison from the industry.
---

I slightly look down at my phone, having wrapped up the call with Sheridan; make a mental note of an unread message from Imogen. More like a reminder to send her the details for the mission I have sent her on. A mission that is irrelevant and a -need to know- sort of deal. For now at least. As such, I am not at liberty to divulge any information aside from those who are in the know. Those who are assigned to the mission.

My famed half-smirk creeping across my face, I place my phone back in my pocket as I open the door to the office; walk back into the hallway. My thoughts a blend of the mission, the discourse with Sheridan and the task that awaits me at KKND. A task, that as I have stated --- is merely a singular piece of the overarching puzzle.

"Soon, it will be all before their eyes."

I remark as I calmly make my way towards the kitchen, smelling the basil garnish that Bianca has been making for us to marinate the chicken wings.

"When it is, they will -finally- understand that it has all been right in front of their eyes."

My words cryptic, I let a slightly sinister laughter leave my lips before pivoting left and entering the kitchen.
---

The time is nigh. Their final hours await them, yet they choose to resist. They choose to pretend that their path is the chosen one. That to them, this is just a rite of passage. A means to the end. That is ultimately why they shall burn. That is why they are merely sheep in wolves clothing.

Being led to a slaughter they could never truly prepare for. The wheels are in motion, much as they were for Alexander Drake and the hands of fate await them as the next cog is fitted upon the machine.

Krush, Kill and Destroy is an apt name for the calling, as all 5 of them shall realise -precisely- what those very words entail. And I am the one who shall bring about their deliverance.

I'll see you all there.

Just remember, this is not my endgame.

This is merely the next phase.

And for you, that means those chains. That cell you feel around you, shall be your final breath.

END.

Bob: Well I guess I must have said something to ruffle a few feathers, or maybe, just maybe it's that you lot recognize the real talent around here. Why else would everyone and their mamma come after us? Every ten minutes there's someone else in my office and there's not a single one of them with a good reason to be there.





Bob: Since I can't trust anyone around here other than these two to do their actual jobs we moved up here, to the Queen's private box. Don't worry Liz, if you feel like shuffling on down here to put in an appearance we'll make room for ya.





Bob: So I'm sure each and every one of you knuckle-headed peons is asking yourself exactly how we got in here, well isn't that obvious? We used the key. Seems like keys these days are all the rage in IIW. After all it was a key that found it's way into MY office door that made off with the IIW World Tag Team Championships. And make no mistake, those belts my be missing from around their wastes, but these men are STILL the World Tag Team Champions. If you wanna keep count that's one title down.



But wait, that very same key at that very same time unlocked ten percent of the ownership of this building and everything inside. That includes all the keys. Keys like the one that unlocked the door to this nice quite suite. There's no big desk but it does have a nice antique dining table so that'll have to do to replace the desk that the James Gang ruined.



Don't think for a second I've forgot about what you bunch did to my office, James Gang. You don't just walk into my office and trash the place and think you've pulled one over on The Establishment. You said you sent a message, well message received. Now everyone in IIW knows you're a gang of fucking cowards. Not just cowards, but cowards of the lowest variety, ones struck down by stupidity. After all what kind of coward trashes an already trashed office when no one's inside it? Jesse James you talk about being tough and showing your gang you're a leader and how you can't show any weakness, but what about the weakness of attacking inanimate objects? What does it tell your gang when you pick weak targets to attack with no reward? You think that makes you the top of the heap tough guy? You're not some street wise tough guy, you just play one on TV.



Speaking of tough guys, there's you Russell Wayne. Out of everyone in this match, you're the only one that really could put up a fight, lucky for you there's two keys in the match so I highly doubt you'll walk away empty handed. Now if it was between you and Blade then I don't like your chances. Sure you're tough as they come. You're a card-carrying badass former special ops CIA spook. A real life James Bond type, but you see so's that man right there...





Bob: That man right there is a true to life war hero. He was asked to join the FFL, so you know he's as badass as they come, and by the way James Gang, despite all that he's still a man that's crawled out of the gutters, fought his way out only to be pushed back in and fought his way out once again. Lucky for each and every one of you this man isn't in the match, with his temper he's liable to destroy all of you and take both keys because he's not going to put up with any of your bullshit, but he's not. My point is that he's spent untold hours over the last few years now training with this man...





Bob: Point is, Russell Wayne and everyone else in this match, there's nothing you can throw at Blade that he's not seen and isn't ready for. In fact Wayne, you've spent several years out of the ring, and ring rust ain’t nothing. Meanwhile Blade has been training with the few people in this business just as bad ass as you, and while you've been buried under rubble he's been travelling the globe gaining the few bits of experience that growing up in this business couldn't teach.



Stoner and Hale Cassidy for now I'm grouping the two of you together. Stoner you have the edge. Most other guys have serious problems when the get hit in the head by a ladder, but I doubt you'll even notice, then again you'll be hard pressed to remember the point of the match in the first place. As for you Hale Cassidy, you got a lot of stupid nicknames and a girlfriend who looks like she could be your sister, and I'll leave it at that.



But Scotty Adams, there's no way I couldn't mention you, you fucking idiot. That self righteous look, that smug know it all shit eating grin, and we all know you eat shit by just how much of it came out of your mouth. Oh, everyone is out here lying to themselves about how good they are until they have to face facts in the ring with you, you fucking savant.



You ever heard the expression “It's better to remain silent and be thought an idiot then to open your mouth and remove all doubt”? After having to sit through the entirety of your promo that should force-ably by your new mantra. You think I'm out here crafting some “reality” for Blade Alexander to exist in? He's unbeaten inside an IIW ring. He's a Tag Team Champion, one half of a team that's so unbeatable that the guy who owns the place is trying to strip the champions of their titles because he's unable to find another team worth challenging them. That's the reality you exist in. I don't have to craft that, it's already been made. I'm just here telling your dumb ass about it so you can have some concept of the reality that you're stepping into at KKND, and in a match with a guy literally named Stoner, your the most unable to understand what situation you're in.



I'm not here to tell you the great heights Blade Alexander is going to, that for all to see and hear. I'm here to tell you the kind of trouble that you and everyone else are going to have being in the same ring as him because it makes all the people there at home want to log into Netflix live when it happens and not miss a beat and watch the show. That's what we do Scotty, we don't craft “false narratives”, we promote. People like myself or Russell Wayne and ever the James Gang talk about what we're gonna do and how bad it's going to go for the other people in the match so that all the little people at home or on their way to work or sitting in some waiting room somewhere or wherever they are in life can hear what we're saying and want to watch the thing we're talking about.



You're what happens when a stupid person thinks they're smart Scotty Adams. You take a long, roundabout way to say the plain and obvious or in your case once you wade through all the shit that came spewing out of your mouth the fact that deep down you know you're not even the second best guy in the match. Cause that's what it really is. Its not five delusional souls led astray or any of that. It's a couple of grown men, a wanna be cowboy, a middle schooler, a pot head and a dimwit prophet trying to climb a ladder to grab a key.



And who knows more about keys in IIW these days than me? After all it was a key that opened a door and turned the main event of this little thing from some tournament final into what everyone wanted to see from day one, a World Championship match. Now let's not kid ourselves. That's what we all wanted. That's what every man in this match is after. They want a key to a shot at the World Heavyweight Championship. There's two keys in play, but only one is going to unlock that shot. First man to the top of the ladder gets the first key, but the first guy to turn that key gets a shot, the second can only claim a shot at second best, and as of right now...





Bob: That's right. You ask yourselves why would The Commander with me in his corner ever lose to a scrub like Anthony Phoenix? When he's got nothing to gain that's why. Osh Vaughn thought he pulled a fast one by letting every shit head in a hundred mile radius into my office, but he didn't even bother grabbing everything on the way through.



He might have had his nephew steal the Tag Title belts, but these men are still the champions, and speaking of still champions, The Commander since he's come under my wing has proved himself and won the International title, that's the next best thing to the World Championship for all you new kids, and he's never lost it. That's TWO. At KKND Blade is going to be the first man up the ladder in this match to grab the first key, then with the Tag Championship already owned by these men, with the International Championship in hand and the first Key to Success, The Establishment will continue to run the board in IIW.



Fade.

Michael Morrison: Ladies and gentlemen, I'm coming to you at this hour at the special request of a man who has certainly had the air of controversy surrounding him ever since he first showed up again in IIW a few weeks ago. Coming up on Sunday at the first IIW Pay Per View in almost four years, Krush, Kill N Destroy, he represents one of the six men scheduled to enter the ring in the Key 2 Success match. Ladies and gentlemen, Mister Bob Mitchell!





Michael Morrison: Mr. Mitchell...



Bob Mitchell: Please, we're all friends here, it's just Bob.



Michael Morrison: Bob...



Bob Mitchell: THAT'S MISTER MITCHELL TO YOU!



Michael Morrison: Mr. Mitchell...





Michael Morrison: Mr. Mitchell... You asked for this time...



Bob Mitchell: Is it just me, or did I hear that Jesse James out here telling two lies and a truth? First he goes on about how dangerous he is when he's never done anything in this business to make note of. Hey hot shot who's office were you paid to trash and who were you paid to jump? No one fears you, ya little criminal, you're just a sucker-punching bitch who knows when to take the money. Once you get to be someone who's actually important you'll know the difference, you'll be the one with the price on your head instead of the one trying to cash it. I'd have thought being such a badass gang banger you'd know the difference. If you saw us as the biggest threat and put us down then why are we still standing? Maybe it's because everything you've ever said about yourself applies to us. You saw the baddest guys around, you were looking at us. You were looking at the biggest threat in the match, you were looking at Blade.



You got one thing right though, when Osh paid you to jump us you took the money, because sooner or later we're going to face off and you want to get something out of it. Take the money, trash my office, jump us from behind, but what are you going to do at KKND when you're standing face to face with Blade Alexander and have to look him in the eye? I'll tell you what, he's going to give you the rest of your payment in bruises, broken bones, lacerations, contusions, and possibly a concussion. You want to be a great leader, step aside. You hated that you were poor, poor you, so you did the only thing in life you've ever been qualified to do, you put together a gang and jumped a bunch of people, but now we see you coming mile away Jesse, and it's a whole different sight when we're looking right at you. You think you're the only bad man in that ring, you better take a better look.



Michael Morrison: Obviously Osh took a shot at you and your guys when he paid off the James Gang to jump you. While the James Gang has set their sights on you, it's obviously because Osh Vaughn pointed them that way.



Bob Mitchell: For all his ego, behind all that Big Boss veneer Osh Vaughn knows the single biggest entity in IIW isn't those two putz in the main event, it's Blade Alexander and the key he's going to be holding by the end of KKND. OR you know, maybe not.



Michael Morrison: Second guessing Blade's chances in the match?



Bob Mitchell: Not at all. See I'm a man of vision Michael, and Osh knows it. Blade knows it too that's why he wants me in his corner. So maybe we don't wait. I said it a few days ago, we already have the Tag Team Championship. I don't see anyone taking the International Title belt away from The Commander any time soon, so that leaves a short list for us to use that key on. If it's our choice then I say why wait? Why put off the inevitable? And Blade's not the most patient man. He had to wait through a LOT of Osh's shit, and that was four years ago, you think he's going to put up with more when that golden opportunity is in his hands? That's not very likely.



Michael Morrison: You talk like it's a forgone conclusion that Blade is going to win at KKND, but he's still got five men to face inside that ring.



Bob Mitchell: I've already said it twice now, Jesse James has more to fear from us than we do from him. When it comes to the others who else is a threat? Hale Cassidy? The kid has stage fright, he better pack a few pair of tights because he's likely to piss himself before he gets to the ring. The kind of athlete the quality of Hale Cassidy doesn't have a very long shelf life here in IIW, if you haven't seen the warnings on the front doors: Here Be Monsters.



Michael Morrison: Are you trying to say that Hale Cassidy could end up the victim of a certain recently returned Monster?



Bob Mitchell: I'm not saying anything, I'm just saying this is IIW and things happen. Things sometimes happen, but then sometimes they don't. That brings us to Stoner. How long has it been since he's successfully made it to the ring for a match?



Michael Morrison: Well Stoner hasn't been active in IIW for a while, he's still getting used to the way things work, are you suggesting...



Bob Mitchell: I'm only suggesting maybe he doesn't make it to KKND, a little birdy did tell me there might be a rather generous portion of that sticky icky on it's way as we speak.



Next that leaves that airhead Scotty Adams. The “inevitable”, a word he's still looking up in the Oxford Dictionary at this very moment. Never have I ever seen a man so detached from reality and allowed to walk around on his own, and that's coming from a guy that works in the same company as Jonny C, Adam the Monster, and Stabby Joe. He hinted at sanity when he said the key is only a part of a larger puzzle, but it's a piece you'll never hold Scotty. It's a puzzle you'll never see put together. I already laid it out earlier, this isn't about you or anyone else in this match. You think it's all about you Scotty, but this is the puzzle I've been putting together for some time now, maybe when you're laying there empty handed you'll start to see what that bigger picture really is.



Michael Morrison: Well that leaves Russell Wayne, a man I talked to not too long ago.



Bob Mitchell: A man who's mistaken himself for a much more famous Wayne. You see Rusty, I do the talking because my boys do all their talking in the ring. For some kind of bad-ass you seem pretty concerned with what Blade Alexander can do, and rightly so, but you show up with lead pipe and maybe The Commander does get involved and you get shipped back home in a baguette. But back to Blade, because you're looking the wrong way, thought that's just how I like it. You see, Wayne, you talk about all your championships outside of IIW and say you don't want to talk about them, then why did you bring them up? But you talk about what you've seen Blade do, but you didn't look very hard. Blade is unbeaten right here in this company, and that includes a championship reign that no one's been able to end. Don't concern yourself with that though, your concern is trying to survive this match. You say it's your speciality then you know how much time it can take off your career, and with as long as you've been out, at your age, this could very well be the last one you're ever in. You wanna poke at my guys and they'll make you wish you were still buried under the rubble Osh pulled you out from.



But you know what Michael?



Michael Morrison: Uh... What's that Bob?



Bob Mitchell: Since everyone is just dying to hear Blade talk for himself, he's got no problem with that. Before KKND goes down for you, for Russell Wayne and everyone else begging for the biggest superstar in this match to appear in person and say a few words, I'm a man of my word and I know how to draw the big money. Since this is our first Pay Per View in a long time, just for you, the people, I'll make it happen.

The sound of wheels moving across the carpet can be heard, as Bianca slowly moves the karaoke machine we had brought last week across the lounge room. Preparing for the karaoke night we plan on having with some of our friends like Larni, Sarsha, Jane and others.

A means for us to connect with them even though we're abroad and coronavirus regulations have meant they nor us have been able to travel and visit one another. Lest we wanna jump through a variety of hoops.

Although I'm not a big karaoke person, it's at least a means for me to let my hair down. Decompress so to speak. Much like I do during my strolls throughout the streets and parks.

Smiling, Bianca turns to me as she slightly moves the machine to the right before glancing across to the miniature bed she has made for Lucina atop the beanbag I had been using as a seat prior to us buying some couches. Making sure she is still comfortable as I make my way towards her.

"You need me to help, babe?"

She gently shakes my head, before taking a step back. Surveying the room to ensure that the karaoke machine is positioned as close to centre as possible.

"You sure?"

'Yeah, I'm fine.'

I then nod in a manner so as to say "okay," before pivoting my body and making my way towards the coffee table. More specifically, the HP laptop that we'll be connecting to the machine and hosting a zoom call. Making sure that the updates have finished.

Smirking to myself, I slightly pull my phone outta my pocket before letting out a soft laugh. Noticing that I have 3 unread texts from Sheridan, Hayley and Imogen. I'll get back to them later --- or in Hayley's case, during the call.
---

Just as I thought.

They cannot bring themselves to comprehend the gravitas of my words. Instead electing to either allow the wool to smother their eyes, or attempt to devise an escape route. A little *key* in order to escape their prison, yet not realising that they are simply wandering into the flames.

But it is not for me to prevent it.

It never did fall upon me, as much as they might believe otherwise. As much as they might desire for me to be their salvation, I cannot play that role.

Just as I told them before, it is *them*; them alone who can save themselves. It is only them, that can answer to the truth that has been laid out before them.

Just as I did.

Yet they don't wish to. They would rather craft out an image in which they are superior. In which their words immedately are granted a certain *weight*. A meaning, even when that meaning is nothing more than the yapping of a chihuahua.

Pleading for their escape, even though the doggy door --- or well, in their case, the escape route is right there. Waiting for them to simply walk on through, should they truly crave it.
---

Calmly exhaling, I glance out the window, noticing the frost rested neatly atop the grass and a car driving down the street. Likely making their way either to the store or to work. Maybe even to drop a passenger off somewhere, judging by the person in the passengers seat. Though it isn't for me to worry about.

Tilting my head over my right shoulder, I see Bianca slightly re-positioning the machine before she reaches into the pocket of her jeans; pulling out her own phone. A cursory look crossing her eyes, before she softly mutters something inaudible under her breath, then gesturing over to me.

"Hm?"

She looks up, a gentle smile across her face.

'Mary messaged me. Said that our clothes should be here tomorrow.'

I nod, remembering that Bianca had ordered some new clothes for us. Well, mainly her but she bought me some shirts and t-shirts. Preparing for spring/summer, though personally - I'll always wear shorts and t-shirts.

Regardless of the weather.

Well, occasionally I'll wear hoodies - much like I do during my entrance, but that's probably only like 10% of the time. If that.

Navigating my way around the karaoke machine, I walk across the living room before glancing over to Lucina. A smile creeping across my face. She's blissfully peaceful, unaware of the commotion surrounding her and the admittedly godawful singing we have in store for tonight. Luckily, she likely hasn't heard - or at least I don't think she has - me singing in the shower.

Yes, I sing in the shower from time to time. Who doesn't? Even if she has, she's only 1, so I doubt she'll recall it. Though she likely will as she grows older.

"So serene ---"

I whisper under my breath, my mind slightly drifting off as I remember the day she was born. Bianca laying there in the hospital bed as I gently cradled her in my arms. The symbol of the intertwined hearts Bianca and I share. The fulfilment of our dreams. More so than even making my name known in wrestling.

'You okay, babe?'

Bianca softly places her hand on my shoulder, realising that I am in a daydream. Or, well, lost within my thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just checking on Lucina."

I pause, before a slight yet jovial smile crosses my face.

"You know, she looks just like you sleeping."

I softly laugh, as Bianca gently blushes. Attempting to hold back her own laughter.

'How do you know that?'

Her voice gentle but stern, I simply respond with a soft wink before pivoting to the right, ready to make my way into the hall.
---

No, I don't mean in the sense of talking about them desiring it. I don't even mean them holding the belief that it is in their palms. I mean in the sense of them looking within themselves and realising what it is they truly seek.

That as much as they might deny it. As much as they might try to portray it as their *fate* --- it is validation they desire. They want people to acknowlege them.

They want to blank out the niggling sense of doubt that lurks within them, imprisioning them within their grasp, and they believe that holding some semblance of glory shall enable that.

What they don't realise, is that it is merely a placebo.

A shallow glory, that lacks the depth to stand once the scrutiny that follows said acclaim. That wilts the very moment the lights are shone upon it. And as much as they refuse to see it, they know it eats away at them. It bites at their very core --- it blinds them.

It draws them within the halls of their own sanity; drives them down a route they never foresaw. Much as it had me, all those years ago.

The difference is, I accept that. I admit that my greed had gotten the best of me. I don't need to hide it, nor do I desire to. It is just as much a part of me as my *successes*. Well, what are percieved as successes anyway. To me, they are just neat cogs, churning as the machine continues to roar.

Playing their part in the eternal purge that shall arise when the shrine makes its desires known. Flushing away the poison that has been allowed to inflitrate the system. Seep within the fabric of what once stood.
---

///Hey, can you send through the money tomorrow?///

Looking down at the message from Imogen, I slightly nod. Knowing *exactly* what the money is for; the fact her request means that the next stanza can begin. That all systems are go and we can move one step closer to opening the project for public release. Or, at the very least, clinical trials. Don't want the FDA on my back, after all.

===I'll do you one better. I'll PayPal you the money this afternoon. Same account?===

Continuing to pace across the porch, I take a deep breath. As cladestine as this has been, there have been a few drips I have allowed to seep through. Mainly to those within Adams Enterprises as either way, knowing how meticulous they are when it comes to discovering deals - they'd eventually find out.

Yet even they don't know the full extent of this, aside from Imogen, Rebecca and Amy. The 3 people who have been developing this project in the lab.

///Yes. Same account, thanks.///

===Alright. Also, make sure to send the vials to Bec on Monday. She wants to send them to PKL and see if they'd be willing to host the trials.===

Another soft breath leaves my lips, accompanied by a relaxed; gentle smile. We've been working on this since April of last year, even through coronavirus related protocols. And to be at this stage is something that is an accompishment within itself. Even if it is another in a myriad of accomplishment we have as a company.

///Will do.///

I place my phone back in my pocket, as I shoot a glance out of the corner of my eye. Noticing a single, shimmering silver picture frame standing alone on the oak cabinet, as my smile morphs into one of gentle relaxation rather than happiness of joy.

Pivoting my body, I allow myself to deeply gaze into the frame. Allowing my mind to drift back to the day it was taken.

July 8th, 2006 at Joely's house.

Joely and I seated on the maple couch together without a care in the world. That was her favourite couch; it still resides in my house back home in Glenroy. One of the remnants of her I cherish most; one I promised I would ensure will *never* be lost to the sands of time.

Much like the silver dolphin trinket I keep by my bedside table. Feeling a tear slowly run down my right cheek, I raise my right hand; wipe my eyes and cheek with the back of my hand. Pivoting, I slowly begin to make my way inside, having heard Chili's footsteps making her way down.

"Hey Chili,"

I state as I open the door to the porch.

Chili: Yeah?

She glances at me, carrying two bottles of Pepsi.

"You want me to help with those?"

She walks over to me, handing me a bottle and shooting me a smile. Realising that I *wasn't* just asking her if I could help. Well, more like that it wasn't the sole reason I called out to her.

Chili: That wasn't all, was it?

I look at her, gently smiling as I gently nod my head.

Chili: What is it?

I pause, feeling a slight lump begin to form in my throat.

"Nothing. Don't worry about it."

Shooting me a curious look, she unconvincingly nods.

Chili: You sure?

I nod, as I continue to walk down the hall.
---

You may not be able to sense it, but it's there. Rotting away at an industry that once held prestige. That once played host to the whims of the shrine. That once drank freely from the fountain of purity --- until the poison.

The lust for gimmicks and people who knew not of what they spoke. The lust for what was once pure, to become another crash test dummy.

It was then that the shrine faded, awaiting the moment when it would be called forth once more. When it would be able to shine the flame and flush out those who cannot stand within its glory.

Yet that shall all come in time. That shall rise, when all the pieces have been slotted into place. You'll know when the time has arisen, for its chimes shall resonate from within.

It is not for now, however.
---

Sitting down atop the midnight black 2-seat couch Bianca and I bought the other day, I shoot her a smile as she gently pours some Pepsi into a wine coloured plastic cup.

Yes, it's biodegradeable for the people who were wondering. It doesn't hurt to be environmentally concious. Especially considering that the ultimate aim is to ensure our current climate is sustainable for those who come after us.

Smiling, I wriggle over to the left to allow Bianca room to sit, as she simply glances at me. Her look letting me know that she senses *something* lingering inside of me --- yet she cannot precisely figure out *what* it is.

'You worried?'

I glance at her, curious as to what she could mean.

"About?"

Her glance softens, yet turns into one that is an indication of 'you should know what I mean', without actually saying as such. I softly laugh before shaking my head.

"Nah. It's just another piece of the puzzle. Just another cog, waiting to be neatly slotted into place. They can think what they want - at the end of the day, it shall all play into the hands of fate."

I smirk slightly as she gently shakes her head. Although yes, the match at KKND is on my mind, it's *not* what she was asking about.

"Oh, you mean *that*. Nah. It's not for us to worry about. At least, not yet."

She smiles, as she gently wraps her arm around my waist.

'I know. I just can't shake this feeling though. What if it *doesn't* work out? What if our research is all for nought?'

I shoot her a reassuring smile, as I softly exhale.

"Trust me. It won't be all for nought. Even if it does fall through, it allows us to see what worked and what didn't. Use that to further refine it for next time."

She returns the smile, leaning in; placing a gentle kiss on my lips.

'True. I just hope it works out though.'

I lower my voice into a whisper.

"So do I, babe. So do I."
---

As for the task at hand. The little *key* that is awaiting someone to unlock it. To enable themselves to take those next steps towards what they claim to desire.

They know not of what it shall take. They fail to understand that you don't *need* to be the "best". You don't even need to be the second best in order to access the key.

All you need to be, is the one who grasps the opportunity. The one who is opportunistic enough to grasp hold of it within your palm.

Yet that doesn't feed their ego, does it?

That doesn't enable them to flex their superiority complex and make themselves out to be indomitable, which is what they *truly* desire. It is why they fear their concepts being challenged.

It is why they attempt to be blind to the flames that have encapsulated them. For they know, they cannot truly stand by their words, as they are lowered further into the mire.

Come KKND, that very mire - shall become their reality as they realise their words were mere a facade. A means to convince themselves that they *deserved* what they were claiming.

Not realising that the opportunity was right under their nose; it was them who failed to grasp it. It was them, that allowed the walls to suffocate them from within.

I'll see you all there.

Just know, soon - the clock shall strike for your final midnight as the shrine claims its toll.

END.

September 23rd, 1999 11:15 PM EDT: CIA Safehouse. Gallatin, Tennessee



Gibson has Russell by the hand. Russell gets to his knees, still cradling his dead son in one arm. He kisses his cold forehead and lets him down onto the ground. Gibson helps Russell the way of the way up and puts Russell's arm over his shoulder as he helps him out. As Russell and Gibson come out of the bathroom, it goes silent, as the work stops. They had just put Gwen in a body bag. Russell let go of Gibson and shakily walked around the bed. The worker opened the body bag enough so Russell could see his wife's face. Russell fell to his knees as a fresh wave of emotion boiled over. For a few seconds he let the tears fall before he steeled himself against it.



"No more..." Russell thought, "No more...not tonight."



Russell got close to his wife's face and kissed her cold forehead.



"I will get them...I promise." Russell whispered.



Gibson put a hand on his shoulder. Russell nodded. Gibson helped Russell up again and Russell put his arm around Gibson's shoulder, the shock still too much, his legs still like jelly. Gibson walked Russell out of the room as all of the agents and workers stopped working to line their way out. Gibson guided Russell to his car. Russell got in the seat, and fastened his seatbelt. Russell put his forehead against the cold, hard glass and stared at the place his family had called home since he was on assignment. He didn't know how to feel but one thing was perfectly clear. There would be blood, there would be pain, he would have his vengeance, one way or the other. Gibson got in the car and turned the ignition and put it in gear and drove off, heading towards Nashville and the CIA Regional Headquarters.



September 24th, 1999: 12:00 AM CIA Regional Headquarters Nashville, Tennessee



Russell and Gibson were sitting in an were sitting in Gibson's office. Gibson poured Russell and himself some coffee and added a bit of Jack Daniels into it, to take the edge off. He sat the cup in front of Russell. Russell didn't take it.



"How?" Russell said.



"We don't know yet. The team is reviewing the security footage now. It would appear though that they hacked the system to send us a false feed loop. We had no idea it was happening. We didn't know until you hit the panic button."



"How is that possible? How did they know the system that well?! How...How..HOW!!!?!?!" Russell screamed, slamming his fist on Gibson's desk, causing the coffee cup to pop up and land with a splash.



"Russell, calm down..."



"FUCK YOU CALM DOWN! MY WIFE AND SON ARE D-..."



Russell couldn't say it. He took in a deep breath.



"We are the best...they were supposed to be safe. You hand picked everyone who had any knowledge...who had any idea who was at the safehouse, much less who knew that it existed...you...you were responsible for their safety...and the day that I'm finally home..."



"I know...I'm sorry...we will find who will do this and make sure they get the sentence they deserve...'



"There will be no sentence, Gibson. Only death."



"Russell...you can't think like that. You have to let us do our jobs. We will find the rest of the PLA and bring them in and bring them down."



"No...I will."



"Russell, you're not Rambo. You can't just go into Eastern Europe half cocked and take down the PLA single handedly."



"Watch me."



"Russell...you have a funeral to plan. Take time off, grieve. We'll be investigating everything. In the mean time, we'll fly you up to Indianapolis Executive in a private jet. We've already been in touch with your brother and let him know. He'll be waiting for you up there. Let us do the investigating. We'll let you know when we have something."



Russell couldn't argue. He didn't have the energy. He also knew he was right. He did have a funeral to plan. Gwen's parents...how would he face them? They had no idea that he was in the CIA. For all they knew, he was still in the Marines. They thought he had been deployed for the past 2 years, which hadn't been too far from the truth...but still, how would he explain that it is his fault that their little girl is dead?



Russell just nodded. He picked up his coffee and drank it.



"I want to know everything, as soon as it gets to you, I want to know it. No matter how trivial. I expect a briefing call every day."



"You got it."



Russell nodded again and sighed heavily.



"Let's go ahead and roll out then."



Gibson grabbed his jacket and he and Russell left the room and headed for the airport.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Present Day: IIW Arena Manchester, UK

The scene opens to the IIW Arena. It is lit up with workers buzzing all around getting everything ready. We are viewing the squared circle from the top of the entrance ramp. In the ring, we see a couple of workers at the bottom of a ladder set up in the center. One worker is standing on the ladder putting one key on a hook descending from a rope from the rafters and another key on another hook...the Keys 2 Success.

Wayne - There it is boys...the keys...

The camera turns around to show the torso of Russell Wayne, wearing his shirt and his signature Levi fleece lined denim jacket. It pans out and backs up to show Russell wearing blue jeans with a brown leather belt with a non-descript belt buckle. Finally, we see him in a pair of Thursday Boot Company logger boots. Russell allows a soft chuckle.

Wayne - The keys to our success in this new era of IIW. Prior accomplishments don't matter. Previous undefeated streaks don't matter...though one has to question why one would retain the services of a manager who couldn't even secure him a world title shot and so his client had to settle for the second tier title...

Russell winks knowingly at the camera and starts making his way down to the ring, his hands in his pockets. On either side of the ramp we see workers bringing down steel chairs, kendo sticks, baking sheets, a stop sign, a stuffed tuna...

Wayne - Nonetheless, this match isn't about who is the most talented, but who is willing to do what it takes for a chance at greatness. 

Wayne walks up the ring steps and enters the ring through the second rope. He makes his way over to the ladder standing above the ring. 

Wayne - Take 5 fellas.

Random worker - Sure! 

Wayne claps him on the back as he and his partners walk out of the ring. Russell walks around the ladder, inspecting it.

Wayne -  The steps...the rungs...to success. Some of us have tasted it in one vein or another. Whether it be here, or elsewhere. Some never have...and some of us....never will.

Russell looks intently into the camera.

Wayne - In this match, to gain success, one must enter into a dark place. A place that some have never been. One must be willing to do anything and everything necessary to win. One should not give mercy, because it will not be granted. If you are above using weapons, this match will not end well for you. If you have even the tiniest of hint of remorse or let up for the smallest amount of time, it will mean your doom, and your fall into obscurity.

Wayne starts ascending the ladder.

Wayne - One step, two step, just remember boys, the higher you are, the harder the fall...

Wayne gets to the top of the ladder and straddles the top of the ladder.

Wayne - Alexander, Adams, James, Stoner, Cassidy...I know I'm ready...

From behind his back, Russell pulls out his trusty lead pipe. He takes it in one hand and slaps the other end onto his left palm.

Wayne - Are you? Tell me boys, just about 12 hours to go...Do you think you can handle it?

Russell smiles and chuckles as the scene fades to black.