The Strange Shore

The sounds entered his ears like visitors stepping across the threshold of their hosts, pushing through the boundaries and making themselves home for the time being, washing over his cheek like the gentle lapping waves of a beach, his face at first hot and dry and suddenly becoming moist and covered in a watery blanket, rolling up over his head before slinking backwards as if terrified by an unseen predator lurking in wait, reaching its limits as it backs away, leaving his face bathed in a warm glow and the feeling of that dry heat once again. He felt paralysed, unable to move a muscle no matter how hard he tried, feeling powerless and deciding to just lie still until all mobility returned, instead feeling his limbs involuntarily sliding to and fro of their own accord, not knowing how or why and instead just going with the flow and allowing it to continue. If he was blunt, the feeling of letting his body move itself uncontrollably felt nice, almost as if he was floating on air and not having to worry about expending energy needlessly. That was something he'd hated after all these years, having to shift a part of his body this way or that way, having to direct himself and think about where he had to be when he toiled and put everything he had in the battles that took place inside the ring since he first started training all those years ago. He was known as one of the industry's top psychological grapplers as well as one of the most accomplished and talented, something that only a handful of others could claim alongside him. All that time, all those years and now here he was allowing whatever force it was washing over him to control his body, make his arms and legs sway as he lay there feeling totally relaxed and calm instead of having those well defined muscles tense up and pump blood through his veins with all the force of a mighty tsunami within his body whenever he wished to raise an arm to his face or use a leg to push forwards and walk.

It seemed as if he was there for all of eternity, sands of time clinging to him as he allowed the world to pass him by while he lay there, still and dormant, not wishing to wake from this fantastical dream. Of course it must be a dream, why else would he feel so calm, so exhilarated and so unwilling to force the feeling aside to make way for reality, the same reality he'd spent his life within with its little inconsistencies, its faults and wasteful moments where life passed by without a second thought towards waiting and allowing a person to enjoy what makes the world such a wonderful, exciting and delightfully unusual place to exist. No, he'd already made his decision; he was going to stay here within this weird world where his senses were heightened so that every noise heard and every touch that came upon his skin and created such a tingly and light feeling that he hoped this fantasy realm, this dream-like state would never leave him. Never had he experienced something like this, never did he want it to disappear and evaporate into the atmosphere, this ethereal plane seeming as if it had come from nowhere just to make him feel the natural high coursing through him right now. Maybe he was in some sort of drug induced stupor? So what if he was, this feeling was amazing, far beyond his control but not as if he ever wanted to control this anyway, he enjoyed it. If it was drug related, well he'd just slipped off the wagon after a year and a half, a lot longer than most former addicts had spent clean.

The only reason he was on drugs anyway was because his partying with then-girlfriend Karla Kotero had messed him up to the point that madness was about to settle in his mind, paranoia beginning to form within him as the cocaine mixed into his bloodstream and made him dizzy and anxious. He'd been off them for a while but this feeling he had rushing through every part of his body as he felt his limbs gently swaying as if moved by some sort of unseen force was very similar. That's why he believed he'd fallen off the wagon, the sense that perhaps he'd taken just a little something and had ended up here, all of this in his mind. Or perhaps.......perhaps this wasn't a dream or the result of drugs. Perhaps this was Heaven. That golden land, the Elysium fields where souls were said to end up when leaving the mortal realm, free to wander around without being held back by such things as energy and movement, where the deceased seem to float and have no need for muscles or blood or anything else that is required for movement. Yeah, that was it, he'd somehow died and ended up here basking in this glow, his hearing empowered while his vision remained blurry and filled with nothing but white. He lay there wondering how he'd ended up in such a place, wondering how he'd died and arrived here, remembering a sort of swirling and dizziness as things disappeared from sight until even his sight seemed to be lost to him, blackness engulfing his very surroundings, creeping up on him with no warning, attacking with a grappling force that made him feel scared and bewildered. Suddenly he'd gone from that to this brightness, this relaxed feeling. He didn't want to continue dwelling on it though, mulling over the origins of this strange journey that ended in this unknown place, instead choosing to continue enjoying every moment in this strange wilderness. The peace and tranquility was overwhelming, settling in his very core and bringing even more happiness and joy.

Which was soon shattered by a sudden noise that awoke him from this serenity, aroused his senses even more and forced his body to shudder with fright even though he didn't move from his position, still wishing to remain completely relaxed in this unknown territory. The noise came again, still as unclear as the first time it broke the soft silence of the calm he'd enjoyed for so long, loud and imposing. Keep his ears on the lookout for more sudden noises, that same thing again broke out, becoming clearer with every time it was echoed around his vicinity, sounding gruff and heavy and forced and slightly temperamental. He attempted to keep himself in this relaxed state but found that with this noise repeating itself every few seconds, he was unable, feeling tense all of a sudden, the calm he'd enjoyed seeming to slip into a void and disappear for good, replaced by a shivering cold that wrapped around him tightly, suffocating him as his once relaxed face made way for a wide eyed stare, every muscle in his skull tightening, his breathing becoming more rapid and shallow while his heart began to beat faster and louder in his chest. A final time for this noise revealed to his ears that it was a male voice, the tone of voice set somewhere between forceful and angry, drowning out his feelings of relaxation once and for all.

Voice: I said get up!

The powerful tone of the voice made him do just that, first starting off with his right hand, fingers outstretched and bending, fingertips meeting something both solid yet fragile, tiny fragments of something being dragged across by his touch. His left leg moved, finding that it was bent at the knee with his foot coming near his right calf, using all the force within him as his thoughts became processed via the electricity of his brain, allowing the muscles in his leg to tighten and move, numbness causing his limb to be slower than usual thanks to the fact he had been so used to being motionless in this strange yet exhilarating place. His right hand planted itself flat on its palm, his right leg now moving as well as his left arm, one foot planted firmly with toes aainst the ground and both hands pushing himself up off his chest and stomach. It was then that he managed to get a first glimpse at something though he wasn't sure what it was, vision still filled with that brilliant blurry white as his eyes tried to get accustomed to his surroundings, first seeing a slightly tanned peach colour in a fan shape before his very eyes, focusing even more as details came to him slowly but surely, eventually finding that the fans were his hands, slender fingers spread out to support his weight as he lifted himself and remained with his chest at least off the ground. As his sight returned to him, he noticed small mounds of the ground beneath him gathered around his hands, moving one of them slightly to see a slight indentation of a hand print, tilting his head to his left and surrised to find that a gentle lapping of water rose up along the ground before retreating momentarily, almost like it were engaged in a battle, liquid taking on solid, taking a moment of solace before engaging the enemy once more.

Tilting his head even more he managed to look toward what was behind him, aghast at what appeared before his eyes. A vast ocean stretching out all the way towards the horizon, met by the sky like two neighbours sharing the very distance willingly, waves crashing far away but causing smaller siblings to appear closer to home, washing upon the shore and creating that blanket that rolled over him every few seconds that caused his limbs to sway and his body to feel as if it were gently rocking by itself with no effort from him, the warmth on the left side of his face being that of the sun in the sky visible in one corner of the atmosphere, shining down with all its might. The right side of his face felt dry, his hand brought up to touch it and finding that it was rough, scratchy, not like the left side at all, watching as something fine and microscopic fell like a waterfall, the same look and texture as the ground below while his fingertips were covered in the same substance. Rubbing his fingers together he realised he was on some sort of beach, although where he had no idea. Perhaps this was his vision of Paradise, legends telling that for some people, eternity would be covered in vast sandy beaches and perfect blue waters just like those he found himself in, those he was currently experiencing. He continued to look around, drowning not in water but in his unusual surroundings, trying to drink it all in as if he was thirsty for the knowledge of his whereabouts. In front of him, right at the background beyond the sand stood a vast greenery, leaves showing where trees and bushes made up the majority of it while portions of brown trunks lay in large clumps holding up those majestic specimens of plant life.

At that point he saw two more trunks, this time not brown but the same colour as his hands, at their summit not the green leaves that stood atop the trees in the distance but a bare torso, long matted greying hair hanging down onto the chest and shoulders while a similar looking bushy beard covered most of this person's face like its own bush, this stranger's head similar to the forest behind him. This male stared with piercing eyes, almost frowning although perhaps it seemed that way through the passages of time not being particularly kind to this man, totally unsure due to the gruffness of the voice barking at him to get up off the ground. Before the old man could bark the repeated order again, he pushed himself up further, feeling the strangeness of his muscles being motivated by his desire to not hear this old man yelling at him further. Every sinew of muscle in his legs felt strained and tight as he hauled his own body weight up onto his feet, taking the strain as sensations pulsated all around his body, a gentle throbbing as well as a dull ache appearing in both calves that made him feel almost as if the lower portions of his legs would explode and disable him from moving again, not that he'd want to, the longing to lie back down on the sandy beach being washed over by the gentle lapping of the ebbs and tides of the ocean becoming strong. He had to fight that desire and remain upright, staring this old man in the face to prove that he could comply with this simple request to rise to his feet. Feeling satisfied with himself for accomplishing this, he tried to suppress a smile, not only to avoid enraging this old man but also because he didn't want to break the absolute comfort and relaxation that had soaked all over his face so far.

Old Man: Follow me.

With that sudden and brand new order, the old man turned on his bare heels and walked away towards the forestry, away from this gentle sea and soft sand. He stared after the old man, this stranger in a foreign land that had disturbed his peace and quiet to demand he get up, wondering where he could be going and why he wished him to follow but decided quickly that he had no choice but to follow, try to discover why he requested such a thing of him. Using his legs again, this time continuously rather than just to make the effort to stand up, he followed, throwing caution to the wind even if there wasn't even a single breeze to carry caution upon its meandering across this land. Each footstep seemed dream-like, as if he were not of this world and instead floating along a glassy surface, his legs moving along with the surroundings even if it didn't feel as thought anything were happening, feeling as if he were maybe on a treadmill while everything around him was on a giant screen being tugged by someone behind him giving the impression of movement. Before he knew it however, he was amongst that lush green, every direction awash with plant life, swishing sounds and crackling as he stared after the old man, watching him move further and further away into the dense forest. He followed quickly, not caring where he was to tread and only interested in following in the old man's footsteps, keep up with him as he wandered further and further.

His vision, in a complete reversal to the blur and the unfocused stare of only moments ago, was crystal clear and of a clarity he hadn't experienced before, almost as if he could not only see his surroundings and the path with which he were following but also feel them using just his eyes, like his sight could somehow sense touch, awakening in a fashion in which he was completely unaccustomed. A moment of panic set in when he discovered that he could no longer see the old man, not through a sudden and unprovoked blindness but some other means, one in which he didn't quite fully understand. How could he? He didn't even know where he was or how he ended up here let alone whether this was some kind of fictional reality or realistic fantasy. That feeling of being alone in such a unique place he couldn't comprehend terrified him, causing that feeling of his heart beating at speed and with a pounding that seemed overly forceful and powerful even for a mighty organ such as this making him feel as if his chest were about to explode violently. A wave of fear arrived upon the shoreline of his mind, crashing like a great wave, creating the fear of drowning in abandonment, his pulse racing as his legs began to do the same, moving faster and faster at a pace in which he wasn't used to but despite the pain and agony coarsing through him and making him begin to ache all over and especially in his calves he kept on going with his shins beginning to feel stretched and tight wth no way of relieving that feeling while his chest heaved with every deep pant and throat constricting and tightening causing him to struggle to breathe as the smalls beads of sweat forming on his brow and chest allowed gentle drops that created trails along his skin helped by both gravity and his quick movements through this undergrowth.........

There he was; the old man he'd lost, standing staring at him as before with a stern look upon what parts of his face were visible. Moving closer, his breathing struggling to return to normal, resume its steady pace while his heart gently slowed, every off beat pounding out......boom BOOM boom BOOM boom BOOM........sighing loudly with every exhale. The old man just watched as he approached at a walking pace, finding himself brought ever closer with every step he took until standing directly in front of this seemingly disapproving old man. His watchful gaze shifted as he turned once again away to the opposite direction, leading the way and creating a path towards a destination that remained unknown, questions forming in the mind but too afraid of the consequences of asking, unwilling to enquire as to where they may be going also because this may still be a dream, total fantasy of which he was afraid of waking up and having this whole world disappear forever, never to return no matter how hard he may try. The old man trekked onwards, coming to a halt then raising his right hand into the air, motioning forwards with two deft flicks of his forefinger before continuing on. The sight that befell him at this moment was certainly different to what had gone before, the first signs of some sort of civilisation opening up right before his eyes, the old man leading him out of the bushes and towards a small village made up of circular stone huts with each one topped by a roof made entirely of intertwined sticks and twigs, holes in the side of each building as a way to enter and exit each one. In the very middle of this tiny civilisation stood a clearing with a fire at the very epicentre for warmth at night and for cooking food. Even though it was daylight and the sun was radiating its own warmth and light, the fire burned away on its bed of rocks and sticks.

The old man stared at him, leaving him with the impression that perhaps he should speak up, ask where they were and what they were doing there, ask who he was, why he ordered him to get up. There was still the strong desire to know how he'd even managed to appear in this strange and desolate world but as if he could read minds, the old man simply nodded, creating within him a sense of understanding and peace, of calm and stability. He moved his left arm and in one sweeping motion, directed it so that his open palm was shown, fingers pointed towards the fire in the middle of the village. Without hesitation, he complied although he wasn't sure why, feeling his legs move as he strided out there into that village, standing by the fire and feeling its heat against his legs as it rose up, giving a slightly lesser feeling of the same to his torso. Turning his head and upper body, he noticed that the old man had followed him, staring at his quizzical face for several moments before opening his mouth to answer the unspoen question running through his head.

Old Man: You arrived here through sheer coincidence, unknowingly and without requestiung your journey to commence.

The questions formed as quickly as he'd heard this, wondering how he traveled, where he was standing right now (other than the obviousness of the answer, not knowing where exactly in the world or in his dreams this location was situated) and why this happened. Almost as if they shared a telepathic bond or he could predict the future questions he felt tempted to ask, the old man responded.

Old Man: Washed up.

The two very words shocked and surprised him, causing a welling feeling of upset within his very soul. How could he be washed up? Where exactly was he to be washed up? There was no sinking ship that had him aboard, in fact he couldn't even remember ever stepping aboard a small boat but even if this old man were right then he was incapable of washing ashore. If there was an event happening that caused the tides to turn violently then he definitely wouldn't have been aboard, he would've left a long time before the ship started to sink under the waves to be lost forever as nothing but a memory. He'd always keep his head above water until he found dry land again, telling stories of the times he'd spent sailing the seas and why he'd ended up sitting recounting tales of honour, of courage and of mankind's ability to help each other out and show teamwork. Now here was this old man he'd never seen before telling him that he was washed up like he lacked a certain something when clearly, he found the strength to rise to his feet and stand tall and proud on the beach, something he wouldn't be able to do if he was too weak as this mysterious old stranger was suggesting. No, he wasn't going to believe this sheer hypothesis whatsoever. His gaze remained fixed on the weathered features of this native man, hair tangled from the time spent in the salty depths of the ocean.

Old Man: You need to start again, learn anything you may have forgotten, treat yourself as a new spark until you're able to become a roaring fire.

He nodded, somehow knowing what he meant. Even if he didn't agree with the previous comment about how he'd arrived on this strange land, he almost certainly understood what was meant now. The old man somehow wanted him to start over, learn everything he'd known or was taught all over again, try to make himself stronger for it. All of this so far had been a test, from being made to climb up from his stupor face down on the shore after so long completely still and unmoving to following the old man into the forest, using every fibre within his leg muscles to walk behind, his arms pushing aside branches and leaves, learning all about fear as he found he was alone and began to run after he'd learned to walk again. He realised that while basic motions and actions were collected in his mind as gathered memories, that's all they were at this moment in time; memories and nothing more. To fully understand his capabilities and resume them as before, he had to do what he could and follow the directions of the old man until he could perform these actions without even thinking about it. He had to run on instinct alone but as of right now, he'd forgotten how to do that. A whole new fear washed over him as he struggled to face the fact that everything he knew and used with ease, everything he performed to the delight of fans who paid to see him and others entertain them inside staged battles had to be taught to him again, everything from quick reflexes to athletic agility and even the mindset of a true combatant willing to stand up for what he believed in.

He looked back at the old man standing next to him, wondering what could be in store for him as he tried to prepare himself for whatever could be his first lesson but is suddenly taken aback when the old man snatches his wrist, causing him to jump with fear as a natural reflex, watching in horror as the old man thrusts his arm towards the fire, making him feel the heat first as a warm comfort and then gradually slipping into the more painful dimensions of his humanity. The extreme discomfort and growing pain felt on his exposed forearm renders him unable to take it any more but forced to as the old man stares at his now frightened expression, almost a wicked smile on his face as he continues to inflict this pain.

Old Man: Take it, don't allow the pain and the fear to control you, take control of it and you will be able to take control of your destiny. Learn to make the heat and the fire yours and yours alone so that it's you who can rise to the top and stake your claim as the true great you are.

Of course. Why didn't he see it like this before? This was beginning to finally make sense now, him being washed up on the shoreline with no desire to do anything except just lie there taking the elements as they washed over him until the old man had arrived as a sort of wake up call, forcing him to his feet, marching him through the wilderness and now testing him by reintroducing him to pain. Who knows what other tests he'd have to endure but the only thing he could be sure of was that whatever they were, he would welcome them with open and very hot arms.



******

Somewhere in a quiet rural area full of trees and shrubs birds are heard chirping, their flapping wings becoming louder as a car is heard approaching, getting gradually louder and louder until an orange Dodge Charger leaps over a felled tree, landing with a crash as the chassis bounces off the ground, sparks shooting up around the tyres as a dust cloud is pushed up, the car driving away at speed. We follow the car as it speeds through the trees towards an unknown destination, stopping outside a house in the middle of a suburban street, the driver's side facing this home and we can see that the driver has long dark hair, a sleeveless denim jacket with the buttons unfastened to show a little skin while he wears Gucci sunglasses over his eyes and chews gum. A man with short blonde hair leaves the house, running towards the car and sliding across the hood, accidentally dropkicking a small child off his bicycle as he passes, the two ending up on the road momentarily until the blonde gets to his feet, hopping through the window of the car into the passenger seat and yelling.

Blonde: YEEHAWWWW!!

He looks at the driver of the car, watching as he starts up the engine and pushes his foot down on the gas, screeching away at speed. The driver is obviously the Messiah of Metal, no other person could look like him but the passenger is new to MCW, the former cruiserweight wrestler and younger brother to Dazz, the man known to a few sections of the fans as Kid Chaos. Kid smiles and looks ahead through the dash, speaking as he does.

Kid Chaos: You know, you look dumb with that damn denim jacket on.

Dazz smiles and laughs, continuing to chew his gum to keep his breath minty fresh and have his jaw used to moving in such a way ready for the promo he'd surely do at some point in the near future against Jay Williams. Dazz continues speeding along the dirt roads as he responds, still grinning.

Dazz: Lay off it man, I haven't worn this in ages and I wanna try and look the part when we did our old Dukes of Havok thing again.

His younger brother just shook his head, laughing gently at his sibling.

Kid Chaos: You know you're gonna get in trouble, be accused of racism or something.

Dazz: Racism? Really? No man, remember when we used to watch the Hazzard boys on tv as kids, wish we were them? Well now I got a little time to unwind, here we go again. Nothing racist about it at all unless now the French suddenly cry racism whenever someone eats a croissant or something.

Skidding to a halt, Kid quickly raises his arms in front of his face in terror, covering himself for protection as the sounds of rustling and branches from bushes scrape against the sides of the vehicle. The brakes screech and wail as if they're in agony until finally the car comes to a complete halt near a metal barrier there to prevent drivers from sending their car hurtling over the side of a steep hill, the background showing a beautiful sight of San Rafael in California, its white church standing tall and proud amongst the serene peace of the rest of the immediate area. Kid lowers his arms and looks, watching as Dazz unfastens his seatbelt and opens the door, stepping outside and walking around to the hood of the car to take a seat on the edge, looking out at this beautiful scene. The younger Canadian breathes a sigh of relief, lucky to still be alive as he feels all over his chest, gently slapping himself in the face to make sure before climbing out to sit on the other side of the hood.

Kid Chaos: We are alive right?

Dazz looks over at him, his eyes not visible behind the sunglasses but his body language hinting that he's mildly bemused at the question.

Dazz: And what the hell does that mean?

Kid Chaos: Well, you know, the way you were driving....

Dazz: I was driving perfectly fine, how could you drive safely in this thing when you know there's gonna be no one around? Just cause you retired from wrestling suddenly you're Safety Man all of a sudden.

Kid Chaos: No I'm not, I just prefer my body to be sorta alive and breathing not jammed into the dashboard air con system.

Dazz: Aww whatever, ya big baby.

Kid Chaos: I'd think you'd wanna stay as healthy and injury free as possible since you're getting some regular matches again but just when I think you're gonna be mellow you pull a crazy stunt like that.

Dazz: I'm just driving is all.

Kid Chaos: Yeah, driving me insane with shit like that, come on, I got a family man, if I end up having to go home in a coffin because of you, you know what my wife will do? She'll KILL me.

Dazz: This is the woman who panicked every time you hit just a regular dropkick remember.

Kid Chaos: Well yeah but at least she cares. Unlike yours, she hasn't contacted you for ages has she?

Dazz: That was thanks to her stepsister and besides, Faith was no angel during that time either but we've been on speaking terms for a few months now. She's even returning to MCW this week.

Kid Chaos: Ahh, ok. Well you better keep an eye on her cause if she ends up winning gold before you do.....

Dazz: You'll point and laugh?

Kid Chaos: Exactly. Heard from Cody?

Dazz: Nahh, apparently he's gone to Europe to meet and greet fans, probably get begged to come out of retirement but he's more interested in fishing with dad and Jason now.

Kid Chaos: Dad as in mine or yours?

Dazz: Sorry, sorry, keep forgetting. Mine, still not used to this, just seems weird mum told us dad left then I find out my real dad is a Stylez. Crazy.

Kid Chaos: How's Scotty?

Dazz: Still mourning, he's really shaken up over Ryan, don't blame him, that was a massive shock to all of us.

He stares into the distance, tilting his head slightly up to the heavens as if trying to see his cousin Ryan Coleman staring back at him from the clouds. Ryan had been unfortunately gunned down during a robbery at a store he was in, leaving his older brother Scotty Ace as the sole member of the extended family. It had seemed ironic that Dazz had been a member of the Fallen Angelz alongside Scotty and Jason, holding Tag Team gold with the latter before watching them fight for a World title and having his own brief set of brawls against Stylez when Dazz found himself as new World champ. Then becoming friends with Coleman, watching as he became the very first CWF International champion then finding out all four of them were related......the shock of the revelation, the pride in the fact he was a 2nd generation member of the Stylez Dynasty along with "New Age Degenerate" Cody Stylez and then the break down and upset when Ryan died in such a violent manner. He couldn't help still being in mourning himself.

Kid Chaos: Dazz?

He turned his head, facing his younger brother, seeing that the way the light shone on his face really highlighted the bonde stubble upon his face.

Kid Chaos: If you beat Jay, do it for Ry but you gotta snap out of this, pick yourself up and move on cause it wont do you any good, you can't go and change it.

He was right of course, he couldn't keep feeling bad over this. Ryan had died months ago, why was he the only one other than Scotty still feeling bad about it? He had other stuff weighing on his mind, not least this return to MCW, why should he potentially take his head out of the game when Ryan would want him to stand tall and do what he did best. And that was win matches against some of the best in the business.

******



It's wearing on my mind,
I'm speaking all my doubts aloud
You rob a dead mans grave,
Then flaunt it like you did create

If I hit bottom and everythings gone
In the great Mississippi, please drown me and run

It's digging time again,
you're nurturing the weakest trend

Those with the heart and the brain to get past this
Can spot a pathetic without even asking

Fuck your magazine,
and fuck the long dead plastic scene
Pierce a new hole,
if Hell was "in" you'd give your soul to...

THE GREAT SOUTHERN TRENDKILL
That's right,
THE GREAT SOUTHERN TRENDKILL
Fuck yeah
Buy it at a store,
from MTV to on the floor
You look just like a star,
it's proof you don't know who you are

If I hit bottom and everythings gone
In the great Mississippi, please drown me and run

It's bullshit time again,
you'll save the world within your trend

Those with the heart and the brain to get past this
Can spot a pathetic without even asking

Politically relieved,
your product sold and well received
The right words spoken gold,
if I was God you'd sell your soul to...

THE GREAT SOUTHERN TRENDKILL
That's right
THE GREAT SOUTHERN TRENDKILL
Fuck yeah

The Great Southern Trendkill - Pantera



******

A wooden hand comes into view, waving up and down as if saying hello, the grain in the smooth and varnished wood reflecting light as it casts a gentle shadow immediately below it on what looks like a small makeshift stage. The camera pulls back slowly but surely, revealing the rest of the hand crafted set, a detailed background painted to look like a theatre set with little red curtains made from velvet hanging on each side. The top of this miniature is open where strings are attached to the wooden hand, the hand being shown attached to an arm being pulled up and down by gentle tugging of the string. The arm seems to be attached to a wooden puppet that seems handmade to look vaguely like somebody familiar, feet painted black and the legs covered in what looks like the leftovers from an old leather jacket that has been cut up to create a pair of pants that hide everything on this puppet from the waist down to the ankles. The upper torso is bare and with detailed chiseling and smoothing over the rough edges, especially on the stomach and chest areas. The head has long dark hair-like material stuck to the top hanging down to the shoulders while a slightly arrogant smirk and a pair of sunglasses have been painted on as a face. The puppet seems to perform a little dance across the stage, half lifted and half pulled gently in an attempt to make it walk across from one side ot the other before striking a poorly performed pose with both arms raised high in the air, attempting to look like an extroverted plea to pay attention to it but ending up more as a sort of surrendering stance.

The camera pulls back further to show that the person manipulating the puppet looks very similar to it, only made of flesh and bone and not wood although the defined features, especially on the torso, are quite obviously as well crafted and sculpted as the puppet's similar features. Quite obviously, this is Dazz dressed like his puppet, letting it give a sort of bow at an unheard round of applause before gently laying it to rest on the mini stage and laying the strings flat to make sure they don't tanle and entwine into each other. Looking back up at the camera, the Messiah of Metal leans forwards against the surface that the puppet theatre is standing on, the camera too close to see whether it's a table or something else but either way sturdy enough to allow his weight to be distributed as he leans slightly forwards, towering over the puppet. He raises his left hand to adjust his Louis Vuitton sunglasses before placing it back down to lean against whatever is in front of him.

Dazz: So, Jay Williams seems to think I'm a puppet for Jacob Laymon does he? Really? Hmmm, I dunno about that one. You see, it was myself and Anthony Wallace who actually hired Jacob Laymon to work for MCW and when Wallace retired and only then did Laymon find himself in a position above me as owner of this fine company while I remained as General Manager. Bet you think I hated it, having the power taken by someone who used to wrestle for this place. Wrong on your first count Jay, I didn't mind nor care. In fact I was pleased that someone like him wanted to step up and take the job and quite obviously did such a good job that the company is still here today. The only reason I left this place and stood down as GM was because didn't think my behind the scenes work was up to the standards I'd have liked and wanted to explore other options, now though I'm back as an active member of the locker room shared by the likes of yourself. Not through desperation or to gain anything material out of it but to be able to say I competed at the very best level I could in an MCW ring show after show after show rather than one off matches.

Tilting his head to the side and looking slightly downwards towards the left side of the puppet theatre, Dazz brings his right hand up to gently rub and massage his trap muscle, brushing away some of his long dark hair as it flicks out and comes to a rest along his shoulder blade instead of just against the top of his pectoral. He looks back up at the camera, seeming to stare right through it almost as if his gaze could pierce the sunglasses and straight out of the tv at the viewer.

Dazz: People said I was washed up, couldn't handle the business any more, needed to be put out to pasture. Do you realise what that's like for a guy barely 29 years of age to be told that? Usually that kind of talk is reserved for those in their 40s and 50s still hanging onto past achievements because they can't move forwards. I've been moving forwards constantly like a self-propellant engine always in forward motion, never stalling, never stopping. Hell knows why people claim I'm washed up and over the hill when my young age is usually the time when some wrestlers only just begin to hit their stride. Maybe my veteran expertise in some of the best wrestling promotions in the world and the fact I've won almost every kind of championship you can imagine makes some people think I'm older than I actually am? Maybe the fact I've held a career total so far of 25 World Heavyweight and Undisputed championships belies my youth and somehow confuses and deludes people into thinking I'm more than double my age even if that number only accurately represents the knowledge I've gained by competing with and against some of the best in the business. Who knows but the fact I came back from my sabbatical, defeated Priest in an MCW Legends match then signed a contract to compete here and whupped The Executioner before being hand picked by Jacob Laymon himself to help put a halt to one of the groups opposing his leadership.....surely that speaks volumes on my so-called "washed up" status? Right?

Besides, it's not as if I'm some corporate puppet doing the bidding of my employer, it's something much more and I would've thought you'd have discovered this at some point during your employment here but I guess I can forgive any glossing over on the history of MCW. You see it's not me needing anything, not after some sort of material gain from standing up for MCW, oh no, it's a lot simpler. It's something called loyalty. It was my old company being closed down thanks to Lord Phillippe DeMontfort selling his majority shares to Anthony Wallace that created MCW and for that reason, I see this place as an extension of my own company for that fact. My wife Faith, Priest, they were just two who came over to MCW when their contracts were bought out along with mine. Therefore any threat to MCW is a threat to me and what I'd spent 5 years building previously before Wallace whipped out his checkbook and paid up. Do I need a title shot or some guarantee that I'll be in a main event match on a regular basis? No, of course not so I kinda wonder why you'd make the assumption that I somehow allow Jacob to walk all over me like a door mat when the truth of the matter is, this isn't me being forced to team with people at random, this is me standing up for MCW and showing my willingness to do whatever I can do for this company.

But then again I think the whole thing's lost on you. The way you think Laymon is pulling my strings, making me dance whenever he wants me to, that's just crazy talk. I'm my own man, I do whatever the hell I think is best for me and for the company I work for. That's the thing about people of my status, there are those who haven't won half as many championships as I have, hell my record number of World Heavyweight and Undisputed championships is double what a lot of main event wrestlers have ever earned in their careers but unlike them, I'm not some arrogant, egotistical and selfish son of a bitch only out for my own ass. No, I'm in this for everybody who wants to continue working for MCW. I could throw in some demands that my legendary status gets me World title matches and become the focus of this place but instead, I'm working my way through like everybody else has to because I'd rather test myself and earn my spots than walk into the title picture and push somebody more deserving out. That means that you should be thanking me for agreeing to help Jacob out Jay because without me doing this, Axl and Kayla may not have the calibre of partner to aid them and then you'd be out of a job along with everybody else if Malakai gets his way. Not to take anything away from the talents of my partners though because it's a team effort but the fact that you insist on my part being that of a lowly servant doing his master's bidding like a mindless sheep who can't think for myself, that's as far from the truth as it can get.

Anyway, I'm not sure I can take you seriously after your frankly ridiculous accusation that my association with Jacob Laymon is somehow insulting to the south that you and your little friends seem so hellbent on protecting. Hmmm, so somehow helping MCW, the very company you work for, is insulting to your race? Helping the boss keep people like you in employment is somehow a slap to the face of your heritage? How the hell do you come to that conclusion, consulting the tarot cards? Looking into your crystal ball and getting your friend Eric to solve a difficult math equation? Well here's a little equation for you.

MCW - Jacob Laymon = you losing your job, Southern Blood having to spend their free time harassing the patrons at NASCAR events and no money to send to your family to prove that your choice in career isn't a total waste of time.

How dare you even bring in the southern heritage like I'm somehow insulting it anyway. Facts are facts Jay, anyone who claims their heritage is being insulted by an inocuous decision such as helping this company stay alive are usually the people who do the most insulting and discriminating. What's the matter, Vincent's brainwashing got to you to the point that you're too busy worrying about your heritage than your livelihood and employment? Would you rather be a statistic during this still ongoing economic downturn, become part of the 9 million still without a job? I can't even believe you'd try and pin some sort of insult to the south on me when it's been a well known fact since he announced it live during a ppv several years ago that Jason Stylez is my half-brother, as is his older brother Cody, which means that our father has had 3 sons become legendary in this wrestling business, all of us second generation stars following in our dad's footsteps. And where did my father and half-brothers come from? That's right, the south, Texas to be precise so don't even think about bringing some sort of imaginated racism into this. It seems clear to me that you're too busy protecting your own ass than considering everybody else in this company but that's ok, if you wanna continue to talk about how great your heritage is, save it for the British Empire because as far as I'm concerned, the good ol' south just doesn't interest me in the slightest when there is something bigger and more important to think about right now in this company.

He reaches down, gripping the puppet by the waist and lifting it off the stage, holding it up vertically and staring at the similar facial features, intensely scrutinising it for all his worth for several moments, taking in every detail.

Dazz: Jay would probably relish this moment right now, seeing me as the veteran, the top guy and the puppet as the younger generation, those new to the business. He somehow said that I was holding younger talent down for my own gains. First of all, like I said I'm not even 30 years old yet so I'm still considered one of the younger guys. Second, how am I holding down talent? By coming into MCW as one of the new guys in the locker room? By trying to find my way around the place and get to know everyone that I'm not familiar with? By having Jacob Laymon choose me as someone he could trust to aid him in his quest against his brother's little group? I think you might need a dictionary - a southern one of course so you can understand it - and look up the word "dominate" because really, what have I dominated since my return? I've had two matches so far, one a dark match and another a main event match against Rayne Young that I had no say in at all, it shocked me as much as anyone when I found out I was in that position on the card. The point of all of this? Jay Williams, you're wrong and will continue to be wrong as long as you don't pay attention to what's going on around you so my advice to you to make sure you end up successful in MCW would be to do what my brother Jason always said in promos......close your mouth and open your ears. If you take that advice, you might just end up with a successful career in MCW instead of walking around in a haze of ignorance.

He takes one last look at the puppet, staring and giving a slight smirk before gently placing it down in a seated position resting back against the very back of the puppet theatre, walking away as the camera slowly focuses on the puppet's face before fading to black.

The End