For the moment (Xavier Wolf)
Sept 9, 2020 4:42:50 GMT -5
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☠ VooDoo ☠, KOP, and 1 more like this
Post by somethingwicked on Sept 9, 2020 4:42:50 GMT -5
“There are moments that alter you, change you, forever. Complex moments that rearrange what you are in every way, and leave you as you’ve never been. Not just in the physical sense, but the spiritual. The mental. Moments like these change you and everything about you. For each and every one of us, This is one of those moments.”
We don’t fade in as much as we jump to footage of OPW workers moving about, constructing the monstrosity that is the Stairway 2 Heaven rig. As we watch the rig begins to take shape. And while it is made of a variety of unforgiving materials, it is itself what nightmares are made of.
“He’s outdone himself.” A voice says from beyond our view. We pan around to find the source of said voice, acting commish and living legend Kal X Wolf, Sitting next to one of the many contestants to take part in that match, Xavier Wolf. The two men are located in the owners box of the arena, and are sipping on plastic cups of beer. They are then joined by Sarah Wolf, Xavier’s sister and agent, who has a cigarette clenched between her teeth, and a wicked smile stretched across her face.
“What’re you two up to?” She says sitting down and grabbing the beer out of Kal’s hand. Sarah’s involvement with OPW had picked up more and more, as her list of clients working there increased almost daily.
“I’ve got to oversee this, as commissioner and all.” He says taking the beer back as she attempts to down it.
“And you, Riv?” She says, her smile even larger. She wipes the suds from her lip and laughs as Kal switches his beer to the hand further from her.
“Me?” Xavier says, smiling, his eyes darting from one area of the main floor to another and back. Concentrating on one space for a split second and then another the second after. C“I’m watching the match.”
Roger Wright. Anicka Swan. Apathy. Stephen Stratford. Scotty Adams. That masked guy. OPW is the biggest name in the fight game going, and these, along with himself, are the best they’ve got, Masked guy not included. And as far as Xavier Wolf was concerned, they were not good enough. They had not come up how he had, with who he had, and had the same “why” that he had. They had their own individual reasons, their own origin stories. Ones filled with sacrifice and loss. With pain and agony. And he didn’t give one single fuck to learn those stories. Not their beginnings or their endings. He was far too concerned with being involved in what was to come. To not only be centered in their next moment of agony, or loss. No. To be involved only would simply not do. He would insist with all of his might that he would be the one to author it.
Xavier, who got kicked off the football team for not maintaining his grades. Xavier who slaughtered the SAT’s, but got kicked out of every ivy league college his father bought his way into. Xavier, who got into the fight game because his hero was in it. Xavier who was a joke without a punchline. Xavier, who refused to let that stick.
Xavier who almost got arrested as many times as a rich white kid could before something bad happened. Xavier who was tossed from the military after a very short stay. Xavier who left his real family behind by someone else’s hand. Xavier who met the love of his life, and had to leave her to fulfill the vow he’d made to himself, and another. Xavier, who had done everything and anything to make certain that if he could not keep those he loved safe, he would make sorry those responsible. Xavier Wolf. The chosen one. The Master of Mayhem. The Man of The Moment. Who has curbed his walk away mentality for the dedication of a life renewed. Xavier who was now like a laser beam burning through whatever was in his way. Xavier Who wasn’t planning on being who he was, or doing what he’d done ever again.
Xavier, who has been rejected by, or given up on, everything he’d ever done. Everything except this. This business, this sport, this modern day gladiator tournament. This was all that had ever mattered to him. The fight, the battle, the war. He had done everything else he’d ever done for someone else, for something else. This time would not be very different. While it would be done for himself mostly, there were others he’d dedicate this to.
For Roger Wright, who he gave a free pass due to some need for things to make sense to him. To not have his rise questioned, or perverted. He did not regret it, but the time for free passes has long since passed. Roger considers himself the moral authority of the OPW. A company ran by criminals that is chock full of pro’s and convicts. He’s a good man in a business notorious for not treating good men well. Xavier tried to reason with him. He tried to explain to him how foolish he’s being. In no other profession in the world do we isolate yourself from family because of which co-worker they pick the side of. Xavier, someone who lives feet from him, Is the enemy not because of what he’s done, but because who he has done it with. It doesn’t make sense to Roger either and Roger knows it. But his hate for Johnny Stylez is as pure as his virgin heart. He’s also one of the most confused people Xavier has ever met. How he sees him. Who he thinks Xavier is. He knows he said what he said to piss him off. Roger wanted to make people think X being in this business was something X didn’t want. Or felt obligated to. Roger knows that X can’t stand that idea because X fucking told him so. He thought it would knock him off my game. Sorry, JJ Bittenbinder. X don’t get knocked off, knocked out, or knocked on. He came into this business because fighting was all he wanted to do. X got into this business because getting paid to get hit was almost as appealing as getting paid to do the hitting. Violence, you could say, runs in the family. It’s their genetic hand-me-down. Some people get diabetes and heart diseases. X got the urge to fuck you up.
And in your moment of realization, you’ll find that it’s incurable.
No amount of genuine personality traits was going to stave him off. This time, If Roger got handcuffed to a cage, it was X that would do the cuffing, and Roger that would do the falling.
For Anicka Swan. One of the people closest to him. Had he been Voldermort, she might be a holocrux. Or whatever, he never read those books. But he assumes it was something valuable, and she was one of the very few he’d kept, even when he went Nomad. She was looked down upon in the family in the beginning, as he was. And that is where the similarities ended. He had come from everything. She had come from nothing. He was as purebred as one could be. She was a mutt in every form of the word. But like him, She fought tooth and nail to make it to where she was. She had faced insurmountable odds and taken just a little less damage than she had dealth out, to gain her place at the top of this game. It was what she was most proud of. And she deserved to be proud. Which is why Xavier has resented himself for tricking her into joining him. He took things from her with that which a man who says he loves someone does not take. Her relationship with Roger, who was a lost puppy with no teeth. But she loved him. And he’d damaged that. Her relationship with the child. Malaria or whatever. She loved that child, and he had made that relationship strained. And her pride. She kept the title but had now belonged to someone. She had made a vow she would never belong to anyone again. That she would never be property. And he had made her break that vow out of her love for him. And now, with his love for her, he was going to destroy her. And show her that she is not his property, nor something to be held onto and used. She was a god damn mother fucking warrior. And you either go to war with, or against a warrior. She didn’t deserve one, and she was owed the other.
And when the moment came, It would be X who was going to give it to her.
For Stephen Stratford who came into the OPW as so many others had, himself included. Under a pseudonym. Under an assumed name. The name wasn’t the only thing that was assumed. He assumed we’d be impressed with his return. He assumed we’d give a fuck. When someone comes in this way, they want to make a splash. They want to make waves. He barely made a sound. Other than demanding shots at people he can’t hold the balls of, and taking out the elderly with baseball bats, he’s done more placeholding that attention holding. Taking up space more than taking names. He’s known for many things but being the top of the heap isn’t one of them. He’s always been more like the scum found beneath the heap than anything at the top. He’d been the poor man's Paul Montouri. Paul Montouri who had come and gone a million times in this business. Good for a few shows, to use as a highlighter for some other half as good goon. But unlike PM, he always got bored. Unlike PM, it wasn’t because he was good at other shit. It was because he was shit at this. Shit at separating who he was from who he needed to be. He didn’t make up this persona of ID to hide. He did it to reinvent. To pump new life in a dying career. But his career isn’t dead. It’s rotting. And the smell is enough to make anyone sick. Thankfully for OPW, there’s a cure for it. Ironic as that may be. X had seen him coming a mile away. There are things that long hair and camera avoidance can’t hide. His voice was low but his vocabulary was far greater than most. Intelligence isn’t just rare in this business. It was telling. And it told X all he needed to know about Id. Now it was time to send him back to everyone’s subconscious where he belongs.
And in X’s own subconscious, he prays he’s right. He knows Stratford well. He’d been around a long time and had put the hurt on a lot of decent people. The person he was, the fighter he had been, it could still be inside of him. Waiting to be unleashed. Waiting for the moment where he could be who he truly was. The one who didn’t depend on weapons or trickery to defeat his opponents. The one who used to exist outside of his own mind.
And while he may exist in the moment after all this, X would make sure he looked a little different.
For Gran Luchadore. Who Xavier doesn’t know, and he don’t care to. As far as X is concerned, he is a coward in a mask trying to change the perception of himself. Like Stratford, but far worse. If he were worth anything, he would show his face, masked or otherwise. He wouldn’t feel the need to hide. Stratford and X, they changed their names. But they let people know who they were and showed the change in themselves through other means. Gran Lucha has taken on the moniker of another wrestler, one very much shorter than the one here in OPW, for the sake of showmanship. One thing was certain to Xavier and everyone else. The show he was putting on, was not worth watching. The mask he wears isn’t to intimidate others, it’s to protect himself from himself. It has to be. Because his presence in this match is a fucking anomaly to everyone, X most of all. This guy, this puppet, has done nothing of note, besides touch a belt for a little longer than another. He has beaten no one worth beating, and said nothing worth listening. Because he barely fucking said anything at all. The time for speaking was well over anyway. What X was going to say, Gran would not hear. He would feel.
And should the producer have a moment to spare, he should spend it finding a new stooge, rather than trying to save this one.
For Apathy, Who had defeated Xavier in one on one competition with the help of Roger Wright. Which is like needing a guide dog when you can see just fine. Xavier had failed to even address the issue publicly. He had made it very clear in the locker rooms that he wasn’t surprised to fall to her. She was a former champion, and for very good reasons. One of those reasons were because she was talented. Another one, was because she had not been fighting him. This time, there would be no toothless cunt of a puppy to pull some kindergarten bullshit. This time, it was much different. This time it would be worse. This was not a fight, this was a war. And no one was going to hand you a victory in war. It wasn’t even a war. Wars are fought on behalf of someone. This was something else. Whatever it was, it wasn’t some midcard bout for nothing. It was as big as this business gets. The fight that was to come would echo in this business for years after. The winner would be seen as the end all, be all, of the entire business. The winner would carry this business and everyone in it on their shoulders for years to come. It was going to be done so by one who was worthy. Xavier was worthy. He did not need a guide dog. This business does not need the blind leading the blind. It needs someone who can seal the deal, raise the bar, and show this business what it means to be undeniable. Xavier was that person. And should get the chance, he would gladly show her. Show her that while luck may grant you a victory once, it was not something you could rely on constantly, or consistently. Luck took days off. Luck took long weekends, and two week vacations. Luck was an absentee partner.
And it was going to abandon her the moment she needed it most.
For Scotty Adams, who by all rights shouldn’t even be in this match. He took his chance and bought a fight he couldn’t finish when there was only one opponent. The deal was that if he won, he’d be the world champion. But if he lost, which by all rights, he did, He would have to open the card, knowing he cost himself the spotlight. But it seems the powers that be have taken pity on poor mister Adams, and have let him have a second chance. Xavier grits his teeth when he thinks of the strings Rogers had to pull to stack the deck like this. To get one more person between him and the title. It made sense. It was smart. And both of those were unlike Roger as of late. It didn’t matter though. Give all the people you can the second chances they barely deserve. Throw as many bodies in Xavier’s path to the top as you feel necessary. In the end, there will be no pity. No second chances. This match was like a pirate ship. Scotty Adams is the stow away. Unwelcome and unwanted. He would be treated accordingly. But he would not be thrown to the sharks, or to the tides. He would be thrown to the biggest beast of all. Xavier Wolf. For he did not call upon the Kraken. He was the Kraken,
And he’d make sure there wasn't a single moment where Scotty doubted it.
For the fans. Who since his return to this business have been clamoring to see him take his rightful spot. They pretend to hate him because of Johnny. Truth is, he’s done nothing with Johnny that he wouldn’t have done himself. From his days in Masters of Mayhem to his time in Socially Hazardous, to the main draw of the Syndicate. He’s always been the same. Just a lot more concentrated. The fans being fickle as they are, will come around. They’ll watch him take the throne, his throne, and see the world made right. Or they won’t. Either way, the attempt at walking away with the big one wasn’t for them. Or even about them. It wasn’t even about beating the others. It was about beating his worst enemy. It was time to beat himself.
For the largest chunk of his career, Xavier had done nothing better than getting in his own way. His first stable, The Masters of Mayhem was more about selling merch than it was about making a name. The stable sold the most shirts the night it was announced. And had the largest request for returns the week later, when the group had imploded. This is just one of many that Xavier could look back on and see the examples he’d made as to why he wasn’t going to be to this business what his brother was to this business. It wasn’t the best example by far. His first title reign was. And the way he dealt with losing it a week later, cemented that.
But that was then. That was a child who was obsessed with being what he couldn’t be. The next this, or that. He’d heard it said a million times before, but it wasn’t until he put it into practice that things came together. He wasn’t going to be the next Kal, or Damon, or whoever. He was going to be the first him.
The first one to take an honest look at this business and examine it from the top down. Look at the way people respond to it. Look at how they treat it and the others in it. And not just how, but why. Why do we act as if this is a life or death business. Yes, it’s zero sum and always has been. But when you look at the options, a mature person makes the call that he made. That just because someone else is in the spotlight, doesn’t make the ones sharing it any less bright.
That was something that most struggled with. Apathy, Stratford, hell, even his own brother. They all think like dirty versions of Ricky Bobby. If you ain’t first…, and all that noise. Being first has never mattered. When you earn a thing, has never mattered. But how. How is what paves the way.
He could have walked away with the title after defeating Anicka. But beating one person, and that person being your friend, that leaves room for doubt. He could have taken the belt off Roger, and taken the opportunity given. But that also left more doubt than he was comfortable with. This on the other hand. This left no doubt. This match was brutal. And the people in it were some of the best this business has. If, or when he walked away the victor, no one could doubt him ever again. Not the fans. Not the competition. Not his brother. Not even himself.
The kid who spent more time at clubs than gyms was gone. The child who was far more impressed with muscle definition than speed and strength. The boy who came into this business, has now been replaced by a man. A man who returned to this business, set to become THE man, by obtaining what is rightfully his. Not the title. Not the game. But respect. The admiration. The truth, the absolute truth, that he was the best of the best that this business has, had, or ever will have. He always felt he had been. But he had always been overshadowed by his brother. And not the one you’d think.
Everyone was overshadowed by Kal. He was a force to be reckoned with from pretty much the moment he’d entered the business. Many people can claim to have called out after Joe Mont, Jason Jarret, and Triple S. Few can say they got their attention. Kal did a lot more than that.
So that shadow was nothing to be concerned about. Damon Riggs fell in that shadow. Max Burden did. The list of those that Kal darkened the sky of, could go on forever. Xavier never cared about his shadow. But Vin’s on the other hand. It didn’t just darken his sky, it blotted out the sun.
‘The other brother’ was a nickname he didn’t quite care for and it grew in strength the more he tried to play it down. The comparisons were constant and ever so varied. From their finishers and their in ring styles to their fucking theme music. Xavier lived in constant comparison to the exact opposite of who he wanted to be. And it damn near killed him trying to escape it.
But it worked out. Because motivation to change, to get better, is not always easy to spot. Sometimes we are forced to see the motivation after the fact. Sometimes we never do.
Xavier took years to see that it wasn’t his problem to solve. He would never stop them from comparing. He could only tilt the scale the only way he knew how. By fighting his ass off. By proving that while his brother was one kind of star, he was a different one. One that was coursing through the galaxy on a collision course. Not with the earth, but with this business. And he wasn’t hear to take out the dinosaurs. But he was out to destroy some fossils.
The fossils that think of this business like it’s the fucking 80’s. That there are good guys and bad guys. White hats versus black. That this was some simple fucking thing with a line through the middle. This was a complicated business. It deserves a complicated leader. One that will do what he will do, without a second thought. Not to go for the big paycheck. Not to hold a prop longer than the rest. But to be here. And for all those who come after to know it.
When they look back at his time in this business, they will know he was here. When they talk about the greatest matches ever fought, they’ll know he was here. When they discuss the best fighters to ever step foot into the ring, they’ll bring up his brother, and his name will follow, with as much reverence, if not more.
And as the thoughts of this spun around his head, as he imagined the fight and what might occur, he was dragged out of his head by his phone. Not his personal phone. But the other one. The one that he kept charged, but never used. The one he never went anywhere without but never unlocked. Unless it rang like it was right now. He handed the rest of his beer to Sarah and shot up, stamping up the stairs quicker than one might think a man of his size could.
“Go.” He said, wasting as little time as possible.
“Ok, so I need you to stop what you’re doing an-“
“JOHNNY. details. Go.” They had this conversation multiple times. He didn’t need to know anything or hear anything that wasn’t a direction, an outcome required, or a motive. He needed to know where, why, and what.
“Gary Fingers. Actor. His sister got owned by this club. He can’t work until she’s safe. I need you to extract. Waynesboro, Tennessee. 536 S Main Street. Old store as a clubhouse. Next to a church. Let me know.”
The phone goes quiet and then it goes back in his pocket. This wasn’t gonna be easy. If they weren’t on their home turf, or if they weren’t small town idiots, it might be less difficult. But no club wants to be shit on in their living room. He pulled up google maps and typed in the address. It was as Johnny had said. But certain things were in his favor, or could be. One; there was a church next door. If he waited until it was daylight, they might be less likely to pop off. But escaping would be harder if they did. Two; there was an auto dealership across the street. He doubted the club knew every car in the lot, so hiding a get away car or even parking there to get a feel would be easy. But the getaway was gonna be a task unto itself. He didn’t have a lot of time, and he had a lot of phone calls to make.
The first was to a driver. He needed someone who could handle driving under pressure, could memorize the routes of a place he’d never been, and could either get his hands on a sleeper or build one quickly. There were three people he knew, two that could pull it off, and only one he could trust.
“Preston’s.” Dane said as he answered. Xavier didn’t bother with pleasantries. He fired off what was going on, what he needed, and why, and the added bonus of who it was for. He expressed understanding if Dane couldn’t or wouldn’t, but also expressed that it was a good cause for a very good payday. And Dane agreed.
The second call he would make would be for a pilot. Tennessee was far and driving would only take them so far so quick. And whoever it was, was going to need to fly a cargo plane. He knew many pilots but one who was eager to help him was going to be his first choice.
“Ya got some fucking nerve, calling me after ‘he way ya been treating me girl, Sahara. I should jus’ smash the little red button like them kids on the tube says.”
“Murph. Shut up.” He explains the situation and the details, and keeps some things to himself. He says that Dane is already in and that they need someone they can trust. Murph is big on trust and he agrees with little more to say. Which is rare for him, and appreciated.
The last call he makes is to the number that Johnny just texted him. It’s the girls boss at the bar she was taken from. He tells the man that they’re gonna rescue her. That he needs to come along so she sees a friendly face when they get her. One of those is a lie.
4 hours later and there’s a cargo plane waiting fully fueled at a small airstrip just outside of the town of Waynesboro, Tennessee. Across the street from the clubhouse, hidden behind a U-Haul truck just at the end of the driveway to the Wayne Motor lot is a 2003 Mercury Marauder. Behind the wheel is Dane Preston, who is thumbing through his phone on reddit as Xavier stands outside of the car, and smokes, while Bill the bar owner sits inside, nervously. All three men are more attentive as the sounds of motorcycles are heard in the distance. Xavier walks to the rear of the car and taps it. Dane pops it and we see what’s within. A large black duffle bag and two smaller ones. Xavier opens the larger one and removes a Remington model 870 and places it to the side. Beneath it we see several envelopes and three SVI Tiki’s. Xavier grabs two of the handgunsand slides them into him into holsters at his back. He then grabs a large envelope and stuffs it into his back pocket. Grabbing the last handgun, he walks over to the drivers side window and taps. Dane lowers the window and X hands it to him and utters something about “just in case.” And points to Bill, and beckons him to follow. The two men emerge from behind the U-Haul and walk across the street. The club is makeshift ex-deli with the words “fresh cut meat” on the front of it. Xavier stops Bill as they approach the door, already on the radar of the club, and instructs him to keep his fucking mouth shut. Bill goes to speak, but nods instead. Xavier compliments him, but in the way you would a dog who shit on the hardwood instead of the floor.
Xavier steps into the clubhouse and familiar smells accompany familiar sights. The smell of old wood soaked with beer, puke and vomit. Walls patched with newspaper, duct tape and speckle. Tables with legs jimmy rigged with old broom handles and hockey sticks. And hanging in the air, the ever not so faint smell of meth.
The club leader, a very dirty old man who looks like Santa of Guantanamo bay, sits forward and looks at Xavier with anger. It’s a look he’s used to. See, X is pretty and he knows it. But he’s also a savage and carries himself accordingly. It’s a sight to see someone who recognizes both and can’t grasp the contrast. It’s worked wonders for him in the past and he’s hoping it carries into the present.
“Who the fuck…” the old man says, pushing a very skinny woman off his lap and attempting to stand. The rest of the club circles in, and Xavier throws his hands up.
“I’m just here to talk. Maybe buy. If you’ll let me.” He says, looking at the malnourished white bread surrounding him. Whispers in country slang begin as they either recognize him, or the man he’s brought with him. Xavier waits for the meth flavored Santa to make a call, and he pushes the chair out with his foot. It seems friendly and like a good sign, but anyone who thinks it’s better to be sitting in this situation is someone who should hope to never been in one anything like it.
“My name is Nomad. I’m with a club called the Undead. You recently took hold of something. Something I’m gonna need back.”
“And what’s that?”
“Who. Who is that. And who that is a waitress by the name of Amber. You picked her up from a bar in Nashville. Her brother is an associate of mine. And I’m afraid I’m gonna need her back.”
“...she’s gonna cost you.”
“I’m aware.”
“See, she’s a good one. I could make a lot of money, taxing it would be fun in and of itself. So you gotta do good in your offer, son.”
“10 large. Plus as I’m sure your friends have noticed, I’m carrying two very expensive handguns. Neither are loaded. Because they’re gifts for you.”
“..no.”
“Ok. I was prepared for that. Madeline. Francis. Beatrice. Take the money. Take the guns. Give me the girl. Make a profit off a bad deal. And let’s not have anything go too bad too quick.”
“Who the fuck you think you are.”
“I’m Nomad. I’m with the Undead. But I’m also with another group. The Jackals.” That one they know. That one they’ve heard of because people tell of them. Not to entertain, but to educate. To warn. “I come here as a friend. I know how much a young piece can earn. But this ain’t the one. Because I leave here with her, and you get left alone. I leave without, and I promise, tomorrow there won’t be a god damn thing left of any of you. Make the play, boss. Let’s deal or dance. You tell me.”
Xavier knows he can’t look weak in front of his boys. He knows he’s gotta show strength despite knowing what was said was meant and was truth. So he’ll ask for another 10, which he’ll have the moron run back to the car to get.
“You can have her. But I want 15.” He says, smiling. He genuinely thinks he’s won something. Xavier plays the part, and makes it look like he’s mulling it.
“Dickhead. Run to the car, get me the yellow envelope. Come back. Try not to piss yourself.”
Bill the bar owner does just that. And X is offered a beverage, which he turns down.
“Had I known she was protected, I wouldn’t have made a fuss. She sat on my lap. I mean, You know the fucking rules.” He said, picking his teeth or more accurately, tooth. “I gave the cost.”
“He got greedy.” X says, referencing the bar owner Bill. “He knew what would happen. He just didn’t think he’d be a part of it.”
“You telling me he set us up?”
“Oh yeah. He thought he could get you wiped out. Apparently he’s not fond of your club coming to his pisshole. She wasn’t that great a waitress. Figured he’d solve two problems and get paid. He’s a piece of shit. And he’s also my other gift.” X reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic box with a mic attached. “Pulled this off him when I picked him up. I’m not sure who he’s working for or with but he’s prolly got something on you. You take him, the money, the guns, you stay away from that bar, which is hers now, and we all go on being happy. I hope you see how respectful we’re being of you. One club to another.”
“I do. I’d heard you guys usually steam roll. Why the softness?”
“No such thing. Softness is for little dicks. Truth is, you might be the solution to a problem. We don’t have muscle in this area. Figured, Might as well be you. If you’re up for it.”
Again, he had to look strong. He’s heard of the Jackals and he knows what they’re into. They were well above his lot in life. But to turn down a possible payday, was the kind of thing a leader does in the last moments of his life, let alone as leader.
“We’re up for most anything.”
“Good. Keep this in mind. We don’t do sloppy. We call you, you do it the way we want, and you don’t fucking divert. We don’t pay for creativity. We pay for followers. And we pay well. But it’s gotta be done how we fucking say. Now, where’s the girl.”
Methhead Claus signals with his filthy black fingers and three men pull up a door in the floor. Within seconds the girl emerges, tears streaming down her face. She doesn’t look at X as the drugs they’ve given her to make her docile are coursing through her. X stands and removes the guns from his back, and places them on the table. He looks the girl up and down and is thankful she doesn’t show any signs of wear or tear, and takes her in his arms.
“I’ll be in touch.” He says, as he walks toward the door and stops. “By the way, I have a Harley Shovelhead stored a few miles away by the spanish restaurant on Dexter L woods park. It’s my gift to you for joining. It’s a good ride. Take care of her.”
The Old Saint Meth nodded with approval, and looked to his methy elves. X nodded at one for opening the door and emerged into the fresh air, the girl even limper upon breathing it in. Bill the Bar owner runs up to him with the envelope. He looks at X and then at the clubhouse, obviously nervous.
“Take the envelope in. I’m gonna get her to the car. When we pull up, you run out. Do not walk to the back of the bar. You let them take the cash with you by the door. Got it?”
“Ok.” Bill the bar owner says.
X soldiers across the street and places the girl in the backseat. He gets in the passages seat and as he sits, he tells Dane to go. Dane looks at him confused.
“What about Bill?” He asks, looking as concerned as a moral person would.
“What about him? Drive.” X says, ignoring the looks he’s getting. “Johnny. I got her. Tell your boy she’ll be back in a few. Call you from the new one.” X lowers the window and snaps the phone into an L shape, tossing it to the ground. He then notices that they still aren’t moving and looks at Dane. “You wanna go rescue the dude who sold a girl into the sex trade, be my guest. Otherwise, fucking. drive.”
Dane drops the car into reverse and drives along the path to the rear of the lot and takes off down the road. We lose them in the darkness of the small town night, as their taillights vanish behind a gathering of trees.
We fade into a small diner, and Xavier and Dane are sitting at the counter, as Murphy stands in the background, looking over the Juke Box with wonder. Dane, seems uneasy, and X can tell.
“Can’t believe I just did work for Stylez. If my wife finds out.” Dane says, popping a tomato from his eggs, tomato, and hash breakfast.
“You didn’t work for Johnny. You worked for me. And considering I didn’t even need you, you got paid pretty well. And if she ever does find out, you weren’t exactly doing some evil bidding.”
“Yeah, but in the long run..”
“Dane, If you look at any good dead, any at all, in the long run. It all leads to ugly. Promise. There’s not been a single action in all of humanity that while meant for the good, did not lead to the ugly. You can’t look at the big picture with shit like this. Look at the dot. Or not. Fuck your morals.” X says, looking up at the tv.
“Waitress.” He says, can you turn that up.
She abides and turns up the volume. Xavier points to the screen as a reporter stands in front of a smoldering hole in the ground with only a small portion of the building remaining.
“The small town of Waynesboro, Tennessee was rocked today after an explosion that some are referring to as Biblical. Officials are saying that the explosion originated from the basement where they suspect a rather large meth lab was present…”
The news report continues and Xavier looks to Dane.
“If we had called the cops, they would’ve taken their time. They would’ve wanted to do surveillance. And that girl, who would still be there, would be dead. I’m not saying my reasons for doing this are pure. But they don’t have to be. For that girl, we’re heroes. That’s gotta be enough for you. Go home. Hug your kids. Kiss the wife. And be glad you helped save a life that didn’t need losing.”
Xavier goes back to his food, and despite trying otherwise, begins to look smug. It’s not everyday that the universe gives you an example right when you need it. You usually have to supply them yourself.
“I gotta ask. I have to. Did we really save that girl or just deliver her to a different animal?”
“Dane, the porn business is built on two things. Promises, and lies. Most people in this business lie more than they promise. And they bully. And they abuse. Johnny might be despicable but he also sees the value of being different. And besides, that girl isn’t an actress. Her brother is. We got her as a favor to him. Because we take care of ours.”
“Like he tried to take care of you.” Sane says, turning on his stool.
“You act like I’d do something different if his shoe was on my feet. I got my issues with it and we’ll work that out. But I ain’t like the rest of you. Cutting yourself off from shit because a situation didn’t end the way you want. Me, I’m different. I’m in this to win this.”
“Not everything can be won.”
“You know who says that, Dane? Not Winners. Not losers. And definitely not Wolves.”
Xavier downs his coffee, stands up, and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. He points to the wad, at the food, and then to Dane. It’s a silent way of saying “pay for the food, the rest is for you.” And he walks out. Murphy who thought he was his ride is confused, but gets over it quickly. Dane who didn’t do this for money is sorta insulted. And Xavier, who prides himself on getting anywhere he needs to from anywhere he is, suddenly feels at home.
We pan into a well lit bathroom, lavish in every way that counts. A bathtub big enough for three, multiple shower heads, and a fireplace the size of a couch. Kneeling on the floor, Xavier could be found, shirtless and wet. Before him, was his ‘dog’ Ace. Soaked and sitting calmly, the dog stared at Xavier with the love that only an animal could give. He carefully combed him, and massaged him. The ‘dog’ licked the air around X’s face, thankful for the care. His face then quickly turned to the doorway to the bathroom, and looked at the woman standing in the doorway. Le’andra looked over her husband, and smiled.
“I call next.” She says, sipping a glass of what we can be sure is very expensice whiskey from an even more expensive glass. “Try this.” She says handing him the glass. He takes the glass and takes a sip. Impressed with it, he allows the ‘dog’ to take a sniff. The dog is less impressed. “It’s pretty good.” X says, handing her back the glass.
“It’s from your brother.” She says.
“Kal always had great taste. Even when he couldn’t afford it.”
“Not that one.” She says, her voice somber and quiet enough to supply the info she purposely left out.
“Oh? Kind of him.”
“There’s a letter. I didn’t read it. But it’s hefty.”
“And I’m sure it’s misspelt and full of metaphors.” X seemingly shrugs it off. And turns his attention back to the ‘dog’. He pulls out a slightly bigger than normal toothbrush and applies a paste from a ziploc container. The dog opens his mouth instinctively and allows for X to brush.
“When I found Ace, I thought I was gonna have to kill him. I was…’ X sighs, regretful of what he’s about to admit. “I was gravedigging. I needed money and it’s a quick way to make a buck. I’d go to a small town, google the deceased, and that would tell me all I need to know. This one time, I found myself face to face with Ace, here. I’ve been in some situations I’m still not sure how I got out of, but this one was pretty dire. Excuse the pun. I ended up giving him a femur of a very nice woman who was buried with an especially lovely broach. And a friendship began.” He silently requested the glass and downed the rest of the contents, licking his lips. “The thing that saved me was that this was a pet. This was someone’s friend. And I’d like to think that maybe the person died, and Ace was left alone, so he took off. Or maybe Ace just decided he didn’t wanna be there anymore, call of the wild shit. But I know that the owner probably got mad, and yelled at Ace, and maybe, Ace took a swipe. That the owner didn’t like that his wolf went wolf, and he drove it out somewhere and left it. Because it’s only cool having a Wolf when you can control it. Your friends won’t be impressed when it’s trying to eat you. You only care for the Wolf when it does what you want, then you don’t care for it at all. He’s bit me. He’s snapped at me. But here I am, keeping him clean. Keeping him healthy. Because love doesn’t die over injury nor insult. Love fights to survive. It does not die from such small harms. Not with me.”
“You should read that letter.” She says, running her finger inside the empty glass, and licking it to get a taste of the whiskey. “You might need to.”
Le’andra returned to the other room, to fill her glass and one for him. The ‘dog’ hopped out of the bath and laid on the heated floor to dry, a habit he had quickly developed since the move. And Xavier went into the den, and then into his office. He found the glass of whiskey, a ligo pravada, and the letter still sealed in a black envelope. He lit the cigar, took a sip of the whiskey, and grabbed the letter opener. It was a pure silver dagger shaped like the sword of god, which was actually a gift for his brother that he liked so much he kept for himself.
In an instance, the room was filled with glitter. Not just any glitter, but penis shaped glitter. It was on his cigar, it was in his whiskey, and it was on every fabric exposed. He cursed at first, laughed a second later, and cackled for a full five minutes. Among the glitter, was a small black card with silver writing. Before we get the chance to read, we first listen.
“The truly great ones in this business, the ones that make it, know how it should be done. And when I say make it, I don’t not refer to being successful. Success is a spectrum. What is success for one is a midway for another. When I say make it, I don’t mean make it in this business, but make this business itself better with our presence.”
“We are not boxers. Or UFC fighters. Or kickboxers. We do not train for months for a fight. We train every day for any fight. Those of us who make this business worth what it’s worth, we get up every day, hungry. We go to bed, hungry. We look at what others do, and we do more. We listen to what others say, and we know that while anyone can say anything, only the best of us can back it up. We don’t expect to be idolized. We don’t want fame nor fortune. All we want is a moment.”
“A moment in the sun, so to speak. But while most only need to walk out their front door, in this business we have to fight to get to the door. Tooth and nail and sometimes more, just to even see the door. Sometimes we have to fight the door itself. Because it’s worth it. It’s worth it to put yourself out there, for just a second of that time. To be seen, to be known, and most of all, to be remembered.”
“Sure there are guys like Christian Rivers, who don’t give a shit about being remembered. And that’s fine. Those guys have their places in this business. He’s a damn good fighter and he’s respected by quite a lot of the guys. He’s built for his spot and he knows it. But me? My shoulders are built to bear the weight of the world but they will not be what another stands upon. I will die before I allow such. And I will kill before I do that.”
“My beginnings in this business were never what you would call ‘orthodox’, even for a business like this. I had little training, I had little direction, but what I lacked in those I made up for in spades in drive and determination. In want. I have never lost my want. From Canada to the US to every shit hole dive bar I fought in, I have always wanted it more than anyone else. Most of you want to prove who you are to each other. I just want to prove it to myself. See, all the rest, They just want this...moment...where those who doubted will look upon them with renewed opinions. And it is there that I am not with you. I do not do this to prove to another that they were wrong. I am here to prove others right. The hours invested, the effort put forward, the admiration given with little reason, was not in vain. It was an investment. And it’s time it paid out.”
“For my brother Kal, who didn’t have to reconnect with me. He could’ve signed the autograph and left it at that. He could’ve let me rot away at the shitholes I was in and left me be. But he didn’t. He took me in. He lifted me up and even when I gave him every reason to think otherwise, he believed in me. He stood by me through so much and vocally so. He taught me that this business, and life in general, was meant to be fought for. You didn’t wait for someone to hand your chances to you, ADAMS. You earned them. Not through fucking sympathy. Through fucking blood, sweat and tears. I have done everything with this in mind. So this...this is for him.”
“For my brother, Jack. Who offered me a job after a week of getting to know me. Not because he didn’t want me fighting, he knows how this family is. Because he never knew anyone, and these are his words, who got it so easily. My business acumen was instinct and he’s made a lot of money for me and off me, because of it. In my other family, I was doubted. And disregard. I was the black sheep. We know the truth. I wasn’t a sheep at all. I was a wolf. And Jack saw that before I did. So this is for him.”
“For my sister Sarah. The day Kal brought me to his home, I was looked at with suspicious eyes and doubt. After all, I was the ‘chosen one’. The one our mother had taken with her, rather than leave behind or put up for adoption. I was the one who had the perfect life. I expected to be hated. What I didn’t expect was to be hugged. Sarah didn’t walk across the room. She ran. She grabbed me and held me and she told me that she was my big sister. And she said, and I’ll never forget it, I wasn’t there for the worst parts of your life. But that will never happen again. She loved me from the moment she met me, and it was the most love I’d ever felt. Growing up rich the affection shown to me was often in the forms of material items. There was no warmth in that world, no love to be felt. I know Apathy knows this feeling. I know she’s seen that show herself from the front frow. But where as she had that title in her hands and let it go, I’ve yet to touch it. Apathy has eaten, had her fill, and chose to throw it up. My sister who told me to treat every meal like it was my first, and maybe my last. And that’s what I intend to do. So this is for her.”
“For my wife, Le’andra. Who, with tears in her eyes, had to watch the man she loved leave her to be the man he swore he’d be. The man he grew up trying to be, but had always failed. With tears in her eyes she gets to watch that man come back, with a love and spirit stronger than what he left with. Anica Swan has had to deal with this sort of loss, and knows how haunting it can be. But like my wife, she is going to see that sometimes the worst pain are the most useful. That separation can be truth. And my separation from the top of this business has done nothing but solidify the fact that I should be up high, looking down low at the rest of you. She is my ivory tower from which I sit and judge. The one who helped renew my worth the moment I needed it most. This is for her.”
“For my Father in law Bryan, who tore me down to build me back up. Who put me in a room with six other men, and told us that when he came back, whoever was asleep was gone. We stayed away for 3 days. And then I alone stayed awake for 4. It gave me the perspective I have. A point of view I avoided for as long as I’ve been in this business, but have needed far longer. Unlike Stephen Stratford, I didn’t enjoy being in the room with Six others. I only enjoyed destroying them through my endeavors. It’s odd to say the least that my career began with being locked in a small space with Six others, and now it repeats. But like then, I shall outlast, and outperform every other, because that’s what I was taught to do. So, This is for him.”
Xavier looked down at his glass, and picked most of the glitter dicks out, and raised it in the air.
“And this is to you. The one who I’ve been pushed by and pushed against. The one who had shown me what real brotherhood is. It’s not fun and it’s dirty and hard and lot of the times it exists on the verge of real and actual murder. But when it comes down to it, even when I hate you with all my heart, I love with just as much. So here’s to you, Vin. This is for you.”
“Because fuck the next moment. This is the X moment.”
The camera pans and we see that Xavier is talking to a painting of Sarah, Vin, and himself in his office. It has a single light shone on it, and is obviously very well taken care of. Xavier downs the drink. And slides the glass onto the table. He takes a puff off his cigar and smiles. Because in this family like this business and the world itself, things can change in a moment's notice. From one moment to another, nothing can change or nothing can be the same. That is why every moment counts and every moment should be appreciated. His moment has finally come. OPW would see him become who he has always been but has been hiding. He was The Man of The Moment. This was his moment. The moment you have all been waiting for, the moment of truth, the moment that will make clear the moments that came before and will redefine the moments to come. And it was only a moment away.
We slowly fade out as we pan down on the glitter covered desk, and see the silver letters scribbled onto the matte black card. As we return to the void from which we came, they remain, changing from silver to green, before also returning to the darkness of the void from which we came.
“Prove me Right.”
We don’t fade in as much as we jump to footage of OPW workers moving about, constructing the monstrosity that is the Stairway 2 Heaven rig. As we watch the rig begins to take shape. And while it is made of a variety of unforgiving materials, it is itself what nightmares are made of.
“He’s outdone himself.” A voice says from beyond our view. We pan around to find the source of said voice, acting commish and living legend Kal X Wolf, Sitting next to one of the many contestants to take part in that match, Xavier Wolf. The two men are located in the owners box of the arena, and are sipping on plastic cups of beer. They are then joined by Sarah Wolf, Xavier’s sister and agent, who has a cigarette clenched between her teeth, and a wicked smile stretched across her face.
“What’re you two up to?” She says sitting down and grabbing the beer out of Kal’s hand. Sarah’s involvement with OPW had picked up more and more, as her list of clients working there increased almost daily.
“I’ve got to oversee this, as commissioner and all.” He says taking the beer back as she attempts to down it.
“And you, Riv?” She says, her smile even larger. She wipes the suds from her lip and laughs as Kal switches his beer to the hand further from her.
“Me?” Xavier says, smiling, his eyes darting from one area of the main floor to another and back. Concentrating on one space for a split second and then another the second after. C“I’m watching the match.”
Roger Wright. Anicka Swan. Apathy. Stephen Stratford. Scotty Adams. That masked guy. OPW is the biggest name in the fight game going, and these, along with himself, are the best they’ve got, Masked guy not included. And as far as Xavier Wolf was concerned, they were not good enough. They had not come up how he had, with who he had, and had the same “why” that he had. They had their own individual reasons, their own origin stories. Ones filled with sacrifice and loss. With pain and agony. And he didn’t give one single fuck to learn those stories. Not their beginnings or their endings. He was far too concerned with being involved in what was to come. To not only be centered in their next moment of agony, or loss. No. To be involved only would simply not do. He would insist with all of his might that he would be the one to author it.
Xavier, who got kicked off the football team for not maintaining his grades. Xavier who slaughtered the SAT’s, but got kicked out of every ivy league college his father bought his way into. Xavier, who got into the fight game because his hero was in it. Xavier who was a joke without a punchline. Xavier, who refused to let that stick.
Xavier who almost got arrested as many times as a rich white kid could before something bad happened. Xavier who was tossed from the military after a very short stay. Xavier who left his real family behind by someone else’s hand. Xavier who met the love of his life, and had to leave her to fulfill the vow he’d made to himself, and another. Xavier, who had done everything and anything to make certain that if he could not keep those he loved safe, he would make sorry those responsible. Xavier Wolf. The chosen one. The Master of Mayhem. The Man of The Moment. Who has curbed his walk away mentality for the dedication of a life renewed. Xavier who was now like a laser beam burning through whatever was in his way. Xavier Who wasn’t planning on being who he was, or doing what he’d done ever again.
Xavier, who has been rejected by, or given up on, everything he’d ever done. Everything except this. This business, this sport, this modern day gladiator tournament. This was all that had ever mattered to him. The fight, the battle, the war. He had done everything else he’d ever done for someone else, for something else. This time would not be very different. While it would be done for himself mostly, there were others he’d dedicate this to.
For Roger Wright, who he gave a free pass due to some need for things to make sense to him. To not have his rise questioned, or perverted. He did not regret it, but the time for free passes has long since passed. Roger considers himself the moral authority of the OPW. A company ran by criminals that is chock full of pro’s and convicts. He’s a good man in a business notorious for not treating good men well. Xavier tried to reason with him. He tried to explain to him how foolish he’s being. In no other profession in the world do we isolate yourself from family because of which co-worker they pick the side of. Xavier, someone who lives feet from him, Is the enemy not because of what he’s done, but because who he has done it with. It doesn’t make sense to Roger either and Roger knows it. But his hate for Johnny Stylez is as pure as his virgin heart. He’s also one of the most confused people Xavier has ever met. How he sees him. Who he thinks Xavier is. He knows he said what he said to piss him off. Roger wanted to make people think X being in this business was something X didn’t want. Or felt obligated to. Roger knows that X can’t stand that idea because X fucking told him so. He thought it would knock him off my game. Sorry, JJ Bittenbinder. X don’t get knocked off, knocked out, or knocked on. He came into this business because fighting was all he wanted to do. X got into this business because getting paid to get hit was almost as appealing as getting paid to do the hitting. Violence, you could say, runs in the family. It’s their genetic hand-me-down. Some people get diabetes and heart diseases. X got the urge to fuck you up.
And in your moment of realization, you’ll find that it’s incurable.
No amount of genuine personality traits was going to stave him off. This time, If Roger got handcuffed to a cage, it was X that would do the cuffing, and Roger that would do the falling.
For Anicka Swan. One of the people closest to him. Had he been Voldermort, she might be a holocrux. Or whatever, he never read those books. But he assumes it was something valuable, and she was one of the very few he’d kept, even when he went Nomad. She was looked down upon in the family in the beginning, as he was. And that is where the similarities ended. He had come from everything. She had come from nothing. He was as purebred as one could be. She was a mutt in every form of the word. But like him, She fought tooth and nail to make it to where she was. She had faced insurmountable odds and taken just a little less damage than she had dealth out, to gain her place at the top of this game. It was what she was most proud of. And she deserved to be proud. Which is why Xavier has resented himself for tricking her into joining him. He took things from her with that which a man who says he loves someone does not take. Her relationship with Roger, who was a lost puppy with no teeth. But she loved him. And he’d damaged that. Her relationship with the child. Malaria or whatever. She loved that child, and he had made that relationship strained. And her pride. She kept the title but had now belonged to someone. She had made a vow she would never belong to anyone again. That she would never be property. And he had made her break that vow out of her love for him. And now, with his love for her, he was going to destroy her. And show her that she is not his property, nor something to be held onto and used. She was a god damn mother fucking warrior. And you either go to war with, or against a warrior. She didn’t deserve one, and she was owed the other.
And when the moment came, It would be X who was going to give it to her.
For Stephen Stratford who came into the OPW as so many others had, himself included. Under a pseudonym. Under an assumed name. The name wasn’t the only thing that was assumed. He assumed we’d be impressed with his return. He assumed we’d give a fuck. When someone comes in this way, they want to make a splash. They want to make waves. He barely made a sound. Other than demanding shots at people he can’t hold the balls of, and taking out the elderly with baseball bats, he’s done more placeholding that attention holding. Taking up space more than taking names. He’s known for many things but being the top of the heap isn’t one of them. He’s always been more like the scum found beneath the heap than anything at the top. He’d been the poor man's Paul Montouri. Paul Montouri who had come and gone a million times in this business. Good for a few shows, to use as a highlighter for some other half as good goon. But unlike PM, he always got bored. Unlike PM, it wasn’t because he was good at other shit. It was because he was shit at this. Shit at separating who he was from who he needed to be. He didn’t make up this persona of ID to hide. He did it to reinvent. To pump new life in a dying career. But his career isn’t dead. It’s rotting. And the smell is enough to make anyone sick. Thankfully for OPW, there’s a cure for it. Ironic as that may be. X had seen him coming a mile away. There are things that long hair and camera avoidance can’t hide. His voice was low but his vocabulary was far greater than most. Intelligence isn’t just rare in this business. It was telling. And it told X all he needed to know about Id. Now it was time to send him back to everyone’s subconscious where he belongs.
And in X’s own subconscious, he prays he’s right. He knows Stratford well. He’d been around a long time and had put the hurt on a lot of decent people. The person he was, the fighter he had been, it could still be inside of him. Waiting to be unleashed. Waiting for the moment where he could be who he truly was. The one who didn’t depend on weapons or trickery to defeat his opponents. The one who used to exist outside of his own mind.
And while he may exist in the moment after all this, X would make sure he looked a little different.
For Gran Luchadore. Who Xavier doesn’t know, and he don’t care to. As far as X is concerned, he is a coward in a mask trying to change the perception of himself. Like Stratford, but far worse. If he were worth anything, he would show his face, masked or otherwise. He wouldn’t feel the need to hide. Stratford and X, they changed their names. But they let people know who they were and showed the change in themselves through other means. Gran Lucha has taken on the moniker of another wrestler, one very much shorter than the one here in OPW, for the sake of showmanship. One thing was certain to Xavier and everyone else. The show he was putting on, was not worth watching. The mask he wears isn’t to intimidate others, it’s to protect himself from himself. It has to be. Because his presence in this match is a fucking anomaly to everyone, X most of all. This guy, this puppet, has done nothing of note, besides touch a belt for a little longer than another. He has beaten no one worth beating, and said nothing worth listening. Because he barely fucking said anything at all. The time for speaking was well over anyway. What X was going to say, Gran would not hear. He would feel.
And should the producer have a moment to spare, he should spend it finding a new stooge, rather than trying to save this one.
For Apathy, Who had defeated Xavier in one on one competition with the help of Roger Wright. Which is like needing a guide dog when you can see just fine. Xavier had failed to even address the issue publicly. He had made it very clear in the locker rooms that he wasn’t surprised to fall to her. She was a former champion, and for very good reasons. One of those reasons were because she was talented. Another one, was because she had not been fighting him. This time, there would be no toothless cunt of a puppy to pull some kindergarten bullshit. This time, it was much different. This time it would be worse. This was not a fight, this was a war. And no one was going to hand you a victory in war. It wasn’t even a war. Wars are fought on behalf of someone. This was something else. Whatever it was, it wasn’t some midcard bout for nothing. It was as big as this business gets. The fight that was to come would echo in this business for years after. The winner would be seen as the end all, be all, of the entire business. The winner would carry this business and everyone in it on their shoulders for years to come. It was going to be done so by one who was worthy. Xavier was worthy. He did not need a guide dog. This business does not need the blind leading the blind. It needs someone who can seal the deal, raise the bar, and show this business what it means to be undeniable. Xavier was that person. And should get the chance, he would gladly show her. Show her that while luck may grant you a victory once, it was not something you could rely on constantly, or consistently. Luck took days off. Luck took long weekends, and two week vacations. Luck was an absentee partner.
And it was going to abandon her the moment she needed it most.
For Scotty Adams, who by all rights shouldn’t even be in this match. He took his chance and bought a fight he couldn’t finish when there was only one opponent. The deal was that if he won, he’d be the world champion. But if he lost, which by all rights, he did, He would have to open the card, knowing he cost himself the spotlight. But it seems the powers that be have taken pity on poor mister Adams, and have let him have a second chance. Xavier grits his teeth when he thinks of the strings Rogers had to pull to stack the deck like this. To get one more person between him and the title. It made sense. It was smart. And both of those were unlike Roger as of late. It didn’t matter though. Give all the people you can the second chances they barely deserve. Throw as many bodies in Xavier’s path to the top as you feel necessary. In the end, there will be no pity. No second chances. This match was like a pirate ship. Scotty Adams is the stow away. Unwelcome and unwanted. He would be treated accordingly. But he would not be thrown to the sharks, or to the tides. He would be thrown to the biggest beast of all. Xavier Wolf. For he did not call upon the Kraken. He was the Kraken,
And he’d make sure there wasn't a single moment where Scotty doubted it.
For the fans. Who since his return to this business have been clamoring to see him take his rightful spot. They pretend to hate him because of Johnny. Truth is, he’s done nothing with Johnny that he wouldn’t have done himself. From his days in Masters of Mayhem to his time in Socially Hazardous, to the main draw of the Syndicate. He’s always been the same. Just a lot more concentrated. The fans being fickle as they are, will come around. They’ll watch him take the throne, his throne, and see the world made right. Or they won’t. Either way, the attempt at walking away with the big one wasn’t for them. Or even about them. It wasn’t even about beating the others. It was about beating his worst enemy. It was time to beat himself.
For the largest chunk of his career, Xavier had done nothing better than getting in his own way. His first stable, The Masters of Mayhem was more about selling merch than it was about making a name. The stable sold the most shirts the night it was announced. And had the largest request for returns the week later, when the group had imploded. This is just one of many that Xavier could look back on and see the examples he’d made as to why he wasn’t going to be to this business what his brother was to this business. It wasn’t the best example by far. His first title reign was. And the way he dealt with losing it a week later, cemented that.
But that was then. That was a child who was obsessed with being what he couldn’t be. The next this, or that. He’d heard it said a million times before, but it wasn’t until he put it into practice that things came together. He wasn’t going to be the next Kal, or Damon, or whoever. He was going to be the first him.
The first one to take an honest look at this business and examine it from the top down. Look at the way people respond to it. Look at how they treat it and the others in it. And not just how, but why. Why do we act as if this is a life or death business. Yes, it’s zero sum and always has been. But when you look at the options, a mature person makes the call that he made. That just because someone else is in the spotlight, doesn’t make the ones sharing it any less bright.
That was something that most struggled with. Apathy, Stratford, hell, even his own brother. They all think like dirty versions of Ricky Bobby. If you ain’t first…, and all that noise. Being first has never mattered. When you earn a thing, has never mattered. But how. How is what paves the way.
He could have walked away with the title after defeating Anicka. But beating one person, and that person being your friend, that leaves room for doubt. He could have taken the belt off Roger, and taken the opportunity given. But that also left more doubt than he was comfortable with. This on the other hand. This left no doubt. This match was brutal. And the people in it were some of the best this business has. If, or when he walked away the victor, no one could doubt him ever again. Not the fans. Not the competition. Not his brother. Not even himself.
The kid who spent more time at clubs than gyms was gone. The child who was far more impressed with muscle definition than speed and strength. The boy who came into this business, has now been replaced by a man. A man who returned to this business, set to become THE man, by obtaining what is rightfully his. Not the title. Not the game. But respect. The admiration. The truth, the absolute truth, that he was the best of the best that this business has, had, or ever will have. He always felt he had been. But he had always been overshadowed by his brother. And not the one you’d think.
Everyone was overshadowed by Kal. He was a force to be reckoned with from pretty much the moment he’d entered the business. Many people can claim to have called out after Joe Mont, Jason Jarret, and Triple S. Few can say they got their attention. Kal did a lot more than that.
So that shadow was nothing to be concerned about. Damon Riggs fell in that shadow. Max Burden did. The list of those that Kal darkened the sky of, could go on forever. Xavier never cared about his shadow. But Vin’s on the other hand. It didn’t just darken his sky, it blotted out the sun.
‘The other brother’ was a nickname he didn’t quite care for and it grew in strength the more he tried to play it down. The comparisons were constant and ever so varied. From their finishers and their in ring styles to their fucking theme music. Xavier lived in constant comparison to the exact opposite of who he wanted to be. And it damn near killed him trying to escape it.
But it worked out. Because motivation to change, to get better, is not always easy to spot. Sometimes we are forced to see the motivation after the fact. Sometimes we never do.
Xavier took years to see that it wasn’t his problem to solve. He would never stop them from comparing. He could only tilt the scale the only way he knew how. By fighting his ass off. By proving that while his brother was one kind of star, he was a different one. One that was coursing through the galaxy on a collision course. Not with the earth, but with this business. And he wasn’t hear to take out the dinosaurs. But he was out to destroy some fossils.
The fossils that think of this business like it’s the fucking 80’s. That there are good guys and bad guys. White hats versus black. That this was some simple fucking thing with a line through the middle. This was a complicated business. It deserves a complicated leader. One that will do what he will do, without a second thought. Not to go for the big paycheck. Not to hold a prop longer than the rest. But to be here. And for all those who come after to know it.
When they look back at his time in this business, they will know he was here. When they talk about the greatest matches ever fought, they’ll know he was here. When they discuss the best fighters to ever step foot into the ring, they’ll bring up his brother, and his name will follow, with as much reverence, if not more.
And as the thoughts of this spun around his head, as he imagined the fight and what might occur, he was dragged out of his head by his phone. Not his personal phone. But the other one. The one that he kept charged, but never used. The one he never went anywhere without but never unlocked. Unless it rang like it was right now. He handed the rest of his beer to Sarah and shot up, stamping up the stairs quicker than one might think a man of his size could.
“Go.” He said, wasting as little time as possible.
“Ok, so I need you to stop what you’re doing an-“
“JOHNNY. details. Go.” They had this conversation multiple times. He didn’t need to know anything or hear anything that wasn’t a direction, an outcome required, or a motive. He needed to know where, why, and what.
“Gary Fingers. Actor. His sister got owned by this club. He can’t work until she’s safe. I need you to extract. Waynesboro, Tennessee. 536 S Main Street. Old store as a clubhouse. Next to a church. Let me know.”
The phone goes quiet and then it goes back in his pocket. This wasn’t gonna be easy. If they weren’t on their home turf, or if they weren’t small town idiots, it might be less difficult. But no club wants to be shit on in their living room. He pulled up google maps and typed in the address. It was as Johnny had said. But certain things were in his favor, or could be. One; there was a church next door. If he waited until it was daylight, they might be less likely to pop off. But escaping would be harder if they did. Two; there was an auto dealership across the street. He doubted the club knew every car in the lot, so hiding a get away car or even parking there to get a feel would be easy. But the getaway was gonna be a task unto itself. He didn’t have a lot of time, and he had a lot of phone calls to make.
The first was to a driver. He needed someone who could handle driving under pressure, could memorize the routes of a place he’d never been, and could either get his hands on a sleeper or build one quickly. There were three people he knew, two that could pull it off, and only one he could trust.
“Preston’s.” Dane said as he answered. Xavier didn’t bother with pleasantries. He fired off what was going on, what he needed, and why, and the added bonus of who it was for. He expressed understanding if Dane couldn’t or wouldn’t, but also expressed that it was a good cause for a very good payday. And Dane agreed.
The second call he would make would be for a pilot. Tennessee was far and driving would only take them so far so quick. And whoever it was, was going to need to fly a cargo plane. He knew many pilots but one who was eager to help him was going to be his first choice.
“Ya got some fucking nerve, calling me after ‘he way ya been treating me girl, Sahara. I should jus’ smash the little red button like them kids on the tube says.”
“Murph. Shut up.” He explains the situation and the details, and keeps some things to himself. He says that Dane is already in and that they need someone they can trust. Murph is big on trust and he agrees with little more to say. Which is rare for him, and appreciated.
The last call he makes is to the number that Johnny just texted him. It’s the girls boss at the bar she was taken from. He tells the man that they’re gonna rescue her. That he needs to come along so she sees a friendly face when they get her. One of those is a lie.
4 hours later and there’s a cargo plane waiting fully fueled at a small airstrip just outside of the town of Waynesboro, Tennessee. Across the street from the clubhouse, hidden behind a U-Haul truck just at the end of the driveway to the Wayne Motor lot is a 2003 Mercury Marauder. Behind the wheel is Dane Preston, who is thumbing through his phone on reddit as Xavier stands outside of the car, and smokes, while Bill the bar owner sits inside, nervously. All three men are more attentive as the sounds of motorcycles are heard in the distance. Xavier walks to the rear of the car and taps it. Dane pops it and we see what’s within. A large black duffle bag and two smaller ones. Xavier opens the larger one and removes a Remington model 870 and places it to the side. Beneath it we see several envelopes and three SVI Tiki’s. Xavier grabs two of the handgunsand slides them into him into holsters at his back. He then grabs a large envelope and stuffs it into his back pocket. Grabbing the last handgun, he walks over to the drivers side window and taps. Dane lowers the window and X hands it to him and utters something about “just in case.” And points to Bill, and beckons him to follow. The two men emerge from behind the U-Haul and walk across the street. The club is makeshift ex-deli with the words “fresh cut meat” on the front of it. Xavier stops Bill as they approach the door, already on the radar of the club, and instructs him to keep his fucking mouth shut. Bill goes to speak, but nods instead. Xavier compliments him, but in the way you would a dog who shit on the hardwood instead of the floor.
Xavier steps into the clubhouse and familiar smells accompany familiar sights. The smell of old wood soaked with beer, puke and vomit. Walls patched with newspaper, duct tape and speckle. Tables with legs jimmy rigged with old broom handles and hockey sticks. And hanging in the air, the ever not so faint smell of meth.
The club leader, a very dirty old man who looks like Santa of Guantanamo bay, sits forward and looks at Xavier with anger. It’s a look he’s used to. See, X is pretty and he knows it. But he’s also a savage and carries himself accordingly. It’s a sight to see someone who recognizes both and can’t grasp the contrast. It’s worked wonders for him in the past and he’s hoping it carries into the present.
“Who the fuck…” the old man says, pushing a very skinny woman off his lap and attempting to stand. The rest of the club circles in, and Xavier throws his hands up.
“I’m just here to talk. Maybe buy. If you’ll let me.” He says, looking at the malnourished white bread surrounding him. Whispers in country slang begin as they either recognize him, or the man he’s brought with him. Xavier waits for the meth flavored Santa to make a call, and he pushes the chair out with his foot. It seems friendly and like a good sign, but anyone who thinks it’s better to be sitting in this situation is someone who should hope to never been in one anything like it.
“My name is Nomad. I’m with a club called the Undead. You recently took hold of something. Something I’m gonna need back.”
“And what’s that?”
“Who. Who is that. And who that is a waitress by the name of Amber. You picked her up from a bar in Nashville. Her brother is an associate of mine. And I’m afraid I’m gonna need her back.”
“...she’s gonna cost you.”
“I’m aware.”
“See, she’s a good one. I could make a lot of money, taxing it would be fun in and of itself. So you gotta do good in your offer, son.”
“10 large. Plus as I’m sure your friends have noticed, I’m carrying two very expensive handguns. Neither are loaded. Because they’re gifts for you.”
“..no.”
“Ok. I was prepared for that. Madeline. Francis. Beatrice. Take the money. Take the guns. Give me the girl. Make a profit off a bad deal. And let’s not have anything go too bad too quick.”
“Who the fuck you think you are.”
“I’m Nomad. I’m with the Undead. But I’m also with another group. The Jackals.” That one they know. That one they’ve heard of because people tell of them. Not to entertain, but to educate. To warn. “I come here as a friend. I know how much a young piece can earn. But this ain’t the one. Because I leave here with her, and you get left alone. I leave without, and I promise, tomorrow there won’t be a god damn thing left of any of you. Make the play, boss. Let’s deal or dance. You tell me.”
Xavier knows he can’t look weak in front of his boys. He knows he’s gotta show strength despite knowing what was said was meant and was truth. So he’ll ask for another 10, which he’ll have the moron run back to the car to get.
“You can have her. But I want 15.” He says, smiling. He genuinely thinks he’s won something. Xavier plays the part, and makes it look like he’s mulling it.
“Dickhead. Run to the car, get me the yellow envelope. Come back. Try not to piss yourself.”
Bill the bar owner does just that. And X is offered a beverage, which he turns down.
“Had I known she was protected, I wouldn’t have made a fuss. She sat on my lap. I mean, You know the fucking rules.” He said, picking his teeth or more accurately, tooth. “I gave the cost.”
“He got greedy.” X says, referencing the bar owner Bill. “He knew what would happen. He just didn’t think he’d be a part of it.”
“You telling me he set us up?”
“Oh yeah. He thought he could get you wiped out. Apparently he’s not fond of your club coming to his pisshole. She wasn’t that great a waitress. Figured he’d solve two problems and get paid. He’s a piece of shit. And he’s also my other gift.” X reached into his pocket and pulled out a small electronic box with a mic attached. “Pulled this off him when I picked him up. I’m not sure who he’s working for or with but he’s prolly got something on you. You take him, the money, the guns, you stay away from that bar, which is hers now, and we all go on being happy. I hope you see how respectful we’re being of you. One club to another.”
“I do. I’d heard you guys usually steam roll. Why the softness?”
“No such thing. Softness is for little dicks. Truth is, you might be the solution to a problem. We don’t have muscle in this area. Figured, Might as well be you. If you’re up for it.”
Again, he had to look strong. He’s heard of the Jackals and he knows what they’re into. They were well above his lot in life. But to turn down a possible payday, was the kind of thing a leader does in the last moments of his life, let alone as leader.
“We’re up for most anything.”
“Good. Keep this in mind. We don’t do sloppy. We call you, you do it the way we want, and you don’t fucking divert. We don’t pay for creativity. We pay for followers. And we pay well. But it’s gotta be done how we fucking say. Now, where’s the girl.”
Methhead Claus signals with his filthy black fingers and three men pull up a door in the floor. Within seconds the girl emerges, tears streaming down her face. She doesn’t look at X as the drugs they’ve given her to make her docile are coursing through her. X stands and removes the guns from his back, and places them on the table. He looks the girl up and down and is thankful she doesn’t show any signs of wear or tear, and takes her in his arms.
“I’ll be in touch.” He says, as he walks toward the door and stops. “By the way, I have a Harley Shovelhead stored a few miles away by the spanish restaurant on Dexter L woods park. It’s my gift to you for joining. It’s a good ride. Take care of her.”
The Old Saint Meth nodded with approval, and looked to his methy elves. X nodded at one for opening the door and emerged into the fresh air, the girl even limper upon breathing it in. Bill the Bar owner runs up to him with the envelope. He looks at X and then at the clubhouse, obviously nervous.
“Take the envelope in. I’m gonna get her to the car. When we pull up, you run out. Do not walk to the back of the bar. You let them take the cash with you by the door. Got it?”
“Ok.” Bill the bar owner says.
X soldiers across the street and places the girl in the backseat. He gets in the passages seat and as he sits, he tells Dane to go. Dane looks at him confused.
“What about Bill?” He asks, looking as concerned as a moral person would.
“What about him? Drive.” X says, ignoring the looks he’s getting. “Johnny. I got her. Tell your boy she’ll be back in a few. Call you from the new one.” X lowers the window and snaps the phone into an L shape, tossing it to the ground. He then notices that they still aren’t moving and looks at Dane. “You wanna go rescue the dude who sold a girl into the sex trade, be my guest. Otherwise, fucking. drive.”
Dane drops the car into reverse and drives along the path to the rear of the lot and takes off down the road. We lose them in the darkness of the small town night, as their taillights vanish behind a gathering of trees.
We fade into a small diner, and Xavier and Dane are sitting at the counter, as Murphy stands in the background, looking over the Juke Box with wonder. Dane, seems uneasy, and X can tell.
“Can’t believe I just did work for Stylez. If my wife finds out.” Dane says, popping a tomato from his eggs, tomato, and hash breakfast.
“You didn’t work for Johnny. You worked for me. And considering I didn’t even need you, you got paid pretty well. And if she ever does find out, you weren’t exactly doing some evil bidding.”
“Yeah, but in the long run..”
“Dane, If you look at any good dead, any at all, in the long run. It all leads to ugly. Promise. There’s not been a single action in all of humanity that while meant for the good, did not lead to the ugly. You can’t look at the big picture with shit like this. Look at the dot. Or not. Fuck your morals.” X says, looking up at the tv.
“Waitress.” He says, can you turn that up.
She abides and turns up the volume. Xavier points to the screen as a reporter stands in front of a smoldering hole in the ground with only a small portion of the building remaining.
“The small town of Waynesboro, Tennessee was rocked today after an explosion that some are referring to as Biblical. Officials are saying that the explosion originated from the basement where they suspect a rather large meth lab was present…”
The news report continues and Xavier looks to Dane.
“If we had called the cops, they would’ve taken their time. They would’ve wanted to do surveillance. And that girl, who would still be there, would be dead. I’m not saying my reasons for doing this are pure. But they don’t have to be. For that girl, we’re heroes. That’s gotta be enough for you. Go home. Hug your kids. Kiss the wife. And be glad you helped save a life that didn’t need losing.”
Xavier goes back to his food, and despite trying otherwise, begins to look smug. It’s not everyday that the universe gives you an example right when you need it. You usually have to supply them yourself.
“I gotta ask. I have to. Did we really save that girl or just deliver her to a different animal?”
“Dane, the porn business is built on two things. Promises, and lies. Most people in this business lie more than they promise. And they bully. And they abuse. Johnny might be despicable but he also sees the value of being different. And besides, that girl isn’t an actress. Her brother is. We got her as a favor to him. Because we take care of ours.”
“Like he tried to take care of you.” Sane says, turning on his stool.
“You act like I’d do something different if his shoe was on my feet. I got my issues with it and we’ll work that out. But I ain’t like the rest of you. Cutting yourself off from shit because a situation didn’t end the way you want. Me, I’m different. I’m in this to win this.”
“Not everything can be won.”
“You know who says that, Dane? Not Winners. Not losers. And definitely not Wolves.”
Xavier downs his coffee, stands up, and pulls a wad of cash from his pocket. He points to the wad, at the food, and then to Dane. It’s a silent way of saying “pay for the food, the rest is for you.” And he walks out. Murphy who thought he was his ride is confused, but gets over it quickly. Dane who didn’t do this for money is sorta insulted. And Xavier, who prides himself on getting anywhere he needs to from anywhere he is, suddenly feels at home.
We pan into a well lit bathroom, lavish in every way that counts. A bathtub big enough for three, multiple shower heads, and a fireplace the size of a couch. Kneeling on the floor, Xavier could be found, shirtless and wet. Before him, was his ‘dog’ Ace. Soaked and sitting calmly, the dog stared at Xavier with the love that only an animal could give. He carefully combed him, and massaged him. The ‘dog’ licked the air around X’s face, thankful for the care. His face then quickly turned to the doorway to the bathroom, and looked at the woman standing in the doorway. Le’andra looked over her husband, and smiled.
“I call next.” She says, sipping a glass of what we can be sure is very expensice whiskey from an even more expensive glass. “Try this.” She says handing him the glass. He takes the glass and takes a sip. Impressed with it, he allows the ‘dog’ to take a sniff. The dog is less impressed. “It’s pretty good.” X says, handing her back the glass.
“It’s from your brother.” She says.
“Kal always had great taste. Even when he couldn’t afford it.”
“Not that one.” She says, her voice somber and quiet enough to supply the info she purposely left out.
“Oh? Kind of him.”
“There’s a letter. I didn’t read it. But it’s hefty.”
“And I’m sure it’s misspelt and full of metaphors.” X seemingly shrugs it off. And turns his attention back to the ‘dog’. He pulls out a slightly bigger than normal toothbrush and applies a paste from a ziploc container. The dog opens his mouth instinctively and allows for X to brush.
“When I found Ace, I thought I was gonna have to kill him. I was…’ X sighs, regretful of what he’s about to admit. “I was gravedigging. I needed money and it’s a quick way to make a buck. I’d go to a small town, google the deceased, and that would tell me all I need to know. This one time, I found myself face to face with Ace, here. I’ve been in some situations I’m still not sure how I got out of, but this one was pretty dire. Excuse the pun. I ended up giving him a femur of a very nice woman who was buried with an especially lovely broach. And a friendship began.” He silently requested the glass and downed the rest of the contents, licking his lips. “The thing that saved me was that this was a pet. This was someone’s friend. And I’d like to think that maybe the person died, and Ace was left alone, so he took off. Or maybe Ace just decided he didn’t wanna be there anymore, call of the wild shit. But I know that the owner probably got mad, and yelled at Ace, and maybe, Ace took a swipe. That the owner didn’t like that his wolf went wolf, and he drove it out somewhere and left it. Because it’s only cool having a Wolf when you can control it. Your friends won’t be impressed when it’s trying to eat you. You only care for the Wolf when it does what you want, then you don’t care for it at all. He’s bit me. He’s snapped at me. But here I am, keeping him clean. Keeping him healthy. Because love doesn’t die over injury nor insult. Love fights to survive. It does not die from such small harms. Not with me.”
“You should read that letter.” She says, running her finger inside the empty glass, and licking it to get a taste of the whiskey. “You might need to.”
Le’andra returned to the other room, to fill her glass and one for him. The ‘dog’ hopped out of the bath and laid on the heated floor to dry, a habit he had quickly developed since the move. And Xavier went into the den, and then into his office. He found the glass of whiskey, a ligo pravada, and the letter still sealed in a black envelope. He lit the cigar, took a sip of the whiskey, and grabbed the letter opener. It was a pure silver dagger shaped like the sword of god, which was actually a gift for his brother that he liked so much he kept for himself.
In an instance, the room was filled with glitter. Not just any glitter, but penis shaped glitter. It was on his cigar, it was in his whiskey, and it was on every fabric exposed. He cursed at first, laughed a second later, and cackled for a full five minutes. Among the glitter, was a small black card with silver writing. Before we get the chance to read, we first listen.
“The truly great ones in this business, the ones that make it, know how it should be done. And when I say make it, I don’t not refer to being successful. Success is a spectrum. What is success for one is a midway for another. When I say make it, I don’t mean make it in this business, but make this business itself better with our presence.”
“We are not boxers. Or UFC fighters. Or kickboxers. We do not train for months for a fight. We train every day for any fight. Those of us who make this business worth what it’s worth, we get up every day, hungry. We go to bed, hungry. We look at what others do, and we do more. We listen to what others say, and we know that while anyone can say anything, only the best of us can back it up. We don’t expect to be idolized. We don’t want fame nor fortune. All we want is a moment.”
“A moment in the sun, so to speak. But while most only need to walk out their front door, in this business we have to fight to get to the door. Tooth and nail and sometimes more, just to even see the door. Sometimes we have to fight the door itself. Because it’s worth it. It’s worth it to put yourself out there, for just a second of that time. To be seen, to be known, and most of all, to be remembered.”
“Sure there are guys like Christian Rivers, who don’t give a shit about being remembered. And that’s fine. Those guys have their places in this business. He’s a damn good fighter and he’s respected by quite a lot of the guys. He’s built for his spot and he knows it. But me? My shoulders are built to bear the weight of the world but they will not be what another stands upon. I will die before I allow such. And I will kill before I do that.”
“My beginnings in this business were never what you would call ‘orthodox’, even for a business like this. I had little training, I had little direction, but what I lacked in those I made up for in spades in drive and determination. In want. I have never lost my want. From Canada to the US to every shit hole dive bar I fought in, I have always wanted it more than anyone else. Most of you want to prove who you are to each other. I just want to prove it to myself. See, all the rest, They just want this...moment...where those who doubted will look upon them with renewed opinions. And it is there that I am not with you. I do not do this to prove to another that they were wrong. I am here to prove others right. The hours invested, the effort put forward, the admiration given with little reason, was not in vain. It was an investment. And it’s time it paid out.”
“For my brother Kal, who didn’t have to reconnect with me. He could’ve signed the autograph and left it at that. He could’ve let me rot away at the shitholes I was in and left me be. But he didn’t. He took me in. He lifted me up and even when I gave him every reason to think otherwise, he believed in me. He stood by me through so much and vocally so. He taught me that this business, and life in general, was meant to be fought for. You didn’t wait for someone to hand your chances to you, ADAMS. You earned them. Not through fucking sympathy. Through fucking blood, sweat and tears. I have done everything with this in mind. So this...this is for him.”
“For my brother, Jack. Who offered me a job after a week of getting to know me. Not because he didn’t want me fighting, he knows how this family is. Because he never knew anyone, and these are his words, who got it so easily. My business acumen was instinct and he’s made a lot of money for me and off me, because of it. In my other family, I was doubted. And disregard. I was the black sheep. We know the truth. I wasn’t a sheep at all. I was a wolf. And Jack saw that before I did. So this is for him.”
“For my sister Sarah. The day Kal brought me to his home, I was looked at with suspicious eyes and doubt. After all, I was the ‘chosen one’. The one our mother had taken with her, rather than leave behind or put up for adoption. I was the one who had the perfect life. I expected to be hated. What I didn’t expect was to be hugged. Sarah didn’t walk across the room. She ran. She grabbed me and held me and she told me that she was my big sister. And she said, and I’ll never forget it, I wasn’t there for the worst parts of your life. But that will never happen again. She loved me from the moment she met me, and it was the most love I’d ever felt. Growing up rich the affection shown to me was often in the forms of material items. There was no warmth in that world, no love to be felt. I know Apathy knows this feeling. I know she’s seen that show herself from the front frow. But where as she had that title in her hands and let it go, I’ve yet to touch it. Apathy has eaten, had her fill, and chose to throw it up. My sister who told me to treat every meal like it was my first, and maybe my last. And that’s what I intend to do. So this is for her.”
“For my wife, Le’andra. Who, with tears in her eyes, had to watch the man she loved leave her to be the man he swore he’d be. The man he grew up trying to be, but had always failed. With tears in her eyes she gets to watch that man come back, with a love and spirit stronger than what he left with. Anica Swan has had to deal with this sort of loss, and knows how haunting it can be. But like my wife, she is going to see that sometimes the worst pain are the most useful. That separation can be truth. And my separation from the top of this business has done nothing but solidify the fact that I should be up high, looking down low at the rest of you. She is my ivory tower from which I sit and judge. The one who helped renew my worth the moment I needed it most. This is for her.”
“For my Father in law Bryan, who tore me down to build me back up. Who put me in a room with six other men, and told us that when he came back, whoever was asleep was gone. We stayed away for 3 days. And then I alone stayed awake for 4. It gave me the perspective I have. A point of view I avoided for as long as I’ve been in this business, but have needed far longer. Unlike Stephen Stratford, I didn’t enjoy being in the room with Six others. I only enjoyed destroying them through my endeavors. It’s odd to say the least that my career began with being locked in a small space with Six others, and now it repeats. But like then, I shall outlast, and outperform every other, because that’s what I was taught to do. So, This is for him.”
Xavier looked down at his glass, and picked most of the glitter dicks out, and raised it in the air.
“And this is to you. The one who I’ve been pushed by and pushed against. The one who had shown me what real brotherhood is. It’s not fun and it’s dirty and hard and lot of the times it exists on the verge of real and actual murder. But when it comes down to it, even when I hate you with all my heart, I love with just as much. So here’s to you, Vin. This is for you.”
“Because fuck the next moment. This is the X moment.”
The camera pans and we see that Xavier is talking to a painting of Sarah, Vin, and himself in his office. It has a single light shone on it, and is obviously very well taken care of. Xavier downs the drink. And slides the glass onto the table. He takes a puff off his cigar and smiles. Because in this family like this business and the world itself, things can change in a moment's notice. From one moment to another, nothing can change or nothing can be the same. That is why every moment counts and every moment should be appreciated. His moment has finally come. OPW would see him become who he has always been but has been hiding. He was The Man of The Moment. This was his moment. The moment you have all been waiting for, the moment of truth, the moment that will make clear the moments that came before and will redefine the moments to come. And it was only a moment away.
We slowly fade out as we pan down on the glitter covered desk, and see the silver letters scribbled onto the matte black card. As we return to the void from which we came, they remain, changing from silver to green, before also returning to the darkness of the void from which we came.
“Prove me Right.”