The Hunt for Self V

January 13th 2009
Dakar, Senegal

..:: The camp itself was quite condensed and small; a few wooden shacks were littered around and stood within touching distance of one another. They were no architectural works of art though. Each shack was constructed from the mishmash of thin bamboo shoots, bundles of hay and reeds tied together; the end product was rather messy, flimsy and didn’t allow too much protection from the elements. The marauding wind threatened to bulldoze the huts completely, but somehow they managed to stay on their feet, swaying slightly from side to side ::..

..:: SBK gazed around the dreary camp in an attempt to find an exit ::..

..:: His search didn’t last long. A small gaping hole had been carved into the barbed wire fencing that stretched around the place and was covered with what looked like animal blood. Styles spared a thought for the unlucky beast that had carelessly wandered into the wire mesh and been sliced in two as a result ::..

..:: Still, the brute’s loss was his gain ::..

..:: Carefully wading towards the fence, SBK weighted his footsteps with precision, avoiding any unnecessary collisions with noisy, breakable twigs. Diving down onto all fours, he began to dig his fingernails into the earth below, burrowing away at the dirt and doing his best to make the hole that little bit bigger. After several seconds of frantic ploughing, he rocked backwards and admired his handiwork ::..

..:: Perfect, he thought to himself ::..

..:: Dropping down to the floor completely, Johnny lay on top of the fresh, newly burrowed soil and weighed up the sideways roll that would successfully take him underneath the wire fence and out of the camp. His muscles still ached from the unprovoked beatings he had taken from Gamal. Stopping for a moment to catch his breath, he peered up at the night sky above and watched the assortment of stars above dance around like overly excited, microscopic fairies going about their business. The tranquility of the moment was short lived though as the faint whimper of a small child echoed around the camp ::..

..:: Suddenly, the voice triggered a flashback in Johnny’s head ::..

- Ekwueme -
“Gamal, Uzochi is having a bit of trouble with the children. Go and give him a hand. Leave us.”

..:: Children. There were children being held on the camp too ::..

..:: Styles grimaced and squinted as he pondered the fact that children could have undergone the same horrors that he had been exposed to during his time as a prisoner in the wooden shack. The unsettling image of the ten to twenty dead bodies that had been stacked up in the corner of the room made Johnny nauseous; surely these savages wouldn’t have been callous enough to treat innocent children with the same yardstick? ::..

..:: The whimpering continued and grew into a wail that floated around the place like a banshee. SBK knew that it was the sort of moan that could only come from someone that had lost all hope in life; it was vacant, despairing and had no real power behind it. Gnawing his teeth together out of frustration, Johnny exhaled and considered his options ::..

..:: I got into this entire situation because all the way through my life I’ve been nothing but a selfish bastard, he thought to himself. Maybe this is why I’ve found myself here. Maybe I’m supposed to help these kids ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“It’s about time I did something worthwhile, Or at least tried to.”

..:: With a sigh, he picked himself up off the floor and carefully plodded towards the central part of the camp site. The thick black sky still hung overhead, masking his movements under a veil of darkness and keeping him out of sight. His heart fluttered like a songbird flapping its wings as he edged his towards the closest wooden shack ::..

..:: The door opened with a slight creak as Styles poked his head around cautiously. The room that stood before him was far different to the rancid lair that he’d been left to rot in; a small, comfortable looking hammock had been constructed in the corner and hosted a rather plump African man with a wispy mustache. SBK presumed this was the Uzochi that Ekwueme had spoke of to Gamal. The air in the room was fresh and the smell of a spicy aftershave drifted over from the direction of the hammock ::..

..:: However, his attention was immediately attracted by the opposite corner of the shack ::..

..:: Three frail, gangly looking African children cowered together, holding onto each other and sweating profusely. Their eyeballs bulged collectively like coffee starved insomniacs and their bones seemed to stick out of their malnourished bodies awkwardly. They stared at SBK, quivering slightly and not knowing what to expect ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“It’s okay"

..:: Whispered SBK moving towards them and crouching beside them. He rubbed the largest of the three boys on the head ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“I’m going to get you guys out of here.”

..:: The three boys continued to stare at Styles, bemused by his presence and clearly lacking the language skills needed to understand him. However, they soon realized that he was not like the rest of their adult persecutors as he began to untie them from the reeds that joined their knees to the wall behind them. One of the boys looked up at SBK and tried to force a half smile, but his jaw muscles had long forgotten that such a thing existed ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Jesus Christ”

..:: Sighed Styles quietly, taking great care not to raise his voice too much ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“How long have they kept you guys in here for?”

..:: The plump African man in the hammock continued to snore away as he coasted headfirst into a deep dream and had no idea what was going on underneath his nose ::..

..:: Finally, Johnny Styles unraveled the last of the reeds and started to make his way towards the door, beckoning the children behind him as he did so. Bringing his finger to his lips, SBK tried to ensure that the children maintained total silence as the eight sets of feet carefully tip-toed towards the door. Pulling back the wooden door with a creak once more, Johnny ushered the children outside. The three boys looked out on the outside world for the first time in weeks; sucking in a bellyful of fresh oxygen and staring with wide eyes at the glowing moon that governed the sky, they turned to Styles gleaming with hope ::..

..:: For the first time in a long time, Johnny Styles felt good about himself ::..

..:: Moving quickly around the camp site, Styles directed the children towards the hole in the fence that he had uncovered earlier. They were well clear of the snoozing African man and their pace of reflected this; the boys broke out into a half run, trotting behind Johnny and surging towards freedom ::..

..:: Suddenly though, a loud thud reverberated around the camp. The largest of the three boys tripped and fell over an outcropped stone that sent him crashing to the ground ::..

..:: The ever present snoring noise that had once provided the only real noise for miles around stopped abruptly... ::..

- Pirate Guard -
“What the fuck?”

..:: Cried a voice from inside the wooden shack ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Shit”

..:: Exclaimed Styles, pulling at the children and dragging them towards the fence ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“We’ve got to move! Now!”

..:: The frantic sound of doors slamming and feet shuffling into action forced SB to act fast as he stewarded the first two of the children through the gap in the fence. The largest of the three boys rolled under and was momentarily caught in the wire, but with an almighty tug Johnny managed to free him ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Run! Run!”

..:: Shrieked Styles, throwing his arms out and pointing towards the horizon ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“I’ll catch up!”

..:: The boys did as they were told as Styles dropped to the ground and rolled underneath the wire mesh. The camp suddenly became alive as spotlights exploded into life around the place, illuminating everything and forcing Styles to cover his eyes. Quickly emerging on the other side of the fence, Johnny bolted after the three boys as the crackle of gunfire bounced off the ground behind him. His pace quickened as he felt the bullets skimming the back of his naked feet and sinking into the boggy marshland below ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Keep going!”

..:: SBK screamed, dragging at the largest of three boys who was beginning to flail at the back of the group ::..

..:: The scramble continued as SBK and the three boys darted through the dark unknown. The chasing pack of African man seemed to be catching up as the beat of their footsteps roared behind like buffalo stampeding towards a waterhole. Styles quickly shot a glance over his shoulder and noticed that once again the largest of the three boys was beginning to slow down; his eyes were glazed over and he was running on empty. Once more, SB tried to will him on by dragging him by the scruff of the neck, but he knew that the boy couldn’t go on much further ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Get to the river!”

..:: Proclaimed SB, pointing the boys in the direction of the long, winding passage of water on the right ::..

..:: The gunfire continued as they sped towards the river. The bullets were closer than ever; Styles watched one of the unforgiving pieces of metal sink through the bark of a tree to his left. He knew that they wouldn’t last another minute. They had to reach the river. Making one last mad dash, Styles grasped all three boys and threw them into the stream of water before jumping out and diving in himself. He let out a scream of pure agony as his ankle burst as one of the bullets slashed straight through his leg ::..

..:: Finally, he plunged through into the water and buried his head underneath as he tried to catch a rest ::..

..:: The current meandered for a few seconds before quickly speeding up a blistering pace. The three boys cocked their heads back in Style’s direction, hoping that their savior was alright, before turning their attention to the perilous water that swept them downstream. More and more gunshots rippled through the water as the chasing pack of African men made a last ditched attempt to kill off the fleeing prisoners, but it was too late ::..

..:: The river had claimed them for itself. They were free.:::..

..:: Bending and twisting around several sharp corners, the river took Styles and the three boys on a roller coaster ride as they were tossed around like rag-dolls, swirling manically. Finally, they crashed over a small waterfall and descended into a plunge pool with an almighty crash. Styles emerged from the water, flapping his arms around and looking for the boys. Suddenly, he saw their heads pop out above the water as he quickly made a beeline for them ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“You guys alright?”

..:: He said, grasping at them and holding their heads above the tide. The boys gagged and choked a little as they tried to catch their breath. Finally, they managed to do so, but then it suddenly hit Styles... ::..

..:: He was only holding two boys ::..

..:: Darting his head from left to right, SBK quickly dragged the two boys to shore before diving back down into the plunge pool to search for the other. It was the smallest of the three. No sooner had Styles submerged than he caught sight of him, floating lifelessly and with his arms spread wide apart, the small boy drifted through the water nonchalantly. SB grabbed at him quickly, pulling him up towards the surface and speeding towards the shore with him. The boy’s eyes were wielded shut ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“No! No! No!”

..:: Shrieked Styles, as he pounded on the child’s chest and blew oxygen through his mouth ::..

..:: But the child continued to lien the ground motionlessly ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Don’t you dare fucking die on me!”

..:: Screeched Styles banging his fist down upon the boy’s chest with vigor. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“C’mon kid! You’re going to make it!”

..:: The seconds seemed to drain away at a painstakingly slow pace as the two boys looked on at their fallen brother with SB bearing over him, desperately trying to bring him back to the land of the living. With an almighty bang, he crashed his hands down upon the boy one more time... ::..

..:: And forced a spluttering cough from him. ::..

..:: Wrapping his arms around him, Styles cradled the boy for a few moments as he finally roused and regained consciousness. He stared up at Styles with a sense of awe and wonder; nobody had ever cared for him in the way that this new, strange man had done before ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Shit, kid, You had me worried for a minute there!”

..:: Slumping backwards onto the wet ground beneath him, SB looked over at the children and smiled with a sense of satisfaction. The gentle reflection of the moon overhead seemed to nod in acknowledge at what he had done as it rippled off the water. He began to reminisce about the good things he’d done throughout his life for his only Birth son, Mike and his daughter Gianna and how he seemed to share that same vibrant facial expression that the three boys had plastered across their face ::..

..:: He bowed his head meekly as his thoughts wandered to that of Mike, Gianna, Samantha and even the bastard himself Alex; all he had ever wanted was for them all to be happy together, but he knew that he had to restore his own sanity before that could ever happen again ::..

..:: As he looked on at the three children though, he didn’t just feel as if he had freed them from a life of slavery. No. He felt as if he had freed himself in a way. A strange euphoric sense of liberation ran through his veins and for the first time in a long time, Johnny felt as if he had found himself once more. His journey across the sea to free himself from the sins of his past was far from over, but for the first time, he felt as if he was starting to win the battle ::..

..:: Freedom was a powerful thing indeed::..



People often ask me whether or not I get tired of wrestling week in week out. You’d think that having been asked this same question thousands of times that I’d have formulated some form of definite answer by now, but the truth is that I’ve not. How can one get tired of doing something that is so instilled into his being?

Do you get tired of waking up? Do you get tired of eating cornflakes?

Every individual walking this earth has some kind of constant present in their life that is specific to them. Wrestling is my constant – I just do it without questioning.

Unlike most people though, the scenery in my constant happens to change quite a bit. I travel the globe facing new opponents every week to fulfil my constant. However, as the years have gone by, I’ve come to recognize that perhaps these fresh, young faces that stand across the ring from me every week aren’t that different from the ones that did so in yesteryear.

The song remains the same.

This week, Shadow Demon and James 'I'm really hung like an Asian' Shark are no doubt pumping themselves up to face two guys that the world heralds as wrestling icons. Everywhere I care to look, the world is continually drumming in the fact that Corey Casey and I are legends. The very mention of our names is enough to spark a small sense of euphoria in even some of the more battle hardened new guys in the IWF locker room. There’s that sense of legacy. That sense of magic.

Two mortal men walk amongst you all as Gods.

So, as I offer my sympathies to a world that really holds us in far too high a regard, I’d simply like to inform Shadow and Shark that we’re only humans just like you. If your knees start to shake a bit upon first hearing our ring entrance music, relax, it’s only natural. If your mouth begins to quiver as we step through those ropes, relax, it’s only natural. After all, we are just two men wandering through time and space searching for our ultimate place in the sun.

We aren’t Gods.

But, yes, perhaps you're all right…

We might just be the closest thing to it.



..:: Shining brightly overhead, the sun bobbed around with a gentle smile that filled the entire Planet with a renewed sense of security. Everything felt that little bit better under the warm guidance of the great ball in the sky. From up on high, the Sun peered on, carefully watching the actions of one particular individual with great interest. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“So, here we go again, Another day in the life of Johnny Styles.”

..:: Opening the limousine door without second thought, SB strode out into full view of the public once more. Kitted out in a casual, blue jeans and T-shirt, SB cocked his head from side to side as his eyes met with those of a few hundred screaming fans. Signs and placards bearing SB’s name were found in great amounts amongst his personalized traveling army. Military like in their stance, they stood and awaited some kind of signal from their leader. ::..

- Crowed -
“Johnny! Johnny! Will you sign my T-shirt?”

..:: Of course, this wasn’t anything new to SB. No. This was just your regular afternoon outing. Over the years, he’d accustomed himself to public bombardments. Sometimes he tried to convince himself that he’d have been far better off leading a life away from the public eye… ::...

::... Why didn’t you just get a job as a banker? ::...

..:: However, in the select few moments that SB chose to be completely honest with himself, he undoubtedly admitted that this was indeed the lifestyle best suited to his character. Press conference at ten. Lunch with the local Governor at midday. Film premier in the evening. ::...

..:: The spotlight didn’t have to rape him. He was most certainly consenting. Dirty whore. ::..

..:: Giving in to the requests of his adoring public, SB would always find time to appease them with an autograph or seven… hundred. Emerging half an hour later and certainly late for one of his scheduled appointments, SB rubbed the sweat from his brow and wondered why he bothered to pay a gym fee to stay in shape. ::..

† Johnny Styles †
“Crazy bastards”

..:: And so, with yet another ludicrous wrestling contract safely in the bag, SB looks forward to Battle Grounds doesn’t bring about anything particularly special though. Matches that bring in the big rates are as regular as clockwork to Mr. Styles. However, the same cannot be said of his opponents, and that is meant as no slight. No. ::..

..:: Four completely different mentalities promise to clash at Battle Grounds ::..

..:: It’s the Prince and the Pauper all over again ::..



Sometimes I wonder exactly what people think of me as a person. It’s easy to think you understand how I work and how I operate. After all, who can’t completely assess a person based on a fifteen minute camera snippet of his day-to-day life?

I’m hoping your sarcasm detectors went off right there.

Seriously though, everyday I’m confronted with people that seem so very eager to tell me my life story. They’ve watched all the documentaries, taped every single wrestling show and followed my progress since day one. Some people would probably claim to know more about ME than I do

But you’ll only ever really get to know someone when you see them going about their daily life. It’s the little things that count. Things such as the way in which an individual makes their breakfast can tell you a lot about a person. Do they sprinkle sugar on the cereal? Fruit juice or coffee?

I believe you can learn more about me from the aforementioned than you can from listening to me speak on Television, censored by the Government as to what I can and cannot say.

So, you can all rub your hands together in glee because I’m now announcing to show you just exactly who the real SBK at Battle Grounds. No fronts. No gimmicks – just an authentic account of my life thus far.

With the fire I sparked under Shark's STD riddled Ass, I can clearly see Shark looking at this match as perhaps the biggest of his career so far. This is his big chance to raise his stock. He say's he beaten legends, but really what has Nick done outside NLWF? What has Nick done in a federation where he didn't own stock in? The same could be said for Chuck Matthews. It's almost the same story on this 11 match win streak Shark shit won't let us forget about.

But, to me, this is just the day that marks the end of the week. I’ve not done anything special to prepare for this match; I’ll roll out of bed with that same groggy grin I do everyday of the week. That’s not to say I’m being in anyway arrogant or disrespectful to James Shark– I’m not. However, when you’ve walked the path that I have, it’s hard to raise yourself for something you’ve done day in day out for more than half your life.

I’m not going to lie to you people though. I won’t be killing myself trying to provide the fans with fireworks on Saturday night – they usually tend to come naturally whenever I’m concerned anyway. All I’m concerned with is putting on a professional performance, picking up my cheque and continuing about my daily life.

I eat people like Shark-Shit for breakfast every day of the week.

Saturday is no different.

The calendar date changes but the script stays the same.

Now, I’m sure you think you’re some kind of groundbreaking athlete and that your success so far has never been enjoyed by anyone but you, Shark. However, you’ve got to understand that I’ve been around for a while and I’ve seen faces come and go more often than the wind changes. You’ve shown me nothing so far that makes me think that you’ll eventually stand out from the crowd…

You’ve shown me nothing so far that makes me think you’ll be the next ME

I’ve done it all in this game, Shark. My name is tarnished with gold. The difference between us though is that I’ve always attempted to break the mold in some shape or form. You, on the other hand, sit patiently in line and wait for your defining moment.

I made all of my defining moments happen.

But, hey, maybe I’m wrong and perhaps Battle Ground is nothing more than a showcase for James Shark moment of glory. You can count on one hand the amount of defeats that I encounter in a wrestling ring. The guys that have managed to pin my shoulders to the mat read like a ‘who’s who’ of the industry.

Maybe you’re the next on the list.

However, the far, far more likely scenario is that you’re just the latest name in a long line of up-and-comers that I’ve handily disposed of. The amount of times I’ve sent people packing and broken their careers down in an instant is amazing, Shark, and I want you to realize that.

So, in my eyes, Saturday night is not about a possible coming out party for Shark. My win is a foregone conclusion. Saturday night is all about James Shark getting his backside handed to him on a plate and then dealing with it.

Defeat is a certainty, but where will it leave you, Shark?

That’s the real question.

In fact, that’s the only question!