Post by MERCENARY on Apr 19, 2024 20:10:09 GMT -6
Mike and Mia’s House / Nashville, Tennessee
The kitchen was lit by the light of the laptop as Mike sat, absently staring at the screen. His eyes lingered on words like contusion and hematoma, and phrases like Traumatic Brain Injury.
The good news was that the results of the brain scans and neurological tests had shown no immediate symptoms that would disqualify him from his upcoming title match against Cosmo Goldworthy and Vin Havoc.
But the bad news was that the neurologist had also strongly suggested that he avoid any activity that might cause him any further head trauma which might lead to lasting damage. It was a directive that didn’t exactly merge with the No-DQ stipulation at Stranglemania.
Mike shut the lid as Mia turned on the light. She grinned mischievously and kissed him on the head.
“Did I catch you looking at dirty pictures.”
Michael laughed, reaching back to touch her stomach.
“Oh, you know. I just can’t seem to get enough of the pregnancy porn these days. I can’t imagine why.”
They shared a laugh as Mia slapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s so gross.”
He smiled, twisting to kiss her belly.
“There’s nothing gross about it. In fact, I think it’s beautiful.”
Mia pulled a face.
“Yeah right. There’s just a lot more to look at.”
Mike rose to reassure her.
“And I love every extra inch.”
Mia chuckled and pushed him playfully away.
“I’ve been looking at some furniture for the nursery. I found this great glider and…”
Mia's voice faded in his mind while she continued to chirp on about baby furniture. Mike watched her flit about the room. She reminded him of the bird that had built its nest in the light fixture next to their front door. She was preparing the space for their new arrival.
The doctor’s parting words after their consultation returned to drown out her voice and darken his thoughts.
I’m sorry to say Mister Mercer, that if you don’t scale back the amount of repeated physical trauma that you experience in the ring, that you’re making yourself a prime candidate for Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, not to mention a litany of other lasting physical and neurological problems. It might even be time to start thinking about a change of profession.
A Change of profession. That was easy for him to say. Being a fighter was the only identity he had and wrestling was the only profession that he’d ever known. So what else was he supposed to do?
“Michael?” Mia said, pulling him back into the moment.
“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”
Mia looked slightly vexed.
“I ASKED how your appointment went. What did the doctor say?”
Despite all he was feeling, Michael smiled.
“All clear babe. No complications. I’m good to go for Wembley.”
Wembley Stadium / London, United Kingdom
Sitting in the stands at Wembley it wasn’t hard to invision all the historic events that this building had hosted. Several Olympics, the Live Aid concert in 85 and Summerslam in 1992. And, as in the past, this modern version of the Roman Colosseum would again host an event for the EWC.
Michael watches as as the event crew raised the Stranglemania banner. He knew that, even though this might not be his first Stranglemania with the company, it could very well be his last. Turning to face the camera, he felt the full force of that conviction.
“Vin Havoc and I have a friendship forged in fire. After beating the shit out of each other several times last season we came out the other side ride or die… allies for life. But, with guys like us who live to fight, it could just as easily have gone the other way.”
Raising his eyebrows, he shrugged at the harsh truth this statement suggested.
“The first time gold got between us we hashed it out like men… one on one… no holds barred in the Mexican desert. And now, across the pond at Stranglemania, we’ll be doin’ that shit again in a 15 minute, No-DQ, Iron Man match for the Fighting Spirit Championship.”
He nods to himself gravely, seeming to reluctantly accept the hard battle ahead.
“This year at Scars and Stripes Vin and I fought by each other’s side as two of the Best of Rampage. But in Season 24, at that same show, we were busy earning that reputation against Lavender and Chris Page when we tied 5 pinfalls a piece to win the U.S. Title in the Bout of Raging Turmoil.”
He half-smiled at the memory of their shared success. But the smile faded at the mention of his second opponent, whose name conjured memories of a different kind.
“Cosmo Goldworthy also stood out at that show. He pinned Cassie Wolfe in his triple-threat, Pay-Per-View Debut. A match that also included my old buddy, and recent opponent, Jason Anderson.”
The mood shifted as he adopted his own tone of arrogance.
“Now Cosmo, winning triple-threat matches against Jason ain’t the only thing you and I got in common. We both cut our teeth in California. We both became big, tough guys without the benefit of our father’s guidance. But the fact is son, you and I came up on opposite sides of The Bay and We. Are not. The same.”
He draws a deep breath that gradually came out as a growl.
“While you wore a letterman’s jacket and played football and basketball, I grew up dodging bullets in a world where the patches on the jackets said Oaktown Crips and Ghost Town Gangstas.”
His hands clenched into fists as the level of intensity in his voice continued to rise.
“And while you were more worried about what fancy-ass fit you were gonna wear to become prom king, I had to worry about how I was gonna get to the grocery store before I got jacked for my food money.
While you ‘worked smarter’ and rode a gold-plated rocket to the top of the business, I had to work hard to earn even an ounce of the respect. I busted my ass from day 1 in every Indie and Fed from Japan to Mexico, and I’ve been ridin’ those roads for more years than you’ve got candles burnin’ on your birthday.”
Taking a deep breath he tries to sound calm through tightly clenched teeth and a forced smile.
“Cosmo… you are damned talented. Even before you joined up with The House you were on the fast track to becoming a champion…”
His eyes raise coldly to meet the camera.
“Everything came easy for you Cosmo. You didn’t experience the struggles that turned competitors like Vin and Lavender into the life or death dangers that they’ve become. And you sure as shit didn’t have to work half as hard as I did, just to take home my first title.”
A cement stare solidifies his unyielding expression. Iron eyes viscerally suggest the presence of mortal danger.
“But in London the 14 Karat Kid is gonna learn one’a life’s hardest lessons. You’re gonna find out at Stranglemania that anything that comes that easy, can just as easily be taken away.”
A slight, predatory smile appears to emphasize the threat in his tone.
“On April 22nd Cosmo, you’re gonna find out that even though gold is a very precious metal, it’s also way too soft to ever be iron.
And after Vin and I get bored beating your ass, and after we give you your receipt for all the backhanded bullshit you’ve been pullin’ the last few months on Rampage, we’ll leave what’s left of you to Lavender. Then Vin and I will go on to figure out between the two of us which one has the stronger Fighting Spirit.”
Merc offers a nod of respect for the man he considers to be his best friend and greatest adversary.
“Vinny my man, I think I know you about as well as anyone actually can. I understand why you fight. And I understand what you’re fighting for.
You’re fightin’ for that kid back in Brooklyn, who spent so much time alone watchin’ wrestling tapes and dreamin’ of the day he would be like Kawada and Onita.
You’re fighin’ for the mother who sacrificed to raise you, so that you can help her get well, so that she’ll never need to sacrifice like that again.
And you’re fightin’ for the man that worked so hard, for so long, to become a Champion.”
The look on his face shows nothing but the highest esteem.
“Unlike Cosmo, you’re not fightin’ for braggin’ rights or to shine up your ego. You’re fightin’ to keep that title, because you remember every hard-fought drop of blood you shed to earn it.”
Inspired by the heightened emotion of the moment he resists the urge to pump his fist in a show of support for his opponent.
“And if it were anyone else in this match but Me, you know I’d be rootin’ for ya. But you also know that wrestling can be a very selfish business, especially where titles are concerned. And unfortunately brotha, the option to share another belt isn’t on the table.”
He shakes his head regretfully.
“Just like you, I’ve put in the work. Just like you, I’ve got family to think of. And just like you, I’ve got an all consuming respect for this business.
I was baptized by Steele and Suzuki in the religion of wrestling. And wrestling is the only religion that I’ve ever known. If there’s one dude in this company who’s bled as much as you have to be called The Fighting Spirit Champion, it’s Me.”
Merc’s eyes burn with fury. Unconsciously, he rubs at the sore spot on the top of his head.
“I understand, better than most, that there’s only a set number of chances for anyone in this business to become more than just a footnote. And mine are almost all used up.”
His brow furrows as his discomfort comes to the surface.
“I already wasted the biggest one of my career when I lost to Sally at the Season Premiere of Rampage, and I just can’t let another one slip through my fingers. It just sucks that it has to be against you again Vin. It’s a hard pill to swallow.”
Mike rubs at his hair and shakes his head in frustration.
“But Goddamnit, WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?!”
He throws up his hands in exasperation.
“None of us know how much time we’ve got left. For some of us… it’s less than others. You and Me Vin, we’re not gettin’ any younger… not gettin’ any less… damaged.
The best we can hope to do, is to try to get better with the time we’ve got left. And for me, taking that title from you would be a step in the right direction.”
His chin falls to his chest and he lowers his eyes for a moment before raising them again with a look of resolve.
“Vin, I love ya bro. I don’t say that to many people, and no matter what happens at Stranglemania, I hope that doesn’t ever change. But I also know you wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t do my best to beat you. And I know that I couldn’t respect myself if I didn’t do my best to try.
So on Monday, at one of the EWC's biggest shows of the year, I’m gonna bring the best of my street skills and all of my wrestling education to war against an enemy and a friend, and I will meet them both with equal hostility. I will unleash my fighting spirit into the cathedral of violence and I’ll show the world what that phrase really means.”
He pounds his fist into his palm.
“I’ll do what needs to be done to bring that gold home to my family…”
He looks out to the English sky, with a weighted stare.
“Even if I have to risk everything to make it a reality.”
The kitchen was lit by the light of the laptop as Mike sat, absently staring at the screen. His eyes lingered on words like contusion and hematoma, and phrases like Traumatic Brain Injury.
The good news was that the results of the brain scans and neurological tests had shown no immediate symptoms that would disqualify him from his upcoming title match against Cosmo Goldworthy and Vin Havoc.
But the bad news was that the neurologist had also strongly suggested that he avoid any activity that might cause him any further head trauma which might lead to lasting damage. It was a directive that didn’t exactly merge with the No-DQ stipulation at Stranglemania.
Mike shut the lid as Mia turned on the light. She grinned mischievously and kissed him on the head.
“Did I catch you looking at dirty pictures.”
Michael laughed, reaching back to touch her stomach.
“Oh, you know. I just can’t seem to get enough of the pregnancy porn these days. I can’t imagine why.”
They shared a laugh as Mia slapped him on the shoulder.
“That’s so gross.”
He smiled, twisting to kiss her belly.
“There’s nothing gross about it. In fact, I think it’s beautiful.”
Mia pulled a face.
“Yeah right. There’s just a lot more to look at.”
Mike rose to reassure her.
“And I love every extra inch.”
Mia chuckled and pushed him playfully away.
“I’ve been looking at some furniture for the nursery. I found this great glider and…”
Mia's voice faded in his mind while she continued to chirp on about baby furniture. Mike watched her flit about the room. She reminded him of the bird that had built its nest in the light fixture next to their front door. She was preparing the space for their new arrival.
The doctor’s parting words after their consultation returned to drown out her voice and darken his thoughts.
I’m sorry to say Mister Mercer, that if you don’t scale back the amount of repeated physical trauma that you experience in the ring, that you’re making yourself a prime candidate for Chronic Traumatic Encephalopathy, not to mention a litany of other lasting physical and neurological problems. It might even be time to start thinking about a change of profession.
A Change of profession. That was easy for him to say. Being a fighter was the only identity he had and wrestling was the only profession that he’d ever known. So what else was he supposed to do?
“Michael?” Mia said, pulling him back into the moment.
“Yeah. Sorry. What were you saying?”
Mia looked slightly vexed.
“I ASKED how your appointment went. What did the doctor say?”
Despite all he was feeling, Michael smiled.
“All clear babe. No complications. I’m good to go for Wembley.”
***
Wembley Stadium / London, United Kingdom
Sitting in the stands at Wembley it wasn’t hard to invision all the historic events that this building had hosted. Several Olympics, the Live Aid concert in 85 and Summerslam in 1992. And, as in the past, this modern version of the Roman Colosseum would again host an event for the EWC.
Michael watches as as the event crew raised the Stranglemania banner. He knew that, even though this might not be his first Stranglemania with the company, it could very well be his last. Turning to face the camera, he felt the full force of that conviction.
“Vin Havoc and I have a friendship forged in fire. After beating the shit out of each other several times last season we came out the other side ride or die… allies for life. But, with guys like us who live to fight, it could just as easily have gone the other way.”
Raising his eyebrows, he shrugged at the harsh truth this statement suggested.
“The first time gold got between us we hashed it out like men… one on one… no holds barred in the Mexican desert. And now, across the pond at Stranglemania, we’ll be doin’ that shit again in a 15 minute, No-DQ, Iron Man match for the Fighting Spirit Championship.”
He nods to himself gravely, seeming to reluctantly accept the hard battle ahead.
“This year at Scars and Stripes Vin and I fought by each other’s side as two of the Best of Rampage. But in Season 24, at that same show, we were busy earning that reputation against Lavender and Chris Page when we tied 5 pinfalls a piece to win the U.S. Title in the Bout of Raging Turmoil.”
He half-smiled at the memory of their shared success. But the smile faded at the mention of his second opponent, whose name conjured memories of a different kind.
“Cosmo Goldworthy also stood out at that show. He pinned Cassie Wolfe in his triple-threat, Pay-Per-View Debut. A match that also included my old buddy, and recent opponent, Jason Anderson.”
The mood shifted as he adopted his own tone of arrogance.
“Now Cosmo, winning triple-threat matches against Jason ain’t the only thing you and I got in common. We both cut our teeth in California. We both became big, tough guys without the benefit of our father’s guidance. But the fact is son, you and I came up on opposite sides of The Bay and We. Are not. The same.”
He draws a deep breath that gradually came out as a growl.
“While you wore a letterman’s jacket and played football and basketball, I grew up dodging bullets in a world where the patches on the jackets said Oaktown Crips and Ghost Town Gangstas.”
His hands clenched into fists as the level of intensity in his voice continued to rise.
“And while you were more worried about what fancy-ass fit you were gonna wear to become prom king, I had to worry about how I was gonna get to the grocery store before I got jacked for my food money.
While you ‘worked smarter’ and rode a gold-plated rocket to the top of the business, I had to work hard to earn even an ounce of the respect. I busted my ass from day 1 in every Indie and Fed from Japan to Mexico, and I’ve been ridin’ those roads for more years than you’ve got candles burnin’ on your birthday.”
Taking a deep breath he tries to sound calm through tightly clenched teeth and a forced smile.
“Cosmo… you are damned talented. Even before you joined up with The House you were on the fast track to becoming a champion…”
His eyes raise coldly to meet the camera.
“Everything came easy for you Cosmo. You didn’t experience the struggles that turned competitors like Vin and Lavender into the life or death dangers that they’ve become. And you sure as shit didn’t have to work half as hard as I did, just to take home my first title.”
A cement stare solidifies his unyielding expression. Iron eyes viscerally suggest the presence of mortal danger.
“But in London the 14 Karat Kid is gonna learn one’a life’s hardest lessons. You’re gonna find out at Stranglemania that anything that comes that easy, can just as easily be taken away.”
A slight, predatory smile appears to emphasize the threat in his tone.
“On April 22nd Cosmo, you’re gonna find out that even though gold is a very precious metal, it’s also way too soft to ever be iron.
And after Vin and I get bored beating your ass, and after we give you your receipt for all the backhanded bullshit you’ve been pullin’ the last few months on Rampage, we’ll leave what’s left of you to Lavender. Then Vin and I will go on to figure out between the two of us which one has the stronger Fighting Spirit.”
Merc offers a nod of respect for the man he considers to be his best friend and greatest adversary.
“Vinny my man, I think I know you about as well as anyone actually can. I understand why you fight. And I understand what you’re fighting for.
You’re fightin’ for that kid back in Brooklyn, who spent so much time alone watchin’ wrestling tapes and dreamin’ of the day he would be like Kawada and Onita.
You’re fighin’ for the mother who sacrificed to raise you, so that you can help her get well, so that she’ll never need to sacrifice like that again.
And you’re fightin’ for the man that worked so hard, for so long, to become a Champion.”
The look on his face shows nothing but the highest esteem.
“Unlike Cosmo, you’re not fightin’ for braggin’ rights or to shine up your ego. You’re fightin’ to keep that title, because you remember every hard-fought drop of blood you shed to earn it.”
Inspired by the heightened emotion of the moment he resists the urge to pump his fist in a show of support for his opponent.
“And if it were anyone else in this match but Me, you know I’d be rootin’ for ya. But you also know that wrestling can be a very selfish business, especially where titles are concerned. And unfortunately brotha, the option to share another belt isn’t on the table.”
He shakes his head regretfully.
“Just like you, I’ve put in the work. Just like you, I’ve got family to think of. And just like you, I’ve got an all consuming respect for this business.
I was baptized by Steele and Suzuki in the religion of wrestling. And wrestling is the only religion that I’ve ever known. If there’s one dude in this company who’s bled as much as you have to be called The Fighting Spirit Champion, it’s Me.”
Merc’s eyes burn with fury. Unconsciously, he rubs at the sore spot on the top of his head.
“I understand, better than most, that there’s only a set number of chances for anyone in this business to become more than just a footnote. And mine are almost all used up.”
His brow furrows as his discomfort comes to the surface.
“I already wasted the biggest one of my career when I lost to Sally at the Season Premiere of Rampage, and I just can’t let another one slip through my fingers. It just sucks that it has to be against you again Vin. It’s a hard pill to swallow.”
Mike rubs at his hair and shakes his head in frustration.
“But Goddamnit, WHAT ELSE CAN I DO?!”
He throws up his hands in exasperation.
“None of us know how much time we’ve got left. For some of us… it’s less than others. You and Me Vin, we’re not gettin’ any younger… not gettin’ any less… damaged.
The best we can hope to do, is to try to get better with the time we’ve got left. And for me, taking that title from you would be a step in the right direction.”
His chin falls to his chest and he lowers his eyes for a moment before raising them again with a look of resolve.
“Vin, I love ya bro. I don’t say that to many people, and no matter what happens at Stranglemania, I hope that doesn’t ever change. But I also know you wouldn’t respect me if I didn’t do my best to beat you. And I know that I couldn’t respect myself if I didn’t do my best to try.
So on Monday, at one of the EWC's biggest shows of the year, I’m gonna bring the best of my street skills and all of my wrestling education to war against an enemy and a friend, and I will meet them both with equal hostility. I will unleash my fighting spirit into the cathedral of violence and I’ll show the world what that phrase really means.”
He pounds his fist into his palm.
“I’ll do what needs to be done to bring that gold home to my family…”
He looks out to the English sky, with a weighted stare.
“Even if I have to risk everything to make it a reality.”
