On board Delta Flight 142
(Houston to Baltimore)
March 24, 2008, 12:49
a.m.
Try as he might, he could not believe what had just
happened. In one night, he avenged his
only defeat in NLW and at the same time earned himself a shot at the biggest
prize in the federation. To say that he
was thrilled would be a gross understatement...if it were true.
Instead, he was on the first plane he could catch back to Baltimore. That one segment he saw during Uprising
wasn’t doing his anxiety any good, considering the surroundings of it. A barren land, a small building in the
distance, a can of gasoline...it was easy to assume the worst, and it was
better to be safe than sorry in his case.
Someone seemed ready to torch his cabin at the End of Nowhere, and he
wanted to make sure it was still intact.
His phone calls to her, asking her to check the area out for any
problems, all went to voice mail. This
was unsettling, to say the least.
Looking out the window, he tried to make himself push that
thought aside for the time being--after all, there wasn’t much he could do from
here at the moment. Instead, he tried to
focus himself and look ahead to his next challenge: the NLW Champion. He wasn’t taking anything for granted against
Xavier Lux; the man was a three-time NLW Champion, after all. In addition, the things Lux had gone through
in life made his own seem incredibly tame by comparison.
He would be the first to admit that he hadn’t been set up
for numerous assassination attempts, especially with his father being the
hitman. No, he had lived a rather
sedentary life prior to returning to wrestling. His break-up with Brandy would likely have
been the most trying time for him outside the squared circle. While not life-threatening, per se, it
was still a tough time for him.
A year later, he had gotten his life back on track, had
revived his once-dormant wrestling career, and had once again started to make a
name for himself in this world of professional wrestling. He had forgotten, however, the lengths that
some people would go to in order to secure a win. The recent kidnapping of The Ice Man and his
family, in addition to his own home being vandalized, was akin to a bucket of
ice water thrown on him, to bring him back to reality.
Then there were others in NLW who made the books of
Stephen King, R.A. Salvatore, and Robert Jordan seem like children’s
tales. While he had always been a fan of
those particular genres of stories, to see them lived was something he had not
come to terms with. With the passing of
each new week, he had come to realize that he was a rarity in this
federation--someone who was for all intents and purposes a “normal” person.
However, there would be a later time to contemplate those
thoughts. The soft chime of a bell
announced that the flight was nearing an end, and he forced himself to the
matter at hand. Depending on how fast he
could get out of BWI-Thurgood Marshall, he could be checking his cabin in a
little under an hour. He just hoped for
the best.
\___(^)___/
The End of Nowhere
March 24, 2008, 2:32 a.m.
The absence of the tell-tale orange glow of fire gave him
room to hope just a bit more, as he would have seen it coming off of state
highway 22. His hopes increased as he
reached the access road and pulled onto it, bypassing his usual parking place
and instead driving the truck through the property, across the barren land and
parking it near the front door of the still-intact cabin. Working by the light of the nearly-full moon,
he made a quick search around the cabin area, and found nothing that would
indicate that anyone had been nearby.
Slowly, he walked to the cabin and opened the front
door. The inside did not appear to be
changed in any way, and what few things he kept in the hide-away partitions
within the walls of the cabin had not been disturbed. His paranoia reaching new plateaus, he walked
back outside, the chilly night air causing goosebumps to sprout on his
unprotected arms. Someone was obviously
trying to play mind games with him.
Could it be the Ice Man, in retaliation for something that he never did? Could it be Triple M, as payback for beating
him a few hours ago? Or could it even be
the brainchild of the champion, Xavier Lux, trying to throw his opponent off
his mental edge and cause him to lose focus this close to reaching the summit?
Whatever the case may be, he was tired of these
games. His time was nigh, and he would
be ready regardless of whatever else was thrown at him. In any event, he was drained from the events
of the previous 24 hours, so it came as no surprise to him that he was fast asleep
within three minutes of stretching out on the earthen floor of his cabin.
\___(^)___/
Undisclosed Location
March 24, 2008, 2:45 a.m.
I’ll admit, I’m surprised
that he’s managed to hold his own so far.
I expected him to fail within a month, and now he’s the number one
contender to the promotion’s champion.
It must be said, he’s just like his namesake--he refuses to just die and
make things easy for the rest of us.
Kidnapping didn’t work to motivate one of his opponents, we might have
over-motivated Will with the vandalism...what else could we possibly do to
derail his momentum short of full-blown arson?
No matter what we have
tried, nothing has worked. I’ve just
about run out of ideas, and turning to my cohort, I ask, “What’s next? What can we possibly do in order to bring
about his downfall?”
He only smiles at me, and
leans close, whispering in my ear as I shudder in excitement. A moment later the mental light bulb goes
off, and a grin as cold as the Arctic in the
dead of winter crosses my face.
“I like it,” I purr as I
lean in to kiss him. “And he’ll never
know what hit him....”
\___(^)___/
Residence of William
Prydor
March 24, 2008, 12:45
p.m.
After a fitful night of sleep, plagued by visions of
burning buildings and vandalized property, he was back in his primary
residence, newly re-furnished during his trip to Houston for the most recent Uprising. After an extensive tour to make sure that
everything was as it was supposed to be, he walked into the screening room,
preparing the scouting tapes for his next opponent. At least this time he would have plenty of
footage to look over, given that Xavier Lux had been a part of nearly every
Uprising held in this run of NLW, and thus had plenty of match footage to look
over.
In the back of his mind, he knew that Venom’s problems in
his past could possibly be the turning point in this match. After all, if he was worried about a possible
blindside attack, he could be distracted enough to lose the match. He was hesitant to go this route just to
gather information, but he had a few people in the City of Angels who owed him a favor or two. A little more insight into the background of
the reigning champion certainly would not be amiss...and with this much at
stake, it probably would be an excellent idea.
Reaching a mental conclusion, he pulled out his cell phone and
dialed. It was nearly ten o’clock on the
west coast; should be no reason his contact would be unavailable.
“LAPD Homicide, Anderson.”
“Elyssa...it’s Will Prydor.”
“The dragon watches--"
“--but never rises.”
He was glad she remembered that.
Working as a homicide detective, it helped to make sure that he was the
real deal, and for that he was thankful.
“Will, glad to hear from you. I’ve been watching you the last two months;
you’ve definitely gotten back into the fighting spirit you had during your LWF
days.”
“Glad to hear that someone’s been watching. I know you’re at work, so I’ll be brief. I need some information, and I’d rather talk
to you when there’s plenty of time to say what I need to say and fill you in on
everything I’ve seen these last two months.”
“Is it that bad?”
“I’m not certain yet.
I need the opinion of someone detached from the day-to-day workings of
my life. When would be the best time for
you?”
“I’m actually getting ready to go to New Orleans for a conference. I’ll be arriving on Wednesday evening, and
staying until Sunday. I should have some
time free then.”
“Good. Our next
event will be in New Orleans,
so I’ll just leave early from here and meet you there. I can work around your schedule, so name your
time and place.”
“All right, Will.
I’ll get in touch with you once things get situated.” With that, she disconnected the call as he
turned to stare out the window at the Baltimore
skyline. His gaze fell over Oriole Park
at Camden Yards and only for a brief moment did he let his mind wander to
walking onto the field, with the NLW Championship over his shoulder to throw
out the ceremonial first pitch for a home game.
Then, shaking his head, he went back into the screening
room. He had a title match to prepare
for.
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