Chicago, Illinois
It was about a quarter past six when I woke up feeling nauseous. I had a splitting migraine and a sharp pain in my back that felt like someone was trying to split my spine with a hacksaw. I could feel the sweat from my body mending with the sheets, seeping through the fabric as I laid strapped to the evaporation. I felt like shit. For most people, waking up everyday with this kind of illness would be considered abnormal or unhealthy. Things like cold sweats, nausea, excessive vomiting and unsolvable fever would give them reason to seek medical attention. Luckily, I’m not like most people. I have a tolerance for poison. I’m used to the sickness. After peeling my body away from the soaking mess of a mattress I stumbled forward before falling flat on my face. Was I still drunk? Possibly. I couldn’t tell the difference anymore. It was like being the center of a radial blur, moving in circles around me like a spin cycle. I began to weigh my limited options while laying face down on the hardwood.
Option one -- Stay where I am and spend the rest of my life face down on the floor...
OR
Option two -- Pick yourself up and get some alcohol in your system.
Pathetic, I know. I probably should have considered something meaningful that didn’t involve the threat of liver disease, but I didn’t care about that. I moved into the kitchen and opened the cabinet to find a bottle of Wild Turkey that was half-full. As I place the neck of the glass to my lips and allow the soothing hooch to gradually move past the depth of my lungs, the overwhelming sense of temporary relief absolves the nausea I was feeling before. ‘Lucky me’ I thought, feeling grateful, knowing I wouldn’t have to spend the next hour and a half pissing out of my ass. I didn’t have time to be sick today. I was running behind and another case of exploding diarrhea was the last thing I needed on my way to work.
Black Eye Entertainment Corporate Office
Tuesday, December 2nd
Chicago, Illinois
I made it into the office with only a few minutes to spare. Usually I would sneak around my partner’s office to avoid the possibility of having to face his diabetic wrath, but I didn't have to do that today. The door to his office was closed with a 'DO NOT DISTURB' sign posted on the glass. He was currently occupied by the company of two sharply dressed men that appeared to be testing the limitations of his patience. When I asked my secretary about the men she said they were detectives that were interested in speaking with Rich. "Did they say what it was about?" I asked, curious to know if he was the only one they wanted to see. "Not really. All they said is they were from Cook County and wanted to speak with him." I automatically assumed the worst. I figured they knew what we were harboring and wanted to file charges on both of us. Eden gave me the identification cards they issued upon their arrival.
‘Garrett Krause and Bryce Patton, Cook County.’
I moved around the side of his office to get a closer glance at the two men. Garrett Krause was the younger one that was doing most of the talking. He was a clean-cut spark plug with a chiseled jaw and the look of a full grown boy scout. Not a day past twenty-five, he displayed the physical build of a robust Marine fresh out of the corps. He wore his tinted brown hair slicked back similar to that of a traditional Italian gangster and had a number of tattoos that were concealed underneath the sleeves of his dress shirt. He was what the other officers in the department referred to as a ‘pretty boy’. His conviction record was impeccable and his interrogation style was the kind that made murderers and rapists shit their pants in fear. The detective opposite of Krause went by the name of Bryce Patton. He was a stout Irishman in his early 50’s who appeared to be a physical definition of male pattern baldness. He had a ridiculous comb over that should have been covered with a wig while his facial features were scrunched together like a lopsided mushroom. His squinted pupils were barely visible due to an unkempt uni-brow that were hidden behind a set of pitch black lenses. Patton wasn’t a heart attack waiting to happen but he was damn close.
I couldn’t tell what they were talking about but I knew it wasn’t good. Rich was falling apart. Not only were his veins ready to pop out of his skull but he also had problems sitting still, giving the detectives reason to question his anxious state of mind. I told him a million times before that cops didn’t respond well to guilty behavior. Obviously, he didn’t want to listen otherwise he wouldn’t be sweating like a fat kid in a candy store. He was giving them a reason to suspect us both and I didn’t want to #### with that. If either one of us would be taking the blame it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me. Granted, throwing the second half of Black Eye Entertainment under the bus to avoid prosecution might sound a bit harsh, but I didn’t care. I had spent enough time in the Cook County detention center for one lifetime. I wasn’t going back. I thought about sneaking out of the office about before either one of them could recognize me.
“Michael James.”
Shit. It was too late. I stopped in my tracks and slowly turned towards the sound of the man’s voice. It was Krause. He was standing across from me with a shit eating grin.
“Someone told me you were dead.” He says with as little sarcasm as possible. Coming from my perspective he was just another prick cop taking time out of his day to mock and ridicule what I do for a living. I didn’t need this. As much as I wanted to ball up my fist and make the son of a b###h choke on his own teeth I decided to humor him by laughing it off. He extends his arm with an open hand expecting me to do the same. I knew if I hesitated it was be considered as an act of disrespect no matter how much I despised the Cook County police. I reached forward and shook his hand with a firm grip.
“Garrett Krause, Cook County Police.” he said with stern tone.
“Michael James. Independent filmmaker, professional ass kicker and recovering alcoholic.” I replied with my best smile of fake sincerity. He chuckles with a comfortable assurance, lifting the weight from my shoulders knowing I wasn’t going to be leaving the office in handcuffs.
“Believe it or not you still have a quite a reputation down at the station.”
More sarcasm, like I didn’t see that coming. Garrett introduced me to his partner while explaining the details of my career, none that seemed to impress Bryce very much.
“Yea, yea, good for you. Can we go now?” he grumbles before making his way towards the front door. Krause shook my hand once again and thanked Eden her assistance before leaving the office with Patton.
Blue Horizon Bar & Grill
Tuesday, December 2nd
12:26 A.M.
About a quarter to noon I accompanied Rich to a local tavern that was located a few blocks away from the office. I could tell he was reeling from the visit he had from two of Chicago’s finest and was in desperate need to annihilate the tension. “You okay there, Rich?” I asked him, noticing a slight twitch in his wrist and a stream of sweat rolling from his brow. “What the #### do you think?” he barked at me. “Do I ####ing look okay to you?” He obviously failed to catch my sarcasm but that was understandable. Considering the circumstances, I figured it would be best to keep my mouth shut until we made it around the corner. We moved through the entrance of the Blue Horizon and approached our usual spot behind the bar.
“What can I get you fellas?” the bartender asked, eager to get started on our tab.
“Whiskey.” Rich muttered with an apparent expression of frustration.
The bartender removes a glass from underneath the bar and quickly pours the whiskey. As he attempts to take the liquor away, Rich reaches across the counter and grabs the bartender by his wrist.
“Leave the bottle” he says, snapping at the man as he jerks his arm away. Rich wasted no time by knocking back the liquid courage one after the other. He turns to me and slams the empty shot glass down on the bar.
“Do you feel better now?” I asked with hopes that he wasn’t completely shitfaced. He responds with his usual obnoxious slur.
“Much better.” He was definitely drunk. But then again, that’s what happens when you down three shots in less than three minutes. Luckily, Rich was an experienced binge drinker and could hold his liquor. He might have lacked the ability to walk in a straight line but he had no problems running his mouth.
“So, are you gonna have a drink or what, champ? I thought you said you were an alcoholic.”
“No. I said I’m a recovering alcoholic. That means I can’t get plastered on my lunch break.”
Rich rolls his eyes and pours a shot of whiskey into the glass. He slides it in front of me.
“One shot isn’t gonna kill you. Stop being a pussy.”
I didn’t want to drink. My anxiety was already through the roof from my face off with Garrett Krause. I was way too mature to be giving into peer pressure and that’s exactly what he was trying to do. #### it. I took the glass from the counter and brought it to my lips, quickly pouring the liquid down my throat. I slam the glass down on the bar, almost writhing from the scorching whiskey burning a hole through my internal organs. Rich laughs as he pours another shot into the glass for his own consumption.
“That’s more like it.”
“And I’m not being a pussy. I’m a nervous wreck and it doesn’t take a genius to figure out why.”
After shooting the whiskey down his throat Rich places the glass down on the bar. His expression of drunken glee begins to fade as wipes the sweat from his brow.
“I don’t know what you want me to say. I made it into the office and five minutes later they were knocking on the damn door.”
“Did they have a warrant?”
“Hell no. They didn’t have shit except for a bunch of pointless questions.”
“What kind of questions?” I asked, using a slight sense of aggression in my tone so Rich knows I’m being as serious as a heart attack. He releases a short sigh of frustration.
“I don’t remember every single one to be exact. You know the routine better than me so chances are it’s probably the same tired shit you’ve heard a thousand times before. We got nothing to worry about.”
Idiot.
“Actually, we have a lot to worry about. Each case is treated differently and that’s why they have to record statements from everyone involved and not just the ####ing suspects. That’s how it works, Rich. They gather information, bag the evidence and use that to get a conviction.”
“Okay. What’s your point?”
“Did any of the questions have anything to do with the tape you showed me?”
Suddenly, his eyes light up.
“Shit, that reminds me.” He says as he pulls his pudgy hand away from the bowl of mini pretzels. He reaches inside of his briefcase. Rich removes a rectangular object stuffed inside of a brown paper bag and places it on top of the bar.
“I need you to get rid of this.” He mutters under his breath, trying to keep from drawing attention to the surrounding patrons.
I knew what he was asking me to do and I didn’t want to be held responsible for his consistent stupidity. On the other hand, he was absolutely right. The cassette had our fingerprints all over it and if we wanted to avoid spending the next ten to fifteen rotting away in the Cook County lockup, the evidence had to be destroyed. I could have asked him to take care of it on his own but after watching Rich shit bullets to keep our asses out of dodge I figured I owed him a favor. I eventually agreed to his request and kept the tape tucked inside of my briefcase for the rest of the day. I probably should have smashed it into pieces before I left the office but I wasn’t thinking that far ahead. My cell phone started to buzz from inside of my pocket as I made my way out of the bar. As I pulled up the text I immediately noticed the HWA official avatar directly above what appeared to be a flight itinerary. It had Mia’s name listed as the passenger with an arrival set three hours past the current time. “This isn’t going to end well.” I thought, knowing I had completely dismissed my promise to give Mia a ride from the airport. She had booked an early flight in hopes of leaving directly after our scheduled exclusive, but thanks to my lack of memory that wasn’t going to happen. I knew how much that woman despised me so pissing her off had gradually become one of my guilty pleasures. It’s not like I was out to get her or anything like that. I just have a hard time taking her seriously despite how much time she spent in the HWA. It doesn’t take very much skill to do what she does so I refuse to give her credit for anything. I’m sure she might not like it and she might not agree but that’s life for you.
Black Eye Entertainment Corporate Office
Tuesday, December 2nd
Chicago, Illinois
When I made it back to the office I was surprised to find a taxi parked a few inches away from the front curb. I could hear the frantic ramblings of an angered woman lecturing the driver in Spanish while stalling her exit from the vehicle. When I approached the cab I looked through the open door to discover none other than Mia, tossing dollar bills at the man while slamming into the back of his seat with her elbow. Comprehension was impossible under her angered rage of Mexican fury, so I did the only reasonable thing I could think of at the time. I reached inside, grabbed Mia by the scruff of her blouse and easily yanked her out of the back seat. She latched onto my arm with her talons and started to rip the leather sleeve of my jacket, a move that would have resulted with a death sentence for anyone else. Lucky for Mia I felt bad about ditching her and was aware she had every right to be frustrated. Once she caught wind of the Cuban cigar and sight of my sunglasses she was quick to pull away from me while trying her best to calm down. I asked her if she was okay and she replied by calling me a “pinche pendajo.” Granted, I wasn’t fluent at all when it came to Spanish but there were still a few phrases I had learned from my time working throughout the Southwest. She called me a ####ing asshole and turned away with the same rage she had before. I paid the driver his fare with a generous tip and directed Mia inside the front entrance of the six story building.
As we moved through the main office floor Eden was the first person to acknowledge Mia by greeting her with a smile. She continued her courtesy by asking Mia if she wanted anything to drink.
“I’ll take some bottled water if it’s available. I don’t want you to go out of your way since I’m only going to be here a short time.”
“Not a problem.”
Eden says before scurrying away. For the last few years I had been using the rear portion of the first floor as my personal production space. It was designed similar to a sound studio; filled with a variety of cameras, wide screen monitors and displays, sound boards, expensive microphones and other types of equipment used for audio and video. The far right wall had a green screen mounted to a large stand with a boom microphone hanging from above. To the side of the production area sat a full scale bar featuring a large number of domestic and international liquors covering the back wall. The counter was crafted from marble and granite with custom made coasters bolted to the stone.
“Take a seat. We’re going to be here a while.”
I said to Mia as I moved past her and began to walk towards the bar. She slowly made her way to the leather couch to the left of the bar while gazing the studio with an expression of slight amusement. Just as I begin to pour a glass of bourbon for myself, Eden enters the studio and happily delivers the bottled water to Mia. Before leaving, Eden refers to her as our “honored guest” and offers to help her anything she needs during her visit to the Second City. Personally, I didn’t see why Eden would go out of her way for someone like Mia but you know the old saying. b###hes stick together, right? Eden didn’t have many friends and working for me didn’t give her much time to be social. I couldn’t tell if she was looking for a friend or a #### buddy, it really made no difference to me. I downed the bourbon and reached underneath the bar to a secret compartment secured with a padlock. After releasing the lock I reach into the velvet lined case and remove the HWA World Championship from its slumber. For a brief moment, I go into a daze through the intoxicating glare coming from the faceplate of the title, something that never seems to grow old or lose its meaning. I gracefully drape the fifteen pounds of gold over my shoulder, take a drag from my cigar and join Mia on the opposite side of the couch. She looks across at me with confusion, asking if I had planned to record the interview.
Michael James: What do you think those are for?
I respond to her somewhat pointless question by pointing towards two cameras mounted on individual tripods. She rolls her eyes while arranging her notes.
Mia: Right. You could have told me that in the first place. But, whatever. The sooner I can get out of here the better.
She clears her throat and points her attention towards the camera placed to the right of her.
Mia: Hello HWA fans. Mia here, coming at you live from the Windy City where I have been able to arrange an exclusive interview with a man that some have been calling the direct source of imminent destruction for the recent hiatus of the entire company. For almost three months straight the HWA sat in ruins thanks to the actions of a self absorbed champion, only to be resurrected months later by a hero of the people; The One Man Tartan Army, But--
Michael James: Wait a ####ing second, Mia. Just where the hell do you get off introducing me as the downfall of the company? Not only that but you’re also trying to use my name to plug that brainless piece of shit Butch Parker and that was NOT a part of the agreement.
Mia: Okay then, James. What would you like me to say?
Michael James: How about we start with some of these supposed people you’re claiming to be casting me out as the black sheep of the HWA.
Mia: To be honest I think it would be easier to name the people that haven’t been blaming you for destruction of the company. But if you really want me to humor you by going down the list we could start with the comments made by the former tag team champion, Stu-E Price. He said and I quote, you took the HWA to the brink of destruction.
Michael James: Seriously, Mia? Out of all the people you could have wasted my time with you decided to bring up a ####ing bottom rung piece of shit like Price?
I had to scoff at the mere mention of that stupid bastard’s name.
Michael James: Personally, I could really give two shits what Price thinks because he’s not operating on the same level as the rest of us. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to see that Stu isn’t all there so anyone that takes his words into consideration might as well be next in line for shock therapy. Let me ask you something, Mia. Where the #### was Price when Butch and I were carrying the weight of the company on our shoulders? Where the #### was Price when Freddie Styles needed someone to stand by him as a partner and defend the tag team championships? Price is just like a Midwestern politician. He’ll say what he has to say in order to grab people’s attention and then stick his head right back up his ass when it comes time to perform. Unlike Price, for the last two years I’ve been the one putting asses in the seats and money in the bank. I’ve been the one bringing in the crowds and giving them what they want to see. They pay top dollar just to tell me how much they despise me yet they will never get enough of the Personification of Perfection. When’s the last time anyone had anything to say about Stu-E Price other than talking about how much of a worthless shit bag he’s proven to be. No one cares about Price because he isn’t worth anyone’s time. That’s why his words are as meaningful to me as a ####ing heroin addict begging for smack on the street. He’s like a damaged child who refuses to see past his own diluted sense of reality. Sure, attacking someone like that isn’t always the best choice I could make but sometimes I could care less what people think of my methods. Unlike Price I didn’t lose my championship to a couple of no talent losers like Heckler and Kosh. As a matter of fact, I’m still the ONLY undefeated champion in the company so that alone shows why I’m always going to have an advantage over clueless assholes like Price. I’m simply, better. I’m smarter, stronger and have the ability to do things that Price can only dream about. More importantly, I’m the only man that was forced to release the All Star Championship on account of my own success. Face it, Price. You aren’t in my league. Not even in your ####ing dreams.
Mia: So you’re saying you aren’t the reason the HWA went on hiatus?
Michael James: If anyone deserves to be blamed for the so called “brink of destruction” it sure as hell isn’t the undefeated World Champion. It’s people like Price, Judas Mercury, Buff Bridges, Bryan Deas, Fallen and William Draconis that bring nothing to the table resulting with a cluster#### of inactivity for months at a time. If anything, I should be held responsible as one of the only people with the guts to keep the company alive and well when others were nowhere to be found. Price is just like the rest of the jealous douche bags trying to get under my skin. He wants to take on the role of a hero when he hasn’t done a damn thing to deserve it. He wants to say one thing and then disappear so he doesn’t have to deal with the stress of actual competition. There’s nothing new about Price just like there’s nothing new about Butch or Wisdom Parker. All they’re doing is delivering the same tired crap we heard a million times before so excuse me for not giving a damn. Or in Price’s case, delivering a few pointless lines of dialogue and then trying to best place to hide before his mistakes catch up with him. At least Butch will put up a fight even when he knows he has no chance of winning. Sure, it’s not very smart, but at least Parker is willing to make an effort to back up his own bullshit. I can admire that in a lot of ways. Price on the other hand, is lower than shit. He knows he can’t back up his words and refuses to show his face because he’s a ####ing pussy. There’s no pride in being a coward no matter how much shit he spits out so he might as well be invisible to the rest of us. We don’t need Price in order to operate as a solid company. As far as I’m concerned we don’t need Price at all since he fails to contribute anything to anyone.
Mia: What about Butch Parker?
Michael James: What about him?
Mia: Well, a few seconds ago it seemed like you were actually giving him credit for being a functional part of the HWA. That doesn’t seem like something you would say about a man that is rumored to be your arch nemesis.
Michael James: Don’t get me wrong. Even if Butch and Wisdom Parker are as useful to me as a bag full of steaming turds they still tend to make their own contributions every now and then. Butch is an egomaniacal son of a b###h who refuses to accept the barriers of reality between the two of us. He thinks he can actually beat me and that’s what makes this so entertaining for me. Wisdom on the other hand, knows for a fact that Butch can’t win because she was a crucial part of his original downfall. I know she’ll come out and say she will do anything for her husband but if that was the case she would have done the smart thing by telling him to quit before things get out of hand. Wisdom is the thorn in Butch’s side that continues to push him closer to the edge of his own sanity while trying her best to hide behind a cloud of artificial bullshit. Senester can see it, I can see it and anyone with a fully functional brain can see just how fake that ##### really is. But as much as I hate to admit it, Butch and Wisdom Parker make the HWA interesting for me. Not many people can lose to Michael James and then get back up to start begging for more. Usually, they’ll see what I bring to the table and end up shitting their pants in fear before getting two words out. Butch wasn’t like that. He encouraged me to keep coming at him because he could “handle” it. He kept fighting as much as he could until I started to grow tired of his relentless stupidity and took the World Championship. Now that he’s back claiming to be a new version of the man he once was, I’m interested to know exactly how far he’s willing to go until hanging up his boots for a second time. Everyone saw what happened the first time around and unlike Parker I never lost a step. I didn’t lose sight of my success and I didn’t lose the ability to prove to be the best this company has ever seen. I didn’t fail because I’m not a natural born loser like Butch and Wisdom Parker. I have ambition in my blood where Butch has nothing to show except for the numerous losses he suffered like ####ing clockwork. But it’s like I said before. I will have no problem repeating history for the sake for my own amusement. If Butch wants to bleed like he did before, I can make that happen. If he wants to feel the same inadequacy he felt while spending months trying to compete with my intelligence, I can do that too.
It was close to impossible to predict what was going through Mia’s head. I had no clue if she was favoring Butch and Wisdom or just trying her best to get through the interview without losing her temper. I think the worst part was probably the fact that she knew I was speaking the truth no matter what she wanted to believe.
Michael James: People like Butch and Wisdom simply because they offer a beacon of false hope. People always want someone to believe in because there always has to be an equal balance for things to work they way they’re supposed to. Good is supposed to conquer evil because that’s what people are expecting to see. But what about those people with creative minds that don’t want to see a sugar coated fairy tale ending? If you asked me it all comes down to the point of diversity amongst ranks despite whatever expectations people might have. How many times do you think someone spent good money with hopes of seeing Butch Parker get the best of Michael James? Probably hundreds or more and that’s why I always say that expectations are bullshit. Butch thought his words were good enough to grant him survival but at the end of the day it wasn’t enough to last five minutes in the ring with me. When Wisdom tried to get involved I kicked her in the face and sent her packing just like I said I would. Unlike those two clowns, I speak the truth. I don’t need to hide behind lies and empty promises because I take pride in being a man of my word. Butch takes pride in his relationship to a cross gender prostitute more than he does his own career. Personally, I don’t see why anyone would want to support someone that desperate. But then again, Butch is the kind of shameless loser that’s used to living in a state of constant desperation. He lost his championship, his pride, his ego and any possibly of accreditation so I can understand why he has to sink as low as he does. I don’t have that problem because I’m still at the very top of the mountain. I’m the HWA World Heavyweight Champion and that isn’t going to change because of a piece of shit like Parker. If that was the case he would have beaten me a LONG time ago and we wouldn’t be having this conversation right now.
Mia: What about the best of three series planned to continue at Road to Ruin? Are you worried about that at all?
I laugh out loud, damn near dropping my cigar on the floor.
Michael James: Of course not. Road to Ruin is going to be nothing more than another chance for me to make a complete fool out of Butch Parker like I always have in the past. In our first encounter, Parker promised the world he would be walking out of Fatality with a victory over Michael James. He told his so called “followers” they had nothing to worry about because good was destined to overcome the evil that I was using to plague the entire company. What a crock of shit that was. At the end the day he took nothing away from that match other than a lesson in bitter humility and unadulterated agony. Sure, he could have taken the high road and begged me to end his suffering quick but he didn’t choose to do that. He wanted that pain for some reason. He had something to prove even if he had to risk his own pathetic life to do so. On that particular night Butch Parker decided to become a glutton for punishment and learned why it wasn’t a good idea to step into a deathmatch with Michael James. At Road to Ruin, we’re going to be flipping the script by facing off in the Lion’s Den. And you know what, Mia? I have no problem with that. Defeating Butch Parker isn’t a difficult task so the environment isn’t going make a difference to the undefeated World Champion. I’ll show up, break his ####ing jaw and walk out with yet another title defense to add to my flawless record. What’s Butch going to have? Another shameless defeat to contribute towards his unbreakable losing streak?
I lean forward and place my cigar in the large ash tray sitting on the table in front of us. As I exhale through my nostrils I turn towards Mia once again.
Michael James: Gimme a ####ing break. To be perfectly honest with you I have more important things to worry about than Butch and Wisdom Parker. I’m the highest paid name on the roster, I’m booked solid for months at a time to serve as the face of the company and I’m the only one that people look up to when it comes to active competition. When I was the All Star Champion people like Freddie Styles and Bryan Deas were chomping at the bit to get a shot at me because they knew a victory over Michael James was something that no one else could achieve. They could have cared less about Butch being at the top of the food chain because he failed to represent himself as a champion. I never had that problem because people look at me and naturally see a man that deserves to be covered in gold. They see a man that has more talent in his pinky finger than the entire roster combined. When people look at me, they see greatness in its purest form. When they look at Butch Parker all they see is some has been piece of shit that can’t get the job done anymore. Even now as we speak Butch has Wisdom speaking for him and you know what that tells me, Mia? Nothing has changed about either one of them. He’s still scared shitless so instead of facing me he’s trying his best to hide behind Wisdom’s jock strap. It’s like I said a long time ago. Butch is a repeater. When he runs out of smoke to blow from his ass he will stack recycled shit on top of more shit and call it a masterpiece. I can’t live with anything half assed so that’s a perfect example why Butch will always lose to Michael James. In my reality there are no expectations. There is no good and no evil. There are only winners and losers and right now I’m still winning.
Mia: Unless Butch finds a way to score a win over you on the next Havoc.
This b###h had balls. It’s like she was challenging me. I like that. I scoffed at her ridiculous notion.
Michael James: That isn’t going to happen, either. The best part is everyone knows it because Butch isn’t capable of pulling a miracle out of his ass. Havoc is merely a preview of what’s to come at Road to Ruin. Granted, I still have the option of putting him on the shelf so he wouldn’t be able to make it to the Lion’s Den. But where’s the fun in that? People are counting on the both of us to give them a championship match and that’s exactly what we’re going to deliver. Unlike Butch, pressure isn’t a problem for me. I can hold and defend the World Championship better than he ever could because I’m someone that deserves to be where I am today. I’ve earned my place as the best despite what anyone wants to say because I was able to make it on my own. Butch couldn’t even do it with Wisdom wiping his ass along the way and that’s why he isn’t the World Champion. He will never be the World Champion ever again so the sooner he gets used to that the better off he’ll be. Wisdom says I’m delusional but if that was true why would I be sitting here right now with a smile on my face and fifteen pounds of HWA gold draped across my chest? If I’m delusional, why am I the only man in the entire company with a flawless record? Is all of this just a figment of my imagination or what, Mia? Tell you what, how about you take off your shirt and show me your ti—
Mia: No, James. Not gonna happen.
Now she’s using my own words against me. What a creative #####. I snap my fingers and the ceiling lights quickly dim to a warming purple tone. Barry White starts to play on the stereo as I look across at Mia and smile at her. For the first time ever, she smiles back.
Michael James: How about now?
Mia: How about....no.
She responds with a spark, snapping her fingers as the mood lighting switches back to the fluorescents.
Michael James: Either way, I think you get my point, Mia. If anyone is delusional about their current state of mind it sure as hell isn’t Michael James. I’m the World Champion and that means I can’t afford to be wrong about anything. Butch, well, Butch was what was referred to as a paper champion. A place holder. He stole the title on a bullshit technicality and then demanded praise when people refused to acknowledge his fraudulent bullshit. I didn’t have to cheat to become the champ because I’ve been beating the shit out of Parker from the moment he spit my name out of his ####ing mouth.
Just then, Mia begins to move away from her spot on the couch and snaps her fingers in the air once more. As Barry White chimes in for a second time, she whips back her hair and winks at me with an obvious glare of blatant seduction. She slowly approaches me, crawling on all fours like a cat, while running the tip of her tongue along her upper lip. I had no clue what was happening at the time, but I allowed it to commence nonetheless. A few seconds later, Eden enters the studio unannounced. Upon sight of the two of us, her eyes begin to bulge as she stares straight ahead at something she wasn’t expecting to see.
Michael James: Shit!
The frame suddenly cuts to a static feed, ending the broadcast.
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