“Sirrr, please make surrre to sit down take off kan be tad bumpy at times.”
I nodded slowly trying to come to terms with his accent and stared at the Pilot of the Helicopter, I unfortunately had to travel in. I did not like the travel that was arranged for me. I was told not to worry because even if there was a war going on money still talked and he had enough to get me to Kyiv unharmed. I had tried to get Solex to help, but he was determined to take the head of Putin before he took the spine of Christopher America. Instead, I had to trust the half-brother of the man who trained me and the brother-in-law of Sandy Reed-Lawson. Not exactly people I trust making me coffee better yet getting me into the Ukraine.
I shook as I peered out the window, “is this thing safe?”
I quickly moved my eyes from watching us hover over the Black Sea and looked straight ahead. “Uh, the name is Steve Harrison.”
“Not you, Helikopter,” he replied to me with his heavy Ukrainian accent attached to his broken English still being a chore to process.
“Oh…great,” I softly said so he could not hear me and leaned back in the Helicopter trying to forget this whole ordeal and hoping no Russian missiles struck us while in the air.
I had flown into Istanbul, Turkey where I met with a chain-smoking Turk who hastily put me in a fishing boat in the cover of night and we floated out into the Black Sea. He had barely spoken but his motions would put an Italian coupler arguing to shame. I leaned out at Sea and saw fires in the distance and the whispers of gun shots. I ducked down multiple times which had the Turk openly laugh at me. We do this for wrestling I mused as I grabbed a Chelsea FC blanket the Turk offered me and wrapped my cold body in it. Trust me…the irony of the blanket wasn’t lost on me.
“Can you tell me what the next step is?”
“No talk, wait for sunrise.”
That is how this went for several hours with only the sound of distant gun fire and jumping fish entertaining me. I had put my trust into a guy who would blow up his own building so people could not find evidence against him. He had always been ruthless so if these people were associates of his I knew that sleeping with the fishes wasn’t just a metaphor for them.
Finally, after what felt like days the Helicopter had shown up. The Turk nudged me awake and pointed as it hovered mere feet from the fishing boat, I have been freezing in. I stared at the helicopter the wind it created pushing me backwards.
“And?” I asked.
He pointed again to the Helicopter, this time sounding very annoyed. “You. Grab.”
I laughed and waved my hand, “you have a dark sense of humor, man.”
He shook his head a frown now on his stubbled face and pointed at the Helicopter again, “No. Joke. You. Hurry”
The smiled faded as quickly as my hearing does when I listen to Darin Zion ramble on and on when he is excited. I pointed to my bag, and he made a throwing motion with both his arms which led me to rub my eyes. I tried to tell myself that I could do it and this was for War Games and the prestige that comes with it. I tossed the stupid blanket back to The Turk and sighed…yea…nothing is worth this nonsense, right?
I smacked my cheeks with both hands and jumped up and down to get myself ready for what I felt was the impossible and after what seemed like hours I jumped.
My bag followed afterwards by a surprisingly strong toss by The Turk. I waved goodbye and said thanks, but he turned his back and started moving the boat back to where it came from.
What the hell have I gotten myself into.
I snapped back out of it from the voice of the Helicopter pilot, “hold on tight.”
I blinked and looked out the window to see us flying past some trees. I had no idea when we had left the water but all I saw now were trees and run-down farms some from explosions and some from be abandoned long ago. I noticed we started to descend, “uh…where the hell are you landing?”
“betveen trrrees, hidden strrrip,” he replied to me as nonchalantly as possible but as I have discovered Eastern Europeans are not an excitable bunch.
“Oh,” is all I could muster as I held on to whatever I could as the Helicopter descended quickly like a straight shot on the Drop Tower at Kings Dominion. I felt my stomach trying to escape my body and started breathing heavily. I looked out the window to try to get my mind off the drop and jumped backwards as a tree branch snapped off in front of my face.
Yea, your favorite LSD Champion fainted.
Next thing I know, “vake up, ve arrre herrre.”
That god forsaken accent was going to be the death of me. I opened my eyes slowly and blinked a few times to see the pilot mere inches from my face. “I am up, you can move away.”
He moved and behind him stood the man who had made all of these arrangements: Ellis Jackson. On either side of him were two heavily armed guards. He smiled at me, “glad you made it in one piece, Steve.”
I had a lot to think about when I was swaying side to side on a fishing boat in the Black Sea.
Like what type of man would book a PPV called War Games in an actual Warzone?
A narcistic sociopath who only cares about himself would do that. Should I be surprised? We all do our best to be wrestlers, husbands, friends, and what we get in return is literal psychological torture from a zombie Lee Best who just wants to watch the world burn as he eats our brains. I have had my fill of him to last a lifetime and now I must defend my LSD Title in an Ironman match to move on to War Games to not only entertain this bastard but to help line his dirty pockets.
Oh…you believe that Lee Best would ever put on a show for charity?
Heh, fuck out of here, you sheeple.
I am not perfect.
I am not claiming to be a saint.
What I am is not an easy answer but for those who like to rely on conman insults or Milk puns to get under my skin I ask for you to evolve because you obviously haven’t changed in over a year.
I have to look at what I am getting myself into and find the silver lining within a blackened sky where the only sun shining through points to dried blood and lost dreams. That is the wrestling business for anyone naïve not to understand the circumstances we are constantly put through.
The LSD Title means more to me then Scottywood means to Bobbinette Carey. My best friend is made of gold and wraps comfortably around my waist. The Highwaymen understand my affection for this belt because they understand how hard it was for me to finally win it and all the bullshit I have gone through to get to where I currently am.
Bobbinette Carey is who I am focused on because War Games is just an extra prize I attain if I keep my precious. This title proves that I have overcome my injuries and shown that all my hard work was worth it. That doesn’t mean I feel whole. That doesn’t mean I don’t want more. That doesn’t mean I am resting on my laurels and don’t take Carey seriously. No… I have too many things I want to achieve and surviving War Games is the only option in attaining what I desire most. I don’t mean surviving a match either, I mean enduring inside a country where all of Christopher America’s most ardent fans are invading it.
Bobbinette Carey is a Hall of Famer in HOW.
That is a huge accomplishment, but it doesn’t give you carte blanche to act like a self-serving cockroach. I don’t need to hear the love child of a Walrus and a case of Jell-O Chocolate Pudding explain the virtues of being woke.
It isn’t why you might think though.
It is because as I stated she is nothing but a cockroach living off others and ideals she doesn’t truly believe in. It is about whichever can help her advance because her career is a fast-moving sunset, and she realizes nobody is going to be there to salute her at the end of it. Well…nobody worth a damn at least. I don’t believe for a second, she cares about uplifting others because she doesn’t even care about respecting her own children. Have you complimented her today? If not, she probably has nothing to say to you except of a compliant that you haven’t noticed her bright white hair today.
Its. Not. All. About. You.
You have focus though and that is why you overcame David Noble. You guys fought for Conor Fuse’s love but at least you realized there was something for more important and that is MY LSD Title. I am not surprised by that because your devotion to Conor Fuse is nothing but a ruse to get what you want. You know all too well how it feels to stab someone in the back and that is something I cannot allow. It isn’t because I care about the Locker Room Cheater because I will take him down in due time while looking him in his dead eyes.
This team cannot survive if someone who insulted the fans to hug it out with Scottywood advances to War Games. That is an insult to everyone with good taste because you are not interesting whatsoever.
You are black.
You are a woman.
That is how you define yourself, just a generic person hoping for sympathy pains when you have done the bare minimum to succeed. Equal rights mean I drop you on your head just like I dropped JJR on his head.
Apologies…you are also a big fat phony as well.
What a combination of…ugh…give me some fucking red bull I cannot keep my eyes open trying to explain how epic you are.
I AM ROLLING MY EYES.
It hurts my head realizing that you actually take yourself seriously.
I have not gone through all I have to make it to Ukraine to lose my title to an arrogant woman who hides her head in the sand when something isn’t about her. Do you know I am the Suplex Saint? This means I use a large assortment of suplexes to hurt my opponent’s neck because I discovered that I am fairly good at hurting people.
So, watch some film and see as JJRs skull crushes on the concrete as his and my blood flew throughout the arena.
Watch as I bleed and not stay down because I have a lot more heart than most wrestlers in HOW. This is the truth and yet I am always told I am a cancer or a cheater. I am doing your job for you but no matter what you know about me it will not mean a damn thing because I will put my knee through STRONK’s fap material regardless of the scenario before me.
THE LSD TITLE IS MINE
I will leave everything inside that ring, Carey. I have proven that many times the last few months and after thirty minutes are up, I will still be the HOW LSD Champion. I don’t care if I can barely stand. I don’t care if I am bleeding. I don’t care if I have trouble seeing. The depths I will go to retain will make you question why you ever wanted this match to begin with.
Of course…you never actually wanted this.
You just wanted to be in War Games so you could feel wanted.
A match doesn’t make you feel wanted and trust me when I say nobody would prefer you to me not even on my worse day when I was on crutches and smoking five blunts a day.
Steve Harrison is not to be trifled with, woman.
I will win.
I must win.
The Highwaymen need me to defend us against The Board and you will be no help at all.
War Games is my showcase, and I will prove it.
I found myself in the backseat of an armored limousine with Ellis Jackson to the right of me and the two guards up front with one driving. I took the silence to gather my thoughts and try to find whatever Zen was possible in an area as hostile as Ukraine is these days. I looked out the heavily tinted window and saw more trees and wondered how far I was from the arena.
“This is what wrestling has become huh?”
I turned my head to see the smirk of Ellis Jackson looking back at me like it was attempting to smack me across the face. “Is this what business has become?”
He shrugged, his smirk never deviating from its insulting path, “this is business as usual. You should understand that. But…wrestling,” he paused so he could laugh, “I don’t remember ever having to grapple while bombs were going off nearby.”
“Have you ever heard of Lee Best or High Octane Wrestling?”
He scratched his chin, “I know of a degenerate gambler called Lee Best who was so shady he would try to fix a little league softball game if there was any money to be made.”
I nodded, “that sounds like something he would do. These days though he would probably just throw a grenade and whoever didn’t die was declared the winner.”
He pointed outside, “is wrestling worth involving yourself here?”
“I could ask you the same thing. Weren’t you stuck in Hong Kong?”
“For every ten citizens there is one Chinese spy and I kind of stuck out…it was hard to do business.”
I rolled my eyes it had been years since I have seen him, but I know the business he enjoyed had high returns but a lot of risk. These were not the days when he enjoyed corporate raiding, no, no, these were the days alleyway handshakes and moving across borders in the cover of night and guns. “How…wait…when…no… why the hell are you here?”
His smiled became larger, “opportunity, my dear boy. That is far more valuable than twiddling my thumbs hoping for something good to happen. Isn’t that why you went through all of this to fight in a wrestling match?”
I squinted at him as I tried to find the sarcasm in what he said, “are you messing with me?”
He shook his head, “you were the first human I have put through the route I use for importing so this must be very important.”
I made my hands into fists and felt the blood leaving them. I took a deep breath and looked down to see my hands practically white. This was becoming one crazy moment after another, and I wasn’t sure I could handle much more. I released them and looked back at Ellis, “excuse me?”
He puts his hands up, “hey—don’t be mad I did my brother and you a favor. It is a very safe route and I have people everywhere that are very competent.”
I sighed, “I am not sure I want to know what you are up to here but thanks for helping get me across the border. Where are we going anyway?”
He pointed ahead, “just a little further.”
“And them?” I pointed at the two men up front, “and… about the bullet proof limo.”
He laughed, “you rather have it NOT be bullet proof?”
That wasn’t my point of course. My eyes noticed that this wasn’t a new vehicle, so I was positive he had this limo long before the conflict began. I had no idea how long he had been in Ukraine especially since the last time I had spoken to him was over ten years ago but by the looks of things he was continuing with whatever illegal business he had been doing. “Not the point, it seems like I cannot get away from the underworld though.”
One of the armed men turns and stares at Ellis and then turns back to the road. “Don’t worry, Oleg, he is not a threat he is only here to complete in a meaningless wrestling match…for charity,” he slapped his knee and began to laugh. The guards up front must have chuckled as well as I saw both sets of shoulders go up and down a few times.
“You sure have a lot of jokes for someone who taught me many of my knee strikes.”
He pointed to his head, “the key is to hit them in the head—hard.”
I nodded slowly understanding his clear mockery. I yelled at him inside my head because to do outwardly might not sit well with the cruel looking men in the front seats. “Happy my profession is now just a knee slap for you, Ellis. Are you ever going to tell me where we are going?”
“It isn’t a joke, Steve, it is just far less important then making money doing what you truly do best. I was a successful wrestler but look at me now?” He pointed at what I assumed was expensive clothes, shoes, and a shiny watch.
“Just say you make money off conflicts, Ellis and stop insulting my intelligence.”
He put his hands, “whoa, whoa,” he turned his head and looked out, “we are almost there…you don’t have any food in your bag, do you?”
I rubbed my temples as he continually changed the subject during any conversation, and it was giving me a headache. I didn’t care about his business, but I did care if his business got me in any unneeded trouble when I needed to concentrate on The Board and Bobbinette Carey. I had more targets on my back these days and any chink in my armor could cost me everything. My stomach then growled as I realized it had been a few days since I had had a real meal. The Turk has given me some snacks but now all I could think of was eating a steak.
Ellis heard my stomach and laughed, “I will take that as a no. Don’t worry we will get you some food but for where we are going it is best, we don’t have any.”
I didn’t say anything and just turned my head and waited till we got where we were going.
About ten minutes later of silence we drove up to a rundown warehouse that inexplicitly had security cameras and one huge metal front door. Ellis looked over and slapped me on the knee with a smile on his face. “Here.”
Both doors opened as each guard opened a door. I grabbed my bag and slowly stepped out of the limo and noticed finally that there were a lot of bullet dents in the side of that limo I had been sitting in. Great I thought as I began following them to the large metal door. Ellis started pushing a code in the lock mechanism. A loud noise followed, and the door unlocked.
“This is where you will be staying.”
The door opened all the way and I tailed him inside.
Oh no was repeated in my mind as the first thing I saw was a large cage with a… fucking lion inside.
Let me reiterate that my focus is holding onto my LSD Title but after that concludes I don’t care who I have to fight. We go through hoops to get to War Games and I will not be satisfied until those who have tried taking us down are left humbled and humiliated. That is what The Highwaymen wish for and if we must lift those around us to a level, they have never been to then so be it.
I will fight side by side with Xander or Simon Sparrow to get to our end goal.
This is not just a wrestling match. This is not just a paycheck. This is for the soul of our profession because if we fail there might not be anymore chances to tear down the dictatorship that continues to add to itself. It has tricked with STRONK with fake comradery, and it has blindfolded itself to allow JJR to all the flesh he can cook if he does what they want. Mike Best doesn’t care about any of these allies, he only cares about lifting a rookie that OF COURSE is his long-lost son.
Fuck out of here.
What type of gotcha bullshit is this?
I won’t lie, I figured Mike Best left money for Plan B when he was done grunting and sweating like a pig, but I guess one slipped through and douched himself up and came home to his asshole father.
Well, you know I liked to post on IG and influence the ten people that followed me, but I suppose wrestling will do.
I don’t care who Mike gets to train you, you are not Sutler Kael who actually worked his way into War Games, you were just given a gift and now we have to put up with nonstop narcissism from a punk who is just using Mike Bests old insult book like Fat Joe with Big Puns long lost lyric book.
Lee Best is back to make sure we know that this is all about his grandson, not Jace or STRONK or JJR or Commie Chris or Scottywood and definitely not David Noble.
For real…David Noble?
Come on, a knee to Sektor means absolutely nothing when you have won absolutely nothing. You whine about Conor Fuse more than Arthur Pleasant does after he loses a match. That’s it man, do I really have to explain that?
It doesn’t matter who stands across me after I defeat Carey.
I will gladly take every scalp that comes before me, and WE will free ourselves from The Boards tyranny.
Hope you all survive until the games begin, fellas.