Post by Marcus Thomas Brody, M! T! B!! on Mar 25, 2011 12:27:46 GMT
I struggled to keep my eyes open as a sharp light was shone directly into my eyes. A cold hand was securing my throbbing head and a heated soreness engulfed my back and my neck. After a moment, the light stopped. I blinked a couple of times and the glare began to fade, revealing a middle-aged man with ginger stubble, thinning ginger hair and tartan tie that showed up rather well over his dingy white shirt. A name badge hanging from his pocket showed that his name was Dr. Jim Hacken.
Dr. Hacken: Yup, that's a concussion, lad.
His thick Highlands accent struck me fairly authoritatively. I may be twenty-two now, but he's always stricken me with fear, ever since I was a little boy. And when my dad started training me to wrestle, no one gave me a firmer speech than this man. In his thirty-plus years of medicine, he'd seen a lot. He was a regular attendee of UCW shows and had treated numerous wrestlers, including my dad, and it was him who had convinced Mr. Predator to retire.
Dr. Hacken: Yeah, yer gonna need a wee rest, lad.
MTB: How l..l..long's tha'?
My words were still slurred. Who'd have thought one shot to the head from a belt would've done that much damage to me. Or maybe it was being hit with the Glamour Slam. I don't remember much of it but I'm sure my head bounced off the canvas. I had to be helped to the back and I still wasn't quite with it when my number was called for the Blizzard match. I may have entered in the third quartile of the match, which would normally be fairly advantageous, but thanks to a combination of the damage sustained earlier in the night, I only lasted roughly six minutes before being thrown out by Oswald Brodd. I'm sure I banged my head when I fell there too. So how long before I could get back in a ring?
Dr. Hacken: Couple o' weeks, I'd say, lad.
He sure liked saying 'lad' a lot, but that's not important right now...
MTB: Anything more accurate?
Dr. Hacken: Sure, lad. Roughly two.
MTB: Two!? But I need exposure...
Dr. Hacken: Oh ye need exposure, alrigh', lad. Exposure to a little thing we call rest. Ye wrestlers. Yer too stubborn. Yer jus' like yer dad, ye know. All he cared about was his next match. Same with Mark.
MTB: Who?
Dr. Hacken: Predator. I forget ye wrestlers call each other by yer ring names. Had him in last week to check on his knee. He was telling me about ye, actually. Said ye work hard 'n' have bin makin' a name for yerself nationwide. Said ye beat Lew Chufté and Jack Woody.
I'd no idea what to say so I just nodded. I'm sure he meant Chuft Guy and Jack "The Steel" Woody. But damn it, I needed to redeem my Blizzard loss as soon as possible.
Dr. Hacken: Ah, so where was I, lad? That's right. Ye may be impressin', lad, but don't push yerself too hard. yer only twenty-two. Ye'v got a whole career ahead of ye, lad. Don't let it end so soon, yeah?
MTB: Uh-huh.
Dr. Hacken: Good lad. Now go home, get some rest, and put some ice on yer back 'n' neck. And no wrestling for at least two weeks... Got it?
MTB: Got it.
Fuck! I'd be missing the entire build for Genesis VIII! How can I miss out on my first Genesis!? The fact I could potentially miss Genesis left a particularly bad taste in the back of my mouth. What was just as bad was that I hadn't spoken to my dad since before Live-Wire, and I hadn't seen him since the Blizzard match. Neither had been pleasant. When we spoke he'd just found out about my business partnership with Sandy Strachon, and when I last saw him, we squared off and Brodd eliminated me soon after. I'd been told he was furious and wanted to throw me out. Yet, for some reason, he went after Brodd instead and never even touched me.
I stepped into our house through the back door and found him seated at the kitchen table with a glass of milk. I tried to casually pass by and avoid confrontation but Marcus Brody's battle-weakened Manchester accent boomed.
Marcus Brody: Marcus! Sit! Now!
He kicked a chair opposite him to guide me where to sit but he'd kicked it so hard it' had toppled over. As I leaned over to pick it up, I could feel his eyes boring into me. When I finally sat down, he took a loud sip of his milk and I noticed he had a face like thunder.
MTB: Yes, dad?
Marcus Brody: Don't you "Yes, dad?" me, kid! You know what the matter is.
MTB: You have a problem with me working with Sandy Strachon...
The mention of Sandy's name alone caused my dad to react as if he'd just heard a really bad swear word, and his face screwed up so tight, you'd have thought The Breakfast Table had set off eighty-three stink bombs at once.
Marcus Brody: Not just Sandy, junior. You! It's your attitude. You're getting too big for your boots, and you're starting to forget everything you've been taught.
MTB: Like what?
Marcus Brody: For starters, you ran to the ring and let Christian Lee smash your head in with the belt and let him hit you with the Glamour Slam. And in Blizzard... well, you got distracted.
MTB: I got distracted? YOU distracted ME!
My dad let out a sigh of frustration.
Marcus Brody: Junior, I was testing you. You failed.
MTB: Testing me? You cost me a shot at the title! I had a concussion!
Marcus Brody: No, son. You cost yourself, now stop making excuses.
MTB: I'm not! What's your excuse anyway? I heard you wanted to go after me but you didn't and went for Brodd instead.
Marcus Brody: I don't need to explain myself to you. And for the record, I don't like what you're becoming, this MTB shtick you've got going. Adding flash and flair to your move set. Your arrogance and excuse-making. That's the work of Sandy, and it's only going to hinder you.
MTB: Yeah? Well at least I'm not boring anymore!
There was an awkward silence. I stared him out. He stared me out. I used to be afraid of his glare but now, when he did it, I felt nothing. I didn't see my dad. All I saw was an old man deluded by an outdated view on what a wrestler should be. Then finally...
MTB: Dad, for the first time in my life I feel like I'm somebody. You remember what school was like! You remember how bad it got! I nearly ended it all! After all the taunts and jibes and attacks! Girls wouldn't go near me! You made me boring! Some even said I could cure insomnia! At least Sandy's made me interesting! At least Sandy's made me interesting! At least, maybe now, I at least stand a chance of getting a girlfriend! At...
Marcus Brody: Is that all you care about?
MTB: No, dad! No! I want to be the best! And to be the best, you have to be somebody. It's 2011, and your act doesn't make you somebody anymore. And if you can't comprehend that... well go fuck yourself!
Marcus Brody: We'll have none of that language in this house, Marcus!
MTB: No? Well maybe I don't want to be in this house anymore! Shit! Piss! Fuck! Cunt! Cocksucker! Motherfucker! Tits!
And with the last of George Carlin's seven words, I knocked what remained of his glass of milk off the table and it shattered, leaving a white sea with islands of glass on the floor. I leaned into his face, looked him in the eyes and coldly said:
MTB: I'm out...
I stormed out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs to my room. I pulled a bag from under my bed and flung as much of what I owned as I could into it; my clothes, my gear, my DS, my trophies, my belts. It all went so fast that the next thing I knew, I was outside with my stuff in my bag, agonising pains in my head, back and neck, and no idea where to go. I mean, who could I call? Couldn't be Mr. Predator since he must be as mad at me as my dad, James must've changed his number and forgotten to tell me, and everyone at the UCW School of Wrestling were jealous and hated me. And yet again, the process of elimination gave me only one name I could call.
MTB: Sandy... it's MTB...
And within half an hour, a sleek, metallic black convertible screeched up by me and Sandy Strachon looked at me through pitch black shades that his insanely bushy eyebrows peeked over.
Sandy: Hop in.
MTB: What about my stuff?
Sandy: Ah, just chuck it in the back.
And so I did, and I didn't even look back at the place I could no longer call home as Sandy sped me towards his home. The wind swept my hair and I felt a refreshing sensation against my face, making all the pain go away. Eventually, we got to the countryside, and I got my first glimpse at the Strachon house, or should I say mansion? The driveway went on for an eternity and was lined with greenery and well-kept statues. Surely they must pay someone to do these. The mansion itself was three storeys high and looked like it would cover a football pitch. It was painted a golden shade of cream and as I looked at a golden lion knocker on the front door, I felt at home already. I was awestruck.
Sandy: Here it is, MTB. The Chateau de Strachon. What d'ya think?
MTB: It's amazing.
Sandy let out a chuckle and slapped me on the back. A twinge of pain went through it, but he didn't notice.
Sandy: It sure is.
We stepped out of the car and I stepped into the house, and my breath was taken away. A fountain took pride of place on a cool chessboard floor surrounded my golden walls. Sandy sidled up by me.
Sandy: All right, you can quit gawking now. The maid will show you to your room.
A maid? They had a maid. I'd always had to do everything in the Brody household since my mother left. But wait a second...
MTB: You already sorted a room for me?
Sandy burst out laughing and had to put his arm around me to stop himself falling over.
Sandy: Ah, please. You think I use every room in this place? I don't think I even know where every room is. Where'd you think I was gonna put ya? The pool house?
He has a pool house? And so I was taken by some woman up two flights of stairs. I didn't even look at her as I was too mesmerised by my surroundings. Out of one of the windows I spotted a swimming pool sheltered under the biggest pagoda I'd ever seen. This house had to be what paradise was like. My room fell on a corridor lined with UCW memorabilia, and on my door was a replica of the UCW Championship in a glass case. It had to have been one Sandy had rewarded himself after ended my dad's seventh reign in '99.
I was shown in and couldn't be more amazed. There, in the centre of a large, spacious room was a king-sized bed with royal blue bedding. The sky blue walls were adorned with classic wrestling photos and opposite my bed was a flat screen TV that must have been, what, fifty inches? And underneath that was a shining PlayStation 3. It's as if Sandy knew I'd be coming. I turned and couldn't help but notice another door. I opened that to find something I couldn't help but react to...
MTB: Wooaaah!
And no, we weren't half way there.
MTB: A walk-in wardrobe!
It was a lengthy corridor, lined with hanger after hanger after hanger with a shoe rack that any woman would desire. These, of course, would play home to a soon-to-be started collection of wrestling boots. I left to find Sandy laid back on a purple bean bag by the TV.
Sandy: Sooo, you like?
MTB: Who wouldn't?
Sandy: Good. Now, about last night...
MTB: Yeah, I know. I didn't do so well, I...
Sandy: Oh come on. You have a concussion. Christian Lee cheap-shotted you. You did well for your circumstances. At least you eliminated Chris Knite.
MTB: Yeah, well... wait" How do you know about my concussion? Dr. Hacken only told me this morning.
Sandy clapped his hands and smiled knowingly.
Sandy: MTB. I've got a degree in Law and Criminology, I find things out. Speaking of which, I had some words with Mike Farrell. Well, at least I think it was him, and I got you... wait for it... a match with Christian Lee on Live-Wire.
MTB: What about my concussion?
Sandy: Oh please, MTB. I know Jim. He always says two weeks for concussions, but he actually means eight to ten days. Come on, I owned UCW. I'm bound to have dealt with him a lot.
MTB: But isn't the next Live-Wire in six days?
Sandy: Oh, contraire, mon frère. Turns out Farrell forgot to book a venue for this week's Live-Wire. Poor man, the number of shots to the head he took working for me must've screwed his brain up somewhat. Which means the next Live-Wire's not until March 30th, so your head's got time to recover.
I nodded and sat on my bed, and man was it comfy. It was so plush and soft on my hindquarters. I took a moment to rub the lump on my head from when Christian Lee hit me last night.
MTB: So I've got a match with Christian Lee?
Sandy: That's what I said.
MTB: Safe to say it's non-title?
Sandy: That's right. Him vs. Ross at Genesis is set in stone. I tried to negotiate you in, but Mike Farrell's brain wasn't as screwed up as I thought so you're not main-eventing Genesis.
My heart sank as he said that. After such an impressive year, beating numerous former champions, and even the number one contender at the time; co-winning the Jealousy Battle Royal, and beating James Bohne in a competitive match straight after; running a gauntlet from end to end to become Elite Tag Team Champions with James Stall; taking "The" Ross Walker to the limit. After all of that, I wasn't main-eventing Genesis. And I had to thank Christian Lee and my dad for that.
MTB: I see. At least I get a match with him. What if I defeat him? Surely that entitles me to a title match.
Sandy: It would, but Ross won Blizzard, so Ross gets the shot. Maybe after Genesis.
MTB: He's scared of me. He knows I've got what it takes. He hand-picked me as a member of The Empire.
Sandy: Think about it. Think of everything that happened between when you joined The Empire and Jealousy. Think of the initiation, what happened after your match with Ross, the fact he picked you as Sah'ta Thor's poison, and what happened in that match.
I took in Sandy's words and recalled everything. I had to steal a shark before my Jealousy quarter final with Ross, which I lost. The Empire came out and beat down Ross. Then he picked me to face his number one contender, Sah'ta Thor, in a Pick Your Poison match, and he came out and distracted Thor, which allowed me to get the win. So let's see. He made sure I wasn't focused enough so I wouldn't get past Ross, and I didn't. He had me face Thor since he knew I'd do whatever it would take, so he knew I'd weaken him for their Jealousy World title match, and the distraction allowed me to gain his trust. And last night, he attacked my tag partner after the match to lure me in before smashing me in the head with the belt and hitting the Glamour Slam so I wouldn't go into the Blizzard match at 100%, and hence I wouldn't stand as much of a chance of winning, which I didn't do.
MTB: Of course! It all makes sense. But why me? Isn't Ross known as the greatest warrior to never be the champion?
Sandy: That's right. But think about War Zone. The night Christian Lee won the title.
MTB: Yees... he's pinned Ross already so he knows he can beat him.
Sandy: Right again. You're pretty sharp for someone with a concussion. He's already beaten Ross, so he won't need to worry too much about him. But you, on the other hand, haven't been beaten by him, and at the rate your star had been rising, posed the biggest threat to his title reign. And now, I can see it in your eyes. A fire. A burning passion inside you. I can feel your rage, your fury, your pain. Deep down, you want to lay your vengeance upon him.
MTB: You're damn right I do. I feel like I've been used. As if I was nothing but some pawn in his plan. I want to show him that I'm more than just a pawn, that I am no rookie anymore. Hang on, my dad was in the Empire too, could he be doing some of Lee's bidding?
Sandy took off his sunglasses. I could see a serious look on his face. Serious, and very knowing. He must know something I don't.
MTB: So Christian Lee turned my father against me?
Sandy: Listen, you're here now. Marcus Brody's not what you need to think about right now. If you beat Christian Lee, you've put your mark on the World title. You'd be pushing yourself to the upper echelon of FWF, and you know what that means. In this business, you gotta win the championships first. Then when you get the championships, we get the money. Then when we get the money, you get the power. Then when you get the power, then you get the women. And then you'd be summed up in three words.
MTB: And they are...?
Sandy: Paid... laid... and made... When you're made, your name's forever in the history books. You get considered as one of the best of all time. That's what you want, right?
He knows me so well. He's made legends. He ran one of the big companies for fifteen years and he's seen a lot. He knows what it takes, he knows I have it, he knows people, he knows. He can help me achieve my dream more than my dad or Mr. Predator ever could.
MTB: Right.
Sandy: Good. Now, if you want to train, there's a gym on the first floor. I think you'll find it's equipped to your needs, and if you need me, I'll be in my office. I've a few footballers' contracts I need to go over. Dinner will be served in a couple of hours. And one last thing. Welcome home MTB.
MTB: Thanks, Sandy.
Sandy smiled and left the room. I couldn't really train now. I could only really do what Dr. Hacken had recommended: rest. I lay back on my bed and took in my new bedroom. My head hit the pillow and it felt so relaxing. It was as if I was floating on a cloud. I didn't miss my old room, or my old house, or my old man, that treacherous dog. This was my home now. How could he screw over his own son? His own flesh and blood. But I'm my own man now. I'm free to do what I want now. And what is it I want? To get my revenge on Christian Lee for pissing me about. Revenge for the pain I'm feeling. Revenge for my concussion. Revenge for screwing me out of the shot at the title I've worked so hard to try and earn. And I want to show him, my dad and the world that I belong in the main even. I will show them that I will be World Champion, be it next week, at Genesis, or whenever. I will show them I'm not to be messed with. I will show them who I am. I will show them... M... T... B!!!
Dr. Hacken: Yup, that's a concussion, lad.
His thick Highlands accent struck me fairly authoritatively. I may be twenty-two now, but he's always stricken me with fear, ever since I was a little boy. And when my dad started training me to wrestle, no one gave me a firmer speech than this man. In his thirty-plus years of medicine, he'd seen a lot. He was a regular attendee of UCW shows and had treated numerous wrestlers, including my dad, and it was him who had convinced Mr. Predator to retire.
Dr. Hacken: Yeah, yer gonna need a wee rest, lad.
MTB: How l..l..long's tha'?
My words were still slurred. Who'd have thought one shot to the head from a belt would've done that much damage to me. Or maybe it was being hit with the Glamour Slam. I don't remember much of it but I'm sure my head bounced off the canvas. I had to be helped to the back and I still wasn't quite with it when my number was called for the Blizzard match. I may have entered in the third quartile of the match, which would normally be fairly advantageous, but thanks to a combination of the damage sustained earlier in the night, I only lasted roughly six minutes before being thrown out by Oswald Brodd. I'm sure I banged my head when I fell there too. So how long before I could get back in a ring?
Dr. Hacken: Couple o' weeks, I'd say, lad.
He sure liked saying 'lad' a lot, but that's not important right now...
MTB: Anything more accurate?
Dr. Hacken: Sure, lad. Roughly two.
MTB: Two!? But I need exposure...
Dr. Hacken: Oh ye need exposure, alrigh', lad. Exposure to a little thing we call rest. Ye wrestlers. Yer too stubborn. Yer jus' like yer dad, ye know. All he cared about was his next match. Same with Mark.
MTB: Who?
Dr. Hacken: Predator. I forget ye wrestlers call each other by yer ring names. Had him in last week to check on his knee. He was telling me about ye, actually. Said ye work hard 'n' have bin makin' a name for yerself nationwide. Said ye beat Lew Chufté and Jack Woody.
I'd no idea what to say so I just nodded. I'm sure he meant Chuft Guy and Jack "The Steel" Woody. But damn it, I needed to redeem my Blizzard loss as soon as possible.
Dr. Hacken: Ah, so where was I, lad? That's right. Ye may be impressin', lad, but don't push yerself too hard. yer only twenty-two. Ye'v got a whole career ahead of ye, lad. Don't let it end so soon, yeah?
MTB: Uh-huh.
Dr. Hacken: Good lad. Now go home, get some rest, and put some ice on yer back 'n' neck. And no wrestling for at least two weeks... Got it?
MTB: Got it.
Fuck! I'd be missing the entire build for Genesis VIII! How can I miss out on my first Genesis!? The fact I could potentially miss Genesis left a particularly bad taste in the back of my mouth. What was just as bad was that I hadn't spoken to my dad since before Live-Wire, and I hadn't seen him since the Blizzard match. Neither had been pleasant. When we spoke he'd just found out about my business partnership with Sandy Strachon, and when I last saw him, we squared off and Brodd eliminated me soon after. I'd been told he was furious and wanted to throw me out. Yet, for some reason, he went after Brodd instead and never even touched me.
I stepped into our house through the back door and found him seated at the kitchen table with a glass of milk. I tried to casually pass by and avoid confrontation but Marcus Brody's battle-weakened Manchester accent boomed.
Marcus Brody: Marcus! Sit! Now!
He kicked a chair opposite him to guide me where to sit but he'd kicked it so hard it' had toppled over. As I leaned over to pick it up, I could feel his eyes boring into me. When I finally sat down, he took a loud sip of his milk and I noticed he had a face like thunder.
MTB: Yes, dad?
Marcus Brody: Don't you "Yes, dad?" me, kid! You know what the matter is.
MTB: You have a problem with me working with Sandy Strachon...
The mention of Sandy's name alone caused my dad to react as if he'd just heard a really bad swear word, and his face screwed up so tight, you'd have thought The Breakfast Table had set off eighty-three stink bombs at once.
Marcus Brody: Not just Sandy, junior. You! It's your attitude. You're getting too big for your boots, and you're starting to forget everything you've been taught.
MTB: Like what?
Marcus Brody: For starters, you ran to the ring and let Christian Lee smash your head in with the belt and let him hit you with the Glamour Slam. And in Blizzard... well, you got distracted.
MTB: I got distracted? YOU distracted ME!
My dad let out a sigh of frustration.
Marcus Brody: Junior, I was testing you. You failed.
MTB: Testing me? You cost me a shot at the title! I had a concussion!
Marcus Brody: No, son. You cost yourself, now stop making excuses.
MTB: I'm not! What's your excuse anyway? I heard you wanted to go after me but you didn't and went for Brodd instead.
Marcus Brody: I don't need to explain myself to you. And for the record, I don't like what you're becoming, this MTB shtick you've got going. Adding flash and flair to your move set. Your arrogance and excuse-making. That's the work of Sandy, and it's only going to hinder you.
MTB: Yeah? Well at least I'm not boring anymore!
There was an awkward silence. I stared him out. He stared me out. I used to be afraid of his glare but now, when he did it, I felt nothing. I didn't see my dad. All I saw was an old man deluded by an outdated view on what a wrestler should be. Then finally...
MTB: Dad, for the first time in my life I feel like I'm somebody. You remember what school was like! You remember how bad it got! I nearly ended it all! After all the taunts and jibes and attacks! Girls wouldn't go near me! You made me boring! Some even said I could cure insomnia! At least Sandy's made me interesting! At least Sandy's made me interesting! At least, maybe now, I at least stand a chance of getting a girlfriend! At...
Marcus Brody: Is that all you care about?
MTB: No, dad! No! I want to be the best! And to be the best, you have to be somebody. It's 2011, and your act doesn't make you somebody anymore. And if you can't comprehend that... well go fuck yourself!
Marcus Brody: We'll have none of that language in this house, Marcus!
MTB: No? Well maybe I don't want to be in this house anymore! Shit! Piss! Fuck! Cunt! Cocksucker! Motherfucker! Tits!
And with the last of George Carlin's seven words, I knocked what remained of his glass of milk off the table and it shattered, leaving a white sea with islands of glass on the floor. I leaned into his face, looked him in the eyes and coldly said:
MTB: I'm out...
I stormed out of the kitchen and stomped up the stairs to my room. I pulled a bag from under my bed and flung as much of what I owned as I could into it; my clothes, my gear, my DS, my trophies, my belts. It all went so fast that the next thing I knew, I was outside with my stuff in my bag, agonising pains in my head, back and neck, and no idea where to go. I mean, who could I call? Couldn't be Mr. Predator since he must be as mad at me as my dad, James must've changed his number and forgotten to tell me, and everyone at the UCW School of Wrestling were jealous and hated me. And yet again, the process of elimination gave me only one name I could call.
MTB: Sandy... it's MTB...
And within half an hour, a sleek, metallic black convertible screeched up by me and Sandy Strachon looked at me through pitch black shades that his insanely bushy eyebrows peeked over.
Sandy: Hop in.
MTB: What about my stuff?
Sandy: Ah, just chuck it in the back.
And so I did, and I didn't even look back at the place I could no longer call home as Sandy sped me towards his home. The wind swept my hair and I felt a refreshing sensation against my face, making all the pain go away. Eventually, we got to the countryside, and I got my first glimpse at the Strachon house, or should I say mansion? The driveway went on for an eternity and was lined with greenery and well-kept statues. Surely they must pay someone to do these. The mansion itself was three storeys high and looked like it would cover a football pitch. It was painted a golden shade of cream and as I looked at a golden lion knocker on the front door, I felt at home already. I was awestruck.
Sandy: Here it is, MTB. The Chateau de Strachon. What d'ya think?
MTB: It's amazing.
Sandy let out a chuckle and slapped me on the back. A twinge of pain went through it, but he didn't notice.
Sandy: It sure is.
We stepped out of the car and I stepped into the house, and my breath was taken away. A fountain took pride of place on a cool chessboard floor surrounded my golden walls. Sandy sidled up by me.
Sandy: All right, you can quit gawking now. The maid will show you to your room.
A maid? They had a maid. I'd always had to do everything in the Brody household since my mother left. But wait a second...
MTB: You already sorted a room for me?
Sandy burst out laughing and had to put his arm around me to stop himself falling over.
Sandy: Ah, please. You think I use every room in this place? I don't think I even know where every room is. Where'd you think I was gonna put ya? The pool house?
He has a pool house? And so I was taken by some woman up two flights of stairs. I didn't even look at her as I was too mesmerised by my surroundings. Out of one of the windows I spotted a swimming pool sheltered under the biggest pagoda I'd ever seen. This house had to be what paradise was like. My room fell on a corridor lined with UCW memorabilia, and on my door was a replica of the UCW Championship in a glass case. It had to have been one Sandy had rewarded himself after ended my dad's seventh reign in '99.
I was shown in and couldn't be more amazed. There, in the centre of a large, spacious room was a king-sized bed with royal blue bedding. The sky blue walls were adorned with classic wrestling photos and opposite my bed was a flat screen TV that must have been, what, fifty inches? And underneath that was a shining PlayStation 3. It's as if Sandy knew I'd be coming. I turned and couldn't help but notice another door. I opened that to find something I couldn't help but react to...
MTB: Wooaaah!
And no, we weren't half way there.
MTB: A walk-in wardrobe!
It was a lengthy corridor, lined with hanger after hanger after hanger with a shoe rack that any woman would desire. These, of course, would play home to a soon-to-be started collection of wrestling boots. I left to find Sandy laid back on a purple bean bag by the TV.
Sandy: Sooo, you like?
MTB: Who wouldn't?
Sandy: Good. Now, about last night...
MTB: Yeah, I know. I didn't do so well, I...
Sandy: Oh come on. You have a concussion. Christian Lee cheap-shotted you. You did well for your circumstances. At least you eliminated Chris Knite.
MTB: Yeah, well... wait" How do you know about my concussion? Dr. Hacken only told me this morning.
Sandy clapped his hands and smiled knowingly.
Sandy: MTB. I've got a degree in Law and Criminology, I find things out. Speaking of which, I had some words with Mike Farrell. Well, at least I think it was him, and I got you... wait for it... a match with Christian Lee on Live-Wire.
MTB: What about my concussion?
Sandy: Oh please, MTB. I know Jim. He always says two weeks for concussions, but he actually means eight to ten days. Come on, I owned UCW. I'm bound to have dealt with him a lot.
MTB: But isn't the next Live-Wire in six days?
Sandy: Oh, contraire, mon frère. Turns out Farrell forgot to book a venue for this week's Live-Wire. Poor man, the number of shots to the head he took working for me must've screwed his brain up somewhat. Which means the next Live-Wire's not until March 30th, so your head's got time to recover.
I nodded and sat on my bed, and man was it comfy. It was so plush and soft on my hindquarters. I took a moment to rub the lump on my head from when Christian Lee hit me last night.
MTB: So I've got a match with Christian Lee?
Sandy: That's what I said.
MTB: Safe to say it's non-title?
Sandy: That's right. Him vs. Ross at Genesis is set in stone. I tried to negotiate you in, but Mike Farrell's brain wasn't as screwed up as I thought so you're not main-eventing Genesis.
My heart sank as he said that. After such an impressive year, beating numerous former champions, and even the number one contender at the time; co-winning the Jealousy Battle Royal, and beating James Bohne in a competitive match straight after; running a gauntlet from end to end to become Elite Tag Team Champions with James Stall; taking "The" Ross Walker to the limit. After all of that, I wasn't main-eventing Genesis. And I had to thank Christian Lee and my dad for that.
MTB: I see. At least I get a match with him. What if I defeat him? Surely that entitles me to a title match.
Sandy: It would, but Ross won Blizzard, so Ross gets the shot. Maybe after Genesis.
MTB: He's scared of me. He knows I've got what it takes. He hand-picked me as a member of The Empire.
Sandy: Think about it. Think of everything that happened between when you joined The Empire and Jealousy. Think of the initiation, what happened after your match with Ross, the fact he picked you as Sah'ta Thor's poison, and what happened in that match.
I took in Sandy's words and recalled everything. I had to steal a shark before my Jealousy quarter final with Ross, which I lost. The Empire came out and beat down Ross. Then he picked me to face his number one contender, Sah'ta Thor, in a Pick Your Poison match, and he came out and distracted Thor, which allowed me to get the win. So let's see. He made sure I wasn't focused enough so I wouldn't get past Ross, and I didn't. He had me face Thor since he knew I'd do whatever it would take, so he knew I'd weaken him for their Jealousy World title match, and the distraction allowed me to gain his trust. And last night, he attacked my tag partner after the match to lure me in before smashing me in the head with the belt and hitting the Glamour Slam so I wouldn't go into the Blizzard match at 100%, and hence I wouldn't stand as much of a chance of winning, which I didn't do.
MTB: Of course! It all makes sense. But why me? Isn't Ross known as the greatest warrior to never be the champion?
Sandy: That's right. But think about War Zone. The night Christian Lee won the title.
MTB: Yees... he's pinned Ross already so he knows he can beat him.
Sandy: Right again. You're pretty sharp for someone with a concussion. He's already beaten Ross, so he won't need to worry too much about him. But you, on the other hand, haven't been beaten by him, and at the rate your star had been rising, posed the biggest threat to his title reign. And now, I can see it in your eyes. A fire. A burning passion inside you. I can feel your rage, your fury, your pain. Deep down, you want to lay your vengeance upon him.
MTB: You're damn right I do. I feel like I've been used. As if I was nothing but some pawn in his plan. I want to show him that I'm more than just a pawn, that I am no rookie anymore. Hang on, my dad was in the Empire too, could he be doing some of Lee's bidding?
Sandy took off his sunglasses. I could see a serious look on his face. Serious, and very knowing. He must know something I don't.
MTB: So Christian Lee turned my father against me?
Sandy: Listen, you're here now. Marcus Brody's not what you need to think about right now. If you beat Christian Lee, you've put your mark on the World title. You'd be pushing yourself to the upper echelon of FWF, and you know what that means. In this business, you gotta win the championships first. Then when you get the championships, we get the money. Then when we get the money, you get the power. Then when you get the power, then you get the women. And then you'd be summed up in three words.
MTB: And they are...?
Sandy: Paid... laid... and made... When you're made, your name's forever in the history books. You get considered as one of the best of all time. That's what you want, right?
He knows me so well. He's made legends. He ran one of the big companies for fifteen years and he's seen a lot. He knows what it takes, he knows I have it, he knows people, he knows. He can help me achieve my dream more than my dad or Mr. Predator ever could.
MTB: Right.
Sandy: Good. Now, if you want to train, there's a gym on the first floor. I think you'll find it's equipped to your needs, and if you need me, I'll be in my office. I've a few footballers' contracts I need to go over. Dinner will be served in a couple of hours. And one last thing. Welcome home MTB.
MTB: Thanks, Sandy.
Sandy smiled and left the room. I couldn't really train now. I could only really do what Dr. Hacken had recommended: rest. I lay back on my bed and took in my new bedroom. My head hit the pillow and it felt so relaxing. It was as if I was floating on a cloud. I didn't miss my old room, or my old house, or my old man, that treacherous dog. This was my home now. How could he screw over his own son? His own flesh and blood. But I'm my own man now. I'm free to do what I want now. And what is it I want? To get my revenge on Christian Lee for pissing me about. Revenge for the pain I'm feeling. Revenge for my concussion. Revenge for screwing me out of the shot at the title I've worked so hard to try and earn. And I want to show him, my dad and the world that I belong in the main even. I will show them that I will be World Champion, be it next week, at Genesis, or whenever. I will show them I'm not to be messed with. I will show them who I am. I will show them... M... T... B!!!