Latest Roleplays
“Misery acquaints a man with strange bedfellows.”
- William Shakespeare, “The Tempest”
Christopher America breathed heavily and looked around at the other people staring at him. His lips felt dry as his breath continued to roll over them. He licked his lips, blinked, and swallowed. He felt the weight of something on either side of him. He looked down at his arms and found fingers wrapped around him. He looked into the faces of the people holding him and recognized Alexei Petrov, the Russian he hired to clean for him and on his other was Richard Thomas, the Englishman he hired to handle his clothing.
A scowl quickly formed on America’s face and he raged at being touched by these Un-American dogs.
He hated them all.
Their dirty hands, their filthy languages, their disgusting cultures. He hated everything that they stood for. He hated the parasitic nature of them taking from America what rightfully belonged to actual Americans. And the worst part is that America hated himself. Because right now, in these moments, in the build up to March To Glory, in the build up to becoming the longest reigning World Champion in HOW history, in the build up to facing HIM once more, America needed them.
He shrugged off their hands, closed his eyes, and continued to breathe through the frustration. He wiped his hand across his lips and felt dampness spread across his face. America looked down and saw the blood on his hand.
He held out his left hand and waited.
No one moved and continued to stare in horror at the HOW World Champion. America raised his hand and extended it outwards, palm up, again – this time with emphasis. It wasn’t long before Bill placed a damp towel in his hand. America continued looking at the others and began wiping off the blood with the damp towel. He also patted his face before throwing the towel down on the floor.
America turned and looked at Alexei.
Christopher America: Clean it up!
Alexei jumped at the barked order. America glanced once more into the faces of those around him. This isn’t what they expected. This isn’t what they signed on for.
Alexei swallowed hard and nodded. He inhaled sharply before uttering out his acknowledgement.
Alexei: Yes, sir.
And then, without saying anything, America turned and walked away.
*******
Earlier…
*******
Christopher America began putting on his coat. He looked down at the floor.
Bill: I really think you’re going to like what Mateo and I came up with.
Christopher America: I hope so. Because I can’t have another move basically turned to shit by a lumbering, mournful cowboy and Putin’s walking neanderthal. Plus, we both know what Conor Fuse does to finishing moves and I’ll be damned if he’s going to steal this new one from me.
Bill paused momentarily and looked at his client.
Bill: Before we leave, I want to make sure that you’re okay.
Christopher America: YES! I’m fine! Why do you always keep asking me that?
Bill held up his hands defensively and raised his eyebrows, indicating he wasn’t here for a fight.
Christopher America: Yes, I’m fine. I just… I have a lot on my mind and I’m hoping that whatever you and Mateo came up with can take my mind off of it. Okay? We good?
Bill lowered his head and nodded.
As Bill helped load the bags into the car that was waiting outside, America climbed in, closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and held his hands outward, as if he was trying to expel negative thoughts and energy from his body.
Shortly after, Bill climbed in and sat on the opposite side of his client. Both men buckled themselves in and the car lurched forward.
Bill: He’s doing it on purpose, you know.
America bowed his head and nodded in agreement.
Christopher America: I know.
But I’ll do you one better.
I think he’s punishing me.
Bill bit his bottom lip in thought before nodding slowly.
Christopher America: It can’t be coincidence that the Lottery and this match are, just through sheer happenstance, the first two matches I’m tasked with since I lost to HIM.
He thinks I’ve embarrassed this company.
And he’s right.
He’s ALWAYS right.
America uttered this last words as a guttural whisper. Bill sensed the continual dejection and disappointment, the continual rage and resentment. Every day with his client since PWA1 had been like watching someone flagellate themselves every waking moment of the day. The one chance America had to expel some of that fury, at the Lethal Lottery, almost turned into a nightmare.
America had been distracted since the loss.
He looked past his opponents.
He wasn’t focusing on the right things.
He was throwing his money away hiring people from different backgrounds.
He claimed it was to re-tool his game but something else was going on and Bill couldn’t put his finger on it. Whatever was going on, it made his client darker, brutal, and more prone to violence.
Bill wondered if America was going through some sort of transformation. Per Bill’s recollection, this happened twice before. America’s continued losses at War Games finally transformed him into the “win by any means necessary” wrestler he is today. And the loss at Rumble at the Rock to Mike turned him from the goofy, catchphrase spouting wrestler into the disciplined and focused wrestler that has carried the HOW World Championship for over 200 days.
His client was at a tipping point though.
Something would give sooner or later.
Christopher America: I deserve this if I am to redeem myself to this company. He knows this. And I know this. And that’s why he’s doing it. He’s giving me what I need. He’s testing me. He’s wanting to see how I react to this match. He’s wanting to see if I’ll go ballistic. And I’m not going to give him that.
America sighed, placed the tips of his fingers on his eyebrows and rubbed them around the side of his face.
Bill: So what are you going to do then?
You hate Solex. You hate Fuse. And we don’t even know why Jace isn’t part of the Final Alliance.
Christopher America: And that’s the part that grates on me most of all. Why isn’t Jace with us? Why did he leave him out? Jace has beaten practically everyone! He held THREE titles last year! THREE! And he forgoes Jace for Solex. And Dan Ryan. And Aceldama. And Stronk. And Jatt.
The car rounded a corner sharply and both America and Bill found themselves leaning at 45 degrees to compensate.
Christopher America: Hey! HEY!
The World Champion began to yell at his driver.
Christopher America: This ain’t the homeland! I’m not trying to beat a fucking cow to the sacred temple or whatever. And there sure as hell aren’t 50 million people crossing the road at the same time. Drive carefully!
Driver: Y-yes, sir.
The driver was a Sikh man. Dressed in a suit that America forced him to wear, including a black turban, the man quickly agreed with the World Champion out of fear. The money that America paid him was more than he and his family had ever had. With the short time in America’s employ, the man was able to immigrate his family to the United States. He owed the patriotic wrestler a lot. And a few bigoted remarks would slide if it meant he kept the money rolling in.
America and Bill righted themselves as America shook his head.
Christopher America: Fucking elephant riders.
Bill’s eyebrows furrowed quickly before resetting. He knew of his client’s distaste for things not from America but never has he openly expressed those views as he did just then. Bill decided not to press America further and the two sat in silence for the remainder of the ride.
*******
25 Minutes Later
*******
America’s car pulled in front of TEN-X Wrestling Academy. America ignored the driver and let Bill collect his bag. He made his way in to the private room in the back. As he entered, America saw that Alexei Petrov, his Russian hired cleaner; Mateo Gonzalez, his Mexican personal trainer, and Richard Thomas, his English hired clothier, were all waiting for him.
As America walked over, Richard approached him and began with his thick East London accent.
Richard: Sir, I have your new outfit over here. I made it to your specifications, as requested.
Richard held out new workout clothes, folded meticulously. America looked at Richard for a moment, pure rage in his heart. Thoughts ran through his head about how, if he acted quickly enough, he could leap on Richard and plunge his thumbs into his eyes. He imagined the screams and cries for help. He imagined the feeling of Richard’s body struggling under his.
But just as quickly as the thoughts and feelings came, America pushed them out.
He reached out and picked up the shirt and held it up, inspecting it.
Christopher America: Nice work.
America nodded his approval and also took the shorts. Richard immediately withdrew himself and waited next to a bench near the wall.
America quickly changed in the bathroom and came out moving his arms and rolling his shoulders, getting a feel of the new clothing he commissioned. It felt good and laid across his body well. The shirt was adorned with the American flag in darker colors, reflecting how he actually felt… reflecting the present. The shorts were reminiscent of America’s old full length wrestling tights, reflecting the bright nature of how he started out… reflecting the past.
As America exited the bathroom, Bill was there talking to Mateo as the rest of the hired help sat along the bench.
Bill: Mateo and I spent several days studying your matches and we feel that there were several opportunities in your wrestling game. The For America! 2.0 relied on you doing whatever you could to set up for the move. Sometimes that could be Irish… sorry, American whipping your opponent into the turnbuckle or countering a move and landing behind them. However, more often than not, it relied on the luck of you just being behind your opponent.
We feel that this took too much time when trying to put your opponent away as you had to worry more about maneuvering than actually finishing the match.
Bill looked at Mateo and nodded as he continued.
Bill: We feel that having a more reliable set up will allow you to finish your matches quicker.
Mateo: LUIS!
Mateo barked out a name as a young man in his 20s came running into the room with protective equipment on. The addition of someone else, not a part of his allowed circle only angered America further.
Christopher America: Who is this?
Mateo: Sir, this is Luis. My son. He will help in demonstrating.
America just stared blankly at Mateo as Luis got ready at the center of the mat.
Bill: This set up move will allow you to down your opponent from any direction. I’ve called it “Pledging Allegiance.”
Bill took a step back as Mateo placed his hand over his heart. He then screamed as he charged his son and whipped his arm outward, driving his elbow into the back of son’s head. Luis felt the force of his father’s elbow, even through the protective gear, as his face was driven into the mat. After a few moments, Luis pulled himself up.
Bill: Ideally, you can hit this in the back of the opponent’s head. However, impacts to the temple on the side of the head as well as impact to the bridge of the nose on the front will achieve the desired result as well.
Christopher America: Again.
Bill: I’m sorry?
Christopher America: Run it again.
Bill nodded at Mateo who ordered his son to reset. The two repeated the move again and achieved the same result. America folded his arms as he held up his hand, asking for another demonstration. He watched as the Mexican father and son repeated the move over and over.
After a few more demonstrations, America held his hand up. He said nothing to Mateo or Luis. Instead, he looked at Bill and nodded his approval.
Bill: Next is your new finisher. Mateo felt that in light of your loss, it would be beneficial to come up with something that dealt even more damage, used your strength from the weight you’ve put on, and ensure you the victory you’re looking for.
America’s lip curled into a semi-snarl at the mere mention of Mateo discussing his loss at PWA1.
Mateo called his son over, picked his son up, draped him over his shoulder, and then quickly sat down, driving his son head first into the mat with some sort of a modified sit-out piledriver.
Bill: We call it “Planting The Flag.” With your strength, lifting people like Bobby Dean and… and him… should be no issue. It won’t matter how tall they are. All that matters is the weight. And you can handle nearly 400 pounds.
America’s mouth hung open as he looked on. He imagined it. He imagined it happening to Fuse. To HIM. To Solex. To…
America stopped that thought.
He blinked and returned back to what was in front of him. America pointed at Luis and motioned him off.
America looked at Mateo and nodded.
Mateo positioned himself in the center of the mat as America stood off to the side. He placed his hand over his heart and charged at Mateo, driving his elbow into the protective gear covering Mateo’s head. The thud of Mateo’s head crashing to the mat, the feeling of his elbow connecting with an opponent’s head, the rush of adrenaline… it all felt so good.
America backed up and Mateo reset.
Christopher America: I want to do this quickly. Reset fast. Got it?
Mateo looked at Bill.
Christopher America: YOU DON’T LOOK AT HIM! YOU LOOK AT ME! RESET FASTER! GOT IT!
The rage swelled.
Mateo took his eyes off of Bill, looked at America, and nodded in agreement.
America ran and drove his elbow into the back of Mateo’s head, this time putting the full weight and force of his body behind the move. America ran back to his starting position as Mateo, a little dazed from the last hit, was slower to get up.
Christopher America: RESET FASTER!
Mateo nodded and got up.
America placed his hand over his heart and this time let out an animalistic roar. Mateo turned to look at America and caught his vicious elbow right across the nose. The blood from Mateo’s nose began to flow. He fell backwards as America moved in and picked him up. He draped Mateo across his shoulder as the horrified staff that America employed looked on.
Acting almost on instinct, America grabbed the back of Mateo’s hair and pulled up, forcing his face rather than the top of his head to take the impact of the move. As America planted himself, he drove Mateo into the mat. He felt the impact travel up Mateo’s head and through Mateo’s spine. He felt it reverberate through his arms and into his own head.
Hitting the move felt right.
It felt good.
It was like a drug.
This is what America had needed.
This is what he was looking for.
As America got up, he reset himself back in the corner and saw Mateo struggle up. Before he was fully up, America charged in again and swung his elbow. Mateo went down hard. America moved in and ripped the protective gear off his head. Like a flash, America picked him up and planted him again. America got back up and Mateo wasn’t moving. America charged and drove his elbow straight into Mateo’s face. He then mounted Mateo and began pummeling him with lefts and rights.
Everything America tried to control — all the emotions — they came spilling to the forefront.
“Why did Lee Best do this to me? Why did he make me fight at PWA1? Why did he force me to defend his championship in the Lethal Lottery? AND WHY AM I SO WEAK?”
BAM! BAM! BAM! The fists rained down their fury.
“Why did he make me team with Solex? And why in the FUCKING hell was I confirmed for the Final Alliance after both Aceldama AND Solex? Haven’t I done EVERYTHING the Best Family asked for? I delivered a War Games victory. I liberated the HOW World Championship. I DESTROYED THE FUCKING HIGHWAYMEN! I FUCKING CONQUERED THEM ALL!”
BAM! BAM! BAM! He drilled them harder into Mateo’s skull.
“And then… he… HE HONORED SOLEX BY PUTTING HIM IN THE ALLIANCE! BY PUTTING HIM WITH THE ME, THE WORLD CHAMPION! WHY?!?!
WHY NOT JACE?!
Jace won THREE championships and held them all at the same time! WHY WASN’T HE IN THE ALLIANCE?!?! WHY—why wasn’t MY FRIEND in the Alliance with me?”
BAM! BAM! BAM! America knew he could hear the screams of those around him, but they were muffled and he pushed it out of his head.
“IT SHOULD BE ME AND JACE! HE KNOWS WHAT SOLEX DID TO ME! HE KNOWS WHAT HE DID TO GEORGE! HE—HE KNOWS! He should’ve put me in there with two other guys who want to beat the shit out of Conor Fuse! And I… I just have to deal with it! That’s always what I have to do! Just deal with it! Deal with the shit the Highwaymen do. Deal with the shit that HE did to me at PWA1. DEAL WITH CONOR’S SHIT! DEAL WITH EVERYONE’S SHIT! I’M SICK OF IT!
I AM TIRED OF JUST DEALING WITH IT!”
BAM! BAM! BAM! America thought he heard Bill call out to him but all he could hear was the pulsing of the blood in his head.
“I am going to go into that match, and I am going to fucking dominate every single person. I am going to win this match on my own. And then I am going to be rid of them all.
WIN. AT ANY COST.
AT ANY! FUCKING! COST!”
BAM! BAM! BAM! Blood continued to flow as Luis screamed.
Luis: Stop him! Get off my dad!
The other staff members looked at America and then at Bill. Bill nodded quickly and the staff rushed over to restrain America. They grabbed him by the arms and pulled him away.
America breathed heavy and looked around at the other people staring at him. His lips felt dry as his breath continued to roll over them. He licked his lips, blinked, and swallowed. He felt the weight of something on either side of him. He looked down at his arms and found fingers wrapped around him. He looked into the faces of the people holding him and recognized Alexei and Richard. He scowled at them before shrugging off their grasps. America looked at Alexei and barked out his order.
Christopher America: Clean it up!
Alexei jumped at the barked order. America glanced once more into the faces of those around him. This isn’t what they expected. This isn’t what they signed on for.
Alexei swallowed hard and nodded. He inhaled sharply before uttering out his acknowledgement.
Alexei: Yes, sir.
And then, without saying anything, America turned and walked away.
*******
I’m going to make this short and sweet for my teammate, for my opponents.
I don’t like this match. But then again, I haven’t liked a majority of the matches I’ve been in.
For you, Solex, I haven’t forgotten. I will never, EVER, forget what you did to me. What you did to George. I won’t forget how you denied me the tap out victory. I won’t forget how tough a son of a bitch you are. The ONLY reason you and I are on this team together is because we are a part of the same group. Because Lee Best demands it. And you better hold up your end of the bargain.
Because I don’t like to lose.
I need this win. I need the momentum going into March To Glory. And to be quite honest, so do you. You need this win to prove that you can do something outside of the shadow of the Highwaymen. You need to prove that you’re not the weak link of every tag team you’re a part of. And all you have to do… is follow MY lead. Watch what I do. Watch me pick apart a Canadian on live television. Watch me single handedly change the betting odds of my March To Glory match.
To Jace, I’m sorry. I really am. I don’t want you in this match, opposite from me. You’ve earned better. You deserve better. You should be here, with me. Side by side as my partner. The two greatest champions this company has seen in the last few years. The two men that single handedly propped up The Board through their entire run. The two men with the will, the dedication, and the passion for these championships and our sport.
Your run with the LSD Championship has been astounding to watch. You are the forever ICON Champion. You are a former TRIPLE champion. You endured having to team with Scott Stevens. You endured the ridicule and the shame. What you do, every day, it pushes me to be a better World Champion. It pushes me to be a better wrestler. Because I know that should you EVER turn your eyes towards my belt and I turn mine towards yours, we would have a hell of a match. We would pull out the very best in each other.
And so, I make the appeal to you. Help me break down that sanctimonious Canadian fuck. Show me. Show Lee. Show all of us that you belong in the Final Alliance. Show us… that you belong with us.
And to Conor Fuse, what can I say?
I like and respect you, Conor.
I appreciate a man that is willing to take trolling to unimaginable heights.
To laugh off and poke fun at every valid piece of criticism laid against him and pretend it doesn’t get to him. To look like a 25-year old Ellen Degeneres. To talk like a 50 year old man asked an AI to come up with some zingers laced with video game references. Please, Conor, add more MOARs and !RANK and other shitty catchphrases into your repertoire. Continue your evolution into a walking, talking puppet. It amuses me.
Pull the string on the Conor Fuse doll and he says, “I’m LEVELING UP!” “You’re all n00bs!” “Lolz!”
Real original trolling.
To have a hair style sculpted like you were just recently ripped from the womb and you’re still dripping with afterbirth. To have the audacity to claim that what happened throughout 2022 and what’s happening in 2023 is about you. To think this is your story. To think that someone who disappeared for weeks on end after he lost the World Championship was the main character. To think that someone who wouldn’t speak and hid his face was the HERO of the story.
Pardon the expression but “Lol.”
Troll game recognizes troll game.
At Chaos, Conor, I will swallow my pride and team with Steve Solex. It seems like in order to win I have to continue to surround myself with strange bedfellows.
I will swallow my ego and stand across from Jace Parker Davidson. A man you hate. A man I call a friend. A man I respect.
And I will relish as I peel back another layer of the disguise that you wear, Conor.
And for you, I will swallow the sweet taste of victory over you at Chaos and then at March To Glory.
Because the mission continues.
Coast to coast.
War Games to War Games.
The longest reigning World Champion… in history.