The sound of Sutler’s shoes slapping across the cold concrete floor of the American Airlines Center’s backstage filled the long hallway. He sucked in breaths as he clawed at the High Octane Wrestling referee’s shirt tearing it away before discarding it in a nearby trash pin.
He quickly turned a corner and paused, his wide eyes scanning his surroundings while he cocked his head to the side straining to hear the sound of any potential trackers. True to his word he had done as Lee asked and ensured that “COOL” Cancer Jiles had retained his title in the Main Event however it had not come at some cost, his feud with Conor Fuse had just escalated.
As his breathing slowed and no signs of Conor Fuse or any of his motley allies showed up a smile began to creep across his lips.
“Looks like I gave’em the slip..”
The smile turns into a full-blown smirk as the tension in his body eases. With a sigh he leans against the wall and slowly slides down into a seated position, sweat glistening across his chest and face.
“That idiot Jiles didn’t make my life any easier though, oh well! What’s important is that I did everything Grandpa Lee asked of me far better than that old blind bat probably could have ever hoped for now he’ll have no choice but to move me up the card!” young Sutler Reynolds-Kael hissed as he rubbed his hands together expectantly.
Just then he felt his phone vibrate in his pocket drawing his attention to it.
It was Lee.
That pompous expression only grew a little larger as he let the phone ring a few more times. He’d let Lee sweat it out a little as his mind raced over all the praise that was about to lavished on him. He wasn’t even hear a year and already he was receiving compliments and good favors from Lee? This was some kind a new record..
“Hi Grandpa!” Sutler chimed merrily into his phone as he answered.
The arrogant joy on the third generation wrestler was practically slapped off his face as Lee’s voice could be heard on the other end. It wasn’t angry but it also wasn’t terribly complimentary. After a few seconds the God of HOW hung up leaving Sutler with a sullen, sour look on his face. Rising from his seated position the Son of Scions pocketed his phone and let his shoulders slouch, defeated.
His phone chirped excitedly again as the President of Human Resources groaned. With some hesitation Sutler fishes the phone out once again and stares down at the screen.
“..against Lester Moregrimes. Fuck me.”
If living with the deranged Max Kael had done any for Sutler it was to teach him patience. Being Lee’s little errand boy was already tedious however the rewards were much if Sutler could weather the storm.
His uncle Mike had managed to stay the course beneath Lee’s withering attentions and he was the greatest World Champion in High Octane Wrestling’s considerable history. His adopted father, Max Kael, was a frequent tool of his insidious grandfather and his legacy now a permanent fixture in the very fabric of High Octane Wrestling.
If they could do it, so too could he.
“This guy doesn’t have much experience, that said, he’s a big guy, the kind of talent that you can’t teach.”
Coach Gale’s gruff voice interrupted Sutler’s thoughts as a replay of the High Octane Wrestling raffle winner’s match against internationally famous official Cowboy Mascot CLAY BYRD. In his head CLAY BYRD’s name is always shouted for some reason, it’s actually become annoying. Sutler’s about to drift asleep and boom.
“Sutler, are you listening to me?” Gale asked loudly.
With a snort Sutler rolled his eyes indignantly.
“No, I’m watching this match.” Sutler spat back with enough conviction to distract him from the back CLAY BYRD had just been screamed four more times in his head. It was actually getting a little out of control.
“He gets a few shots in then CLAY BYRD beats him into the mat, it’s not exactly a school in the art of wrestling. He’s a big fuck, he’s got over a hundred pounds on you and several inches, even if he isn’t a trained fighter that’s a God given physicality that’s dangerous on its own.” Gale grunts right as both he and Sutler witness the Cowboy cutting Lester down with a spear for the uno, dos, tres.
“..why the fuck do you think he does it?” the grandson of the God of HOW asked in earnest, his eyes narrowing at the screen as it froze with Moregrimes face contorted in pain after being pinned.
“What do you mean, why does he do what?”
Sutler’s head cants to the side as he slumps in the chair he’s sitting in while gathering his thoughts. His dark brown eyes never leave the screen as he searches his mind for the right words.
“I reviewed this clown’s contract with Lee personally and this fool says he is down for anything. That raffle he won? I’ve never heard of it and Lee said he didn’t even care if it was real so this idiot intentionally joined HOW and possibly lied his way into a contract for.. What?”
Gale stared at the screen as he pondered on Sutler’s question before he shrugged.
“Maybe he was hoping to earn some quick cash?” The coach offered as a thought.
“Could be I guess but this is a pretty terrible business to jump into to make quick cash. Mike asked me to verify someone’s contract and while I was in the system I checked on Moregrimes. He’s only making thirty-six thousand a year, that’s hardly the kind of money worth putting your life on the line, people literally die in High Octane Wrestling.”
Another silence falls between the two of them. Gale looks like he is about to add another theory before he pauses, shakes his head and moves on with his life.
“In either case, whatever his reasoning for getting into that ring, he’s still got pure physicality. As you could see from the start of that match he isn’t above cheap attacks and was strong enough to slam CLAY BYRD which is no small feat. Cut his legs out and he loses that vertical base. Then all the natural physicality in the World won’t stop you from picking his bones, sort of speak.” Coach Gale said as he looked down at an ipad in his hand rewinding the video on the screen to the start of the match.
As Gale proceeded on his lecture on how to defeat big guys Sutler let out another sigh and returns to the question of Lester Moregrimes presence in HOW. The coach’s own words slowly melted into the background as he discussed strategies on how to attack larger opponents and use their own size and momentum against them.
Sutler had heard these talks before, he understood the theory of fighting other opponents. He knew what he had to too what he didn’t like was not understanding his opponent.
Nobody joins High Octane Wrestling for shits and giggles and those that did usually ended up maimed, mutilated, ostracized or never heard from again. Lee and the entire High Octane Wrestling organization felt more like a shadowy criminal organisation half the time than a legitimate business organisation.
If Lester was just some frat boy idiot here for the luls then it was very likely Lee put him in the opener against Moregrimes to set an example.
If Lee wanted to play it that was then Sutler was more than happy to se-CLAY BYRD
Sutler jolted out of his thoughts as the name screamed through his head.
He had a long week ahead of him.
So what’s the fucking deal, Lester Moregrimes?
You win a raffle and now you’re here in the land of High Octane Wrestling trying to do what exactly?
You know what this place is, right? You know what we’re all here to be in this place, right? There are folks who have spent their entire lives preparing to be in High Octane Wrestling, we have people in this federation who have sacrificed limbs, eyes, gallons of blood, piss and shit. People have DIED of High Octane Wrestling.
And you’re here for the fun of it?
What’s the fucking deal, man?
I’ll tell you what you are from where I’m standing. You’re dag nasty, no good, terrible, awful, toxic, fast acting poison quick delivered to the veins to anyone who has to face you. You are the kind of selfish, nonsensical filth that only focuses on one thing, how this is feeling to you.
Let’s view how it’s feeling for the rest of us who worked hard to be here.
When we face you in a match what do we get out of it?
You’re less than a HOW nobody because at least most of the low rung nobodies in High Octane Wrestling put in the work to be somebody at some time. Scott Woodson might be a laughable joke to most people but there was a time when he was at least one of the Gods of the LSD division. He might be an annoying prick but at least Darin Zion put in the effort in the Indys to add some value to his name in High Octane Wrestling.
They have SOME credit they can bank.
You’re less than that, bruh. You are a vacuüm of value, fighting you and winning?
It means nothing. I can’t even say that what you did outside of High Octane Wrestling doesn’t matter because you haven’t done anything. If I beat you than..
Of course I beat you. What did people think was going to happen? The trained wrestler defeats the asshole shmuck who can’t wrestle. It was a tired and boring trope back in the 40ies and 50ies and each generation after that but I guess somebody has to bear the torch of forgettable, worthless, wasteful gimmick.
And, on the other side of things, should you manage to defeat me or ANYONE who has training and experience?
Death. Burial city. All their credibility gone, their career a laughable end. Maybe they deserve it for losing. Maybe you’re just a worthless fuck who shouldn’t be in High Octane Wrestling potentially ruining people’s career with every match.
There was a guy I remember my father fought a year or so before Mike killed him. I don’t remember his name but he was an 80-year-old man who wrestled, a frail, weak, half-dead man who shook his way down to the ring. He died and his son, a 60 year old doctor, replaced him.
You’re them, Lester Moregrimes, no more and no less, shallow and thus far without any merit or value. When I defeat you the only value I will gain will be another win and a few more points dedicated to my rankings position.
That’s literally it so I’m going to do you a favor.
I’m going to give you what you want, I’m going to make it all about you, Lester.
In that ring I’m going to provide you with a free wrestling clinic where I’ll be happy to show you the ropes and give you a proper breakin’ in. See ole CLAY BYRD is a nice guy, he’d rather thump you unconscious and move on with his night. I really don’t blame him, as I said beating you is a little cathartic maybe but it means absolutely nothing.
Me on the other hand, I’m the President of Human Resources. It’s my job to make sure you get the full High Octane Wrestling experience. You won your big fancy raffle after all, I want you to see what a winner looks like up close and personal when I choke you out.
You know, after I dismantle you limb by limb like Jeffery Dahmer on a Saturday night.
I know this probably felt a little harsh and I apologize so I’ll leave you with an uplifting quote by one of our very best Presidents.
“A double dutch rudder is the Gentleman’s workout.” – John Adams
Hey, if this wrestling thing doesn’t work out I hear Jazz Bands pick up strays.
THE OFFICE OF HIGH OCTANE HUMAN RESOURCES
Best Arena Storage Room B Human Resources Suite 97
It has recently been brought up to Human Resources that the loser of last weeks World Championship Match, Conor Fuse, has been a little tiny bitch about coming up short.
We suspect that little Conor Fuse thought that all of life was exactly like he plays his video games, operated purely based on his cheat codes. Sorry, Conor, in High Octane Wrestling we keep the Law and Order. Our advice for Conor Fuse moving forward is to learn from his experience and get better. Then maybe he’ll win gold in High Octane Wrestling.
Yes, we are aware that the Discord bot is not active. It has been shut down recently due to concerns of infiltrations by North Kaelrean spies. We will keep you apprised as we learn more.
Lastly we here at Human Resources want to offer our heartfelt condolences to the Hollywood Bruvs after reviewing Lester Moregrimes promos. We were not aware that they had been microwaved into a less talented variation of themselves.
Let this be a reminder that radiation is dangerous.
Tune in on Refueled LX as the President of Human Resources offers in-ring Council to HOW’s resident radioactive toxic-whatever, Lester Moregrimes!