Jones/Riddle v Gunn/Willis vs Ford/Zodiac v Zed/PAROXYSM

After Chaos 100



It was fucking freezing outside the Carnage Arena, it felt like winter already. Under the current circumstances, the authorities usually frowned upon fans converging outside of the arena on show nights, but since Shree and Derek were regulars – and Zed’s ride home – exceptions were made. When Zed emerged out into the parking lot, suitcase dragging behind him, Derek started the car and Shree ran to take his luggage. She felt kind of embarrassed, afterwards – that she’d ran across the parking lot to do it. She gave him an unreciprocated hug and put his suitcase in the trunk while he slid into the back seat. Moments later, they were on the move.

It was a silent ride. In the passenger seat, Shree reflected. Nineteen years old, she was the recently elected President of the Zed Hotley Fan Club and Chair of its feminist sub-committee Hotties for Hotley – made up primarily of women who had slept with Zed and women who, like Shree, were hoping for the opportunity. Driving the car with his shirt sleeves rolled up was Derek, Vice-President of the aforementioned former and benevolent tolerator of the latter.


Part of the fan club’s duties, enshrined in their founding constitution and ratified by Zed himself, was to fund Zed’s extravagant but necessary lifestyle – through the $20 joining fee and regular monthly subscription fees, but also by paying for his after-show meals. Using the intuition that had facilitated her fast rise through the organisation’s ranks, Shree correctly surmised that Zed needed cheering up – so she told Derek to head to a diner they’d previously taken him to. The scene of Zed and Shree’s longest and most intense conversation yet.



Shree, of course, had said very little. They’d been sat across from each other – no Derek – she’ gazed adoringly at his while he attempted to devour a grilled cheese sandwich, much of it missing his mouth by some distance. His zebra-striped neckbrace was rapidly becoming stained with a hint of orange. In between and often during mouthfuls, Zed had bared his soul to Shree.



“Did I do something wrong?” He’d asked suddenly.



Shree, taken by surprise, had not responded immediately – and Zed hadn’t waited for her to do so.



“I know I’m kind of an asshole. Sometimes.” He shrugged. “But I always try to do the right thing. So what am I missing?”



“What do you mean?” She’d asked softly. So soft that Zed might not have heard her.



The last half of that sentence was obscured somewhat by a mouthful of bread and cheese, which Zed chewed thoughtfully before continuing.



“Sometimes I just miss things.” He said. “But it feels like…everyone moved on without me. Carnage is different now. Since I got hurt, there’s so many people here who weren’t here before. And it feels like everyone likes them more than me.”



“I don’t.” Shree said earnestly. She really didn’t. The newer wrestlers had definitely made the show more interesting as a whole, but none of them compared to Zed. Axton Gunn may have a very pretty face, but he didn’t have the emotional depth or maturity of The Hottie.



Zed left the crusts of his sandwich on the plate, pushing it away from himself and tugging at his neckbrace to wipe the corners of his mouth.



“I still feel brand new. I still feel like the shiny new toy. But nobody ever cared that I was gone, except Marlowe.” Zed stammered a little over that last word before continuing. “And the way everyone talks about Silvio, or Winter, or Catalina – they don’t talk like that about me.”



I do. Shree wanted to say. But she daren’t. Zed was opening up – and he was opening up to her. She hadn’t wanted to ruin it.



“Nobody ever thinks about be anymore. No one asks about me. Before, Christopher Marlowe was just my friend, you know? That’s all he was – Christopher Marlowe, friend of Zed Hotley. He’d never achieved anything himself.” Zed glanced at Shree briefly to make sure she wasn’t about to rebuke him, the first time they’d ever made eye contact – Shree felt her heart give a little flutter. “Now all I am is Christopher Marlowe’s friend. Which would be bad enough if he was anything himself, but he’s still just Catalina Cortes’ friend. All anyone ever talks about is Catalina Cortes and her undefeated streak.”



The hint of a sneer crossed his lips. “Sometimes I wish she’d just lose already. She’s not even that good – she had to cheat to beat me. I wish she’d lose her dumb streak and lose the tag titles too – then Marlowe could see how little he means to her. He’s just a prop to her, a sidekick, a damsel for her to save.”



Shree nodded along enthusiastically. She hated Catalina too. She hated that some obnoxious wannabe Gamer Girl had ruined Zed’s tag team and caused a great split in the Marlowe-Zed fandom. Some people – disgusting verminous subhumans who deserved eradication - were even shipping Carlowe as a couple.



Concern flashed suddenly across Zed’s features. “So what does that make me? A flea living on a rat on the SS Cortes? I think -”

Shree’s phone buzzed. A notification from Derek, probably. Wondering where she was. Shree had cringed apologetically; she knew Zed hated phones. He leaned back, waved a hand dismissively.



“Anyway.” He said nonchalantly. “It’s late, and I’m talking your ear off. You should probably get the bill.”



Before they’d left, Zed had put his hand on Shree’s – she’d felt her heart flutter.



“Thanks for hearing me out, Kim.” He’d said. “You’re a great fan.”



This time, though, when Shree and Derek took Zed to the same diner – he didn’t say a word. His head bowed, he prodded idly at the cold sandwich in front of him. A hand fixed on his mug of coffee, but never once taking a sip. Shree and Derek sat opposite him, watching on with concern.



Shree spoke first: “You did the right thing, Zed.”



She nudged Derek, who sprung into action too. “Yeah, Zed. No one can fault you. Marlowe – “ Zed winced a little at the mention of his name. “Marlowe was asking for it, needed a wake up call. And don’t get me started on -”



“Hush.” Said Shree sharply. A few weeks ago she’d noticed him watching one of Catalina’s Twitch streams and forbade him from even speaking her name since.



Zed scratched his neck, it looked pale and empty without a neck brace adorning it. “I…” He started, then stopped. Derek and Shree both leaned forward.



“I…” He tried again, didn’t look up from his sandwich. “They retained their titles. So in spite of everything they did to me, all the wrong they did to me – they’re still champions and I’m alone.”



He looked up, his eyes raw around the edges. Shree wondered when he’d last slept.



“I thing I have to do something about that.”



----------



‘Cry Havoc, and let slip the dogs of war!’ – William Shakespeare



----------




I had a really long time to think about how this was all going to go down. I had a really long time to fantasise about how my comeback was going to go. I’d even sent a letter to Carnage officials instructing them to stock up on confetti and pyro in advance – they did not. I’d told them to book the largest arena in Baltimore – they did not. I’d told them to ensure I face an opponent worthy of my skills and stature – they did not.


As I understand it, here is the situation: Zed Hotley, the one time biggest start in the company making his triumphant return – is relegated to an untried, unproven B-Show, competing for an opportunity at an opportunity for a championship that he never lost, against a tag team that he created? Pitted against a group of wrestlers who are so uniformly barren in their own accomplishments?

I’m sure that I will hear the same old grumblings from some quarters. You are no different than anybody else, you must earn your opportunities the same way as everybody else, nothing will be handed to you in Carnage Wrestling. But that’s hypocritical – my opponents have been handed a match against me that they have not earned, I have been deprived of what is rightfully mine. How short everyone’s memories are, how shallow their respect for me is. Where were these people when I had everything taken from me? Where was their sense of fair play then?



I’ve been watching them.



I’m far from a perfectionist, but let me illustrate for you exactly how this should have gone down. C dollar sign J should have awarded me my half of the tag team championship, and thanked Catalina Cortes graciously for keeping it warm for me. Then Cortes could go on her merry way to the singles run she’s so blatantly being groomed for, and I could go back to doing what I do best: Keeping this company’s pathetic excuse for a tag division alive.



My opponents, newcomers that most of them are, should have paid me the respect I was due – refused to enter into a tournament they were so clearly unworthy of.



“I apologise for these circumstances.” Kat Jones should be calling to tell me. “And I apologise that my first name is so mired in a legacy of foulness and deceit.”



I would, perched atop of my leopard print throne, show magnanimity and generosity. “It is not your fault that these wrongdoings have befallen me.” I would tell her. “The minute you stop flirting with your brother on live television, there will be a place for you in my kingdom.”



Grateful for my forgiveness, she would depart my throne room – Cyrus crouched behind her in attempt to smell her farts and prevent anyone else from impaling her.



Axton Gunn would follow, scooting in on his leopard print tricycle. “Hey DUDE! It’s ME! Axton GUNN! I’m RADICAL! I’m COOL! I like to ROCK out! I based my ENTIRE personality on an INJURED champion!”



He’d stick his tongue out and make a devil horn sign while waving his hair around. I’d regard him dubiously.



“A lot of people do say we’re similar.” I’d tell him.



“Nonsense!” Cries 18th century English Poet William Wordsworth “ ‘Rockstar’ Axton Z. Gunn is an entirely original character!”



“Thanks Will.” Axton puts a hand on his shoulder. “You’re a great friend.”



I’d watch on in silent amusement.



“And unlike you, I have friends, so nyah!” Axton would stick his tongue out. “The Entourage love me so much they told me I could team with ‘anyone but them’ for this tag team tournament!”



Not finished, Axton opens his mouth to deliver a final, scathing catchphrase: “THE FOLLOWING SENTENCE HAS BEEN REMOVED DUE TO A COPYRIGHT CLAIM BY ZED HOTLEY LTD”



At this point, the throne room begins to shake, stone tumbles down and both Axton and Wordsworth are killed. A booming drone echoes across space and time, eardrums burst as Jon Willis’ giant face peers through the doorway of existence. His lobster claws clack ominously. 


The Lobster opens its mandibles to speak but before a word could come out of its stupidly facepainted features – it was interrupted.



“Can I just say something quickly?” JC, appearing out of thin air to make everything about him despite the fact he retired like two years ago. “I just want to say right now, there’s nobody I respect in this industry more than Jonathan Willis. A serious, realistic wrestler who has fully deserved all of the opportunities handed to him while Zed has been injured.”



“THAT MEANS SO MUCH COMING FROM YOU, JOE. BUT I’M JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE. ” The giant eldritch horror replies bashfully.



“I’d give him my world title if I could.” Amber Ryan informs me tearfully. “But I can’t. Because I lost it.”



“OH MY GOD YOU GUYS.” The monster’s impossibly loud voice sends stones crumbling around my court room. “I’M LIKE ACTUALLY BLUSHING RIGHT NOW. I HAD NO IDEA I WAS SO POPULAR!”



“It’s a really busy company right now.” I nod sympathetically. “If you weren’t so likable and entirely genuine, it would be so easy for you to get lost in the shuffle.”



The creature disappears cheerfully into the abyss from whence it came. Glances of relief are shared. But we all of us know - the minute any one else gets a lick of attention, it will be back. And wrathful.



At this point of the proceedings, I would turn my gaze to the dark, irrelevant corner of the room – where two tiny orphans are standing, eyes lowered.



“And what about you two?” I’d ask. “Why are you here?”



“To make up the numbers, mostly.” Ford would say.



Zodiac would differ, wagging a tiny sausage finger at me. “Excuse you, I’m a former Carnage Tag Team Champion – and even though I, unlike you, lost that title fair and square – I should still be entitled to whatever I want. If I want to suddenly jump into a tournament, I should – because I have a legacy.”



“Oh, absolutely.” I’d agree, pulling the lever on the trap door. “It’s absolutely fair that you and I are treated the same.”



But none of this happened. Reason did not prevail. Carnage Wrestling, despite my numerous petitions, have not made me their King. Instead, I am forced to team with a scary man residing behind the Carnage dumpsters – a man I am told is a professional wrestler. With this vagrant tied around my shoulders, I must assail a mountain of someone else’s making, I must traverse the same sluggish steppes as peasants and hooligans, I must earn rights that were always mine to begin with.



Carnage is oppressing me like no one has ever been oppressed before. I’m the biggest victim in the history of this company, maybe ever.



***



I broke Catalina Cortes.



After looking out for her and her partner for the entire match and long before, at Chaos 100 I made my move – I pushed my friend where he would not jump. I sacrificed my friendship with Cortes & Co, and I did it for them.



Lab Rat King and Silvio Leon were the hardest challenge they’d ever faced. Two of the best wrestlers in the company. Because of me, they beat them. And I never asked for a thank you.



It wounds Catalina’s pride, I think, to know that I could achieve more while injured than she could while healthy. It hurts her that I, and not she, came out of Chaos 100 as the talk of the town. When the situation was reversed, I was a loyal friend to her and her co-champion. Now that the tables have turned, now that the shoe is on the other foot – I haven’t heard from either of them.



I was never their friend to begin with. I was their mascot.



And now Paroxysm is mine. A heavy I can order around. A scary goon, a minion to carry out the dirty work. In exchange for his loyalty I will make him a champion, just like I made Kieran Overton a champion. Just like I made Cortes a champion. And just like I made…



Anyway.



I watched as Catalina Cortes faced Silvio Leon, without me or any other ally to lean on – and I watched her fail. I watched her flounder. And finally everyone else saw what I’d always seen – a kid from Mexico who’d got a fluke win over Zed Hotley and made a career out of it. Dicky Ecklund with better legs. The mystique has vanished.



I wonder if her partner knows that too.



Nobody’s seen or heard from him since Chaos 100. Still reeling from a reality check. Time was, he was coasting on two pairs of shoulders – now mine are gone and Cortes’ can’t take the weight. They’re done, and everyone knows it. The reason this tag team tournament got so many entrants is that it’s not for a shot at those titles – it’s for those titles. Whoever wins this tournament gets an easy ride against two champions whose hearts aren’t in it. Two gamblers who missed their chance to cash out. Two junkies who are finally getting their comedown.



At Havoc, I disrespect everyone. I slap them around, I spit in their faces, I call them names. And while I know Cyrus the Impaler will get off on it, the rest of them will feel hard done by. And to that I can only offer this explanation – it’s only fair. The disrespect and abuse they face will not be a tenth of the disrespect and abuse that I have faced from my peers and my employers over the last few months. Life is a roulette wheel, and they’re just in the wrong place at the wrong time. For Paroxysm, he’s hit the jackpot. He gets a title run, he gets his name next to mine in the history books, he gets to lick the stamps on all the replies I write to my adoring fans. I’m the victim here, and it’s important to remember that. I’ve only ever tried to do the right thing by these people.



And when I break Axton Gunn’s neck – I’m going to do him a courtesy that was never shown me by any of these supposedly kind-hearted wrestlers. I’m going to write him a get well soon card.