Wednesday, 4 July 2007 – Los Angeles, California The following is a recorded promotion produced by The World’s Greatest Production Company in association with the X-Treme Wrestling Federation. “And everything happened just the way I said it would. I walked into a match against the current Canadian Champion, Psyko Stevo, and the number one contender for the Universal Championship, Famine of the Vile, and I walked out victorious.
Arguments could easily be made to say that I was the odds on favourite for the match. One could argue that my win was nothing surprising. But let me present you with a completely different argument:
This is a different XWF.
You take a look at the roster and you see the most varied levels that there have been in my entire four years in this place. We have the past, present and future all wrapped up in the same place. It’s incredible, and the repercussions of such a situation results in a much more difficult task in predicting those who will be victorious. How can one guarantee that the legends of the past, Steve Jason, Jem Williams, KoRe, Default, myself, will be at the same level that we’re expected to be at. It was common thought that KoRe would be walking away with the Universal Title at Bad Medicine, but he didn’t live up to those expectations. Default has taken a step backwards from his World Champion legacy, and is competing for the Canadian Title at Leap of Faith. In short, just because we are “legends”, it doesn’t mean shit.
Stevo and Famine, I know you both had that in mind as you came into our match. You knew I’d be hard to get past, but you thought you could do it. There’s one mistake you made though. You didn’t count on my legacy still being a work in progress. This is not your show. This is not your story. This world revolves around Lee Stone. That’s the truth right there. Stevo, I expect to see you again sometime, one on one, but Famine, it’s you who I want to truly get that into the head of. Due to the position you will be finding yourself in at Leap of Faith, you happen to be right in my cross-hairs. There’s a big ol’ red target painted up on your back, and like a bull, I cannot help but charge. Our paths will cross again Famine, that I can be certain of. And while I’ll say that I am certain the outcome will be the same once more, you tapping the fuck out, I hope you’ll have at least learned something from this experience to give me the fight that I crave.
But it appears I won’t be across the ring from you this month Famine, so you can breathe easy there. New General Manager, Hardcore Smitty and his gal-pal Stand-In Stone have given a big N-O to The World’s Greatest walking into Leap of Faith to get a shot at the Universal Title against you. So now Smitty, Fake Stone, I got one thing to ask the two of you?
Are you fucking retards?
Like I said on Massacre, do the friggin’ math! KoRe lost, without me getting involved in any way shape or form. I beat the number one contender. I never got my freaking rematch for the gold. Put me in the God damn match!
Sadly, I know my words are falling upon deaf ears right now. I happen to be on the same side as a man throwing threats around like they were midgets, so I seriously doubt I’ll make any headway in my attempt to convince two of the Three Stooges to see some sense. The hardest part about it though, is not coming to grips with the fact that I ain’t getting my rightful shot. No. The hardest part is trying not to sound like an ego-driven asshole. It’s hard for me, mostly because I am an ego-driven asshole, but I try to be a good person, you know? I try to do the right thing. But here I seem like all I want is my damn title back. I do want my title back, but mostly because when it’s around my waist, I know one thing will happen.
The title will mean something.
Now it’ll always mean something to me, but when it can be retired by the champion, and then vacated because the guy doesn’t want to defend it anymore, that starts to lower the overall prestige of it. It tells me that the title never meant anything to you Hardcore Smitty. Basically, all I can gather from that is that you are indeed the man that my boy Cranberry Juice is telling me you are.
You’re a power-hungry cocksucker.
Well, maybe not a cocksucker, that could be just throwing insults around like… well… like midgets again. It’s a crude piece of imagery but it’ll do.
But dude, if you want an explanation from me as to why I’m flying the banner of The Juice, then there it is. He’s got his own issues with you, but I’m fighting with him because you’ve taken something that’s important to me, something that I hold very dearly, and you’ve crapped all over it. Now I don’t know how much you know about me, but I tend to live by my own rules in life. One of the most important philosophies to me is ‘an eye for an eye’. So in turn Smitty, I’m going to crap all over what you hold dearly.
I’m going to crap all over your power.
In my mind Smitty, you no longer have power. Cranberry Juice has the power. Lee Stone has the power. The roster has the power. You will work within the guidelines that we present as acceptable. To break out of those guidelines will be to seal your fate. Take that as a threat. Take that however you want. But I’ve been watching V for Vendetta. You answer to us, not the other way around. And if you think my party is joking, just wait and see.”
Tuesday, 3 July 2007 – Los Angeles, California
“Okay dude, I’m outside the building now,” I speak into the small transmitter device planted in my left ear. Holding my hand up to the receiver, I press it into my ear in an attempt to hear past the crackling reception and understand the voice I’ve come to know very well.
“Do you remember what to do?” Cranberry Juice asks me. As if I can forget. I have to go in there and have a fucking tea party with one of the many people in this world who find me as annoying as I find them. Somehow I have to resist the urge to be an ass.
“Yeah, yeah,” I saw, relieving any worries that the man may have. “I gotta go in there and pretend to be somebody that I’m not. I’ve got to lie my ass off in order to convince the great heroic Steve Jason that I’m not a villain.”
“It’s not a lie,” Juice reminds me. I guess he wants me to make sure that I don’t forget we’re trying to fight the good fight. Whatever that means.
“You’re right,” I agree. “The lie is that I want to be here. The lie is that I want to rub shoulders with Stevie J and make sure we have contingency plans in effect that don’t cross over each others paths. The lie is that I want exactly the same things as you. I can handle this shit on my own. You can bring in your other little friends and have them back me up, but we don’t need to lay these support beams out like you’re acting like we do.”
“We’ve already been through this Lee Stone.” He’s trying to keep me from fucking everything up. Can’t say that I blame him. He needs me on side. One slip of the tongue and his entire game plan will fall to pieces around me. As much as he wants to think he’s in control, it’s an equal playing field. I think that’s why he actually told me who he was. I’m the kind of guy who would look for a back-up plan in any situation. He’s presented me with one so that I can trust him. Again I say, whatever that means. I don’t think it’s possible to fully trust a man who hides behind some goofy stage name and schemes up ways to win a war that most people don’t even realize has started yet.
“Yes, I know we’ve already been through that. I was there to go through it douchebag,” I say in reference to the discussion Cranberry Juice and I had on the Sunday before yesterday’s edition of Massacre. “But the fact of the matter is, I still don’t want to be here, and would prefer it if you had put on your little white robe that you wore the other week, and come here to talk to Steven yourself.”
“The security at Club Paramount would hardly be appreciative of a man in that attire waltzing through the building without being kept in check.” He raises a good point. “That’s why I told you that you are my communication link.”
“I understand,” I acknowledge. “But I don’t think they’d be terribly appreciative of a known past associate of their enemies walking through either. Hell, thanks to my entanglements with the W.O.R.L.D organization, I’m partially responsible for the destruction of Club Paramount in the first place. I almost expected a bill for its reconstruction to be mailed to me.”
“That is the past Lee Stone.” I nod my head. It’s the distant past now. Steve and I have moved past that. The problem is, I don’t know where we stand now.
“Okay, I’m heading in now,” I tell him, ending my protest.
“I’ll be here listening in your earpiece,” I get informed.
“Wouldn’t expect anything less from you,” I remark.
“Earn their trust.” Cranberry Juice gives me that one final instruction. I’ve got to wonder, what the hell does that mean?
Trust.
Again that word comes up. It’s such a loose term. For so long now I’ve warned people against trusting me. Hell, if I had to list of five names that have every reason not to trust me, there would be two names that I wouldn’t even have to think about putting on that list: Justin “Raziel” Jones and Steve Jason. And now here I am trying to convince Stevie J that I can be trusted? Oh the irony.
To be honest, I’m not even sure that I fully understand what trust is. To be honest, I’m not even sure that I fully understand what honesty is. I guess I better learn quickly.
I move in now, crossing the street and entering the Main Floor of the Club Paramount building. The evening sun, setting out over the Pacific Ocean somewhere, hidden by the sprawling metropolis that is the Los Angeles area, sends the world into a deep orange glow as I walk into the building.
The layout is creepy. A giant octagonal room, largely dominated by a maroon colour scheme, with more octagonal ‘rings’ elevated above what is generally considered to be the dance floor. At least at night time it is. During the Tuesday evening, it’s fairly deserted. As soon as the sun drops completely, this place will be packed. For now, the only signs of life are the various staff members trying to prepare the building for the onslaught of party-goers that are sure to swoop in.
I had been here a couple of times in the past, but this is my first visit since its reconstruction. If I cared enough about what these people thought of me, I’d consider apologizing for that whole deal. I don’t though. Instead I just marvel at how Steve has rebuilt this baby in such a similar fashion. That’s the creepiest part about standing here. I technically haven’t been here before, but I feel like I have.
I try to recall the rough mental map of directions that I’ve been given. Cranberry Juice remains fairly silent in my ear as he doesn’t have the visual capabilities to recognize that for this brief moment, I’m lost. Thank God for big, burly, black-security guards though. I catch a man fitting that exact description flanking me from my right, and so I turn to meet him. A slight urge of hostility wells up from inside of me, but I manage to quell it. We’re not expecting any form of violence here today. As Cranberry Juice continuously reassured me, it’s just a meeting.
“Mr. Stone, would you care to follow me?” Somehow I don’t think I really have a choice in this. Shrugging, I allow myself to be led off through a doorway, up staircases and eventually I arrive at a place where I have even less of a clue where I am. They need fucking signposts in here or something.
“So uh… why have we stopped?” I look at the security guard curiously. “Stevie J nearby?”
“Please remove any metal objects from your person and place them in this tray. You will receive them back at the end of your visit.” The guard holds a small grey tray towards me and looks on expectantly. I suddenly realize that I’m standing in front of a frickin’ metal detector.
“How about no?” I fire my own non-question at the man. “You see this watch? You see this chain? You see this belt buckle? Combined they’re worth more than your little machine there, and your life, combined. And even if you somehow convinced me to remove them, this little gadget in my ear is the entire reason I’m here. I ain’t removing shit.”
“This is standard security protocol,” he tells me monotonously. “I’m just doing my job.
“My job involves whooping people’s asses. And considering you ain’t wearing one of them berets that the trained operatives use around here, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that the only training you’ve got is standard law enforcement – if that! So you may have a strength advantage, but if I were to go ahead and start doing my job right here and now, I’d think it’d turn out bad for you.” I wonder how smart it is for me to try and take on the security staff. Probably not very.
“Whoa, whoa there, my man!” I look around for the source of the voice and see a bald, black man walking over to me. I’ve seen him before I think. Gandhi… the ‘Grand Sultan of Soul’. Wearing a bright blue matching jacket and pants, and of all possible footwear – platform shoes, he walks, nay, he ‘grooves’ over towards where I stand unnecessarily toe-to-toe with the security guard. Every step that he takes seems to be a dancing motion, despite a lack of any form of music whatsoever. “There is no need to fight. Peace and prosperity can always be reached without raising fists. In its ability to expel emotion, dance is unmatched.”
“You on drugs?” I ask him. Everything that he just said sounded straight up ridiculous.
“There is no need for drugs either…” Gandhi begins, but I already see where he’s going with this, so I interrupt.
“Let me guess, because the endorphins released by dancing will wash away any state of depression and sadness, and leave you with nothing but a completely natural sense of tranquillity and happiness?” To this guy’s credit, there is some sense in what he’s saying. Nowadays, a good workout serves as a way for me to just push through hardships. I just sweat it out. It’s pretty much the same principle that Gandhi is applying, he just uses a completely messed up way of getting his message across.
“Exactly!” he exclaims. “You understand the principles of dance better than most of the men I have met while in this country.”
“I ain’t from this country.” I find it puzzling that Gandhi does not seem to know who I am. Maybe he does, but that’s a button I don’t really want to push with him in case it turns into a ‘situation’ if you catch The Lee’s drift. “And besides, look at my skin colour. It’s the same as yours. Most people try to dismiss any sort of racial stereotype of any kind, but you’ve got to admit, people like us do tend to have a larger supply of rhythmic ability than most others.”
“I must agree with you,” he says approvingly. “I liken the situation to that of…”
“I hate to interrupt you dude,” I say, raising my left index finger to motion rather rudely for him to stop talking. At least my words are more polite. “But I’m in kind of a hurry. I’ve got to go up to see Steve Jason. How do I get through here without having to hand over all my metal?”
“They just don’t know you, my man,” he says with a smile to the stern guard. “I can walk through here without much trouble at all because they trust me.”
Trust…
There’s that fucking word again.
I knew this would be a problem.
“Well how do I get them to trust me? Surely you can vouch for me?” I ask hopefully. I really don’t know what kind of position of power Gandhi is in around here.
“Sorry brother, I appreciate your knowledge of dance but security is out of my hands.” I sigh, slightly frustrated. Turning my attention towards the guard once more, I come up with a new, more appropriate plan of attack.
“Get somebody down here. Get me Steve, Talia, whoever!” The guard nods at me as he talks into his own earpiece. Simultaneously I talk into mine, directly addressing Cranberry Juice. “Sorry about the hold up dude, won’t be too long now”
“Somebody is on their way down now,” the guard informs me, remaining firm in his position. I nod and turn my attention back to Gandhi.
“You ever been to Club V.I.P in this area, homie?” I ask him, searching for a little bit of praise about my personal fortress. V.I.P L.A. tends to be my primary ‘base of operations’ if you will, whenever I’m not working from home. As far as I’m aware, Raziel has taken up primary residence down the road a bit in V.I.P San Diego.
“It is on my to do list,” Gandhi admits. “I feel I must sample the entire dance culture of this city. However when I am here, I usually spend my time in this building through loyalty to my friends. It is a similar ordeal to that of choosing a dance partner. You would much prefer to be dancing with a soul that you already know blends well with your own.”
“Right,” I say, acting as if what he said is completely normal. “Well you should really go by and check it out some time.”
“Are you a frequent guest?” he inquires.
“You could say that,” I reply with a wry smile. “I co-own it.”
“Lee…” A new voice that I must spin around to meet. Chloe O’Brien, pretty much the right hand of Steve Jason, is who I find standing in the vicinity of myself. At let me just say one thing.
She… looks… hot.
I can’t really put my finger on what it is. It could be the somewhat tight jeans revealing a fantastic figure, but also leaving just enough to the imagination. Or it could be the black top, showing very little cleavage, but just enough so that you are led to crave the rest. She has a girl-next-door feel about her that she unconsciously flaunts with every action she makes, even right down to her posture as she stands there looking at me.
“Evenin’ Ms. O’Brien,” I say trying my darndest to remain polite. I’m not trying to make a move on her – at least I don’t think I am – so I make no comment about her looks. Instead I focus on the only other detail that springs to mind. “I cannot help but notice you didn’t come through the direction in which I am being led to believe I’m supposed to head.”
“The metal detector is just a precaution to make sure you’re not carrying anything that could be considered…” I know where she’s going with this.
“Dangerous?” I finish her sentence for her as if I’m asking a question. “I’m actually quite flattered that you all think I’d be willing to stoop as low as shooting or stabbing Steve in this situation. But I can assure you that I ain’t that kind of person. Stevie J should know that by now.”
“Like I said, it’s just a precaution to ensure trust,” she reassures me. There’s that fucking T word again. “It wasn’t our idea.”
“Other people in the Conglomerate a bit worried about having such a ‘loose cannon’ in the vicinity?” I ask with a small chuckle. Chloe’s face seems confused. “You didn’t expect me to be completely oblivious as to what goes on in this building did you? As you no doubt know, I’m Lee freaking Stone. I know these things.”
“Then can you just go through the metal detector and let us move on?” she pleads with me. I ain’t quite convinced yet though.
“The Incredible Hulk here said that I could only get my things back after the visit though, that’s why I was being so difficult.” I explain.
“You’ll be able to take through whatever we deem suitable,” she offers in consolation. I guess those are acceptable terms.
“Fine by me, guess I better loose the belt then,” “There’s also the necklace, watch, ring, keys, wallet and cell phone.”
“That it?” Chloe asks as I place the phone into the tray.
“That’s it,” I assure her.
“What about that?” She points to the device looped around my left ear. My communication link to Cranberry Juice.
“I can take it off to walk through your little machine, but you know damn well that no meeting of any form is taking place without it on my ear.” I watch her to see what she’ll decide.
“You’ll be able to get all your stuff back,” she confirms. “Including the radio transmitter.”
“Super.” And with that, I briefly unhook the device from my ear and place it with the rest of my items in the tray, confident that Cranberry Juice heard what was happening. I step through the metal detector now without any complications and the guard nods at me allowing me to head back through once more and collect my items. “I’m free to go now?”
“Follow me,” Chloe tells me. And I don’t mind doing that one bit. We move back out into what seems like a section of the club area, albeit with a little more privacy what the Main Floor would offer. Regardless, I am still officially lost. Chloe turns into a room, and as I follow in I recognize it as a lounge of sorts. “This is the Earth lounge.”
That would explain the colour scheme. Green, beige, brown: definitely earthy colours. They’ve even got fucking vines, or at least what is supposed to look like vines, coming out of the damn floor! A bar is located on one wall, and a balcony outside on another, but it’s what is located in a couple of lounge chairs in the middle of the floor that really catches my attention. Fellow XWF Legend Steve Jason and his friend Dougy McNamara. Chloe walks over to join them in a chair of her own.
“Earth lounge, eh?” I remark, returning to her previous comment. “You guys got Water, Wind, Fire and Heart scattered around here somewhere?”
“Mate,” I have to fight off near-uncontrollable laughter at hearing Dougy’s first word in this ‘meeting’ being “mate”. I’m prone to labelling Steven as a stereotypical Australian, but Dougy fits that category much more snugly. “That heart guy was the one bad part about Captain Planet.”
“Dude,” I look at him like he’s stupid. That might not be a far cry. “He had a friggin’ monkey. That’s got to get him some respect.”
“Hey Lee,” Steve interrupts, trying not to pay much attention to the nonsense ramblings of two idiots.
“Stevo,” I acknowledge his presence as I find myself my own chair to flop down into. “Let’s get one thing out of the way before we proceed any further. The Wallabies beat the All Blacks 20-15. Congratulations. This must be a proud moment for Australians everywhere as they have finally managed to beat New Zealand at rugby for the first time in what has seemed like an eternity.”
“And we’ll do it again!” Dougy shouts excitedly, one fist pumping into the air.
“Yes you will Douglas… in about ten year’s time,” I retort calmly.
“Can we not get into a debate about rugby?” Chloe asks hopefully.
“Chloe’s right, there’s a reason we’re here,” Steve controls the situation with ease. Just like usual. I happen to notice his steel blue eyes flickering over the device in my ear. “Let’s get into it shall we?”
“Works for me dude,” I reply nonchalantly, although there is one other question I wish to know before the full purpose of this meeting can be achieved. “Talia couldn’t make it?”
“She was busy with things classed as being more important,” Steve tells me. It’s a bit of a blow to the ego to hear that I’m not classed as ‘important’, but for all I know Talia could be trying to help save the world right now, so I guess that would lower me down the scale a bit. Plus it’s kind of true. I’m not here to declare war, nor am I here to ask for allies. I’m just here to build…
Trust.
“Right-o.” I shrug it off and then begin. “Basically, there are three main points of discussion for us here. By now I’m sure you’ve all noticed my little buddy on my ear. Cranberry Juice is listening into this, and he’ll offer me some advice if necessary. That’s point one.”
“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell us who he is?” Dougy asks with a faint glimpse of hope in his eyes.
“No can do buddy,” I say, disappointing him. “The second point is actually to do with your business with Dan. And the third, our starting point, is actually to do with this place here.”
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