An Itch To Scratch: Heroic Dilemma

It was the quintessential Trophy Room - celebratory, glamorous, pristine.

Once a spare storage room in Slater’s home, the interior had been transformed into a retrospective shrine of success. Glass cabinets housed replica Championships and assorted Trophies with pride. Magazines and newspaper clippings decorated the rose-coloured walls, framed to preserve the quality of what had gloriously been. Celebrity meetings, photographed by different media firms, were spread throughout the room. And set on small marble podiums, two Hall of Fame rings fully complimented this makeshift museum, worthy of bedazzling any visitor curious enough to study their intricate richness and honourable value.

Beholding every achievement and photograph, Slater scoured the room from the open doorway. The key to the lock remained in his hand, having exposed this wrestling haven for the first time in months. It’s been quite a while, hasn’t it?

He did not return here to reflect. He returned to this special place to learn again.

A decade of blood, sweat and tears. A decade of trials and tribulations. A decade of satisfaction and grief, and all for what? The results were here, emotions hidden beneath every material victory.

Stepping further into the room, Slater carefully explored his own history. Eyes too clouded by retirement’s salvation became clearer, witnessing every conceivable detail with a strange sense of awe. World Championships, Tag Team Championships, Yearly Awards and Certificates; every visual unravelled more and more happiness, eradicating the remnants of guilt and regret that lingered in his heart.

The passion he bred, the courage and valor he maintained, they helped Slater reach these milestones. Upon the peak of his career, he no longer stood as a scrawny young man from the outskirts of Manchester’s bustling city, daring to dream before he could properly lace up a pair of boots. He stood as a modern day Knight, world-renowned and respected by the fans and the industry’s finest. It took over a decade to get there, but now it was all over; dust drifting in the wind, one day destined to eternally disappear.

Can I truly start this journey again?

"There’s an itch you need to scratch," he remembered Brian saying, his green eyes wild with anticipation, "and the only way you can get to it is to open that door.”

Although he was here to learn what discipline, concentration and undying drive could do to a person, Brian’s words forced him to reflect. The battle scars, the blood-drenched wars, the tears of vindication and atonement - he remembered them all.

Consequently, he began to miss the reactions from the crowd. He began to salivate for the adrenaline that pushed him, and soon he craved the versatile challenges that came his way; every match requiring a different strategy, every opponent being seen with different emotions.

Inside his mind, the door rattled. The itch grew intense, instructing him to obey his feelings and accept his fate. Slater closed his eyes and inhaled heavily.

But what if...

Then his conscience interefered, silencing the famished beast and casting the door back into the shadows of his subconscious. This room might have been clean, but his mind was surely in disarray. That very uncertainty was why he couldn’t compete again, why he wouldn’t be able to keep up with the others inside the squared circle - mentally and physically. His experience was useful for coaching, but only the future of the business mattered now.

Only Amy and Gabriel mattered now.

Having resisted the urge, Slater turned his attention to the only other piece of furniture in the room: a towering wardrobe housing an array of wrestling gear, some old and historic, others not even worn. After opening the mirrored door, Slater acknowledged his desirable attires, all freshly cleansed and folded neatly into categorical piles: long tights, trunks, knee pads and kick pads. His boots were lined up at the rear, mostly black but with a few noticeable differences. Two long, silver trenchcoats also hung still on the metal railing, one plain and one with his Knightly emblem: a Medieval Shield with two Broadswords crossing behind it. The Shield itself featured a British-style Lion standing on hind-legs, roaring with defiance and pride at nothing in particular.

He forgot how the leather felt against his skin. Sadly, he was not in the mood to experience that feeling again, even for a brief moment.

Concluding his own biographical tour, Slater peered at his Rolex watch. 08:32pm.

Well, I guess it’s time to get Gabriel off to be-

At the corner of his eye, a significant object came into being, immediately ending his internal monologue before it could properly start. Horrific visions emerged from the dark recesses of his mind, causing his heart to seemingly rise up to this throat. His sombre eyes stared at the object, attempting to make it disappear, attempting to cancel the validity of its ghastly existence.

Nestled in the corner of the wardrobe, surrounded by a perimeter of emptiness, Slater’s old mask gazed absently at its stricken owner. The blue-tinted, see-through visors were lifeless, yet Slater felt something inside was watching him, studying him, judging him. Light glistened from one side of its silver face, elegantly improved by gold trimming. It did not get to witness poetic justice against Seth Iser, but somehow Slater thought it wanted to.

The acidic Red Mist was to blame. He could still remember the burning sensation, the shrieks of agony that escaped his mouth, the wretched smirk on Iser’s face after replaying the video of the match over and over again. He wanted retribution. He demanded justice. Yet as he fought for vengeance, it was too little too late.

What kind of hero are you? the mask seemed to bark, manifested from Slater’s twisted psyche. Where’s your revenge? That doctor couldn’t stop you, but you gave up, didn’t you? You walked away. You simply walked away...

‘Daddy?’

Startled by Gabriel’s sudden presence, Slater slammed the wardrobe door shut, concealing the mask from his intrusive son and putting an end to the mask’s vengeful influence. Sighing, Slater calmly slid his hand down the wooden door, getting back to normal as not to frighten the one he cared about.

‘What is it, son?’

‘Who do ya thinks better, Ironman or Batman?’

As Slater turned towards him, Gabriel held up two action figures, representing the aforementioned superheroes.

‘Well-’

‘I like Ironman cuz he can fly really fast!’ Gabriel interrupted excitedly. ‘So if Batman go’ near him, he’ll SMASH and BLAM and SWOOSH…!’

Fascinated by his own explanation, Gabriel began to demonstrate Ironman’s capabilities by flying him through the room with his hand, keeping Batman in the other as the two heroes prepared to duel. A clash of plastic soon emanated throughout the room, courtesy of Gabriel forcing them into aerial combat.

Slater smiled affectionately as his son played with his toys. The mere thought of being without Gabriel for the rest of his life crippled him internally, but for a number of years that had been a very dark reality. The divorce proceedings with Amy had affected his mentality once upon a time, but since the two had been reunited through the feeling of lost love, there was nothing that would break them apart a second time.

He could still remember that cold November night when Gabriel was brought into the world. Mere seconds after Gabriel was born, euphoria swept over Slater’s body. All of his physical pains dispersed at the sight of his son, wrapped in a clean towel as Amy cradled him joyously. Despite her excruciating labour, this moment made every ounce of suffering worth it. From that day, Slater put Gabriel above every other priority in his life; even when they were separated due to Slater’s clinically depressed issues.

To have him back in his home, to love and to hold him without restraining orders or legal documents; the feelings were indescribable.

‘You’re done!’ Gabriel shouted with authority, using the Ironman figure to throw Batman to the floor. After bouncing off the carpet, Gabriel cheered the apparent decimation of the Dark Knight, celebrating with Ironman as only a five-year-old child could. ‘Ironman wins!’

Remaining by the wardrobe, Slater knelt down and picked up the defeated toy. He studied the craftsmanship put into the figure, especially the iconic mask that disguised Bruce Wayne’s identity. ‘Personally, I’ve always liked Batman.’

‘Why?’ Gabriel asked curiously.

‘Because he fights for every man, woman and child,’ Slater explained. ‘He always fights for justice, and he will always stop the evil plans of The Joker!’

‘He’s mean!’ Gabriel admitted before rubbing his nose. ‘I don’t like him.’

‘Not everyone does…’ Slater responded. His eyes locked onto the figure again, but his mind began making relative comparisons between Batman’s endeavours and his own. ‘But when Batman is around, justice will always prevail, no matter how hard the challenge is.’

‘But could he beat Ironman?’ Gabriel said as he thrust the other figure into Slater’s face, making him glance at the red-and-gold clad hero.

‘That awaits to be seen,’ Slater chuckled before he rustled Gabriel’s dirty-blonde hair. His features were really beginning to match Slater’s as a youth, although he did have Amy’s eyes.

‘They’ll save the world forever!’ Gabriel cheered enthusiastically. Slater could merely smirk at his son’s scope of life. Bless the age of unknowing innocence...

‘Gabriel!’

Amy’s voice flowed into the room from a nearby location, causing the young child to turn towards the door. ‘It’s time for bed, sweety!’

‘But I wanna play…’ Gabriel moaned, looking at his father with sympathetic eyes.

‘You can play with your toys in the morning,’ Slater promised before giving his son a quick kiss on the top of his head. ‘You don’t want to keep your mother waiting. Goodnight, son.’

‘Night, daddy!’ Gabriel replied before running out of the room, occasionally making flying noises with his mouth as he guided Ironman to his next destination. ‘Mom? Who do ya thinks better…?’

As Gabriel’s voice trailed off into the distance, Slater chuckled briefly before checking his watch again. The vital instrument ticked away monotonously, unable to control its mechanisms or change its noise output. 08:37pm.

The number held no real significance, but the mask inside the wardrobe did. Afflicted by morbid curiosity, Slater slowly looked towards the inanimate object held within. He knew what it wanted. He knew what it demanded. It wanted to relive those controversial days gone by, attached to a face that would confront the people who needed to be served a true dose of justice.

Believing he would not be disturbed a second time, Slater opened the door delicately. The mask still stared back at him ominously, as if tracking his every movement. Undeterred, Slater grabbed the mask and rescued it from dark obscurity. It was exceptionally light despite its design, but its very appearance turned Slater cold. Numbingly cold.

The fact he had stumbled upon the mask by accident could not remove the feeling of fate from his mind, a feeling of destiny formulated by the beast. Sooner or later, Slater would have witnessed this monstrosity again at some point. He studied the mask for a great deal of time, but he could only manage to repeat the same question over and over: Why did I keep you around?

It should not have existed. It should not have even been conceived, let alone worn. Yet the more Slater reminisced, the more it became a part of his history. His memory was attached to the mask, even if they were dreadful and malicious.

To erase those memories would erase the act of justice he swore to pursue. That was until the pursuit came to a permanent halt, sparing the culprit the punishment they rightfully deserved.

I still remember…

Finally turning away from the mask, Slater spotted Gabriel’s Batman toy on the floor. The figure’s stoic expression did not change, but Slater felt as if he was being judged by the lifeless contraption as well.

Batman never gave up. He never stopped. Nothing could prevent him from protecting the innocent and incarcerating the guilty, no matter how long it took. Even when the risks were high, the satisfaction of attaining that goal made his role worthwhile. Everyone understood his legendary ambitions, including the very man that shared the same principles.

Is it worth it...?

And that was when the itch returned, consuming Slater’s soul until he threw the mask back into the wardrobe and slammed the door shut.




Unable to sleep, Slater continued to stare at the bedroom ceiling, thinking of nothing but the acts he committed during his wrestling career. The itch had become an annoyance, frustrating him to the point of clenching his hand into a fist. His uncertainties had formed a complicated dilemma; either he could live the rest of his life knowing one man had escaped justice, or he could return to wrestling and tarnish his relationship with Amy. Bothered by this conundrum, Slater gritted his teeth and visualized the door Brian brought up metaphorically.

He needed to make a decision, and he needed to do it quickly.

Despite making no noise whatsoever, Amy suddenly woke up beside him, stirring under the covers until she checked the clock next to her bed. After rubbing her eyes, Amy turned to face Slater, somewhat puzzled by his lack of sleep.

‘Are you still awake?’ she managed to ask coherently, still wiping sleep from her eyes in the process.

‘Yeah…’

Noticing his deep contemplation, Amy focused on his eyes from the comfort of her warm pillow. ‘What are you thinking about?’

Slater exhaled heavily. Amy would have pestered him for an answer anyway, a trait that Slater learned how to tolerate. ‘Reflecting on the past…’

‘Should I be worried?’ Amy laughed. Her response was not one of concern, but there was a trace of suspicion seeping through. Eventually her soft fingers caressed his chest, attempting to bring forward more information.

‘I don’t see any reason to be,’ Slater said, emitting a smirk of comfort. ‘I’m happy where I am in my life right now.’

‘Now I would be worried if you weren’t,’ Amy chuckled, sliding her fingers further down his chest towards his torso.

Turning towards Amy, Slater leaned on his elbow as he smiled broadly. ‘The Training School is a great place to work, I’ve gained the utmost respect from the students, and I’m pretty much at full health again.’

As Amy smiled, Slater took her hand away from his torso and held it comfortingly to his cheek.

‘But, most importantly, I’ve got you and Gabriel.’

Romantic vibes encompassed the loving pair, wrapping them in a state of eternal happiness within the confines of their bed. Without hesitation, Amy kissed Slater firmly on the lips, marking their intimate reunion after years of turmoil and strife. ‘I love you.’

‘I love you, too…’ Slater replied, accepting their bond with complete certainty. Looking towards the window, Slater caught a glimpse of the sparkling stars in the night sky. A gap in the curtains exposed these distant marvels, helped greatly by the soothing moonlight that cast a beam of white across the bed covers.

It took an extraordinary amount of strength for Amy to forgive Slater for his adulterous past. After Slater recovered from his depressive breakdown, the two were friendly acquaintances. However, this was for Gabriel’s benefit only. Both of them knew the wounds would never fully heal, even if Slater was remorseful and apologised profusely for his mistakes.

During his time in New Edge Wrestling, Slater encountered Vanessa’s sister Cera. The self-proclaimed “Baddest Bitch” seemed to favor Slater’s credentials, but her very nature manipulated Slater’s already-decaying mindset. With the added influence of Triple X, a leader of the infamous Dark Horse Society, Slater soon saw Cera as a meaningful ally, making him realise that suffering was necessary for the strong to thrive above the weak.

Then, a few months later, their partnership as Merciless Demise became something else.

Infatuation preceded lust, lust preceded human desire. It did not take long for instinct to kick in, to satisfy their urges with little to no concern. There was no love involved, not from what Slater could remember. If there was, it was certainly a unique variation of the term. The sex merely aided him until the warmth turned to coldness, repeating a cycle that Cera mutually shared. The only difference was that Cera craved brutality. Slater craved bitter redemption.

The two eventually went their separate ways - Cera would never forgive him for abandoning her on a whim - but the damage had already been done. Amy and Slater’s relationship fell apart, torn to shreds before Slater could truly grasp the magnitude of what he had caused.

After his retirement, his mind went back to her. He cared for Amy more than people could attempt to describe. No other woman in existence dominated his heart like she did, making him realise what he had lost, what he had foolishly thrown away when he needed someone like her the most. Her beautiful eyes, her sophisticated personality; among other things, she was truly the one that every romantic story and movie alluded to.

For his sake, fortune blessed his meaningful amendments, giving him back the very love that made his life worth living, the angel that could not deny her own heart for the man that needed to be saved from utter despair.

Once Amy cuddled up to him, Slater felt complete. Everything seemed pure and just. Nothing could ruin this moment. Absolutely nothing.

At least that was what Slater attempted to tell himself as he narrowed his eyes, fighting an internal battle against the temptations of the beast. Meanwhile Amy pouted, hoping Slater would not say the dreaded word that dominated her mind. Sadly, luck was not on her side. ‘But…’

Amy grimaced as she shut her eyes tightly, praying to every conceivable deity that this moment in time was a disturbing dream. The very word she hoped he would never say lingered in the room, altering their moods in drastic ways. ‘Please, Matt…’

‘I feel like there’s something missing, something I’m yearning for, something I experienced once before.’

‘You can’t possibly-’

Slater tightened his grip on Amy’s hand, massaging her fingers with his own. ‘Don’t get upset, Amy. After all, I don’t know if it will be worth the effort.’

Amy eased somewhat, but her defences remained high. She knew that her world could be ripped asunder at any second, orchestrated by the very man that she could not live without after years of trying and failing to move on. ‘You retired…’

‘As I keep telling myself,’ Slater said. ‘But I can’t tame the beast, Amy. The itch is growing.’

Feeling defeated, Amy thought of the only question that could possibly bring this conversation to a dramatic close. ‘Do you want to go back?’

Troubling silence followed, but only momentarily. ‘I don’t know.’

‘Well you better come up with a definitive answer,’ Amy demanded tiredly. ‘We’ve mended everything we could manage after you left the business, Matt. Going back to what drove us apart in the first place…’

Trembling, Amy released a shaky breath that aided her sudden bout of anxiety. ‘I can’t imagine that life, Matt. Please don’t make it a reality.’

Slater gazed into her beautiful blue eyes, seeing a myriad of emotions that brought the weight of the situation down onto his heart. Responding to his gaze, Amy squeezed his hand in return. ‘I need you here…’

‘And so does Gabriel,’ Slater concluded. ‘I’m not going to leave you two. Never again.’

As much as she wanted to believe those words, Amy sat up and concentrated fully on her significant other.

‘If I may be so bold, what do you have left to accomplish anyway? You’ve won championships and numerous awards. You’ve been inducted into two Hall of Fame classes, and you still remain a household name across the world. But at the end of the day, Matt, you sacrificed everything for the wrestling business, and all you gained in the end was a list of injuries that took you away from the sport. Do you honestly want to ignite that flame, only to have it get extinguished by God knows what?’

Slater could not argue with her logic. Truth be told, as much as the fans mattered, as much as representing a wrestling company with honor and prestige warmed his heart, the negatives outweighed the positives. Constant fatigue drained him near the end of his tenure, and as abrupt as his retirement was, his storied departure could have been much worse. Considering the fact that Seth Iser burned his face with acidic Red Mist and damaged his neck with a Tombstone Piledriver, Slater was fortunate to escape on his feet, never to be confined to a wheelchair as paralysis reminded him of his depressing farewell.

But seeing that mask again revived a craving left dormant; one of ambition, one of justice. He may have done everything that he was capable of, but there was no denying that he felt unfinished.

Every chapter had been pencilled in to completion, except the one that truly mattered.

‘I’ll think it over…’ Slater said, touching Amy’s wrist with the slightest feeling of confidence. ‘It could just be the same thing that smokers go through when they start to quit, and I know what that feels like.’

‘At least you don’t get cravings for those things anymore,’ Amy sighed with relief. ‘Hopefully you’ll come to your senses in the morning.’

Without saying another word, Amy delicately kissed Slater’s cheek and returned to her pillow, now cold from the lack of heat. Slater did the same and turned towards the window again, focusing on the twinkling stars.

To disregard everything for the sake of one endeavour would be a catastrophic mistake. Everything belonged as it should have been during his career, and if he lost those critical components again, there was nothing he could do to make amends. But his heart shared two loves; the one he saved, and the one that called out his name with resounding clarity.

Amongst the stars, he swore he could see a jubilant audience, all chanting one name, all anticipating what they had paid to see.

The squared circle was not the only thing he missed. It was the people; not just the people, but the feeling of universal acceptance.

If only it was that easy, he thought, soon drifting off to sleep and entering a world of memories that captivated his subconscious mind.