Blood and Liberty

The Detective cursed, shaking his head at a plane ticket and admission to Proving Ground for the upcoming show in New York.

It didn’t come with a note, a card, a thanks or a fuck you -- but he knew who is was from.

It was an invitation. A Christmas gift… probably a discussion over a half warm beer and cold threats.

When you are trying to build a murder case against someone things can get heated.

“Fuck,” he said, to an empty room. No wife, no kids, not even the nails of a startled mutt scratching the fake hardwood flooring. Obsession breeds loneliness -- he sometimes thought about how he was the only one breathing the air in his tiny office -- how even he thought it smelt like stale dog shit.

“New York is nice this time of year,” he said, grabbing a glass of whiskey off the table top and taking a drink.

This is all he’s ever wanted… a one on one with Casanova English… careful what you ask of… many men wished they didn’t ask for the same.


When I was a kid I always thought New York was the city I belonged in. I hated being a big fish in a small pond -- I always wanted to come to a huge place like this, get dwarfed by buildings, smothered in a sea of people and fight my way up the chain.

But a triple threat match -- too many cooks in the kitchen as grandma used to say. I know what this is. I’ve had companies try and sabotage my rise and diminish my greatness before. You get the belt off me without my shoulders even being pinned to the mat and I should be happy, I should just move on to going after the X-Factor Championship.

That’s not how I play this game. You want me out of the Warrior Rising Championship, you beat me clean. I am tired of this industry pussy footing its way out of its own legitimacy. I’m here to add the reality this sport desperately needs.

Sometimes that might feel surreal.

“Fuck,” I screamed into the night after Bash poured whiskey over my bloody knuckles.

I was just finishing burying my knuckles into the concrete base of Lady Liberty -- it was a night on the town. Time for me to let loose and I was getting ready to confront The Detective and possibly my biggest chance of losing the Warrior Rising Championship since I won it.

“You need to relax, what would True Society think if they knew their news recruit was a drunken mess?,” Voodoo said, looking down at the broken screen of my cell phone.

“I’m going to deal with The Detective, then it’s all business,” I said, grabbing the whiskey bottle from Bash with lightning speed and take a swig.

Bash muscles the booze back out of my hands, suddenly playing the role of babysitting instead of lackey. I wanted to headbutt the bridge of the nose, I wanted to drop him to his knees, smash the bottle off the ground and use it to peel is face off.

But he’s one of the only friends I got. I kill the thought with a cigarette.

“You know, the closer I get to greatness sometimes the weaker I become up here,” I said, pushing the back end of my blood knuckles into my skull-- cigarette hanging between my lips.

“I think we should just go back to the hotel.”

“Just do your job and turn on your cell camera,” I said, puffing my cigarette walking toward Lady Liberty so she is in frame.

I can hear Bash curse under his breath but he follows orders, he slowly walks toward me and flicks on his cell camera.

“It’s all this motherfucker’s fault… people like her you know,” I said looking up to the statue, flexing my hands so blood starts to trickle down my fingers.

“Some people… like my opponents this week think freedom is inherited… something they are born into. Why would they think any differently, one is a literal man child and the other one is a beneficiary of nepotism.”

They say this hunk of sculpted copper was a gift from France. Some kind of symbol to celebrate friendship. There won’t be any peace at Proving Ground. I’m not sure anything I was saying was making sense anymore.

“Not everyone gets to grow up in a strip club Manson. Some people have a sheltered childhood, grow up in parts of the world where that kind of liberty is frowned upon instead of celebrated. You started to get the idea that life is a party, a constant blast to avoid the depression brought on by the abandonment of your own mother.”

I take a long drag off my cigarette pacing with the statue in the background, Bash panning up to it then back down to me, the light of the Empire State building lighting up the skyline across the water.

“​​Manson you might be incapable of taking anything seriously, but this week I promise you I won’t be engaging in any of your comedy acts, I’m not going to be pranked into submission. You are going to have to have a smarter game than that to beat me. I know the title I hold is supposed to be a little toy for boys and girls like you to play with -- but seeing the Warrior Rising Championship reduced to a comedy prop starts to make my stomach turn… but I guess that's what the likes of you and John Blade did to this industry a long time ago. People like me, well even with True Society I can see the entire group is outnumbered by imbeciles. You suck and suck on the life force of professional wrestling using bright colors and funny catchphrases to brainwash these poor children and they think I am the cult leader in the locker room.”

I motion for Voodoo to bring the Warrior Rising Championship to me. She rolls her eyes knowing I shouldn’t be drunk on camera spewing nonsense, but she brings the title to me and I slap it over my shoulder. I tap my cigarette on the edge of the title knocking it to the ground.

“Mason, you are going to grow up quickly. I am going to do the work your mommy and daddy should have done in thirty minutes or less. I am going to instill discipline and respect… not because those are things I know… it’s just a product of the special type of self discovery I offer… in understanding there was nothing you could do to stop me from choking the spirit out of you.”

I walk back and forth, my knuckles getting bloodier and bloodier. I smear it over my championship. I have to move on to Levy… the Hollywood hunk himself.

“Oh look, cute blonde who likes to smoke… where I have I seen that before. Well let me tell you something Levy, in this sport it’s not the size of the stogie it’s if you can back the smoke you blow. I get it, you are shiny and new, got them blue suede shoes and can’t wait to step them all over my ass… but this isn’t Hollywood, there is no stunt doubles, no second takes and I’m tired of pricks like you thinking you can shuck the world like it’s your oyster. Kid’s like you, golfing doesn’t work, so you try swimming, swimming doesn’t work so you try acting, acting doesn’t work you try wrestling. People like me had no option but to succeed, but to continue on and push forth. People like you don’t know what failure is like because you just change the game. If I put you in a wheelchair there is ping pong, if I break you from the neck down you’d still find a way to brown nose your way to the top of something. It’s pathetic and inspiring all at the same fucking time.”

“You’ll be fine Johnny boy, we both know that. People like you always land on their feet, they do shit like this for the thrill of it. You’ll stick around until someone with a big name gets tired, til they let their guard down and you’ll beat them, hell you might even be lucky enough to one day call yourself a champion. People like you go at it just to say they fucking did… but you aren’t going to fucking do it on my name. I’m no super villain despite my appearance, despite what all these thick skulled fan’s think… hell if you ask me I am not even a professional wrestling… and at Proving Ground I’ll show you to you first hand… I’m a fighter. You want to be a tough guy method actor, I’ll give you the whole experience like 90 per cent of the men before you… I’ll choke you out in the center of this ring… and you can go back to your agent, back to your director and you can tell them all just how real this shit can get.”

I take another long drag off my cigarette and slam it on the ground -- twist it out with the heel of my boot.

“There is some good news, your dad can go back to feeding you with little silver spoons. You might even be able to land a few more child roles again, because when I cut off the oxygen to your brain, when I choke you lifeless… I’ll make sure I do you a favor and cut off the blood flow to your brain long enough it reduces to that of a toddlers. Fortunately for me, I don’t think I’ve got many brain cells to kill off before it happens. You’ll be a walking, drooling, barely able to wipe your ass version of an understudy from Step Brothers… it’ll work wonders for your comedy career. Plus, your father will finally be able to tell people his son isn’t a complete failure on his own accord, his mind and body were crippled by Casanova English.”

I adjust the Warrior Rising Championship to sit better on my shoulder and stare directly into the camera.

“I am not going to be stopped when I am this close. I am not going to just lay down and let this championship fall back into obscurity… no… I have built a relationship now. I have built and understanding that I am where the standard of talent cuts on in this company. I am the to decide is people like Mason and Levy sink or fucking swim and I want to drown both of them at once at Proving Ground. I am a single defense away from setting the record in this division… and after I do that.. I am going to move on to the X -actor Championship and make an example out of everyone these fans think are untouchable. I am setting an entirely new standard in Project Honor. Whether you or I like it, the future of this company is on my back. There isn’t three kings, there is only one champion… they’ve called me the Messiah… and at Proving Ground I’ll leave my mark in blood.”

I rub my bloody knuckles across my face leaving a crimson smear. Bash flicks the camera off.