The Final Bell

[bookerman]

Guys, this is it.

I'm on bedrest. I'm only allowed to get up to pee. 

I thought I was going to be all like "fuck you, I'll walk to my dude's house for a quarter bag with the Dilaudid IV still fuckin' running." And I made it to the front door before I just fell. Crashed like stock in Macy's. So yeah, I'll send runners from now on.

Of course, I'm coughing up so much blood and shit that I'm limited to edibles. Thirty percent of my daily calorie intake is raw cannabis butter. I'm not even putting it on toast.

Probably because I can't eat for shit. I've developed a stomach ulcer, too. Can't even have hot sauce on my Skyline coney before I fucking die. And smoking fucking hurts. I still roll three blunts a day, but I can't fucking smoke them. I'm not going to Hell when I die, this is Hell. My chest feels like Jason is doing his special in Mortal Kombat X, a piece of my lung just came up as I was typing, I got a blowjob and when I came I had a fucking heart palpitation. Went to the hospital and everything. 

Don't get lung cancer, kids. My death is not going to be quiet nor peaceful. 

Which should be by the end of the year, just so you know.

I'm stuck in bed with a PS4 controller and a laptop. I'm going out the same way I came in. High as fuck.

So this is an open letter to everyone out there. Not just UKWF, or my fellow wrestlers. You don't even have to be a Madman Szalinski fan. 

If you have any unfinished business with me, if you have something to say before I go, or if you just want to hang out and get stoned...come see me, fam. I'm at the same house you've seen me in the last ten years, two blocks from the Ghetto Mart. You know the one.

Door's unlocked. 

[vonberry]

I've...never been one for funerals or things related to that. When people die, my family celebrates. Death is the release from the torments of life. Even when it's a tragedy, we make a notion to praise it. It might be because my family is made of hitmen, assassins, and the like, but whatever. Yet, in this one instance, I felt a new feeling come through my body. Maybe it's because I'm not as hollow as people put me out to be. In wrestling, many see me as a heartless destroyer. Hell, in GPW, people dreaded crossing my path backstage. Nowadays, people are a little more brave and knowledgeable. It's an awful combination. After my six-star war with Andreas Lasiewicz, people started revering me as some new age talent.

"You beat Andreas at full strength, Artemis?! Wow, you must actually be the God of Anger or whatever."

huff.

I'd like to think I can chalk up to having a brilliant promoter when I was really getting started. My brother, Peyton, who started off in UTA knew of a man named Madman Szalinski. He was charismatic beyond measure. He was probably able to sell you a broken down car and convince you that it was brand spanking new. I didn't pay much attention to Peyton's tales. However, when I joined the GPW roster, I heard that he was a major player in the staffing. Eventually, I would have to run into the man. When I did, it was explosive to say the least. Two people of unwavering wills gifted with sharp tongues clashed in a backstage area, turning heads. Yeah, Madman and myself didn't get along at all.

Respect, on the other hand? That was there.

He knew that I wasn't going to back down to him. I knew that he would smirk at me and know what I was about. If it wasn't for the sake of the image, we would have shook hands right then and there, like old rivals meeting each other. He inspired me over time. His whole run in UTA, where he was made up to be some pariah, made me who I was in GPW. Over time after the whole tag team with Alexis Terry, I became obsessed with making sure that I was a lone wolf. I didn't know consciously, but I was emulating him more than I could ever imagine. He never pointed it out. Moreso, I think he just tried to influence more and more without me giving it a thought. Maybe that is why we were able to come together when we thought up the Solution. He sung my praises all throughout before the unification. I think he used that godly charisma to convince people that I was the real deal. It coupled nicely with my performances until I became one of, if not, the most dominant forces in the company. 

To summarize, I owe a lot to Madman. 

Since my actual father, Leon, was more of a watcher from afar during my career, I can kind of say that Madman became the on-the-road dad. He drove me around, introducing me to some people that helped me through my career. He would shove me into the random diners where the "old-school" wrestler would go to eat. He passed on his road-travelling legacy to me. I kind of miss it, to tell the truth. With the HKW paycheck and benefits, I don't really have to drive around the country anymore. However, when I get the chance to, I do drive around, remembering the days of the independent scene. As I walked up to his doorstep, I had a sudden rush of all those memories.

It made my face twinge with latent grief.

I grabbed the door knob, taking a deep breath as I did. I turned it slowly, apprehension was winning me over. I powered through and entered his home to see it in disrepair. Trash littered the ground to an obscene point. The smell of cannabis merged with other grotesque scents assaulted me, causing my eyes to water. Repelling the want to puke right there, I strengthened my resolve to trudge through everything. I could hear the television on in the back, powered by the generous donations (I donated myself to making sure that he could live his final days in some relative peace). To ensure that I was heading the right direction, I listened for macabre sounds to indicate where he was. It came in form of a sickly cough; I could hear the blood trying to rush into his throat. It made me speed up, as much as I could in the heels I wore. 

Soon enough, I found him. He laid in a bed, a TV remote in arms length, alongside an empty tub of, erhm, cannabis butter. He didn't notice me as the carpet floor muted any clicking that my heels could create. I knocked on the rim of the doorway to alert him. Knowing how weak he was now, a spook could actually kill him. As much as my family would indulge in my first kill, I didn't need to make a victim out of Madman Szalinski. Although, I think he would prefer me putting him out right now, even if he'd never admit it. He turned his head over, giving me a full sight of his face. This is the first time that I've actually seen it. He never took off the mask during the GPW run, so I never had the chance to peer at him. 

I saw that the bruises and cuts from his match with Gaia never healed completely. The ability to do so must have left him long before. The thought brought out a hatred for the woman. How dare she? I wonder if she felt any remorse for hurting a man dying of cancer? 

If she did, her stupid pride must have kept from saying it openly.

Yet, these were small details in comparison to the general state that he was in. He was weak, having to draw on deep down energy just to turn. His eyes that fluttered with life every time that I've seen him kept on with a dull, dying fire. Finally, the wear and tear of the lack of hygiene and the winding days made him into a ghoulish entity. His smile told me that he was entertained by me standing there, but his rotting teeth alongside the near vacancy in which he grinned---

It scared me deep to my core. The haunting image of seeing Madman laying there on his deathbed burrowed into the recesses of my subconscious. I knew that it would come back to plague my dreams later on. If not instantly, it would on a bad night. However, I swallowed the fear down in order to put on a scowl and a brave face. We both knew that it was false, but we also knew the importance of keeping our personas, our appearances up. There was no audience, but I was going to act like there was one. I guess I had the lingering hope that it would summon some life back in his eyes. 

What does one saying to a dying man, one that has helped you so much throughout your career?

I didn't really know, but I made the best attempt that I could.

"Tch--" the noise I commonly made when I was met with something annoying, "look at you. Sitting there on your deathbed, trying to beat the cancer by gorging yourself on whatever can kill you faster."

I turned my head, adding to the spectacle of my anger, but it was more so to try to fight back any sadness finding its way to my tear ducts. I wouldn't allow myself to cry now. Not in front of him. Never.

[bookerman]

This woman.



The first time I ever spoke to her, the conversation ended with shouting. It was right after her and Alexis Terry lost that tag tournament finals. She wanted to go singles right then and there. I tried to talk her into giving it some time. She thought I was trying to hold her back. In truth, I thought that if she played her cards right, she could become a star just by breaking away from that cokehead and making her own name.



She blatantly defied my advice and did her own thing anyway. And the next time we talked, it was me sending her out first for that battle royal that nobody liked. That conversation went a whole lot better, it only lasted five seconds.
All I said was "think you can go through all 29 of 'em?" She said yeah, so I said "prove it."

She went through 28. 

That night, I sat her down and offered her a bowl. She declined. I told her that forget what happened at the end. She was the star. She was the one everyone had their eyes on. Kyra McKnight rolled her up in a surprise. She was the one who did all the work. I told her that she had my attention, and she better not waste it. I gave her the impossible challenge just to see if she was who she said she was. AND SHE WAS. 

But I was a promoter. I couldn't tell her how I really felt. I couldn't tell her that she was one of the two women I thought to be the future of the business. I couldn't tell her that she was capable of destroying anybody she faced, whether or not they wanted to work with her. I couldn't let her know she was destined for greatness, far more success then I ever achieved. That was all the truth, but it wasn't good for business. And on top of that, I was concerned that she wasn't ready mentally or emotionally for that kind of stress. What would stop her from going into business for herself? What would stop her from just beating everyone's ass and taking what she wanted?

The third time we talked business, it wasn't alone. Artemis Kaiser came to my hotel room during the West Coast tour. And Salem Cartier. And Nina Stokes. And Ryan LeCavalier. The four of them all said to me that they respected me and thanked me for everything I had done to help them out. But they were tired of the direction GPW was taking them. We weren't getting the next crew of people pushed into their spots quickly enough. As a promoter, I should have fired them. But I was a wrestler, too. And I sympathized with them. So I essentially gave them live mics and made damn sure they wouldn't get cut. I even cut the promo right along with them. And when it was all said and done, I potentially killed GPW as a result. 

In return, I hit the final button that launched the career of Artemis Kaiser. 

After that, my involvement with GPW was minimal. I began taking her under my wing, showing her everything that I knew about the business aspect of wrestling. "There ain't shit I can tell you about working a motherfucker, A." I always called her A. "You know how to stretch a nigga until his asshole can fit a coffee pot in it. But it takes more than that in this business. And to be honest...you know this by now, you seent it...you really don't even have to be a good wrestler to get over. It ain't what you got...it's what you make 'em think you got. Anybody can punch you in the face and break something. Go to your local high school gym and watch a Toughman Contest if that's what you want. But in this business, you need to make people believe that an Artemis Kaiser punch is so strong, so stiff, so fucking devastating, that people will pay fifty bucks a pop just for the CHANCE you'll land it."

Not too long after that was when I started getting the cough. Everyone just thought it was from all these damn cigarettes and weed. So did I. In December of 2015, I knew for sure. Just like with Gaia, I drifted away from Arty. I withdrew into a hole. Even when I was still managing Big Boss Hogg in 4CW, I wasn't really putting myself out there like I had been. The cancer got worse. I could no longer pretend that I was going to be okay. All I could do now was watch. 

And so I watched as she did exactly everything I thought she would do - and more. 

But right now, she's doing something I thought I'd never see her do. Least I can do now is pretend I don't notice, and give her what she came here for. 

"Listen, bitch..."

I love you too, A.

[Γαία Γαλανός/Davey-Boy O'Brien]

The door opened and gave way to a rather surprising sight in the form of Gaia Galanos. She was clad in a hoodie with the hood pulled over her head, casting just enough shadow over her face to conceal the bruises on her face. Butterfly tape decorated her eyebrow where Night Train had left a rather nasty gash just a few nights prior. Gaia's cold gaze settled on her career-long rival, Artemis Kaiser, before turning her gaze to her ailing former mentor, Madman Szalinski. With her hands stuffed in the front pockets of her hoodie, Gaia strolled over to Madman and tossed something in his lap. As the Greek backed away from Madman's bedside, her eyes returned to Artemis. Artemis' presence incensed Gaia because of some injustice years past. Without a word, Gaia turned on her heels and came to a halt. She seemed to be waiting for something; perhaps she was waiting on an explanation. Galanos' eyes reflected suspicion.

Considering the circumstances, she would remain civil. "I'm here as requested," she said at last. Her eyes took in the ailing state of Madman. A lack of emotion on her face masked what she was truly feeling inside. There was no way she would allow herself to look weak in front of her though.

[bookerman]

"Thanks for coming..."

What? Just because I'm dead doesn't mean I can't reflect upon memories past. To be honest with you, I'll probably be better at it. There's no getting high in the afterlife. Didn't you read the Bible? When you die, and you get to wherever you're going, you get a new body and it's perfect. Indestructible. Incorruptable.

Back to the point.

"I love how neither of you will show any emotion, even now, because all you give a damn about is what the other thinks."

I knew I didn't have long at this point. I couldn't talk as much as I would have liked to. But I had made a living out of saying the most with the fewest words. I could handle this.

"Listen carefully. I love you. Both of you. It's something between a sister and a daughter, in some ways I feel like I've came up alongside you and in others, I helped shape you into who you are today."

I had their attention. I didn't waste it.

"It was inevitable that your paths would cross. They had to. You two are the ones who are going to keep this thing alive. I've worked with a lot of people. You two are the only ones I would trust to keep this business going."

I had to split my attention between them, and make sure that the words I said matched the one I was looking at.

"You are the unstoppable force. And you are the immovable object. My only hope is that I live to see you collide. And you have to. There's no other way. Whatever you have against the other, you need to let it go. If that means beating the shit out of each other until you're laying on your deathbed next to me, then do what you gotta do."

I was running out of air, and energy. I had to be quick.

"But you HAVE to let the past go. You HAVE to move on. Move forward. Do what you're supposed to do, what you were meant to do. Be yourselves, and be the best you can be. The best in the business. And try to sell a couple tickets while you're at it. Remember, it's a business. You're supposed to make some money out the shit. But there's a thousand ways to make money that are less stressful and destructive to your body. We all three chose this path in life. It's time to take the next step. That means you...and you....need to get the fuck out there and figure out who's who. Do you understand me?"

One nods...and the other nods. They both get it.

"I love you both dearly like you were my own. Fuck it, you ARE my own. There's no shame in crying, or showing your emotions. Not to me, not to each other. But it won't hurt my feelings. I just want you to understand. This is all I'm asking of you. Get in that ring and show the world who's boss. Got it?"

With what strength I had left, I held my head up as high as I could and I waited for a verbal confirmation from both of them.

[vonberry]

"Tch."

The noise that encompassed everything that she felt towards the woman next to her. It wasn't hostile in nature, truly, but it was a sound that a little sister may make towards her older sister. In this case, it was towards her much taller, stoic, and overall, egotistical (in her mind) older sister, Gaia. She was upset at her for doing what she did to Madman, but she understood in on a professional level. The two had words as people do, and it led to blows. The fact that Gaia stood next to her, once more towering over her, proved to Artemis that she still had some remnant of care towards the dying man. However, a immediate tension fell in the air, mainly due to them both knowing that nothing was settled between them. Artemis and Gaia had both swept through the top stars in GPW in other venues. 

Despite any want to yell at Gaia for her irreverent, disrespectful attitude as of late, Artemis would appease Madman's wish. It was one of his final ones after all.

"Fine," she said, moving her eyes from Gaia to the wall farthest from her.

[ooc] Late as fuck, but screw you, my knee was busted.