M.D.K. and El Misterioso Viaje Del Desierto
Apr 30, 2017 19:34:03 GMT -5
Kyle Shane and Extinction like this
Post by M.D.K. on Apr 30, 2017 19:34:03 GMT -5
“Oh come on… come on! You lousy piece of sh-“
Psssssst
The camera pans in from a wide shot of the Arizona desert scenery… It is the Sonoran desert; the hottest desert in Mexico to be exact and a great wide, dry expanse of nothing. Not the most ideal place for a car to go kaput and certainly not when you are a matter of days away from one of the biggest nights in your career. But that is the predicament that M.D.K. finds himself in and one that will see a swathe of Captain Hindsights telling him that he should have just travelled with the group and that ‘they told him so’ when he gets back… if he gets back… no, no, let’s not be melodramatic. He will be in Phoenix for the 1st May and he will be in the centre of the ring to greet two fellow icons of this industry for its greatest prize and yet right now, he sits in an overheated car on the 181 without signal, without a sat-nav and without a sense of direction given that he has ended up in this situation.
He hammers at his dashboard and leans forwards against the steering wheel and breathes deeply. He reaches down and releases the bonnet (or hood for our American readers) lever before clambering out of the car and tentatively raising it. The sheer heat of the metal singes his fingers and he drops it quickly.
“You utter shit!”
He levels a swift kick to the front of the car before reaching in and pulls out his jacket which he uses to protect his fingers as he finally successfully lifts the ‘hood’ and is engulfed in a swathe of steam which he wafts with a cough and a splutter. M.D.K. spends a great deal of time peering into the engine with a look of deep thought. He tentatively fiddles with the engine before it emits another hiss and spurt of waters before letting out what can only be described as a sigh of resignation as it lets out a final gasp before silence. M.D.K. simply takes a step back, places his hands on his hips and looks around at the sparse wasteland around him.
“Well… fuck…”
He opens the door to the car, reaches in for his bag and then slams the door shut before walking on down the road with his bag over his shoulder and he holds up his keys and still alarms it as he mumbles under his breath like a cartoon villain. His voice narrates as he strides along with narrowed eyes and sweat beading on his brow.
“A cartoon villain, that is what I have become by siding with the face-paint wonder twins, blind faith Betty and Frosty… I can see a version of me ten years ago shaking his head in disgust at me. What am I saying? Of course he wouldn’t because the M.D.K. of ten years ago was an even bigger asshole than the one walking along here now. The difference being that his head was so far up his own arse that he simply didn’t know it. At least now I have come to terms with the terminal diagnosis of being an asshole and am embracing it in all of its glory. It’s taken a lot of soul-searching and a hell of a lot of time to myself to understand the type of dick I was but from brutalising peons in the ring, I would go ahead and bully people out of the ring and like any asshole with a god complex, I thought what I was doing was right… Sounds familiar doesn’t it?”
M.D.K. offers a smirk as he continues to walk and the inner voice carries on.
“I would have done anything to get to the top and I did and to stay there I did a hell of a lot worse… I drove people not just out of the companies in which I worked but I drove them from the industry as a whole. I have been responsible for as many men losing their smiles and quitting this career path by my backstage antics as I have by physically breaking them inside the ring and most people would hang their heads in shame looking back on a career that has come at the expense of so many others… The trouble is… I’m not like any other… never have been, never will be and that is why I’m where I am now.”
He pauses and takes a look around before wiping his brow before carrying on with a shake of his head and a wry smile.
“I don’t mean literally either for the smart-arses watching this… You have to have a unique selling point to get to the top in this industry. Famine of the Vile did it by being the most far out son of a bitch possible, Chris Page made sure that he was the fucking best at what he did in the ring technically and let you know about it ad nauseum which ate at me for too damn long and Dean James was the epitome of hard work and dedication paying off against the odds. As for the three players in our Main Event on the grandest stage of them all, in the hellish heat of Arizona? Well we all approach the same asset we each possess from a different pathway for a means to an end and they have all resulted in success but for only one of us, will that pathway be the true one. That one asset… is our ego.”
The camera pans up to the sky and focuses on the unforgiving sun that is scorching the ground beneath The Superior One’s feet. The sun moves across the sky to indicate time passing and the camera slowly makes its way back to our primary focus and the primary focus of all who have waited for this moment for so long. To see M.D.K. battle for the big prize once again, to have a chance to see whether he is still World Championship material or just to watch him get his comeuppance. Either way, the world would be watching and waiting for the main event. We see him now as his journey continues and his shirt is draped over his shoulder like a title belt and his jeans are bunched up in his bag as he shuffles along in his trainers, running shorts and a vest top. The normally immaculate appearance has been changed for a sweat caked, shuffling mess of a man who looks up and narrows his eyes at the heat altered shimmering horizon. Ahead, he can see shapes… not much else… Could they be buildings? Cars? Bears? I just set the scene and it’s hot as balls here. I don’t think you get bears in the desert. Either way, he continues his path towards the shapes in the hope there’s a phone, a tow-truck or some water… The journey continues as does the inner voice out loud.
“The ego is a majestic thing; so for three men to put their egos on the line for one prize you know that it has to be worth it. And when those three egos are built around three totally different individuals, you have on your hands the perfect storm preparing to meet in the ring come May the 1st. The ego is what has driven all three of us to this destination. It has seen us climb the mountain in the past to achieve the greatest prize of them all, it has seen all three of us into the Hall of Fame and it is what will continue to sustain us when all of this is said and done. They may be bruised and battered after this war but they will continue to spur us onwards and upwards. Whether you use your self-absorption as cotton wool to wrap yourself up and protect you… or whether you truly believe you are the Messiah… you will return to fight again while I will stand tall and use my raging, smug sense of superiority to drive myself and the World Heavyweight Championship onto bigger and better things.”
“And what better way to dent egos than have that defeat handed to them by a man who should be sat at home and watching with a glazed look of nostalgia, or should be seen during the Hall of Fame ceremony applauding politely and laughing along with Adam Barker’s shit jokes about the good old days… A man who many would like to be retired, who feel should still be retired and who some will try to retire at every opportunity and will fail time and time and time again…”
As M.D.K. continues to walk, we see the light steps of a scorpion as it climbs up the leg of M.D.K. who hasn’t noticed and slowly makes its way up his torso as he walks and the voice continues.
“There are those that doubt my ego spurs me on, there are those who question what purpose my ego serves and there are those that would say that it is a poison that will be my undoing. Some think I’m a poison in general… Am I?”
The scorpion rests on the shoulder of the number one contender at which point M.D.K. finally notices it, before he can even raise his eyebrows in shock, the scorpion strikes at his tanned, sweaty flesh with his tail leaving an instant red, angry blemish. M.D.K. winces and the scorpion takes a few steps backwards before shrivelling up and dying where it stands. M.D.K., irritated, flicks the scorpion away and rubs his shoulder, grunts and continues to walk on.
“I think what people hate is the fact I make them take a long hard look at their selves. I make them look long and hard at their shortcomings, their failings and their fears. I make them peanut butter pantaloons…”
…
“Wait… that’s not right… I make dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena, Que tu cuerpo es pa darle alegria why cosa Buena, Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena, Hey Macarena!”
M.D.K. furrows his brow as he looks down at his feet. His feet turn into Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets causing M.D.K.’s eyes to widen and they grow wider as they begin to talk to one another.
Waldorf: “Do you think this guy’s ok?”
Statler: “I doubt it; he thinks his feet are Muppets…”
Waldorf: “It could be worse…”
Statler: “How so?”
Waldorf: “He just walked me through animal crap!”
They both laugh as M.D.K. looks away from his laughing feet and at the desert surrounding him. Shapes and colours swirl around him and still he continues to stagger on in a daze… He swats at the air around him and mumbles to himself in a slurred fashion.
M.D.K.: “God damned owls trying to steal my grandfather’s pocket watch…”
He takes a few more steps forwards until he finally stumbles forwards and lands face first into the dirt. He remains motionless for a few minutes until the sound of rushing water floods his ears… but it isn’t rushing water, it’s more… alive. As he raises his face from the floor, the dusty track has been replaced with canvas and the sound he’s hearing becomes quickly clear that it is the roar of a captivated arena as they urge him to his feet. He gets to his knees and breathes heavily as blood trickles down his nose and starts to drip onto the canvas. He looks up and across the ring to see the prone and preying form of a familiar figure only he is much younger… It is Paul Frost and he is stalking M.D.K. as he groggily makes his way up to his knees and Frost charges towards him but M.D.K. deftly steps to the side and drives Frost into the turnbuckle to the delight of the crowd. M.D.K. holds his shoulder and expects the pain that usually comes with such a manoeuvre these days but is doesn’t come. He looks down at his hands and sees they look a lot less world-weathered and he places his hand to his face and that too feels much younger. He mumbles to himself.
M.D.K.: “Is this a flashback?”
But before he can think any more, Paul is bearing down on him and M.D.K. instinctively wraps Frost around the neck and drops him with a HellShot to the delight of the crowd… Before he can do anything else though, M.D.K. finds he is halfway up a ladder and looking up at the prize ahead of him. The crowd continues to urge him on and he finally steadies himself at the top of the ladder and reaches up for the belt. He unclips it and crashes to the mat with the title in his arms as Derrick Diamond makes the announcement as the bell rings.
Diamond: “Here is your winner… and NEW WGWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION… M… D… K!”
The crowd are ecstatic as M.D.K. smiles while on his back on the mat and clutches his newly acquired belt… The light on his face shifts from the spotlights in that arena in Colorado ten years ago back to the unrelenting sun in Arizona right now. The mat he lies on is back to being the dusty and trail and an angry looking coyote who had been sniffing at M.D.K.’s sleeping body is being clutched like the Intercontinental Title… M.D.K. comes to and tosses the coyote to one side who growls at him before skulking off. M.D.K. groggily gets to his feet and rubs his eyes before looking around for his bag. As he picks it up, it thanks him in an Australian accent. He turns around and sees that it has become Dean James! He boots M.D.K. square in the stomach and drives him into what has become a mat again. Dean hooks the leg and makes the pin-fall!
1!
2!
But M.D.K. kicks out! He rolls to a knee and breathes heavily and tries to compose himself. James charges forwards and M.D.K. locks up the arms of Dean and drops him with the HellShot! He hooks the leg!
1!
2!
3!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Diamond: “Here is your winner… and STILL INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION… M…D…K…!”
M.D.K. is hauled to his feet and holds the title aloft proudly. As he goes to kiss it, it hisses at him! His widens his eyes and finds himself holding a nasty looking snake around the neck! He quickly throws it to the side and it slithers away angrily. M.D.K. rubs his eyes as he sweats profusely and drops his shirt and bag as he continues to stagger on. He starts to mutter to himself as though drunk…
M.D.K.: “Come on Danny… pull yourself together. You are better than this! You can’t be taken down by a measly… It’s so damn hot!”
He continues for a few more steps before falling back to his knees. He looks up at the sun and it’s harsh beams and they once again blend into spotlights and he once again finds himself somewhere far away from Arizona. The light becomes blocked by a figure… a familiar figure… one that has haunted M.D.K. for too long. It’s the face of Chris Page… and they are back in 2007… at Adrenaline… In the Ironman Hell in a Cell match. M.D.K. feels his ribs and winces at the breaks. Page looks down at him and sneers.
Page: “You think that you’re in my league?”
Page grabs the hair of M.D.K. and drives a punch into the forehead of the challenger. M.D.K. drops back again to his knees.
Page: “You think that you and I are equals?”
Another punch.
Page: “You are garbage…”
Punch…
Page: “You hear me? Garbage!”
Punch…
Page: “Nothing…”
Punch…
Page: “And you will be never be anything more than nothing!”
Punch…
But that one is blocked! Page’s eyes widen and M.D.K. glares intently at the champion. He fights his way to his feet while still blocking the punch before returning one of his own. Punctuating each word with a punch!
M.D.K.: “I. Will. Never. Back. Down!”
M.D.K. looks up at the clock and sees that it is in the final minutes of the match. Suddenly, he and Page are on the top turnbuckle and Page is in trouble. M.D.K. has him locked up and sends Page flying to the mat with a high risk HellShot! As the seconds tick down M.D.K. drops his arm across Page and he makes the cover as the seconds tick down!
1!
2!
3!
And as the pin-fall is made, the buzzer sounds and the bell rings…
Diamond: “Here is your winner… AND THE NEW WGWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… M…D…K!”
The crowd are ecstatic as M.D.K. has the belt placed around his waist… Only once again, the lights and the ring disperse and the belt lets out a noise. M.D.K. appears to be trying to wear a deadly gila monster! He throws it into the road and it scuttles away. M.D.K. is now on his hands and knees as he crawls along the long, forgotten road as he laments the wildlife he finds himself offending. As the camera backs up along the road we see the trail of belongings as he has shed his bag, his shirt and his shorts and is just in his boxers. His knees and hands are grazed and cut from the jagged stones and so a trail of blood follows him. He hears a rumble and feels that it is his stomach… until he looks across the road to a pair of big, brown eyes watching him… M.D.K. sits on his haunches and watches as the big, brown eyes emerge and are attaches to a big, brown head and an even bigger, browner body…
M.D.K.: “A b-b-bear?”
M.D.K. looks terrified as the bears gets on his back feet and roars before shuffling forwards! As narrator, I am stunned to see this as bears don’t belong in the desert do they? M.D.K. narrows his eyes and struggles to his feet and mumbles to himself.
M.D.K.: “Time now to get serious.”
M.D.K. lets out a primitive roar and charges towards the bear. The bear roars back and the pair start to grapple with each other… The bear takes a huge swipe at the bare chest of M.D.K. and draws blood in a diagonal pattern. M.D.K. winces, growls back and punches the bear square in the jaw! The bear staggers backwards and M.D.K. lurches forwards and pushes the bear to the ground and mounts it. He rains down lefts and rights on the bear as it continues to growl defiantly and try to fight back with snaps of its jaw…
?: “Are you alright son?”
A snaggle toothed old man stands at the side of the road as he looks at the shambles of a sight before him. M.D.K. – riddled with venom and heatstroke – is clad in just his boxer shorts and is punching seven bells of crap out of… a cactus… M.D.K. looks the old man with wide eyes of confusion. His chest is scratched diagonally and bloody as are his hands. The old man hobbles over to M.D.K. and pulls him away from the cactus and the number one contender gingerly peels himself away from the cactus and sits bewildered with his legs apart. The old man reaches to his belt and unclips a water bottle and hands it to him.
Old Man: “Here, take some sips of water.”
M.D.K. takes the bottle with both hands and takes long, thirsty gulps…
Old Man: “Easy there partner! That won’t do you no good! Let’s get you into some shade.”
M.D.K.: “I’ll be fine… really I will.”
Old Man: “You don’t look it son…”
M.D.K.: “I’m serious… I’ve never needed anyone… and I sure as hell don’t…”
As he tries on getting to his feet, he sways and then crashes back to the dirt… The old man looks over his shoulder and calls out to an unseen figure.
Old Man: “Tiny! Come and pick up Papa’s new friend and help him into the truck.”
An absolute behemoth of a man lumbers over and picks M.D.K. up as though he was a bag of potatoes and with a similar amount of grace. M.D.K.’s vision goes from spinning… to blurry… to black…
----
A solitary beam of morning sunlight breaks through the window and shines across this dusty room and illuminates an old chifferobe. Attached to it are a few pieces of paper, most of which are too faded and bleached from the sunlight. One that is still partially intact appears to be a black and white photo of a family clearly taken in a time when cameras were not common place. M.D.K. slowly comes to in this room and looks around at his surroundings. Everything from the bedsheets to the furniture appears to have come from a completely different century but are in immaculate – if a little tired – condition. The room has a musty scent and as M.D.K. sits up the bed creaks and echoes around the room and inevitably the house. He struggles to swallow and turns to see a jug of water with a slice of lemon in it with a glass beside it. M.D.K. doesn’t even bother with the glass and M.D.K. thirstily guzzles down half the contents of the jug and then spits the lemon back into the jug after it craftily slipped into his mouth.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and winces as he leans down and rubs his dirty and grazed feet before feeling his chest to feel that the scratches and needles have been patched up and has started to heal with a neat little set of scabs. He stretches out his neck and then winces as he feels his shoulder where the scorpion did its damage. A large red circle now bears a burn mark that could only have been done deliberately. His back is tender from being out in that harsh sunlight for hours leading him to have a little redness of sunburn. He pours some of the remaining water into the glass and makes his way to his feet and shuffles over to the window. As he does, he notices his bag and clothes have been placed on an old wooden chair and neatly folded. He walks over to the window and looks out across the scene ahead of him. A couple of wooden houses stand proud but tired across what would have once been a well-tended street. Just along from it stands a ‘Ge-er-l --or-‘ that looks to have been closed for decades and then in the driveway stands a nearly new pick-up truck that appears to be the anachronism in this picture. M.D.K. takes another mouthful of water and mutters to himself.
M.D.K.: “This had better not be another fucking hallucination.”
He turns as he hears the clinking of plates downstairs and decides to follow the source of the noise. He puts down his glass and picks up his jeans and puts them on with a wince from the scratches and grazes down his legs. He puts on a clean button up cotton shirt that was in his bag and steps out of his room to see a door with ‘Nate’s Room’ emblazoned on the opposite side of the hallway. M.D.K. then realises where the missing letters from the General Store had gone with a smile. He makes his way down the creaky staircase to be met by the stunned face of a child no older than eight years old. M.D.K. kneels down and makes his best endeavour to smile at the tyke.
M.D.K.: “I’m assuming that you are Nate?”
The boy remains silent and wide-eyed as a door to the kitchen opens and the old man from earlier hobbles through and offers a nearly toothless grin to M.D.K.
Old Man: “He sure is but isn’t used to other people except who lives around here… all five of us.”
M.D.K.: “Where… where is this?”
Old Man: “Paradise!”
M.D.K. snorts in response and the old man simply continues.
Old Man: “Paradise, Arizona. Founded in 1901 by my great, great, great grand-pappy and abandoned in 1943 when the mines failed. Me and my family got left here to keep an eye on the town and hope we can come good with what we can find. Four of us in the family; my wife Dorothy is just fixing us some food, you’ve met Nate my son and my daughter Cindy is with her ma’ helping to cook. And I’m Nathan Helmsley Senior and it’s a pleasure to see you are awake!”
M.D.K.: “I’m Danny… Your kids are young considering…”
He goes to pause to try and not state the obvious. The old man chuckles heartily.
Old Man: “Considering I’m such an old coot?”
He lets out a wheezy chuckle and then a deep sigh.
Old Man: “Yep… some think it’s the weather and some think it’s the lack of people that keeps the venom in the snake potent… Speaking of which…”
He steps forwards and pulls the shirt of M.D.K. open… and M.D.K. steps back quickly.
M.D.K.: “Easy tiger, I’m grateful for the help but I’m not gonna thank you that way.”
Old Man: “Behave yourself! I ain’t one of those home-owner-sexuals that you city folk write about in those magazines. I need to check that sting you took if I got it good.”
He looks at the shoulder of M.D.K. and runs his hands across it. Then grumbles to himself.
Old Man: “It looks like I got it in time… it wasn’t elegant but we had to do it quickly using our engine but it would be better to stay here for a few days just to be sure. That was a pretty nasty scorpion sting you took. Critters like that tend to hit you with two or three strikes before trying to feed so you were lucky.”
M.D.K.: “He died after one sting…”
Old Man: “Died? (He laughs again) Son, you got some acid in that blood then because it takes a lot to take those sons of bitches down. They’ve taken out three horses and four of my dogs in the past. You are one lucky SOB.”
M.D.K.: “That’s been said once or twice in the past to me… Listen, you said you had two kids, but who was the guy who got me here? Or at least into the truck… I’m 260lbs… you ain’t moving me anywhere…”
Another cackle from the old man – that was getting tiresome quickly – but this old coot had potentially saved his life so all thoughts of pointing out potential incest and annoying habits would have to wait… at least until he had means to get out of here.
Old Man: “Ah you remember that? When I got to you, you were wrestling a cactus!”
M.D.K. looks a little embarrassed.
M.D.K.: “I thought it was a bear…”
Old Man: “Son, there ain’t no bears in this neck of the wildlands! You sure were seeing some shit. The Injuns used to use the venom of one of those scorpions to trip and see their heart’s desire. It used to mess them up something chronic but it would help them see what they wanted.”
That made M.D.K. stop and think about what he saw during his time… before he could think more; a homely middle-aged woman with a sweet little girl in her arms comes through the door.
Woman: “Dinner is served gentlemen… Oh… and of course for you as well sir… glad to see you are up and about… and dressed…”
Old Man: “Dotty… this is Danny! He’s the man we dragged off of a cactus in his underwear!”
M.D.K. looks to the ceiling in a mixture of embarrassment and the urge to shut them all up but he looks down and smiles weakly.
Woman: “Now, now Nate Senior, he was struck by a Stripe-tail… don’t be hard on him…”
The woman leads M.D.K. and the entirety of the family into the dining room where an old table with chipped varnish stands proudly sporting a veritable feast of home cooked delights. Chicken, beef, vegetables and potatoes in varying forms cover most of the table and M.D.K. can’t help to think this was done to impress him in some vain bid to show that they are doing ok for themselves. The woman offers him a seat and he sits down with his water that he continues to drink and refills his glass from a jug that is on the table. The young boy takes a seat opposite M.D.K. while the woman slips the young girl into a roughly hewn high-chair where she proceeds to decorate the surrounding area in beige goo. M.D.K. notes one spare chair and then looks to the old man as he addresses his wife.
Old Man: “Did you call Tiny in?”
Woman: “I called him but he’s not come yet… I’ll ring the bell… he always listens to that.”
As she gets up and walks to the door and opens it up onto a porch like area and rings an over-sized bell that would look more at home down a mine. Then M.D.K. realises that it is where they no doubt got it from. It chimes out across the yard and down the street as she calls out for a ‘Tiny’. M.D.K. can only chuckle to himself as he thinks it sounds as though she is calling out after a stray pet and then ponders to think of the times that those pets would have ended up being a glorified pin-cushion for scorpions. Like how M.D.K. wouldn’t have been had he not been so toxic.
M.D.K.: “Tiny?”
Old Man: “He’s the why and the how behind how you got here. We found him in one of the old houses when he was still a babe in arms and Dotty and I were newly courting. Even as a kid he was a massive lump of a boy. We thought he was a prize-winning watermelon that someone had left behind! We kept him around and he didn’t stop growing. He’s as big as an ox but we think that the Lord forgot to keep the brains growing when he kept the body getting bigger and bigger. And now…”
Heavy footsteps can be heard making their way up the pathway until a hulking great man ducks to enter the kitchen and is hugged by the woman who then gestures for him to sit at the table. He ruffles the hair of the boy and then points at M.D.K.
‘Tiny’: “Papa! Cactus Pants! Ha!”
M.D.K. looks down at the table and shakes his head. The old man laughs before being admonished by his wife with one quick stare. Meanwhile the daughter has created a Jackson Pollock style masterpiece with her face.
Old Man: “Tiny and I found your car abandoned on the side of the trail and so we followed your trail of belongings until we found you! Tiny only knows a few words I’m afraid.”
M.D.K.: “It’s fine… really…”
Old Man: “Well while you were asleep, Tiny dragged your car back here and he’s been working on it ever since…”
M.D.K. could only imagine what this lumbering hulk of a human could have done to his car. He had visions of him chewing a seatbelt like a pacifier. That hulk was now sat next to him and took up half the length of the table with his sheer breadth.
Old Man: “I don’t know what it is, but ever since he was a kid, Tiny has had a knack for engines and can make the deadest of engines come to life. It should be ready to go in a couple of days.”
M.D.K.: “Is there any way I can make a call? I have places to be you see…”
Old Man: “We have ‘lectric if you wanna charge anything but we don’t have that interweb or any fancy things. We have each other and the weekly trip to the nearest city… Other than that… you’re gonna have to be patient… Plus I want to make sure that we stopped that venom in its tracks. It has a habit of coming back you see…”
M.D.K. can only sigh and say nothing. He goes to reach for a chicken leg and has his hand slapped away by the woman. He felt like a child again…
Woman: “In this house we say Grace first…”
M.D.K. sighs and before he can react, his left hand is taken by Dorothy while his right is engulfed by the meaty paw of Tiny. They bow their heads and the Old Man speaks up.
Old Man: “Danny, as our guest do you want to give thanks son?”
M.D.K. pauses for a moment and behaves as though he hasn’t heard them…
Old Man: “Danny?”
M.D.K. snaps out of his daydream and turns to the old man.
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… what did you say?”
Old Man: “Do you want to lead the thanks to God for this bounty?”
M.D.K. slides his hands away and takes a mouthful of water. He stands up…
Woman: “Are you alright son? Are you getting a fever?”
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… I have to go… I have places to be.”
Old Man: “We pointed out that there ain’t no place you are going until Tiny fixes your car!”
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… I have to… I’m sorry…”
He stands up and makes his way upstairs and grabs his bag as the old man makes his way to the hallway with a baffled look.
Old Man: “Where are you gonna go?”
M.D.K.: “Home…”
Old Man: “And how?”
M.D.K. brushes past the old man and opens the front door. He looks at the nearly new pick-up outside and the old man catches him eyeing it up.
Old Man: “Don’t do this son; you are so much better than this…”
M.D.K. walks towards the car and opens it up. He climbs into the driver’s side and Tiny steps out onto the porch beside the old man as the old man makes his way to the car. M.D.K. opens the window.
M.D.K.: “You’d like to think I am better than this? But when I want something, I take it by any means necessary… so no, I’m not better than this as all…”
Tiny lumbers over to the car but is too slow as M.D.K. screeches off of the driveway and into the warm desert night. He fixes his gaze on the road ahead and focuses on the road but can’t help but rub his shoulder as his internal monologue starts up again and we hear him once more.
“Sitting there… with a family like that… with morals like that… I knew I had to get away… I just couldn’t stand to listen or preach that…”
?: “Nonsense? Bullshit? Hypocrisy at its finest?”
M.D.K. snaps out of his thought and looks to the passenger seat to see Chris Page sitting there… He nearly loses control of another vehicle but with a screech of tyres and a wrestle with the steering wheel, he regains control and the vision beside him chuckles.
Page: “Of course I’m not actually here… I have far more important things to deal with than sit here shooting the shit with you but clearly you wanted to envision someone who knew you and here I am!”
M.D.K.: “Why the hell would I want you out of anybody else I know?”
Page: “Like it or not, I know you better than anyone else. Better than your latest hoochy you have paired yourself with, better than managers, dogs or allies and sure as shit better than Paul Frost does and one that knows exactly what this is all about…”
M.D.K.: “And what is that?”
Page: “You… wanting someone to tell you that a partnership with Paul Frost is the worst idea since Andrew Clash decided to regale you with tales of his personal life.”
M.D.K.: “And why the blue fuck would I pick for you to be that person?”
Page: “Because like it not, I am the only one in the WGWF who has your respect…”
M.D.K. snorts in derision at the mere notion of this and then fixes his gaze on the road ahead. Page continues.
Page: “And you think that a vision of me that your own scorpion venom addled mind created would bother lying to you? To what purpose would that serve you? It’s the same as me saying that I respect you… It means nothing in this very instance.”
M.D.K.: “Then why the fuck turn up then?”
Page: “Your mind conjured me! Why don’t you tell me?”
M.D.K.: “Well go on then… tell me all about Paul Frost…”
Page: “What, tell you what you don’t know? There is nothing to tell you because you know this! What you don’t seem to know is when to pull your head out of your own ass and tell yourself. It is an alliance with you that made his pull for the Main Event of WrestleWars a reality. It’s your coat-tails that have dragged him there when his time had faded and it is your opportunity that you are squandering under this pretence that you have… what is it you keep saying, ‘stacked the deck?’”
M.D.K.: “And what is wrong with doing that?”
Page: “For who? You? You really think that all this praising you is somehow genuine? You honestly are telling me that you have bought into this bullshit?”
Silence from M.D.K.; it’s the most ominous noise of all but one that speaks volumes. Page smirks.
Page: “Exactly what I thought… you can’t tell me that you believe this match to be any form of handicap match… What you have on your hands is exactly what it is advertised to be; three men vying for the biggest prize in professional wrestling who will stop at nothing to have that confetti dropping down on them at the end of it all. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what Slater wants? I mean that’s the fairy tale right? Against the odds, the pretty boy comes good?”
M.D.K.: “Of course!”
Page: “Well what is driving Frost on? What is his reason for being in the main event of WrestleWars. Do you think he just wants to have a front row seat on your coronation of - what was it – his ‘Warrior King’?”
M.D.K.: “What?”
Page: “You have spent too long out here… Look, Frost knows from history that you have his number, he knows damn well that he can’t beat you and that eats at him like you wouldn’t believe and what is it they say; if you can’t beat them then you should join them. Well he got you to join him and his merry band of zealots to try and break the WGWF… So you then get what? A title for a company he doesn’t want to exist anymore? That’s like having store credit in Blockbuster video…”
M.D.K. sighs as he looks ahead at the road illuminated by just his headlights. Page continues.
Page: “You know better than anyone that you can have made a pinkie promise with him, you can have bathed in the Frosty Font and knelt wherever he has asked you to kneel but the fact is, come WrestleWars, that ring is just as much a pit of vipers for you as it is for Slater.”
M.D.K.: “Bullshit! Frost may have his own agenda but you know that he won’t stab me in the back until the time is right… or at least try to and even then, he knows that if he tries to screw me over, he can’t run from me forever; I will find him and I will…”
Page: “Yes, yes. Enough with the rendering and the inferior and all that. I’ve been there, done that and worn the HellShot… Look, if you had wanted someone to pat you on the head and tell you that you are something special and that life was all sunshine and lollipops, then you should have thought up a different vision. But I am here to tell you that any thoughts of alliances should be pushed from your head. All you should be thinking of is that feeling you haven’t had in ten years, that feeling that you might not get to have a chance at again. That feeling that brought you back here. Not to forge alliances, not to play pet dog to the big bads that this industry has to offer but to be the best of the best of the best once more and hold aloft the WGWF World Heavyweight title once again…”
The road comes to a flat out T-junction and M.D.K. simply sits there with the engine ticking over. Page concludes…
Page: “How poetic… Look, you have a choice… You can either tow the Extinction party line and take Paul’s hand as high up your ass as a good little puppet will take it… or you can make the right choice… and be the same self-centred, tunnel-visioned mother-fucker you have always been and you go into WrestleWars and win that World Heavyweight title for one man and one man alone… And that is the only person you have always looked out for…”
M.D.K.: “Always a pleasure to talk to a version of you that will disappear quickly…”
The vision of Page and M.D.K. share a smile together and then sigh in unison.
M.D.K.: “Thanks… I know you aren’t HIM per-se but… thanks. We’ve been through a lot…”
Page: “Always a pleasure…”
M.D.K. looks ahead at the junction and briefly rests his head on the steering wheel and breathes deeply. He rubs his shoulder and feels that the mark has cooled down significantly. He smiles to himself and clicks the indicator signal and turns right onto the highway and hopefully back to civilisation…
---
#Human beings in a mob…
What’s a mob to a king?
What’s a king to a god?
What’s a god to a non-believer?
Who don’t believe in anything?#
It’s a few nights since the voyage into the desert and we are here… for most people this very moment is but a dream. For the few though, the elite if you will, WrestleWars is the goal, it’s where everybody wants to be this weekend. The University of Arizona Stadium is playing the role of Mecca this year as tens of thousands of people are driving, riding and flying their way to see the biggest names in professional wrestling come together for one night where that already high bar is raised that bit higher… That one night where a new set of ring attire is purchased, where the boots are given an extra glimmer and the barbers, the pyro-technicians and the live bands are practicing their timing ad nauseum. For one weekend, Phoenix, Arizona will be the very centre of so many people’s universes from around the world. It doesn’t matter if you are a superstar gunning for glory, a fan hoping to see your idol triumph or a sweaty member of the board hoping that everything runs smoothly for a four hour live event featuring countless egos at breaking point.
The arena is now peaceful though as everything is almost is in place. Sat in his ring gear in a locker-room alone leaning forward onto his knees with his hands clasped is the man who this time last year was sat at home watching this event unfurl. That man has headphones on and is looking like he did when he first stepped into a WGWF ring over a decade ago. He puts men half his age to shame as he sits and psyches himself up. His hands are taped as they always are, he body bears the scars of years of putting his body on the line. As the camera pans up with see his feet shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his body, his stomach ripples with muscles that have been pushed to their limit for an event like this. His heart thuds out of his chest and he takes a few deep breaths through his mouth before looking up and allowing those piercing blue eyes punctuate the camera as they bore into the viewer at home. He raises his hands and removes his headphones and the music can be heard as he begins his rhetoric of honesty.
“Ten years… ten years too long in the eyes of some. Not long enough in the green eyes of most. I sit before you a little older, a lot wiser and have never felt more ready for this moment. I have spent time in the wilderness both mentally and – now – physically. I have looked deep into my soul in that time and I have looked back on a career that took me to the highest highs and into the Hall of Fame. Not just in the WGWF but around the world. I have fought in the greatest stadia, in the largest cities, in front of the most passionate fans in the world. But this moment right now? You can keep every other title, every other event and every other set of mere mortals. There is one set of fans who will give every ounce of their hatred to fuel me and that is right here, right now… Home. Peons, peasants and pissants… you’re welcome…”
“That decade has seen me conquer and pillage around the world. I have broken dreams, bodies and promises across the world. I have painted more targets on my back than I care to remember. I have offended, disgusted and repulsed in equal measure and I have been the downfall of companies and careers. I walk into WrestleWars not only unbeaten since my return at the Rumble but unbeaten at WrestleWars. Some of you may sneer and call it simply one and zero but that one was against a man who you mooks hold in such high regard. My body bears the scars of most of your Hall of Fame and their names are each on a list of those I have beaten, brutalised and buried in the past.”
“While I have been there, done it and bought the fucking t-shirt, there is a natural feeling that I have always had to spur me on, some may call it greed but I recognise it as a desire for more. A desire to not only be the best of the best but to grind every other sack of meat into the ground so they recognise that the one true icon in this industry. To stop me from my goal, there are two men standing in my way. One man who has gone out of his way to make sure that the odds are in his favour and the other who has become the poster child for the underdog who just won’t expect it.”
“Several months ago, acolytes of Paul approached me with a business offer… and let me emphasise that word… business. You see, that is what this job is for me. Paul was going to use his pull to put himself into this Main Event of WrestleWars whether I was with him or against him. The way I have seen it, is that I have the chance to have somebody having my back for as long as it is deemed necessary until he thinks I am surplus to requirements or – the more likely option – WHEN I have had my fill of protection. You see, my partnership with Paul has nothing to do with seeing the light, or giving praise to a higher being. When it comes to the crunch, I give thanks to one higher power for everything I have done and will do. That being has been there for the good times, supported through the bad times and has given me the hope for even better times in the future. Three simple letters, one supreme being…”
M… D… K…
“I’m sorry Paul, but when it comes to the crunch, that will be the one true Supreme Being that I will look after. We both know why you approached me though don’t we? Every single time we have gone toe to toe in the middle of the ring, I have had your number. You can dredge up history all you want, but you may have built a legacy now in the WGWF but that is down to one reason and one reason alone…”
“I wasn’t here…”
“Without me, you have been able to excel beyond your wildest dreams. In the past ten years, you have achieved so much, you have defied the odds but when it has come to this event? The grandest stage of them all, you have always come up short. One win in half a dozen attempts? No wonder you came to me. There is a big difference between me and your common garden disciple… the moment you look as though you are going to cross me, I am going to break you like a teenage hymen horse-riding…”
“Paul, we are going to walk into that arena as allies and do not get me wrong for a heartbeat, I do have your back. But if you dare step in between me and what is rightfully mine? The WGWF World Heavyweight Championship? I will break you to the point that you will be crying out to a deity even greater than yourself for mercy…”
M.D.K. sits up where he is, cracks his neck and offers the camera the cruellest of smirks.
“And this is where I talk about the champ isn’t it? This is the part where I try and talk down all that he is and all that he has achieved. But you see, only a delusional child would do such a thing. For Tristan, you are the poster boy for what hard work and dedication to your art can get you, You have an ability and a confidence that I admire, you try so damn hard to step into that ring week in and week out and maintain such a high standard. Of course I’m going to bring in insurance policies, of course I am going to stack the odds in my favour. If I had the time or the inclination, I would be kidnapping Grandma Glorious and making you lie down for the three count. That is the kind of manipulative bastard I am and the kind that has gotten me where I am.”
“While you have busted your arse week in and week out for thirteen months, been holding gold and unbeaten in all that time, I have waltzed in, relied on my name, reputation and my sheer natural talent and have let nature take its course. While you try and you try and you fucking try, everything I have done to you and everything I will do to you come WrestleWars is second nature to me. Dropping sorry carcasses for a HellShot is part of my muscle memory, wrenching your throat to the verge of unconsciousness in a Mancuerda is as natural as breathing to me.”
“In the traditional world of professional wrestling, your way would see you triumph over all adversity, your way would see you overcome the odds and show the kids at home how important hard work is. Those impressionable teens would go home and realise that the hard way is the right way… This ain’t a fairy tale though Tristan, this is the real world and one where the way that works is the way that wins. I have waltzed back into the WGWF and been held back from the ring to protect the egos of those who have spent so long building names for themselves. My first night back in a ring and I took out each and every peon, peasant and pissant to earn my right to be here. My ticket wasn’t stamped by the mere fortune of holding the World Title at the right time or by holding onto my coattails to ride into WrestleWars. I did what I do best; mentally break, physically cripple and then take what I want. If that means a night with Grandma Glorious, if that means I can get that potato headed lackey to mow my lawn at the weekends or if that means I am standing there with the World Heavyweight Title around my waist then it’ll be that.”
“You have held onto that title like the night you cracked me a cheap shot on the mouth. You caught a Hall of Famer with a cheap shot. Well done, bravo and feel free to take any prize off the middle shot. I put your sorry arse on a fucking crucifix in the middle of the ring. I have bloodied you, I have bludgeoned you and I have beaten you and your little troop of super-cunts in the middle of the ring. Do you hear me holding it up in high regard? Do you hear me harping on about memories of days gone by? No because beating down you and your troop of flying monkeys isn’t something special for me, it’s not something that I put in my memory box at tend of the day.”
The camera draws in a little and the gaze becomes fixed and stern.
“It’s what I do… and I do it very fucking well. I always have and I always will.”
“Every time that somebody has dared to doubt me, I have crushed them. Dean James thought he had my number and I broke him time and time again. Chris Page thought I would never be on his level… and now he dreams of the level that I am on and as I have already said, there’s a reason that Paul has tried to join me… because he sure as eggs are fucking eggs can’t beat me.”
“They each underestimated me, wrote me off or tried to break me in one way, shape or form and look where it has got them. Just when you think that I have nothing left to give, you then see the hungry Alpha Male of the WGWF taking what he wants, how he wants to take it.”
“At WrestleWars, you are going to encounter a beast that you cannot even begin to fathom. Week in, week out M.D.K. is one matter but the one who knows the magnitude of a match like this, at an event like this with the history behind it? This is an opportunity I cannot… and will not let slip from my grasp.”
“See Tristan, the moment you and that cabbage headed serving boy you drag around with you started to call the shots on Brawl the other week, you lost any shred of moral high ground that you thought you had. The moment you hit me with a cheap shot was the moment you lost the chance to be considered somebody remotely in my echelon. And the moment I put you down at WrestleWars and take that title that you have been keeping warm for me? Well that will be the moment that you will realise that you are truly… and utterly INFERIOR!”
He reaches up and places his headphones back on his ears, offers a smirk and a wink before leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes as he looks completely at peace with himself and of life in general. M.D.K. is ready for this… and that is something that everybody should be fearful of.
Psssssst
The camera pans in from a wide shot of the Arizona desert scenery… It is the Sonoran desert; the hottest desert in Mexico to be exact and a great wide, dry expanse of nothing. Not the most ideal place for a car to go kaput and certainly not when you are a matter of days away from one of the biggest nights in your career. But that is the predicament that M.D.K. finds himself in and one that will see a swathe of Captain Hindsights telling him that he should have just travelled with the group and that ‘they told him so’ when he gets back… if he gets back… no, no, let’s not be melodramatic. He will be in Phoenix for the 1st May and he will be in the centre of the ring to greet two fellow icons of this industry for its greatest prize and yet right now, he sits in an overheated car on the 181 without signal, without a sat-nav and without a sense of direction given that he has ended up in this situation.
He hammers at his dashboard and leans forwards against the steering wheel and breathes deeply. He reaches down and releases the bonnet (or hood for our American readers) lever before clambering out of the car and tentatively raising it. The sheer heat of the metal singes his fingers and he drops it quickly.
“You utter shit!”
He levels a swift kick to the front of the car before reaching in and pulls out his jacket which he uses to protect his fingers as he finally successfully lifts the ‘hood’ and is engulfed in a swathe of steam which he wafts with a cough and a splutter. M.D.K. spends a great deal of time peering into the engine with a look of deep thought. He tentatively fiddles with the engine before it emits another hiss and spurt of waters before letting out what can only be described as a sigh of resignation as it lets out a final gasp before silence. M.D.K. simply takes a step back, places his hands on his hips and looks around at the sparse wasteland around him.
“Well… fuck…”
He opens the door to the car, reaches in for his bag and then slams the door shut before walking on down the road with his bag over his shoulder and he holds up his keys and still alarms it as he mumbles under his breath like a cartoon villain. His voice narrates as he strides along with narrowed eyes and sweat beading on his brow.
“A cartoon villain, that is what I have become by siding with the face-paint wonder twins, blind faith Betty and Frosty… I can see a version of me ten years ago shaking his head in disgust at me. What am I saying? Of course he wouldn’t because the M.D.K. of ten years ago was an even bigger asshole than the one walking along here now. The difference being that his head was so far up his own arse that he simply didn’t know it. At least now I have come to terms with the terminal diagnosis of being an asshole and am embracing it in all of its glory. It’s taken a lot of soul-searching and a hell of a lot of time to myself to understand the type of dick I was but from brutalising peons in the ring, I would go ahead and bully people out of the ring and like any asshole with a god complex, I thought what I was doing was right… Sounds familiar doesn’t it?”
M.D.K. offers a smirk as he continues to walk and the inner voice carries on.
“I would have done anything to get to the top and I did and to stay there I did a hell of a lot worse… I drove people not just out of the companies in which I worked but I drove them from the industry as a whole. I have been responsible for as many men losing their smiles and quitting this career path by my backstage antics as I have by physically breaking them inside the ring and most people would hang their heads in shame looking back on a career that has come at the expense of so many others… The trouble is… I’m not like any other… never have been, never will be and that is why I’m where I am now.”
He pauses and takes a look around before wiping his brow before carrying on with a shake of his head and a wry smile.
“I don’t mean literally either for the smart-arses watching this… You have to have a unique selling point to get to the top in this industry. Famine of the Vile did it by being the most far out son of a bitch possible, Chris Page made sure that he was the fucking best at what he did in the ring technically and let you know about it ad nauseum which ate at me for too damn long and Dean James was the epitome of hard work and dedication paying off against the odds. As for the three players in our Main Event on the grandest stage of them all, in the hellish heat of Arizona? Well we all approach the same asset we each possess from a different pathway for a means to an end and they have all resulted in success but for only one of us, will that pathway be the true one. That one asset… is our ego.”
The camera pans up to the sky and focuses on the unforgiving sun that is scorching the ground beneath The Superior One’s feet. The sun moves across the sky to indicate time passing and the camera slowly makes its way back to our primary focus and the primary focus of all who have waited for this moment for so long. To see M.D.K. battle for the big prize once again, to have a chance to see whether he is still World Championship material or just to watch him get his comeuppance. Either way, the world would be watching and waiting for the main event. We see him now as his journey continues and his shirt is draped over his shoulder like a title belt and his jeans are bunched up in his bag as he shuffles along in his trainers, running shorts and a vest top. The normally immaculate appearance has been changed for a sweat caked, shuffling mess of a man who looks up and narrows his eyes at the heat altered shimmering horizon. Ahead, he can see shapes… not much else… Could they be buildings? Cars? Bears? I just set the scene and it’s hot as balls here. I don’t think you get bears in the desert. Either way, he continues his path towards the shapes in the hope there’s a phone, a tow-truck or some water… The journey continues as does the inner voice out loud.
“The ego is a majestic thing; so for three men to put their egos on the line for one prize you know that it has to be worth it. And when those three egos are built around three totally different individuals, you have on your hands the perfect storm preparing to meet in the ring come May the 1st. The ego is what has driven all three of us to this destination. It has seen us climb the mountain in the past to achieve the greatest prize of them all, it has seen all three of us into the Hall of Fame and it is what will continue to sustain us when all of this is said and done. They may be bruised and battered after this war but they will continue to spur us onwards and upwards. Whether you use your self-absorption as cotton wool to wrap yourself up and protect you… or whether you truly believe you are the Messiah… you will return to fight again while I will stand tall and use my raging, smug sense of superiority to drive myself and the World Heavyweight Championship onto bigger and better things.”
“And what better way to dent egos than have that defeat handed to them by a man who should be sat at home and watching with a glazed look of nostalgia, or should be seen during the Hall of Fame ceremony applauding politely and laughing along with Adam Barker’s shit jokes about the good old days… A man who many would like to be retired, who feel should still be retired and who some will try to retire at every opportunity and will fail time and time and time again…”
As M.D.K. continues to walk, we see the light steps of a scorpion as it climbs up the leg of M.D.K. who hasn’t noticed and slowly makes its way up his torso as he walks and the voice continues.
“There are those that doubt my ego spurs me on, there are those who question what purpose my ego serves and there are those that would say that it is a poison that will be my undoing. Some think I’m a poison in general… Am I?”
The scorpion rests on the shoulder of the number one contender at which point M.D.K. finally notices it, before he can even raise his eyebrows in shock, the scorpion strikes at his tanned, sweaty flesh with his tail leaving an instant red, angry blemish. M.D.K. winces and the scorpion takes a few steps backwards before shrivelling up and dying where it stands. M.D.K., irritated, flicks the scorpion away and rubs his shoulder, grunts and continues to walk on.
“I think what people hate is the fact I make them take a long hard look at their selves. I make them look long and hard at their shortcomings, their failings and their fears. I make them peanut butter pantaloons…”
…
“Wait… that’s not right… I make dale a tu cuerpo alegria Macarena, Que tu cuerpo es pa darle alegria why cosa Buena, Dale a tu cuerpo alegria, Macarena, Hey Macarena!”
M.D.K. furrows his brow as he looks down at his feet. His feet turn into Statler and Waldorf from the Muppets causing M.D.K.’s eyes to widen and they grow wider as they begin to talk to one another.
Waldorf: “Do you think this guy’s ok?”
Statler: “I doubt it; he thinks his feet are Muppets…”
Waldorf: “It could be worse…”
Statler: “How so?”
Waldorf: “He just walked me through animal crap!”
They both laugh as M.D.K. looks away from his laughing feet and at the desert surrounding him. Shapes and colours swirl around him and still he continues to stagger on in a daze… He swats at the air around him and mumbles to himself in a slurred fashion.
M.D.K.: “God damned owls trying to steal my grandfather’s pocket watch…”
He takes a few more steps forwards until he finally stumbles forwards and lands face first into the dirt. He remains motionless for a few minutes until the sound of rushing water floods his ears… but it isn’t rushing water, it’s more… alive. As he raises his face from the floor, the dusty track has been replaced with canvas and the sound he’s hearing becomes quickly clear that it is the roar of a captivated arena as they urge him to his feet. He gets to his knees and breathes heavily as blood trickles down his nose and starts to drip onto the canvas. He looks up and across the ring to see the prone and preying form of a familiar figure only he is much younger… It is Paul Frost and he is stalking M.D.K. as he groggily makes his way up to his knees and Frost charges towards him but M.D.K. deftly steps to the side and drives Frost into the turnbuckle to the delight of the crowd. M.D.K. holds his shoulder and expects the pain that usually comes with such a manoeuvre these days but is doesn’t come. He looks down at his hands and sees they look a lot less world-weathered and he places his hand to his face and that too feels much younger. He mumbles to himself.
M.D.K.: “Is this a flashback?”
But before he can think any more, Paul is bearing down on him and M.D.K. instinctively wraps Frost around the neck and drops him with a HellShot to the delight of the crowd… Before he can do anything else though, M.D.K. finds he is halfway up a ladder and looking up at the prize ahead of him. The crowd continues to urge him on and he finally steadies himself at the top of the ladder and reaches up for the belt. He unclips it and crashes to the mat with the title in his arms as Derrick Diamond makes the announcement as the bell rings.
Diamond: “Here is your winner… and NEW WGWF INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION… M… D… K!”
The crowd are ecstatic as M.D.K. smiles while on his back on the mat and clutches his newly acquired belt… The light on his face shifts from the spotlights in that arena in Colorado ten years ago back to the unrelenting sun in Arizona right now. The mat he lies on is back to being the dusty and trail and an angry looking coyote who had been sniffing at M.D.K.’s sleeping body is being clutched like the Intercontinental Title… M.D.K. comes to and tosses the coyote to one side who growls at him before skulking off. M.D.K. groggily gets to his feet and rubs his eyes before looking around for his bag. As he picks it up, it thanks him in an Australian accent. He turns around and sees that it has become Dean James! He boots M.D.K. square in the stomach and drives him into what has become a mat again. Dean hooks the leg and makes the pin-fall!
1!
2!
But M.D.K. kicks out! He rolls to a knee and breathes heavily and tries to compose himself. James charges forwards and M.D.K. locks up the arms of Dean and drops him with the HellShot! He hooks the leg!
1!
2!
3!
Ding! Ding! Ding!
Diamond: “Here is your winner… and STILL INTERCONTINENTAL CHAMPION… M…D…K…!”
M.D.K. is hauled to his feet and holds the title aloft proudly. As he goes to kiss it, it hisses at him! His widens his eyes and finds himself holding a nasty looking snake around the neck! He quickly throws it to the side and it slithers away angrily. M.D.K. rubs his eyes as he sweats profusely and drops his shirt and bag as he continues to stagger on. He starts to mutter to himself as though drunk…
M.D.K.: “Come on Danny… pull yourself together. You are better than this! You can’t be taken down by a measly… It’s so damn hot!”
He continues for a few more steps before falling back to his knees. He looks up at the sun and it’s harsh beams and they once again blend into spotlights and he once again finds himself somewhere far away from Arizona. The light becomes blocked by a figure… a familiar figure… one that has haunted M.D.K. for too long. It’s the face of Chris Page… and they are back in 2007… at Adrenaline… In the Ironman Hell in a Cell match. M.D.K. feels his ribs and winces at the breaks. Page looks down at him and sneers.
Page: “You think that you’re in my league?”
Page grabs the hair of M.D.K. and drives a punch into the forehead of the challenger. M.D.K. drops back again to his knees.
Page: “You think that you and I are equals?”
Another punch.
Page: “You are garbage…”
Punch…
Page: “You hear me? Garbage!”
Punch…
Page: “Nothing…”
Punch…
Page: “And you will be never be anything more than nothing!”
Punch…
But that one is blocked! Page’s eyes widen and M.D.K. glares intently at the champion. He fights his way to his feet while still blocking the punch before returning one of his own. Punctuating each word with a punch!
M.D.K.: “I. Will. Never. Back. Down!”
M.D.K. looks up at the clock and sees that it is in the final minutes of the match. Suddenly, he and Page are on the top turnbuckle and Page is in trouble. M.D.K. has him locked up and sends Page flying to the mat with a high risk HellShot! As the seconds tick down M.D.K. drops his arm across Page and he makes the cover as the seconds tick down!
1!
2!
3!
And as the pin-fall is made, the buzzer sounds and the bell rings…
Diamond: “Here is your winner… AND THE NEW WGWF WORLD HEAVYWEIGHT CHAMPION… M…D…K!”
The crowd are ecstatic as M.D.K. has the belt placed around his waist… Only once again, the lights and the ring disperse and the belt lets out a noise. M.D.K. appears to be trying to wear a deadly gila monster! He throws it into the road and it scuttles away. M.D.K. is now on his hands and knees as he crawls along the long, forgotten road as he laments the wildlife he finds himself offending. As the camera backs up along the road we see the trail of belongings as he has shed his bag, his shirt and his shorts and is just in his boxers. His knees and hands are grazed and cut from the jagged stones and so a trail of blood follows him. He hears a rumble and feels that it is his stomach… until he looks across the road to a pair of big, brown eyes watching him… M.D.K. sits on his haunches and watches as the big, brown eyes emerge and are attaches to a big, brown head and an even bigger, browner body…
M.D.K.: “A b-b-bear?”
M.D.K. looks terrified as the bears gets on his back feet and roars before shuffling forwards! As narrator, I am stunned to see this as bears don’t belong in the desert do they? M.D.K. narrows his eyes and struggles to his feet and mumbles to himself.
M.D.K.: “Time now to get serious.”
M.D.K. lets out a primitive roar and charges towards the bear. The bear roars back and the pair start to grapple with each other… The bear takes a huge swipe at the bare chest of M.D.K. and draws blood in a diagonal pattern. M.D.K. winces, growls back and punches the bear square in the jaw! The bear staggers backwards and M.D.K. lurches forwards and pushes the bear to the ground and mounts it. He rains down lefts and rights on the bear as it continues to growl defiantly and try to fight back with snaps of its jaw…
?: “Are you alright son?”
A snaggle toothed old man stands at the side of the road as he looks at the shambles of a sight before him. M.D.K. – riddled with venom and heatstroke – is clad in just his boxer shorts and is punching seven bells of crap out of… a cactus… M.D.K. looks the old man with wide eyes of confusion. His chest is scratched diagonally and bloody as are his hands. The old man hobbles over to M.D.K. and pulls him away from the cactus and the number one contender gingerly peels himself away from the cactus and sits bewildered with his legs apart. The old man reaches to his belt and unclips a water bottle and hands it to him.
Old Man: “Here, take some sips of water.”
M.D.K. takes the bottle with both hands and takes long, thirsty gulps…
Old Man: “Easy there partner! That won’t do you no good! Let’s get you into some shade.”
M.D.K.: “I’ll be fine… really I will.”
Old Man: “You don’t look it son…”
M.D.K.: “I’m serious… I’ve never needed anyone… and I sure as hell don’t…”
As he tries on getting to his feet, he sways and then crashes back to the dirt… The old man looks over his shoulder and calls out to an unseen figure.
Old Man: “Tiny! Come and pick up Papa’s new friend and help him into the truck.”
An absolute behemoth of a man lumbers over and picks M.D.K. up as though he was a bag of potatoes and with a similar amount of grace. M.D.K.’s vision goes from spinning… to blurry… to black…
----
A solitary beam of morning sunlight breaks through the window and shines across this dusty room and illuminates an old chifferobe. Attached to it are a few pieces of paper, most of which are too faded and bleached from the sunlight. One that is still partially intact appears to be a black and white photo of a family clearly taken in a time when cameras were not common place. M.D.K. slowly comes to in this room and looks around at his surroundings. Everything from the bedsheets to the furniture appears to have come from a completely different century but are in immaculate – if a little tired – condition. The room has a musty scent and as M.D.K. sits up the bed creaks and echoes around the room and inevitably the house. He struggles to swallow and turns to see a jug of water with a slice of lemon in it with a glass beside it. M.D.K. doesn’t even bother with the glass and M.D.K. thirstily guzzles down half the contents of the jug and then spits the lemon back into the jug after it craftily slipped into his mouth.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed and winces as he leans down and rubs his dirty and grazed feet before feeling his chest to feel that the scratches and needles have been patched up and has started to heal with a neat little set of scabs. He stretches out his neck and then winces as he feels his shoulder where the scorpion did its damage. A large red circle now bears a burn mark that could only have been done deliberately. His back is tender from being out in that harsh sunlight for hours leading him to have a little redness of sunburn. He pours some of the remaining water into the glass and makes his way to his feet and shuffles over to the window. As he does, he notices his bag and clothes have been placed on an old wooden chair and neatly folded. He walks over to the window and looks out across the scene ahead of him. A couple of wooden houses stand proud but tired across what would have once been a well-tended street. Just along from it stands a ‘Ge-er-l --or-‘ that looks to have been closed for decades and then in the driveway stands a nearly new pick-up truck that appears to be the anachronism in this picture. M.D.K. takes another mouthful of water and mutters to himself.
M.D.K.: “This had better not be another fucking hallucination.”
He turns as he hears the clinking of plates downstairs and decides to follow the source of the noise. He puts down his glass and picks up his jeans and puts them on with a wince from the scratches and grazes down his legs. He puts on a clean button up cotton shirt that was in his bag and steps out of his room to see a door with ‘Nate’s Room’ emblazoned on the opposite side of the hallway. M.D.K. then realises where the missing letters from the General Store had gone with a smile. He makes his way down the creaky staircase to be met by the stunned face of a child no older than eight years old. M.D.K. kneels down and makes his best endeavour to smile at the tyke.
M.D.K.: “I’m assuming that you are Nate?”
The boy remains silent and wide-eyed as a door to the kitchen opens and the old man from earlier hobbles through and offers a nearly toothless grin to M.D.K.
Old Man: “He sure is but isn’t used to other people except who lives around here… all five of us.”
M.D.K.: “Where… where is this?”
Old Man: “Paradise!”
M.D.K. snorts in response and the old man simply continues.
Old Man: “Paradise, Arizona. Founded in 1901 by my great, great, great grand-pappy and abandoned in 1943 when the mines failed. Me and my family got left here to keep an eye on the town and hope we can come good with what we can find. Four of us in the family; my wife Dorothy is just fixing us some food, you’ve met Nate my son and my daughter Cindy is with her ma’ helping to cook. And I’m Nathan Helmsley Senior and it’s a pleasure to see you are awake!”
M.D.K.: “I’m Danny… Your kids are young considering…”
He goes to pause to try and not state the obvious. The old man chuckles heartily.
Old Man: “Considering I’m such an old coot?”
He lets out a wheezy chuckle and then a deep sigh.
Old Man: “Yep… some think it’s the weather and some think it’s the lack of people that keeps the venom in the snake potent… Speaking of which…”
He steps forwards and pulls the shirt of M.D.K. open… and M.D.K. steps back quickly.
M.D.K.: “Easy tiger, I’m grateful for the help but I’m not gonna thank you that way.”
Old Man: “Behave yourself! I ain’t one of those home-owner-sexuals that you city folk write about in those magazines. I need to check that sting you took if I got it good.”
He looks at the shoulder of M.D.K. and runs his hands across it. Then grumbles to himself.
Old Man: “It looks like I got it in time… it wasn’t elegant but we had to do it quickly using our engine but it would be better to stay here for a few days just to be sure. That was a pretty nasty scorpion sting you took. Critters like that tend to hit you with two or three strikes before trying to feed so you were lucky.”
M.D.K.: “He died after one sting…”
Old Man: “Died? (He laughs again) Son, you got some acid in that blood then because it takes a lot to take those sons of bitches down. They’ve taken out three horses and four of my dogs in the past. You are one lucky SOB.”
M.D.K.: “That’s been said once or twice in the past to me… Listen, you said you had two kids, but who was the guy who got me here? Or at least into the truck… I’m 260lbs… you ain’t moving me anywhere…”
Another cackle from the old man – that was getting tiresome quickly – but this old coot had potentially saved his life so all thoughts of pointing out potential incest and annoying habits would have to wait… at least until he had means to get out of here.
Old Man: “Ah you remember that? When I got to you, you were wrestling a cactus!”
M.D.K. looks a little embarrassed.
M.D.K.: “I thought it was a bear…”
Old Man: “Son, there ain’t no bears in this neck of the wildlands! You sure were seeing some shit. The Injuns used to use the venom of one of those scorpions to trip and see their heart’s desire. It used to mess them up something chronic but it would help them see what they wanted.”
That made M.D.K. stop and think about what he saw during his time… before he could think more; a homely middle-aged woman with a sweet little girl in her arms comes through the door.
Woman: “Dinner is served gentlemen… Oh… and of course for you as well sir… glad to see you are up and about… and dressed…”
Old Man: “Dotty… this is Danny! He’s the man we dragged off of a cactus in his underwear!”
M.D.K. looks to the ceiling in a mixture of embarrassment and the urge to shut them all up but he looks down and smiles weakly.
Woman: “Now, now Nate Senior, he was struck by a Stripe-tail… don’t be hard on him…”
The woman leads M.D.K. and the entirety of the family into the dining room where an old table with chipped varnish stands proudly sporting a veritable feast of home cooked delights. Chicken, beef, vegetables and potatoes in varying forms cover most of the table and M.D.K. can’t help to think this was done to impress him in some vain bid to show that they are doing ok for themselves. The woman offers him a seat and he sits down with his water that he continues to drink and refills his glass from a jug that is on the table. The young boy takes a seat opposite M.D.K. while the woman slips the young girl into a roughly hewn high-chair where she proceeds to decorate the surrounding area in beige goo. M.D.K. notes one spare chair and then looks to the old man as he addresses his wife.
Old Man: “Did you call Tiny in?”
Woman: “I called him but he’s not come yet… I’ll ring the bell… he always listens to that.”
As she gets up and walks to the door and opens it up onto a porch like area and rings an over-sized bell that would look more at home down a mine. Then M.D.K. realises that it is where they no doubt got it from. It chimes out across the yard and down the street as she calls out for a ‘Tiny’. M.D.K. can only chuckle to himself as he thinks it sounds as though she is calling out after a stray pet and then ponders to think of the times that those pets would have ended up being a glorified pin-cushion for scorpions. Like how M.D.K. wouldn’t have been had he not been so toxic.
M.D.K.: “Tiny?”
Old Man: “He’s the why and the how behind how you got here. We found him in one of the old houses when he was still a babe in arms and Dotty and I were newly courting. Even as a kid he was a massive lump of a boy. We thought he was a prize-winning watermelon that someone had left behind! We kept him around and he didn’t stop growing. He’s as big as an ox but we think that the Lord forgot to keep the brains growing when he kept the body getting bigger and bigger. And now…”
Heavy footsteps can be heard making their way up the pathway until a hulking great man ducks to enter the kitchen and is hugged by the woman who then gestures for him to sit at the table. He ruffles the hair of the boy and then points at M.D.K.
‘Tiny’: “Papa! Cactus Pants! Ha!”
M.D.K. looks down at the table and shakes his head. The old man laughs before being admonished by his wife with one quick stare. Meanwhile the daughter has created a Jackson Pollock style masterpiece with her face.
Old Man: “Tiny and I found your car abandoned on the side of the trail and so we followed your trail of belongings until we found you! Tiny only knows a few words I’m afraid.”
M.D.K.: “It’s fine… really…”
Old Man: “Well while you were asleep, Tiny dragged your car back here and he’s been working on it ever since…”
M.D.K. could only imagine what this lumbering hulk of a human could have done to his car. He had visions of him chewing a seatbelt like a pacifier. That hulk was now sat next to him and took up half the length of the table with his sheer breadth.
Old Man: “I don’t know what it is, but ever since he was a kid, Tiny has had a knack for engines and can make the deadest of engines come to life. It should be ready to go in a couple of days.”
M.D.K.: “Is there any way I can make a call? I have places to be you see…”
Old Man: “We have ‘lectric if you wanna charge anything but we don’t have that interweb or any fancy things. We have each other and the weekly trip to the nearest city… Other than that… you’re gonna have to be patient… Plus I want to make sure that we stopped that venom in its tracks. It has a habit of coming back you see…”
M.D.K. can only sigh and say nothing. He goes to reach for a chicken leg and has his hand slapped away by the woman. He felt like a child again…
Woman: “In this house we say Grace first…”
M.D.K. sighs and before he can react, his left hand is taken by Dorothy while his right is engulfed by the meaty paw of Tiny. They bow their heads and the Old Man speaks up.
Old Man: “Danny, as our guest do you want to give thanks son?”
M.D.K. pauses for a moment and behaves as though he hasn’t heard them…
Old Man: “Danny?”
M.D.K. snaps out of his daydream and turns to the old man.
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… what did you say?”
Old Man: “Do you want to lead the thanks to God for this bounty?”
M.D.K. slides his hands away and takes a mouthful of water. He stands up…
Woman: “Are you alright son? Are you getting a fever?”
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… I have to go… I have places to be.”
Old Man: “We pointed out that there ain’t no place you are going until Tiny fixes your car!”
M.D.K.: “I’m sorry… I have to… I’m sorry…”
He stands up and makes his way upstairs and grabs his bag as the old man makes his way to the hallway with a baffled look.
Old Man: “Where are you gonna go?”
M.D.K.: “Home…”
Old Man: “And how?”
M.D.K. brushes past the old man and opens the front door. He looks at the nearly new pick-up outside and the old man catches him eyeing it up.
Old Man: “Don’t do this son; you are so much better than this…”
M.D.K. walks towards the car and opens it up. He climbs into the driver’s side and Tiny steps out onto the porch beside the old man as the old man makes his way to the car. M.D.K. opens the window.
M.D.K.: “You’d like to think I am better than this? But when I want something, I take it by any means necessary… so no, I’m not better than this as all…”
Tiny lumbers over to the car but is too slow as M.D.K. screeches off of the driveway and into the warm desert night. He fixes his gaze on the road ahead and focuses on the road but can’t help but rub his shoulder as his internal monologue starts up again and we hear him once more.
“Sitting there… with a family like that… with morals like that… I knew I had to get away… I just couldn’t stand to listen or preach that…”
?: “Nonsense? Bullshit? Hypocrisy at its finest?”
M.D.K. snaps out of his thought and looks to the passenger seat to see Chris Page sitting there… He nearly loses control of another vehicle but with a screech of tyres and a wrestle with the steering wheel, he regains control and the vision beside him chuckles.
Page: “Of course I’m not actually here… I have far more important things to deal with than sit here shooting the shit with you but clearly you wanted to envision someone who knew you and here I am!”
M.D.K.: “Why the hell would I want you out of anybody else I know?”
Page: “Like it or not, I know you better than anyone else. Better than your latest hoochy you have paired yourself with, better than managers, dogs or allies and sure as shit better than Paul Frost does and one that knows exactly what this is all about…”
M.D.K.: “And what is that?”
Page: “You… wanting someone to tell you that a partnership with Paul Frost is the worst idea since Andrew Clash decided to regale you with tales of his personal life.”
M.D.K.: “And why the blue fuck would I pick for you to be that person?”
Page: “Because like it not, I am the only one in the WGWF who has your respect…”
M.D.K. snorts in derision at the mere notion of this and then fixes his gaze on the road ahead. Page continues.
Page: “And you think that a vision of me that your own scorpion venom addled mind created would bother lying to you? To what purpose would that serve you? It’s the same as me saying that I respect you… It means nothing in this very instance.”
M.D.K.: “Then why the fuck turn up then?”
Page: “Your mind conjured me! Why don’t you tell me?”
M.D.K.: “Well go on then… tell me all about Paul Frost…”
Page: “What, tell you what you don’t know? There is nothing to tell you because you know this! What you don’t seem to know is when to pull your head out of your own ass and tell yourself. It is an alliance with you that made his pull for the Main Event of WrestleWars a reality. It’s your coat-tails that have dragged him there when his time had faded and it is your opportunity that you are squandering under this pretence that you have… what is it you keep saying, ‘stacked the deck?’”
M.D.K.: “And what is wrong with doing that?”
Page: “For who? You? You really think that all this praising you is somehow genuine? You honestly are telling me that you have bought into this bullshit?”
Silence from M.D.K.; it’s the most ominous noise of all but one that speaks volumes. Page smirks.
Page: “Exactly what I thought… you can’t tell me that you believe this match to be any form of handicap match… What you have on your hands is exactly what it is advertised to be; three men vying for the biggest prize in professional wrestling who will stop at nothing to have that confetti dropping down on them at the end of it all. Isn’t that what you want? Isn’t that what Slater wants? I mean that’s the fairy tale right? Against the odds, the pretty boy comes good?”
M.D.K.: “Of course!”
Page: “Well what is driving Frost on? What is his reason for being in the main event of WrestleWars. Do you think he just wants to have a front row seat on your coronation of - what was it – his ‘Warrior King’?”
M.D.K.: “What?”
Page: “You have spent too long out here… Look, Frost knows from history that you have his number, he knows damn well that he can’t beat you and that eats at him like you wouldn’t believe and what is it they say; if you can’t beat them then you should join them. Well he got you to join him and his merry band of zealots to try and break the WGWF… So you then get what? A title for a company he doesn’t want to exist anymore? That’s like having store credit in Blockbuster video…”
M.D.K. sighs as he looks ahead at the road illuminated by just his headlights. Page continues.
Page: “You know better than anyone that you can have made a pinkie promise with him, you can have bathed in the Frosty Font and knelt wherever he has asked you to kneel but the fact is, come WrestleWars, that ring is just as much a pit of vipers for you as it is for Slater.”
M.D.K.: “Bullshit! Frost may have his own agenda but you know that he won’t stab me in the back until the time is right… or at least try to and even then, he knows that if he tries to screw me over, he can’t run from me forever; I will find him and I will…”
Page: “Yes, yes. Enough with the rendering and the inferior and all that. I’ve been there, done that and worn the HellShot… Look, if you had wanted someone to pat you on the head and tell you that you are something special and that life was all sunshine and lollipops, then you should have thought up a different vision. But I am here to tell you that any thoughts of alliances should be pushed from your head. All you should be thinking of is that feeling you haven’t had in ten years, that feeling that you might not get to have a chance at again. That feeling that brought you back here. Not to forge alliances, not to play pet dog to the big bads that this industry has to offer but to be the best of the best of the best once more and hold aloft the WGWF World Heavyweight title once again…”
The road comes to a flat out T-junction and M.D.K. simply sits there with the engine ticking over. Page concludes…
Page: “How poetic… Look, you have a choice… You can either tow the Extinction party line and take Paul’s hand as high up your ass as a good little puppet will take it… or you can make the right choice… and be the same self-centred, tunnel-visioned mother-fucker you have always been and you go into WrestleWars and win that World Heavyweight title for one man and one man alone… And that is the only person you have always looked out for…”
M.D.K.: “Always a pleasure to talk to a version of you that will disappear quickly…”
The vision of Page and M.D.K. share a smile together and then sigh in unison.
M.D.K.: “Thanks… I know you aren’t HIM per-se but… thanks. We’ve been through a lot…”
Page: “Always a pleasure…”
M.D.K. looks ahead at the junction and briefly rests his head on the steering wheel and breathes deeply. He rubs his shoulder and feels that the mark has cooled down significantly. He smiles to himself and clicks the indicator signal and turns right onto the highway and hopefully back to civilisation…
---
#Human beings in a mob…
What’s a mob to a king?
What’s a king to a god?
What’s a god to a non-believer?
Who don’t believe in anything?#
It’s a few nights since the voyage into the desert and we are here… for most people this very moment is but a dream. For the few though, the elite if you will, WrestleWars is the goal, it’s where everybody wants to be this weekend. The University of Arizona Stadium is playing the role of Mecca this year as tens of thousands of people are driving, riding and flying their way to see the biggest names in professional wrestling come together for one night where that already high bar is raised that bit higher… That one night where a new set of ring attire is purchased, where the boots are given an extra glimmer and the barbers, the pyro-technicians and the live bands are practicing their timing ad nauseum. For one weekend, Phoenix, Arizona will be the very centre of so many people’s universes from around the world. It doesn’t matter if you are a superstar gunning for glory, a fan hoping to see your idol triumph or a sweaty member of the board hoping that everything runs smoothly for a four hour live event featuring countless egos at breaking point.
The arena is now peaceful though as everything is almost is in place. Sat in his ring gear in a locker-room alone leaning forward onto his knees with his hands clasped is the man who this time last year was sat at home watching this event unfurl. That man has headphones on and is looking like he did when he first stepped into a WGWF ring over a decade ago. He puts men half his age to shame as he sits and psyches himself up. His hands are taped as they always are, he body bears the scars of years of putting his body on the line. As the camera pans up with see his feet shaking from the adrenaline coursing through his body, his stomach ripples with muscles that have been pushed to their limit for an event like this. His heart thuds out of his chest and he takes a few deep breaths through his mouth before looking up and allowing those piercing blue eyes punctuate the camera as they bore into the viewer at home. He raises his hands and removes his headphones and the music can be heard as he begins his rhetoric of honesty.
“Ten years… ten years too long in the eyes of some. Not long enough in the green eyes of most. I sit before you a little older, a lot wiser and have never felt more ready for this moment. I have spent time in the wilderness both mentally and – now – physically. I have looked deep into my soul in that time and I have looked back on a career that took me to the highest highs and into the Hall of Fame. Not just in the WGWF but around the world. I have fought in the greatest stadia, in the largest cities, in front of the most passionate fans in the world. But this moment right now? You can keep every other title, every other event and every other set of mere mortals. There is one set of fans who will give every ounce of their hatred to fuel me and that is right here, right now… Home. Peons, peasants and pissants… you’re welcome…”
“That decade has seen me conquer and pillage around the world. I have broken dreams, bodies and promises across the world. I have painted more targets on my back than I care to remember. I have offended, disgusted and repulsed in equal measure and I have been the downfall of companies and careers. I walk into WrestleWars not only unbeaten since my return at the Rumble but unbeaten at WrestleWars. Some of you may sneer and call it simply one and zero but that one was against a man who you mooks hold in such high regard. My body bears the scars of most of your Hall of Fame and their names are each on a list of those I have beaten, brutalised and buried in the past.”
“While I have been there, done it and bought the fucking t-shirt, there is a natural feeling that I have always had to spur me on, some may call it greed but I recognise it as a desire for more. A desire to not only be the best of the best but to grind every other sack of meat into the ground so they recognise that the one true icon in this industry. To stop me from my goal, there are two men standing in my way. One man who has gone out of his way to make sure that the odds are in his favour and the other who has become the poster child for the underdog who just won’t expect it.”
“Several months ago, acolytes of Paul approached me with a business offer… and let me emphasise that word… business. You see, that is what this job is for me. Paul was going to use his pull to put himself into this Main Event of WrestleWars whether I was with him or against him. The way I have seen it, is that I have the chance to have somebody having my back for as long as it is deemed necessary until he thinks I am surplus to requirements or – the more likely option – WHEN I have had my fill of protection. You see, my partnership with Paul has nothing to do with seeing the light, or giving praise to a higher being. When it comes to the crunch, I give thanks to one higher power for everything I have done and will do. That being has been there for the good times, supported through the bad times and has given me the hope for even better times in the future. Three simple letters, one supreme being…”
M… D… K…
“I’m sorry Paul, but when it comes to the crunch, that will be the one true Supreme Being that I will look after. We both know why you approached me though don’t we? Every single time we have gone toe to toe in the middle of the ring, I have had your number. You can dredge up history all you want, but you may have built a legacy now in the WGWF but that is down to one reason and one reason alone…”
“I wasn’t here…”
“Without me, you have been able to excel beyond your wildest dreams. In the past ten years, you have achieved so much, you have defied the odds but when it has come to this event? The grandest stage of them all, you have always come up short. One win in half a dozen attempts? No wonder you came to me. There is a big difference between me and your common garden disciple… the moment you look as though you are going to cross me, I am going to break you like a teenage hymen horse-riding…”
“Paul, we are going to walk into that arena as allies and do not get me wrong for a heartbeat, I do have your back. But if you dare step in between me and what is rightfully mine? The WGWF World Heavyweight Championship? I will break you to the point that you will be crying out to a deity even greater than yourself for mercy…”
M.D.K. sits up where he is, cracks his neck and offers the camera the cruellest of smirks.
“And this is where I talk about the champ isn’t it? This is the part where I try and talk down all that he is and all that he has achieved. But you see, only a delusional child would do such a thing. For Tristan, you are the poster boy for what hard work and dedication to your art can get you, You have an ability and a confidence that I admire, you try so damn hard to step into that ring week in and week out and maintain such a high standard. Of course I’m going to bring in insurance policies, of course I am going to stack the odds in my favour. If I had the time or the inclination, I would be kidnapping Grandma Glorious and making you lie down for the three count. That is the kind of manipulative bastard I am and the kind that has gotten me where I am.”
“While you have busted your arse week in and week out for thirteen months, been holding gold and unbeaten in all that time, I have waltzed in, relied on my name, reputation and my sheer natural talent and have let nature take its course. While you try and you try and you fucking try, everything I have done to you and everything I will do to you come WrestleWars is second nature to me. Dropping sorry carcasses for a HellShot is part of my muscle memory, wrenching your throat to the verge of unconsciousness in a Mancuerda is as natural as breathing to me.”
“In the traditional world of professional wrestling, your way would see you triumph over all adversity, your way would see you overcome the odds and show the kids at home how important hard work is. Those impressionable teens would go home and realise that the hard way is the right way… This ain’t a fairy tale though Tristan, this is the real world and one where the way that works is the way that wins. I have waltzed back into the WGWF and been held back from the ring to protect the egos of those who have spent so long building names for themselves. My first night back in a ring and I took out each and every peon, peasant and pissant to earn my right to be here. My ticket wasn’t stamped by the mere fortune of holding the World Title at the right time or by holding onto my coattails to ride into WrestleWars. I did what I do best; mentally break, physically cripple and then take what I want. If that means a night with Grandma Glorious, if that means I can get that potato headed lackey to mow my lawn at the weekends or if that means I am standing there with the World Heavyweight Title around my waist then it’ll be that.”
“You have held onto that title like the night you cracked me a cheap shot on the mouth. You caught a Hall of Famer with a cheap shot. Well done, bravo and feel free to take any prize off the middle shot. I put your sorry arse on a fucking crucifix in the middle of the ring. I have bloodied you, I have bludgeoned you and I have beaten you and your little troop of super-cunts in the middle of the ring. Do you hear me holding it up in high regard? Do you hear me harping on about memories of days gone by? No because beating down you and your troop of flying monkeys isn’t something special for me, it’s not something that I put in my memory box at tend of the day.”
The camera draws in a little and the gaze becomes fixed and stern.
“It’s what I do… and I do it very fucking well. I always have and I always will.”
“Every time that somebody has dared to doubt me, I have crushed them. Dean James thought he had my number and I broke him time and time again. Chris Page thought I would never be on his level… and now he dreams of the level that I am on and as I have already said, there’s a reason that Paul has tried to join me… because he sure as eggs are fucking eggs can’t beat me.”
“They each underestimated me, wrote me off or tried to break me in one way, shape or form and look where it has got them. Just when you think that I have nothing left to give, you then see the hungry Alpha Male of the WGWF taking what he wants, how he wants to take it.”
“At WrestleWars, you are going to encounter a beast that you cannot even begin to fathom. Week in, week out M.D.K. is one matter but the one who knows the magnitude of a match like this, at an event like this with the history behind it? This is an opportunity I cannot… and will not let slip from my grasp.”
“See Tristan, the moment you and that cabbage headed serving boy you drag around with you started to call the shots on Brawl the other week, you lost any shred of moral high ground that you thought you had. The moment you hit me with a cheap shot was the moment you lost the chance to be considered somebody remotely in my echelon. And the moment I put you down at WrestleWars and take that title that you have been keeping warm for me? Well that will be the moment that you will realise that you are truly… and utterly INFERIOR!”
He reaches up and places his headphones back on his ears, offers a smirk and a wink before leaning back against the wall and closing his eyes as he looks completely at peace with himself and of life in general. M.D.K. is ready for this… and that is something that everybody should be fearful of.