Post by patera on Aug 15, 2011 19:49:44 GMT -5
"The Year of the Monster"
by TITAN
Son of a Bitch.
That’s right, I said Bitch. I mean, I never met Chris Sabora’s mom before but based on how her son turned out I would say it’s a safe bet to call her a Bitch. Wouldn’t you agree? The time of reckoning is almost at hand. I am eager. Or better yet, I am excited. Think about it, not only do I have a chance to once again show the world why I fucking matter… and you don’t… but I get to do it by beating up on the most annoying son of a Bitch to ever step in the EUW ring. (See? I said Bitch again.) Let’s think about it. What was the ongoing theme last year? Think hard enough and I am sure you all will remember. They are still clearing out the fucking lunch boxes and coloring books with his name to this very day if you need a hint.
"Never bet against the Machine".
That’s right. I know that rings a bell. For those who were not here during that period, let me offer you a refresher course. You see, for most of last year, the EUW had to deal with the most annoying boy scout ever to grace the television in Chris Sabora. No one could beat him.. Evidently not even me. He was solid, amazing even before that jackass Jace Ambrose was.. but of course all good things eventually come to an end. While the world was busy kissing his pasty white ass, I was doing what I do best. I found the darkest gym that I could find and got to work, putting together an unstoppable gameplan that was tailor made to bring down a Machine. Or better yet:
To bring down an over-rated idiot.
Going into that match, I ignored all of that “You can’t beat the Machine” shit and pushed forward, keeping my eyes on the prize. If he ran 3 miles I would sprint 6. 12 hours sparring in the dojo? No problem! I rented out a whole gym and took on a baker’s dozen of ‘em. That’s right. This is how you chase down the top man in the business. Once that bell rang, I held nothing back. Not a damn thing. I beat the ever living snot out of that pretty boy and made him ugly. Then, when all of the Sabora lovers had a moment to stare at their very mortal hero… I destroyed him. The highlight of my career to that point was not being awarded the championship belt. Oh no. It was the happiness that I felt, watching him chewing on his own broken teeth. No more gay ass chants about that man...
It was my time now.
Of course, past mistakes always have a way of showing up once again, don’t they? I showed pity, as I let the broken Machine hobble to the hospital. As I watched him leave the arena with the help of company personnel, I knew deep down inside that I should have finished him off. I mean, it wouldn’t be the first time that I felt a bone snap in my fingertips. No, it was that moment of weakness that I pay for now, I guess. When I should be defending my title against the newest fuck face around… I am once again forced to stand in the ring with “Mister undefeated for a year due to shitty opponents” Sabora at Scars and Stripes. It’s just as well though. I will finish what I started. There will be no limping and playing to the stupid ass fans on the way out the door for him this time around. I am going to bury that son of a bitch.. And make a tuxedo out of his flesh. This is the year of the Monster, not the Machine.
I will prove it to you.. Again.
Asylum Arena 8.14.11
4:36pm
I can feel pressure in my eyes as they bulge out, threatening to burst free from the sockets that house them. I lean back, doing my best to remain still. With each stab of the needle, I take a deep breath, not even daring to show weakness. A sign of weakness of a disease after all. Once the burning sensation subsides, I turn to my right and stare at the man standing beside me. Holding the still dripping syringe in his grasp, he shakes his head. I want to lash out and grasp his neck, only to shake him from left to right like a fucking stuffed animal that begs to be discarded.. But I don’t. You see, I understand that he is only doing his job. We all are. My job begins very soon. Approaching the Doctor, Barry Jordan places his hand upon him with a smirk. These steroid injections that I have undergone over the last few weeks have taken a lot out of me but the strength that they have awarded back has been worth it. My body size has doubled and I almost feel as if I could put a damn rhino in a headlock. How many people can say that?!
“How is he, Doc?” begins Barry now. “Will he be in fighting shape for this weekend?”
Turning in my direction instead, the Doctor wrinkles his nose at me as he shoves the stupid eyeglasses back on his nose. “That’s up to Billy, really. Tell me, how do you feel?”
“What kind of fucking question is that?” I ask defiantly. I mean, seriously. Isn’t he the one with the damn medical degree? “I feel just fine. Slam me with another shot so I can get the hell out of this piss hole!”
“Billy. You already have received you max limit this week.” interrupts the Doctor now as he steps away. “I can’t with good conscious offer you another one. The side effects could be disastrous.”
“Side effects?!” I shout at him. I can feel my veins pulsing out of the corners of my collar bone. Was he referring to the chance of me becoming addicted to this shit? Well too late for that. Since this little experiment has started, I have never felt this good. Women? Don’t need them. Friends? Over-rated. All that mattered was my fist colliding with Chris Sabora’s jaw. These injections were only going to bring that about even quicker. Turning to Barry, I nod. He knows exactly what I am thinking as he takes the syringe from the Doctor’s fingertips and walks towards me.
“Hey!” he shouts. “You can’t-”
“I can do whatever I want.” I answer with a smile. “I am TITAN… the champion of the World. NEVER forget that.”
Leaning my head back, I bite my lower lip as the syringe is inserted into my arm once again. My mind sparks with electricity as my muscles convulse involuntarily. Horrified, the Doctor rushes out of the locker room. Opening my left eye slightly, I catch of glimpse of Barry Jordan. Fighting to keep my vision clear, I stare at him as he seems to be smiling? The world slowly blacks out as I hear his voice trail off.. “To build a Monster one must be willing to live in fear.”
Golden Gate Park. San Francisco, CA
8.15.11 1:15pm
I time my breaths, making sure to exert only the energy that is needed. Around me, the busy sounds of the city bustle about and yet, none of these sounds venture near me. Be it out of fear or just plain cowardice, I am left alone as I jog through the park. A group of children play a game of stick ball nearby, taking notice of me as I arrive. Their unified gaze upon me tells me everything that I wish to know. I am the unknown, the man whom you never turn your back on. Even a group of 13 year olds can see this. Well, almost all of them.
Halting me in my tracks, I look down as I am stopped by a small red headed kid. He has this stare to him that hints of past abuse. Be it his parents, a preacher.. or even a relative.. It matters not. I just know that look and can spot it easily. It is the look of a soul that is damaged. This soul still had a chance though. If only I was so lucky. Placing both of his hands upon his corduroy jean hips, he looks up at me and shouts in my direction. “Hey.. TITAN! You ready to lose this weekend?!”
I ignore him and proceed to run around the kid. I don’t mind being known as the scum of the earth but a child abuser I am not. As I begin to leave the area I can hear more child voices in the distance. “See? TITAN ain’t shit. He is just a big fat… LOSER! Chris Sabora is going to kick his ass.”
Stopping in my tracks, I pivot in my white Reeboks and glance in their direction now. Spitting out my wad of Big League Chew gum, I stomp towards them as I notice one of the parents also heading in that direction as well. The father looks up at me nervously as he hails his son. Raising a hand, I stop them before they could leave as I arrive back on the scene. “Hey, is that your son there? I hear he is a big fan of mine.”
“NO WAY!” shouts the little shit at me. “THE MACHINE WILL BE THE CHAMP IN A WEEK!”
Grabbing his son by the shoulders, the child is ushered away as the father looks at me. “You know us wrestling fans, always so intense! Good luck this weekend. It will be a great match.”
“Wait.” I continue. “I would love to hear why he feels I will lose this weekend. The fans are who matter after all!” I almost throw up in disgust as I say that. Resigning, the father turns his son around to face me. This should be interesting.
“Chris Sabora is the REAL deal.” begins the kid. “No one beat him in over a year! Not you or anybody! He only lost because he was tired and exhausted. Now that he is back and refreshed, the title will be back on his shoulder. He is a martial arts master!”
“Okay.” I answer, doing my best to keep my cool.
Not letting up, the little shit stain presses on. “You aren’t that good. Everybody knows that you are only a champ because Sabora has been gone. NEVER BET AGAINST SABORA! NEVER BET AGAINST SAB-”
“Okay..” I try once more.
“TIME FOR A TITAN TO FALL! BIG FAT LOSER!!!” he shouts now as his father holds him back desperately. Glancing down at the father, I catch sight of what he is wearing under his jacket. You see, it would do no good to beat this kid up nor gain me a thing. I wasn’t about to let this shit fly though. Noticing the shirt that the father was wearing was the best thing for me… it said “MACHINE HEAD” on it. Perfect.
“I can’t help but notice that you are a fan of Sabora’s as well.” I answer smiling. “Machine Head.. How witty.”
“Oh this?” he stumbles out. “My wife bought me this shirt. I just love to watch the show in general.”
Look at this. A father who can’t even stand up to someone in front of his own son. I would only be doing the kid a favor by beating this man down where he stood now wouldn’t I? I mean, I was born out of hatred, and judging by the scars on the kids neck and arms.. He was too. He wanted to see a hero? Well, fuck Sabora. I will show this kid what a real hero looks like. “A fan huh?” I begin now. “Do you practice what you see on your son there?”
“I don’t understand.” answers the man as he back peddles before me with child in tow. “I don’t hit my children.” I can tell he is lying by the expression on his son’s face. “We better get going. It’s late.”
“Oh no. I wouldn’t have that at all.” I laugh, grabbing him by the shoulder. “You know what is worse than a fucking Chris Sabora fan?! Let me tell you. A Chris Sabora fan who beats his damn kids!! DO YOU HEAR ME?!! A MAN WHO HURTS HIS CHILDREN IS THE REAL MONSTER!!”
Tears well up in his eyes instantly as a small puddle forms in his pants. I glance at the kid now with satisfaction as the kid notices his father’s reaction as well. Not a word is spoken as the children in the park around remain still. Grabbing the boy now, I turn him around to face his father and speak. “That is your father. He is a man who beats up his children but when confronted by a man his own size… he pisses his damn pants! Don’t fear this man. Learn from this… and never be that way. Gain strength from it and one day.. He will be pissing his pants at the sight of YOU! Do you understand me?”
“Yeah.” answers the kid now.
“Good. People like me may look like the bad guy on television, but we are not. You and I are very much alike. I have spent my life standing up to these type of guys. On Sunday, I am going to do it again. I have earned my share of scars and turned out a champion because of it. You should do the same. Being a monster is not exactly a bad thing to be now… is it?” I answer. Receiving a nod, I turn and look at the father. “Touch him again.. and I will be back. I will snap your fucking neck like I am going to do to Sabora's. Then you will be just like your hero on that shirt of yours, now won’t you? Be good to your kids.. And they will be good to you later. Fail at this and you will create another me.”
Not waiting for a response, I walk away and leave the two be. There would be works exchanged between them but the playing field would now be a bit more even. I feel a sense of pride due to the fact that I held myself in check long enough to not break that idiot. See? I have self control. That control will be of no importance though as I headed into Sunday. Just as his fans have started to see the light.. Chris Sabora was about to as well.
(Epilogue)
Hello Chris Sabora and his legions of fans. The past few weeks have been a party in itself hasn’t it, now that the great Machine has returned! Once again, the endless hours of commercials and news broadcasts all hyping the EUW’s golden boy have begun once more. Want proof? Not seconds after Retribution had come to a close a few months ago, Chris Sabora’s ugly mug was already plastered on the website.. The poster boy for Scars and Stripes. It wasn’t me, the current World Champion and constant career ender. It wasn’t even Brett Cross and his recent gift of aggression, a trait that has awarded him the Lionheart Championship, either. It could have even been Mister Luck, the man who has shown the world just how retarded the overly hyped Oblivion truly is! No, Sabora was now the focus once again..
It sickens me.
What sickens me worse is that despite all of this, the world roots for him. All of this good guy / bad guy nonsense comes into play I guess but let’s be honest here. You all hate this fuck as much as I do. I know all of you rolled your eyes the minute that you heard he was returning. I know I did. Yet, that is where our similarities end. Why doesn’t the mighty Brett Cross challenge Sabora?! I mean, does Sabora deserve the title shot as much as Cross? Of course though.. Cross does nothing. This is what happens when that jackass (Sabora) steps in the ring. He matters… and the world does not. Well, not anymore. I showed you all just how fucking weak he was last time as I put him on the disabled list! I beat that shit within an inch of his life as you all wept over it.
Deep inside though, you all loved it.
The whole “Era of the Machine” shit finally came to an end. The world took a collective sigh of relief immediately. Did anyone thank me though? Of course not. Well guess what, you all are about to have a second chance to do just that because the stage is set for a rematch.. If you want to even call it that.
Chris, every time we have faced off I have been that much better than the last time. At first, I was “knocking on the door” as you beat me due to in-ring experience. Then as that slowly played less of a factor, you beat me because I lost focus, another experience issue. When you finally did fall at my feet, it was not because of the stupid excuse that you gave everybody now was it? You know deep inside that you never had a chance. My skill, strength, and experience tripled each time until there was no fucking hope for you! The Machine became a broken calculator.. One that miscounted just how much time he had left…
A lot has changed since you left to lick your wounds, Sabs. You see, where I was once the anxious rookie aching for a chance to bring down the big shot in the industry… I am now the predator. The World of Professional Wrestling revolves around me, tending to my every whim until I tire of it.. Just as I now tire of you. There will be no glorious come back. Quit lying to yourself that you are ready to enact revenge upon me because we both know what kind of shape that you are in. You are damaged, stitched together by surgeons in third world countries. The Machine has been dismantled, leaving behind only a bitter man with dreams of recapturing the magic he once had..
It is just a dream though.
The reality is that I am going to hurt you. I am going to beat you three shades of blue as I make a bigger example out of you than I did Sachiele Willows. Train as hard as you want, barge into my locker room if need be.. but it won’t change a thing. You don’t scare me nor have you ever. You are a Bitch.. Plain and simple. I, on the other hand, go by a different name now…
World Champion.
Let’s fucking do this..