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| CURRENT RECORD: 6/1/1 |
DATE OF RP: 05/06/03 |
ACCOMPLISHMENT: -ASW TV Champion- |
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"The
sky above the port was the color of television, tuned to a dead
channel."
--William Gibson, Neuromancer
~~10. Blip. 9. Blip. 8. Blip. 7. Blip. 6. Blip. Flag. Blip. 4. Blip. 3. Blip. 2. Blip. Indian Head, static.~~ ~~It would have been a pretty decent day in the city of Pittsburgh- hell, any day could have been a pretty decent day...if it wasn't for the rain. It was one of those sorts of rain that didn't stop at getting you wet...a damp coat here, maybe some leakage into the boots, pants were more than likely destined to get a little wet...but this was the type of rain that would permeate everything that you considered a part of yourself...clothes, emotions, attitude...and made the recieving end of the soaking at least, if not more than, 95% miserable. That's certainly alright, though...Mike MacDougan likes the rain. It was close to 9 at night when MacDougan stepped off his plane. He had taken himself and his newly re-won TV Title on a short 3 week vacation...hell, the boy deserved the trip. He had just spent the previous 2 months battling over a title that he won...no problem...got a big head over, lost...no problem...and then took another 3 weeks to get it back. Finally it had come to rest calmly in the palm of his hands again, and he wasn't going to let anyone take it away from him. The vacation ended earlier than he would have liked it to, but that was alright. What one has to figure in when a MacDougan is in the picture is fighting...MacDougans are fighting machines, born and raised on the streets ready to take out every man that would ever step up to the plate. That never meant that he'd win...but it did mean that he rarely, if ever, missed a fight. Mike MacDougan had missed one fight in his career, that is he wasn't properly trained for it...he let himself become lax. Mike wasn't about to let that happen again. He cut his vacation earlier than his body would have liked simply because his subconscious was telling him to move...get the hell out of paradise and face the facts of reality. It was time that Mike MacDougan came out from the shadows once again to show the world just why he was ASW TV Champion. The black sheen of his wet leather trenchcoat glinted off of a streetlamp outside of the airport lobby. MacDougan stuck out like black leather-clad beast among a sea of business suits, polo shirts, and Hawaiian printed button-downs. It was night, and Mike knew it was night...it was a darker night...a Pittsburgh night...that Mike hadn't seen in a month. The darkness put him at ease as he slid on a pair of mirrored sunglasses. Sure, he would probably have a little trouble seeing out of them in this light, but it really didn't matter. Mike knew he was cool, and Mike knew that no one was going to f*** with him for proving it. A small Asian man, probably in his mid-to-late twenties ducked down in front of Mike and snapped a series of pictures before nodding his head in thanks at Mike. Mike frowned at him, shook his head, and threw his shoulder bag over his arm. The Asian man slipped back into the sea of people. Mike glanced around the front of the establishment, gazing off into the distance of the half-emptied parking lots, shook his head and mumbled to himself.~~ MAGIC: Damn it O'Brian...I told you 9. On the dot. ~~He stepped back under the cover of the entranceway and uncapped a small bottle. He took a swig from it...water...and glanced around his surroundings. Same old city, same old people, different faces. He let a small smile cross his face...yeah, he'd always hated the place before, but that was before he had meaning for the place. Before he ever left the confines of his Pittsburgh home, it had been a cage, but since he signed the ASW contract, the concept of "cage" turned into "home". It was a place where Mike could go back to and always feel welcome. He straigtened his face, sopping up any emotion that may have escaped. Anyway he looked at it, his vacation was far from over and there was business to attend to...business that might get him killed if he wasn't careful. He had spent the entire previous month on the beach...admitantly not the first place he would have liked to have been, but then again, he didn't exactly have a choice. He stayed at a small beach house his father part-owned in Key West, an old IWF hold-out place shared by KMD and Shawn Holliday...the same place that Krev signed the fateful deal that nearly killed the old IWF and the same place that Holliday had been captured. Those were distant memories from the past...the IWF had closed over 2 months ago, and dragged KMD down with it into retirement. Everyone thought that KMD was going to come back to the world of wrestling, but his hopes disolved with the now-faded IWF. He was just another legend of the past...with one and only link to the present--Mike. Mike had spent his entire month in Key West not sitting on the beach. Well, he did sit around on the beach for a couple of days, but got anxious with it...too much idleness. It irritated him. Maybe if he were a little older, a little more damages, a little more taxed mentally...maybe he would have enjoyed the rolling surf and the white sands. He most definately enjoyed the beachwear of the women on the beach, but that was about as far as his fascination with the heat took him. After a week of laying around lazily and looking around uselessly, he left the beach and spent the rest of his vacation in the beach house's training room. He made sure he kept the same weight, but he fine-tuned his body. He came close to achieving a precision body maxed out about as far as he could take it in a month through a heavy dose of pure physical labor and a carefully-planned diet that optimized energy and minimized excess waste. He was stronger, faster, and clearer of thought more than ever...and he was anxious to return to the ring. Even if his in-ring skills may be a little rusty, he would still have the benefit of a clear mind. He made a mistake, he wasn't necessarily dead...he had options. Don't get Mike wrong...he didn't waste his entire vacation with work, but he needed something to occupy him during the day when he could stay out from under the angry sun. Sure, he left the house to get groceries, do some shopping, maybe take a swim in the ocean...hell, one day he even went out and went scuba diving...but the nights were his. Club after club after club...he didn't drink much- that wasn't in his game plan anymore- but the dancing did him a world of good...and the benifits of being a wrestling superstar in a place full of beautiful women scantilly dressed and looking for a little more in a man...well, those benifits were also explored. In great detail...and details to be left out for now. Mike took another sip from the bottle and scanned the night-reduced skyline. A jet took off as another flux of people settled on the floor of the airport. Must have been a layover. As Mike leaned back on the wall of the airport, a black car became visable, squeeling into the parking lot with a roll of thunder and music that sounded like a dog snarling at a set of bass drums and a synthesizer while being beaten off with a large piece of sheet metal. It was a new Mustang, the new series that are infinately more boxy and infinately better suited for slicing through the air. Like they did in the 50's. It pulled up to the curve and the passenger door opened, bleeding music into the hustled air. The music was Skinny Puppy...it had to be O'Brian.~~ O'BRIAN: You getting in, ya beach bum, or are you going to stand around in the rain all night? MAGIC: If you hadn't come any sooner, I was going to start thinking that was my only option. Did you bring that tape? ~~Mike pushed himself from against the wall and pulled his shoulder bag off. He tossed it over the passenger seat and into the back. He peeled off the trenchcoat, tossed it in the back as well, and quickly jumped into the car before he could get any wetter. O'Brian, dressed down in black jeans and a t-shirt, handed him a hand-held TV-Video screen nodding.~~ O'BRIAN: The minidisk is in there. It seems that after a full month of rest and relaxation- ~~Mike hit play on the machine, and then looked up at O'Brian with a devilish grin.~~ O'BRIAN: Oh Jesus...you did exactly what I thought you were going to do...you spent the whole time training, didn't you? What about the "month of relaxing" you were hyped about? ~~Mike hit pause on the handheld as it started and shrugged at O'Brian.~~ MAGIC: I got bored. O'BRIAN: Yeah, I figured. I guess it wasn't a bad thing, though...you go away for a month and the rest of the TV Title canidates battle it out for the chance to take you on again. Guess who you drew as your PPV Competition. ~~Mike drummed the handheld a few times with his forefinger, and then grinned.~~ MAGIC: Dukes. O'BRIAN: The one and only. Time and time again, you know damn well you'll be facing Dukes...you both have egos big enough to fill an ocean. Each. ~~Mike tapped on the handheld again and told it to play. He waved away O'Brian and spoke while watching the miniature screen.~~ MAGIC: Yeah, well, he's damn sure confused if he thinks this is going to be a cakewalk for him. My fingers have been itching to snap a neck or two for the past month. Too bad it had to be Dukes. Again. ~~We fade to black as Magic watches the screen half-interested in what Dukes had to say.~~ 
~~When
we fade back in, we find Mike and O'Brian sitting in the office of HAVEN,
Mike was still drinking from the same bottle of water and O'Brian was
now drinking something from a beer bottle. O'Brian kicked his
heels on the table, pauses as he looks around the room. Mike paces
around the room, holding the handheld and rubbing his chin. He
doesn't look up.~~
MAGIC: The old man isn't here...don't worry about your feet on the table. O'BRIAN: So what's the game plan? ~~Mike looked up at O'Brian, his eyes blank, and put the player on the coffee table.~~ MAGIC: Win. ~~An irritated look crossed O'Brian's face as Mike turned away from him and gazed out across the club. It was busy tonight. Strange for a Monday night, but then again, it was even busier during the weekends. Somehow the MacDougans had found the perfect place at the perfect time for this city, and it filled their coffers with as much cash as they would ever really need. Unless one of them did something dumb...something dumb enough to make bail something way out of their price range. Luckily for Magic, Krev wasn't about to do anything dumb...he was too smart for that. That meant that the responsibility was on Mike to not do anything dumb. Mike paused on that thought for a moment before turning around to face O'Brian.~~ O'BRIAN: Win, huh? Would you like to go a little more indepth, or would you just like to keep it that simple? MAGIC: It couldn't be any simpler. I'm going to go in there tomorrow night and beat the pus out of Dukes. He keeps coming back, so apparently I haven't made my position felt with him. The TV Title is mine...for the time being...he should just bugger off. O'BRIAN: Listen, Mike...What are you doing? I mean, this title...aren't you above it? MAGIC: Maybe...but it really doesn't matter because I'm not done with it yet. When I'm done with it, the rest of the world will know about it...believe me. But for now...no... ~~Mike picked up the ASW TV Title off the table from where he placed it when he walked in and stroked it, thinking. Even if he was already done with it, there was still much work to be done. He was made aware of a few new people to the ASW roster while he was gone. He caught the shows on television, made sure he followed it closely...but blocked the TV Title ranks. He didn't want to know what was going on in his division...if anything, it would have ruined his vacation. That was the last thing he wanted to happen. Coming upon all of the news of his division when he got back was more than enough to prepare him...primarily because he had an inkling of subconscious knowledge he was going to face Dukes at a PPV. He felt it last time they tangled up in the ring. But the new faces the ASW found...they could be...usefull... Mike looked back at O'Brian, placing the title back onto the table.~~ O'BRIAN: If you're so interested in keeping that thing, why don't you just bite the bullet and team up with some people...make sure there is someone more capable in the ring than with a microphone at your back. This going solo thing is stupid, especially with the way things are starting to look...factions are drawing up again in the ASW. It's only a matter of time before some group decides that you don't fit into their plan of domination and- MAGIC: Because I want a team on my terms...and, so far, there hasn't been any group truly worthy of my talents...that was until- Anyway, I need to focus on what's at hand. Dukes. ~~Magic curled his lips into a vicious smile, and then shook his head. Yeah, there had been a few Mike has been thinking about...a few golden gems that seemed to glitter...or rust, pending on your point of view...that stuck out better than the rest. It was a few that Mike had taken particular interest in, but was still unsure about their motivations. Either way, it wouldn't hurt to wait and see just what they have up their sleeves...if they actually stack up to what Mike had built them up to be. If not...nothing lost, nothing gained. Mike turned to the camera. Yeah, you can try to ignore it all you want, but when you get right down to it, its still there...it's the price of the fame. Everywhere you turn there is someone wanting to get close to it, study it, be it...you get used to it, but it still doesn't make any sense that you can go on with your own life...editing subconsiously what you didn't want to be aired out to the world. You can turn it on or off...its a form of symbiotic relationship; they feed off of your every move, and in turn you get made famous beyond your wildest dreams. The question is, do you give it all you have and become the greatest, or do you opt for more of your own private time? Either way, you can't have it all private...they wouldn't allow that. It's a sick sort of fascination.~~ MAGIC: What you have to understand, Dukes, is that no matter what you say...even if you call me, the ASW TV Champion, a "paper champion", you're going to have to face up to the fact that you're the man under the paper champion. Call me a paper champion, and I'll show you the paper champion who is above the man named David Dukes. No matter what you say, Dukes, I'm where I'm at for a reason...I'm better than you. You can try...try to take my title away from me, and you'll fall short. I tried to tell you last time, but you wouldn't listen...but now...oh, now I'm the guy in the "hot seat". I'm the guy who everyone wants a part of. I know this, Dukes...I know this and it fuels me. As long as I know there are people out there trying to take away my claim...trying to discredit my right and earned privelage to be a shining ASW Star...as long as they're out there, I know I have to be better than them. You? What do you have to lose? Maybe a little face...hell, I'd be really upset if someone who I thought was a "paper champion" beat me. Face the facts, chump...you get your title shot. You get your chance to become the ASW TV Champion in a couple of days...but when it comes down to the wire...when there is one man with his hand raised in the ring...that man'll be the same man that's holding the title now...paper champion or not. You are the man under the "paper champion"...know where you belong and stay there. ~~Mike broke contact with the camera, turning to look out over the club again. Black and metal...lots of black and metal. If one didn't know any better, and they couldn't hear the blaring of the speakers below...hell, with the style of club it is, even if the music was blaring...one might mistake the club for an industrial warehouse. People moved around and stomped in rhythm...lights flashed off of leather and metal, kalidascoped fragments of light at odd angles not originally meant to be on the path of the hot stage lighting. Red lights in wire cages dotted the surrounding cubby-holed seating areas, and divisions between where the bouncers would and wouldn't let people were defined with plain, flat wire fencing. It's a highly ordered and regimented place for the breeding and creation of chaos. Mike smiled upon his "HAVEN" and spoke over his shoulder to the camera. O'Brian shifted on the couch, apparently ammused by a red laser light he had found on the coffee table.~~ MAGIC: I don't even need this, Dukes...any of this...the whole wrestling career. I have the looks, I have the money, hell, I have the talent...I have my business. If I wanted to, I could build an empire on this alone...but I don't want the money. I don't care about my looks, and I've found that I'm happier using the talent I was given to inflict pain on people who want to try to cut me down, claw me hand over fist, trying to get a grasp on what I hold...the bragging rights of being better. I enjoy that because I'm good at it...I enjoy it because I know I'm going to move up in this sport...I'm going to finally show the world that I am the best...I am a superior being. ~~Magic turned back to the camera, leveled his eyes with it, and showed no emotion whatsoever. It was a blank face...something that could have repelled anything that was thrown at it. No one was getting in, and no one was getting out of that face. The gaze, though, was the most unnerving of the expression. There was something raging behind his unblinking eyes...something forcing itself to the forefront of his being. Still, he held it back, showing nothing whatsoever. His father was prone to the same sorts of things...there was always, somewhere burried deep down within the confines of his psyche, that was trying to get out. Many years of Krev's life were spent in isolation...a small white room where he couldn't hurt anyone. Then, one day, when someone forged some documents and got him out, he was unleashed on the wrestling world like a plague. Man after man fell to the creature known only as "The Berserker". He became the legendary figure of pure, primal chaos hailing from Pittsburgh that many, many young man much later on whispered about when KMD entered their rings. Everyone knew what the man once was...and very few pressed their luck with the man. No one wanted to see that monster again...the monster that killed a team mate mindlessly. He was tarnished black...and no one looked on him the same after they knew. Because there were some things you just didn't talk about. Mike, on the other hand, only had a stay in a little white room. He had gotten angry...very angry. Luckily for Mike, he was better at controlling it. His stay was much shorter. Even still, that never meant that it wouldn't come out...it just needed to be coaxed right.~~ MAGIC: I am a superior being because I'm stronger, I'm faster, and I'm smarter. I am the ultimate fighting machine...trained metal on metal, in the streets, and in the gym. I have prepared since I was 6 to take my father's place, and finally it is mine. I have not trained this long and this hard to allow a lesser being such as yourself take that away from me. I am superior, and I will make you learn that fact. ~~Mike turned away from the camera again and returned his gaze out across the seething, sweaty crowd. He traced the outline of a female in the center of the club on the window with his finger and let out a short chuckle. He spoke over his shoulder again.~~ MAGIC: Just let it be known, Dukes...if I was afraid of you, and I guarantee I'm not, I wouldn't even be where I'm at right now. You're a chump, buddy...I've gone through you once already, and apparently you have a very thick skull. Superiority man...if I'm superior to you, I sure as hell can't be afraid of you. What are you going to do with your chain anyway? Wrap it around me, hold me close, and tell me just what I mean to you? Get a life, Dukes...we're competing in a ladder match...having the chain with you might be helpful, but it isn't going to make you win. You'd need to be covered in chains to even have a chance...and even then I'd probably just kick you over into a bath tub. Weapons don't work on this man...this Magic Man right here...because weapons are irrelevant. You're chances with or without it are both little-to-none, and hardly worth the wager. At best, you'll walk out of that arena with your chain shoved up your ass. ~~He turned back around and sat on one of the couches. He didn't look at the camera...he just held his head low, looking down at the floor between his knees. His knuckles faded a few shades as he clutched his pant legs. He shook his head, and then his body began to shake...a slow back and forth, up and down motion...not exactly uncontrollable, but more like something was trying to get out. He leaned back into the chair and stared at the ceiling, his long hair half-covering his face. The only thing visible was his chin...a wide, smiling chin. He began to laugh a short, top of the lung chuckle, and slowly it changed into a full-fledged emanation from the deepest recesses of his chest. His gut...a finely tuned and chiseled slab of rippling muscle under a stretched t-shirt...began to heave up and down with laughter. After a moment, the laughter subsided, he wiped tears from his eyes, and slowly brought a messy and intense head around, cocked as if around a corner, jutting out in a strange position, to look at the camera. The smile was nothing more than a small grin now.~~ MAGIC: And to think...you were so, so confident. I'm sorry...you thought you were going to be the ASW TV Champion. Think food chain, munchkin. I am the predator at the top...you fit somewhere more akin to plankton. You know, the stuff at the bottom that everything else eats. If you're the best the TV ranks have to offer me as competition, maybe O'Brian was right...maybe I need to move up. Somewhere where I'll be tested in the ring. I know I'm better than you...I'm so confident that I'm better I'm willing to give you a second shot at my title after the PPV. What do I have to lose? My title? Hardly. Consider my vacation over, ASW. Consider my vacation ending with the destruction of Mr. David "Bottom-feeder" Dukes. ~~The camera slowly fades to static as Mike leans back in the chair, relaxing his body. He lets out a small chuckle...a deep, confident utterance from his subconscious.~~ |
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