Every fucking time.
Every time a new guy gets signed they get a shot at the HOTv Championship. Like some kind of fuckin’ magic trick – poof! Here’s your shot, new guy!
Is it some kind of a test? Some kind of…hey, let’s see if this guy can swim with the sharks? That has to be what it is cause I can’t think of any other reason why. A few days ago the media machine tried to hype this match as if it was going to be some kind of a challenge for me.
Are you fucking kidding me?
Scott, I hate to break it to you, but Darin Zion had more ring time at War Games last month than you’ve had your entire fucking career. I mean, look at you, you cherry-fuck! Brand new; straight out of the goddamn package. All shiny and clean like a gender-neutral Ken doll – not a single scratch in sight! My battle scars have battle scars and you look like you’ve never been outside long enough to get a mosquito bite.
It’s safe to say that you may have bitten off more than you can chew.
But, like a good trooper you studied my tape and watched my matches. Only, you didn’t even study the right fuckin’ guy…or did you? I don’t know who the fuck Steve Solek is, but he’s one mispronunciation away from being the HOTv Champion and an all-around bad ass.
Jesus Christ, kid, at least say my name right so I can fast forward to the part that you talk about me instead of having to agonize through 30 minutes of Scott Stevens-esque, tasteless tomato paste television.
I’m not mad,
I’m just disappointed.
But, you didn’t let me down. I knew you’d say what you said. You’re a carbon copy of every new guy before you and just like every other fresh-faced fish, you spewed the same ol’, tired bullshit we’ve heard time and time again.
I’m hungry. Show me respect. It’s my time now!
You’re hungry? You want some respect? You’ve got to earn that shit around here, sparky.
And you…you haven’t earned shit.
Nobody in HOW is entitled to a motherfuckin’ thing…least of all, respect. Respect isn’t handed out like candy on Halloween. It’s not a free sample in Costco. It’s not shipped for free on Amazon PRIME. It’s something you have to earn, through hardwork and dedication.
It’s not something that can be bought with cash, credit cards or fuckin’ BitCoin. But it can be bought with blood, sweat and tears.
Respect is like currency in HOW. traded among the warriors who have proven their worth. But you? You’re a poor.
I’m not mad though, I get it. Everyone wants respect and it’s a basic human need.
What bothers me the most, is that you’re worried about your fuckin’ legacy.
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
Your bitch ass has been here all of ten minutes, and you’re already worried about your fucking legacy? Try hard, much? Newsflash, dickhead, legacies aren’t built on a shaky foundation of daydreams. Put together a string of wins. Win a fucking title. Hell, win the fuckin’ HOTv Championship on Sunday. Do something of note, before you start talking about your goddamn legacy. Dude, the only thing you’ve done is beat Xander Azula…slow your fuckin’ roll.
Who in Lee’s name do you think you’re trying to impress with that bullshit, anyway? Let me remind you that I’m the best War Games Captain of all time, the HOTv Champion and a motherfuckin’ HOW’ Hall of Famer. I was the only wrestler in the world to give Christopher America – the all time greatest HOW World Champion of all time – a run for his money.
Not once, but twice.
I’m the guy that got STRONK! back in the weight room, beefed that big bitch back up to his fighting weight, got him to all caps and captained the team that got him his first World Championship.
I’m that fucking guy, who the fuck are you?
I’ll tell you exactly who you are: You’re nobody.
I’ll cut you some slack though, cause maybe one day you’ll be a player. Maybe one day you’ll rise up the ranks of HOW and earn yourself a name. But right now…you’re about as useful as a screendoor on a fuckin’ submarine.
Before I take you to church on Sunday, you’d be smart to get down on your knees and pray to Lee Best that I don’t leave you in the middle of the ring with a shattered skull and absent a heartbeat, like I did to that catatonic cunt, Evan Ward.
I seriously can’t believe that I have to waste my precious time dealing with this fucking new guy.
Tuesday, June 20
Nashville International Airport
Solex walks quickly and purposefully through the long hallway of Terminal B at the Nashville International Airport, his leather carry-on duffle sways rhythmically over his right shoulder as his Final Alliance letter jacket is stretched across the back as it clings to his broad shoulders. Solex seamlessly navigates his way through a sea of travelers before taking a hard right turn and with a jarring push on a door, makes his way through the exit and in the blink of an eye, he finds himself right in the middle of a riotous crowd of pissed-off feminists.
“You fucking asshole!”
A short haired, blonde woman shouts, only inches from Solex’s face. Solex is unfazed, and with a smug smirk tugging at the corner of his lip he locks eyes with the woman and winks. He leans in closely enough to feel her breath bounce off his face as she continues to shout at an eardrum piercing volume, but he never flinches. She stares right back into the eyes of the HOTv Champion, her eyes blazing with a fiery intensity that perfectly illustrates her deep-rooted hate for the HOW Hall of Famer.
“I fucking hate you! You anti-woman, prick!” She screams out, her voice trembling with raw emotion.
Solex lets out a dismissive scoff at the woman’s cries. His nonchalant attitude and arrogant demeanor only enrages the woman and the crowd further. Their chants grow louder as the crowd of women begins to tighten around him, but still he remains calm and collected, his eyes still locked on the blonde woman’s.
“You don’t hate me,” Solex says in a low, calculated tone laced with a calm confidence.
The woman’s expression softens a bit, but only for a millisecond. Solex catches the brief change in the woman’s demeanor and leans in, pressing his cheek against hers as he whispers, “You don’t hate me. You hate Lindsay Troy. The only thing you hate about me is the fact that I’m better than she is.”
Solex pulls back, creating just enough distance for their eyes to lock once again, and in that moment, her expression softens and her blue eyes widen as a delicate smile curves her lips. His eyes shoot downward instinctively as he feels a gentle, yet firm, touch on his hand. His eyes meet back with the woman’s as he realizes that she’s grabbed a hold of his hand, their fingers interlocked. For a moment, the sound of the crowd fades into the background, the shrill voices of feminism muted by the intensity of the moment.
“EAT SHIT, MISOGYNIST!”
The thunderous and rage filled voice of a hefty woman cuts through the air, abruptly shattering the moment into a million pieces. Solex turns to face the behemoth and without warning, she whips her hand through the air and slaps Solex across the face. The sound of hand meeting cheek reverberates through the air, causing the crowd to go immediately silent.
Solex’s head jerks to the side from the impact, his cheek stings with pain as the side of his face immediately begins to turn a bright red. He clenches his jaw tightly and slowly turns back to the woman. She stands tall in defiance and with an air of pride, she tilts her head and folds her arms across her chest as she attempts to stare Solex down.
“That’s the best you got?” Solex asks, his voice carrying a taunting tone as if he’s challenging her to take another swing at him.
Undeterred by Solex’s taunts, the woman continues to stand tall and defiant. Solex’s posture and expression exude pure machismo as he stares right back into the eyes of the gargantuan woman.
“So, I’ll bet…if I reared back and knocked you the fuck out…I’d be the bad one, right?” Solex asks as his smile widens.
The crowd of women unleash a chorus of boos and jeers at the HOTv Champion as he continues to smile arrogantly, basking in the negative energy that surrounds him. He turns back and for a fleeting moment he catches the eye of the blonde woman once again, before he turns back to The Monster from Nashville – a GENERATIONAL woman.
“Lindsay Troy got what she deserved and more importantly…she got what she had coming to her,” Solex begins, as the smile on his face somehow grows even bigger before continuing. “I mean, you know they call her The Scarlett Sickle right? That she was teamed with Ivan Stanislav, a member of the Russian Federation?”
Solex laughs as he points to the Ukrainian Flag pin on the giant woman’s ill fitting t-shirt.
“So, you’re on the side of the Russians now? Or are you still steadfast in your support for Ukraine?” Solex asks, his tone drips with sarcasm and laughter as he openly mocks the woman, as he calls her convictions into question.
The behemoth of a woman rolls her eyes and begins, “You’re a wo…!”
But Solex immediately cuts her off and seizes control of the narrative.
“Russian asset! You ma’am, are a Russian asset!” Solex shouts out as he waves a finger in the woman’s face.
Suddenly, a change ripples through the crowd of women and slowly, the crowd begins to slowly disperse. The behemoth, humiliated and embarrassed, scatters as she tries to flee the area, her confidence completely destroyed.
Solex’s wild laughter echoes through the air as he enjoys his victory over the riotous crowd of feminists. Suddenly his laughter subsides as he feels the soft touch of a woman’s hand sliding up his shoulder. He turns his head and his eyes fall on the woman with short blonde hair, standing behind him. The scene fades to black as the two share a smile.=
Wednesday, June 21
Solex’s arm shoots out as he reaches over and drives a hammer fist into the snooze button of the alarm clock resting on his oak bedside table. The sound of the impact reverberates throughout the room as the alarm goes silent. A frustrated grunt breaks the momentary silence in the room as Solex sits up in the bed. His towering frame stretches to its full extent as he gets to his feet. He stretches his arms above his head, his hulking muscles ripple with power.
Solex walks purposefully across the bedroom floor, the hardwood floors creaking beneath his weight with each step as he makes his way to the bathroom. He reaches over and flicks the light switch on and leans over the sink. With a firm grip, he twists the faucet handle and water immediately begins to rush into the sink.
He brings both hands under the water, cupping them together he fills them with cool water and splashes it into his face a few times. He presses his hands down onto the edges of the sink as he watches the water whirlpool and run down the drain. He takes a deep breath and hesitantly looks up into the mirror, locking eyes with his reflection.
His eyes scan the reflection when suddenly he notices the infamous red luchador draped over the towel rack behind him. Suddenly, his reflection glitches. The sound of a low but booming voice resonates in Solex’s head as his reflection begins to distort and warp.
Your life is a complete facade. You pretend to be a normal and civilized person. You live at the feet of the elites, just like everyone else. You live by arbitrary rules that are designed to hold a man like you back from discovering and fulfilling his true potential.
And for what? What’s the point of it all?
Money? Fame? Power? These are empty pursuits meant to keep you down! To keep you at their feet.
Just like the rest of the world, you are one bad day away from eating a bullet for breakfast.
I know what you think you want.
You think you want to be the guy that walks his dog and says “Howdy” to his dipshit neighbor with a plastic smile stretched across your face.
You think you want to be the guy that has a wife in the kitchen cooking dinner while you have a catch with your son in the backyard and drink a cold brewsky.
You think you want to be the guy that’s…normal.
But, I have a hard truth to tell you: You’re not that guy.
You’ve never been and you’ll never be that guy. No matter how hard you try to be.
You’re not like Christopher America. You’re not like Dan Ryan. You’re not like STRONK!
No matter how bad you think you want to be.
For a year you acted like you were some corny version of a dad, making bullshit jokes to fake laughter and applause. You pretended to be what you think normal is, and buddy…that ain’t real and you mentally destroyed some random fuckin’ kid and tortured your fake-pretend, made for TV wife in the process.
You tried as hard as you could to do it, but in the end, you couldn’t.
You are not normal.
You are a killer, whether you believe it or not. You can feel it, deep down inside your core.
That’s why you created me and that’s why you hide me behind a mask.
You don’t hide me because you’re embarrassed, you hide me because you’re scared. You’re scared to let me loose on the world because you know what I’m capable of. But more importantly, you know what we’re capable of together.
I am the only one who understands the struggles that you put yourself through every minute of the day trying to keep me hidden from the world, tucked away in the darkest corner of your being.
As abruptly as it arrived, the booming voice fades into silence. His reflection, now undistorted, has returned to normal. Yet, something in his eyes has changed. As he continues to lock eyes with his reflection, a mischievous grin spreads across his face.
“Come back to bed!”
The unexpected shout of the short haired, blonde woman comes from the bedroom. Solex’s head whips around, his attention momentarily diverted. With a quick response, he calls out, “One sec!” before turning back to face the mirror. The scene fades to black as the mischievous grin slowly returns to his face.