High Octane Wrestling
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Published: Written by: Maximillian Kael

“Who the fuck is Brendon Cross?”

 

Max stared intently at the cellphone he held in his hand while a smattering of North Korean soldiers moved large boxes and equipment into the basement of the 5 Time Academy all the way down in Tampa Bay, Florida. Dressed in his modified North Korean uniform with the LSD Title slung over his shoulder the Lord Supreme Dictator towered over the much shorter Asians were worked diligently to set up his satellite headquarters.

 

“BRENTON Cross. He’s got two wins so technically he’s on an undefeated streak! He joined up a few weeks back but you were.. Uh.. well you were in HOW really.” the youthful voice of the young Sub-Marquis Bentley Tennyson Primrose-Farthington chimed in as he held up a mostly unfilled profile of Brendon Cross that he had printed out from the website. 

 

“Two wins and somebody thinks he’s worthy of challenging me for the LSD Title?! This smacks of Scott Woodson booking 101, someone gets a little headway and BOOM.. give them a title shot! I just won this damn thing and all the sudden HOW Champions are defending the title the show after Rumble at the Rock!? I don’t even have my eyepatch on yet!” 

 

The LSD Champion sneered as he turned his head to reveal a blackened socket where the flesh was jagged with scars. The Herald grimaced slightly as he looked into the unpleasant emptiness that was once the home to two other eyes.  He lowered his phone and snatched the website print off out of the Heralds hand and glared down at it. 

 

“Well if anything this should be an easy victory for you then, Lord Supreme Dictator!” Bentley said as he hopped up and down from one foot to the other, his cape of bells jingling loudly as he did so. Max’s blue eye lifted from the paper and stared a hole into the cheerful face of his Herald, the brow above his good eye twitching slightly. 

 

“This isn’t about easy wins or loses, Bentley, this is about longevity! I just got out of a war with MJF and Jack Harmen and now I’ve got to put it all on the line against this.. This.. wait, does it say Time Traveler on this?” Max said as he looked back down at the paper with a confused tone in his voice. 

 

“Oh yeah, apparently that’s a thing he does, time travel!”

 

“Time travel isn’t possible! In time travel not only would you need to know the exact time to travel too but the exact fixed point in space during that moment in time, something that we can not even measure with an exact science at this time because.. Wait. wait.” Max shook his head as thin fingers pinched the nose of his mouth. “I’m overthinking this. I’m putting way to much thought into this guy’s gimmick and not enough time on what he can actually do in the ring.”

 

“Oh he apparently Time Travels in the ring.”

 

“WHAT?!”

 

Max crumpled the paper he had in his hand and threw it against a nearby wall where it harmlessly tumbled to the ground. Within a second one of the North Korean soldiers swooped in and grabbed it, depositing it in a recycling receptacle before returning to his duties of carrying random equipment into the basement. Both the Herald and Max took a moment to appreciate the man’s hard work before Max’s face flushed red, his mind returning back to the Time Traveling Brenton Cross.

 

“So he Time Travels in the ring!?” Max once again exclaimed staring down at the Herald.

 

“Of course he does, it’s part of his whole in ring thing!” the Herald shouted back at Max as he pulled his phone cell phone out of his pocket. After a few moments he pulled up a video of Brenton Cross performing his deadfall Time Traveler signature move. Max looked deeply confused as his blue eye flickered from the phone to the Herald then back to the phone.

 

“Did I miss something? I didn’t see any time traveling unless he dipped in the middle of that fall to get some -DELICIOUS PYONGYAN KIMCHI OR COLD NOODLE DISHES-.” Max turned his head to stare off into the distance as a broad, friendly smile crossed his otherwise dour face. His blue eye seemed to wince in pain as he did so as the Herald looked on with his own dumbfounded expression. After a few fleeting moments Max’s expression melted back into a comfortable scowl as he turned to look back down at the Herald. “And then returned his full belly into that perilous plunge!”

 

“..i.. What?” The Herald stammered as his fingers pointed in several directions as though he were attempting to figure out what Max had been staring at during the product plug. 

 

“Where did he time travle!?” Max growled back aggressively as he replayed the video on Bentley’s phone.

 

“Time Travel? Oh.. OH! Yeah, sorry you distracted me with your..weirdness. He didn’t Sci-Fi Time Travel, his dead fall, that’s called the Time Travel. It’s a move!” 

 

Max’s face was presently pretty unimpressed with a sour scowl set like fast drying concrete and yet this news managed to crack it and let it tumble into a pile in the shape of a deep, unhappy frown. The kind of frown you get when you look at yourself in the mirror and debate killing yourself. The kind of frown you know Jeff Epstein was wearing when he “hung himself”. You know the type of frown. 

 

“He named one of his moves Time Travel and the whole thing is just him falling backward? I.. I don’t even think I have a rational series of words to string together to express how that makes me feel. So instead I’m going to have to ask you to engage interpretive dance to convey how bad I feel.” Max said as he shook his head, that intense frown pulling down his chin. Today was the day Max Kael lost his smile. 

 

The Herald, never one to turn down the chance to dance, was quick to action. He jumped into the middle of the basement as the North Korean soldiers paused and stared at him. Bentley opened up with some depressing twerks before he somber shuffled into a melancholy Macarena. The surprisingly well chosen string of dance maneuvers triggered a domino fall of depressingly performed Macarena dances while the soldiers sang a strange Korean version of the song that was deemed fit for public consumption by the North Korean Government. 

 

“…that’s actually pretty good..” the Lord of Kaelsalvania managed to whimper out as he clutched his LSD title against his chest. A single tear ran down Max Kael’s face as he wonders what has become of his wonderful profession. It should be noted that Max Kael is a famously known hypocrite and self deluded moron. As the dances continued Max turned away and headed upstairs, his heart broken at the prospect of facing a man who claimed he could time travel. It was the wrestling version of Flat Earth Theory. It was the Flat Earth Theory equivalent of Cheese Moon Theory. It was the Cheese Moon Theory of Jeff Epstein Didn’t Kill Himself Theory. 

 

He needed air. He had hoped it would be cold air but down in Tampa the air always felt humid, even when it was cold. The city held onto it’s dampness like the underside of a fat man’s front butt and Max had grown to despise it. Thankfully in a few days he’d be back up in San Jose where the weather was more sad rain and wildfires, two things Max could relate too. 

 

“What have you gotten yourself into..” Max muttered to himself as he stared up into the sky. It had taken a few days for him to heal up enough to leave the San Francisco area and even then he had been spending every night on the move with his small army. Once the base of operations was settled beneath 5 Time Academy Max could finally get some much needed rest.. 

 

But could he?

 

The LSD Title was important for several reasons. One, it showed the world his superiority over MJF, a fact he had become obsessed with since she had managed to defeat him at War Games costing him his World Title. The LSD was Max’s World Title in his eyes. While Sektor walked out of War Games with the World Title, MJF won the LSD title by pinning Max Kael. That had burned in his chest driving him into a long convoluted plot to bring the woman down.. And the LSD Championship was proof that he had. 

 

Second, the LSD title meant that the eMpire held every single piece of singles gold. With Cecilworth holding the ICON Championship and Max’s old World Championship that now meant that the eMpire stood as the undisputed masters of HOW. Not the Order. Not the Industry. Not any of the other now defunct groups that were once in High Octane Wrestling. 

 

The eMpire. 

 

And finally Max had records on his mind. Holding the LSD Championship meant his total time as Champion increased. If he could hold the title until ICONIC he would officially surpass Scottywood on most days held though it seemed very unlikely that Max could break any other records, least of all Jace Parker Davidson. But then.. Who knew how long had left..

 

He blinked as the thought of HOW’s longevity came to his mind. 

 

“Shit..” Max let the word slip past his lips like fat, greasy poop pushed between a constricted butthole. He shook the thought away and looked back down at the LSD Title. There was fourth reason forming in Max Kael’s primitive brain for why he needed to hold onto the LSD championship. One that was far more pressing and important to the Prime Minister of Maxopotamia. 

 

In the distance Max heard the squealing of tires which drew his attention upward. A pair of headlights were barreling down the street, whatever vehicle they belonged to had a deep, angry growl to it that indicated it must be power and that whoever was driving might have had a very small penis. As it grew closer it didn’t seem to slow down and instead began to swerve from one side of the road.

 

Panic gripped Max Kael as he thought upon the many, many enemies he had made over his life. This could be it, this could be one of his bad decisions finally coming back to put an end to him. This might be the day!

 

Then Max Kael realized he was standing on the sidewalk just outside of his brother’s gym. Fear makes you stupid sometimes but thankfully Max had a great deal of experience being dumb. Not waiting too long to dwell upon how impressive he was Max darted back toward the door just as the headlights were zeroing in on his location!

 

CRASH!

 

The sound of glass shattering and metal bending rocked the front of the gym as a large metal container, roughly seven foot by three foot, smashed into it, thrown from the bed of a large truck. Max had managed to dive to safety as his blue eye tracked the black truck that sped away and disappeared around a corner. His attention then turned toward the container which didn’t seem to move or show any signs of danger. 

 

Pulling himself up to his feet Max gingerly moved toward the container. Behind him he could hear the hushed voices of trainers and trainees as well as the soft clatter of boots running up from the basement. 

 

Nearing the large metal container he noticed some writing on the side of it, painted on in some official capacity. Numbers, a few odd seemingly coded words and a name.. One that caused Max to freeze, his eye widening considerably.. 

 

“..Sutler Reynolds..”

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