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The Behemoth sat on the wharf staring off into the San Francisco Bay. It was dark and overcast. There were no stars in the sky, just the eerie glow from the cloud filled evening. The lights of the city managed to provide a faint yellow glow while the moon on the other side of the clouds created its own white haze. Out in the darkness the island sat illuminated. The Rock. Written into the history of High Octane Wrestling over decades of combat, there it sat. The lighthouse and tower on the island blasted its beacon into the night, warning mariners of the dismay the island could cause their vessels.
The worry it could cause their vessels… the worry that it could cause him. In less than forty eight hours the island would try to claim another few years off of his lifespan. Last year the conflict with Jace Parker Davidson had been an intense, vicious affair. This year, a larger, stronger opponent awaited him on the island. This year the infirmary wasn’t where he’d do battle, this year he’d fight in the prison courtyard.
The yard was small and cramped, the ring normally almost pressed up against the walls. The stairs filled with the most loyal of High Octane’s fanbase. He’d never looked at the ticket price, but he assumed with the limited space they cost a small fortune. The limited venue was only so large, fans lined up and stared out of cells into the yard, they surrounded the entire area. If the movies were at all correct, that’s what a real prison fight must have felt like.
Six-Foot nine, Clay thought. The first man in High Octane Wrestling to look down on him in the two years he’d been a part of the roster. The first man who could see the top of his head, nineteen years in the industry. It had been a long time since he’d fought someone who was as, if not more physically opposing than he himself was.
And he’d do it on that fucking island. Last year it had taken a series of head buts to break Jace Parker Davidson. The two had fought through the entirety of the prison, back and forth, trying to maul each other. Fighting through the kitchen, cafeteria, and hallways. Before Jace Parker Davidson finally was able to get control of the match. Clay didn’t remember how he’d ended up in the infirmary.
Normally after a concussion you’d have bits and pieces of memories flooding back, they might be out of order, mixed up, jumbled. Your brain hadn’t processed or stored the information correctly, but it was still there, you could piece the moments back together. Little by little, bit by bit. But that concussion hadn’t felt normal. The unconsciousness seemed to linger, Jace Parker Davidson carrying a limp body through the prison yard. Struggling against the weight.
He should have remembered something, he’d watched the event back on HOTv a hundred times. He’d fast forwarded and rewound the journey over and over again. Jace carrying him through the prison yard, he could see his eyes fluttering, the consciousness fading in and out. It still wasn’t there. He’d stare at his own face, watching it almost seem to twist and contort. He’d seen strange things happen when people were unconscious his entire life. Some would go stiff as a board, some would shake and convulse.
He’d never seen anyone grimace before.
Those weeks and months before it, from the time the ringing and screaming had started. Especially though from the time he had landed at Boston Airport, until he had stepped off that god forsaken island. It all felt surreal. Waking up in one prison, on another continent. The German man. That uncontrolled feeling, the screaming. It felt like it had been a dream. It felt so far away from the present, from where he was now.
The lapses of consciousness, in and out. Fighting that poor fuck in the infirmary in Bolivia. Squeezing that man’s neck, all to get to this prison. All to get back here, all to get back to this place. Clawing and scraping, killing, just to get here, to the rock.
It was irrational, committing the atrocities he had for no reason other than to fight another human being. Fighting him for supposed slights he’d committed to a group that was no longer together. But at the time it had felt so necessary, so important. To avenge the name of The Best Alliance, sure they had won War Games… but had they really won? They had been punked the entire way and one of the two non Alliance members had walked away with the big red belt.
Clay stood up and walked towards the railing, it barely came to The Behemoth’s waist. He looked down at the small dark waves as they sloshed against the pier, then back up at the prison. He grimaced as he stared at the island.
It had been so imperative to punish Jace Parker Davidson, Lee Best was lying in a bed comatosed from the son’s knee at Bottomline. But there in the 970,000 word contract sat the matchup he had begged for. Clearly Lee had felt the same way he did, he knew that Jace Parker Davidson needed to be punished for the transgressions. He’d known that the only way to earn back the respect of the roster was to drive Jace into a downward spiral. To send him crashing back to earth.
Lee had set the entire thing in motion, he’d made sure that Clay had something more important at stake. He’d made sure that Clay had another shot for the World Heavyweight Championship on the line. He’d made sure that the main event to Iconic 2021 was being contested. Jace Parker Davidson versus Clay Byrd. The winner moved on.
And yet they had both moved on anyway.
Even after the vicious beating to defend the honor of The Best Alliance, after going to war for High Octane Wrestling, everything was in motion. Everything was coming to a head, the Alliance was over, there was no more protection.
And it had all started here, on that cursed fucking island.
The island fortress, the inescapable prison. The site of numerous deaths throughout a century of criminals and violence on the island. It stared back at Clay, the evening lighting illuminated the white concrete. The building almost had a will of its own, it imposed such a strong and sound image. At night you couldn’t see the graying of the white concrete, the shadows it cast back into itself gave it an even more harrowing effigy. Clay’s hands tried to dig into the painted and treated lumber of the dock. He squeezed, the wood straining and creaking under The Behemoth’s grip.
The prison was as inescapable as his current situation. It loomed on the horizon, the images and shadows inside appeared to dance behind the light. It was inescapable. Their were things on that island. Clay’s entire life he had never believed in ghosts.
But that island had done more than enough to change his mind.
That fight with Jace, the confusion in the kitchen. The battle in the infirmary. The feeling that rushed over him as he drove his skull into Jace’s own skull. It had almost felt like his head was being driven into Jace’s nose and orbital bone against his will. A thin, gaunt hand shoving his forehead forward into Jace’s nose.
That feeling alone would have been enough.
But the theatrics of the moment, the light flickering in and out inside the Infirmary. The shadows you could see along the wall as plain as in the noonday sun. Something evil lurking in there, and Clay didn’t think it was the ghost of some evil prisoner. But it was evil, the thing that lived there. The thing that dwelled somewhere deep down in there. The prison was inescapable after all, why couldn’t it leave? Why did it have to stay?
Just staring at the building made his skin ripple with goose bumps, he’d experienced it once. He had no desire to experience it again, Frank Dylan James could do whatever he wanted to him, as long as he didn’t have to feel it crawl underneath his skin again. He knew what lurked in the darkness, he’d felt it before. He’d felt it try to grab onto his mind and pull at his secrets, he felt it try to take over his body.
The last boat crossed the bay as the lights went out on the island. All besides the lighthouse. The darkness enveloped it. The darkness surrounded it, the one beacon far above it did nothing to light the actual rocks below. He watched the boat slowly come over the waves towards the pier. He began to walk off the end of the pier, he had an early morning of preparation ahead of him. So many plans, so many contingencies. Trying to be there for Harrison, trying to be present for Solex and Bergman.
Plus fighting another Behemoth.
Out of the corner of his eye he saw the tour start to exit the boat. Men and women coming ashore, dressed in their halloween’s finest. Nurses, police officers, firemen, doctors, sports players and cheap replica public figures slowly filled the pier ahead of him. He continued to walk forward, putting one boot in front of the other like his father had always taught him to do.
His peripheral shocked him, Clay took three quick steps to his right turning to face the man. The man he turned towards terrified him. The glowing red eye, the giggles and laughter almost sounded like croaking. But the man payed him no mind, his pack of friends roared in laughter. Clay let out a sigh of relief.
The teenage fans continued down the pier. One of them dressed like Max Kael, one of them dressed like Kneesus himself, the third man didn’t appear dressed up but wouldn’t stop looking at his phone. They hadn’t paid The Behemoth any mind, probably thinking of him as another fan dressed up like a wrestler, or a character from Red Dead Redemption. He shook his head, and reminded himself.
The island is inescapable.
There was no thing in the dark here, on the mainland. But out there, on the island.
He knew it was out there.