My last time out, I easily disposed of Eddie Williams in a match everyone knew I was supposed to win. Being victorious in that type of match really doesn't do much for you, but a loss in that kind of match is a serious career killer. But that wasn't the most important part of my night. See, I showed up during the Main Event because I had a score to settle. Something bothered me so bad from the moment that bell rang, I just couldn't avoid it.

I watched the match and I couldn't focus on what either man was doing, I just saw red. Being pushed to the side by Dashery was painful to me, because when you look up flash in a pan you'll find his cocky self staring right back at you. A guy who has done nothing of value made me look like a fool, and for that I was going to make him pay. Sure, things got a little messy out there with The Ice Man deciding to show up and make his return- but I got my point across. That point being there is no way I will allow anyone to gain the upper hand on me, without having them pay it back in the form of their blood and pain. Some of the faithful felt I was going after The Phoenix, again, but that just isn't the case. I have nothing left for him, except remorse for the lengths I went to to defeat him. That remorse is dampened now, knowing he is in good enough shape to compete to his full capabilities in the ring- but I still remember dropping him right on his head, and forcing him to vacate his championship in OWF. So, I guess the utter hatred I held for what Dashery is as a person wasn't the only factor in why I wanted to stick my nose into the match. Maybe a part of me wanted to make it up to Will, but I know there isn't forgiveness when it comes to my actions that aren't even a full year old yet.

That being said, I don't blame The Ice Man for trying to split me in half. Hell, I tried to kick his fucking head off the second I saw him- because he would have disrupted my plan to ensure victory for Will. He's full of pride and I knew that if he wasn't out cold, he wouldn't take a shady victory. I had to even the odds in order to turn them in my favor when I laid Dashery out in the center of the ring. So I won't be looking for revenge on The Ice Man, because we're even. But I still owe something to Will, and more than that I owe something to myself.

Getting back in good graces with the commish will have to wait, because my priorities lie in the immediate future. My real shot at redemption has surfaced, and it won't be wasted. It isn't the tournament, even though winning the whole damn thing is my complete goal. Stepping back into the spotlight is as simple as putting forth my utmost effort in one match. A rematch that is nearly two years in the making.

Jesse Williams versus "The Hellacious One" Draco. One on one, no special stipulations or gimmicks- just two men vying for a chance to move on in this tournament to crown a new New Legends of Wrestling Champion. That's how it should be, not having one of us face off against some slob in a sleeveless shirt donning tribal tattoo's or stacking up weapons in or outside of the ring for pure shock value. Two of the best professional wrestlers to ever step into NLW, just going at it to prove who will be the best on that night. It's no secret that this is one of the more talent heavy tournaments I have been a part of, but whenever you get one of these things going there are always a lot of talented competitors who have a good shot of walking out the winner. But for a first round match, I can't say that I've ever faced more of a challenge.

I know Draco, better than some including him would expect. And I know that he is aware of me, and knows just as much about me that I do him. In the two years since we last met, a lot has changed for both of us and that has to give each of us a blind spot when it comes to what to expect in this match. But really, no amount of physical or mental preparation is going to give one man the advantage over the other. This is a whole new demon now, because we aren't in the OWF anymore and I can only imagine that he has evolved his style with great care like I have. Nothing we've done in the past is relevant to this match, besides the little bit we can take from the past encounters to form a strategy entering the ring. So I won't be one to sit here and say that because I've studied Draco's every move I have an advantage- just as you can expect from Draco, as well. I'm not that stupid to assume upon the ringing of the bell that this will be a cake walk. This is the match of my life and I will approach it from a completely different mindset than I've done before.

This is a new man, and some people out there may just not understand my change in mentality. That's fine, because I still have no clue where it came from either. Maybe being humbled personally really made me value my physical talent, and gave me a whole new respect for the business. Or maybe it's some personality disorder, and the second things don't go my way I'll go back to trying to injure people and steal victories. I don't know, and only time will tell where I go from here- but for the time being, I am more than conscious of my surroundings and where I stand in regards to my career than I ever have been. I can't be the same guy I was months ago, because I haven't proven I am unstoppable. And my match with Draco will do nothing to get me back to that point, because no matter who wins they will not be praised for demolishing the opposition. I understand and accept that- therefore, I have a wider view of what needs to be done. Don't get me wrong, I want to be respected- but I'll never go back to feeling unstoppable, because I know I'm not. I've said it once, and I'll say it again- any night, you can be defeated by anyone. If I beat Draco, that simply means I am the better man that night. If you lined us up for ten straight matches, you can almost guarantee that the end result would be a stalemate. But we aren't in a series here. This is one match that I need to be the better man in, and maybe that will result in a loss of focus for the rest of the tournament. But I don't care. Winning the NLW title by defeating the best this federation has to offer would achieve my goal, but defeating Draco outright will give me a greater sense of personal satisfaction. I want to take small steps and I'd rather not look down the line, because that is how you miss the trip wire right in front of your feet.

My future is one match, one opponent. If I get by him, I'll worry about others later. It could cost me in the long run knowing the others in this tournament would love to rip my limbs from my torso- but that's nothing to worry about now. I know what needs to be done, and I won't let myself down.

Monday, November 30th, 2009
4:22pm Mountain Standard Time
Las Vegas, Nevada, USA

Glancing off the jagged rocks, I stare directly at the sun receding under the horizon. From the start I was aware laying basically bareback on top of this cliff would do horrible things to the muscles in my back, but ever since I could walk this is the place I came to clear my head. A slight breeze whips my thin cotton shirt against my body, and sends my hair strewing across my face but keeps the suns remaining heat tolerable- even if the boulder under me has been cooking since sunrise. The high temperature of the rocks actually does my body right, as it loosens the muscles in a poor mans hot stone massage. Usually I'd absorb the sounds around me to help calm my mind, but instead I need to focus it completely. Therefore I have my ears plugged up with small white earphones, blasting the playlist I most commonly reserve for the waning minutes before a match. Every single thought running through my mind is concerned with my immediate future, and the current bumps in the road I'll have to travel to redemption. The music feels as if it coarses through my veins and allows me to escape the pain in my body even if only in this time and place.

Interrupting my concentration, a soft vibration rumbles in the right pocket of my blue denim jeans. Hastily I slide my right hand off the back of my head, keeping my chin tucked to my chest with my eyes still set to the west. I fumble through the pocket and slide my phone from the tight enclosure, looking at the lit screen displaying a new text message. After analyzing the number, it feels familiar enough to warrant my checking. With a few clicks upon the face of the phone, I bring up the message which reads..

"Still waiting to hear from you. Get here as soon as possible."

..in whole. It comes at an inopportune time with the burning sensation from the ground under me just subsiding. Shrugging off my relaxation and and pulling myself up to my rear proves to be achieved with ease upon the absense of pain and tension running through my spine. Now sitting, I slip my phone back into the slacked jean pocket it came from while reaching into the opposite pocket with my left- pulling from it a pack of Marlboro Lights. I hook both of my feet in towards my knees, sitting myself indian style while cracking open the pack of stoges, then use the edges of my leather sneakers to press up onto the soles of my feet. Standing on both feet I feel the breeze rush at me with a lot more force, as I am providing more of a face for it to whistle around with my brooding figure peering over the edge. With my right hand, I use my index and thumb fingers to pick a single cigarette from the pack- sliding it from it's tight enclosure, and placing the filter between my parched lips. I kick my right leg behind me, and use it to pivot around with one complete spin. I set my eyes first to my fathers 1971 Dodge Challenger coupe, which has collected a layer of dust and other sediments along the sides of the blue colored body from the whipping wind. With one foot in front of the other I step along the cracking rocks and dead shrubbery, rounding the grill of the car as I approach the drivers side. When I reach the door of the near pristine muscle car, I pop the handle open with my right hand and reach over the leather seat towards the ignition with my left- scooping the rusty set of keys I had removed from my lock box weeks ago into my palm, and pulling them into my complete possession. Before I pull myself completely from the car I grab a black lighter that lays as the lone item littering any part of the car, and flick it inside of the vehicle to avoid having it blown out from the gusts coming over the cliff edge.

I bring the flame to the tip of the tobacco, lighting the cigarette as I inhale deeply. I hold the smoke in my lungs, flipping the lighter back onto the passengers seat. Leaning myself back to a rigid posture I slam the door shut gently, with just enough force that it catches on the latch and stays closed- and only then do I exhale the remnants of the smoke. I keep the keys snug in my right palm while turning myself away from the car, and bringing my left hand to my mouth to remove the cigarette from my lips. As I pull an about face, I come across a large dilapidated clay building that has nearly been overrun by dead vines and infestation. It's familiar to only me now, I suppose, as it seems like it hasn't been inhabited in years. The first step towards the building brings back old memories, some good- most terrible. With my second step, a large wooden cross barely comes through a maze of tangled vines- choking whatever life was left in this building. A large split coarses from the top of the cross, straight to the bottom, with the cross only remaining on the wall by it's heavily rusted steel reinforcements. Next to that, a large door swings back and forth with pressure from the wind- but keeps getting hooked on the landscape that strangles the entire building. It breaks through one of the thicker vines, and the pressure inside of the building slams the door shut in an instant. I lift my left hand to my mouth, and take a deep drag from my cigarette as I align my path with the doorway. As I step forward I shuffle the ring of keys around in my hand, exhale a puff of smoke, and isolate the one key that looks nothing like the others.

I insert the key into the disintegrating door knob, and twirl my wrist to the right. Nothing pops in the door, and a simple push moves the door off of it's frame- although it nearly slams me straight in the face with wind blowing from the inside of the building, out. With both hands I press my palms upon the splintering door and swing it open just wide enough for me to slip inside. When I release the door, it smashes back upon it's frame with a thunderous explosion of sound that rips through the hallowed hall. It's easy to tell why, as the only light shining inside of the church is that cutting through the holes in the dried mud walls as it has crumbled away with years of neglect. As I step forward, breaking my stillness at the back of the church, to move down the aisle, I roll my eyes right to left identifying a few recognizable items strewn around the building. Most of the oak pews remain bolted to the warped wood floor, that has random boards either missing or protruding awkwardly up into the air. While sliding the soles of my sneakers along it, I notice the carpet on the aisle is completely discolored from the vibrant red it was the last visit I made here, with miscellaneous black stains and dirt dug deep into the fabric. To my dismay, almost every stained glass window has been broken and boarded up with little attention paid to good craftsmanship, and different forms of vandalization are evident on just about everything in sight. The only thing that seems to remain completely unharmed is the altar at the end of the aisle, which has it's wooden armrests still standing sturdy a top a kneeling step. I never have been a religious man, but this church was always a place where I could guarantee solitude. Those rusty keys gave me entrance whenever I pleased, and taking advantage of it was always something I wanted to do ever since I stopped coming here when I moved away from Las Vegas. This was the place where my siblings and I were baptised, where my parents were wed and ultimately where their funeral services were held. Although I never came here looking for god, I always found something else completely unintentionally- and was always better for it.

I step to the wooden structure and place the cigarette between my lips for one final puff. I hold it in my lungs while flicking the lit cigarette through one of the gaping holes in the stained glass window nearest to me, then slowly turning back to the altar. Easing myself down to my knees is definitely a bit of a labored task, but nevertheless I dig my kneecaps down onto the now rigid cushion over the kneeling step. The wispy remnants of smoke escape from my lips and I clasp my hands together in front of me.

"Jesse."

I swing my upper body around, peering over my left shoulder to look around the church- finding it still completely empty. When I return to prayer at the altar, again I hear a voice call out my name to me.

"Jesse."

This time it sounds as clear as a bell, and I'm almost positive I am not hearing things. I stand from my knees and look deep into the dark corners of the room, scanning for any movement or slight peep. Nothing. Hoping to coax the voice out of hiding, I bellow "Pastor, is that you?" which echoes almost indefinitely off the weathered adobe walls. Again, nothing. I didn't really think he would be here, but standing here frozen in thought that I have been followed here makes me wish it was someone familiar. "Am I hearing things?" I think to myself, still shooting my eyes around every inch of the church.

"No, you were right the first time- you're not hearing things. You came for guidance, and here I am to provide it."

Playfully I emote "Oh and what's that?", blowing this off as a mere hallucination from a mixture of hydrocodone and direct sunlight.

"You need to feed the beast, Jesse."

I scoff outloud while mulling this sheer obsurdity in my mind- pondering "The beast? Jesus christ, I didn't think I took THAT many pills today.

"The monster inside you grows stronger, while your exterior weakens by the day. Shed your skin, and reveal your true form. You can't control him forever."

A chord is struck, and immediately I fall into an internal debate. "Huh? Why would I try to exude that my life is in this shit hole if it wasn't? What would I get from that? This is my true 'form', a broken man who needs medication to drag himself from bed. A guy who can't flush his mind of memories from years, months and days past that were filled with selfloathing and hatred. A man who holds onto his past because it's the only thing that will never change. I admit it, and I'll make steps to fix it.". Once I silence my mind, I shoot my eyes to random points of the building as if following my train of thought around in aimless circles.

"There's no reform, there's no restitution, there's no repentance. Not for the likes of you. The past is what it is, and you are what you are."

"You're wrong. I can prove myself to be a better man than I was. I may not get Sarah or my child back, I may never feel good about myself as a person and I may never get the forgiveness I seek from those I wronged. But that doesn't mean I'll give up, because I won't stop trying until the day I die- whether that's sooner or later, it's not up to me. What is up to me, is the path I take to cure the problems inside of me." I elaborate from my subconscious as I now break out into a nervous pace back and forth in front of the altar.

"You are who you are, and you cannot change your stripes. Embrace them and wear them like a badge of honor. It is your greatest strength, and your constant pandering to those around you is your only weakness. There is only one problem inside of you right now- and that's the war you're unwittingly waging against your better judgment."

"Shut up! You have no idea what you're talking about!" I explode out of nowhere in a blind rage, unconsciously bringing the conversation to a verbal front on my end. "My better judgment led me here, because I needed guidance. Not from you, not from god- from inside me. I won't listen to anything you say because only I know what Jesse Williams is capable of."

"You're right. Only you, Jesse. That's why it is up to you to make the right judgment based on the guidance you got when you knelt down to pray. Don't worry, I'm not God Jesse. But I know you better than you'd imagine- and with your stupidity, I believe I have a better portrait of Jesse Williams painted for myself than your conscious self does."

Breaking me out of my complete insanity, I feel a buzz in my pocket- which brings me right back to reality. I jut my right hand into the jeans, pulling out the phone which shows a new message received. Same number before, but this time the message reads..

"Where are you?"

"Go ahead Jesse, we'll be catching up real soon."

And just like that, there is silence filling the building aside from the furious gusts of wind that slam up against the walls- and sneak through the cracks. Glaring back at my phone, it hits me that I am incredibly late for the prearranged meeting I had set up weeks ago- and I brush off my last ten minutes of conversing to no one but a drug hallucinated voice as just that. With one movement of my arm I return the phone to my jean pocket, and pull the set of keys from it- dropping them inside the right hand pocket of my hooded sweatshirt. I ball my fingers up into my fists and rub my eyes furiously with the knuckles of my index fingers. When I remove them a few purple spots linger around before I regain my focus, and set off back up the carpetted aisle. It is much less well lit with the sun now almost completely set, but luckily I can still see well enough to avoid any obstacles I may trip up on with my accelerated pace. I brush past the pews and lock my eyes on the door, still pressed tightly up against it's frame by the gusts inside the church. When I reach the door, I again use both palms to press it open and it still shakes violently as I make my exit out into a near sandstorm. My father's car is getting pelted from all sides with swirling winds, forcing bits of sand and pebbles against the original paint job. I allow the door to slam shut behind me as I step off to the car, closing my eyes and turning my face away from the current angle of the wind.

The second I reach the car I hook my left hand around the handle, and fumble back into the pocket of my hoodie to grab the keys. The largest of them all is easy to find, even with my eyes closed, and I only open them to ensure I slide it into the lock and don't do any further damage to the car. With a quick pop of my wrist the lock pops up, and I swing the door open- keeping a hold of it so the wind doesn't slam it up against the car, or rip it from it's hinges. Luckily I jump inside as the wind shifts, swinging the door shut just about a millisecond after I pulled my left leg into the car. As I look out the front windshield, I can see nothing but shimmering gold as the last drops of sunlight illuminate the heavy sand. The same can be witnessed behind the car, as I shift my eyes to the rearview mirror. I get a glance of my sand pasted face, and I try brushing away the most cluttered areas. I know I have to make this engagement, so I don't think twice about it as I take the same key I used to unlock the car and slide it into the ignition. When I turn the key to turn the engine over, it takes a few seconds for the car to respond but eventually kicks right into full power. The roar of the engine still sounds as good as the day my father first let me drive this car out here, even if it has been in lock up for half a decade.

Not even bothering to look back over my shoulder, I hit the headlights switch then kick the transmission into reverse and try navigating my way back to the main road based on my years of experience around these parts. I find out rather quickly that the scenery has changed when I run over a few prickly bushed- which are no match for the thick walled tires of the Challenger. I'm able to pull out into a clearing with relative ease, pulling the car to a full stop before kicking it into gear and pulling forward. With a swooping motion I swing the steering wheel hard left, and feel the front tires jump to the asphalt of the road- followed by the rear two. I keep my speed down low and try to follow what little I can see of the road until it clears about thirty feet from the cliff. Once I am through it I adjust myself to the traffic lines and send a quick look back behind me, watching the last bit of sunlight disappear under the horizon. I turn my eyes to the road ahead and press the gas pedal to the floor, trying to get to my destination as soon as possible. With this being my hometown, I know enough shortcuts to get where I need to go in a pretty short amount of time.

There are no other cars on the road, which allows me to go basically as fast as I feel safe to. I hit about eighty miles per hour, only to slow down as I near a Coca Cola billboard- knowing the hot spots for the Las Vegas Police Department along this roadway. Indeed I catch a glimpse of the white Crown Victoria with it's radar gun stuck out the drivers side window- hoping to catch me going over fifty, which is the exact speed I slowed myself down to. I maintain that for a good amount of time, knowing that he will be focused on me and waiting for me to make a mistake with no other drivers to watch for. By the time he is out of sight, I have reached the exit which forces me to slow even further as I swing around to my right in a full circle- coming to an intersection with a four way light, also uninhabitated by traffic of any means. I come to a full stop at the red light which quickly turns green for me to proceed through it, which I do with a left turn onto the service road.

I come to a stripmall of sorts, which has a gas station and a bank across from it- and I speed down the street towards the nearest place designated for parking. I swing the challenger around the curb in front of the string of buildings, and pull into a largely empty parking lot across from the gas station. With every spot vacant I just park in the closest one to my destination, and place the car into park before killing the engine. In one motion I pull the keys from the ignition and pop the drivers side door open to make an exit. As I do I slam the door behind me and move off towards the gymnasium on the corner. From afar I can see Apollo standing with his back against the brick walls of the complex, staring me down.

"Apollo!" I exclaim, running up to my old manager with a bit of excitement to see him. "How are you?" I ask, but in return he shoots me a glare of absolute rage. "Me? I'm fine. But you don't have to worry about how I am, because you just let down about fifty kids who have waited a long time to meet you."

I glance around, looking to a bank across the street from the gymnasium to see the time is about half an hour after I was supposed to be here. I assert "Listen, I got held up and I apologize. I didn't just come here for the kids, because I also came here to try to apologize for something else." which seems to pique Apollo's interest- even though he won't verbally confirm that. I can see the anger drop from his face for a moment and when it becomes clear to me that I have to just come out with it, I do so. "I know I was a dick, and I have no excuses for it. I won't use anything I went through as a scapegoat, because I was still in control of my actions. And I'm sorry." I emote, staring at Apollo for any sign of a response to my words- whether physically or verbally.

"You're sorry?" he questions with a stern tone of voice, to which I respond "Yes, I am sorry. And if you have nothing to say then lets go inside and I'll talk for however long the kids want. Okay?" as I motion towards the door with my right hand. Apollo doesn't budge an inch, and I lower my arm when I realize he has something else to say.

"They went home, Jesse. They're fucking kids and they were here based on a schedule you and I laid out for them six months ago." he screams, stepping right into my face and arching his eyebrows down over his eyes. "This is why I regret ever working for you. You're a selfish, arrogant, no good..."

"Jesse."

Apollo keeps on going, but I consciously shut him out as I begin to hallucinate once more. Even though I keep my eyes motionless and stuck on Apollo, I couldn't hear him if I tried.

"Shut him up, will you?"

"I...uh...I'm just stupid for taking pills and being in the sunlight, I need to get some water." I think to myself, again trying to minimize the situation. Apollo keeps on ranting and raving, complete with arm waiving and gestures of a disrespectful kind. I interrupt him almost out of nowhere, exclaiming "Apollo, I need to get some water." which only pisses him off more. "OH. Well let me go get you some, your highness! You really..." he states before my mind blocks him out once again.

"You and I don't want to hear him. Break his fucking teeth, please."

"No. I can't do that, I've hurt him more than enough."

"Look, he won't get you water and you feel like you're tripping balls. What is he doing to look out for you? Come on, you're going to snap his jaw, Jesse. I know you will, and you know you will. Feel that tingle in your arm?"

My heart skips a beat as the fingers of my right hand twitch violently, with every muscle from my wrist to my shoulder convulsing like mad.

"You tried to be a good guy, which was obviously a stupid plan, and he brushed you off. So if you really want to do him a favor, you'll stop him from speaking for the next two months. Knock him out. Now."

And just as before, the voice disappears into thin air and I can all of a sudden only hear Apollo bitching clear as a bell. I pick him back up midsentence, still with a tone of arrogance in his voice- "...and you've shown no responsibility to anything! These were kids who looked up to you, and you let them down like you let everyone down."

Apollo just stares at me for a moment, trying to catch his breath. He remarks "So what do you have to say for yourself?" in such a manner that I can no longer control myself. The second I reside myself to violence, my right arm almost becomes numb as I rear it up behind me. My former manager can see what is coming a mile away, but he stands frozen in shock- leaving a perfect target right across his smug smirk. I keep my eyes set on his mouth while throwing my right arm forward, aiming to strike with the point of my elbow. The impact is short and blunt, as Apollo's head whips backwards and he falls to the concrete like a puppet cut from it's strings. Blood rushes from his mouth, and pieces of broken teeth protrude from open cuts on his already swollen lips- and an immediate rush of adrenaline hits my body. Just as quickly as it rolls through every limb, it fades and I am left staring at an unconscious Apollo in absolute horror.

"What...what did I..." I stutter, but I find myself unable to finish the sentence.

"What you are supposed to do. What you've done before, and will do again."

Losing my mind I scream "And what the hell is that?" at the top of my lungs, nearly vomitting from the sudden raise in my volume.

"What's best for Jesse Williams."