“We are never alone
We are all wolves
Howling to the same moon.”
― Atticus Poetry, Atticus
The Foreword
And so it would come to pass, the man that claimed to be my brother was only a pretender. The man known as Joe Mountuori would betray our family on nothing more than a whim. In another company, he would attack my sister-in-arms, Kimberly Pain, and seal his fate forever. Then would come the number one contender's match, where two clowns would vie to see who would be my next victim. They laid hands on me, that was simply the first of two mistakes. I dropped them both on their heads and declared it a draw, so now they are both number-one contenders. I really don’t care to be quite honest about it. Even if they work together against me, it won’t be enough. I’m not JMont, I don’t have to surround myself with people who don’t matter in order to feel safe. Even with those people, we still dropped you on your head and left the rest to Cav. My money is on him, Joe. When I looked into his eyes, I saw that same fire that I see in mine when I look in the mirror every single day. The more important thing to note is that like me, despite the fire in his eyes, the calmness as he goes about what he does. That’s the real danger for you. He’s a lot like me, and you haven’t fared so well against me, have you?
The Black Wolf Continued.
With Wyah by my side, we walked the streets of the town, that hot sun beating on my head. Fortunately, the black straw hat I wore helped to deflect it. One thing about the nation, there were 5 things you could count on. The one that bothered me most was the poverty here, and in stark contrast was the Baptist Church that stood in the center of town. The population was small here, a little over one hundred souls inhabited this place. When you look at the church though, it’s the one place you don’t expect opulence. The outside looked like it was cleaned daily, with not a trace of mother earth on it.
a source of aggravation, Wyah said to me. I nodded at the black wolf.
Mac: I can imagine.
I continued to walk towards the building, its architecture was amazing. It stood out to the point of arrogance and bordering on obnoxiousness. I walked up the steps and a deacon of the church stood there, he bid me hello and I nodded in return.
Mac: Great looking building, Padre, may I enter?
He looked at me, confusedly and raised an eyebrow.
Mac: Oh, I’m sorry, are you not the preacher?
He smiled and shook his head indicating he was not.
Man: No sir, my name is Charles, I am a deacon here. Yes, you can go in if you’d like, I’m sure that Brother Jacobs would love to welcome a new parishioner to the church.
I smiled in return.
Mac: Thank you, Charles.
He opened the door for me and Wyah met me on the other side of the door. As we cleared the entryway and our eyes adjusted to the dimness, that’s when the true show began. Solid gold inlays, white marble, and seating so comfortable you’d think that the pope was coming for a visit. The preacher did not look up right away.
Mac: Welcome to six flags over Jesus.
I looked down at Wyah who had that canine smile showing. The preacher noticed at that moment that someone was there. He approached me and introduced himself.
Brother Jacobs: Good afternoon, my name is Brother Jacobs, welcome to the First Baptist Church of Eucha, Oklahoma.
I nodded and shook the offered hand, and immediately wished I had carried some hand sanitizer with me.
Mac: Good afternoon Brother Jacobs, I’m new in town and just kind of looking around. I’ll say this, you can’t miss the church. It’s pretty grand.
Brother Jacobs: Ah, yes, the mayor and the city council were very generous in the donations to make this church happen.
Nodding again and still smiling, mostly because I didn’t want him to see the anger that was building.
Mac: So, tell me about this history of the church, if you don’t mind?
His face lit up with excitement at the prospect of telling a story. This guy was an egomaniac, but I needed to find out what happened here, and how this church came to this part of the nation.
Brother Jacobs: when I first came here, there was no religion serving the people's needs. Well, other than some shaman of sorts. The man was a heathen pretending to serve the religious needs of the people. Absolute heresy by my standards.
I grunted in response.
Mac: What happened to him?
Without missing a beat, he dove into that part of the story.
Brother Jacobs: Oh, poor man, died rather suddenly.
I could feel my jaws clench at that statement. Then I remembered the way the deacon was dressed, a minor bulge under his breast pocket.
Mac: That’s tragic, I hope his family is surviving okay.
He shrugged noncommittally as he continued.
Brother Jacobs: If he had family here, no one seemed to know. I asked because I wanted to take up a collection for the poor man.
Mac: That’s a very noble thing, Brother Jacobs.
I nodded his head along sagely and thanked me for thinking so.
Brother Jacobs: Thank you, we do the best we can for the people of this town. With no religious leaders, I proposed to the city council a plan and it was accepted immediately and forwarded to the mayor who also endorsed what we planned on doing here. Bringing the word of God to people who so desperately needed it.
Something smelled very wrong about his story, his smell was even wrong. What was it about him that was triggering my early warning system?
Be very careful Bearclaw, he is evil and not what he appears to be.Mac: Brother Jacobs, that’s a very honorable thing that you did, you represent the Christian faith very well.
We shook hands again, and I saw the elongated thumbnail this time.
Brother Jacobs: Will we see you on Sunday then?
Mac: No doubt about that Brother, I’m looking forward to the sermon.
We release hands from the handshake and I turned to go. I moved slowly but consistently with a man who was calm. Inside my brain was screaming at me to run.
skinwalkers, I said to Wyah through our link.
Yes. was his only reply. That thought sent shivers up and down my spine.
Mac: That would explain the smell.
I said as I reentered the street. Wyah looked up at me and I laughed.
wet dog, I sent to him via our link. Fortunately he was invisible to everyone in town so they couldn’t see the big black wolf roll his eyes at me. Then he stopped and looked at me again.
You’re serious. he said to me.
Very serious, and this just becomes much harder if he’s a skinwalker. This could renew old hostilities between the Cherokee and the Navajo people. Fade.
Nightfall
I stayed at a hotel that wasn’t far away from the church, it was centrally located near the center of town. It was also just a few blocks away from the local watering hole called “The Place”. I walked into what can only be called a biker bar, which suited me just fine. I wore no colors at all but had my pistol tucked in the small of my back and covered by the tail of my shirt. The groupings within the bar were very segregated, a couple of clusters of what I assumed were Cherokee, a larger cluster of people all wearing the colors of an MC with the emblem of a badger on the patch. Instead of talking to either group, I took an empty spot at the bar with my back to the wall and plain site of everything.
//ooc - the conversation is in Cherokee(spanish) translated for convenience.
Bartender: What’ll it be?
Mac: Got scotch, single malt?
A huge grin crossed his face as he pointed at the top shelf.
Mac: Laphroig
He nodded as he reached for the bottle and came back.
Mac: leave the bottle.
I reached into my front pocket and flipped through a couple of hundred dollar bills.
Mac: Let me know if that’s not enough, keep whatever is left over for yourself.
Bartender: That’s more money than I make in a week.
That was when he did a double take, he had spotted Wyah and went deathly pale.
Mac: Good, it’s surprising that you can see him. Most of the nation has lost its way, friend.
He didn’t say anything at first, but then the clusters of Cherokee men who had been sitting by themselves began to notice Wyah one by one. There was a stunned silence in the room, except for the men in the MC. They were still drinking and being loud.
Bartender: My name is white deer and you are the harbinger.
I studied him for a moment and nodded.
Mac: My name is Bearclaw.
I looked over at where the MC sat and gestured vaguely in their direction.
Mac: Who are they?
White Deer: Trouble, they showed up about the same time as that preacher.
Mac: Enforcers, would be my guess.
White Deer nodded in agreement.
White Deer: they make sure all citizens show up for services and pay their tithes.
I took a sip of scotch.
Mac: And that preacher is no Cherokee.
White Deer: he’s no white man either.
A small group of men had gathered near Wyah and myself.
Mac: Navajo would be my guess. He smells like a wet dog.
A collective gasp went through the Cherokee men gathered around me, they immediately got the insinuation that I was making. I look at the men gathering around me and smile as their ability to see Wyah gave me renewed hope for the nation.
Mac: Brothers, my name is Bearclaw, you know who stands with me.
A lot of murmuring and head nodding.
Mac: Why would the mayor of this town give so generously to someone not of our people?
Loud laughter erupted from the table just beyond the crowd. One man, obviously the leader of the group stood up.
Man: Like he had a choice! We were taking over whether anyone liked it or not.
Mac: Well, loudmouth, you got a name?
He sneered at me, flashing a feral smile.
Man: Won’t matter, you’re not leaving this bar tonight.
Before he finished his sentence, I was up and mobile, grabbing the bottle of scotch as I entered the center of the room.
Mac: Pull up a square, bitch.
He snarled as he charged forward and I laid him out with a swing of my bottle. The impact knocked him out but the bottle held its structural integrity, much to my surprise.
Mac: Anyone else?
Not a single member of his club even looked up from the table.
Mac: Take him and leave town. If you don’t, I won’t be swinging bottles next time. Be a damn shame for y'all to start suffering from lead poisoning.
Slowly, they began to leave, with the last two men picking their leader up and dragging him out. The one under his left arm looked back at me.
Man: This is not over, you’re an outsider here. The man already knows the trouble you started and he’s hunting.
Mac: I’m not hard to find.
He snarled at me as they continued out the door. It didn’t take long for Brother Jacobs to show up, He stepped through the door, wearing the pelt of a badger. The group of Cherokee men who were now emboldened, swarmed him and ripped the pelt from his shoulders. He was already strong but obviously hadn’t performed the ritual he needed to transform. One of the men tossed me the pelt as we transitioned outside. I sniffed the pelt and found that it wasn’t what I was smelling earlier. Pulling out my zippo I set the pelt on fire and tossed it into the middle of the street.
Mac: Are you a man of God, or a man or gold?
He wouldn’t look at me or even in my direction.
Mac: You have your town and your religion back, don’t take it for granted again. Do what you think is best, you are warriors of the nation. I turned my back on the crowd and returned to the bar to finish my drink.
Fade.
Thoughts of a Dead Man.
[on-camera]
I stood outside the wreckage of what used to be a Baptist church on the reservation, the smell of smoke threatening to overwhelm me but I stood fast. The smoke swirls around me as I move forward, and a wicked smile crosses my face as I begin to speak.
There’s a song by Elle King, where she talks about how they said she was too loud for that town, so she lit a match and burned it down.I take a few steps forward through the smoke and into fresher air. I turn and look back at the smoldering ruin of the Baptist church that had gone up in flames during the night.
This whole scene reminds me a lot of IIW. For some of us, wrestling is like a religion. Not everyone is as passionate about this religion as I am. If your actions don’t match your words then your words mean nothing. That’s what JMont learned the hard way. Kim and I left him high and dry, and Cav picked the bones of what was left. The smoke continued to swirl as Wyah came and sat beside me.
The Mecca was just a shell, a protective shell that Joe surrounded himself with. Much like when I walked through the competition for this title that I carry, I shattered Mecca. I faced some of the best in the world to win this. I left no doubt about who I am or where I stand with those people. When this match comes to a close there will be no doubt in the minds of Scott Adams or Jay Vaughn either. Wyah looks up at me and I lay a hand on his head.
Scott Adams thought that he could save IIW in that war games match. He ran into a buzz saw named Kimberly Pain. She obliterated team IIW and set Mecca up for the win. Needless to say, Scooter didn’t live up to his own hype. After all of that, why would anyone believe that you have the chops or ability to take this title away from me? Hell, you couldn’t beat Vaughn in a one on one to determine the number one contender. Neither of you were up to the task. Not even close, so I made the call and made you both number one contenders. Before I took you both out after the match that is. I pause for a moment and scratch Wyah behind his ears. He looks up at me, clearly annoyed. I chuckle to myself because of my mistake, he’s not a dog after all.
Vaughn recently had an opportunity to face Enigma for the Legacy Title. You got destroyed by that man. Doesn’t surprise me really, he’s the same guy I beat in the semi final round for the International Title. No shame in that really, Enigma is a stud, and you simply are not. Now, when you two faced each other, good old Jay there thought he was a shoe in. osh was back and Hart was out. He felt empowered and capable. I smirk at the camera as I continue.
Then you fell on your face in that match. I shake my head in disgust, making that “tsk tsk” sound.
Sad really, for both of you. The fans that you hold so close to your heart, they already know that this is a waste of time. As good as you both are, you’re just not on my level. I should be in the world title match, not facing a couple of scrubs. My friendly demeanor turns into a glare, bordering on a scowl.
When IIW closes its doors, I’ll still be the greatest IIW International Champion this company has ever known and you two will barely be a footnote in its history.