Parker Wayde [vs.] Hostyle Jones

-Epiphany-

Sitting in this rundown shit hole of a hotel room, with only a shot of Jack left in the bottle and a glass stem in my hand, I wonder...

What the fuck happened??

I began to pack a couple peices of crack into the glass stem. Oh how relapse does suck, but where does an ex addict turn when the chips are down. I thought about my damaged wrestling career often. In fact, the more I thought about everything I had and everything I lost- the more I suffered. I told myself that it would never get this bad again, but...

It did...

I picked up the lighter off of the dresser, as the glass stem pressed against my lips and the chill of excitement ran down my spine, I was greeted by a knock at my hotel room door. Startled by the set of bangs, the lighter slipped from my grasp and fell to the carpet.

Hostyle Jones : Fuck?!

Hostyle Jones : Who is it?

There was no answer on the other end. Leaning down to pick my lighter up from the ground, the knock came once more...

Hostyle Jones : Go Away

Its Rothstein

Rothstein was my lawyer. He was Jewish, and a damn good lawyer too. Rothstein would always check on me, considering that most of my money went to him to get me out of the trouble that I had gotten myself into during my haitus.

Hostyles mind begins to drift away into a flashback...

Hostyle Jones woke up in the hospital three days later after a head on collision from falling asleep at the wheel. He had just lost his IWF High Impact Championship to Parker Wayde, and the Chuck Matthews and Chalida situation had put Hostyle Jones in an unstable state. Due to all the pressure, he had probably off from letting his mind linger on the negativity and becoming exhausted from stress.

Whatever the cause was, Hostyle couldn't really remember much about the accident as the stress from his personal life and wrestling career came avalanching into his mind once more.

Hostyle Jones brutally pulled the I.V from his arm, causing a couple tiny droplets of blood to splat against his cheek. He looked around as he raised himself from the hospital bed, looking around the room. Questions began to whiplash through his mind like forceful winds of fury...

Where is my son?

Can I kill Chalida and Chuck and get away with it?

Hostyle rose from the hospital bed in nothing but a hospital throw gown, ass vividly exposed from the slit in the back, but as he turned felt the thob of pain sting his ribs. As Hostyle grabbed at his ribs, he could feel the wrapped bandages through the gown. It was probably a cracked rib, but Hostyle was no stranger to cracked ribs. With that said, he did not let it phase him as he held his hand against his ribs and began to make his way toward the exit to the hospital hallway.

Hostyle took a few steps before he turned to the mirror by the sink to realise the gash above his eye. Maybe he had fucked himself up a little more then he had thought from the wreck. After slightly examining the stitched inlined through his gash, Hostyle Jone proceeded to make his way out the door once more.

As Hostyle stepped through the door and out into the hallway he noticed a Atlantic City police officer sitting firmly in a chair next to his door. The officer looked up, and began to stand almost immediately...

Police Officer : Christian Jones?

Hostyle had looked at the officer with confusion for a moment before he nodded his head. The officer then looked around the hallway. As he peered to the nurses station he lifted his arm and swayed his hand calling the nurse over. Turning his head back toward Hostyle, he began to speak.

Police Officer : You shouldn't be walking around guy, let the nurse escort you back to your bed. I'm going to come in a minute, I need to ask you a few questions about the accident.

The nurse finally made it to Hostyle, as she placed her hand under my armpit slightly to escort him back to his room. The scanner went off that the officer had around his belt. He reached to the device strapped to the front of his shoulder, and proceeded to speak back to headquarters.

Police Officer : Suspect has just woke up. I'm having the nurse tend to him, and then I'm going to ask him some questions.

Once Hostyle heard this he began to struggle free from the nurses gentle grip. He didn't know what the hell was going on. Why was he a suspect? It almost came out of his mouth instantaniously...

Hostyle Jones : A suspect? Me? ... for what??

The cop began to march into the room, coming to a stand by the door. The nurse layed Hostyle Jones and began the process of hooking up the I.V that Hostyle had recently ripped out upon waking up. The cop slowly closed the door not taking his eyes off of Hostyle. Hostyle kept his eyes on the officer as well. Hostyles body was tense as he had no idea what in the hell was happening, or what the officer was talking about.

The officer approached Hostyle Jones, pulling out his notepad and flipping it up to the page he desired.

Police Officer : Well, it's not really that you are a suspect, Mr. Jones. It's really an open an shut case. The night you had your accident, the other driver involved died on the way to the hospital. You on the other hand, were knocked out when we got there, and were fortunate enough to survive. Whatever the case may be, without you able to give us a full statement, and a sobrority test, we have no choice but to detain you after you're healed. Also, there were prescription bottles found in the vehicle, prescribed to you. Under the case that you may have been under the influence of a prescription, perscribed by physician or not, during the accident, by state law you would be held accountable. This would mean that you would be facing vehicular manslaughter charges.

The officer then looked directly into Hostyle's eyes...

Police Officer : Is there anything that I should know, Chris?

Hostyle Jones : The prescriptions are mine, but I have not taken them for a long time.

These prescription drugs in question were the drugs perscribed by Dr. Livingston. The doctor who had previously used Jones as a test subject without his approval. This was something that the officer did not need to know. Jone's didn't elaborate any further.

Police Officer : Nurse?

The nurse looked over at the officer as he called for her attention.

Police Officer : Can you give me a medical statement on Mr. Jones condition in a moment. Make sure he is fully evaluated and taken care of. I have to take him in as soon he is stable.

The nurse gave a nod as the officer nodded back. Looking down at Hostyle once more, the police officer made his way toward the exit of the room, and lingered into the hospital hallway.

Hostyle stared blankly at the ceiling for a moment as the nurse began to take his vitals...

...

Rothstein : Christian?

I had drifted off thinking about the situation. Shit went downhill for me after I lost the High Impact Championship. Over the past few months, half of my IWF career earnings were going to bail and lawer fees. The other half was spent on cheap run-down hotel rooms and now that I was troubled, and still struggling past addictions- prosititutes and drugs.

I got up from the chair and began to pace over to the door, with my lighter and glass stem concealed in my had. I unlocked the deadbolt, and then slightly cracked the door, peering out into the parking lot before unlatching the chain. As I opened the door, I stepped to the side so that Rothstein could come in.

As soon as Rothstein stepped into the room, I hurried to close the door, and then turned the deadbolt back once more. I watched as Rothstein moved around the room in somewhat of a disgusted figure. This was confirmed when he looked in my direction with the look of filth in his face.

Rothstein : Damn, you just shit the bed more and more everytime I see you, pal.

Hostyle Jones : It would depend on what you would call 'shitting the bed'?

I sat back down on the chair and extended my arm toward the bed, offering Rothstein a place to sit, following it by a typical smart ass Hostyle Jones remark...

Hostyle Jones : I would offer you a real seat, but as you can see- I only have one, and that seat is currently occupied.

I slid the window opened behind me as a dried my lips with the sleeve of my thermal. I began to lift the glass stem to my mouth once more, still trying to get that first hit in my system. I ignited the lighter and slowly began to bring it up to the stem before I was cut off by Rothstein.

Rothstein : What in the hell are you thinking? These past couple months I've been trying to keep you out of jail, and you're still putting your life at risk! Do you know what kind of charges you could face for crack/cocaine?

Hostyle Jones : Don't you ask me the same question everytime you see me?

Rothstein : Chris you need to get your life back together. Isn't there anything that you can do or think of that could get you out of this slump. I mean your wrestling career was working well for you. You were clean for how many years?

Hostyle Jones : Three and a half. As for if there is anything? There is nothing. Everything I had is either dead, gone, or taken from me. Do you think five or six months ago I expected for me to live like this? I mean, I don't even know where my son is anymore. I gave up trying to find him and that crazy bitch, Chalida! It's a cold and inhumane thing when you grow enough hatred for a single person that you begin not to care if you ever see your own child again! The sad thing is, it's not his fault. I won't just blame it on that bimbo neither. I have my faults in the matter, I know this much.

Hostyles mind begins to linger once more into a flash back...

Hostyle Jones is sitting on a stool in the back room of some 'shit', hole in the wall of a strip club. This has been one of Hostyles hang-outs for years, so he pretty much had a V.I.P status so to speak. Not that it was a club classy enough for even the thought of a V.I.P clientel. The place smelt of piss, from drunks missing aim when using the bathroom, and sex from customers throwing out money for extra pleasure.

Hostyle was staring off into a daze watching the strippers changing their outfits before going on for their next set. A little aroused and tipsy from liquor Hostyle made it a routine to go into the back room and conversate with the strippers, as he knew a few of them real well from his frequent visits through the years.

The back door opened up the parking lot as Hostyle Jones looked away from the festivities to aknowledge the arrivial of his friend Muffins.

Muffins was a stripper, she also was a midget. Hostyle had gotten a blowjob from her one time, but that's a different story. Muffin's was just an all around cool girl who had a thing for Jone's ever since she had met him.

She walked over to Hostyle Jones and handed him the mail that she had fetched for Hostyle. Since the whole Chalida incident, and the fact that he had to post bail for what had transpired from the accident, Hostyle seemed to linger around from place to place. From time to time Muffins would get Hostyles mail, since he had stopped getting the mail sent to his house, and forwarded all mail to a Postal Box. This was one of those times.

Hostyle began to scroll through his mail as he came to a court ordered paper with his name on it. He had initially thought that it pertained to the accident, but upon opening it, the contents revealed something more sinister. This was a critical blow to Hostyle's mental state.

Hostyle crumbled up the document in his hand as he stared blankly into space...

...

I began to focus back into reality around the time I put the glass stem down on the cabinet. As I reached for my pack of Newport's, I looked up at Rothstein, and I could tell that he was quite worried. Pulling a cigerette from my pack, Rothstein began to preach once more.'

Rothstein : You've got to get yourself together, Christian, or we will not win this case. You could end up in jail, or most likely in the nuthouse.

Hostyle Jones : Chalida wants to change my son's last name back to hers, so yeah, excuse me if I'm trying to find a way to deal with my sorrows.

I waved Rothstein off, and lit my Newport as I said this.

Rothstein took a look into the mountian of cigerette butts in the ashtrey and shook his head back and forth for a moment.

Rothstein : Listen, I can't help you if you're just going to keep yourself locked in a hotel room feeling sorry for yourself.

In a way, I could understand where Rothstein was talking about.

Hostyle Jones : Well, what would you suppose I do?

Rothstein stood up from the bed at that exact moment.

Rothstein : Whatever you can?

Rothstein : Keep in touch with me, Chris. I shouldn't have to just pop up like this to make sure you're alright.

Rothstein had began his journey toward the door. I put my head down for a moment and closed my eyes. I tried to remember what it was like to be motivated. What it was like when I had a better grip on my life. I heard the door shut and that had let me know that Rothstein had left the room.

That was when the drug mind-frame kicked in...

I opened up my eyes and looked up at the glass stem still resting on the cabinet. I grabbed it up with a smirk on my face as I put the cigerette out in the ashtrey. The smoke lingered through the room, and th smell of ash on top of ash rose through my nostrils. After taking a deep breath, I raised the glass stem to my lips. I was about to bring the lighter to the glass when all of a sudden something overwhelming happened...

Marley Jones : Christian, No?!

The faint sound of my sister Marley's voice came through my head, and I had an epiphany...

I dropped the lighter from my hand and looked around the peice of shit that I was a hermit to. Was this really what I wanted to do? Was this how I wanted my story to be years from now? Did I want to be the dead beat ex wrestler, who turned crackhead and was never heard from again?

I was better then this!

I looked up into the mirror as sweat dropped from my brow. Then with tremendous force, I launched the glass stem at the mirror, shattering it on impact. I was determined to prove that I am never down and out as I stood up from the chair with my head high.

I had to go back to the IWF, I couldn't leave my legacy tarnished. Plus I had some unfinished business. As I slow stepped toward the doorway to the hotel, I walked over the broken glass shards and looked down to see my appearance in the shattered chunks of glass. After a moment of gazing at myself, I proceeded out into the parking lot of the hotel.

I was replaying the conversation in my head that I had just had with Rothstein...

"What would you suppose I do?"

...whatever you can"

This could only leave me with one thought, and it was so clear that I actually spoke it as it popped into my mind...

Hostyle Jones : Whatever I can? Oh, beleive me- I will...


-Shoot-

... Here's looking at you kid ...

I shall return triumphant!

I shall prove why I can go away, come back, and still--
... be a threat, like I never left!!

It would seem that I went on a bit of a hiatus the last time the IWF Universe seen me. It would seem that I dropped dead, so the speak?

Where did I go?

Does it matter?

I will admit there was a great pressure on my shoulders when I left. Shit, to be honest, you could say that it would more then one man could bare? After soul searching I realised one thing...

I didn't have to soul search!

I didn't have to soul search, because when it comes down to it I know what I am made of on the inside, and I know exactly who I am! As for the great pressure on my shoulders, over time I had an epiphany. You see, after a while- I finally realised that I am no ordinary man...

I am evolution!

Yeah, so what I got the bested of the last time I was in the presence of the IWF nation. I lost a couple, but for the couple that I lost, my vicious reign of carnage has always outweighed the downs. As for an elightenment to the very last time I stepped out from behind the entrance curtian- I remember losing the High Impact Championship to a certian punk ass waste of talent. Now months later, I step back on the scene and I see how much has changed? The hourglass holds still for no man!

As I notice now,Parker Wayde seems to be dominant in the IWF world?

This is not his fucking world!!

Now you have an even bigger prized possession around your waist. I hope you really don't think that because you have remained dominant over the talent that the IWF has in this era, that you are a legend? Don't forget whos ring this is, and don't forget, to me- you are still the rookie. The only thing you have in your defense is that you took my title, during a rough patch in my career. Let's face facts, though...

YOU DIDN'T BEAT ME...
I BEAT MYSELF!!

Do not be foolish,Parker. You know that when it comes down to it you are not built or bred like Hostyle Jones. You took a belt from me, and now that I am back- I will make it point to return the favor. I shall let you see why no matter how down and out you think I may be, I can always come back.

It is because I am innovative, and it is because I am fucking crazy. This week at Battlegrounds, the guillotine will come down, and the heads will roll. The IWF will once again be transformed into Hostyle territory! I'm out for vengence and I am going to get my respect back the only way that I've even known. I'm coming to the arena this week to knuckle the fuck up and set an example. I have been down and out for too long. It's time to once again put these inner deamons to good use. It's time to bring the pain and to show Parker Wayde exactly what hell is.

Parker Wayde doesn't know what it means to be a threat. J Halc took a shit, and from the corns spawned Parker Wayde. He has been fooling the IWF in to beleiving that he is content with this competition for months now, and it's time to snap people back into reality.

Parker this might be fun and games for you, but there is no gimmicks with me. I am what makes the IWF a blood-sport. I am not your glitter and glam type of wrestler, like you are. I could care less if I'm loved or I'm hated. The reason I am loved by the fans is because I bring this organization to a new extreme.

No, I am not known to showboat, and I damn sure don't need to act like a celebrity. This is a fucking wrestling ring, not Housewives Of New Jersey. It's time to bring the IWF back to the days where you needed to be a bad-ass to have a gold strap around your waist. From this point on cupcake ass, fruit of the loom, wrestlers will be looked at the way they should be...

Like bitches...

Starting with me setting an example with Parker Wayde!

=========Parker Be Shootin'=========


See here is the thing Hostyle....

I have always gotten the better of you. Whether it be taking your title away from you twice, or beating your two flunkies back when you had your short lived faction. Never once have you been able to get one over on Parker.

So what do I have to worry about when the bell rings?

Nothing. Not a damn thing.

I am not even 100% certain that you know your way around a wrestling ring anymore. It is no secret that you were kind of fading into oblivion before I even stepped up and removed the High Impact title from your possession. When was the last time you even won a match? Hell, when was the last time you showed up for Battlegrounds when it didn't end with me laying you out?

It may sound like I am trying to belittle or insult you, but it is really an honest inquiry.

Do you even know the answer?

I mean there was this one time that Death Angel kicked the hell out of you. Or another time that you basically rode the coattails of Stygian and Crimson SKull in a triple threat. I don't think I can remember back further than that though. Is it possible that you haven't won a match since back when Parker was Full Throttle Champion?

That is depressing. No wonder you went missing for so long.

Parker was starting his career, while you were on the way out of yours. It is almost poetic. I became a wrecking ball like force in IWF and you were a star that simply fizzled out. You didn't even get to go down swinging either. A string of matches that you lost, almost like you weren't even there, and then a rookie crushes you at a PPV so bad that Silas Romero looked better than you did.

Do you understand the reality of that?

You walked into a match for YOUR High Impact Championship, and left looking worse than some guy that didn't manage to stay on the roster long enough to be remembered. On the other hand, Silas Romero went on to lose the #1 Contenders match to me, didn't he. He at least stepped up and tried to push through to the main event scene. You, in contrast, just gave up and walked away.

That is what you should really be doing now Hostyle. You should pick up your ball and head right the fuck back to that hole that you crawled back out of. The world has moved on without you. At this point, you are old news.

Sure, when your music hits the people are going to go wild. The most hated man in the world could come back after months of being away, and get cheers. They are going to be excited to see you. Then, after that moment is over, and the bell rings, they are going to remember why you left in the first place.

Your time in this business is long over.

You are an after thought.

The biggest contribution that you have to offer to IWF history is as a footnote in my biography. You will forever be known as "chump that dropped the High Impact Title."

To be honest, I only changed the design on that belt because I couldn't get the stink of failure off of it once I took it off of you. I had to blow up the old, and bring in something new so that the guys on the roster could look at it as something worth carrying around again. Did you think it was simply a coincidence that when Corey Casey handed me the new title, he did so after saying that the past champions were all garbage? He may have grouped all of you together, but you had to know that it was all a jab at you.

You failed to produce as a champion.

You failed to be successful as a leader of a faction.

You failed to even stay on this roster on a consistent basis.

So, you know what? Make your little comeback. Come and try to stand across the ring from me. I don't think this little confrontation is going to be worth a spot in the main event, but I guess you are pretty good at riding someone else's coattails to the top spot.

I want you to know that we are going on last because I am the champion, not because you are some kind of returning hero.

As a matter of fact, once I am done with you, you may reconsider returning at all.

I will see you out there, but remember one thing.

Here there be Parker.