- Event: Chaos 034
Time: 12:32:45.4272am
Location: Mexico City
More Exact Location: In some skanky mexican hospital
Date: Christmas Eve… I mean the night of Ward Games
Humidity: Excessive
Humility: Zero
Cup of tea? No thanks, I’m still drinking this one
The hospital was busy with the general hustle and bustle of the daily business, but this particular hallway of this particular hospital was doubly so because a particular man was particularly losing his rag with no one in particular.
Trent was pacing back and forth outside an operating theatre, a picture of anxiety was painted over his face as the seven foot tall giant stomped around, knocking into doctors and patients and gurneys and wheelchairs and whoever and whatever was trying to get past. He paid them no mind, the tiny little things just bounced off him so it was all fine.
He was smoking a giant blunt and guzzling alcohol out of an unmarked bottle. It could have been vodka, it could have been tequila, it could have been methanol from a supply cabinet Trent passed on the way here. It was impossible to tell.
People kept coming up to him and having the exact same conversation:
“This is a hospital!” They would say indignantly.
“No fucking shit, fuckstick.” He would respond.
“You can’t smoke here.” They would continue.
He would take a moment to look at his spliff, look back at them and say. “I fucking well can.”
“You’re not allowed!” They would yell back.
“Oh, don’t fucking worry, it’s medicinal as fuck.” He would say and ignore them until they went away.
At one point a security guard came by and forcibly removed him from the premises. Or at least tried to. He was barely five foot six and hella scrawny, so even pushing with all his might Trent didn’t even wobble. To his credit he even pulled out his nightstick and gave Trent a few solid whacks on the thigh. Trent appreciated the man’s work ethic so he patted him on his head and carried on pacing. Soon after he brought some friends back with him. They huddled in a group at the end of the hallway, discussing what to do and displaying the same sort of behaviour as a group of meerkats keeping an eye on a lion which had prowled into their territory. Eventually one walked over and gave Trent an ashtray before legging it.
Finally, after hours of pulling his hair out (there was this annoying one growing out his left nostril and he just couldn’t grip it enough to pull out), Trent saw the doors swing open and the doctor stride out of the theatre. He pulled off his mask and gloves and threw them in a bin as he left the room. Trent turned to him with eager, anxious eyes.
“What’s the fucking news, doc?” Trent asked hastily. “Just fucking give it to me straight, if he’s fucking dead then he’s fucking dead, don’t fucking sugar coat this shit. I fucking got my eye on that fancy fucking jacket of his.”
“Well, Mr. Trent…” the doctor began.
“Hold the fuck up, it’s just fucking Trent.” The giant interrupted. “Mr. Trent was my fucking dad, may the cunt rest in peace.”
“Trent Trent?” The doctor looked at him in disbelief.
“Fuck yeah, my full fucking name’s Trent T. Trent.” He added
“…I have to ask, the T doesn’t stand for…”
“It fucking well does: Trent.” Trent grinned proudly. The doctor just stared blankly. He wasn’t paid enough for this nonsense.
“Anyway,” the medical professional attempted to steer the conversation back onto the very serious matter at hand. “You’ll be glad to know your friend is out of danger, he is going to be okay.”
A flood of relief swept over Trent. “Oh thank fucking Lucifer for that. So Ward’s gonna fucking be okay, then? He’ll fucking be back in the bloody ring in no fucking time, right?”
“Oh dear god no.” The doctor exclaimed. “He’s a vegetable. I’ve seen more brainwave activity from a packet of cheetos. He’s never going to walk again, it’ll be a miracle if he is ever able to feed himself again. He’s a total cabbage.”
Trent couldn’t believe it. He had hoped Ward would pull through, he prayed to all the gods he knew, he had prayed to Skolnick and Petrucci and Dimebag and all the other metal gods that Evan would be back in the ring doing flippy shit in time for the next pay per view. He had also prepared himself for Evan never leaving the operating theatre, that he would have to go tell Sara her husband was an ex-wrestler. But he wasn’t prepared for this, he had never envisioned this outcome.
“NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!” Trent yelled, dropping to his knees and slamming a fist on the floor. The tiles cracked below his fist. “YOU FUCKING MANIACS! DAMN YOU TO FUCKING HELL!” He bellowed from the top of his voice, throwing his arms in the air in a grand dramatic gesture which made the whole hospital stop and stare and ask what the fuck that mad man was doing.
Time: 13:25:12.564729
Location: Somewhere in the Amazon rainforest.
More Exact Location: Seriously? It’s the fucking rainforest!
Please: Okay, somewhere near the Ucayali river. Happy?
Yes, thank you: No problem
Date: 20th of June 2023
Food Reserves: Mostly munchies
Underwear: Sweaty as fuck
“Yeah mate I’m fuckin’ good for it. I’m already in fuckin’ Peru, got some… ARGH!” Trent dropped his phone on the jungle floor in a panic. “Motherfucker!” He exclaimed as he bent over and scrambled to find what he dropped. No, not the phone, he could see that nice and clear. No, he was looking for the massive joint he had dropped.That was the reason for his scream and the sudden end of his call from Rhys. A branch had sprung back as he shoved his way through and knocked it out of this hand. Luckily, he spotted it. Unluckily so had a Golden Mantled Tamarin. The little monkey jumped down on Trent’s head, landed on the floor by the spliff and snatched it up before it leapt up into the trees. “Motherfucker.” He flipped his middle finger at the cheeky animal. It took a big drag on the joint and gave a middle finger back to Trent.
Trent sighed and decided better than trying to climb up the tree and get it back so he carried on his adventure. He hacked at the vines and branches with a machete as he stomped through the undergrowth. He wiped at the sweat dripping down his bald head like a waterfall with his forearm as he trudged on. The thrash giant, the biggest stoner in professional wrestling and the world’s officially tallest midget (he had a Guiness World Record certificate and all), was decked out in hefty combat boots, camo cargo pants and a green utility vest. The latter was specifically for the jungle, the rest was just what he was wearing anyway. He had more pockets and pouches than a Rob Leifeld character, which he thought was awesome because he could fill them with snacks, weed and other such paraphernalia.
“Fucking hell, this is a fucking mission.” He grunted as an especially tough branch blocked his way. “It better fucking be here. The amount I fucking paid they fucking coot at the village for the bloody directions to this fucking place, if it ain’t fucking here I’ll snap him in fucking two.”
After a while Trent stopped for a moment to lean his back up against a while he caught his breath and took a drink from his canteen. Like any well prepared explorer, Trent was carrying a few cantens to keep him hydrated. One for whiskey, one for beer and one for rum. He figured it would all last a good while into the trek. He had forgotten to figure the amount he drank into his calculations.
“Don’t fucking worry, little buddy, we’ll fucking have you fixed up good as fucking new in no fucking time.” Trent bellowed as he stepped away from the tree. “You just fucking hang in there.”
And hang in there, Evan did. He was hanging from Trent’s back, strapped on like a rucksack with his arms and legs dangling limply. Every turn Trent made, Ward’s limbs swung around. Leaves covered him where he had been squashed up against the tree by the oblivious buffoon. Trent had decided to take Ward on this journey for reasons I am sure he will get to soon. Despite the Catatonic Calamity’s chair having massive tank tracks which were able to handle all sorts of terrain from dirt to ice and all things inbetween, it was far too bulky and cumbersome to work its way through the rainforest so he did the next most logical thing and strapped him to his back.
Trent had never been hiking in a jungle before, so he was entirely unprepared for the crazy amount of flies and bugs and other creepy crawlies creeping and crawling all over him. One landed on his face so he slapped it with a resounding echo. Unfortunately Trent had opted to travel without his eyepatch, so while he did slap the fly dead to rights, it did take refuge in his empty eye socket. It crawled out and flew off.
“I bet you’re fucking wondering what the fuckerydoo we’re after out in this fucking shithole, ain’tcha, Ward?” Trent said to the effective ragdoll on his back as he ripped a vine down off a tree. “We’re on the fucking hunt, buddy, for the legendary fucking city of El De-motherfucking-rado! When we get there… oh when we fucking get there, dude, there’s this fountain of fucking youth shit. One fucking drink of that shit’ll sort you right the fuck out. You’ll be back in that fucking ring on Chaos, ready to fucking beat the shit out of those fucking bog snorkeling clunge sniffers in that fucking cluster fuck of a tag god damn match.
“You’ll fucking, ya know, not only be fucking walking again but be in top fucking form. Fucking flying from the ropes like a fucking mutant squirrel. You’ll fucking be faster than that fucking canuck canunt and more fucking skilled than that fucking wanked up monkey cranking fucker he’s teamed with. You’ll be able to fucking take it to those two tiny little fucking Alliance shit heads who left you out to fucking dry and give them exactly what they fucking deserve. You’ll once a-fucking-gain show that Jace fucker you’re a better fucking wrestler in every fucking way and look a ba-fucking-jillion times better in a pair of fucking bra and panties than Nettie while you fucking do it.”
Trent stopped and turned to face Evan. “Fucking hell, dude, you-” He realised Evan wasn’t there and that he was still behind him. So turned back to the direction he was facing before. “Dude yo-Fucking hell.” Trent tried spinning around faster to catch Ward before he went behind him again, randomly being sneaky and turning the other way to catch him out. None of it worked and this pissed Trent off. For someone who couldn’t move a muscle, he thought, Ward was too fucking fast for him. This gave Trent confidence that, with the fountain of youth so close at hand, Ward would once again become a dominant force in the federation.
As Trent leant up against a tree with one hand, the thought of what those cunts in the Final Alliance did to his friend, Steve Solex in particular, filled the cyclopian stoner with a burning rage. “This fucking match will be your fucking chance, little buddy, to get your motherfucking revenge. You can beat the fucking Tool Of God and that bloody gimp in the fucking inflatable muscle suit and that Solex twat’ll be running for his motherfucking life. He all but fucking killed you dude, but he’s just fucking dragging himself around on the fucking coattails of STRONK! and fucking Dan Ryan. Every fucker knows they’re two real fucking muscle in the Final Alliance, Solex is just a fucking groupie trying to share their fucking spotlight. To be quite fucking honest with ya, dude, that’s so fucking sad. Couldn’t Lee motherfucking Best do any fucking better than that? They’re so fucking small! STRONK!’s like one of those fucking cute little things ya see those hollywood fuckers carrying around in their purse. Ya know, one of those fucking handbag bulldogs. Don’t know whether to fucking punch him in the fucking face or tickle him behind the fucking ear, give him a fuckin dentachew and a play bloody catch with him.
“And as for that fucker Dan Ryan, dude.” Trent sounded angry. I mean, he always sounds angry even when he isn’t, but this time he sounded properly angry. “That… man. That…. person. He’s the worst of the bunch, the absolute most fucking vile. Fucking believe me, dude. What’s he fucking did to me is worse than any of the fucking shit you’re fucking been through, I’m telling ya. That fucker…” The rage could be seen building up in his face as it turned crimson. “HE STOLE MY FUCKING MOVE!” He slammed his fist against the tree trunk. “Fucking Headliner. If I had a fucking pound for every fucker who called their fucking finisher the Headliner, I’d have enough to buy a fucking eighth of weed. Bloody inflation. If I were in this fucking match instead of you, dude, I’d be fucking challenging this chump to a fucking finisher showdown. Toke Driver against fucking Headliner. Best outta fucking three, there’s enough fucking bodies in the match for that. We’ll fucking settle it once and for all and let the fucking world decide that my Toke Driver is the fucking pinnacal of dropping fuckers on the skulls. Man, I’m so fucking fired up it feels like my fucking fist is burning…”
Trent looked at his first. Burning was the right word, but not out of rage or passion. Not only had he accidentally punched a wasps’ nest, but his arm was also crawling with ants. His hand and forearm were already blistered and swollen to fuck from the stings and bites.
“AAAAAAAARRRRRRGGGGGGGHHHHHH” Trent yelled as he legged it as fast he could away from his arm, but the damn thing kept up with him and brought the ants with it and the wasps were trailing close behind. He made sure to duck his head under the low hanging branches but they would always make a thunk sound after missing his head. Later he would be confused about all the bumps and bruises on Ward’s head.
Trent finally came to a stop, the wasps had given up and all the ants had been knocked off by the leaves and twigs of the rainforest. He looked around him and pulled his machete out again. “Dude… you fucking hear that?” Trent said, carefully approaching a thick wall of vegetation. “I think we’re fucking here. I think we’ve found the fucking lost city of El Darado! The fucking city of gold and fountain of motherfucking youth!” He hacked his way through and came out the other side.
“We’re fuckign here! That’s it! We’ll be fucking famous! You’ll fucking be right in the head again! Right fucking there that’s…” Trent stared at the majesty ahead of him. The gleaming golden gates, the sunfire sparkling walls, the sound of angels trumpeting triumphantly upon the adventurers reaching the fabled lost city, the car which nearly ran Trent over as he stepped out into the road and the kids yelling at their parents for cotton candy. “El Darado Family fucking Theme Park and Fountain of Youth bastard Splashzone. Mothercunting shitlicker!”
It turned out, upon later inspection, the wise old coot from the village had worked at a tourist information centre and had given Trent instructions to visit a theme park. He had told Trent about the road, but Trent had insisted on finding it in the jungle. Trent sat down hard on the curb, accidentally sitting on Ward’s dangling foot. There was only a minor crack. He took a massive swig of booze and lit another spliff. “Fucking hell, what a waste of a fucking hour.” He mumbled as he sparked his lighter.
Before Trent could take a proper toke, the monkey returned and stole the spliff. “CUNT!”
Time: 18:18.18.18181818
Location: An anonymous, dark and moody room.
Date: 20th June 2023
Enjoyed The Trek? Fuck off
The room was, as mentioned above, dark and moody. A large, heavily blistered and swollen hand scanned along the VHS tapes which filled a shelf along one wall. Each tape was labelled with a scrawled permanent marker. Some were labelled with names of wrestlers, like “Connor Fuse”, “Clyd Byrd”, “(Baby) Kostoff”, and “(Zombie) Kostoff.” Others were labelled with match types, such as “Cage Match”, “World Title Defence” or “Gimp In A Blimp”… though that last one might have been something else. The scabby hand stopped on tape labelled “Big Ass Clusterfuck Tag Match” and took it off the shelf, pulled it out its cardboard sleeve to carry across the dimly lit room and insert into a silver Panasonic Super-Drive VCR. A finger pressed the play button and the Sony Trinitron TV above it lit up, its incandescent glow illuminating the statue-esque body sitting rigidly beside it. It was a mannequin.
VRRRRMMM! CRASH!
Ward’s tankchair drives over the mannequin and takes up the exact same position beside the TV, though obviously he was far less animated. A visage of Ward shows up on the TV, smirking in his usual, annoying, cocky way. He was lounging on a Mexican sofa (you could tell by the sombrero it was wearing) sipping at some sort of nondescript alcoholic beverage. He was wearing his Final Alliance letter jacket, which gave some indication of when the video was recorded so there’s no need to spell it out.
Video Time: 12:3-NO, stop it!
Video Date: I said stop, this is getting too meta.
Video Location: Don’t make me send you to the naughty step.
“So I hear I’m being booked in a big old cluster fuck of a tag match.” Video Ward said to the camera. “What a fine vintage of a gimmick, you just know that when everyone gets in that ring it’s going to be absolute Chaos, living up to the show’s name. Whenever you get a handful of teams of the top wrestlers of the fed in the same ring with no tags needed, you’re going to get a match which will be talked about for years to come.”
Evan raises the glass for a toast. “Lee, cheers to you for putting together this assuredly legendary match. It’s a stroke of genius lining all these wrestlers up to face your new World Champion as an exhibition to prove just how dominant he is. You can sleep soundly boss, me and my real best friend will totally smash through all the competition. I will do you proud as the Final Alliance’s best World Champion ever, especially with Christopher America in my corner, we’re the perfect tag team!
“I can only assume who we are up against, but it’s easy to guess. Obviously Fuse will be involved, we got to have a perennially optimistic good guy on the opposite side of the ring. Whatever state I’m in, I’ll surely run circles around him. Squared circles. I bet he’s teamed with someone equally as hatefully chipper too, someone like Hollywood or Zion… probably Zion. Seems the sort for Fuse to tag with. Bet they’d get on real well, but it won’t help them. Against the WardMericans, the best team in the Alliance, they’re just not up to it.” Video Ward sipped at his possible martini or potential gin and tonic.
“We’re probably also up against some big beef cake, someone like Clyd and a throw away partner like Azula or Nettie. I’d guess Azula, dude needs a break and this is a great chance for him, but I’m pretty sure the only thing he’ll break in this match is his leg. Clyd won’t help him, cos the big cowboy’ll take one look at me and fly off into a blind rage so bad he won’t see America plant the flag on him before I plant my knee in his face!”
Video Ward tapped a finger on his face in contemplative thought. “Who else would Lee book for his current and former World Champions demolish? That’s it!” Video Ward snapped his fingers as a lightbulb went on above his head. Someone had accidentally leant on the switch off screen. “Jace Fucker Davidson. Lee has a hard on for making Jace suffer so he’s sure to be in it too. Dunno who he’ll team with, there’s always a wild card. A new face or a returning star… yeah, that’ll be it, bet there’s a returning Hall of Famer in it.” Video Evan sat forward, grinning all giddily like a kid who just discovered where his Christmas presents were hidden.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure I’ve got it. I know exactly who will be in this match. A guy I know all too well, a former team mate, legendary member of Ground Zero. Lee has brought back the most dominant, exciting and unpredictable Hall of Famer ever. You never know what this guy will do with his quick wit and extravagant personality. Well, Jace, I hope you enjoy teaming with David Black.
“All these guys, and I’m certain every single one of them will be booked for this match, are going to be gunning for me, to take out the new World Champ and earn a title shot. They’ll think that, because of my injuries, I’m easy pickings but they’re in for a bloody big shock. Heh. As always, my Final Alliance will pull through and squash the competition. For as long as I wear this jacket and hold that belt, the Alliance is on top. I’ll make damn sure of it. See you at Chaos.”
The TV cuts to static, leaving Catatonic Ward sitting there, stoic and determined in his brain dead state, staring into space like the Hubble telescope seeing things in the void beyond the mortal gaze. Then Trent sat on the warchair remote in the other room and it spun like crazy going WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.