Post by TheNewBreed on Jul 15, 2023 15:05:27 GMT -5
July 12, 2023 – New York City, NY
A sleek, blacked-out limo pulls up in front of a long stretch of buildings on the busy street in the heart of the Big Apple. The car double parks along the side of the road, the very air wavering in the windless summer heat as the chauffeur steps out, makes his way to the passenger side of the limo, and opens the passenger rear door to the street.
“We have arrived, Mr. Adams. Mr. Cable is awaiting your arrival inside.” the young man says in his most professional and even tone as he motions for Spencer Adams to exit the vehicle politely.
Spencer slides to the very edge of the seat, sticks his legs out of the door and pokes his head out, looking around incredulously.
“Are you sure we're in the right place? John said he was going to meet me at one of his gyms... and this doesn't look like a gym to me.” he asks skeptically, looking up and down the street trying to find a place that looks like any sort of gym to no avail.
“I assure you Mr. Adams... we have arrived. Down this alleyway, to the left, you will see the sign.” The young man motions down an alley between two massive buildings stretching to the sky as their shadows plunge the alleyway into total darkness.
“Yeah... sure thing. Thanks.” Spencer mutters to the man as he slides out of the car and grabs his duffel bag from within. He looks down the alley once more, and then back to the car before deciding to trust the man and, slinging his bag over his shoulder, makes his way deeper into the shadowed alley ahead. “I’m training with fucking Batman. Batman lives here.”
Several moments pass as he makes his way deeper into the alleyway before he sees an artistic metal sign hanging next to a massive roll-up style bay door. The bricks of the building were old, faded, grungy, and partially crumbling. The big bay door was dented, and there was more space on it without the old blue paint than there was painted nowadays, but the sign was lit from behind with a neon green light.
An old metal door stood in the crumbing brick frame of the wall beneath the sign, and Spencer reached for the old brass knob just as the door swung inwards, startling the man.
“What the fuck?” Spencer muttered in shock.
“Mr. Adams. Good to meet you. John is waiting. Right this way, please?” an old man with a long white mustache said in a thick Russian accent from within the door. He was old, but he was massive, and still imposing even in his advanced age. His bald head gleamed in the faint fluorescent lights inside, and his dark beady eyes shone with an eerie glint like a predator staring at his lunch.
Collecting himself, Adams drew a deep breath, and followed the man inside, trepidation tingling in every ounce of his being, not just a little due to his recent issues with masked individuals and the surprises they seem to bring him. On edge a lot lately, and not one to be overly trusting of new places, Spencer had his eyes peeled and all of his wits on high alert as he walked down the dimly lit hall within. He followed the old Russian for a while as he snaked his way through the hallway, and finally opened one side of a massive double door into what could only be described as an old industrial warehouse. Where once production machines used to sit, gym benches, weight racks, lifting machines, ellipticals, and treadmills now stretched from one wall to the other along the front of the massive stone walled room in several rows, and two old rings were set up across the back. Bright white spotlights hung from dainty iron chains that stretched off into the darkness of the high ceilings, but illuminated the gym floor surprisingly well for how old they looked.
Sitting at a butterfly machine, we see Johnathan Cable doing reps with tall stacks of weights on the plate, sliding slowly up, then down, precisely one inch from the top and one inch from the bottom. Over and over, the plates slide up and down, with exacting precision.
“John! Spencer Adams is here.” the man shouts across the gym, his accent thick.
“Thanks, Andra. I appreciate you showing him in. We're going to be here for a while, so just lock up on your way out, OK?” John says with a smile as he sets the plates down and gets up from the bench. He grabs a hand towel from the bag on the floor near him and makes his way towards the doors as Andra heads back out and closes the massive door behind him.
“John.” Spencer takes a slow walk towards the giant of a man and extends a hand outward before dropping his bag at his side.
“We don’t dap here? Yeah, that’s cool.” John leans in towards Spencer with a gruff chuckle from beneath the black faceplate of a mask he wears as he stretches his fist out for a dap.
“Andra didn’t spook you too bad, did he?” John asks wryly.
“Him? Oh no. I’m just trying to figure out why John Cable needs any layers of security.” Spencer pivots back towards the front door, thumb shot backwards in the same direction in answer.
“Need? Not so much… but I have a lot of things in the works around the world, and a lot of people rely on me. The Foundation employs a lot of people, and I need to ensure that no one can mess up what we’ve built. My career has seen a lot of tragedy… as I am sure you understand, but Andra is far from Security though. I have the Lock Down Crew for that. No… Andra is an old friend of mine, and he runs the gym here in New York. Maybe you don’t recognize him… but that man is a legend in the ring, and he knows his way around a gym. He’s a little gruff for sure, but he’s good for business.” John replies with a heavy sigh.
Spencer sits at a lateral press, body halfway turned toward John still, analytical of the conversation.
“People around you? I get it. Industry’s fucked up enough as it is.” Adams says, understanding the scenario.
“That’s why I called you here, actually.” John exclaims, his gravelly voice filling the mostly quiet space around them. “There are a lot of bastards in this business. Makes me think that maybe decent folk should be sticking together, and at least looking out for each other around here. Seems you've been having some issues with some masked folks yourself, and maybe need a guy to help watch your back too.” he says from beneath the mask.
“Honestly, the last thing I expected was to be buddy buddy with anybody coming into WGWF. After AW, I was prepared for everybody out there to be an enemy.” Spenser says as he reaches for the machine's handle and a chuckle pushes through barely parted lips.
“To be fair… I don’t expect to be buddy buddy with very many people at all, let alone someone I don’t know from Adam. I do see what goes on around here though, and see where you’re at, and I know better than most how brutal this business can be. I believe this company can only get better by filling the roster with good people. As an investor, I want what’s best for the company. I think what’s best for the WGWF is to keep as many good men and women in the locker room as we can, and the best way to do that is to make sure the ones we find are safe and happy, and out there making the WGWF Fans happy. That’s always been my goal around here.”John explains softly, looking over at Adams on the bench, watching him closely, trying to make a good judgment of his character.
“As long as there’s no expectation of me signing that dotted line and understanding that my dedication to the people I care to give my efforts and this part of myself to isn’t dependent on Page being able to come to dictate who I am or what I’m meant to do in this business, I’m golden. I get it though. I’m the new kid to this block at least and don’t think that my being invited here in good faith is lost on me. You give me genuine outreach, I’ll give you what you need. Hell, I think we’re in the same ballpark in that regard. After all, AoUV seems eager to make an enemy out of more than just you or I, though it’s clear a nerve’s been struck.” Spencer said solemnly.
“Trust me… Page doesn’t stick his nose in. He may be the head of the CCPE and the WGWF… but his goals are to make the company even more money, keep the bullshit he has to deal with to a minimum, and smoke as much ganja as he can get his hands on. If it doesn’t fill one of those three goals, then Page doesn’t give a flying weed filled donut. As far as his lackeys go… we’ve all got some history. I would’ve thought our past would have kept them out of my way... But I think Mac’s been hit with one too many of Miller’s bricks.” John chuckles as he explains to Adams that Page isn’t an issue for us.
“As for what I need… I need to be able to trust you not to fuck me over. I think we both need a little of that in our lives right now. See… Mac and Miller… they may be the new WGWF Tag Team champs… but they only got there because they overwhelmed a couple guys who had no idea what they were getting into. No offense to the big man and the Rok… but they weren’t ready for that fight. Between you and me… we've held more Tag Titles than I can count on my fingers. Sure… these boys may be Ultra Violent… but they know that they're going to need to bring more than just that to the table on Monday, and I ain’t talking about a pallet of bricks either.” John chuckles as he makes his way to a leg press bench with a faded red leather seat nearby.
“Six tags, two trios. Hell, two tournaments dragging random partners forward to a battle royale finale. I’ve always been proud of my role in the tag team lane. If I’ve been one thing throughout my career, it’s up front. I’ve bared a lot of fucking weight in tag team wrestling and seeing as you’re two-thousand pounds and twenty foot tall, give or take a couple, there’s no reason for concern there.” Spencer pulls the bars down and lets out a slow and calculated exhale.
“They’re proud. If you ask me, they keep things to the chest less as strategy and more as image guarding. Shit, Mac just proved it himself by being exactly the man I’ve said he was. He’s scared of that little push, a cruiser-weight bodied vet in his own right coming to kick his fucking head in on every card we find ourselves duking it out on. Fair game under the circumstances, sure, but it’s worth taking a good look at Bane’s actions. They say a lot about the man under the hat, you know? You push Bane, you’re subject to a nut-shot and brass knucks to the temple.” Spencer exhales once more, a more annoyed shift in vocal tone.
“What about when you can handle it though?” Spencer brings the bars together with harsher and more therapeutic force. “What about when that response proves to be a more temporary solution than he was banking on? It’s one week later and I’m right back there. Bane takes his best shot and I get to stand face to face and ask him what’s next? There’s only so many letters in the alphabet to name an alternate plan of attack after all, John. If you’re trying to fix your Spencer Adams problem, Mac Bane himself ain’t it and neither is Bam Miller playing Robin. It’s why I get you, John, why I respect you. Sure, you’ve seen better days, but you still see the next. That’s heart. That’s real shit.”
“Realistically… I think you give them way too much credit. I don’t think it isn’t that they keep the plan close to the chest… it’s that there isn’t a plan at all. They both just go into everything and swing at the problem until it isn’t a problem anymore. Take your match on BRAWL for instance. Mac just kept on punching until everyone was out of his way, except you wouldn’t just stay down and give him the win… so he took matters to the next level, Spencer. He took the match out of the realm of honorable combat and took a win by any means necessary. There isn’t anything respectable about that… no to me anyway. Granted… a win is a win to some people… but I ain’t some people. Now, Bam Miller… he’s come a long way this year… but I’ve had his number since day one, and come Monday at BRAWL… I’ll dial it up again and put his brick where he deserves it.” John says decisively.
Spencer sits up from the press and cracks his knuckles with an outward bridge before approaching a bench. He sits with his back turned, still engaged in the exchange.
“It’s funny, actually. I’ve had a lot of people in a previous life try to peg me as an old head, as some curmudgeon who gatekeeps out of fear or something, but I feel like I’m looking at him when I look at Mac Bane. In Bane, I see a man whose code is sold strategically as unbreakable. The man with the iron will and on point compass, but I’ve helped it break. Whether he ever admits or not, I’m the one who made HIM snap. He didn’t gain control with that shot, he lost it.” He says thoughtfully, sort of staring off in space thinking about the bullshit he’s dealt with in the past with guys like Miller and Bane before.
“He’ll happily take Bam along for the ride, too, because a yes man is power to someone low on answers. They’re allies in the same way that Mike Mason’s allies with a down south hooded clan or Brooke Blakely’s allies with short term memory loss. It’s what they default to. It’s what people like this know and dubbing themselves ultraviolet? It’s a hard dose of copium to swallow on the part of the mediocre, two men more at home in a bar fight than an exhibition between the ropes.” Spencer’s knuckles are white from the grip on the bar in his hands, but relents and lets it rest to his right on the bench’s faded black padding.
He had been dealing with a lot lately in his life, at least for him. SHE had been a lot to process and the Adilene front had been quiet, to put it optimistically. The tinge of irony escaping his lips wasn’t lost on him. After all, wasn’t this his default? Posturing and doubling down on ‘the grind’ as a way to brush off personal troubles? In a way, this was him finding comfort in a lane where he’d felt more in control for a change. This was par the course of any other Wednesday, but when the weights went up and the light flickered off, he knew that was where he’d become human.
Spencer reached back for the barbell and began to slowly curl with his elbow resting against his thigh, up… holding it in place… then down again.
“You know, back when I started out in WCF as that bright eyed, goose shit green rookie recruited by Thomas Bates to play lackey, I didn’t quite get it. It didn’t take me long to figure it out, but Bam Miller? Guys like him will never really get it. The rest of the world doesn’t see equals. It’s a 1 and 1A dynamic at best. He works when presented, when held up on a cliff-side like a lion cub as Mac or anyone else willing to tout his prowess exclaims ‘Look at this widdle guy. Isn’t he neat?” Spencer chuckles a little thinking of the cub-like Miller being dangled over a field of other animals by his bruiser buddy Mac.
“I still think you’re giving them too much credit. It’s almost like you assume there’s an actual moral code they follow… but I know Mac… and I know plenty of guys like Miller… and they just don’t have that complicated of a moral compass. Their opportunists, at best. Bane joined our faction against his CCPE brothers after the Relaunch because it was an opportunity to take care of some side business with his buddies that he hadn’t gotten to reconcile yet. It had nothing to do with the ‘right thing to do’ like he claims it was… and everything to do with an opportunity to get his shots in where he felt they belonged against men in his own organization that he knew he wasn’t on the level with in the first place. It was a chance to take his licks where he saw a spot for them, and I don't buy for a second that he is what he says he is anyway.” John scoffs as he takes a bottle of water from the red duffel bag next to the treadmill nearby.
“And Bam... well… Bam is just a guy who likes to fight and found a way to do it without going to jail for the bullshit he pulls. They aren’t holding a moral standard… they’re just assholes who like to fight anyone they think they can get one over on. The problem with that is they know damn well they can’t get over on me. Bane might have got a lucky shot on you with those knuckles… but that’s all it was… and come Monday… we prove it.” John sets the bottle back on the bag, and turns to face Spencer at the bench next to him.
“Opportunists live in the short term, operating solely for the quickest payoff. These two go deeper. Far as I’m concerned, they’re desperate and not just in some fleeting sense. I got the treatment I did, because I’m about fifteen years younger than Mac, harder than what Bam will ever have an answer for, and just capable above all else..and that freaks motherfuckers out. That freaks them out, because it puts time into perspective. They look here, they start to see an hourglass looking a little lighter than they’d like it to and on top of-” Spencer’s cut off by the phone buzzing in his bag, its blue glow showing through on the outside.
“Everything good?” John exclaimed.
Spencer reached for the partial slit in the middle of the top zipper and rustled around until he was able to turn the screen towards him, visible while still contained. His heart converted to a more erratic rhythm for a measure or two, expecting the possibility of an update from Adilene. The rhythm sank back to a calm melancholy at the sight of the spam text he found himself looking down at. He swallowed hard, trying to pull off a poker face so as to not alert Cable.
“Yeah, all good.” Spencer said deceitfully.
Behind the mask, John watched him carefully. He knew that look… all too well. Subtle as it was, it was hard for man to hide the disappointment and sadness that women often brought into their lives. Distractions were dangerous… but John was willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he would be able to handle his end of the match. He had seen the talent on display in this man inside that ring already, and he was sure he was up for the challenge they both faced on Monday. Bam and Mac may not be the skilled athletes that they were, but there was no question how tough they were, or how dangerous they could be… but then again… John and Spencer weren’t some bar room drunks looking for a scrap. They were wrestlers, honed and trained to be warriors of the highest caliber. Tested in that ring around the world… and while Spencer had youth on his side… John had experience and determination to get the job done… and they both had the tools to make sure it would be one hell of a night to remember for the fans of the WGWF and those who merely thought they were Ultra Violent.
“So… this weekend I have some talent coming through to work with. Several of the guys from my gyms will be in town to work out and spar, and if you want to spend some time working the ropes… it might do us some good to work some light tag matches before we get into the brawl this is sure to turn out to be. No pressure… just an offer.” John says quietly, hoping to spend some more time working with his new partner before BRAWL.
“I’ll be there.” Spencer said with a modest grin. He’d always appreciated the opportunity to work outsiders, those more on the outskirts of the industry who were either brand new or yet to reach a certain height in the industry. There was persistent intent in putting himself in a position to have to scratch and claw against people who spent most of their time doing the same as it kept him sharp and able to do the same on the grander stage. “Wouldn’t be doing either of us any justice if I were half-assing it. After all, this tag shit is bread and butter for me.”
“Same here.” John says with a chuckle. “We both have a history of holding tag titles wherever we end up… and I haven’t had a chance to grab those here yet, so… maybe we can get our shot when we show Page just how under-prepared to keep those Belts his new Champs really are. Hey… where are you staying while you’re in town? I got a property not too far from here, and we can get you set up after dinner if you want?” John asks as he packs his duffel.
“Close to work is good… what’s for dinner?” Spencer laughs in response.
“Whatever you want really. Caterings always on call with me. Come on… let’s get some food and some rest for the night. We ‘ve got a long weekend and an even longer Monday I think.” John says as they head towards the door. “Maybe not as long a Monday as they’re gonna have… but a long one nonetheless.” he chuckles under his breath.
Spencer pushes up, dragging a towel across his brow before hoisting his own bag over his shoulder and hollering towards John from across the room. “Hey, John.”
“Yeah?” The Beast replies over his shoulder as he shuts the gym down and heads towards the light switches near the door..
“Thanks for this, really.” Spencer says as he catches up.
“Don’t worry about it. It’s in my best interest to make sure you’ve got everything you need while we’re in town. I also know how important it is for us to be on the same page in that ring on Monday. You seem like good people to me, and I like to help where I can.” John says as the pair of men head out the door and John flips the lights as the darkness swallows the room.