The Hunt for the Self II

Phoenix, Arizona
January 7th 2009

† Johnny Styles †
'I want to become invisible.'

..:: Pressing his lips against the black cast iron railing and whispering with great dexterity, he felt the syllables fall out of his mouth at a painstakingly slow pace, as if they were trying to avoid the inevitable plunge that greeted them at the edge of his tongue. He lingered over the sentence for a second or two, soaking up its meaning, before combing back a lock of brown hair behind his ear and nodding simultaneously. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“That’s right, I want to become invisible. I want to be... free of what I have done in the past. I don’t want any constraints or ties.”

- Father Jacobsen -
“Child, you are safe here in God’s house”

..:: Replied Father Jacobsen on the other side of the confessional box. He was a tall, middle aged black man with a raspy voice that sliced the air in two. His eyes tried to pierce the thin metal coating before him as he sought to connect with the lost soul on the other side; he secretly hated the old fashioned mannerisms of caging the confessor behind bars as he thought it was dated and resembled some form of prison visiting. Jacobsen had always believed that confession was about connecting with people and felt bound by archaic restraints. ::..

- Father Jacobsen -
“There is no need for invisibility here. Whatever you have done, God will always offer you a second chance.”

..:: SBK had never been a religious man. Far from it, in fact. However, like many before him, desperate and dying men sometimes turn to the great unknown in a quest for answers. As he sat there, in a rickety old church in Arizona, watching his feet tap against the brittle wood below, he knew that it would do him no harm to listen to the word of God, but that wasn’t to say he would embrace it if it didn’t figure in his own plans. ::..

..:: He was far too stubborn for that. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“I’m going to be honest with you, father, I don’t really buy into the majority of the bullshit sprouted in the Bible. I’m sorry if you find that disrespectful but I’m just trying to be honest with you. I think some of its teachings do well to advocate moral messages, but I can’t say I’m a massive fan of it on a literal level. More to the point, I’ve not come here looking to gain a second chance from the church... I want a second chance in life. I want to move away from what the last thirty odd years of my life have given me.”

..:: A momentary silence filled the air as Jacobsen pondered his next move. He clutched at the wooden cross around his neck, running his fingertips down the sides of it and wielded his eyes shut for a second. Exhaling pungently, he stared through the narrow gap in the railings, desperately trying to search Johnny’s eyes for some sort of purpose for arriving in his church. ::..

..:: But even a man of the cloth didn’t possess the power to do so. His powers of inquisition had been blunted and thus his tone followed. ::..

- Father Jacobsen -
“So, exactly why have you come here today? Why bother coming to a church when you no attachment to this place? I’ll be frank with you, friend, I believe you are a lost soul and that you have turned to God for a very specific reason. It was His will that you came here today. This is not a chance meeting. Can’t you see that the Lord is offering his hand in your direction?”

..:: A faint tut fluttered through the air as SBK offered the remains of what was once a character defining smirk towards the Priest. Once again, an overpowering silence took a hold of the conversation for a few seconds, forcing Jacobsen to arch an intrusive eyebrow as he pressed his face up against the railing. Suddenly, his nose jutted out and stood on end as his nostrils caught the taste of a familiar odor floating through the air. ::..

..:: Smoke ::..

..:: The thick pollutant danced around devilishly, wrapping its wispy legs around the iron railings before oozing its way into the Priest’s small wooden cell. The substance infiltrated his mouth and journeyed down his windpipe, forcing a spluttering cough to erupt from the bowels of his stomach. ::..

- Father Jacobsen -
“What do you thi-”

† Johnny Styles †
“Listen, father”

..:: Interrupted SBK, puffing his lips out and watching a grey cloud of smoke ascend from his newly lit cigarette. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“I’m going to be honest with you. I don’t trust many people in life. However, from my own personal experiences with Priests, they’re decent, upstanding human beings. Now, I have traveled a long way to get to Arizona and I’m in need of a little advice. I figure that you’re going to be pretty much the most honest sort of guy that I can turn to in such a situation... you have no reason to lie to me. Others do. Some people get a kick out of sending a stranger in the wrong direction. I’m not banking on that from you. Besides, I’ll know where to find you if you screw me over.”

- Father Jacobsen -
“Put that ciga-”

† Johnny Styles †
“I’ll get to the point, father, I’ve come here to cross over to the Mexican border. I need to get out of the country. Now, you probably automatically assume that I’m some sort of felon for not simply stepping on an airplane and jetting out of here. I’m really not though. Not that I have to justify myself to you. I just need you to help me get to Mexico. I need to leave America like this because I don’t want to be traced. I don’t want to leave any finger prints behind, if you understand what I’m saying. I want to become invisible. I figure that you will have had people come to you for advice on such matters before given that you live right on the border and you must know the sorts of people that I need to contact. So, please, father, absolve me from the sin has taken hold of my life; tell me how to become invisible.”

..:: Sighing heavily, Jacobsen’s neck suddenly became weightless as his head crashed towards the floor in a dejected slump. He pressed his ear close to the railing once more, desperately hoping that the man on the other side would offer him something than a sharp tongue, but once more the silence made its overpowering presence felt. ::..

..:: Jacobsen conceded defeat. ::..

- Father Jacobsen -
“I would rather help you in other ways, my child, but if you are not willing to turn to the Lord then I will offer you the advice that you need nonetheless, You need to seek out a man on the docks. His name is Miguel Fonseca. He controls the port more or less around here. If anyone can help you, he can. You’ll be able to find him in a small bar called The Trawler’s Inn.”

† Johnny Styles †
“Thank you, father, How will I know who he is?”

- Father Jacobsen -
“That place doesn’t have too many regulars, But he’ll be one with the blue nose on the end of the bar.”

..:: The usual ear-to-ear grin that SBK had donned for so many years would have typically appeared on his face at such a moment. However, the burden of his own personal guilt clung to the sides of his lips, refraining them from lifting upwards. Instead, a cast iron look of determination consumed his face and left him only with one final anecdote reflecting his sarcastic past. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“The Lord works in mysterious ways indeed. Thank you once again.”



..:: The rancid smell of rotting wood floated around the dingy cabin and forced all the inhabitants within to push their noses towards the Heavens as they yearned for the refreshing scent of fresh air. It had been that way for days now though; the three men that lay sprawled across the musty wooden floor had gotten as accustomed to it as was humanly possible. Still, that wasn’t the only smell that they’d been forced to block out: a mishmash of sweat and vomit clung to their clothes serving as a constant reminder as to what the sea can do to a man. ::..

..:: They’d been locked in the cabin for twelve nights and the continuous swaying of the ship ensured that SBK’s face reminded a ripe green color. ::..

..:: Sitting opposite the other two men, Styles stared aimlessly at the assortments of cargo that lined the corners of the room. Small, rusty cages containing livestock and wooden kegs containing liquor were littered around the place unceremoniously. SBK had put his time aboard “The Sea Urchin” to good use; it had allowed him to contemplate both his past and his future. There, he sat, in a trance induced silence, listening to the sound of the ocean waves pounding against the bow of the ship and delving through the innards of his mind in an attempt to find himself. ::..

- Big Guy -
“He doesn’t say much does he, Fernando?”

..:: Quipped the largest of the men that sat opposite him. He was of Mexican descent, chronically overweight and continually plucked the thick, black hedge-like mustache that arched over his top lip with great care ::..

- Guy's Partner -
“He’s not said two words to us since he got on this boat, Jorge"

..:: Snorted his partner in crime. In contrast, he looked like a human beanpole; his long, thin legs looked as if they were made of straw. His face, however, was slightly different. It was tubby and round; it almost looked as if his head didn’t match the rest of his body. Still, he sat there without a care in the world, leering and smirking in SBK’s direction.

- Guy's Partner -
“Maybe he doesn’t like Mexicans.”

- Jorge -
“Maybe we don’t like Americans, At least we’re trying to make a bit of conversation. Some people might see his lack of talking as a sign of disrespect.”

..:: Jorge tried to tempt SBK into a duel of the eyes; his brown orbs homed in on the man like heat seeking missiles, but it was to no avail. There was no reaction from Styles. His eyes remained fixated on the wall opposite, but they seemed to wander a lot further than that. The Mexicans snarled in tandem as their efforts to finally rouse him fell upon deaf ears. Snatching at a water bottle on the floor, Jorge launched it across the room and watched on as it collided with SBK’s face before cracking against the ground below. The Mexicans sat in silence, watching and waiting for a reaction from the man... ::..

..:: And they waited... and waited... and waited. ::..

..:: Nothing. ::..

- Jorge -
“Is this gringo actually alive? Maybe he thinks he’s invisible. Maybe he thinks we can’t see him.”

- Fernando -
“Mr. Fuckin’ invisible, eh?”

..:: Jeered Fernando, raising his index finger, pointing it in SBK’s direction and jiggling it about mockingly. ::..

- Jorge -
“Shit, Nick never said we’d be traveling half way across the world with some retarded mute Americano.”

..:: Suddenly, light flooded into the room, forcing the Mexicans to squint and cover their eyes. The large hatch that led to the main deck of the ship had been opened and the rare sight of streaming sunlight illuminated the room with a golden glow... ::..

..:: And an unwelcome one at that. ::..

- Jorge -
“What the fuck, man? My eyes! I can’t fucking see! God damn it! Turn the light off!”

- Voice -
“Keep your voices down, gentlemen”

..:: Exclaimed an authoritative voice as a stocky figure descended down a previously unseen set of steps. He had long, black wavy hair that ran way past his shoulder line and tangled in about a dozen knots. The entire mess sat on top of his head like an overgrown hedge in need of a trimming or, at the very least, a decent wash. The man was kitted out in head to toe in a blue overall that had white paint stains smeared all over it. He stood, with his hands on his hips, staring at Styles with extreme scrutiny for a second or two before once more turning his attention to the Mexicans. ::..

- Voice -
“You were warned before you boarded this vessel about what sort of consequences you would face if I had to come down here. We can hear your entire conversation from up there on the deck and that sort of noise is not acceptable.”

- Duo -
“Sorry, Miguel”

..:: The duo recited simultaneously, as if they were some kind of comedy act. ::..

- Miguel -
“And why is it that you insist giving this man shit? He’s paid his way to get on this boat. That’s a lot more than can be said for you two freeloading scum bags, If the man doesn’t want to talk, leave him be. I’ve had hundreds of people stow away on my ships throughout the years and I know when a man simply wants to be alone with his thoughts. If he wants to become invisible, let him.”

..:: The two Mexicans hung their head shamefully as Miguel left them with one more piercing look of disapproval before turning on his heels and retreating to the deck above. The sunlight that poured through the open hatch faded as the door slowly locked into place; the illuminated floorboards were drained of all vibrancy once again. Fernando pawed at his chin, scratching at the stubble that clung to his skin like unwanted moss growing on a brick wall. ::..

..:: Finally, he shrugged his shoulders. :;..

- Fernando -
“Fuck it man, If you want to be Mr. Invisible, so be it, amigo.”

..:: SBK rocked backwards against the wall, almost merging into it and becoming a part of the backdrop. He knew that by the end of the voyage, his wish of becoming invisible would finally become a reality. After what Nick did to him, it was the only thing he wanted. Nick made it clear he wanted SBK Dead, now he has it!::..

..:: The name ‘Johnny Styles’ would be all but dead and a new life would await him in Europe. Sighing heavily, he contemplated exactly what it would mean to truly become invisible; there were obvious drawbacks. Indeed it was true... ::..

..:: The price of invisibility was often a steep one. ::..



..:: His eyes were forced open as a loud banging noise resurrected him from his tomb of slumber. Groggily, he pawed at his face and stared across the room at the Mexicans. They lay huddled close together, snoring loudly and impervious to all sound. Johnny Styles’ face scrunched up slightly as he pondered over what had woke him up. ::.

..:: Must have been nothing, he muttered to himself. He pulled down the shutters over his eyes once more and prepared to return to the land of nod. Then... he heard it again. ::..

..:: Thunck! ::..

..:: Suddenly, he heard voices squealing from the deck above as gun shots roared through the salty air. ::..

- Fernando -
“Holy fuck! What was that?”

..:: Jumping up with a fright, banging his head on the roof of the cabin and pulling Jorge to his feet. ::..

- Jorge -
“What’s going on up there?”

..:: Jorge’s face turned a ghastly shade as the color drained from his face. Two more gun shots fired overhead before the sickening sound of bodies dropping to the floor followed soon after. It was then that Jorge realized what was going on in a horrifying moment of clarity. ::..

..:: The secret hatch above his head swung open once again. ::..

- Jorge -
“Oh shit, Pirates!”

..:: A tall black man lumbered down the stairwell with a swagger, clinging to a smoking revolver in his right hand. He smiled at the two cowering Mexicans and exposed an assortment of gold fillings. ::..

- Pirate -
“Well, well, well, what do we have here? Captain! You might want to come and take a look at this!”

..:: Fernando’s brown eyes bulged like balloons on an overdose of helium. Jorge’s weren’t far behind either. The sight of the gangly looking African pirate glaring at the pair menacingly forced a violent chill to surge through the air. Goosebumps erupted in every direction. SBK felt his throat tighten and concave as he gulped visibly. Rocking backwards once more, he tried to blend into the background, hoping he wouldn’t be spotted. But once again... ::..

..:: His powers of invisibility failed him. ::..



There’s a lot to be said for standing up for something that you believe in.

At one time, I believed in something. I believed that showing up week after week to beat whoever this company put in front of me would secure me some sort of legacy. I figured that people would look at my achievements forever more, desperately trying to imitate what I’ve done. It never occurred to me that NLWF would actually fade and die before I’d reached the safety of a retirement home, but that’s the grave situation that we now find ourselves in.

Yet even after it flatlined, no one reached out to me! Chuck wasn't barking at my door, no IWF was to busy picking up guys who have been nothing but spoon feed under Nick Ridicule! Sure go right ahead and overlook the one piece of pure talent NLWF ever had signed!

And this ladies and gentlemen, is why I’m back from the dead.

I walked away from this game because I was bored with the winning habit, I grow tired of creating superstars! I'm the guy who opened the door for Brenton Cyrus, before are live or die match that fucker was stuck opening up concerts for New Kids On The Block! Yet, IWF signed him before even giving my phone a rang

However, I’ve not returned to the fold because I want to be screwed again.

This shit is completely different.

I’ve watched on for too long as the fuck ups that I left to have undone all the good work that I’d put into this game. The entire sport has been degraded to the point where it’s simply not recognizable anymore. Since Nick "Killed me" we’ve seen guys like Death Angel elevated to main event material. I mean, really... DA has always been like the retarded ginger love child of this company: no one’s quite sure what the fuck he’s talking about, but we let him chill with us anyway because we don’t want to risk a lawsuit from some kind of ‘human rights for retards’ faction.

And yet this guy is considered a Hall of Famer?

Are. You. For. Fucking. Real?

What’s even sadder about this situation is that the people in the front office felt the need to bring back the immortal BMAC back into the equation in the hope of adding waterpower to there lackluster PPV. These scumbags don’t know who the fuck BMAC is... and why should they? All they know is that they’re going to be standing across the ring from a guy who's first name almost rhymes with Brenton.

The fact is I find it very hard to talk trash about BMAC, but that’s because he’s never done anything memorable at all. Ever. Other then being Nick's anal plug for a year or so, no one really knows who the fuck this guy is. He’s one of those guys that sort of pokes his head out every now and again but never really does anything of note. I’ve seen his name associated with various MMA promotions across the globe though: he seems like a bit of a nomad to me; a rambler, if you will. He seems to resemble that sort of weird kid that floated around the playground, hoping to find that one special group to fit in with but never quite achieving it. Life’s a shit house, unfortunately. I plan on giving him the usual ass kicking and sending him on his way with his bags packed like the gypsy faggot he is. The guy has never been relevant here and that’s because he simply can’t cut it.

Go back to the minor leagues, son. It’s much safer down there.

Of course, Shadow Demon is, of course, the original Johnny Styles stalker. He tried to steal my playbook and constructed himself based on what he’d seen of me. Imitation is the greatest form of flattery, so they say, but when you fuck it up so royally... It kind of pisses me off. SD primes himself as this great thinker of men, but he’s not done jack shit to prove himself throughout his career. He’s the eternal silver medallist. History never remembers those types of guys either. The fact is that he realized he was never going to be a big player in the NLWF whilst I was rolling in my prime and slowly slithered out of view with his tail between his legs. You’ve got to stand up and be counted if you ever want to be anyone in this business...

And on Sunday night, I’m going to do just that.

I’ve lurked in the shadows. I’ve watched from a distance. I’ve cast an invisible shadow over this company for to long! Everyone has longed to know whether or not that fateful match against Nick Ridicule was going to be my last ever. Well, I’ve put that rumor to bed for the time being. I simply wasn’t cut out for retirement. I’m not content with staying out of the limelight... and on Sunday night, the world’s spotlight will shine on me once again. This time, though, I’m not waging war for my own personal desire to be renowned as the greatest of all time: I’m taking one for the team. I’m ensuring that this fine company isn’t lost to the clutches of some second rate circus show with a bit of financial clout.

I’ve been invisible for far too long now, but rest assured the entire world will be able to lay their eyes on me as I roll in on into the PPV and restore a bit of dignity to this once proud establishment. This is a coming home party for the most dominant wrestler to ever grace this company’s squared circle. The invisible man will finally show himself to the world and when he does...

The roof of that arena will absolutely, positively blow-the-fuck-off. It’s time to bring your A game, boys and bitches.

I’m back.