February 27th, 2023
Solex takes a slow sip from his newly purchased crystal glass, savoring the velvety, rich flavor of a Garrison Brothers Single Barrel whiskey; poured neat, of course. The bottle of premium whiskey sits in the middle of the patio table in front of Solex. The sun has begun to set behind the rolling hills of his Franklin ranch, the air is cool and crisp and a gentle breeze lends a perfect accent to the evening. Sitting across from Solex, also enjoying a glass of whiskey is Solex’s new associate and Nashville local, Hank.
“How many guys do you think we’ll have at the next meeting?” Solex wonders as he takes another sip from his glass.
Hank smirks a bit, knowing that the last round of veterans that showed up to their meeting was a much smaller number than Solex had hoped for.
“Well, let’s just hope it’s more than the last time,” Hank replies in a light and teasing tone. “I think you might have scared a few off with your, um…how can I say this? Eagerness?”
Solex shakes his head in disgust. Solex prides himself on his intensity and discipline, but he had hoped that by only inviting hardened combat veterans he would have deterred anyone that was easily offended or put off by his brash attitude. Unfortunately, he was wrong.
“Pussies,” Solex mutters to himself behind a deep sigh, rolling his eyes into the back of his head. “I don’t have time to sugarcoat anything and make these fuckin’ cowards comfortable. I don’t have time for soft men, Hank. I need a group of killers, not a bunch of assholes LARPing as veterans.”
Hank lets out a hearty laugh and takes another sip of the top-shelf whiskey.
“Damn, that’s good shit,” Hank says as he inspects the whiskey in what’s left of evening’s sunlight.
Solex grins, clinks his glass against Hanks and says, “Nothing but the best for you, my friend.”
“I’m not gonna lie to ya’, Steve,” Hank begins, a note of worry in his tone. “I’m a bit concerned with your priorities. I know that starting this club is something that has to be done and that it has to be done sooner rather than later, but don’t you think you should be more focused on your match at March to Glory than you are about this club, at least for right now? I mean, if you don’t win the LSD Championship, how far does that club even go if you don’t win the LSD Championship?”
Solex shoots Hank a sarcastic look and asks, “What do you mean how far?”
“Well, Steve…I’m just asking the question. If you don’t beat Jace Parker Davidson, what does that mean for the future of this club?”
“This fuckin’ clown has the audacity to call himself the King of Everything, the FOREVER champion, the absolute best of the best, but in the very next breath he’s bitching and moaning about how he’s the underdog and how everyone in The Final Alliance has underestimated him at every turn,” Solex says incredulously.
“What a load of bullshit. This guy is nothing more than the default picture on a roster sheet; a fucking placeholder. A placeholder that’s only good for one thing, and that’s holding onto the LSD Championship until I rip it from his pathetic little hands at March to Glory.
“That’s why Lee Best left him out of The Final Alliance, and that’s why Lee Best saw it fit to BOTTOMLINE that prick right in the center of the ring. Handcuffing me in the center of the ring was just the first mistake he made that night. The second? Getting into the ring and standing across from The Last Man in Wrestling and the HOW World Champion. That mistake proved him costly. Shit, that mistake costed him his right fuckin’ eye.”
“So, if you win…”
“Hold it right fuckin’ there, Hank,” Solex interjects, his voice raised a few notches. “I’ve heard you say this word a few times now and I’ve got to ask, what do you mean by if?”
Hank’s eyes grow wide as Solex’s sudden change in demeanor and his elevated tone takes him by surprise.
“What do you mean, what do I mean?” Hank que, a hint of defensiveness creeping into his voice.
“Let me tell you something, Hank. When I pinned that sack of shit in the middle of the ring…let me say that again: When I pinned the motherfucking LSD Champion, in the middle of the ring, and I was covered in his blood, I knew…I knew, in that very moment, that I would be the next LSD Champion. I knew that Jace Parker Davidson was lost and will lose. His heart has been shattered…broken into a million fucking pieces by a man that he has looked up to as a father figure for so many years. By a man that he would have dove in front of a bullet for, without hesitation. So when you say the word if, I get a little pissed off, Hank. Because at this point, it’s not a question of if, it’s a question of how.
“How?” Hanks wonders, his curiosity level at its peak.
“Yes, how. How will I win? And how will I do it? Those are the only questions that matter at this point. I still have bruises on my fuckin’ wrists, Hank. Do you think that, that piece of shit, and his dumb fuck cronies, are really going to get away with what they did to me last week? I don’t fuckin’ think so. The BOTTOMLINE was only the beginning. At March to Glory, in the storied arena of Old Trafford – a temple of champions and legends, Jace Parker Davidson will face the full, unbridled wrath and fury of The Last Man in Wrestling. I will beat him from pillar to post until there is nothing left of The King of Everything but an empty fuckin’ shell of what he used to be – the LSD Champion,” Solex growls, his eyes blazing with intensity.
Solex leans forward in his chair, grabs the bottle of Garrison Brothers and pours a more than generous amount into Hank’s glass before refilling his own.
“Drink up, friend,” Solex says, with a mischievous look in his eye. “It’s going to be a long fuckin’ week.”
Hank laughs and lifts his glass for a toast and says “Cheers to that!” as the scene fades to black.
February 28th, 2023
Solex is laid out flat on his brown leather couch with the television remote in his hand. He’s been in this same position for hours and seems to be content doing absolutely nothing. His phone, placed on his chest, begins to buzz for the fifth time in the last hour and with a scowl on his face, Solex sends the call straight to voicemail. Solex’s dad has been trying to reach him but the relentless buzzing of his phone is driving Solex up the wall and he’s half-tempted to chuck his device into the nearest wall.
“Stop calling, asshole,” Solex says to himself as he continues to click through the channels on his TV.
“Are you fucking kidding me?!” Dick shouts from across the room, holding his cell phone over his head. “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you all fuckin’ day and you’ve been here…lazied up on the fucking couch?!”
Solex smirks sarcastically at his old man, but never really looks away from the TV.
“At least put on HOTv…Jesus, man. Lee Best just issued a press release and some breaking news in regards to your match!” Dick tries to motivate his son, but his elevated voice and excited behavior don’t do anything to budge Solex from his meld in the couch cushions, in fact it draws a chuckle out of the number one wrestler in the world.
Solex shakes his head and holds up his phone, “You think I’m not the first person the boss sent the message to? Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?”
Dick, visibly frustrated, crosses his arms across his chest. Dick stands in silence, staring intently at Solex, until he drops his arms, holds them out to his sides, shrugs his shoulders in defeat and blurts out, “Well?!”
Solex grins and strokes his epic beard; the coarse, midnight-black and gray strands running through his fingers.
“First of all, Dick, you don’t tell me what to or not to do, understand? Our arrangement is the same and until I start to see some results from this training of yours…” Solex begins, but is immediately cut off by his dad.
“Results?” Dick interjects. “Are you kidding me? You’ve won four…make that five, straight matches since I’ve been involved in your training. I don’t know why I need to keep reminding you of that fact!”
Solex lets out an exaggerated scoff and sits up on the couch.
“You think I couldn’t have done that without you, Dick? Think again. I’ll give credit where it’s due, but this is bigger than you. This is the culmination of years of hard work, the proverbial blood, sweat and tears finally paying off,” Solex says, pointing a finger at his old man.
“Your job is secure until March to Glory, but, I’ll tell you this, if I don’t have the blueprints for Old Trafford on my desk, in the study, by the end of the day, you’re gonna have to find a new place to live and some new maids to bang, ‘cause you’re going to be out on your ass,” Solex lectures, his voice laced with authority.
Solex jumps up from the couch and marches toward Dick, closing the gap until he’s just an inch away from his father’s face. His anger boils as he seethes with rage.
“I’ve got this shit under control, Jace Parker Davidson is in for a rude awakening. I’ve been waiting for this exact moment for years, and I’ve finally got the opportunity to end this whole fuckin’ thing on a high note,” Solex declares, holding a hand above his head like he’s the height of the situation.
“And what’s worse for Jace? This won’t even be a wrestling match, this will be a fucking war. Spread out across an entire arena, not knowing what’s behind each corner…Jace doesn’t know that fear, he doesn’t know how to harness that fear and make it work for him, but I do. I know how to use my adrenaline to heighten my senses and enhance my focus. This is the shit that I was born to do, custom designed by my God above to be a stone cold killer, a war fighter and a machine. A disciplined tactician ready to engage and destroy the enemy no matter the cost, and that includes human life.”
March 2nd, 2023
Solex walks into the gym, his eyes scanning the room looking for a familiar face, but instead his eye catches two fighters sparring in the cage in the far corner. Intrigued, Solex walks across the gym through the grunts and groans and finds himself a spot in the corner, tucked away but with a perfect view of the action in the cage.
The two fighters, one wearing blue and the other red, circle one another at a boxer’s distance from one another. Both are wearing headgear, sparring gloves and shin and instep guards. The two throw a few punches at one another, neither one connecting with any real force. Suddenly, the red fighter throws a leg kick, only to be instantly taken down by a beautiful double-leg from the fighter in blue. The thud of the taken down reverberates through the gym as the two fighters scramble for position.
The blue fighter is able to take the fighter in red’s back and immediately lock in a rear-naked-choke. The red fighter tries two arms on one in an attempt to break the choke but he’s unable to, and just as he begins to turn a dark shade of purple, he taps.
The blue fighter jumps up to his feet and charges toward the cage mesh and locks eyes with Solex. He points at the number one wrestler in the world.
“I KNOW YOU! GET YOUR ASS IN HERE! YOU’RE NEXT!” The fighter in blue shouts at Solex through his mouth piece, hurling saliva into the air.
The gym goes silent as the fighter’s voice cuts through the gym. Solex smirks and brushes him off with a dismissive wave of the hand.
“I knew it. Number one my ass. Jace Parker Davidson is gonna kill that dude,” the fighter in blue scoffs to the trainer sitting cage side.
Solex’s ears perk up and he shouts, “What was that?”
The fighter narrows his eyes, giving Solex a menacing stare.
“I said you ain’t shit and Jace Parker Davidson is gonna whoop your punk ass next week!” The fighter brazenly shouts.
Solex laughs as he reaches into his duffel bag and pulls out a pair of sparring gloves of his own.
“Is that right?” Solex asks, with a rhetorical and condescending tone.
Solex slowly approaches the cage as he straps on his gloves. He punches into his own hands, making sure that the gloves are properly fitted as he walks up the steps and walks through the door as the fighter in red is escorted out by a random trainer.
“That’s right,” the fighter in blue says with a smile, showing off his mouthpiece.
The cage-side trainer slams the door shut.
“Alright, David! Let’s do this!” The trainer shouts at the blue.
A piercing chime starts the sparring round between Solex and David. David charges in and is put on his heels with a straight left and then dropped with a thunderous overhand right. David goes unconscious, in frankenstein mode and Solex stands over top of him.
“What the fuck man?!” The trainer shouts at Solex as he charges into the cage to check on his fighter.
Solex shrugs it off and rips the velcro on his left glove apart with his teeth. He turns and walks out of the cage and is approached by an early-twenties kid as he walks down the cage steps.
“What do you call that?” The kid wonders as he stares at Solex in awe.
Solex looks down at his balled fists and says “Hiroshima and Nagasaki.”
“That was awesome, man!” The kid shouts as Solex makes his exit off the gym floor.
“You piece of shit,” a soft, yet firm female voice says from behind Solex.
Solex stops dead in his tracks, his ears perking up as he immediately recognizes the voice. His eyes light up and he lifts his head, but doesn’t turn to look at her.
“Beth,” he whispers to himself, still keeping his back to her.
Beth crosses her arms as she stares daggers into Solex’s back.
“What the hell are you doing here?” She asks in a curious yet pissed off tone.
Solex never looks back and after taking a beat, he continues his path off the gym floor as the scene fades to black.
The age-old saying of “the champion makes the title, not the other way around” is nowhere near the truth when it comes to Jace Parker Davidson. Jace, being the fuckin’ belt mark that he is, needs the LSD Championship. Whereas a guy like me…just doesn’t.
Now, don’t get me wrong, my goal is to be the LSD Champion…one-hundred-percent, and I will give my life to win it. But unlike that weak, spineless asshole, the LSD Championship needs me, not the other way around. I don’t need a piece of gold around my waist to be relevant in HOW. Hell, I’ve been one of the most influential and important figures in HOW for years. I was on the top of the marquee, selling out arenas across the world and bringing HOTv to new heights even when I was being held back by The Highwaymen; those pricks.
No one can fuckin’ touch me.
Wins or losses, my name is still on the top of everyone’s list of greats.
Unlike the self-proclaimed King of Everything, I fuckin’ matter around here.
I’m a Hall of Famer and never won the World Title. That’s how fucking important I am.
The LSD Championship is his entire identity and not because he’s a good champion but because it’s his only lifeline to relevancy and without a place in The Final Alliance, it’s the only thing he has left.
Without the LSD Championship he – Jace Parker Davidson – is a fuckin’ bum, an absolute nothing.
When I rip that championship from his weak and feeble hands and the sudden realization of worthlessness washes over his body and soul, he will come to see that his services in HOW are no longer needed; that the world and more importantly, Lee Best, has moved on without him.
So, while he tries to save face and make the claim that I’m only the number one wrestler in the world based on a technicality, because of a flaw in the system or whatever other fuckin’ excuse he can conjure up in the moment. The fact of the matter remains that I am number one and I’ve proved that by not only going undefeated up until this point in 2023, but I proved it when I pinned his sorry, one-eyed, bloody carcass to the mat in front of the entire world.
Jace was right though, when he said what he said before our match. Lee Best did, in fact, have something up his sleeve and it just so happened to be the motherfuckin’ Bottomline Pen.
Jace didn’t even see it coming, but eye did.
I’m still trying to figure out how he’s surprised by this. Everyone on the fuckin’ planet saw this one coming as soon as UNDEAD hit the system and the man himself stood atop the entrance ramp at Madison Square Garden.
What a moment.
I’ll bet Jace cried his bitch ass eyes out in his bitch ass pillow at his bitch ass house for days after it. But not because he lost an eye, that’s inconsequential to a guy like Jace. He cried cause his bitch ass feelings were hurt. Cause that’s what men like Jace do. They cry. Guys like Jace let motherfuckers attack people with broken spoons while they listen to their fuckin’ headphones at 30,000 feet and act like they don’t hear shit.
I see you, Jace. And I see right fuckin’ through the you too.