Surrendered to your every whim, I live for your desire.
Should I lose every limb, I would roll into the fire.
The sacrifice is not, as heroic as it would seem.
To have you safe in your cot, I would do atrocious deeds.
I am selfish, I am crude. I am the heat, you are the coal.
I cannot help but to brood, when to me you are a toll.
Make no mistake on my behalf, I don’t speak out of love.
I have abandoned that aluminum cast, and thrown it to the mud.
Now I stand alone again, yet embraced in your arms of black.
And there on the floor made of clay, you lie naked upon your back.
It makes no sense to me, for are these not your arms?
Who else could have possibly, taken me under their charm?
You sit inside your small glass house, and refuse to make a sound.
While outside I scream and shout, and fall upon your ground.
You have won this final round, and now I am your slave.
I am now homeward bound, for you lead me to my grave.
Now I have found serenity, I board the final ship.
And as I accept eternity, I take another sip.
f
Today’s date is Thursday, April 10, 2008.
Enter user name: LBS11011978
Enter password: ***********
Access granted.
User identified: Leroy Bruce Stone.
Security level 10 granted.
Access to all files granted.
Opening folder: Security Level 10.
Opening program: Prototype international security database.
Enter access code: **************
Access granted.
Current program status: Incomplete.
Opening file: OO:00000LS:LF:070408.
File opened.
File OO:00000LS:LF:070408.
Location: Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, United States of America.
Dated: Monday, April 07, 2008.
I was once a man, made of flesh, blood and bone. I had eyes, ears, a nose and a mouth. I had hair that would grow; wounds that would heal. I had kidneys, a liver, lungs and a heart.
I had a heart.
Once…
Everything changes though.
Everything.
I have felt every inch of my skin grated from my body, every drop of blood drained. My bones have been shattered into innumerable pieces, and I’m expected to remain a man? My eyes are a blur, they barely even work now. I have bled from my ears, and you’d be pushing it to convince me that’s normal. My nose isn’t mine anymore, it’s been artificially repaired too many times to count. As far as hair goes, I keep it short for a reason. I don’t heal like I once did, I fear I will never lose the scar that Rick Lacey carved into my abdomen. Too many shots to the kidneys, and now, in turn they’re shot. My liver has taken enough hits that I don’t think it’ll ever get back up. One of my lungs has collapsed before, the other is still waiting in line. And as for my heart…
What heart?
It’s gone. For good.
I fight simply because I refuse to believe that everything I’ve sacrificed; my body, my very humanity, was for nothing. I do not care. I do not love. I just do.
Once I was a man, now I am a reflection in the mirror. A figure. A silhouette. A ghost.
I drift in and out of corridors and rooms. I am the haunted. I am the haunter.
I float through the wall onto the street, and people know I am there. But they do not look. They cannot. They are afraid. As they should be. I am neither nice nor wicked, and that is the most terrifying thing of all. I am transparent. I am my background. I am the unknown, and that is all they know.
You may look through me, but never at me. You do not permit yourself to. You see me swallow, but the brown liquid just splashes on the floor. So you turn and look the other way. You try to ignore me, but I am there. I am always there. You pretend to wonder why, but you know as well as I do. I am the reason you are here. You are my shadow, never anything else.
I am on the stage, while you sit at the back of the room and hang your head in shame. There is nothing that you can do, and only now you begin to realize it. You have lost, and I have won.
They understand that.
They flock to me, surrounding me. Your conscious would not let you go through with this, all because of Her. But She is not here, is She? You don’t even know where She is. I could find Her for you, but as you can see, I don’t have the time.
My throat burns green. You’ve been here before, but this time it’s my turn. Everything is a brand new, fascinating experience. I am engulfed in this. You want to save me, for your own selfish fucking reasons. Well you know what?
Fuck you!
I don’t want saving. I don’t need it. I will go down with ethanol’s smile and will not regret it one tiny bit. Don’t be so afraid to come down with me. It’s really not all that bad down here with me, slumming it. You certainly won’t be stretched for company, that’s for sure. And if any of those faggots want to look down upon you, it doesn’t matter. You don’t get much lower than this, and sooner or later that loses all discomfort and you begin to embrace it.
I am a monumental fuck-up, and I’m proud of it.
Be proud with me, please?
Come on, it’s the easy way out, and we both know how much you love that. Don’t be such a fucking hypocrite. Get off your high horse and join me. You know that if… when I go down, you are coming with me. It’s unavoidable, so you better start getting used to it soon. It’ll warm on you, if you just give it a shot, I promise.
Would I lie to you?
Stupid fucking question. Of course I would! I’m a liar, you know that. You’re a liar too though, don’t forget that. Don’t ever act as if you’re better than me.
I am you!
Or at least I was.
What happened to us? We used to do this kind of thing together, Leroy. Then you started pulling away. I’m a forgiving man though. I will forgive you, if you just apologize to me.
Come back to me Lee!
You’ve seen me in the club. You’ve seen me up on the stage with countless drunk bitches, and you know that I went home with them because you found them in your bed the next morning. I’m doing you a favor Lee! I’m your release! I’m your way out!
Don’t act as if now, all of a sudden, you’re not the coward that you once were. You want to run, and I’m giving you that chance. Don’t fuck it up!
You hear me?
I SAID DO YOU FUCKING HEAR ME?
Close file? Yes.
File closed.
Opening folder: Security Level 1.
Opening program: Public wrestling promotions.
Add promo? No.
View Promo? Yes.
No access code required.
Opening file: WX:85122DJ:PR:100408.
File information:
One complementary file found.
Open file WX:85122DJ:BI at end of original file? Yes.
File opened.
File WX:85122DJ:PR:100408.
Location: Hamilton, New Zealand
Dated: Thursday, April 10, 2008
“Bitches and gentlefucks, I have some tragic news for you today.
On Monday Night Massacre, in front of the entire world, I, Leroy Bruce Stone, was…
SCREWED!
Before you respond to that though, let me clarify a little bit for you. Contrary to what the popular belief may be, I wasn’t screwed by Zach Rizza or Bigg Rigg. Well… I was, but they’re not the only ones. The biggest screw job of all, came from an unlikely person. While I expect that sort of behavior from jackasses like Zachary and John, and I expect idiots like Fran Damage, Hardcore Smitty or Jonathyn Brown to do similar things, I did not expect that a guy who goes on and on and on and on about how much he has been screwed, would in turn return the favor to a man who was not responsible for his own misfortunes.
The man I am talking about, is the man who is holding my title. Not Zach Rizza, but Daniel Malcolm.
Yes, geniuses, I’m calling the Universal Title, mine. I never lost it, and I never got my shot at it. And I’m still… fucking… waiting.
Now I hear you ask, ‘how Lee, how did Dan screw you?’ Well my dears, he managed to do it in two different ways. The first, involves my match against Christian Connolly. Of course we weren’t going to screw each other, we were both going to take a case each and be on our way. But then… after the debacle with Rigg and Rizza, as I went off to unsuccessfully track Zach down and push his face into the mud again, Daniel Malcolm counted me out!
Actually, no he didn’t. Daniel Malcolm counted two numbers, and all of a sudden I lose? How the fuck does that work? Actually, how could I have been counted out at all? It was a freaking ladder match! There are no count outs in ladder matches, every douchebag who pulls on the striped shirt knows that. But somehow, Daniel Malcolm managed to count me out with only two numbers. Fuck that! I didn’t lose that match.
I was screwed.
Thus, I am given even more reason, as if I needed it to begin with, to call Daniel Malcolm the biggest fucking hypocrite that this company has ever seen.
Dan Boy, you are a disgrace to the Universal Title. I guess I should commend you on actually winning a match to get it this time, but your conduct is very unworthy of that title.
Need further proof? How about this:
Since when could champions choose who they defend the title against? I sure as fuck didn’t get to! As a matter of fact, I can’t think of a single champion who got to say, ‘I want to defend the title against this guy’. Until Daniel Malcolm, that is.
How is it that Fran Damage of all people, is going to let this slide? It doesn’t make any damn sense! It feels like I’ve teleported to some crazy world where up is down, left is right, black is white, and people have finally stopped giving a crap about Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Britney Spears. If only…
I don’t want to take anything away from Christian, but Dan, I want you to tell me something. What has Christian done to deserve the shot, that I haven’t done? We both kicked Rigg and Heavy D’s ass. We both kicked yours and Vincent Jamison’s ass. I kicked Rizza’s ass, while Christian lost that week. I won the World Title at the Pay Per View, ended a month without loss, and beating my main competition – you – for the Star of the Month award. And I don’t deserve the Universal Title shot? You’re freaking illogical man. Maybe it’s just jealousy though. Maybe it’s – dare I say it – fear.
Does Daniel Malcolm really fear Lee Stone?
Of course he’d jump up and down and say that he doesn’t, but it just seems a little bit suspicious to me. If he really wants to prove that he doesn’t, then perhaps he should use this newfound booking ability, which seemed to come from nowhere, and step into the ring with me next week.
Come on Dan, I dare you.
Just as I dare one man to step in the ring with me this week:
Fran Damage.
You heard it here first folks, Lee Stone wants Fran Damage to face him man-to-man on Massacre. I will be the first face any of you see. And Fran, I want an explanation as to just what you plan on doing about there being two titles that I should have in my possession, the Universal and the World, and yet neither being around my waist.
Think very carefully Fran, because your answer will not only have ramifications for myself, Zach Rizza and Daniel Malcolm. But it may have serious ramifications for you. And if you’re going to ask me if that’s a threat…
You’re damn fucking right it is!”
To be continued.
Opening folder: Security Level 10.
Opening program: Prototype international security database.
Enter access code: **************
Access granted.
Current program status: Incomplete.
Opening file: OO:00000LS:LF:080408.
File opened.
File OO:00000LS:LF:080408.
Location: Harrisburg, Pennsylvania, United States of America.
Dated: Tuesday, April 08, 2008.
…
Can you say ‘what the fuck did I do last night’?
I sure can.
What the fuck did I do last night?
I roll over in my bed, and feel the touch of skin against my own. After my eyes adjust to the concentration of light piercing through a gap in the curtains, I notice a body lying strewn beside my own. A naked body, to be precise.
Holy fruit salad Batman, I’m not wearing any clothes either.
Wait a minute… there’s another body. Two other bodies. I blink a few times, to make sure that I’m not seeing things.
Ladies and gentlemen, I have an announcement to make: there are three naked women, lying in my bed. I repeat: three naked women, in my bed. Thank you for listening.
Did I…? I certainly feel like I did. I kind of hope I did too, but there is a part of me that hopes that I didn’t. I just wish I could remember.
I creep out of bed, trying my hardest not to disturb the sleeping beauties. Well, I hope that they’re beauties. I look back at my… handiwork… and try to assess the situation. Moderately attractive is how I’d describe the overall rating of the women. Shit, I’ll take that. I turn on my heels, and walk out of the bedroom into the main lounge are of my hotel suite. My laptop computer is up, and I notice a file open on it. A new file, that I don’t recall having written.
File OO:00000LS:LF:070408.
What the fuck? Did I write this last night? If so, were those girls here when I did it?
This can’t be good.
I begin to read, and find my jaw dropping even lower than it already was. This… this doesn’t sound like me at all. It’s like I’m talking in a monologue, directed at myself, except the voice that is being used sure as fuck isn’t my own. It speaks to me, personally, with the women in my bed in the morning. It… I… I did write this. But that means…
I drop my heavy head into my hands. Rubbing at my eyes, I look up at the screen again, as if I was expecting something to have changed. It hasn’t, of course. And now memories long since pushed aside, come flooding back into me. There is a dream of a dragon, but the dragon has my face. There is a voice in my head, saying things that even I wouldn’t say. There is Her. There is Him. The two pillars of my world: Shelly Moore and Token Fisher. He is dead. She is… elsewhere. There is my brother Stan, my father Bruce, my mother Cherie. There is Randy Webber and Mandy Freeman, my attempts at trying to replicate Him and Her. There is everything.
Everything that I was.
But there is no me. There is no sign of who I am today. Nothing I recognize. Nothing I find comfort in. There is the bottle that sends a shiver up my spine. There is the scar across my torso. There is the medic desperately trying to resuscitate me. There are all my wounds, both inside and out, but there are no bandages to cover it.
There is just the past.
Have I sunk this low? Have I fallen so many rungs down on the ladder? I’m back at the beginning now, do I really have to go through it all again?
I glance at the empty bottle of Scotch next to the computer. My jaw and fist clench simultaneously. If someone were to see me right now, I wouldn’t be surprised if they said my eyes were glowing red. I am fighting with everything that I have, to stop myself hurtling this bottle out the damn window.
My hand twitches? What would mum think, if she were looking down at me? For her sake, I hope that she was right about the whole God thing, and if that’s the case… I know that she’d be disappointed.
Shit, I’m disappointed.
I can’t help but blame her slightly, and I feel absolutely awful for that. If there wasn’t that damn note, the same one that is tucked inside its envelope and peering out at me from underneath the laptop’s keyboard, which I’m one-hundred-million percent sure was written by her… if she hadn’t asked me to help him… ‘dad’, I could have gotten past this. I could have dealt with her death. I could have dealt with seeing Mandy and dad again. But to help him… like this… like she wants me to…
Fuck!
“Mornin’ sunshine,” I hear a thick southern accent – Texas I think, but my knowledge of various American dialects is distinctly lacking – come from behind me. One of the women stands now in the doorway to the bedroom, wearing nothing but an open blouse. “Crazy night last night.”
“Yeah…” I mutter, as I flip down the computer screen.
“You ready for round two?” I grimace a little. It’s nothing against her, I’m sure she’s a lovely girl, if not a bit promiscuous, it’s just… something feels wrong.
“Put your clothes on,” I order her. “Tell the other two to do the same.”
“But…” she tries to say.
“I said put your fucking clothes on!” I glare at her, and I can see the concern in her eyes.
“You’re nothing like you were last night,” she says, disgruntled.
“You have no idea who I was…”
Nobody does.
Close file? Yes.
File closed.
Resuming file: WX:85122DJ:PR:100408.
Location: Hamilton, New Zealand
Dated: Thursday, April 10, 2008
“I’ve been told that I should hunt Zach Rizza down, beat him senseless, and take my World Title back by force. Maybe I should apply the same principle to my Universal Title. And while either of those options are good ones, I’ve gotta switch gears a moment here and make sure that I don’t forget about one of my other titles.
The XWF Tag Team Championship.
Apparently last week there was some sort of tournament to earn a shot at me and Christian, and our golden waists. I didn’t really pay attention at the time, what with having the only other wrestler worth a damn on the roster, who just so happens to be the other half of the Tag Champs with me – Christian Connolly – staring across the ring from me, and one of the only wrestlers worth half a damn – Daniel Malcolm – being dropped into an authority position (which for the record, turned out horribly). But now, I’ve had the time to look back, and using the wonderful thing called hindsight, I’ve been able to note a rather intriguing point:
I was right.
I didn’t need to pay attention.
Let me start off by saying this:
Who the fuck is Sean Boggz and who the fuck is Grace Faith Harvard? I guess it doesn’t really matter, what with them losing.
As for Legion and Black Death, we seriously doubt they’d have given us any challenge.
Then there was Rigg and Thomas Davis, who individually would’ve been the most difficult two, but alas, they failed.
And that leaves us with Heavy D and Reggie Fresh… our opponents this week.
Before I get carried away on them specifically, I wanna bring up an odd point related to all eight of those wrestlers, that I noticed after reviewing all the promos of last week. Did you know, that not a single person talked about going on to beat Christian Connolly and I? Every single one of them, seemed to be under the belief that they’d win the little tournament, but not one of them thought that they’d beat us. What does that say to you?
Heavy D, Reggie Fresh… tell me, since you two were among the eight, what does that say to you? If it were me, I’d have been ranting about how I’m gonna be the future Tag Champ, before I had even been placed in the tournament – kinda like how I’m claiming right now that I’m going to be the Universal Champion, when as far as I know, there is still no end to my two-year wait for my rematch. But you two… you didn’t do that. So with that, I want you to ask yourself a very important question right now. Do you really think you can beat The Vigilantes?
My opinion is, Dem Lile’s Boys are at it again. Losing that is, just like the two times D has been across the ring from me in the past. I guess now, Reggie can join the list of the fallen.
Have a bad day.”
Close file? Yes.
File closed.
File WX:85122DJ:BI.
Overview:
Name: Donald Johnson
Base of Operations: Gainesville, Florida, United States of America
Occupation: Professional Wrestler under the alias Heavy D
Height: 5’10”
Weight: 230lbs
Security level 5 required for general biography.
Proceed? Yes.
Incomplete.
Unable to process request.
Skip? Yes.
Security level 8 required for security and threat overviews.
Proceed? Yes.
Enter access code: **************
Access granted.
Personal security level: 1
Description: Non-employee. Unlikely that a change in personal security level will occur.
Security threat level: 1
Description: No reason to provide a security threat. Limited contact to structured combat environment. Keep note of activities occurring outside wrestling, and change threat level if necessary, although unlikely that there will be a reason.
Physical threat level: 5
Description: Has shown glimpses of more potential in structured combat, but as of yet, no reason provided to raise threat level. Little to no threat in unstructured combat, save from possible expertise in firearms.
Security level 9 required for detailed biography.
Proceed? No.
Security level 10 required for extensive summary notes.
Proceed? No.
Close File? Yes.
File Closed.
Log Off? Yes.
Logging off.
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