We Need To Talk About America

***July 9^th***

Bill: Something is wrong.

William “Bill” Right of Right’s Talent Agency was a scrawny man. Rail thin but enough brains to make up for what he lacked in muscle. Since the start of 2022, he served as both talent agent and assistant to the current HOW World Champion, Christopher America. During those months, he became accustomed to America’s mannerisms and demeanor, so much so that he was able to anticipate many of the wants and needs of America before he even had a chance to speak them aloud.

That is, until recently.

Since the middle of June, Bill had noticed minor changes in America’s behavior. It began innocently enough with America’s face of all things. His eyes, once full of the life, confidence, and rest that comes with a practiced dedication and discipline to professional wrestling now gave way to something else, something sinister. Life was replaced by malice. Confidence with paranoia, and rest with hyposomnia. It appeared as if the flesh around America’s eyes had begun to sink into his skull, giving the appearance of shadows around his eyes.

To figure out what was going on, Bill decided he was going to try and talk about the changes to America in a roundabout manner. If he could approach it softly, perhaps, Bill thought, he could understand what was going on without provoking further shifts in behavior. The best place would be when they have dinner that evening.

The dining room hadn’t changed. It was the same usual elongated table and four chairs. Bill’s place at one end, America’s at the other, and the middle chairs empty. As Bill entered the dining room, he heard America laugh. Bill hadn’t heard America laugh in a while and smiled, hoping that something had changed in him. He caught America’s gaze and nodded.

Bill: What’s so funny?

America shook his head and finished chuckling. America waved his arm dismissively in the air.

Christopher America: Nothing. You wouldn’t understand.

Bill looked around the room and saw no one. He pressed further.

Bill: Come on. Tell me. Something you read? Someone going to jump out and get me?

The smile immediately faded from America’s face. He sat there stoically. His voice lowered in tone.

Christopher America: It’s nothing. You wouldn’t understand.

America’s emphasis on those words were a shot across the bow, as if telling him to back off and to do it now.

As Bill continued towards his seat, he noticed that there were no newspapers or books. No phones. No form of media or communication of any kind laying out on the table. Perhaps, it was simply an inside joke within America’s own head and he had reminded himself of it. America motioned to Bill’s seat.

Christopher America: Come on, Bill. Sit. We… have much to discuss.

As Bill moved towards his chair, he noticed that the middle chair, which had it’s back to the entrance to the dining room was taken. Positioned on the table, meticulously, with the strap buttoned, and angled in such a way that the light from the window made it beam and radiate, was the HOW World Championship. Bill must’ve lingered on the championship for a moment too long as America looked at Bill as quizzically as Bill was looking at the championship.

Christopher America: Is there a problem?

Deciding to lighten the mood and cut the tension, Bill cracked a small joke.

Bill: I thought we were alone. I didn’t know we had company.

Bill smiled but America’s brow furrowed, and his lips began to purse.

Christopher America: She’s just as much a part of this as you are, don’t you think?

Bill hesitated before nodding silently in approval.

Christopher America: Before we talk about defending her, anything we need to get out of the way first?

Bill glanced momentarily at the HOW World Championship before looking back at America. He cleared his throat, and began to place his napkin in his lap.

Bill: The US Fish and Wildlife Service has still not returned any communication regarding your report of the bald eagle abuse perpetuated on you by Mr. Solex. No phone calls. No letters.

America sat there watching Bill, his hands clasped in front of him on the table.

Bill: The upcoming Dead or Alive Pay-Per-View for HOW will be in August. Assuming that you are able to successfully defend and retain the HOW World Championship up until that time, you will undoubtedly be asked to defend the title there.

Christopher America: After defeating Solex, I’m sure there are plenty of other Highwaymen to go around.

Bill: The…uh…fans…

Bill winced slightly knowing America’s thoughts on HOW’s fans.

Bill: The fans would like you to have another match with Mr. Solex, not another member of the Highwaymen.

Christopher America: Well, we’ll solve that easily, won’t we? Note that I’m going to need some time to discuss what’s next for the World Championship. If the Board needs further clarification, let them know that I plan to announce someone OTHER than Steve Solex as the next opponent.

Bill: Understood.

Bill averted his eyes from America’s as the door connecting the kitchen and the dining room opened. Uniformed men brought in plates of food – steak with mashed potatoes and green beans. They set them before America and Bill.

Bill attempted another joke.

Bill: None for the title?

America looked at Bill puzzled.

Christopher America: It’s a championship. It doesn’t eat.

Bill: I know. I – I was making a joke.

Christopher America: Don’t.

Bill again averted his eyes and began cutting into his steak. America meanwhile was already chowing on a bit of steak and mashed potatoes.

Bill: How has the training been going in this off week.

Christopher America: Fine.

Bill: And… uh… have you been getting plenty of rest, you know, in case you get scheduled for a match?

Christopher America: Oh yeah. Plenty of rest. Never felt better.

America’s manners were completely absent as he talked through mouthfuls of food. To Bill’s amazement he downed the food with surprising quickness. It’s as if he chewed a piece of food twice before swallowing it down his gullet.

Bill pressed further.

Bill: Any updates from the trainers after your HOFC match? Your eyes look a little dark. Are they healing from the black eyes?

America’s eyes glanced from the World Championship then to Bill.

Christopher America: I didn’t suffer any black eyes.

America began to chew his food longer and methodically. After a brief moment of silence, he began again.

Christopher America: Are you… okay?

Bill looked down at his plate. Perhaps he wasn’t okay. In that moment, he felt sick to his stomach. He wiped his mouth with his napkin and pushed his plate away from him.

Bill: I don’t think so, sir. I’m going to go lie down.

***July 27^th***

Christopher America was still in his room. It had been at least 15 minutes since Bill knocked last on the champion’s door. He continued to hear America’s voice inside but knew of no one else in the room. Bill’s foot began to tap as he grew equally impatient and worried. America’s timetable was never precise but it was also never this late.

Something was still wrong.

As Bill raised his hand to knock again, the door swung open and America walked out of his room with the World Championship over his shoulder.

America smiled at Bill and nodded.

Christopher America: Bill! Good morning! How’s it going?

Bill: Sir, it’s almost noon.

Christopher America: Really? Wow! Time sure has flown by today. What’s up?

Bill looked at America’s smiling face and then slowly down to his tablet.

Bill: We’re behind schedule unfortunately. We missed a couple of early morning appointments and you haven’t worked out yet today.

America placed his hand on Bill’s shoulder. Bill had never felt such an overwhelming sense of dread as he did in that very moment. Bill slowly looked up into America’s eyes. Although his mouth was smiling, his eyes did not appear to register the same emotion.

Christopher America: It’s fine. We’ll reschedule.

Bill nodded before looking down at the tablet.

Bill: We can still get a workout in if you…

Christopher America: It’s fine. We’ll reschedule.

Bill looked up again and nodded.

Bill: I will reschedule…… all of it. Are you looking for another day off?

Christopher America: That would be fine.

America finally removed his hand from Bill’s shoulder and began to walk into another part of his house. Bill sighed but quickly chirped up.

Bill: Sir, if I may…

Have you… have you been feeling okay?

America stopped and turned to look at him.

Bill: I’m concerned about what’s been going on with you lately. Something is off. Or something has changed. And I can’t put my finger on it. Ever since War Games, you haven’t been the same. You… you told me that War Games can change a person. You even said it yourself that War Games turned you from a technician into a brawler. It literally changed your wrestling style. And you’ve talked about reaching down into depths you never thought possible so that you could win the match.

America almost instinctually begins stroking the World Championship.

Bill: Quite frankly, sir, I’m worried you’ve dug too far. It feels like you dug into hell and whatever you dug out has put you into some sort of trance. You’ve barely escaped your HOFC match with Steve Solex – a match that was geared towards you. You’ve barely interacted with the other members of The Board. The things I hear about Tyler Best, the title wins and losses of Stronk Godson, Jace Parker Davidson’s impressive run, the sudden disappearance again of Cecilworth Farthington. You’ve distanced yourself from all of it. You’ve even distanced yourself from me. It’s like your isolating yourself.

The only time you’ve been together with the other members of the Board has been to back up Lee Best and even then, it’s like you weren’t really there there. You know what I mean?

Our training session today was supposed to be with Stronk to help you both gel as a tag team.

We missed that.

I’m finding it difficult to understand what is happening.

Bill exhaled for what felt like the first time in 10 minutes. He continued to breathe heavily as if he was catching his breath. He looked down at his feet, defeated.

Out of eye sight, America cocked his head towards the World Title and nodded. He approached Bill and placed his hand back on his shoulder.

Christopher America: Thank you for bringing this to our attention. We have been lax and we need to get back on track. I’m going to skip lunch and then we’ll all go work out. Sound good?

Bill looked up and for a brief moment, he thought he saw a glimpse of the old America. He nodded in agreement and smiled. Bill turned and walked away while America stood there.

******

Something is wrong.

In HOW.

And it’s name is Brian Hollywood.

Brian Hollywood claims that he came back to HOW to finish out his career. But what Brian Hollywood fails to realize is that his career was fucking finished a long time ago. Brian Hollywood talks of the past like it’s some fucking accomplishment. That winning the HOW World Championship then is as significant as me winning the HOW World Championship NOW.

Like all the others, you make the same fucking mistake. The Board is not the Best Alliance. You forget that the Best Alliance always had one problem with it. A weak link. Weak links like Steve Solex or James Varga. But The Board? We have no weak links. In a few short weaks, we simultaneously held three different championships. You know, PRESENT DAY things. Not things that were accomplished ten plus years ago in HOW’s bygone era. You were a champion in an era of HOW that people take fucking drugs to forget.

In the present day, Brian, we and the other members of the Board are having to reconstruct the glory days of HOW that champions like you and Darin Zion destroyed. This era of HOW has never been hotter. And that’s because of the Board. People like me, people like Tyler Best, people like Stronk Godson and JPD.

And here’s another kicker.

You’re not good enough to be in the same ring as me because you aren’t me.

We come back to HOW and win War Games and World Titles. You came back to HOW and won relevance.

This match that we’re about to have is a fucking favor to you. From Lee Best. From The Board.

We’ve even given you Xander Azula as a tag team partner, a man who has fucking obliterated your sorry ass in the HOFC cage and been on a fucking tear. He knows your strengths and your weaknesses because he witnessed them firsthand. This means your partner should know when to let you do your thing and when to save you.

How generous we are.

But here’s something else we gave you, Brian. We gave you a fucking opportunity.

You see, just like you always do, you come in at the eleventh hour and demand an open challenge for Dead or Alive. And we partner you with someone who also is looking for an opponent for Dead or Alive.

So, you know what that means?

That means that you get to do what you should’ve done from the very beginning.

Beat the ever-loving shit out of Xander Azula.

And then accept his fucking HOFC Challenge match and avenge your loss.

But you won’t. Because you’re a fucking joke.

Stop acting like you’re a part of the mafia, or on the run, or a secret agent, or a cat burglar, or whatever the hell stupid bullshit you did on Chaos. You’re none of those things because you’re Brian Fucking Hollywood. You’re not a threat. You never have been. You’re a former World Champion that got exposed once the true main events of HOW showed back up. Hell, just me being here pushed you another fucking peg down the ladder, didn’t it?

Newcomers like Stronk Godson, my partner? They slotted themselves above you too. You’re the bottom rung of the rankings and you will stay there until we meet you at Chaos.

There, we’re not going to leave you on the bottom of the rankings. We’re going to erase you from them altogether.