Parker Wayde [vs.] Alexander Remington

This one's for all the marbles folks!

December 16, 2012
Chiapas, Mexico
Off Camera


The sun rose over the city of Chiapas, Mexico - a city impoverished and hungry for a change. As the day broke, many would walk to their places of business, if they had anywhere to go, that is. I had taken a private puddle-jumper to a small landing strip about fifty miles out of town, having received an invitation from someone I knew all too well. A small yellow and brown cab of sorts was waiting to pick me up, and despite the stench which emanated from the back seat, I reluctantly hopped in, riding all the way into Chiapas, nearly gagging due to the smells of both the driver and his old dirty car.

"This is the place; you can stop here," I spoke aloud to the driver, making sure that he heard me as the car came to a screeching halt in front of a small bar on the outskirts of town. There were no roads in this area, only dirt paths which allowed for traffic to go through the city. Sure, there were certain parts of town that were for the more influential and esteemed population, but my business on this day was not of comfort in the least. I opened the cab door, closing it quickly behind me as the driver sped away toward his next pick-up as I had a look around me. Several small ones were playing in the street; kicking a couple of rusty cans around and seeming like they were having a grand time.

Such youthful innocence; I wonder at what point that left me.

I certainly stood out amongst the local folk - several turned to look at the man clad in a white button down shirt tucked into a pair of brown trousers and similarly colored shoes, choosing to leave my suit at home because of the heat. I felt naked, especially as their stares caught my line of vision, knowing I wasn't the type of customer they would normally see in these parts. But I walked to the bar, sitting on one of the stools as I crossed my arms atop the counter, waiting for someone to arrive.

"What'll it be,"the mustached bartender spoke to me while cleaning out the inside of a glass with a dirty washrag, leaving me with little confidence about the cleanliness of such an establishment. In the corner of the bar was a small television, airing some baseball game from a few days prior; a couple of the patrons losing themselves at the bottom of the glass as they talked about the good ol' days. Good ol' days, as if they ever had them.

"Tequila, keep em' comin'," I replied, looking from side to side as I wondered where my company might be. I was sure this was the place - he gave me a picture and all, and this was the right time, so where could he be? The bartender handed me my drink as I had my first taste, from time to time eyeing the television set out of pure boredom.

Baseball - a pussy's game.

Finally, someone tapped me on the shoulder, slumbering atop the stool beside me - a familiar and expected face. He too was well-dressed, calling the bartender by name - the bartender in turn seemed to know exactly what he'd be ordering and slid him a glass as well.

"It's like seeing a ghost," I said with a sly grin, slamming down another shot of Tequila as I turned toward the man, staring straight ahead of him as I stayed leaning against the bar-top. My back turned toward the sun, I could begin to feel the heat against the long straight scars left on my back due to the assault from the Empire a couple of weeks ago, causing me to wince with pain for a moment while the pain subsided. "And yet, I would have thought you to choose more...habitable conditions."

It looked like a third-world country from all that I could see, shaking my head with slight disgust and almost a bit of pity for those who were cursed with such a lifestyle.

"Eh, you get used to it after a while," he said to me, slamming down a shot of his own as the bartender poured us a couple more. "Besides, it's not completely an impoverished city; there are those of us who are still treated like kings."

"A king in a kingdom like this? Hardly seems worth it."

"You make do with what you've got - can't exactly afford to be seen anymore, at least by anybody who matters."

He sighed as he took another shot, staring down at his feet as though he were remembering a past in which he didn't need to live the life of an exile, shaking his head as the barkeep gave him another shot.

"I had it all. Money, power, fame - I wanted for nothing. But because of one mistake, I'm forced to live this life; I'm forced to resign to hiding for the rest of my life. It truly is a shame."

He look at me with a dejected look; something I hadn't seen from him in quite a long time, not since his wife died unexpectedly. His name was Mark Mayer - to the wrestling world, he was known as Powerhouse; a legendary force that hasn't been seen in quite some time, but to me, he was the man that took me into his home when my father left me at his doorstep. He raised me as his own; he called me his son. He may not have been the perfect father - wrestling kept him away from home for most of the year, and the rare moments in which he was home, he was far too tired and hurt to manage our relationship - but nevertheless, he is the man that took me in and my reason for even getting into this business in the first place. And now, he was an exile. The story is long, but to make it short, he got in trouble with the wrong kind of men, and now even all the connections in the world that he had couldn't protect him from those who were searching for him. Some of those connections were the very rats that caused him to have to flee the States for this desolate place.

"Sometimes I wish I had given my life solely to the ring - it was my sanctuary. The one place in the world where I felt like a god. The one place in the world I was at peace. But I was convinced by a higher power than I that His way was the path of greatness, and I lusted after that power. My greed overcame me, and I made some choices that I now regret. I wish I had killed Him when I had the chance. Instead, Dana's blood is on my hands, and I'm stuck drinking at a run-down bar in the middle of nowhere..."

He slammed down another shot, waving off the bartender as he offered to pour him another one, at the very least understanding his limits. The barkeep walked away, tending to the other few patrons on the other side of the bar.

"Sorry for the sob story; I guess when you're in a place like this, the bartender is your only friend, and Miguel over here isn't the best listener. What about you Alex? UECW treating you well?"

I ran my fingers through my hair, realizing that it had indeed been that long since I had spoken to him.

"The winds of time have changed and so has my place of employment. UECW crashed and burned - incompetant leadership and a lack of a roster did her in. I'm in the Insurgency now, and it..."

He interrupted me, giving me a stern look of disapproval.

"The Insurgency. Isn't that the place that..."

My turn for interruptions.

"Yes father, the place that Stygian resides. Now I don't want you to think..."

More interruptions. He never was in favor for my bitter quarrel with the man once known as the Black Dragon.


"Your quarrel with this man is going to lead to your downfall. You know how I feel about this...Stygian."

I shook my head, just laughing a bit to myself, shrugging my shoulders before responding.

"Stygian is no longer an adversary of mine. Quite the opposite really. Just a few weeks ago, he had to watch as a bohemath of a man annhilated his two ladies, and perhaps it was then that I found compassion in my heart. Maybe it was because of what happened to Melissa," I said, referring to the untimely passing of my first wife and the circumstances surrounding her death; the details of which are not very important to this particular tale. "But I saw that look of desperation in his eyes, and maybe for one split second, I realized that this battle between he and I pales in comparison to the issues he and I face on a daily basis. He's a man that needed my help, and I offered it to him..."

"Like offering ammunition to the enemy," he sternly responded.

"Like understanding that even in the most vile of us, there is still a human being within. Besides, I have no time for wars against men like that. I've got enough on my plate as it is; what with an entire Empire waging a holy war against me, trying to take me down for what they believed to be an act of betrayal on my part. An evil dictator in Corey Casey who is hellbent on getting his revenge; an opportunity to take the one thing that gives them credibility - the IWF championship - away from them in one single night, but a match that I have no doubt will be anything but fair for my part. I'm no fool Mark - just like they stole that championship using the strength of their numbers, they will attempt the same with me, and I begin to wonder whether the odds truly are stacked against me - whether this time, it will be too much to overcome."

I watched as he furrowed his eyebrows, immediately ordering another couple of shots. He unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling them up a bit, giving himself some relief from the scorching heat.

"But you have allies too, right? What about Griffin Hawkins," he shuddered, never really liking the man for some reason or another, always stating that he thought Hawkins was weak or that he lacked a spine; et cetera. I had given up on trying to convince him otherwise. But now, was he really suggesting that he hoped that Griffin Hawkins had my back? "I may not like the man, but he seems to be one that would fight tooth and nail on your behalf. Surely against an army like you describe, you'll have friends who will go to battle for you through thick and thin."

"Not quite," I sharply responded, shaking my head slowly. "I've gained a lot of enemies over the years, but not many a friend. Thing is, over the years, I've made some business decisions for the betterment of my career, and quite often," I said with a slight chuckle, not really remorseful for my actions, but understanding that everything was now coming around full circle, "they are to the detremint of others. Oh, don't look at me like that Mark, you were the exact same way. I may have Hawkins, and he might convince Tiffani to fight along his side, but even she, I fear, doesn't really trust me in the least. I don't talk to her, mind you, but the way she looks at me, I can tell she either wants to fuck my brains out or thinks that I'm just using Hawkins for my own advantage, and something tells me that taking me to bed is not on her list of priorities. No, I have heard rumblings of those who wish to stand against the powerful alliance of the Empire, but not for my sake. And because of this, I fear that I am nearly alone in this company, and this is my own fight to handle."

Mark looked at me with concern. Having been in the wrestling business for quite a long time, he understood the ins and the outs of it probably more than others, including myself. He understood the politics which would take place behind the scenes, and the gang warfare that would quite often happen even while the cameras were rolling. This wasn't an uncommon situation for him to hear about, but still, concern flooded his face as he looked back at me.

"Walk with me," he simply responded.

Mark reached quickly into his pants pocket, taking out his wallet and tossing a couple of bills onto the counter; plenty enough to pay for the drinks which we had consumed. I stood up along with him, walking away from the bar and down a small dirt road just a couple of blocks away from where we originally sat.

"This...this Empire, where are its weaknesses?"

I shrugged my shoulders, not really getting where he was going with this, but I decided to oblige him anyway.

"Corey Casey."

"And their strengths?"

I chuckled a bit to myself, shaking my head slowly.

"Corey Casey."

I paused for a moment, thinking over what I had said, deciding I had better explain to him my reasoning for such a response.

"Corey Casey is volatile. Corey Casey is prone to overreacting to the smallest little thing, and that could lead to his downfall. He sees trouble on the horizon, and oftentimes, he will overcorrect to try to fix the problem. He's highly reactionary, and sometimes I feel as though he isn't quite right in the head. But yet..."

I stopped walking down the dirt path, leaning my back against the wall of the building next to me, thinking for a moment.

"But yet, sometimes it seems as though he is more of an intellect than any of us give him credit for. It's like the moment you think he doesn't know what's going on; the moment you think he's lost all touch with reality, he'll surprise you as it'll appear as though he were pulling the strings all along. This has always been my greatest strength - manipulation and always being several steps ahead of those who come against me, but maybe I have met my match."

However, through all of this dismay, I couldn't help but crack a smile.

"Yet, you always taught me to always have a plan B - a contingency if you will. And I have set several things in motion, and where Corey Casey may think that he has all the cards stacked up against me, I have a couple of aces up my sleeve. I didn't leave the Empire without thinking ahead...I knew their attacks would be swift, and their fury strong. It appears that I may have underestimated just how strong they were..."

I turned my back to Mark, lifting my shirt in the back, showing the long streaks of scars left on my back from the Catonine whip that was wedged into my skin on multiple occasions.

"Jesus..."

"But if you think for one second that I didn't realize that I would need help in this battle; if you think that my ego is too much for me to understand that I can't fight this battle on my own, you'd be sorely mistaken. I may have gained quite the score of enemies in my lifetime, but there are still those in this world that I believe I can rely on when the days grow darker and the battles become more fierce. There aren't many that I can still call friends, but there are several that I can, at the very least, call allies."

I watched as a couple of cheap cars drove down the dirt path we were originally walking on, thinking about New Year's Evil and what was about to take place.

"New Year's Evil will simply be the beginning of what will be a long and arduous war. I'm counting on Brandon MacDonald to bring Axle Vengeance down a few..."

Mark quickly interrupted.

"Did you just say Axle Vengeance? As in the man you retired a year or so ago? I thought he was off drowning his sorrows at the bottom of the bottle."

Mark laughed, causing me to chuckle a bit to myself as well, but I was no fool. I understood the seriousness of the issue; Axle Vengeance, no pun intended, would come against me with the utmost of vengeance. Whether for hatred for me, or purely for his ultimate quest for redemption, my story with Axle Vengeance was far from over.

"One in the same. It seems that of late, several adversaries from my past have 'conveniently' arisen from the ashes and joined the Insurgency. Alexander Raven was the first, and I took care of that nagging issue, but it didn't stop there. Suddenly with the arrival of Axle Vengeance and Ashe Corvin..."

Mark scowled, having a long history with Ashe - part of which I was familiar with.

"I am beginning to wonder whether this is more than just coincidence and perhaps a bit of a conspiracy is being formed against me - I wouldn't put it past Corey Casey after all. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if one day, he made a phone call to..."

I paused, shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders, dismissing the notion.

"No, that could never happen. He'll never be seen again. Nevertheless, I find myself for the first time constantly looking over my shoulder, wondering from which direction the fight will come against me next. I feel as though there is no one I can trust, even those that I have considered my friends for a lifetime. After all, it was once said that everybody has a price, and furthermore, every man or woman out there would be more than happy to take the opportunity to remove me from the business altogether. Perhaps Griffin Hawkins all along is the only man in this world that I know has my back through thick and thin, for no matter what I have brought against him or said to him, he has always had my back in the darkest hour."

I sighed, realizing how dire the situation was, and how the odds were certainly stacked against me, but overcoming the odds was something I had made a career out of to this point. I wasn't going to just give up now.

"I need to believe that Brandon MacDonald will humble Axle Vengeance, because if Axle Vengeance is able to defeat Brandon, it will give him something that he hasn't had in quite some time - faith. He may shout from the rooftops that he is the 'motherfucking' greatest, but I know that deep down in his heart, he has begun to question whether that is really the case. But for me, I can only concern myself with Parker Wayde."

"Who?"

We began to walk down the narrow path once more, passing by several who were giving us awkward gazes; the two of us certainly stood out in a crowd riddled with poverty and despair.

"Parker Wayde, the Dragonslayer," I said, obviously sarcastic in my tone.

"You mean, he beat..."

"Well, sort of. It wasn't like he beat Stygian on his own; he had the help of the entire Empire aiding him. But if you ask him, he'll tell you that he single-handedly took down Stygian with his own two hands; that he climbed up to Blackrock Spire and did the unthinkable. Parker Wayde may be talented at what he does, but he is no champion."

I sighed, turning with Mark as we headed down another dirt path. There were a line of old slapped-together homes by the looks of things and I still felt as though many watchful eyes were pressing upon us.

"But I'm not fighting Parker Wayde; I'm fighting the Empire. I'm not stupid - I have no doubt they'll get involved in our match, and I know of a surety that they will do anything in their power to keep me from being the IWF champion. But I HAVE to walk out of New Year's Evil with the championship around my waist. If I lose, my credibility as a professional wrestler will be shot. There will be no epic battles with Axle Vengeance. There will be no future Armageddon with Stygian, if he is ever to be Stygian again as I have come to know him. I'll just be that guy who had his opportunity and blew it. I'll be the guy who had Corey Casey in my back pocket and lost that advantage due to poor choices on my behalf. Everything I've done since the beginning of my time in the Insurgency will be for naught, and I'll be nothing but a laughingstock. It doesn't matter if I'm fighting the entire Empire - if this battle is one versus one hundred - I have no other option than to remove that championship from Parker Wayde's waist by force. I have a mandate to become IWF's new beacon of hope."

We turned down yet another path, but this time began to walk towards one of the homes on that path. It was a nicer place than those we had seen before, but nothing that stood out too much from the rest. We approached the door and Mark turned to face me.

"I wish I could be there to lend you a hand, Alexander, but obviously circumstances seem to be quite a bit more restrictive than I would prefer. I don't even feel like I can take a piss without feeling like someone's eyes are upon me. But having been in this situation countless times before in my career, I can offer you a word of advice."

He placed his hand on my shoulder, staring at me directly.

"Don't let the gravity of the situation get to you. Don't enter that ring looking over your shoulder at those who are on the outside looking in. Don't treat this as a war of you versus the Empire. You are in that ring for one purpose and one purpose alone, and that is to become the IWF champion. Let circumstances fall as they may, but there will always be those who will lend their hand in battle, even if you do not see them as your friends. I know not of the details of your specific situation, but even when the odds seemingly are stacked against you, there are likely to be many who will not hesitate to assist you in destroying the Empire. Your circumstances may differ, but your purpose needs to be aligned, and in that hour, I pray that you do not refuse their help due to your incessant need to do things on your own."

He was right, though I would hesitate to ever admit that fact. There were others in IWF who would be more than willing to fight against the Empire, even if I could never consider them my friends, but was my need to do things on my own clouding my judgment? Was my ego really too big at this stage to accept help when offered?

I nodded my head in semi-agreement, but I knew there was much thought to be had regarding his advice. I knew that I couldn't focus on the dire circumstances, only allowing myself to set my sights on Parker Wayde and his championship, but I couldn't help but realize that this fight would not be just between he and I. Parker Wayde was too much of a coward to fight on his lonesome - no matter how much I could try to coax him into being a man, the long yellow streak running down his back was far too illuminated for him ever to hide.

Mark finally took a key out of his pocket, unlocking the door to his home and allowing me inside, closing it behind me after having a look around, making sure no one saw him, though the reason for this, I wasn't fully aware. I made my way to a small circular wooden table, having a seat at one of the chairs; the lights dim in his house as he sat down across from me.

"But you invited me to Mexico for a reason. Somehow, given our history, I don't imagine that you would do so purely to make small talk and catch up. We never were really ones to waste our time on simple chat. So why don't you tell me what this is really about?"

His stoic face turned sour as he looked at me from across the table, folding his arms together as he leaned forward a bit; the silence telling as I waited for him to respond.

"Alex, the world is changing," he started, speaking almost in a monotone, speaking softly as though someone could be listening even though it was a virtual impossibility. "I don't know how to say any of this without sounding like I've lost my mind, but there are forces in this world that the public just isn't aware of. And if they were, it would cause mass chaos incomparable."

"What in the hell are you talking about," I said, leaning back in my chair as I tried to even remotely comprehend what he was telling me about.

"I've been on the run for far too long, but I fear my time on this earth has almost come to an end. I was asked to fulfill a certain purpose, and now I am no longer considered necessary to the cause."

"Cause? What cause," I interrogated Mark further; the cryptic speech he was spewing causing more confusion than clarity.

"The men that are chasing me are not seeking me for any crime that I have committed, nor for any wrongs I have allowed to happen on my watch. They aren't of any government, though they do have more control over the inner workings of world governments than anyone could possibly imagine. They exist in the shadows. They don't seek to incarcerate me; they seek to interrogate me. They believe I have answers to their many questions."

"What the fuck..."

I couldn't believe a word that he was saying, standing up from my chair and turning my back to him, trying to think about all that he had said. It didn't make sense. I had been a part of multiple governmental agencies in my early years as a man, and never had I heard of anything like this.

"I guess the next thing you're going to tell me is that this group is the Illuminati," I said with obvious sarcasm, rolling my eyes now as I turned to face Mark once more, resting my hands on the top of the wooden chair I once was sitting upon, hovering over it now.

"It doesn't matter what you call them, but they do exist. They believe in a power that once resided on this planet; an energy that they think could bring the Elite immortality; eternal life."

"That's nonsense," I said with a sigh, but looking at his face, it didn't seem that he was wavering in the least. "Right?"

Mark stared back at me for a couple of moments, closing his eyes for a moment before opening them again.

"I never told you why I was away for so many months at a time. Professional wrestling, to me, was nothing more than a front for something much larger than this. I've seen the things that are secret to many. For centuries, many have sought eternal life, but they know not for what they ask. There comes a price that we must all pay for such greed; a price that I thought I was willing to bear at one point."

He looked up at me, realizing that I thought that he had gone mad. He quickly stood to his feet, elevating his voice.

"Damnit, this is real Alexander, and it's now become your burden to carry. Or at least it will be yours to carry one day. These men, they think they are merely seeking an energy; a gift that was presumably given since the beginning of time to those who found it. But what they seek is no energy. What they seek will cause mass destruction if they ever are able to find it. And I'll go to the grave to protect that which they seek after. I've seen His face and I know His ways, and I sacrificed everything to keep Him at bay. But I fear that all of my effort may be in vain."

He paused for a moment, somber in tone as he continued to speak to me.

"I know that it is a lot to process. And I never would wish to bear this burden upon you. And hopefully, I can put this to an end once and for all and you'll never have to concern yourself with these matters. But even now, I feel His presence all around me. I feel His strength already growing on the earth."

"Who? Whose strength? Whose presence? I know you are not a God-fearing man, so I know that you're not being just a typical religious zealot that would be so naive and misunderstanding of the truth. Who is this that you speak of?"

"His name is Sevelus, and that is all I will tell you on this day. There was a time in which I believe in His purpose and I served Him fully, and that would prove to be the biggest mistake of my life. I hope that you never have to bend the knee to His will; I hope that you never have to be part of the life I once lived, but if that day happens, in your darkest hour, your true father will be the one that will give you guidance."

"But my father...he's dead."

I had never met my father, but I had been told many stories about him from my youth, oftentimes thinking that Mark was over-exaggerating the truth just a bit when it came to matters concerning him. I finally saw a smile form over Mark's face as he relaxed, something bringing him great comfort in this situation. He leaned back in his chair, calmly speaking to me now.

"All, as I said, is not how it seems in this world. Bacchus will never die; he simply exists."

And so this chapter of the story would end. I still couldn't fathom what Mark was talking about, nor would I even begin to try, even as I laid in my bed in one of his guest bedrooms, staring at the ceiling. Was this the real life? Or was this just make-believe; a conspiracy formed in the mind of a man who had been on the run for far too long? I finally closed my eyes and fell asleep, hoping that I would never have to discover the answers to those questions.

___________________________________
December 20, 2012
Los Angeles, California
On Camera

Four days later, and I was back at my Los Angeles home, earning some much needed rest and relaxation before flying out to Indianapolis, Indiana; site of New Year's Evil. It was a big week for me as you could imagine, but for many other reasons than simply winning a championship to add to my long list of accomplishments. It was more than just a battle for a title; indeed, it was a war of ideologies differing between myself and Corey Casey; the questions of whether I was right to leave the power afforded to me by the Empire and having the owner of IWF in my pocket, or the decision to leave and carve my own path and my own legacy in the Insurgency. I had waited for so long for an opportunity like this to arise - it had been well documented that in my time with UECW, I wasn't exactly given many chances to fight for championship gold. I am not a bitter man, but because of my relationship, or lack thereof, with upper management there, the circumstances were really of no surprise, but disappointing anyway. So now this was my moment - my opportunity - to prove that I indeed am everything I've said I was from day one; that I was deserving of all the hype prior to me even signing my name on an IWF contract. I was everything that Stygian billed me to be for the many months prior to my arrival. I was the man to change the Insurgency forever.

It was about one o'clock in the afternoon; a bright and sunny day, as seemed to be the norm for this city; a bit of a chill in the air, but nothing too harsh for a warm-weather type of guy like myself. I was relaxing in the hot tub on the outside porch of my second floor balcony, looking over the city of Los Angeles as I had a bottle of wine to my right and a couple of glasses to my left; each filled to the brim. I had just closed my eyes, taking in the cool breeze on my face as the warmth surrounded my lower body - a perfect blend of comfort - as my two double doors swung open, unbeknownst to me. But then I heard footsteps approaching where I sat, finally tilting my head to the right as I looked at those which walked toward me, rolling my eyes for a moment as I scoffed.

Most unwelcome visitors.

"Don't you guys have a life," I asked as I sat up in the hot tub, finally feeling stress run up and down my veins, infuriated as I had hoped for at least some peace and quiet before getting back to my 'job.' "Who sent you?"

One man with a camera and another with a microphone, they stood above the hot tub, looking at me with pure terror, as though they thought that I was about to rip their heads off. If I wasn't so comfortable in the tub, perhaps I might have, but I didn't feel like getting up in the least. But still, they were uninvited. Which posed a whole different question...how in the hell did they get into my house in the first place?

"Alex...Alex sir," one of the men began, stuttering as though he had a case of Cerebral Palsy, but it was only a panic fit for him; obviously not used to confrontation, at least against him personally that is. "Corey...C...Corey Casey sent us. He...he said that you would like us here to...to...to talk to you and to get your...your thoughts."

Ah, of course it was Corey Casey; that bastard. And what's worse, he still had a key from the time I allowed him to crash at my place when he flew out here to Los Angeles to first recruit me. I scowled as I saw the man with the microphone twirling that very key in his hand, quickly reaching forward and snatching it from his hand. "I'll take that, thank you very much."

I sighed, knowing that these two were only following orders, and it was indeed their job to do so, but Corey Casey wasn't sending these two out here to appease the fans. And he certainly wasn't doing it to appease me. He knew quite well of my routine - he knew that in my element, I wanted a few days away from it all to clear my mind before returning to work later in the week, and it was no surprise that now that his champion, Parker Wayde, was scheduled to defend that championship against me in a matter of days, he would do anything in his power to interrupt my routine.

Clever Corey; clever indeed. I would have done the same thing in your shoes.

Bastard.

"You want me to give you my thoughts on Parker Wayde," I began, shaking my head as I reached to my left, clutching one of the wine glasses in my hand, having a quick drink before setting it down beside me again, cracking a smile as I ran my fingers slowly through my hair, watching as the camera began to point in my direction as I began to speak. "But it should first begin with the very man that started all of this. It should first begin with the true traitor in a story riddled with treachery and deceit. It should begin with Corey Casey."

"Corey, you and I actually used to be what I would consider good friends, and in my life, those who I call friends are extremely few and far between. It takes a lot to be considered part of my inner circle - perhaps it's because of my own trust issues; that I don't deny - but nevertheless, for someone to be considered a friend of mine takes a hell of a lot of trust. When you first asked me to join the Insurgency, you also asked me to be a part of an uprising which you said would change the Insurgency for the better. Sure, you promised me Stygian's head on a platter, and at the time, that was appealing to me, so every factor taken into consideration, I happily extended my hand and shook yours. But I had stipulations of my own. You see, I told you from day one that despite all of your plans for my personal ascension and the removal of all the riff-raft that plagued IWF at the time, the one man that was off limits for your Crusade was Griffin Hawkins. And you looked right into my eyes and told me that I had your word - that Griffin Hawkins would never become a target to the Empire. Fast-forward a couple of months, and I was sitting at home healing from a couple of old battle wounds, and what do I see on the TV but Parker Wayde and Baron Tomson, at your command, destroying the very same man that you swore an oath to me that you would keep the hounds away from."

I rolled my eyes, knowing quite well that Griffin Hawkins was more than capable of taking care of himself, but a man's word - especially from a man that I did consider a friend - should never be in vain.

"And so I knew in that moment that there was no reconciliation from your actions. There was no sitting down in a conference room and hashing out our issues. No amount of money and no amount of power could ever make up for the fact that for the rest of your days, I could never trust a word that came from your venomous lips. You are a deceiver in every sense of the word, and now you have the audacity to pretend that I am the man that stabbed you in the back? That I am the man that turned his back on the Empire unprovoked? You had it all Corey - you had the best damn wrestler to ever step foot inside an IWF ring, and you blew your opportunity at having him as your hired muscle all because you couldn't keep your word. All because you are a liar."

"But I guess now that you have Axle Vengeance in your back pocket, there really is no need for Alexander Remington, is there?"

I cracked a smile, finally standing up and stepping out of the hot tub, grabbing a nearby towel as I let myself dry off, taking a temporary break from talking; no doubt the cameras still rolling. Eh, IWF needed the rise in ratings from the female demographic anyway.

"Axle Vengeance, the very man that I've forced into retirement not once, but twice. Axle Vengeance, the man who at the first sign of adversity pounds down a handful of pills and washes them down his throat with a bottle of the strongest of liquor and blames that for his ultimate demise. The man that is no father to his own son; the man that is incapable of being a suitable husband for his own wife. A man that is a failure in life and for the last few years, a failure in the ring. And this is the man that you have chosen to replace me? This is the man you've signed to get in my head and unnerve me? Corey, I once considered you an intellectual, but perhaps I was wrong about you all along."

I shook my head as I tossed down the towel in disgust, landing on one of the nearby lounge chairs as the cameras followed me inside. I exited the watchful eyes of the camera as I slipped into my room, covering myself in a long silver robe before walking back into the living room where the cameras continued to record my every word.

"Axle, it's really cute that all you can still to this day attack me on is my means and my lifestyle. Sure, I was away for a while last week, but I heard everything you had to say about me prior to your match with Steel. About how I am nothing more than a spoon-fed typical rich white guy with everything handed to him on a silver platter from birth. How'd you put it Axle? That I am just another rich guy that learned some wrestling and decided to be a pro? Of all people, I would have assumed that you would have learned your lesson, because those are the exact same attacks you came against me with the last time we fought, and how'd that work out for you? I'm the man that stormed onto Havoc on that one fateful night, stood in your face and demanded a match within the Three Tiers of Hell, and I'm the man that was willing to put my career on the line against yours because I knew I was much more than any of your pathetic stereotypes could ever define me. I knew I was better than you, and I still know that to be true. You don't have to wait for my win against you that night to be irrelevant because it already is. But it's no fault of my own. It's because you've chosen that without someone to latch on to; without someone's coattails to ride, you are nothing at all."

I slowly had a seat on the black leather sofa, leaning forward and flipping a switch to turn on the fireplace - it wasn't freezing in my penthouse, but for some reason, I enjoyed the ambiance and the mood that the fire would set in my mind; still attempting at least some form of rest and relaxation despite Corey Casey's best attempts to ruin all of that.

"I don't apologize for my lifestyle Axle. I don't apologize for being able to experience the niceties of life. I don't apologize for being able to fly on private airplanes every week; I don't apologize for the prestigious company that I keep. I don't apologize for any of this, because I busted my ass for a lifetime to allow myself this type of honor and respect and luxury. I wasn't handed a fucking thing, no matter how much you wish it to be so. Perhaps, though, you should consider apologizing to your family for yours. Perhaps you should apologize to them for countless stints in rehab. Perhaps you should apologize to them for hardly ever being able to provide them with anything for Christmas. Perhaps you should consider apologizing for the disappointment that you've caused your own son; the fact that he's going to grow up and go to school and they are going to mock and to ridicule him forever because he was the son of the man that had so much promise, but never truly lived up to his potential. Because I know quite well about what you did in CFW, but I don't give a damn about your past. Your history. Your former accomplishments. Because when I look at you now, I see a man who is struggling to stay relevant. Sure, you have your core group of Internet nerds who will follow you through thick and thin, but nobody, save them, even know or give a damn who you are, or rather, who you were. I don't pretend for one moment that you weren't great at one point. Hell, as far as Hollywood's Fucking Finest was concerned, I always felt you were better than Ace Static could ever have imagined to be. There's a reason why I stormed onto Havoc that night and demanded a shot against you. Because you were, as you say, the motherfucking greatest. And truth be told Axle, I want you to get to that level again, only so that I can knock you back down on your ass once more and humble you yet again. Frankly, I'm happy that you've returned, but unfortunately for Corey, his return on his investment will never be as great as he imagines it to be. "

"He wants to use you as an insurance policy; he wants to use you as a hired gun to take me out, but what he doesn't realize is that I don't fear you - not in the least. I'm not in awe of your past, nor am I wary of your future. If he wants to bring an army of thousands at my door, I will come back at him with the force of ten thousand. Alexander Remington is no mere man; he is a fucking god. Alexander Remington is..."

I cracked a smile, laughing to myself as I shook my head, rolling my eyes for a moment as I leaned back on the couch a bit to get more comfortable.

"Jesus, you've got me talking like that retarded half-wit in Parker Wayde. Parker this, Parker that. You know why I am going to get such pleasure in removing that championship from his waist? Well, other than the fact that it will take every last shred of credibility away from the Empire once and for all. You know why this is going to be such an enjoyable moment for me to take that title by force from Parker Wayde?"

"Because it's fucking time for Parker Wayde to shut. the. fuck. up!"

I put forth an obvious scowl on my face, obviously not a big fan of Parker Wayde's. In fact, I never really was a fan of Parker Wayde.

"Corey Casey once approached me during the recruitment process long before I joined the Insurgency, and he asked me to form a list of names that I might like to see in this new Empire of his. And so I gave him a list, checked it twice, saw who had been especially naughty or nice - and of course, I chose the naughty ones ten times over the nice ones; nice guys really do finish last in this line of business after all. Conspicuously absent from any names that I handed to Corey Casey was that of Parker Wayde. Still, Corey insisted and he begged and he pleaded for me to sign off on Parker Wayde, because he promised me that one day, Parker Wayde would prove to be a most valuable asset to the cause of the Empire. So I finally conceded, for as I said before, Corey Casey had my trust, and at one point in time, I respected his decision. But Parker Wayde, you never did really pan out, did you? Sure, you have the championship around your waist, but you and I both know that you didn't win but without the help of Baron Tomson and the rest of your gang. You were the man that would carry my bags from my car to the locker room; you were that guy who fetched me a drink whenever I'd ask for it, but a champion, you most certainly were not. Are not. And it was only until my injury, and it was only until I left the Empire that you were even considered to be placed in a match against champion at the time, Stygian. And he knew that it wasn't necessarily because he thought you were better than the Black Dragon - trust me Parker, from the many talks that I had with Corey during my time with the Empire, he would have been happy for you to just win a few matches every now and then just to keep the Empire's average up. He couldn't handpick Baron Tomson - as cliche as it may sound, a man who plays with fire inevitably will be burned. Baron Tomson could never be the golden boy of the Empire simply because he was too volatile. At least with you, he knew he could control you by the strings. He could say jump and you would immediately ask him how high. You would do everything you could do to please Corey Casey, and so because of that, you were the perfect choice for him in the end to fight Stygian."

"He didn't need you to be better than Stygian, because all along, you were always going to use the numbers game to rip that championship from around his waist. And I wouldn't even be surprised if one day it is revealed that Death Angel was recruited by Corey himself to distract Stygian and stop him from getting his rematch against you, because you know as well as everyone else that if Stygian were given his rematch against you for that championship, it would take more than an army of a handful to stop him from taking back what he believed to be rightfully his. All Corey Casey needed from you was your body. All Corey Casey needed was a man that would do everything that he was ordered to do, and given that from its very beginnings, you were the Empire's bitch, you were absolutely the perfect candidate."

I smiled as I glanced to the glass stand beside me, noticing two small pawns - a black and a white - sitting atop it, of no significance to Parker Wayde, but of great significance to another who would undoubtedly be watching. I let my fingers wrap around the black pawn, deliberately twirling it in my fingertips as I continued with what I was saying.

"This match is more than just some championship match where two men do battle for the rights to call themselves the best. This match is about two paths that the Insurgency must inevitably follow. The path of righteousness or the path of despair. I once believed in the mantra of the Empire; that though our methods were sometimes vile, that our purpose for the end was justified for the vision which we collectively saw for IWF. But I've come to find out that the Empire is nothing unusual. The Empire is nothing unique. The Empire doesn't stand for anything notable or just. The Empire is just your typical power-hungry self-serving parasites that would leech on those of us who bust our asses to make a living and to entertain those people that pay good money to put their asses in the seats week in and week out. And I know that it may be a tad hypocritical for me to pretend that I'm suddenly on their side now - I've done a lot of things in my life and in my career to the contrary, but the Empire...you've taken it too far. Corey Casey, you have crossed the line. Corey Casey, you have abused your power, all in an attempt at one last shot of glory. Because you certainly can't earn it in the ring any longer. This match is about the direction that the Insurgency will follow; at mass destruction or salvation. I don't pretend to be your savior, but perhaps for one moment in time, I can offer a sense of redemption. Perhaps I can right my own personal wrongs that I've committed since I began my career with the Insurgency."

"Perhaps I can change something that I once thought was too far along to ever see the end of it."

I sighed, not necessarily apologetic for the things which I had done, but there was a touch of remorse to be inferred from the tone of my voice, staring down at the floor before lifting my head up once more, staring straight at the lens of the camera, speaking directly to Parker Wayde now.

"Parker, you have a great opportunity to show everyone exactly what you're made of. You have the perfect chance to prove whether you are a champion or just another corporate yes-man; a lackey that bends to the will of Corey Casey. You have the chance to tell your masses to remain in the locker room while we have what certainly will be the fight of the night. We both have been disrespected - make no doubt about it in your mind. We both have been disrespected because instead of being at the top of the card in the main event, Corey Casey has chosen your very own Empire teammate in Axle Vengeance to headline the show along with Brandon MacDonald. All week, you too have been disrespected by Axle Vengeance, as he shouted out loud that he was now the number one member of the Empire, and Corey Casey has done NOTHING to deny or dissuade such a remark. And while the upcoming Empire Christmas party may be a bit awkward, I would imagine, you have a chance to do something that not many have done before you. Beat me on your own. Tell your army to remain in the back; tell Corey Casey that you can do this on your own, and prove that Parker is worthy of the third-person narratives and the media coverage and the hype."

"But make no mistake about it Parker, you might have had a chance to survive this match before you alone made this personal."

I groaned as I felt the scars on my back; throbbing pain which even the strongest of medication had not been able to diminish. For the last two weeks, I was either laid up in a hospital bed or constantly popping pills, almost feeling like a better looking, better dressed version of Axle Vengeance as I downed the pills like candy, hoping that I could so much as walk without feeling as though a cross had been nailed to my back. Ironic, considering I was indeed the Jesus Christ of professional wrestling.

I stood to my feet, letting the camera pan up my body as I turned my back to it, slipping off my robe (relax ladies, I was still wearing shorts) as I let the world see for the first time the long wretched jagged scars which covered my back; deep welts that I imagined would never fully heal. I would forever be reminded of that infamous day; the day that the Empire decided to crucify me; the day they attempted to take me out of the Insurgency for good. They had made this personal, much like Alexander Raven did when he stabbed me in the back in UECW, listening to the advice of his coward father as he thought that being in cahoots with Brooklyn Nelson would be far greater than being aligned with a man of my power and prestige. Look where that got him.

"These scars remind me that it isn't just about an ideology. These scars remind me that it isn't just about the Empire's way of business rather than my own. That alone would have been good enough to keep you in one piece when the lights were turned off on New Year's Evil and the dust had been settled. But you tried to end my career on that night. You realized that you had made a dire mistake in accepting my challenge for your title. Perhaps Corey Casey got to you after I coaxed you into this match. Perhaps Corey Casey yelled into your ear about how idiotic your decision was to put your championship on the line against me. Because Corey Casey may be many things, but a fool, he most certainly is not. So you did the only thing you thought was reasonable - remove me from the equation and perhaps they'd stick an Ashe Corvin or an Eric Steel or some other half-salary yuppie with no talent in my place, and even you would coast to a victory against a man like that. Stygian was tied up, so it seemed only the natural route for you to remove your greatest threat from the title picture. You decided to take your Cato-nine whip and go all Fifty Shades of Gray on my back, thinking that it would end all hopes of me even making it to New Year's Evil. "

"What you didn't take into account was that you can beat Alexander Remington to a pulp, but unless you murder him in cold blood, you'll never be able to retire him."

I allowed the camera to follow the long welts that had formed on my back for a couple of minutes, letting the audience and especially Parker Wayde, feel the tension in the room before slipping back on my robe, turning around and having a seat once more, staring back into the lens of the camera for my closing remarks.

"Two other men tried to end my career in a similar fashion. One is collecting unemployment and the other is resting quite comfortably, I hear, in a mental institution. Ashe Corvin, a man who would like to end my career but lacks the ability to do so, used to be great, but now is slumming in the mid-card ranks losing week in and week out to Eric Steel. You're no different than the rest Parker Wayde. You're just another guy who got a taste at the experience of the fancy gold championship around your waist, and you've let it get to your head. And on Sunday night at New Year's Evil, I'm going to end the boyhood dream of Parker Wayde. I'm going to end the credibility of the Empire. I'm going to end the viability of Corey Casey. And I am going to finally take my place at the top of the mountain; perhaps even at the top of Blackrock Spire," I say with a slight smile, knowing that he would be watching somewhere in Colorado, "and I will take my seat on the throne of IWF where I belong. There will be no Empire; there will only be a kingdom whose king is Alexander Remington."

With a slide of my hand across my throat, I signaled for the cameras to be turned off, which thankfully they obliged to my command. Before the last man left, I stood up, calling out to him.

"Hey, before you leave, can you promise me one thing," I asked of him. Both men entered back into the room with me, looking at me curiously as they stared back at me, wondering what I could possibly want with the two of them. But he nodded his head almost reluctantly.

"When you see Corey Casey," I said with a sly smile, actually appreciating his attempt at removing me from my element, as though it were a simple mind-game that he was trying to play with the master manipulator. "When you see Corey Casey, tell him he can go fuck himself."

Again he nodded his head, quickly turning and walking out, closing the door behind them. I had just gotten back to my couch when I heard another knock at the door, sighing as I stood up again, staring over at the door.

"Seriously, this is getting out of hand. I don't want any more visitors," I said, but thinking that one of the camera crew may have forgotten something, I walked over to the door, reluctantly turning the handle and opening it.

"Mr. Remington, we need to talk."

Who in the hell are you?

End.

http://siw-alexremington.webs.com/Remington76.htm

Alrighty, decided to do this one in my layout As I always do when I post this, I'll post the unhtml'ed text below this, as to ensure nothing is added to this rp after posting this. Read the linked version though; it's all official and shit.

December 20, 2012
Los Angeles, California
Off Camera

"Mr. Remington, we need to talk."

Three men in solid black suits made their way into my home; the last shutting the door quietly behind him as they nearly surrounded me in a triangular type fashion. They all wore similarly shaded dark sunglasses; white button down shirts - you get the idea. One would imagine them to be of some kind of government agency, but something seemed off about this whole situation to me. Perhaps years of actually working from government agency to government agency made me realize that none of this felt like proper protocol or procedure, and I certainly didn't feel as though this was just an ordinary visit.

"What is all of this about," I said with a bit of frustration in my tone, an appropriate response to three men looking like the fucking Men in Black waltzing into my living room without explanation. "Do you have a warrant? Do you have a reason for being here? Hell, do you even have a name?"

The three men glanced at each other and for a minute or so, they didn't say a word; standing there like statues around me, obviously trying to intimidate me by their stoic nature. Finally, the bald-headed individual of the three stepped forward, staring straight at me as he spoke for the first time to me.

"We have no warrant, nor do we need one. We do most certainly have a reason for being here, but that is not for you to be told. And yes, all three of us indeed have names, however, to you that is of little significance. Mr. Remington," he said coldly, almost in a monotone as he spoke directly to me, "why did you catch a plane to Chiapas just a few days ago?"

"I had a craving for chalupas; what the fuck does it matter to you," I spoke with disdain for the question, but part of me was wary of giving the actual reason for being there and what had taken place. Just days ago, I had spoken with my father, who along with giving me advice for this stage of my wrestling career revealed to me a long kept secret, the truth of which I was unsure of. But he had told me of the men who had been searching for him, and warned me that I too may be in danger of being involved, and now I realized that his prophecy of sorts may have been true.

The man scoffed, reaching into his briefcase and pulling out a manila folder, laying it flat on the coffee table in front of my couch.

"Clever Mr. Remington, but we're not here to jest. What we have approached you with today is a very serious matter of national security. We believe that you went down to Mexico to speak to one, Mark Mayer. Is that correct?"

"I don't know what you're talking about," I said in response, knowing quite well that he knew the answer to that very question, or at the very least, he had strong reason to believe that. "It's been nearly a year since I've seen him," I lied, hoping that they would believe me and just walk away.

Fat chance of that happening.

"Mhm, I see," he stated, looking me over as he studied my appearance, maintaining my composure so as to not give away any verbal ticks. "In that case, perhaps you could tell us about your little rendezvous in Madrid a month or so ago."

Shit.

For those who do not remember the tale, I will narrate it quickly for those reading this today. About a year or so ago, my career was likely ended by the hands of Alexander Raven; a bat to the back of my head causing so much brain damage that I could hardly walk much less pretend that I'd ever compete within the squared circle again. But Eric Telfor, a man that I had known for quite some time through my time in UECW, had the means and the capability to offer me a solution to recover my health and my career - some kind of experimental surgery that he vowed would work. And it did. But in return, he said that I would owe him a favor at the time of his choosing. That time came a couple of months ago when he asked me to use my training from a previous occupation that will remain classified for now to track and to...incapacitate...a certain individual who Eric claimed to have dirt on him personally which would destroy him. I had no other choice, for Eric also had dirt on me; information from many years ago that, in turn, would destroy me as well.

I owe Eric Telfor no favors anymore.

I stared at the manila folder as the bald-headed man leaned down and opened it slowly, showing multiple pictures of me in Madrid; of me in the same room as the man that I, well, incapacitated. I thought there was no way that I could have been seen...it was a clean job through and through.

I glared up at the man, not saying a word, but I knew he could tell from my face that what he wanted to accomplish had been done. A wry smile formed over his face as he slowly removed his sunglasses, placing them within his coat pocket; the two other men standing idle by his side.

"Mr. Remington, I don't wish to expose you for the heinous act that you committed in Madrid. In fact, I don't really care about all of that, but the truth of the matter is, we are in need of finding Mark Mayer. We know that you visited him in Chiapas just a few days ago, but yet again, he has vanished. His home was empty. He's like a ghost, but we know that you'll cooperate fully with our investigation."

"Who are you," I repeated my question from before, muttering under my breath as I realized I didn't have much of a choice in the matter at this point. If what I had done was ever exposed, a lengthy prison sentence would be all that I would be looking forward to for the rest of my life.

"We are simply three guys trying to do our job, Mr. Remington. Mark Mayer has answers to our questions that need answering, but for some reason, he continues to avoid us like the plague. We're not the bad guys here," he tried to reason with me, not sure if I could ever believe a word he was saying.

"The truth is, I have no idea where he is," I said calmly, trying to figure out how I could get out of this mess without exposing Mark's location, but I truthfully didn't know where he could have gone if he indeed left Chiapas. "He contacts me; I don't have any way possible to contact him."

"See, was that so hard," the man smiled, leaning over and picking up the manila folder, hiding it away in his briefcase. "Since we've had a very long trip and wouldn't want to waste our time, why don't you give us some information about what he told you while you were there."

"We talked about our wrestling careers," I spoke in half-truths, starting to believe that maybe what Mark had told me wasn't so crazy after all, but still, the idea of some higher entity resurrecting seemed a bit absurd to me even still. "About what's been happening with mine; parallels with his."

"Is that so? And what else, Mr. Remington."

"That's it," I fibbed, keeping as good of a straight face as I possibly could muster. "That was all that he would say to me," I said, realizing there was no way they could believe me at this point. Deciding to spin them in another direction at least, I stated, "He seemed a bit standoffish though. As though he were keeping something from me. I wanted to ask him what was troubling him, but he and I weren't really ever much of conversationalists. Always kept to himself; always was away on the road so much as I grew up that I never became all that close to him to begin with. Look, we didn't have a heart to heart, okay. I don't know what information you seek, but I don't know anything. And that's the truth," I lied.

Disappointment covered his face as he placed his sunglasses over his eyes again, sighing as he gave me one last glance.

"Mr. Remington, all that you need to know is that Mark Mayer holds vital information that would be to the benefit of our nation's security. I believe there was a time where you stood up for the red, white, and blue. Anything he has told you or will tell you in the future is a lie, and we simply want to talk to him because we believe he can be persuaded to help us all out for the betterment of our country. As I stated, we are not the bad guys Mr. Remington."

He paused for a moment. I didn't believe a word he was saying, but could it be even remotely possible that what he was saying could be true? Could Mark possibly be mistaken when it came to the purpose of these individuals standing before me this day?

"I trust you'll do the right thing, Mr. Remington. For your nation. For the citizens of the United States of America. And in return, we'll forget that Madrid even happened," he said with a wry smile, trying to make his threat seem casual in nature, but his tone was fierce and biting, and I knew that this would not be a problem that would go away.

"That sounds like a threat."

"Oh no, not at all Mr. Remington. Just look at it as a mere insurance policy and added motivation in case doing the right thing isn't in your repertoire any longer," he said coldly, but I could sort through the niceties to smell the bullshit.

"And how would I get in touch with you if ever I do come to find out where he's at," I said, hoping to find out more information about who I was dealing with in the meantime; hoping for a mistake from this fellow to let me in on his location or specifically who exactly these men were.

"We will keep in touch with you, Mr. Remington. Good day."

And as quickly as the three men walked into my penthouse, they exited, closing the door quietly behind them as they departed my sight. I stood in the middle of my living room absolutely appalled and flabbergasted, unsure of whom these men were and how exactly I was going to finagle my way out of this situation. I had spoken the truth; I knew not the present whereabouts of my adoptive father, and I wouldn't ever know this information unless he reached out to me again.

I knew the truth though - ultimately, I had but one option. Turn in Mark Mayer.

_________________________________

December 21, 2012
Los Angeles, California
Off Camera

I awakened in a cold sweat, looking around me at what was nothing but darkness. I tried to move to gauge my surroundings, but for some reason, I could not. I struggled and I struggled, but something was keeping me from even standing on my own two feet, much less move around the room to see what was actually going on.

"What is this place," I screamed in sheer terror, looking around for any source of light, but there was none. "Who are you and what do you want from me?"

Suddenly a single spotlight shone in the room, moving toward the center of it. In the middle, a ladder was illuminated, and lifting my eyes above the ladder was the Insurgency championship. It was something that I wanted more than anything in the world, or so I thought. It radiated with a glow that I had never seen before; a rare jewel that I needed to acquire. I tried to crawl toward the ladder, but again I was stilled in my place; another light shining directly onto me as I realized that four shackles held me to the ground; iron chains making sure of it that I could not move, each connected to each hand and to each ankle. I tried as hard as I could muster to remove these chains, but alas, they would not budge.

"Well look at what the cat drug in," I heard his voice, instantly recognizing it as belonging to one of my long time rivals, Axle Vengeance. "You know, this is quite ironic, don't you think? Here you are rambling on and on about what's holding me down and what shackles I've allowed in my life, and here is Alexander Remington groveling at my fucking feet!"

"Axle, let me out of this place," I yelled to him, screaming to the top of my lungs with the utmost fury, watching as he looked at me as though I were some pathetic animal about to be put down.

"Oh, are you asking me to show you some mercy now, are you asshole," he cackled, smiling as he looked up at the championship dangling above the ladder. "You know, that thing would look amazing around my waist. After all, I am the motherfucking greatest. Just think about it Alex, in a few short moments, everyone's going to forget about your meaningless victory against me. I'm going to put that belt around my waist, and you'll be nothing more than an afterthought. Alexander who? It's all that you cling to when you speak against me Remington. How on one night, you happened to be able to climb to the top of a cage quicker than I and grab a briefcase with my contract inside. In fact, even when I'm not around, you call yourself the man that destroyed Axle Vengeance. How does it fucking feel to realize that the shoe is on the other foot?"

I scowled as he stood before me, finally turning and walking toward the ladder, beginning to ascend.

"Wait," I called out as he stopped mid-ascent, looking over his shoulder at me. "Maybe you're right Axle. Maybe that one victory in the grand scheme of things means nothing. It's time for me to leave that in the past, because I've got many more things to accomplish than to just defeat Axle Vengeance once at perhaps his lowest moment. But for me, it meant something. I had just suffered the most embarrassing loss of my career at the hands of a woman - Joey Reyes. I had an opportunity of my own to fight for the UECW championship despite all the politics that took place behind the scenes, and when that opportunity arose, I blew it. So I stormed onto Havok and I demanded a shot against you, because you know what Axle? Even in your lowest state, you were the motherfucking greatest. But those days are done. Those days are over. The man you look at now is the best to ever step inside any squared circle in the world, and you know it. And you'll get your chance when I take that championship for myself," I said, and suddenly one of the shackles were removed from my left hand, casting it to the ground. "Because I may loathe what you stand for. And I may hate everything you're about. And I may believe that you are nothing more than a waste of potential. But I respect you for what you once accomplished, and one day, we're going to stand face to face in the middle of that ring, and I will defend that championship against you. Proudly. And this time, you will be at your best, and I will prove without a shadow of a doubt that Alexander Remington comes second in line to no man!"

I was still bound, but I had cast aside the shackle of my past; the need to rely on past successes in order to make myself feel better about my present and future. I watched as he began to open his mouth, but before words could be uttered, he disappeared in an instant; in a blink of an eye. I once again tried to move toward the ladder, but alas, the three chains which still bound me kept me from my purpose.

"Let me free; let me loose. Let me claim that which is rightfully mine."

"You ungrateful pissant, you don't deserve a fucking thing! As long as I'm in charge, you will never sniff the IWF championship."

Before me now stood Corey Casey; a smug grin on his face as he took pleasure in seeing me chained to the floor. He paced back and forth, looking up at the championship as well before glaring down at me.

"Oh that? No, don't be crazy. I don't want the IWF championship for myself. But the Empire, it will never lose this belt. If not Parker Wayde, than Baron Tomson. If not Baron Tomson, than certainly Axle Vengeance. And on and on the line will continue, because guess what Alex? You can't beat us. You can't stop me from my purpose for the Insurgency. You had your chance at immortality; you had the perfect offering to be my right hand man, but you blew it. You spit in my face and on everything I afforded you, and now you are left at my feet begging for my mercy."

"How pathetic."

He smiled, and out from the darkness behind the ladder emerged Parker Wayde. Corey Casey pointed upward toward the title, commanding Parker Wayde to fetch.

"It's just like you, Parker Wayde, to follow orders like the sheep that you are. And it's just like you, Corey, to pretend as though you are the one pulling the strings. You're mistaken Corey, you can bring all the forces of the world against me and in the end, I will always overcome everything that you could possibly ever throw at me. I left the Empire not purely because of your unprovoked attack against my friend in Griffin Hawkins. I left the Empire as well because I realized that I don't need to be a corporate stooge to carve out my own legacy in the Insurgency. I watched as men like Stygian battled against pieces of shit like you and overcame time and time again. And if I were to remain with the Empire, what glory would that give me? I would have been in Parker Wayde's place - accused of only being able to be a champion because I had a gang of thugs behind me, ready to attack at their master's bidding. I didn't come to IWF to be just another guy in a sea of faces. I came because when the dust settles and my time in this business is through, I want to be known as the man who never wavered; who never sought glory by riding the coattails of another."

Suddenly the other arm restraint loosed, casting it to the ground as well. Now my arms were free, but nevertheless I could still not move. However, I had cast aside the shackle of the Empire - the need for power and respectability from others in order to achieve my ultimate purpose. I wasn't afraid of what might come against me on Sunday night. I knew that if I were simply Alexander Remington, nothing could stand in my way.

Except for these two fucking shackles.

Learning my lesson from the previous two instances, I remained still, and suddenly I heard loud footsteps coming my way. I smiled as I looked at the man who now stood above me, but no such pleasantries were returned. Before me stood Mark Mayer, but by the way he was dressed, in his former ring apparel, he came before me as Powerhouse - a god among men. Nearly two hundred more wins than losses, he carved out a legacy that not many before or after him could ever even dream of accomplishing.

"Look at you," he said arrogantly, kicking at my hands as he forced me to back away as much as the leg restraints would allow. "You still measure your successes and failures based on my career and my past achievements. You still, to this day, watch videos of the things which I accomplished, and it's your dream to be half the wrestler that I once was. You are insignificant Alexander. The truth is, no matter how many championships you acquire, and no matter how many victories you attain, you will always be Alexander Remington - adopted son of Powerhouse. And you'll never escape from that label for as long as you may live."

These comments cut deep at my soul, bowing my head in shame as he spoke words which I believed for a long time to be true. I laid there on the ground for what seemed like hours, realizing that my shackles were too burdensome to possibly bear. But it was in that moment when I looked up at him, and before me was no longer a god among men. Before me was a relic of the past and someone I realized I no longer needed to measure myself against.

"Sure, I respect everything you've accomplished," I said softly, gaining a bit of confidence as my voice began to elevate just a tad. "What you accomplished in your time will likely never be replicated again."

He stood there proudly as though he had gained a moral victory against me.

"But my career will not be compared to that of yours, nor should it be. If I am ever to be known purely as Alexander Remington, I can no longer consider the things that you did in your time years ago. I can no longer watch the tapes and relive old memories of your battle trophies. I have to concern myself with the here and the now. If I continue looking at the past, I can never truly imagine the greatness that is in store for me in the future. Mark Mayer, you will never be dead to me as you were the man that took me in and gave me a home when I had none, but Powerhouse, as far as I'm concerned, you're irrelevant."

Powerhouse groaned, scowling as he began to disappear, my left leg shackle loosening, casting it to the ground as well, putting behind me the need to compare myself to the lofty achievements of my adoptive father. I felt so close to finally being able to do that which was necessary to place the championship in my hands; the belt looking so beautiful as it dangled above the steel ladder. The only remaining shackle was wrapped even tighter against my leg; double chains made sure that I could not escape so easily.

"I've passed the tests; I've put aside all that I could possibly imagine to holding me away from that which is rightfully mine. Release me from my shackles..."

That smell; that wonderful fragrance. I recognized it immediately, not needing to even look at the face of the one who appeared before me.

"Jaci..."

It had been several months since I had even seen her; she left me with a tear-stained letter and that would prove to be the only correspondence I would ever receive from her since. I missed her so. I finally brought myself to look into her eyes - her beautiful blue eyes more precious than any championship could ever be - and I wept. I felt the tears stream down my face as I saw the woman that I loved standing before me - my one remaining shackle.

"I don't understand...why would you..."

She stepped forward, interrupting me as she stared down at me, but the look she gave me was not of anger, or bitterness, or hatred. It was just that same beautiful face that I had grown accustomed with; the one that I longed to see every time I opened my eyes, but it would always prove to be in vain.

"How do you ever expect to be the champion that you want to be if you can't stop thinking about me," she said with concern, shaking her head slowly. "You know why I had to leave Alex...you know that you could never balance your job with a relationship. You couldn't handle having two loves. But now that I'm gone, you continue to allow the memories of our time together to flow through your mind, and it's caused you to become weak. You've stumbled. You're fallen. Here is the key to your remaining shackle," she said, laying it before me on the ground before picking herself up. "Let me go, and you'll have everything you really ever desired."

I tried to reach for the key, but I couldn't bring myself yet to let her go. My fingers circled around the object, but grasping it, they could not. I looked back up at her; a wretched mess as I was on the day that she left me.

"I don't know that I can Jaci. With every passing day, you remain on my mind. I loved you, and I know that somewhere inside, you loved me. And it hurts inside to know that I screwed things up; that I'm the reason that you no longer could find love in your heart for me. I miss the way you laughed. I miss the times we spent together. I miss merely holding you as we fell asleep in each other's arms. And every now and then, I'll see someone that reminds me of you. Or every now and then, I'll find something that you left behind, and it tears me to shreds. I know..." I said, trying to force back the tears, but it proved to be far too difficult. "I know that I should move on, and I've tried, but you got to me. I need you back in my life Jaci. I love you..."

I bowed my head, looking at the key before me, but I couldn't even begin to grasp it still.

"You have to move on," she repeated. "You can't live your life waiting for me to return."

I sighed, nodding my head. "I know."

I reached one last time for the key, but with a clash of thunder, I was startled awake from my slumber. Had I been able to remove that last shackle, or would I be forever bound? I knew not.

____________________________

December 22, 2012
Indianapolis, Indiana
On Camera

On the eve of New Year's Evil, I had finally made it to the city of Indianapolis - as was my custom, I hardly ever arrived to the current tour stop any more than one or two days prior, and this week was no exception. I had rented a three-bedroom suite for the weekend; one for myself, another for Griffin Hawkins, and a 'just in case' kind of room. Just in case meaning...well you get the point. At any rate, this isn't where the scene would be set, for as was also my custom, I arrived at the arena the day prior to get a lay of the land, resting comfortably in my well-furnished locker room after a very long and tiring flight. I had just laid my head down on the arm of the sofa behind me as I heard the door slam open, startling me awake as I looked around with horror, wondering what could be happening.

"Dude, we have to get out of here! The zombies are coming," the man in the doorway screamed to the top of his lungs; his face pale white like a ghost as he shook nervously at the thought. "I heard it just the other day on the radio. The world is ending! We have to find higher ground!"

"What the fuck," I yelled in response, sitting up straight on the couch as he looked back down at me. "The world was rumored to be ending yesterday you fucking nitwit!"

Griffin Hawkins was the man in question and he bowed his head down as he realized he had possibly made a mistake. But he shook his head, looking just as nervous as before as he began to pace the room.

"But that was for if the world was ending by an asteroid, or by an alien attack, or by solar flares, or by the very sun going kaboom," he shouted, obviously doing his homework on the entire myth. "Tsunamis and earthquakes and polar shifts! I saw John Cusack..."

"The world is not ending Griffin. And like I said, if it were, it was supposed to be yesterday! Calm down!"

"But you're not getting my point," he said, slapping me in the back of the head as though I were doing something wrong. "A zombie apocalypse wouldn't happen overnight. Zombies are slow! They could be coming after us right now! And that's why we need to run!"

I sighed.

"This is just like you Hawkins. You overreact to everything and take everything you see on TV as the truth."

"The TV? They can't lie on the TV! There's laws about that man..." he scoffed.

"You've apparently never watched Fox News."

I looked at Griffin as he stood there dumbfounded, and that's when I noticed that he had a massive backpack and two swords crossed in an 'X' shape on his back.

"Jesus, what the fuck are those things for?"

"I heard Obama banned assault weapons," he yelled out to defend himself, obviously not liking my retorts to his idiotic claims. "And besides, I've watched the zombie movies. They always run out of bullets in the most inconvenient times. These are katanas - they don't run out of bullets!"

I shrugged my shoulders. Sometimes it was best to let Griffin just believe his vision of reality and go on with my life, but he might literally poke an eye out with those things.

"It's not the end of the world; there won't be any zombie apocalypses. The only thing that is going to change with the new baktum is the undeniable fact that the Insurgency is about to lay their eyes on the new IWF champion."

"Oh god, here we go again."

"What?"

"You always do this! You take a seemingly unrelated thing that I bring up and you turn it into a two hour promo," he said with a sigh, taking that as his cue as he stormed out of my room, slamming the door behind him.

"As I was saying, the New Year will awaken and the Insurgency's champion will not be the same. The shift of power will be swift, and it will transition from the Empire to Alexander Remington. I've heard rumblings in the back of mysterious groups being formed to take down the Empire, and to that I say - you only need to look at one man that is going to beat the living hell out of each and every member of the Empire until all that is left is Corey Casey. Don't be fooled for one fucking second - I know that the cards are stacked against me, and I know that I might be a lunatic for taking on such a challenge. One man versus an entire Empire is quite the feat, and some might even label it impossible. But not I. Not I for one fucking second, because I'm Alexander Remington, and Axle," I smile as I reference him as a side note. "I'm the motherfucking greatest."

Yes, of course I knew that a camera was in the room the entire time; you can't walk five fucking steps in an IWF arena without a hoard of cameras following your every move.

"Parker, just one month ago, you did the unthinkable. You did the unfathomable. You did something that not many men can present on their resume. You defeated the Black Dragon. You beat Superman. If Vegas decided to take bets on Insurgency wrestling, Stygian versus you would not even been allowed on the big board because it would have been too much of a longshot. You shocked the system Parker Wayde, and you did something that none of us expected. Until you did exactly what every one of us expected and used every last member of the Empire to secure that championship reign for you. And in the process, you shit on the legacy of the Insurgency championship. You spit in the face of all the champions that came before you. You tarnished everything that championship once stood for in one night because you thought for one moment that simply carrying that championship made you worthy of being called a champion."

I shook my head to the contrary with disgust.

"But you are no champion Parker Wayde, and on Sunday night at New Year's Evil, I'm going to not only claim that glorious prize as my own, but I'm going to restore honor and prestige to a championship that the entire Empire has desecrated. I would have thought Corey Casey of all men would have seen the error in allowing a sack of shit like you to ever even catch a glimpse or savor a taste of the IWF championship, but alas, his greed and lust for power has consumed him in full."

"Unfortunate really, I once believed the bullshit that Corey Casey spewed from his mouth."

I sighed, shrugging my shoulders as I leaned a bit forward on the couch. There was a time where I believed Corey Casey to be a friend; an ally. I believed in his message in reforming the Insurgency and the methods for which we would achieve that purpose. But he certainly had deviated from his word too many times for me to ever trust again a single word that came out of that venemous snake.

"You handcuffed Griffin Hawkins to the corner post and forced him to watch as I was beaten and crucified time and time again, and any other man would have thrown in the towel and walked away, realizing that this sport was becoming too dangerous and too overrun by thugs to ever continue. And that's what you banked on Parker. You, not knowing yet the meddle or the resolve of the man in front of you this evening, assumed in your mind that if you brought the fire, so to speak, to Alexander Remington, that he would back down and give up and run away. My back, it'll never look the same again. When I get into bed with a woman, you know the first thing she's going to say? Well, the first thing she's going to say is, "Alexander Remington, you're fucking sexy and my God, is that huge thing your penis?" But I assure you, the moment she sees my back, it will always be a constant reminder of what you did to me on that night because she's going to bitch and she's going to moan about how this business is too dangerous for any human being to endure. And maybe she would be right. And maybe I should walk away from this sport I love, because the Empire has taken things too far. But Alexander Remington, he is a proud man. Alexander Remington, he doesn't back down. Alexander Remington doesn't have a fucking ounce of quit in him, and that was your mistake when you misjudged the type of man that I am."

"Perhaps you caved in to the Axle Vengeance line of thinking. Perhaps you allowed yourself to assume that I was just a rich guy who has been spoon-fed success and prestige and money all of his life, and now I am just using my power and my influence in this world to try out this new thing called professional wrestling." I cracked a smile, having heard this line so many times in the past it was becoming more than cliché; it was becoming a fucking headache. "Perhaps as you were toting my bags from my limo to my locker room during my time in the Empire, you stared over at me and wished for one moment that you could be who I am; that you could be successful like I had been, and perhaps you knew in that moment that when you got your opportunity, Empire or not, you were going to try to take me out of this company and rise to the top yourself. And that would have been admirable, had you done all that you've now done on your own. But when you whipped my back time and time again with that Catonine whip; when you tortured me and you mutilated my body and you made my back appear plowed for the harvest, you made me realize one thing Parker."

"You're fucking scared of me."

I stared directly at the lens of the camera, speaking directly to Parker Wayde as though he were sitting right in front of me in this room.

"The time is drawing near Parker. When New Year's Evil arrives, all of your tweets and all of your third-person remarks and all of your idiotic ripped off slogans like "Hardy har fucking har, here there be Parker" won't mean a fucking thing. Those thing are for marketing, and that ring doesn't give a shit about how many t-shirts you sell or how many Parker-endorsed hair picks are in demand on InsurgencyShop.com. You and I both know that though I implored you to leave your Geek Squad in the back, you won't. You don't have the spine to do so. But you can bring your armies and you can bring your weapons, and I'll come down to that ring as one man. As Alexander Remington."

"And you know what Parker Wayde. That'll be all I need."

I smiled as I ended my simple message, signaling for the cameraman to end the footage, which he did. Just as soon as he did, the door swung wide open again, and there stood Hawkins; survival gear still in stow as he walked over to the table in front of my couch, swiftly grabbing a large bag of Jolly Ranchers that he had left on the tabletop.

"I'm still mad at you..." he said, just as swiftly turning around and storming back out of the room, slamming the door behind him as the scene and this chapter of Alexander Remington's storied career came to a close.

End.

So I have decided to no show, simply so that I am the only grader in this contest. I have spent the last week trying to start writing. I have two pretty solid outlines for RPs, and zero motivation to write them. I guess I have just been burnt out from finals and still hungover from the massive RPs that Stygian and I dropped at the last PPV.

Even if I were to write out both of my outlines to their respective completion they wouldn't come close to the amount that Remington has put up. I know that the grade is not on quantity, but I also know the quality of the writing that Remi does. I also know that every word of both of those RPs are probably of the same quality, if not better than what I would post, and there is no comparison in quantity.

I would be going into this night not even believing myself that I could win. If by chance the vote turned in my favor, I wouldn't want to accept it anyways. In my opinion Remi has crushed what I had to put up this week. He beat me before I even started.

I concede victory to him. He was no doubt the better man in this contest.