It had been a nonstop week for Jeremy. He had hardly had a minute to think bouncing like a pinball in a machine from one thing to the next. The morning after Havoc he was on a flight to Postdam, Germany to attend a conference at the Max Planck Institute for Gravitational Physics. Gravitational waves in space are becoming an increasingly studied phenomenon in the science community. It was an enlightening experience with provocative discussions. He had just arrived back in Los Angeles following the long red-eye flight and was glad to be back home after spending a few extra days in Berlin. About an hour and half after landing he was home, muscle top on, gray shorts and his rear end planted on the sofa as flicked the television on, fired up the HWA App and caught up on the latest since Havoc. Rushing out to his flight early the morning after he hadn’t had time to really take in the show, he felt the pull again of straddling both worlds, his love of science and his growing career in wrestling.
It was only a month or two ago that he was questioning if wrestling was going to be his career, until his match with Will Ospreay. Butch Parker had to have known what he was doing setting that match up. It was the spark that lit his pilot, and for the first time in the last years since he joined…he didn’t think of wrestling as a job. The company was out of the shadows and growing, and he was growing with it just like Butch and Sensei Matthew had said they all would. He hadn’t much cared before whether he won or lost. Sure, he had a competitive streak, but at the end of the day it was just work and he got paid. Though at the time he was beaten down by things going on with Sean. The boss’s nephew, right next to Matt Miller as locker room leaders and if he didn’t care, he wondered why should he. When the bell rang and he stared across at Ospreay, truly for the first time in his career…he wanted to win. He needed to win, and he put everything he had on the line to take that victory, and Jeremy Branson the wrestler was truly born. Havoc was done now, and his little detour to Germany was over…it was time to get his head back into the game, and the first person he wanted to address was Hans von Richtoven.
(Jeremy): Hans, I’m excited to see you making a return to the ring soon. Since you’re return you’ve been nothing but friendly, helpful, and have genuinely had no agenda other than transferring some of your experiences and knowledge to others. And speaking of experience…you were spot in with your recommendation for Nobelhart & Schmutzig. The food was stellar, but I must admit…I was still hungry after the course so swung by Rogacki to get my fill. The place kind of reminded me of Grand Central Market here in LA, busy as hell, but good food and it definitely topped me off. Thanks again!
It was time to get serious. Jeremy looked at his cameras head on a, a slight look of defeat on his face.
(Jeremy): Stu-E, I believe congratulations and thanks are in order. Disappointed I may be at taking that loss at Havoc, I still got what I wanted…to know who I’m dealing with and where you stand. Not only did you give me a great match, but I saw your heart in it. I could hear your daughter ringside, and felt her energy invigorate you throughout. The past months for some of us have been different from what we anticipated. We’ve gone from just putting on competitive matches on Youtube to a lot of you vets returning and pissing on the lawn trying to reclaim your old territory. At Havoc, you proved to me that you were different, and I hope I proved to you who I am and what I’m about as well. I don’t think of you as an enemy, and perhaps one day, I’ll come to think of you as an ally, and even friend.
Jeremy looks across the room at a bookshelf where he’s set that bottle of moonshine and the card Draconis sent with it. The wound was still fresh, and the resentment lingered like the smell of fish in the house days after cooking. For now, William Draconis remained an enigma, but somewhere down the road he intended to find out who he really was as well. Right now it was all about the tag match this coming Havoc.
(Jeremy): Bryan Deas…(he chuckles to himself)…you know I still have an old “The Ballistic One” t-shirt somewhere back at home. The next time I visit my folks, I’ll have to pull it out, take it into the backyard and burn it. You are the epitome of space junk. Once upon a time, people got really excited over you. You were launched out into the stars, shined and did everything you were supposed to do….and then you burned out. Now you’re just debris, lingering about, carelessly bumping into things. Occasionally, some bit of you causes a brief spectacle as you try to return to earth, colors flashing as you streak the sky like you’re doing right now. But wait for it Deas…this is your last life. At Havoc, you…the pile of space junk are colliding with me, the atmosphere. You’re going to burn up and you don’t even know it. When Matt and I are finished, there won’t be much left of you and Maniac to crash back to earth.
Jeremy’s eyes shift as if he’s looking at someone else, but it’s just a reaction of his thought process.
(Jeremy): Then there’s you Maniac. You make your return to the company and want to pick up right where you left off. Talking about taking championships that don’t even exist, wanting to put is noobs under your wing. You were right Manic, we all turned you down out of disrespect. But, it wasn’t us who disrespected you…it was you who disrespected us. You’ve been gone from the company for over 10 years, the last 8 of which Matt and Sean have run this place, and you come back talking about let me show you kids something? This isn’t you and Deas’ HWA anymore. You and Deas have attacked at your opportune moments. When you knew the rest of us where preoccupied you set your sights on the prey separated from the pack. Not anymore. I’ll be side by side Matt and we’ll all be eye to eye. No looking over our shoulders, no sneak attacks, no buses hurling through the parking lot trying to run us over, and no baseball bats.
As he’s talked Jeremy has pulled up old matches from the HWA vault, and is clicking through a few.
(Jeremy): Like Matt said, we know all about you and Deas. What did you call your little faction “The Revolution”? We know you two have teamed together before, and you’re right…its probably going to be just like riding a bike, only you’re two clowns on unicycles in the circus and are going to have a harder time than you think staying balanced against us. Matt and I…
Jeremy pauses, seemingly distracted…
(Jeremy): Matt and I have been side by side for years now. We know one another in this ring, and you’re not going to find a flaw in our game. You on the other hand, you and Deas have been at each others throats more than you have been aligned. Matt’s not trying to put a wedge between you two, it’s already there. You can’t trust one another the way we trust each other. Deas knows you’ll stab him in the back in the blink of an eye, and vice versa. You’ll be lucky if he even shows, he only likes to strike when the odds are in his favor and you both know coming into Havoc…the odds are against you. You’re coming up against the future of this company. The flag bearer Matt Miller, for which you wouldn’t have this second wind of career if he hadn’t carried that flag and held it high these past years. Without him and Sean, you’d still be couch hoping therapist offices with no outlet for your mental instability.
Deas, I imagine you’ll be back home watching the grass turn yellow, waiting on calls from cheap promotions wanting you to come in for a few hundred bucks, maybe wrestle, maybe just be a special guest to give their show some credibility. Then you’ll hop on over to come wrestling conventions, set your little table up, throw a banner up “Wrestling Legend Bryan Deas…I Demand Some Respect.” How many overpriced photos do you sell Deas? How pathetic do you feel those fans looking at you with pity? How many thousand half-smile selfies have you given out? You came back to HWA and instead of being like Stu-E Price, a veteran with integrity. You came back in desperation.
Jeremy shakes his head, wiggling his finger with a smile as an idea strikes him…
(Jeremy): I’ve thought about this, and I know Matt has as well. You se Havoc is just the beginning. We’re going to leave just enough of you two, so Matt can beat you at your own game Maniac inside the Asylum. And you Deas…I’m issuing you a challenge. You and me, Art of War. No special match, just you and me straight up. You’ve already got the bat Deas, why don’t you step to the plate so I can see what you’ve really got left.
Jeremy smiles as he clicks the screen off an the scene fades to black.
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