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 Flex Johnson [vs] Jacob Figgins

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Alex Dillinger

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PostSubject: Flex Johnson [vs] Jacob Figgins   Thu Jul 25, 2013 6:54 am


IWF HIGH IMPACT CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH
Flex Johnson
[vs]
Jacob Figgins


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The Propaganda

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Wrestler Stats
IWF Record: 0-0-0
Alignment:

PostSubject: Re: Flex Johnson [vs] Jacob Figgins   Mon Jul 29, 2013 12:31 am

~~Off Camera~~

A gym, once that looked like it would give someone an allergic fit for simply standing at the door. Very visible spores of dust floated lazily down to the floor when the lights turned on.  Jacob Figgins is seen laying waste to a heavy bag before him with a precise fury. The person holding the bag was a woman standing nearly a foot shorter than Jacob. But her mohawk seemed to make up for the difference in height. If it counted, anyway (It didn’t). Jacob finally relented and decided to take a swig of his water.

???: Ya know? I thought you were trying to be a good influence. But honestly, you haven’t been all that positive.

Jacob: Destiny, fuck positive. I am being the best realistic influence that I can be. Trust no one.

Destiny grumbles something under her breath. Her brother disappears for years to pursue a career in wrestling. She was happy to see her brother again, but this new side of him she did not enjoy one bit.

Destiny:  Don’t be like that. Ever since I decided to sign the dotted line for that wrestling school, I suddenly meet all these veterans that have had the life sucked out of them thanks to the business. I’m not going to watch it happen to my big brother.

Jacob: Welcome to the real world, Destiny. This business consumes you.  It takes control of you , It turns into some obsessive beast. Your mind will wander to places you never want it to. You may think you are fearless because you do all that base jumping and stuff. But you will soon fear what goes on in your own mind. If you don’t want that, then leave.

Jacob laid a left cross onto the heavy bag to vent his frustration at this conversation. Destiny merely sighed and began to pick up her belongings.

Destiny: I’ll leave you here in England.  I don’t know what’s wrong with you, but you are not this person. I’ve seen it all on T.V. I’ve seen it all when  I was living with you. You do not have the capacity to be the villain. I’m going to make it in this business. And I won’t become any of those things you think I will

A quarrel betwixt siblings is always a difficult thing for both sides. And to be quite honest it was tearing Jacob up to play the villain in this argument. Destiny disappears out of the entrance of the gym, while Jacob shakes his head.

Jacob: Let’s hope that’s true.

Forward thrust kick to the bag.

~~ Shoot~~

Our world weary hero stands in front of a rather run down looking building, it’s weathered paint and rotting wooden walls a sign of the epic state of disrepair. To think this was once a hall where athletes once gathered to learn their craft, is a bit of a longshot. Jacob tosses away his dead cigarette while he loosens the tape about his wrists, taking a breather from whatever training he decided to do in the deary looking landscape of England.

 “This probably seems a cheesy setting for this situation. To be standing in front of the very building that is crucial to my rise in this industry.  The Hammer lock academy in Blackpool, England.  When I first walked into those doors, I was your very typical wrestler. I was seventeen years old and damn near close to three hundred pounds. I was one of those typical meatheads who had muscles on top of muscles and knew fuck all about utilizing them. I was in a stage of stupidity where I thought having the larger set of muscles was what would set me ahead of the pack. I was a fucking fool, I spent all of 2005 building myself to look like some rippled god, and I was the Macho Messiah of that Indy Company. This was the place where I learned, in my path of self-improvement, I took a wrong turn somewhere. I returned to that Indy Company thirty pounds lighter and a lot more knowledgeable”

“Everything turned around in my career, my stamina doubled, I was quicker, for the first time I was in control of myself. At first when someone was booked against me, they considered it a vacation, a nice little warm up for that big title match. Afterward, I suddenly became a threat; I became a run for even the world champion’s money. That is when I learned my all-encompassing purpose for being in this business, finding the perfect extension of myself. Perfectly sound in strategy, perfect in mind, perfect in body.  I have found myself on plateaus before, k now what I did? I improved my gods be damned vertical leap so I can jump onto the next mountain. That mountain like brawler that toiled in the indys so long ago is now in this compact form before you.”

“Many may wonder why I slip into nostalgia when there is a title match at stake. Why I make it a point to remember such a living parody of what I am today. It serves as a reminder to myself,  that there were many times I thought my training to be complete, only to find out, through education and through competition that I will never stop learning. No matter how someone may try to hinder my self advancement. I am looking at who ever tried to set me up. You made a mistake. You now unlocked a part of me that I never wanted to, I can’t look a person in the face anymore without the thought running through my mind that they are the one and they must be destroyed. Even good ol’ Flex Johnson has fallen under my suspicion. Why would he? Many may ask. We had one match, I won and we seemed to be on fairly decent terms with each other. Not saying we were friends, but we shared a couple laughs. But now I look back and see him as an incarnation of that fabled green eyed monster.”

“Why would he be jealous? He is the High Impact champion, I am the lowly challenger. Why would he be jealous of me? Let’s go back, back to that day of our first meeting. His language spoke for itself. He fired off the first shot against me, claiming that I am a ‘golden boy’ of IWF. Envy had sown its first seed from that statement. He saw me as a young man casting a shadow over his great return to the wrestling world. He went on about his clothing, his style, about his look how it all seemed to make him the man that people despised while I was placed upon a pedestal. He looked over what I did to get recognition in this company. When I came in, I was in a sea of rookies looking to stand out. The powerhouse Damien Drake, The charismatic Jaxx Ryder, the man everyone loves to hate Matt Stone, the naturally talented Desmond Young, and…Farmer Dick.  Out of all of them, I was the one who lasted, I was the one who stood out, I was the one with the stronger presence.   Flex came into this company with fan fare, a UECW regular who has come to leave his mark on another company.  I suppose it is natural when an established champion is over looked for a relatively unknown, that envy starts to arise”

“Tell me Flex, did it PISS YOU OFF? When I was known around this company as the Uprising Champion who looked damn near unstoppable and you were simply the motherfucker who touched a ladder?  My name popped up all over the damn place, while you were struggling to be noticed. There were a couple times you asked for a rematch, that we had unfinished business.  Maybe you felt like you wasn't at your best when you faced me. But the thing is Flex, neither have I. You see I am constantly improving, my best hasn’t even been reached yet, and at my age I have nowhere to go but up.”

“I guess that brings up what you truly envy about me. Youth. I’m only twenty-five years old, I have plenty of time to climb and reach my peak. You? You are into your forties. Sure, it’s still rather young in the grand scheme of things. But the human body peaks in its thirties.  The thing about reaching the summit is that everything goes down. Your body is on the decline; sure, modifying your fitness and you can slow down the descent. But that is all you are doing, you are slowing down the inevitable you are not climbing back towards your peak.  You knew a rematch wouldn’t prove a damn thing, but it possibly could if you could find a way to slow me down. You thought you slowed me down, didn’t you. You thought that these months away from IWF would cause me to decline, or cause me to stay in place.”

“You were wrong. I didn’t just sit around and mope about my predicament when I was suspended. I trained harder than I ever have. I wrestled in the indys so I always had competition. And each match I acted like the no name who wrestled just to keep a roof over his head. I wrestled every match with everything I had.  I even had a match against Hunter Sullivan that lasted over 45 minutes. There is no way I declined; there is no way I stayed in place. You’re consistent? Motherfucker, I’m perpetual! And I will NOT relent; I will NOT stop until every last motherfucker knows me as the warrior that I am.”

“I am a third generation wrestler. If you count when my family has been wrestling off the air, I’ m fifth generation.  I was born in Saskatchewan, Canada; I was raised in a small ass town in Kansas. My life, my path into this industry was supposed to be an easy one. But I couldn’t fucking stand it. I grew up into my teens seeing a path paved before me by someone else. I hated doing things the easy way; I hated doing things their way.   I entered this industry with no fan fare, no banners.  I went to places where I was a nobody. And I wasn’t some awesome force to be reckoned with. To be honest I got my ass kicked week in and week out. I continued to be a nobody for over a year. Finally I made a pact; never again will I be a nobody. Never again will I let anybody, anything hold me down. Not even myself.”

“Don’t hold my suspicions as disrespect.  Looking at the situation, I have plenty of right to be paranoid. I have plenty reason to be lacking in trust for everyone. But to be honest, I kinda like this feeling. I kinda like letting this searing pot of rage come to a boil. You are warrior? Prepare for war, prepare to fight the berserker. Prepare to face the  Celtic Fury. But I do not have to kill you to beat you. All I have to do is a few simple things. “

“I will break your will”

“I will crush your faith”

“I will slay your dreams”

“I will reclaim the stars”

“And by the gods, I will tear your precious world apart”


Ad noctum


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Flex Johnson

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PostSubject: Re: Flex Johnson [vs] Jacob Figgins   Mon Jul 29, 2013 10:43 pm

Sons of Our Fathers Part Two: Shattered Ambitions

Scene One
When you have children, you have a lot of hopes and dreams for them.

You want them to grow up to be big and strong; you want them to be safe and free from crime. And, you would like for your children to be successful; you want them get a career and make something of themselves.

I don’t think that those are bad ambitions for a father to have for his son.

I’m bringing this ups because of a conversation I had a few years ago with Flex.

When Flex was seven or eight, I can’t remember exactly, I introduced him to professional wrestling. The boy fell in love with wrestling instantly. Ever since then, it’s become his favorite sport. Well, one day I asked him what he wanted to be when he got older. The question was inspired by some of Flex’s homework.

He told me that he wanted to become a professional wrestler.

I almost lost my shit.

Now, in hindsight, the answer shouldn’t have been surprising at all—I should have known that’s what he was going to say. But, I’ll admit, the answer caught me off guard.

I didn’t yell or shout at Flex. But, I did firmly tell him that he think of becoming something else.

He didn’t exactly understand at the time; but, he did mention something about being doctor. Doctor was suffice for me, so I left him alone for a while.

But, as the years went by, his dream of becoming pro wrestling re-emerged.

Flex isn’t a little kid anymore—he is 16.

Last week Flex and my wife had a meeting with the guidance counselor. You know how those meetings go: they bring you and your kid in, talk about how he is doing in school, and talk about where he or she is will be going after high school. At Flex’s school, they hold that meeting sophomore year, and senor year.

I had to work of course, so that’s why Mary went.

The counselor said that Flex had excellent grades; I don’t think this was a surprise myself or Mary. From what I’ve been told, Flex is popular at school. But, he isn’t a party animal or anything—he rarely goes. After school, he come right home and finishes his work. And after work he looks after siblings.

The after high school portion is what surprised me.

According to Mary, the guy said that with Flex’s grades, he has a lot of options, as far as going to college and what not.

So, the counselor has the student fill out this little form. One of the questions on the form asks what are the student’s top three career choices are.

Here were Flex’s top three choices:



    1. A Professional Wrestler
    2. Public Speaker (Communications)
    3. Economist



I’m not going to lie; I was upset. I thought that Flex had put all this “becoming a wrestler” mess behind him; but, I guess I was wrong.

I mean, let’s be serious—what kind of career is wrestling? What kind of money does the average wrestler make? Is it enough to feed a family? Is it enough to sustain a good quality of life?

I don’t want to kill his dreams, but these are the things he needs to think about.

And, what if wrestling just doesn’t work out?

This…this is probably going to sound horrible. But, I guess I’ll just be honest. Well honestly; I don’t know if Flex is good enough to become a wrestler. Now I’ll say this; Flex can do just about anything when he buckles down and puts his nose to the grind. But this, well, I’m not so sure about. Sure, Flex plays soccer and basketball at times, but is he athletic enough to actually become a wrestler?

Probably not.

Yeah, I know I sound like a piece of shit. And I know I’m supposed to encourage my children’s dreams; but, it’s hard for me to do so in this case.

Am I horrible father for wanting to crush Flex’s dream, his only true dream? Yeah most likely. But, is it wrong that I just want my son to do something that he is good at?

No, not at all.




Flex closed the little black journal that was written by his father. He looked down at it for a few seconds; he never thought that he would learn so much about his father from just a few entries. Flex tapped the journal lightly—suddenly, he threw the journal across the room. The journal smacked the adjacent wall violently; it was loud enough that Toby entered the room to make sure everything was ok.

Flex hooped out of the bed.

“Bastard,” he said to himself.

Flex walked down stairs. His gym bag was by the door, as usual. He grabbed the bag and walked out the front door.


Scene Two
“Hey there. My name is Ron Gory,” said the man standing near the reception desk. He had a mo-hawk and was of medium height. However, the man was built like a tank. “I’m one of the trainers here. What’s your name bud?”

“How you doing man,” said Flex. He stuck out his hand. “My name is Flex Johnson.”

Ron reached out and shook Flex’s hand.

“Flex Johnson…OH, you are the wrestler!”

“Yeah, that’s me,” said Flex with a laugh.

“Forgive me man. We actually don’t get too many big names walking through here.”

“Don’t mention it man, it’s no problem.”

“So, what brings you into the R1 Facility today?”

“I’m actually looking to join a gym,” said Flex. “Back in college in took a few Muay Thai courses. I’ve got into it too seriously, but I always wished I had. Recently I thought about trying to get back into it. Plus, I thought maybe I could incorporate some of the martial arts into my wrestling style.”

“Hmm, ok,” said Ron. He stroked his chin. “So, you mean like integrated MMA training, something that will complement and enhance your current wrestling style?”

“Yes sir.”

Ron smiled. “Well, you are in luck. He hired a trainer about three weeks ago. He specializes in integrated MMA. In fact, I don’t believe he is teaching any courses today. He should be down in the gym area. Let’s go him.”
“Cool.”



Ron led Flex to the far west corner of the gym. The floor was lined with padded mats; it’s where wrestlers and jiu-jitsu did most of their training. A bald-headed, tan-skinned man laid on one of the mats; he had been stretching and loosening up.
The man looked over and saw Ron and Flex walking towards him.

“Sup Ron.”

“How you doing Ken. I’ve got someone here that you might like to train.”

Ken glanced up and spotted Flex. He stood to his feet and held out his hand.

“Mr. Johnson, welcome to R1. I must say it’s a pleasure to meet you. My name is Ken Hampton.”

Flex shook Ken’s hand.

“Nice to meet you.”

“Flex is looking to start training in integrated MMA,” Ron said. “So I thought I’d bring him over to meet you.” Ron looked down at his watch. “Yo Ken, can you show Flex around the place? You know, give him the tour? I’ve got a beginner’s class to teach in 10 minutes.”

“Sure man, leave it to me.”

Ron turned and walked away.

“So Flex, I assume you want to learn MMA to give you a bit of an edge in the ring?”

“Yes sir,” said Flex. “I’m not one of these guys who just wants to do MMA because it’s hot right now. I respect the sport, and I think a lot of the moves translate well into the wrestling ring.

“In short, I’m just looking to improve man. I learned the Mexican style of wrestling. I’ve studied the Japanese wrestling when I went over there a few years back. Every day I step into the gym, I’m looking to improve and learn something new. And, I’m hoping this MMA will help me do so.”


Ken nodded his head.

“You know, a lot of dudes come in here saying that they want to learn how to fuck shit up—even the wrestlers him me some kind of variation of that statement.

“But you’re different man—you’re real. I respect that man.”


“Thanks man.”

“Well, let me give you the grand tour.

“This right here is the mat training area. Over here we have—mats,” said Ken with a small laugh. “This is where the jiu-jitsu guys do their thing.

“Jiu-jitsu classes and training or normally in the morning.

“But in the afternoon and evening times, this is also where the Submission Wrestling course takes place.”


“Submission wrestling huh?”

“Yeah man.”

“So, would you recommend that I take jiu-jitsu or submission wrestling?”

“Hmm, that depends. I’ve seen you wrestle before, you’ve done some amateur wrestling before right?”

Flex laughed.

“No actually.”

“Really!?”

“It’s true man. Everything I’ve learned on the mat has come from wrestling school, extra training, or in-the-ring creativity.”

“Ok…well for you then I’d recommend submission wrestling. I’ve been my experience that jiu-jitsu doesn’t add too much to a wrestler’s arsenal. Some guys train in it to learn some advanced submission moves. And if you want to take it later, it might add something to your skills. But right now, submission wrestling would be your best bet.”

“Alright cool.”

“Now, let’s head over to some other sections.”

Flex and Ken began to walk over towards the North-Eastern section of the gym.

“So, have you taken martial arts in the past?”

“Just a little bit of Muay Thai, but it was years ago.”

Near the wall, there were lines of heavy-bags; three people were going to town on them. Adjacent to the heavy-bags was a huge mirror; five students shadow boxed in front of it.

“The Muay Thai classes are our most popular. We don’t have any scheduled for a few hours. Those guys over there are some of our intermediate students. Most of them like to come in early and do a bit of free training.

“Is Muay Thai something you would like to pick back up?”


“Yeah man. I took some classes in college. But, it just wasn’t the time for me to jump into it you know.”

“Yeah—I understand.”

Ken turned towards the South-Western section of the gym.

“Well, as you can see, the place is huge—there isn’t too much to see. We have a weight room, but I’m sure you have seen plenty of them in day. The other interesting is the cage. But it’s early in the day; we only allow the advanced students in there, and there aren’t many here yet.”

Flex nodded his head.

“Naw it’s cool, I’m sure I can see all that other stuff later.

“So where do I sign up?”


“We got some forms over by the reception desk. Once we get your fees taken care of, you will be good to go.”

“Cool—when does my training start?”

“Tomorrow at 10 a.m. I teach integrated MMA on Tuesdays and Thursdays, 10 a.m. to 12:30 p.m. But if you ever want to take something else, just come on in.”


Scene Three
“The Summer of Flex”…

…That’s what people seem to be calling this crazy ride that I’m on at the moment. This summer has been wild. I kicked off this summer by defeating Gordon Fury. Now to most, that isn’t really a huge feat. Although Gordon may be a dick, his skills are great; but, many people have been able to rack up wins against him.

No—that match was significant because it was my first taste of IWF gold.

That night I walked away a champion.

A week later I defended the High Impact title on Isolation. I defeated four mean that night, the most notable wins came against Frank F. and Jack Savage. And, although I end up losing the last match against Sheynanne Successful, I ended up proving something to everyone—I proved that I had the heart of a lion and the fight of a mighty warrior.

Now, that should have been suffice, but it wasn’t.

The very next week I went walked out to that ring and had one hell of a match with Tim Patrick. Tim is known as the “Hardcore Icon” around IWF; put him in a hardcore match and he brings the pain.

And he brought the pain in that match—but he didn’t pick up the win. Tim couldn’t be me, in the match of his choosing; that rarely happens.

That bout is in the voting for match of the year.

But that was the end of the journey. Instead of walking away respectfully with her win, Sheyanne decided to go on the radio, go on the internet, and trash my name! Sheyanne attacked my character. She tried to demolish my legacy—everything that I’ve built up for the past seven years!

But she failed!

I walked out into a seemingly impossible situation. But, I put my nose to the grind and I worked! Some people might call that match an upset; that’s cool—call it an upset. But the fact of the matter is I won, I was the better man.

I endured hell to get to that match. But I walked out the two-time High Impact Champion!

But, as they say, reaching the top is the easy part—staying there is the hardest part. Immediately is was tossed into a match with Frank; he fell as well.

And, that’s just here in IWF. Outside IWF, I’ve also begun to make quite a bit of noise. I had match Rhine Valley Wrestling. The match wasn’t anything to write home about—I won. Then I was a match at the promotion’s sister company, Bad Ass Championship wrestling.

This Wednesday, Insurgency has allowed me to take my talents to the other IWF, Inferno Wrestling Federation. I’m heading there to knock off one of their current champions, Angelica Layne.

After that, it’s off to Code Red Wrestling. And then, it’s the King of The Cage tournament.

Now, I didn’t give you all that huge run down to brag, I did it to make a point. When I joined IWF, I told everyone that I still had gas in the tank, that I still had what it took to be the best. At first, it seemed like I was mistaken. I lost to Steel Angel; I lost to Jacob Figgins. I failed in that ladder match; everyone thought my time in IWF was going to come to a swift end.

But, I pulled it together. I re-evaluated things, I regained my focus—the rest it just about history!



Jacob Figgins…

You don’t know how long I’ve been waiting for this match up sir. This is a match months in the making.

As I mentioned before, when I first signed to IWF, things were a little rocky, a little shaky. And, it all began with you Figgins.

I believe it was my second match in this company. I had just won a pretty impressive four-way match on the pay-per-view. I was riding high, ready to make my mark on this company. That was until you stepped in the way.

I didn’t know too much about you Figgins, not back then. I had only been in the company for a week and a half.

But, I misjudged you Figg. You see I did what white people have done to me for years; I looked at your appearance and immediately wrote you off. I looked at your sloppy tattoos, your scattered hair, and I thought you were just a little punk. I observed your eccentric mannerisms, and I took you for a loon, a poor-man’s Sean Libby.

But—you weren’t a Sean Libby, and you were not a slouch in the ring.

I misjudged you; I underestimated you.

But it won’t happen again!

There are two things they teach you when you walk into any wrestling school: how not to hurt yourself, and not to disregard the skills of your opponent. I fucked up royally Figgins; I thought you were a scrub, but you proved otherwise.
You see Figg, I’m not like these other wrestlers. I’m not going to make up some shit about how you got lucky. I’m not going to fabricate some lie about how I was sick or some other mess. The fact of the matter is, that night, you were better than me—point blank.

That match was a turning point for me; it was the start of a pretty bad spiral. My loss to you caused a minor lapse in my confidence. I’m 42 years old Figg; a lot of people think my time is long past. Various wrestlers, and even some fans, wish that I would just roll out of this business and die.

When I lost to Steel, when I lost that horrible ladder match, you wouldn’t believe the kind of hate mail I received.
People thought I was washed up; people thought I was finished.

And for a while, so did I.

But, while my stock was lowering and lowering, yours was steadily rising wasn’t it Figgins?

After you defeated me, you went on to rack up win after win; and, you just weren’t beating scrubs. Hell, you impressed the management so much that you received a title shot. And, you won that title; you brought the Uprising Title back home.

Hell, you even defeated Gordon when that fool was nearly unstoppable.

Damn Figgins—you were the man.

And then, something happened.

You hit the peak of your climb, and then you swiftly came to a big screeching halt. One minute you were one of the top five wrestlers in the company, and the next minute you were sitting at home on your couch, watching IWF on TV.

Fucking Pathetic!

You not what bothers me Figg?

No, it isn’t your suspension per se; shit happens and people end up getting some time off—it’s understandable. No man; it bothers me that you were suspended for drug use.

Now Figgins, I don’t know exactly what you did; hell, IWF probably doesn’t know exactly what you did either. Maybe you were smoking weed; a lot of wrestlers do that. Or, perhaps growth hormones and steroids; it wouldn’t be unheard of.
It doesn’t really matter to me Figg. But the fact that you got busted for drugs reveals something very telling about you sir…

…It reveals that fact that you are ignorant.

Figgins, I dreamed of becoming a wrestler ever since I was seven; but, my dream didn’t come true until I became 35. I fought and scraped for 28 long, grueling years to achieve my dream; and, another two or three years in the business to become a star.

I’m not going to re-tell my story, not today anyway. However, it I’ll say this; I’d NEVER throw anyway years of hard work, just for a blunt, or a shot up the ass.

Figg, I’m not a preacher man. I’m not sitting on my high-horse saying I’m “holier than thou.” But drugs—they disgust me! I’m older than a lot people in IWF; I’ve seen shit, I’ve experienced shit. People often ask me why I don’t smoke, or why I don’t use. I grew up in the 1970s and 1980s. I was raised in Harlem, the hot-bed of the crack epidemic. I witnessed crack-heads on the corner of the road, trying to sell stolen electronics, looking for that next fix. I’ve seen babies cry next to their mothers’ corpses; those mothers over-dosed on Heroin Figgins!

I’ve seen families ripped apart, lives ruined!

So excuse me Figg if I have a bit of distain for drug users!

For years I had an issue with Ace Static, and with Axle Vengeance. Part of it was a competition thing; they thought they were both better than me, I thought I was better than them. But out of my hatred for those came because of their drug use. Look, it’s one thing to have an addiction; it’s understandable for someone to have a problem. But Ace and Axle, they didn’t have a problem at all.

Those two didn’t use drugs—they glorified drugs!

That’s something I don’t stand for Figgins!



Why did you get into this business Figg?

I often find myself asking this question to my peers. I know why I got into the business, and that’s what drives me to be a better wrestler?

So again, why are you a wrestler Figgins?

Did you get into this business for fame; did you wish to see you name up in lights, flashing on billboards? Did you dreams of obtaining gold; did you have world champion aspirations? Or, perhaps all you wanted was money; was wrestling just a “get-rich-quick scheme” for you?

Or, maybe wrestling was just a way to fueling your drug habit?

Figgins, I didn’t become a wrestler because of the fame. Hell, I live in L.A. and most people, minus a few fellow wrestlers and martial arts, hardly recognize me. Money doesn’t mean too much either. Sure, it comes along with the business.
I wrestle for the love of the business—not for money!

I currently hold the High Impact championship, and it’s an honor for me to do so. But I don’t fight and struggle to try and win gold.

I wrestle to be the best Figgins!

I wrestle because I had a dream as a young kid.

A boy had that dream 35 years ago, back in Harlem. And here he is, standing before you today—living that dream!



That’s match isn’t about gold Figgins. Yeah, that’s why everyone is hyping this match—but it’s not about gold.
This match…this match is all about pride.

That’s becoming a reoccurring theme apparently.

You and I faced off a couple months ago. Liked I said before, that night, you were the better man. But that’s not going to be the case this time Figg. You see, I’m not going to let it happen again. I’m not going to let you send me into another downwards spiral. I’m not going to allow you to destroy everything that I’ve worked so hard to build, everything that I’ve worked so hard to obtain!

I’m not going to become your stepping-stone Figgins!

IWF has seen a new Flex over the past three months. You all have seen a more intense Flex, a more passionate Flex. The days of opening up IWF cards to no-names and scrubs is long gone. It’s a new day. Over the past three months I’ve proven myself. I’ve proven that I’m not washed up; I’ve proven why I’m a legend in this business.

And at Heroes Also Die, I’m going to prove to you why I’m worthy of calling myself the best wrestler in the world.
Figgins, villains surely die. They terrorize the city, the community. And sooner or later, they are caught and dealt with.  
Heroes often times die as well. They spend their whole lives in service of others. They protect those who aren’t able to protect themselves. They risk their lives; and they put their families in danger. Eventually, they end up dying; either protecting the city, at the hands of a villain, or they become a villain and get killed.

But you know what Figgin—I’m neither a hero nor a villain.

Unlike you Figg, I’ll live forever. No matter what people say about me, no matter how badly people try to tarnish my name, there’s one thing no one can discredit. No one can take away my accomplishments, my accolades.

I’ve made an impact of this business, one that can never be forgotten—that’s why I’ll live forever!



Scene Four
Flex sat in the airport; his luggage was resting near his feet. He had been in Indiana for about 15 minutes or so.

He took out his iPhone to check his email; he didn’t see anything important, just some meaningless junk mail. He then decided to call Mya.

“Hey you.”

“Hi. How was your flight babe?”

“It was pretty good; nothing to complain about. You and Toby doing alright?”

“We are both fine,” said Mya with a laugh. “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Your mom called late last night, right after you had left.”

“Did see need anything important?”

“Umm, it wasn’t anything too urgent. But, she did want to talk about one of your aunts.”

“Ok. I’ll give her a call.”

“Alright. Love you Flex; have a great match.”

“Thanks Mya, love you too.”

After hanging up with Mya, Flex dialed his mother’s number.

“Hello?”

“Hey mom, how are you doing?”

“Oh Flex, I’m doing well. I called you last night, but Mya said you had already left for Indiana.”

“Yes ma’am. Is everything alright? Something the matter?”

“Your Aunt Patricia called a couple of days ago.”

“Oh wow. I haven’t heard from her in ages. How is she doing?”

“She is doing well. And…well, she wants to talk you.”

“Oh?”

“Yes. I don’t know if you remember her son; he was really small when you last saw him. But, he is in the process of finding a wrestling school. Patricia wanted to know if you could talk to him.”

“Oh ok. I can do that. I’ll speak to them both Thursday.”

“Ok. Oh, I’ll send you her number in a bit.”

“Thanks.”

“Ok, I’ll talk to you later Flex. Love you!”

“Love you to mom.”

Flex hung up the phone. He then spotted a guy holding an Insurgency poster. Flex figured the guy was the driver, so he hopped up and grabbed his luggage.

END.

____________________________________________________________________________


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