_____________________

 

N$V: CLEMMENS
"Number Nine."

London.

My ribs are cracked and so is my ego. Till fucked me up good and I thought for sure he was aiming to kill me. There was a moment there when it felt like a happy alternative. I had tracked down Dominique in London. She had gotten a job at a dance school. It suited her.

It would be the first time I had seen her since we called off our engagement. It would break my heart if something happened to her.

Something had.

The woman behind the desk in the office of the school told me Dominique had not made it in for work and hadn’t called. Dominique’s work ethic doesn’t call for that kind of stuff. At least that’s the way I remember her.

Her house didn’t show any signs that someone had broken in. I knocked on the door but no one answered. I peered through a window trying to catch a glimpse of someone but it looked empty.

“Dom?!” I hollered up at the second story windows.

There’s no answer.

It hits me again. That sense. I don’t ignore it this time and kick open the door. Immediately from the kitchen comes Till with Dominique in his clutches.

“Well hello there Mench Clemmens. Allow me to reintroduce you to your former fiancée. Say hello.” He smiles.

“Shane!” Dominique screams.

“You know, I think I liked her best of all of them. I really wanted it to work out between the two of you. Why did it not it?” Till smiles, his eyes are wide.

“Let her go.”

“WHY DID IT NOT WORK SHANE?!” Till screams, his tone takes that of a lion.

“Cuz I knew this would happen.” I grit my teeth.

“You hear that Miss Dominique? Shane dumps you on your ass because he fears for your safety! How heroic.”

The Dope Show slices Dominique’s face, she lets out a yelp.

“What will it take to stop you?!” I scream, it kills me that there’s nothing I can do.

“What will it take to stop YOU Clemmens?” Till dives the knife into Dominique’s throat.
I breathe out and fall to my knees. Till whips her around by her hair and she falls to the floor, a bloody mess.

“Oh this is fantastic is it not? We are solving so many problems here together.” He laughs.

“Murderer.”

“Oh but I set her free. She still loved you and you had forgotten her. I freed her from the prison that is your love.” Till snorts.

“No.”

Tears roll down my cheeks… Till hoists me up by my hair. He pulls me off the ground. I’m face to face with him.

“If you want to be the champion, you have to deal with me. That is how it works!” Till throws me through the wall behind me.

I fall and the back of my head smashes through the sink. Till steps through the hole in the wall as tiles fall from the wall above him. He drives a stiff boot into my face. All I see is specks of white drywall and spots of blood. Everything is blurred.

I have a history of head injuries thanks to the big guy here.

At that moment I know exactly what I have to do if I expect to survive this. I have to use the one weapon I do have in the battle against The Dope Show.

I grab a chunk of the sink and ram it up into his fucken testicles. He groans and slumps over. I toss the piece of sink into his face as he grimaces in pain and rush to Dominique. I pull her up and her eyes have already rolled back into her head.

“Noo.” I glare at Till, “This can’t be real.”

Till gets to a knee, “Oh it is Shane. This is not your delusion. You cannot wake up out of this.”

Till's right a lot of the time.  That's what gets me so sick about the guy.  When you're awake inside a nightmare you lose all the taste in your mouth.  You throat gets dry and pretty soon you're swerving between the white and yellow lines about to go out of control.

I pull the knife out of Dominique and pop to my feet.  I leap across the room as Till rises.

"Come on!"  Till growls.

He catches me in a bear hug but I maintain my grip on the knife.  I feel like he's about to break me in half.

"Die you mother fucker!"  I jam the knife up through the soft meat under his skin.  his mouth opens and I watch the blade plunge into the roof of his mouth.

Nothing can stop the Grizzly once it's on top of you.  Unless you've got some balls and the right weapon.

Till drops me and staggers backwards.

I fall on my ass.  Till yanks the knife out of his jaw and gurgles, "You dirty fucker."

N$V: DRYDEN
"Excuses, excuses."

I wish I could be like you, man.

I really fucking do.

It would make things so much easier, being such a letdown.

You see, truth be told, I don’t remember half of the shit I did in this business. Yeah, it’s no secret I enjoy the success I’ve had. That I have a weak spot for reminiscing. I fully believe the past is what builds us. We are the sum of thousands of moments, big and small. I don’t think we build our personas on preset sorts of palates. I don’t think we’re predestined for anything. I like to believe that we make ourselves, that our past actions have a big say in who we are now, what we’re heading for in the future, and in the end, what we’ll be remembered for. I listen to your words you had for me, and I know you feel the same way. So yeah, you’ll just have to excuse me if I enjoy thinking about the things I’ve done because I’m pretty fuckin’ fond of who I’ve become. I’m one of the best that’s done this. I’m one of the best that’s ever gotten into a ring. I don’t say these things because of some notion I’ve invented. I believe I’m one the best for several reasons. For one, I’ve beaten who most others consider to be “top tier”. The best this business has to offer. Secondly, every other motherfucker out there in this game with a mouth likes to label me as “one of the best”. Finally, no matter how high the odds are stacked against me, ol’ Vegas manages to find a way through the mess. So yeah. I totally believe I’m one of the top motherfuckers here.

That’s not to say I’m not without fault. I’ve had my fair share of hard times participating in this business. Yeah, I may use the moniker “untouchable”. Thing is, I only use cute little nicknames like that when I know I can back it the fuck up. I don’t just let my mouth run like yours does. I don’t just sit on the sidelines for weeks until it matters, when it’s absolutely necessary that I fuckin’ show up-- like you’ve done. I don’t lay down and let my fucking stablemates pull their weight and mine because I think I’m above actually putting in the goddamn effort. You know why? Because I know that I can fucking keep this thing going. This whole “untouchable” business. Yeah, it’s nice being backed up by the highest ranking dude in the whole fucking company. It sure is pleasant knowing that even if I trip, I’m a part of the most successful stable in this federation’s short history. But I don’t use that shit as a fuckin’ crutch like you do. I know that, if some fucking God-awful tragedy happened tomorrow, that I could do this shit on my own. I can be that guy, the dude with no safety net who still pulls shit off effortlessly. I’ve done it before, so I know that no-fucking-body will ever have to carry me through a match or through a tournament. No one will have to take responsibilities for my actions but me. Sure, I may show a crass, immature-like demeanor to the fans and followers, but that’s just for fun. I’ve grown in my time in this business. I know something about accountability.

Unlike you.

It’s the pride I take in that responsibility that leads me to remembering all the big things I’ve been a part of. But, just the same, I’ve done so much in my time, I can’t remember every little fucking detail. Honest to God, I’ve actually forgotten entire title reigns I’ve had. Why? Because I don’t hinge my entire fucking sense of self on one thing that’s happened in my career. I’m a collective. Sure, I’ve lost. But I’ve won a fuckload more. You get the experience I’ve had though, and you’re bound to falter at some point. Like I just said, I’ve made my fair share of mistakes. You do this for years like I have and you will too. You like to bring some shit up about a couple of years ago. About how some upstart little piss-ant tag team managed to topple No Cash Value. Yeah-- I admit it, the Lukas boys beat us out for a title run in RWA. Congrats man. I’m so glad you remember it, because really-- I didn’t. I just up and forgot about that shit. Not because the memory of you edging out a win against us is so painful, but because it didn’t mean shit to me. RWA was a long time ago, hell, the match you’re talking about has been gone for two fucking years now. So yeah, the reason I didn’t remember that match isn’t because you beat me so silly I was embarrassed to recall it, but rather, it was just another fucking needle in the haystack of what makes me… me. It’s all a part of who I am. You, however, remember that night like it just happened. You take so much pride in the fact that you beat us. Do you have any idea why you put so much stock into that night while I didn’t even remember it even happened?

Because it doesn’t fucking matter to me, but to you, it fucking MAKES your career to be able to claim a win over me.

You wanna know why? You wanna be able to rest that sleepless head of yours? Wanna end your relentless self-doubt and faux-confidence about this match you’re strolling into? It’s because you know who I am, motherfucker. You know what I’m fuckin’ capable of. You call me washed up. You call me over-hyped. Has anything I’ve done so far in F1X even led the slightest bit of credence to that meaningless dribble? Have I not let my actions speak for me, only bothering to offer up insults when I’m too bored to do anything else? I’ve beaten every single bitch I’ve faced, and there’s not a goddamn glimmer of a hint that says I’m about to stop. I’m fucking rolling right now, man, I’m doing just as well, if not better, as I did back in the times when it was me holding the Universal and World titles and setting records you could only hope to ever reach. Yeah, I know you get fuckin’ hard just thinkin’ about dragging yourself up (or having someone else drag you, as the case has been so far) to my fuckin’ echelon. I know this, because you opened your cock-sucker and talked about how you used to be something to respect in terms of No Cash Value. You talk about how you were prominent in this stable for a while. How you and Shane even shared the United Titles. Whoop-de-fucking doo. You wanna try and question my confidence in the best friend I’ve had in this business? You wanna try and bring me down to your level of mediocrity?

Motherfucker, I bleed talent. I know the price of it, and I’ve fuckin’ taught dipshits like you the fee you’d have to pay to be like us for years now. You talk about how you were some big-dick in No Cash Value, but ask yourself, “Where was Seth Dryden during those days?” Go ahead, I’ll give ya a second to sit and think about it… Done? Yeah, I was nowhere fucking near the business at any point that you were actually deemed decent enough to hold our ranks, share our titles and run with our crew. Yeah, I say “our”. Do you even know why? Because I helped build the house that’s been protecting your fucking useless reputation for the past month and a half, you fuckin’ rube. No Cash Value wasn’t laid into place by Clemmens’ hands alone. We built the reputation it has now on countless wins, destroyed Hall-of-Famers and broken dreams of punk asses just like you, week in and week out for years. And now you wanna fuckin’ ask me if I question my faith in that dude who stood by me in the trenches for so long? You wanna know if I still have confidence in the guy that you trusted with a title? Motherfucker-- FUCK your titles. I trust Shane to the ends of the earth, but I’ve always seen you as a fuckin’ second-string replacement for me. That’s all you and your fuckbuddy Johnny’s ever been, just a fuckin’ distraction for fans and bookers alike while the real No Cash Value was too busy to grace a company with its presence. So while you’ve been playing second fiddle all these years, so fuckin’ flustered and blushing over the fact you managed to beat us ONCE, maybe it’s time you learned to pay your fuckin’ dues to be a part of this brand name. Maybe it’s time you showed gratitude for the motherfuckers that PAVED the way for punks like you.

It’s time you learned respect, asshole.

You talk about “going hard every time”. You spout your shit off about beating us. About how you two knuckleheads are poised to take us down once again so that you can be the United Champions. Fact is-- you haven’t done dick in this fucking company since day one, and you know it, bitch. Your cousin has broken his back with YOUR weight while you’ve been too occupied trying to find a dick to suck to bother helping win a single goddamn match this whole time. And you think that not only are titles are as good as yours, but that you even deserve a fuckin’ shot at them? Give me a fuckin’ break, bench player. This federation deserves better than some fucking absentee champion, which is exactly what would happen if you fuckin’ won the titles. And yeah, sure, you’re probably gonna bring up how I’m the most absentee fuckin’ roster member this side of Joe Mokoko, but guess what, fuckhead-- the times, they are a’ changing. When’s the last time you honestly saw the real No Cash Value in action like this? When’s the last time you saw me, Vegas, runnin’ motherfuckers into the ground every goddamn week like it was goin’ out of style? Yeah, I’m thinkin’ “never” and ya know why? Because you haven’t done half the shit I have. You haven’t been around for the fraction of the time I’ve put in. And you sure as shit haven’t put in an ounce of effort that can compare with what Shane and I are doing.

“High Society”?

More like slummin’ it.

And yeah, I admit it, at first… I was kinda psyched to see you two in the finals with us. I mean, sure, you hadn’t earned a goddamn thing since your fuckin’ name was put on the roster, but hell-- maybe if Shane and I couldn’t do it, you two could. Maybe you could bring home the titles for No Cash Value. But now? Yeah, I’m not seeing it like four-on-two any more. Not in the slightest. Because I’ve heard every word you’ve finally found the energy to say, and I’ve turned over a new objective for this match. No longer is it about No Cash Value winning the titles as a group. Shit, it’s not even about me and Shane becoming champions. Naw… I see this match as my own personal chance to make you my fuckin’ bitch, dude. And guess what-- when I set my crosshairs on someone, that person has a tendency of falling, hard. Look at Jaxx. He thought he could run his mouth without consequence too. TWO losses later, and he’s finally started to understand the concept that I’m not just all talk. The notion that I’m just some over-hyped hack. The truth that I’m not yet past my prime. And you’re going to learn every fuckin’ lesson that nozzle learned, except you’re going to learn that shit ten-fold, man. I’m going to make sure of it.

This little ranting and raving session I just had? This is the last time I’m going to reference that win you managed over us. Not because it doesn’t matter in the long run. Not because I don’t remember it (and let’s face it, I’ve forgotten more shit about this business that you ever have hopes of even learnin’) and not because I’m ashamed. You talk a lot, but you don’t even mention that other loss I suffered in RWA. Yeah, it was to my current tag team partner. Anybody that was around in those days knows that we were going through a bit of a fight, both in the ring and out of it. We were distracted. Fact is, you managed to beat us on our WORST day. But that shit isn’t a problem now. We don’t have that kinda bullshit hanging over our heads. We’re past it. That’s over. You wanna know my excuses for the sins of my past? You wanna know some bullshit that validates every little stumble I’ve endured? Fuck that. Unlike Johnny, who’s been covering for you left and right for weeks now, I’m not going to make excuses. Me and Shane-- the real No Cash Value, we won’t need any fuckin’ bullshit to explain away what happens this Aftershock, though I’m sure Johnny will be stuttering out more reasons why you couldn’t be bothered to actually exhibit some form of skill or talent or effort. Do you know why it seems you can’t be bothered to actually care about what happens in F1X, dude?

Because you know you don’t have the talent to keep up.

You’re just a fuckin’ fifth wheel to the success No Cash Value’s had.

Hey, Brett…

You’re fucked.
 

 

N$V: DRYDEN
"Two in the chest, one in the head."

Whenever I find myself in situations like the one that night, after Rik and I left the warehouse, I think back to what Acheston told me the first time we fought. He said that I was already like him. Now that I think back to it, I know he was talking about the killing. The urge that rises up inside you once you’ve done it before. People grow addicted to it, they feed off of it. I’ve done a lot of drugs in my lifetime, and though I consider myself one of the good guys, I still can’t deny the high I got from killing those three Figaro’s so long ago, or how it felt putting a bullet in Leo Fritz’s head, despite his turning out to be innocent.

We left the warehouse together, and then I could feel it in my gut, rising up in me. This may be a bit... frank, but you know that feeling you get just before you cum? That swelling, the ecstasy? It’s the same feeling when you have the barrel of a gun pointed at someone. Just dying to get your rocks off in the form of pulling the trigger. That feeling was inside me then, walking down the docks with Rik Gamble, trying to find a can at four in the fuckin’ morning.

He kept looking at me, I remember that now. Rik would steal glance after glance at me when he thought I couldn’t see. Gamble might not have known me too well at that point, but it is true I was on his short roster for his federation, Fighter’s Union. We had encountered each other before, and he knew me as the cocky, fun-loving guy that I am in front of cameras every week. Just minutes before, he had seen in me what Cyril had been talking about. I think I scared Rik. And if I was honest, I’d admit that I was starting to scare myself.

We reach the end of the docks, and we head towards the empty street, both of us looking for a cab to hail.

“So where is this motherfucker?” I ask, eager to end this shit tonight.

Rik is rubbing the back of his neck, still trying to shake the fear from the past five minutes as he says, “A club downtown. The Riot Scene, I think it’s called.”

No way.

“Gamble, are you fucking lyin’ to me?” I say, advancing on him. “I know for a fact that my ol’ friend Jamie Crash owns that joint.”

Rik begins backpeddaling. “No! Ya see, Joey bought out my debt, remember? As it works out, he’s been buying up tons of debt all over the city. Crash had a problem bettin’ on the ponies every Sunday.”

“Goddamnit, these fucks really are trying to assert themselves in power,” I mutter, backing away from Rik.

“Cab!” Rik yells as one pulls onto our street and pulls over to him.

I climb into my third taxi of the night, and Rik gives the directions for The Riot Scene. While the streets earlier had been nearly empty, they’re all but deserted now. The ride to the club takes no time at all.

I get out of the cab, staring at the club where I used to spend my downtime from fighting professionally. I used to get drunk here, and on the right nights, would attend a private fighting club in the basement. God knows what Jamie was getting into now that he’d lost his baby. I made a mental note to try and get in touch with him in the coming weeks, try to get this club back in his possession.

“What’re we waiting for?” Rik asks, staring at me.

Turning around, I’m almost shocked to see he got out of the cab with me. “You’re not coming.”

“The hell I’m not,” says Rik, finding courage when he’s spent the better night nearly pissing himself.

“Look, you don’t wanna get involved with what’s gonna happen inside,” I say, trying to reason with him.

“Seth,” Rik starts, “man, if things go badly in there, and Joey gets away from you, who do you think he’s gonna come after next? Me. I’d rather be here tonight to help rather than sitting in my apartment, wonderin’ if some guido douche is gonna bust in and whack me.”

I think about making a “whack” joke, but let it go.

“You sure about this?” I ask Rik.

He just nods, steeling himself for what’s to come.

I check the gun in the back of my pants, making it’s still tucked safely there, and I unengage the safety. We walk up to the front door, and I find it unlocked.

The club is empty inside. The house lights are on, and for a moment I don’t recognize the place. It’s been years since I’ve been here, and honestly, I’ve never seen it without the usual distractions in the forms of light shows, writhing bodies and thumping music.

We walk past the entryway, and into the main area. It’s utterly empty, no employees from the night, though the floor is trashed-- the place must have just closed. I pull the pistol out, and assume a stance I’ve seen on television as Rik gets behind me, following my lead as I wind us through the club, heading towards the back.

“The office used to be back here,” I whisper. “If he’s actually here, he’ll be in there.”

We push open a door marked “employee’s only” and walk through into an empty hallway. We inch our way down the corridor, my heart going a mile a minute, blood thumping in my ears. At the end of the hallway is a door marked “office” and inside, I can hear some sort of funk music playing.

I don’t know what does it, but I feel enraged. I run, Rik following, trotting a little quicker behind me. I barrel my way to the door, and I hit full speed as I lift my right foot, it colliding with the door near the handle.

The door flies off, my kick having broken the lock. I stop as I enter the room. Joey Antolinni is sitting in a chair in the middle of the room, his pants around his ankles. His dick is in his hand, the funk music coming from a porno playing on a television across from him. We lock eyes for a moment, his sweaty brow furrowed in confusion.

“You!” he screams, his face red.

In an instant, he leans over, grabs a revolver off his desk and turns in his chair. I instinctively duck as his firearm discharges, but Gamble isn’t so quick. The bullet slams into his side, and he hits the floor, his hands immediately on his wound trying to stem the blood flow as he begins screaming.

Without looking, I hold my pistol up and blindfire. I hear Joey bellow in pain, and I look up to see him naked on the floor. My shot caught him in his chest.

“You fuckin’ piece of shit, mick!” Joey screams as Rik begins to cry behind me. “You fuckin’ come in my fuckin’ place of business and fuckin’ shoot ME?”

I stand up and run over to Joey, kicking his revolver away from him. He grunts and groans, holding his chest. I turn and run over to Rik, leaning down.

“You alright?” I ask, finding fear in my voice.

“No!” Rik yells. “I got fucking shot, you moron!”

I check the wound and see it’s just in his lower side.

“Look, I’m not a doctor, but this doesn’t look to bad,” I say, hoping I’m right. “Put pressure on it, and we’ll get you to a hospital as quick as we can, alright?”

“Just fucking hurry, man,” Rik says, closing his eyes and grimacing on the floor. “This shit hurts like hell.”

I stand up, wiping my mouth. I walk over and stand at Joey’s feet.

“You think you’re gonna get away with this shit, asshole?” Joey says, sneering, his teeth already stained with blood.

“Like you got away with killing Olivia?” I say.

Joey laughs sickly. “Nah, see, me? I got cops on my payroll, man. They’re gonna be coming for you.”

I hold the gun up. “We’ll see about that.”

“Enjoy this shit, you fuckin’ prick,” Joey says. “I hope you enjoy it half as much as I enjoyed your little girl’s wet pu-.”

I interrupt his train of thought with another bullet to his chest. I raise the gun a little more and pull the trigger for a third time, this bullet hitting his head.

I put the safety back on the gun, and I walk over to Rik helping him to his feet.

Taking his arm and draping it over my shoulder to help him walk, I say, “C’mon man, we gotta get out of here. Someone might’ve heard the shots, and you gotta get to a doctor.”

“What about you?” Rik asks me as we leave the club. “What’re you gonna do?”

“Me?” I say. “Gonna drop you off and head to the airport. I got a funeral to attend, oddly enough.”

Rik laughs weakly as we make our way away from The Riot Scene.

One down.

One to go.

 

 

 

N$V: CLEMMENS
"The calm before the storm."

Johnny and Brett Lukas are two of the best wrestlers I know.  I enjoy their matches just as much as every fan with their ass in the seat paying way too much to see us wrestle.  They're the top two younger fellas in this sport and there's no doubt they have my respect.  I don't pal around with just anyone.  I surround myself with only the best.  As always.  That's why I don't associate with The Gentleman's Club or Superiority Complex because they both suffer from varied inferiority complexes.  They each have that in common, there's no doubt about it.   Johnny and Brett though, fuck yeah, High Society, the bad boys doing the bad things.  That's rock and roll right there.  That's some of the best shit you'll ever stare at or pull into your lungs--that's High Society.  There's only one thing standing in the way of High Society and that's Brett and Johnny themselves.

Johnny, the games are over.  We're putting No Cash Value into Total War status.  We need everything you've got.  It's time for us to rise up and show the world.  I see you are pointed in the right direction but you've gotta look into your partner pal.  He's pretty damn upset over things and frankly, I understand.  You two want the titles more than anything else in the world and you're going to let it destroy you.  You're so close to the big time in Fight One but your partner man, he's falling apart.  He's family, you handle family, you sort that shit out.  I cannot have another Sean Starr.  That can't happen anymore.  I know you're going to work the shit out.

I knew he'd be mad.  I knew that's what it would take to light a fire under him but frankly I back my partner up.  Seth was none too pleased with Brett's little out burst and let it show.  This is where you have to man up as a tag team partner and get Brett's head right.  Or, of course, you could back your partner up too.  Those are your options Johnny, no one will think the less of you whatever direction you go.  If Brett can't get over some critiques, that's his business and well, your business Johnny.  This war we're waging though, perhaps this is a battle the both of you cannot fight, if you allow Brett to turn into Nicolas Jaxx or Lucas Knight.

We both want better from Brett.  Save him while you can.

The United Championships stand for teamwork.  United you stand, divided you fall.  Look at Brett.  Look at Johnny.  Look at the divided.  The United Championships must be the sought after titles.  Fight One Xperience deserves no less.  We are going to step into the ring United under the flag of No Cash Value.  Seth and I are going to make history.  We will protect this ring from the Gentleman's Club, defend it from greed, and secure it for future generations of fans that love wrestling, not this glitzy entertainment the Club sells for instance.

I'd like to put it out there to each and every one of you to consider the history we're making.  We are christening a new generation of Tag Team wrestling.  Look around you, Fight One has the hottest tag teams there are.  No no...  I have to remember, these guys are considering themselves and only selfish shallow goals.  Calvin and Adam want the money so bad they turn green when they pass banks.

It sounds like a party at Aftershock.