 |
|
Where do you go when you lost everything? "When are you getting back in the ring?" And here he is. The pioneer of this game, been put out by a kid doing everything I made famous. Now having to buy my own damn plane ticket to receive yet another fresh start. But how can I start over when All I keep in my mind is the events that lead me on to this plane. My own son… One night everything change. One night he went from Cream of the legends to a fucking figurehead. Brenton Cyrus. Alex Mark. Chuck Matthews. Salvation. They're the ones that did this to you. Those men are the reason that you're way up here, instead of down there doing what you love. Look at them laughing. They are trying to cost you your chance at immorality. From this point forward Johnny Styles will no longer be know as the man who revolutionized an industry, the man who brought this company from a regional promotion into the international name that it is today. He will be known as the man who‘s son punt kicked him in the head at the biggest events in history. He will be known as the man that accepted a deal, to move away from the cancer that is slowly killing the East. His legacy, his accomplishments, his career, it all means nothing at this very moment. All that matters right now is that those men are down there having the time of they're lives at his expense, and he is sitting 10, 000 feet above the sea, in the cheap seats sharing cold nachos with a fan. He is trapped. Some ridiculous stipulation is keeping him from shutting those miscreants up. And even if the stipulation was lifted would he even want to show his face in the East. There is nothing he can do. At War Games he was the most powerful man in the promotion. He had done it. He had lived his dream and the dream of many people that had come before him. Going in with such hype, before an international audience of millions. Fighting for everything he believed in, what he loved. But that all changed, with one kick to the head Everything he built came tumbling down. Because of them. Because of the Salvation. They attacked and embarrassed him in the middle of the ring. They took his moment. They stole it from him, spit on it, ripped it to shreds, and threw it away. It would never come back. It was the last night SBK would ever wrestle carrying the East flag. Listen to them taunting him. With each line they're destroying a part of what has taken him years to build. They're laughing at him. They're laughing at what he has accomplished. They're laughing at what he has become. This isn't where it ends. This will not be the destruction of his legacy. He is going to go down fighting. You may have taken everything from him... but no more. There well be a rematch. He's going to get some of it back. This is isn‘t the old SBK, nor the new, hell its not even SBK anymore, Its Just John. The Center of Attention. Higher Authority. The man that ran companies with an iron fist despite opposition from every single person in this business. That man did not sit with fans, idly standing by, allowing the young ones to make pure asses of themselves, gaining fame off his name! When he wanted something he took it. And he wants his dignity back. Salvation have taken everything from him. They've taken his health, they've taken his status in the company, they’ve even taken Alex and twisted him into there own. They've spit in the face of everything that he has ever stood for This was it. But who am I kidding? There wouldn’t be a rematch, that chapter has closed. Time to move on. Not a easy task, not when those men ruled over him. They could say or do whatever they wanted and he just had to stand there and take it. He's a used-up old whore. Beaten by the pimps, fucked by the johns. No matter where he turned his was abused and demoralized. There was nothing he could do about it. He wasn't strong enough. He wasn't young enough. He would just lay back and take it from all sides until there was nothing left. He stood amongst the fans in the plane. They were silent. Even their applause, even their devotion, was about to end. They did not want to cheer for a man that stood fixed on an aisle way, unable to even step fight back. He wanted to fall to the ground. He wanted to hold his hands over his eyes and hope for it to all go away. He hated this. He was nothing anymore. He Was Trapped 
It's tough being Johnny Styles. This isn't one of those "poor me, I'm rich and famous and don't have a personal life" stories that the media is filled with these days. This isn't that at all. The riches and the fame are the best part of this job. The adoration of the fans is what keeps me going day in and day out. No, this is nothing like that. This has to do with living inside a persona that I created for myself over years ago. This is about the character of Johnny Styles. It's obvious that athletic ability isn't enough to get someone over in this business. If it was there would be a hundred Indy kids headlining pay-per-views. That's not the case. You need to have a character. You need to have something that will make you different, something that will make you stand out. That is where Johnny "SBK" Styles comes in. "SBK" isn't just Johnny Styles "with the volume turned up" as is the common saying. "SBK" is Johnny Styles as a superstar, as a superhero. "SBK" doesn't get upset. "SBK" doesn't feel sad. "SBK" takes everything that has handed to him, makes a witty one-liner, and destroys the bad guys. He's like a smaller, weaker, action hero for wrestling fans. And it's tough to hold up. You may have noticed that I am not perfect. You may have noticed that I have bad days. You shouldn't have. Johnny "SBK" Styles IS perfect. He does not have bad days. When you notice those things you're seeing a little bit of the real me shining through. You're seeing the facade crack just a little bit. It's happening more and more often these days. Is the stress getting to me? Am I too old to keep this up? That's not the case at all. I'm trapped. I've created a character that has no faults. I've created at man that everyone in this world would want to be. I'm just over six feet tall and slightly over 220 pounds, but in the eyes of wrestling fans I truly am "Unbreakable." And I can't escape it. You stab me in the back ending are father son relationship? That's fine. It doesn't faze me. You beat me so badly that I spend a week in the hospital? That's okay too. You embarrass, attack, and piss on my wife’s grave? I don't even bat an eyelash. I am Johnny Styles, the one man in the world that you cannot destroy. You cannot break me down. Johnny Styles doesn't allow that. The persona doesn't allow that. And if it did it would be destroyed. And so where do I go? What do I do with those feelings of sadness, of regret, of rage? I pull them inside. I internalize everything. I can't let it out. It would ruin the image. It would ruin my career. So do whatever you want to me. You'll never see me react. All you'll be doing is ripping me apart inside. Because I am human, of course. I do have feelings that "SBK" would never have. And all of those feelings live inside me. Inside my heart. Inside my soul. Inside my brain. They sit there rotting, stewing, festering. They're eating me alive. And it hurts. It actually physically hurts sometimes. I feel the rage and the anger and the sadness radiating inside me with no where to go. They have no outlet. They sit inside me. They boil. They infiltrate my organs. They destroy my cells. They destroy my heart. They destroy my mind. They are the cancer that will eventually kill me. No man who actually loves his wife can sit there and watch calmly while a man pisses on her grave. And when those men are the same men that beat you senseless it becomes even more unlikely that you'll be able to hold your composure. I want to scream out in a rage. I want to throw walking papers down and rip your heads off. Who cares about my career, my image. All I care about is making you pay, Cyrus. But that's not what Johnny "SBK" Styles does. No. He gets his revenge in the ring. And until that moment he sits and waits. He lets the emotions tear him apart. He lets a little part of his soul die. Sometimes it keeps me awake at night. The emotions boil over and I cannot keep them inside any longer. My head aches. My brain feels like it's going to burst. My heart pounds rapidly, threatening to explode from my chest. It's killing me. It's harming my personal life as well. I spend over 300 days on the road and when I get home all I want to do is be me again. I'm not able to do that anymore. I've just driven back from the airport, my knuckles white from gripping the steering wheel, thoughts of everything that's happened inside that ring racing through my head. I can't love, I can‘t relax anymore. Not anymore. That part of me has died. I've tried to bring it back. But nothing helps. I'm cold. I'm distant. That part of me is gone. It's been consumed by Johnny "SBK" Styles. My mother calls me sometimes. She raised me on her own from the time I was a year old. My father walked out on us. My grandparents helped but my mother was the only person I had in my life most of the time. She was my best friend. She was my rock. Before I met my wife she was the only one I could trust. Now she'll call me on the phone and I won't care. I hum and hah and say yes and know where appropriate, but the emotion isn't there. It's dead. And I'm dying. All thanks the character I have made. And what happens when he can't get revenge inside the ring? What happens in the case of Brenton Cyrus. Brenton Cyrus assaulted me. Brenton Cyrus convince my son to kick his own father in the head. Brenton Cyrus pissed on my wife’s grave site. And then Brenton Cyrus beat me inside the ring. Those actions not only managed to harm me emotionally, but they also caused the Johnny Styles character to die as well. And what happens when they both die? Will I be empty? Will I myself finally wither away and die? Is that what you're trying King Of Dx? Do you want to be the man who finally kills off Johnny Styls and his wrestling persona? You want to be the man who finishes what Salvation started? Another name to make it big off of mine? Do you think you could do it?
The dream of being the best at War Games was more than enough to make Johnny Styles want to live. Styles was a young shepherd from Miami who had seen a thriving flock of three hundred reduced to a half-dozen, victims of hunger, thieves and sickness. He had a son, Alex, and a wife, Samantha, eight months pregnant with their second child. Despite the daily difficulties, Johnny had no plans to leave his freedom, no plans to attend War Games. But then, in the late winter of 2008, his ex wife, Jada, was ambushed by a band called Salvation--the New Religious Mafia. Ignoring her pleas for more time to pay off a long-standing debt, they stripped her nude, hung her from an olive tree and sliced open her stomach. It would be three days before Johnny got word about his former wife and was able to find her body, and by then the crows and maggots had had their fill. When he returned home, he found Alex missing and his wife screaming in ways he had never heard a woman cry before. They took Alex! They took my son! Who took him? Salvation! Samantha managed to shout between screams. They took my boy. They took him for the money your father owed. The money we cannot pay. Stop your crying Johnny said, removing his hands from his wife and heading for the bedroom to get his Desert Eagle. I will get Alex. Samantha fell to her knees, still crying, head cradled in her hands. I want my son! I want my son. If they want revenge, tell them to take it from your hoe for a ex wife Jada. Not from my boy. They have already taken it from her Johnny said, checking the Desert Eagle for shells as he walked past his wife and out the door.
We will be trapped King of Dx. Trapped like two animals. You say that you want this match King? You put the motion in path to try to get this spot. A spot that has been easy for you in that shit hole of a federation your always bragging about. But King, this isn’t WWKF. Your not fighting some 2k pro. But I guess its good for you to want this, because I want it too. I want it so fucking badly. I want to hurt you King. I want to see your blood. I want to hear your bones snap. I want to stand above you and laugh as you cry in pain. This isn't going to be pretty. Because King, this is as personal as it can possibly be. You haven‘t done anything to me, but there watching. There watching my every move and for that I must treat this as a personal mission. This isn't about testing our skills. I could not care less if you're a better wrestler than me. This is about you getting in my way. I'm going to love dragging your face across that mat King. I'm going to love watching the blood ooze from your body. I'm going to take more pride in injuring you than I have in anything else I have done. You believe your worth something, when the facts are your still that spam artist that I met in JWF, only difference is today, you found a mentor in Havoc. And that's just fine. You can point your penis wherever the hell you want it. Because this isn't about Havoc stocking your cock. This isn’t about Havoc fucking Shayne. This isn't a pissing contest King. This has nothing to do with wrestling. This has nothing to do with the NLWF. This is a street fight that happens to be in front of a live television audience. It's funny King of Dx. It's funny because you don't understand. You don't get it. You look out at that crowd and you see signs with my name on them. You listen and you hear people chanting my name. I am the NLWF. This is my company. And you don't understand how that's possible. You've won championships before. You've joined up with the Job squad of the West. You've had periods of dominance in the past. But no one gives a fuck about you King. Because you're not ME. And you can't deal with that. So you come up with your conspiracy theories. You come up with anything you can to make yourself feel better, to cope with the fact that I am better than you. And I forever will be. You're nothing. You're an angry footnote. And why King? because you're not special. You're DXLatin with different hair. You've spent your career surrounding yourself with lose that are just like you. And you've blended into the background. You've become one of many. And just like I defeated Havoc before, I'm going to defeat you. You're just another one of them. You're nothing more than a copy, and a poor one at that. You claim to be pure evil. You claim to be allied with Satan himself. You think that no one can match you when it comes to brutality, when it comes to viciousness, when it comes to furiousness. You're wrong King. You're about to meet a man that is willing to give his very life to this business. You're about to witness a person that will stop at nothing to make sure that he's the only one breathing at the end of the night. You're about to meet Johnny Styles. I hope you're feeling confident. I hope you're on the top of your game. Because that will make your destruction even more delicious. I might just bathe in your blood. I've always been the underdog. No one ever thought I could be a professional wrestler. I am one. No one ever thought I could win a championship. I've won several. No one ever thought that I could represent an industry. With or without a belt I've been doing just that for years. And no one thinks that one man - alone and battered - can defeat the Salvation. Well that's exactly what is going to happen in the near future You've spent your entire career with your lips wrapped firmly around someone’s ass, and here in the West the story hasn’t changed with Havoc riding you from behind. You've never accomplished anything on your own. And you never will. Legacy is the end of the line for you. Legacy is where you die. And you should consider yourself lucky. Someone like you deserves to wither away in an alley somewhere, becoming food for rats and a sex toy for the homeless. You deserve to disappear without anyone noticing, without anyone caring. But thanks to me you're going to get much, much better than that. You're going to take your final breaths inside the ring, with spotlights shining on you as your lungs gasp to bring in air. You're going to drip blood in front of an international audience, twitching with pain as the crimson liquid leaves your body cold and stiff. When your heart stops beating and your brain shuts down the world will be right there with you. And I will be standing above you, laughing frantically, as King of Dx leaves this earth, and runs back to WW-Who gives a fuck -- [ FIN ] -- |