Scolding Feathers

Low in fahrenheit, the morning temperature around Lake Simcoe chilled Slater to the bone. Despite wearing a fur-insulated jacket, the cold air increased the soreness of his neck, causing the affected area to throb and restrict his movements. Nonetheless, the sharp pain could not subtract his positive mood; he had defeated Casanova English with an elementary counter, diluting the young man’s ego and taking supremacy away from his autocratic grasp.

As he pulled his travel case away from his parked car, his shoulder also supporting a moderately-sized sports bag, Slater knew the damage he sustained was worth upholding his vital promise. It was not just the fans of VoW who celebrated wildly, either live in Edinburgh or elsewhere. Wrestlers within the company congratulated Slater’s triumph, respecting his integrity in order to subdue the “Modern Day Messiah”. They spoke highly of him on Twitter, sharing their joyous thoughts once Breakthrough ended.

The messages were indeed clear; they were not only united against the Orphanage, but they were grateful to a man who, over one year ago, believed his wrestling career had been permanently finalized.

Now the Orphanage were on the cusp of experiencing that scenario, having suffered greatly at the recent event. But it would never be that simple; not with revenge fuelling their twisted minds; not with malevolence controlling their individual psyches. Such was the stubbornness of their wicked ways, conditioned to seek what they sought with whatever means were available to them; either by natural instinct, or from tragic alteration.

Approaching the warmness of home, Slater wondered how Amy would react to his monumental victory. She motivated him to succeed. She begged him to avoid defeat at all costs. Perhaps her emotions would be more jubilant than his, anticipating his arrival with gleeful intentions; ready to embrace her lover, ready to embrace her champion.

Placing the travel case on the stone porch - which contained Gabriel’s birthday present for the upcoming week - Slater thoughtlessly rummaged for his keys. Then he heard a click from the door, causing him to stop.

The locking mechanism audibly shifted, being conducted from the inside. A smile formed on his weary face; clearly she could not resist her celebratory urges.

Without delay, the door opened smoothly. Slater witnessed the welcoming interior first, thoroughly organized and clean. And then he saw her, lightly dressed for the winter climate in a lime-green cardigan. His smile widened.

And then it gradually disappeared.

Standing before him was a shivering, crestfallen woman; the complete opposite of what he predicted her to be. Her eyes never strayed, inanimately locked onto his pale face. Something was horribly wrong, transforming his mood into a state of confusion and worry.

The moment her lips parted, he feared the worst.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked, taking a cautious step towards her. ‘Is Gabriel okay?’

She failed to answer him. Gabriel was currently in school, postponing their reunion after several days apart.

Slater put down his sports bag and raised his healthier arm to comfort her. Strangely she stepped backward, avoiding the feeling of his loving touch.

What’s going on? he wondered, furrowing his eyebrows.

To his dismay, her morbid aura changed. From the depths of sadness came fury, manifesting on her face as she shook her head.

‘How could you…?’ she stammered, unable to contain her grief. Her trembling hand lifted slowly, stopping at her ample breast. ‘Why…?’

‘I don’t know what you’re--’

‘Don’t you dare lie to me!’ Her furious tone reverberated around the miniature mansion, causing Slater’s body to stiffen. ‘I know what you’ve said. I know who you’ve been talking to. Why do you want to help Cera?!’

A mere second later, he understood her visual scorn. Her watery eyes focused on him, pressing her hand deeper, identifying the heartbreak that plagued her soul.

‘She ruined everything! She took advantage of you and drove us apart! Why do you want to mend the bridge with her?! Why?!’

An undetectable sigh escaped Slater’s mouth, flowing through the numbing silence. His miserable eyes found her presence again, acknowledging the anger she freely expressed.

‘Amy…’ He spoke her name lowly, yet he was poised to defend his actions. ‘I can--’

‘Why do you care… about her?’ she interrupted yet again. Her rouge lips quivered terribly, showcasing abundant distress. ‘She deserves to rot in Hell! She doesn’t care about anyone but herself!’

‘There’s a reason why--’

‘I mean I know you like helping people… but God, Matt! Do you realize what you’re even doing?!’

‘Amy, if you’ll just--’

‘Have you lost your mind?! I mean what the Hell--’

‘Will you just listen to me?!’ he finally roared, putting an abrupt end to Amy’s emotional tirade.

He could take her inquisitorial measures no longer. An uncomfortable stillness followed his outburst, altering the atmosphere of the moment. Gabriel’s absence seemed to be a blessing, spared from witnessing or hearing their moral dispute.

‘I ruined everything!’ Slater admitted hoarsely, his voice yet to recover from the exasperated shout. ‘She never tried to tear us apart. What happened between us… that was my mistake. I paid the price, Amy. I dealt with the consequences!’

Amy tensed, shifting her gaze to nothing in particular. The sleeve of her cardigan soaked up the flowing tears, her face bearing his agitation with a sad, reddened shade.

‘There is more to Cera than people realize, Amy… but they’re unwilling to accept it. All they see is a war-torn, malicious demon, much like you do. But when I was with her… I saw something in her eyes, something struggling to be free.’

Emitting a snarl, Amy looked further away from her significant other.

‘She has an injured conscience inside her, Amy... a battered soul that was nearly tortured to extinction. And I…’

Reluctant to finish, Slater took an anxious breath.

‘I inadvertently damaged it… and as much as you’ll hate me for saying this... I want to save it.’

Amy clenched her hands, her downcast face bearing utter disbelief. He knew he had to conclude his reasoning, whether Amy tolerated his concern or not. This was a situation neither of them expected to occur, although in their minds their roles were justified. Unfortunately, the wounds of old were sprouting forth, once again decaying their connection at an alarming rate.

Having listened to his excuse, Amy finally nodded. Her expression of shock faded, no longer creasing her mature beauty. All seemed calm and serene, foreshadowing a time when they could both sit down and discuss their issues like responsible adults.

Until Amy formed a smirk. It was an offended smirk, emitting sourness and repulsion.

‘You truly believe that, don’t you?’ she said, visualizing Slater again. Her posture gradually changed, once more becoming confrontational. ‘Do you know what your problem is, Matt? You’re too compassionate.’

Slater lowered his head, thinking deeply about her scolding words. She had not been the first to make such a claim, and she likely would not be the last. Others had criticized his moral values as well, believing he was doing more harm than good. But he could not stop helping others; in a despairing sense, he was overcompensating for his previous failures, ensuring that at least one person benefitted from his aid.

Had he been notified of the mysterious, disruptive figures attacking Joanna Thade and Zahara Matisse, he would have sprinted to the ring to combat them. That was an example of his considerate nature; not just for wrestling, but for humanity in general.

But now he was feeling the detrimental aspects of his actions, seeing Amy’s pain upon learning he aimed to help an enemy; her enemy.

‘In fact…’ Amy continued, brandishing a tongue that was lathered with disgust, ‘I think there’s more to this than you’re letting on.’

Once again succumbing to her emotions, Amy welled up as she revealed a logical suspicion.

‘You still have feelings for her… don’t you?’

Slater’s heart pounded, refusing to let him speak coherently.

‘Or is it an unrelenting lust? Attracted to a vile bitch, are we? Which is it, huh?’

Before he could regain his composure, a cheerful tone emanated from the pocket of Slater’s jeans. His eyes closed tightly; there could not have been a worse time to receive a message.

In an instant, Amy became unhinged, fully invested in her theory and jumping to a wild conclusion.

Storming forward, she forcibly reached her hand into Slater’s pocket. He chose not to intervene, despite his privacy being compromised. Once Amy grasped the Samsung Galaxy S6 phone - the same one he had used to contact her regularly throughout the UK Tour - she did not follow through with her temptation to check the screen. Instead she ventured towards the open doorway, throwing the phone far across the gravel path with malicious intent.

Slater watched the phone reach its destination, crashing onto the ground and bouncing upward from the impact. Only then did he speak up, swallowing his agitation in the process.

‘She was never a bitch to me.’

Amy remained still, content with what she had done. Knowing he had to get his phone back, Slater departed the warmness of the house, walking out into the lingering cold. As he left the stone porch and stood on the gravel, Amy garnered his attention with a dry statement. ‘Find comfort somewhere else.’

He looked over his damaged shoulder, witnessing her tearful glare from the doorway. Then she slammed the door shut.

More harm than good indeed.

With his positivity deflated, Slater sighed. He viewed the door for a few more seconds, hoping it would open again. It never did.

Refocusing his energies on the phone, Slater looked back at the device, whereby he was taken aback by a rather peculiar sight.

A blood-red cardinal, a non-migratory bird that stayed throughout the winter months, curiously hopped around the device. Wary chirps sounded from its beak, orchestrating puzzlement and intrigue. Normally these birds foraged for berries or remained in flocks; it was unusual to see one depart its comfort zone alone, yet this one had no qualms about being single and exposed.

Slater studied the bird from a distance, watching its dull feathers bristle with a shudder. Bird enthusiasts saw the cardinal as a bearer of fiery passion and strength, based on its aggressive behaviour in order to protect and maintain its territory. However, the cardinal also registered romantic vibes, fighting to defend those they cherished with great ferocity.

Once he neared his phone, the bird seemed to become disinterested. It’s head swivelled vigilantly, searching the terrain for nourishment. Finding nothing, the bird flapped its crimson wings, ascending gracefully toward the clouded sky.

After watching the cardinal leave, becoming a red blur amongst the trees, Slater knelt beside his phone and checked the device. The outer casing was cracked on the corner, sending a fine splinter across the plastic. Luckily, that seemed to be the extent of its damage, with the phone remaining in working order.

Sadly, Slater knew its damage did not compare to the one suffered between himself and Amy. Originally they reunited for Gabriel’s sake, but they were honestly giving their relationship a second chance to thrive. Now it seemed that bridge would collapse again, courtesy of Slater’s questionable decision to help a former partner and a self-proclaimed bitch.

The phone’s indicator blinked, reminding Slater of the message he had received. After unlocking the home screen, he saw a text alert from Jen Ryette, pausing at the occurrence and wondering what she could have sent.

With the gravel digging into his knees, he tentatively opened up the message. A shared picture popped up on the screen, sneakily captured to avoid detection. Its content was simplistic, but the tone was eerily dark and, in a dramatic sense, foreboding.

Occupying a chair in a dark hotel suite, Cera stared longingly out of a veiled window. A fresh cigarette burned between her fingers, noxious smoke drifting into the ether. Her VoW Twin City Championship was propped up on a nearby table, barely visible due to the shadows that dominated the room. But what Slater acknowledged more than anything was her frown. This was not the Cera he had known in years gone by; she seemed lost, forlorn, pained by something she wanted to get rid of or escape from.

Amy declared she was beneath contempt. Slater felt she was worth saving, no matter what her demons had compelled her to do throughout her life.

Beneath the picture, Jen included a short yet powerful message:

“Plz reach out and unlock the cage”

Returning to a vertical base, Slater simply stared at the picture, unsure how to respond or how to act. Complications had clearly arisen; one bridge could be repaired, but another could disintegrate in the process. As a consequence, another quote from Cera rose from the depths of his memories.

“You can’t save everyone.”

From the distance, a willful chirp flowed across the lakeside estate.




For the next few days, Slater and Amy hardly said a word to one another. They were embroiled in a silent war, stubbornly waiting for the other to apologize. Not even the news of the Paris terror attacks or the Japanese earthquake could bring them together. It seemed only the estate would be cleaned and repaired, not the thinning thread that held their relationship above the abyss.

Following Gabriel’s sixth birthday party, Slater’s estate was in disarray. Toys and snack packets littered the floor, including drops of cake smeared across the carpet. All the guests had come and gone, and all that remained were the products of their activity. Even Antonio joined the fray with his daughter; at one point he power-lifted Amy over his head, eliciting laughter and merriment as he demonstrated his physical strength.

It was a fun time for all, except for the two individuals hosting the festivities.

As the children ran around, energized by sugar and stained with chocolate cake, the adults politely conversed, sharing stories about their current endeavours. Neither Slater or Amy discussed their relationship, or the fact that Slater was now residing in one of the spare bedrooms, even though he was the documented owner of the home.

They simply acted blissful, pretending their relationship was not on the verge of disaster.

Once the last guests departed, everything returned to normal; at least what had been normal for the past few days. With Amy concentrating on litter duty, Slater washed an assortment of filthy plates and glasses. His arm and neck continued to bother him, but he had grown accustomed to handling that kind of pain. Once he finished the last plate and pulled the plug, he raised his head to the opposing window, surveying the afternoon haze across the lake.

There was nothing special to see outside, nothing unusual or out of the ordinary. It was yet another cold day in Barrie, dishearteningly grey with a predictable forecast of rain.

Before he could move on to the next job, a red cardinal flew across the expansive waters. Slater stopped and stared, wondering if it was the same bird that inspected his phone a few days ago. Its wings remained outstretched, being guided by the wind as it relished its freedom; a freedom Cera did not have, enslaved by the damning chains of her power-hungry demons.

Slater thought of her again, picturing her uncharacteristic frown, envisioning her in a state of torment. According to Jen, it was now or never for him to break her free.

Her passionate flame was dimming, and time was running out.

‘Monster!’

Taking Slater by surprise, Gabriel charged at his father from the opening of the kitchen. He held a foam diamond sword from Minecraft above his head, sprinting to slay his intended target. Once Slater turned around, Gabriel swung the sword awkwardly, theatrically piercing the stomach of his father as the flexible foam bent backwards from the impact.

The placement of the sword was not lost on Slater; coincidentally, it had hit Cera’s surgically-repaired markings, she having carved the word “TAINTED” into his skin four years ago. It was her unique badge of affection, labelling Slater a vital part of her life thereafter.

How times had inexplicably changed.

Ignoring the location of the strike, Slater acted in response. He exaggerated his impending death, yelling aloud as he grabbed the sword with his hands and slumped onto the tiled floor. Gabriel laughed at his father’s comical impressions, with the latter exposing his tongue and leaving it hanging against his chin. With his eyes rolled upward, he completed the death scene, causing Gabriel to cheer.

‘Yay! I took down the monster! The world is saved!’

Suddenly, Slater lurched forward and roared. Gabriel legitimately screamed, not expecting his father to come back from the dead. But he was quickly laughing again as Slater tickled his armpits, giving his child the kind of entertainment he could not give on a frequent basis.

‘S-stop tickling m-me!’ Gabriel giggled. Finally Slater stopped, prompting his son to calm down. ‘You’re silly, daddy.’

‘I may be silly, but I’m not a monster.’ He bore his teeth as he smiled, causing Gabriel to do the same thing. Even in a playful act, he could not forego telling the truth.

Unfortunately, that very word made him think of his opponent at Darkest Hour, an experienced competitor who nonchalantly accepted her role as a heartless monster; whenever she felt like being one, that is.

Artemis Kaiser was an astonishing woman. Much like Scarlet Flint, she was small in stature, but immensely vicious. Both were capable of dissecting and brutalizing foes twice their size, and they had done just that in the past, sometimes with unnerving ease. Both flourished in dangerous environments, making sure their opponent resembled a fresh corpse; again, they had done just that, grossing out audiences around the world. But whereas Scarlet was content on being the I4NI Champion, Artemis had yet to experience that luxury in VoW. Due to her obsessive yearning for gold, she would not hesitate to rip Slater to shreds in order to garner that opportunity, hardly caring about his condition as she signed on for her next challenge.

And therein existed a major problem. Artemis ruthlessly defended her championships like a woman possessed; without one, she was a merciless savage who could end careers without hesitation. These were not empty threats; the broken necks of her former adversaries proved that daunting point.

Brushing Gabriel’s hair with his fingers, he contemplated whether Artemis would steal that privilege away, removing his sense of touch by paralysing him entirely.

He had survived the antics of Seth Iser and Casanova English. Now he needed to survive the challenge of Artemis Kaiser, but with his current health issues, the chances of being spared were slim to none.

She intended to ravage him. He intended to keep his career intact.

‘Did you enjoy your birthday party?’ Slater asked. Gabriel nodded and wiped his nose.

‘It was great! Lucy tried to catch me with her magic wand, but I avoided it. Jake liked my sword and he said he wanted one, so we’re gonna be heroes together! We’re gonna fight against Mrs Fletcher, cos we both think she’s a monster in disguise. She yells at us and has these evil eyes.’

Slater smiled, amused by how children went onto so many tangents in a short amount of time. ‘Well I’m sure Mrs Fletcher wouldn't like that. She isn’t a monster either.’

‘She isn’t?’

Slater shook his head. ‘Some people may look evil… but in reality they’re not.’

‘What about Dracula?’ Gabriel pondered openly.

‘Now he’s a nasty bad guy,’ Slater confirmed. A few moments later the kitchen clock chimed, indicating a change of the hour. After looking at the time, Slater remembered that he was set to leave for England later in the evening. Perhaps now was the opportune moment to inform his son, despite knowing what to expect once he did so. ‘Anyway… Gabriel, I’m going to be leaving tonight.’

‘Not again!’ Gabriel replied sadly, shaking his head with irritation.

‘I know, I know… but this is the last time I’ll be away for several days. I’m going to England.’

‘England’s funny!’ his son chuckled. Slater smirked; apparently a lot of American citizens thought so too. ‘Why are you going there?’

‘For business reasons.’ It was difficult to lie to his son, but eventually Gabriel would learn about Slater’s career and his significance in the sport. ‘I have to take care of some things over there. Your mother will still be here.’

Gabriel remained quiet, until finally he shared an internal feeling with his father. ‘I don’t like it when you go away…’

Every wrestler with a family struggled to come to terms with their sacrifices, especially when their child acknowledged how disheartened they were in the process.

Emitting sorrow, Slater briefly felt as though he should have stayed retired; the problem was he could never get over the itch of competing and entertaining the masses, no matter how much it hurt to leave his family behind.

‘You’ll be back soon, right?’

‘I will be,’ Slater nodded confidently, subsequently bringing his son closer and giving him a comforting hug.

Gabriel wrapped his arms around his father’s neck, causing Slater to wince. But the pain could not subtract the love he experienced from their embrace, even as Amy appeared from the lounge and studied their connection.

The two locked eyes, remaining silent as they did so. Amy shared a disgruntled expression, whereas Slater bore little emotion. He knew what he had chosen to do and what he would continue to do. He vowed to cement a prominent legacy in wrestling, inspiring future generations to adopt his principles and keep sportsmanship and respect alive.

And whether she liked it or not, he vowed to help someone he intended to save along the way, making sure they finally inhaled the satisfaction of freedom; making sure that her dying conscience grew wings and flew away from the darkness.




As expected, the holiday-bound residents and visitors of Manchester bombarded Slater with requests at the Airport. Autographs were signed and photographs were taken, but throughout his time meeting the fans he was flanked by security, preventing any disturbances or complications in the facility. However, contrary to looking jovial and grateful to his supporters, he did not feel any semblance of happiness, putting on artificial smiles for them to appreciate.

Before he left Ontario for England, Amy had finally broken her lengthy silence. She warned him about his previous mistakes, once again highlighting his compassionate nature and the ramifications it could cause. Still Slater failed to change his mind, forcing Amy to make a heart-wrenching declaration.

“If you fully decide to alleviate her blackened heart… you might end up tarnishing mine.”

He did not deal well with stressful ultimatums, but this one dominated his thoughts more than the others; by saving one, he could irreparably lose another. Whichever one he lost was entirely up to him.

But if he attempted to save both, he could potentially lose everything.

Despite the brutal connotations of her words, there was another matter Slater needed to handle; an old friend intended to pay him a visit in Manchester, having sent him a text before he crossed the Atlantic. The two conversed briefly, with his friend finally giving him instructions on where to go.

But of all the locations in Manchester, he never expected to be standing outside this particular establishment.

Surveying the derelict building that matched the posted area code, Slater shivered from the freezing, evening cold. With its decaying walls and shattered windows, the structure looked hazardous to enter. Even the numerous warning signs helped restrict access, but Slater knew juvenile youths and risk-takers did not abide by their rules; including, apparently, his flamboyant friend.

What are you up to? he thought, close to calling off the meeting and re-scheduling it elsewhere; preferably somewhere safer and more accommodating.

Adjusting his jacket, Slater shuddered and exhaled, watching the warm air evaporate. But before he could leave, a light flickered on behind one of the ground floor windows; his friend was definitely present.

For a few moments, Slater contemplated what to do. He could leave and never return, or he could enter the premises as intended, despite the fact it was monitored property. The authorities could arrive and arrest the intruders, unless the inhabitants had a valid permit.

Shaking his head, Slater knew he would regret his decision.

I better get out of here in one piece… he nervously thought, crossing the protective threshold and ducking through the open doorway.

With the light of his phone guiding him through the darkness, Slater navigated the filthy hallways, littered with debris, rusted nails and other pieces of metal. He did not understand what his friend had planned, but he hoped it would be worth risking his health to see it.

After entering a small room where the lone light had been switched on, Slater warily looked around. His friend was nowhere in sight. What were in sight, however, were laminated posters adorning the walls. As he inspected them, Slater knew these were no ordinary posters.

They were wrestling event posters, featuring his younger likeness and the event he had been scheduled to perform on.

Furrowing his eyebrows, Slater decided to get a closer look at them. The first one he looked at was a CWX event poster, advertising Operation California; the event where Slater defeated Kris Obellix to garner his first World Heavyweight Championship. Moving on, he saw a poster for TEW’s War of Ages, at the time the biggest event Slater had wrestled on in, without a doubt, the biggest match of his career up to that point. Alongside him on the poster were Mike Park, Dave McDave and The Red Dragon, making up the four combatants that would compete for the distinct honor of being the TEW World Heavyweight Champion.

It did not take him long to reflect and travel down memory lane. The third and final poster in the room was of NEW’s World War X event from 2012, hosting a traditional War Games Match with a selection of teams or stables battling for supreme bragging rights. At this particular event, Slater ended up being the sole survivor, winning the match for Team NEW by last eliminating Inkt. They were interesting to look at in hindsight, but Slater quickly became curious.

What does all of this mean?

While mentally questioning the significance of the posters, Slater noticed a painted arrow on the wall, directing him to another room. He followed the arrow accordingly, using the battery-powered lamp on the floor to get a sense of direction. Then the bulb burned out.

Standing in complete darkness, Slater growled and brought out his phone again. Once he regained remedial light, he slowly scanned the new room. It was much larger than the previous one, but it was also more difficult to properly see anything.

Moments later, he stumbled upon another poster from NEW, attached to the exposed bricks of the broken wall. This time it was of Justice 5, a show that generated positive thoughts. He stared at the poster in memoriam, taking in every conceivable detail. Unbeknownst to him, something moved quietly within the room, coming closer to him without being detected.

Once he was satisfied, Slater nodded and turned around. Only then, from the invisibility of the shadows, did the figure pounce.

Slater had no time to react. Amidst the darkness, a punch connected with his head, upsetting his equilibrium. The pain swelled as he collapsed onto the concrete floor, landing heavily on his bad shoulder.

Groaning from the pain, Slater groggily lifted his throbbing head off the floor. With his eyes adjusting to the darkness, a pair of black shoes walked in front of his dazed vision, stopping purposefully at his line of sight. An instigator of the assault, the unknown person gradually squatted down, revealing casual street clothing and gloved hands.

‘Ya should always keep yer eyes peeled… and never get distracted by images of the past.’

Immediately recognizing the person’s voice, Slater lifted his eyes upward. There he witnessed the face of his old friend, emitting a wry smile at his fallen acquaintance through a fully-grown beard.

Falcon…

Matt Falcon, a former Professional Wrestler and merchandise store owner, shook his head with theatrical exaggeration. Shortly thereafter, he extended his gloved hand, luring Slater to take it with his own. It had been several months since the two men had personally conversed, but Slater never expected their meeting to occur under these startling conditions.

Still reeling from Falcon’s signature Falcon Punch - a move he had used throughout his short career and a move he shared with Artemis Kaiser - Slater forced himself upward, eventually accepting his friend’s hand and being given support. Of course, this did not eliminate Slater’s agitation, feeling the side of his head and the bruising that would likely form as he gritted his teeth. Dizziness captivated him, although it would be temporary.

‘Why the hell did you punch me?’ he questioned angrily.

‘I was knockin’ some sense into ya,’ Falcon answered plainly, meanwhile wiping dirt and grime from his leather gloves.

Leaving Slater to recover properly, Falcon located and ignited a second lamp, giving the decrepit room light and consequently causing both men to reactively blink.

‘I’m sure you were confused about this place,’ Falcon said, taking a cigarette packet out of his cotton hoodie. ‘There’s a reason why I brought ya here. Ya see… this place is a shit-hole. I don’t like shit-holes… unless they belong to women, but that doesn’t matter right now.’

Slater grimaced, jointly disgusted by Falcon’s comment and the agony he was feeling in his shoulder. Looking down, Slater retrieved his phone from the floor, which still only had one crack running across the top of the device.

‘Lately… there’s been some talk about ya… let’s just say… bein’ fuckin’ stupid. Don’t ask me how I know, I just do. Anyway, I thought I’d take a page out of yer book, bein’ smart with symbolism… or some shit like that, and give an old buddy a helpin’ hand. See, if ya don’t shape up, you’ll become like this buildin’... a fuckin’ mess. But I also wanted to show ya who you were… what you were… before you came back from retirement.’

Falcon twirled a single cigarette between his fingers, doing so as Slater remained silent.

‘Ya see… I watched your match against English.’ Falcon lit up his cigarette, basking in the smoke that drifted from the burning embers. ‘Ya took it to him, and I was proud of that. But I couldn’t really celebrate when ya beat him cuz… I think ya got lucky. The old Slater? He wouldn’t have gotten into that predicament. Sure ya turned the tables on that obnoxious fucker and kept his shoulders down… but ya didn’t truly beat him, didja?’

Falcon looked across the room at the Justice 5 poster, using the results of the event to convey his point.

‘I mean look at who you were, mate! Ya took down guys and birds left and right, leavin’ em questionin’ just who they were dealin’ with. Ya did it to Calvin Harris… but then ya got soft.’

Slater straightened his posture, finally getting used to the pain again. ‘If you’re going to lecture me about her--’

‘Yer damn right I am!’ Falcon interrupted, exhaling smoke as he did so. ‘I’m gonna cut to tha chase here. Fuck Cera off and focus on you.’

‘You know I’m not going to do that,’ Slater admitted sternly.

Instantly appalled, Falcon turned away from his ally and shook his head. ‘God Almighty, get me the bloody shovel...’

Falcon smoked his cigarette further, muttering to himself before he shrugged and looked back at Slater.

‘Okay… have it your way. You go ahead… you help her if ya feel it’s right. But when Artemis leaves ya lookin’ like a buggered-up Happy Meal, yer gonna regret it.’

Suddenly, the aforementioned Justice 5 poster on the wall dropped to the ground. Collectively distracted, both Falcon and Slater viewed the item, with Falcon growling as a result.

Disgruntled, Falcon swiftly collected the printed poster from the floor. ‘Do ya know how long it took to laminate these bloody things? Fuckin’ blu-tac. I should have used duct tape instead.’

Slater raised an eyebrow. ‘You seriously thought blu-tac would stick to brick?’

‘They held up until now, didn’t they?’ Falcon argued, defending his chosen adhesive at the time. ‘But these things strengthen my fuckin’ point!’

Falcon thrust the poster into Slater’s face, almost hitting him squarely on the nose.

‘This is who ya should be, not the guy I’m lookin’ at now! Ya concern yerself with so much shit that shouldn’t concern ya, and where does it get ya? It fucks up yer head! Artemis is gonna go out there with only you in mind… but you’re gonna lumber yer fuckin’ ass out there thinkin’ of that cum-guzzlin’ bitch and those Orphanage twats, and it’s gonna cost ya!’

Falcon had never been a connoisseur of human language, often being lazy and foul with his words. But after sifting through the vulgarity, his messages were usually thought-provoking; unless he was fuming with anger, in which case he would share irrational thoughts and insults at anyone and anything.

Amidst the glow of Falcon’s cigarette, Slater contemplated his friend’s speech; it was a matter of opinion, but Amy and many others could agree with him.

‘Listen to me, mate… you’re puttin’ yer career in jeopardy. This is gonna--’

‘I know what can potentially happen,’ Slater interrupted, becoming irritated by the constant scoldings he had been receiving. ‘But let me remind you of something that happened two years ago. Do you remember when Johnny Stylez orchestrated a gang assault on you and they put you in the hospital? Of course you do, because that’s how you ended up meeting Claire.’

Falcon lowered his eyes, obviously thinking about his current relationship with Claire back in Chicago. She was a nurse who was assigned to tend to his wounds, and over time the two became attached, soon planning outings and other activities that would strengthen their bond.

‘Who was there looking out for your health and keeping you in mind?’ Slater asked, although Falcon already knew the pending answer. ‘I was. After every match I wrestled, no matter where in the world it took place, I would fly to Chicago and check up on you, because I was concerned about you. But your battered state didn’t prevent me from winning matches. I took on every competitor and I defeated them… including surviving Hazard inside a Steel Cage. And then, when you were still on the road to recovery… that happened.’

Pointing to the Justice 5 poster in Falcon’s hand, featuring an assortment of wrestlers from New Edge Wrestling’s past, Slater proudly acknowledged one of the greatest achievements of his career.

‘I entered Fenway Park in Boston, on the biggest stage I’ve ever been on in my career, and I defeated a man who put me through Hell for three years to win their World Heavyweight Championship. It was a celebration of true justice, and it made every sacrifice and tumultuous endeavour worth it. But I didn’t just train more than ever to prove him wrong. I wanted to win for you, for my supporters, for Amy… and for Gabriel.’

Naturally, Slater thought of Gabriel, wondering how he was coping through his absence.

‘You all fuelled my desire to succeed in that historic stadium, and I aim to cherish that memory and what it meant to me. You all inspired me to uphold my principles, to never give up or surrender. But right now… there’s someone else who’s fuelling me to succeed, and I will keep her in mind until the deed is done.'

Consuming the remainder of his cancerous cigarette, Falcon dropped the burning filter onto the ground and crushed into under his boot.

Artemis will attempt to destroy me at Darkest Hour...' Slater continued, speaking confidently and courageously, 'but much like Casanova English, I will enter that ring full of determination and pride, and I will do everything within my power to defeat her.’

Suddenly, from the distance, the sound of sirens audibly blared. To both men, there was nothing unusual about that, considering emergencies occurred all the time in Manchester. But as the sirens steadily increased in volume, dread began to fill Slater. His focus remained on Falcon, who began to shuffle uncomfortably.

‘Please tell me you told someone you would be here?’

Scratching the back of his head, Falcon stalled. ‘Well ya know, I had the posters to do and… I had to get lamps cuz I knew you’d be runnin’ late and… the lamps were dirt cheap as you can probably tell so... it just kinda… slipped my mind?’

Wide-eyed, Slater clenched his fist and scanned the building. The sirens continued, getting closer and closer. Finally Falcon punched the air.

‘Fuck these posters and the symbolism shit! We’re gettin’ outta here!’

Pulling Slater by his coat, Falcon frantically led him to the rear entrance. Slater almost tripped over a loose plank in the process, managing to regain his footing before he suffered a compromising injury. Once outside the premises the two men, by Falcon’s demand, sprinted through alleyways and empty streets, gaining ground from the pursuing police; if indeed they had been alerted of the duo’s invasion of property, something neither man truly wanted to find out.

Finding safety in a nearby park, Falcon breathed heavily from exhaustion as Slater rubbed his neck. The wind whistled between the browning trees, also contributing to their coldness amidst the freezing temperatures.

‘That was a close one,’ Falcon sighed, relieved to have escaped another date in court. Unfortunately Slater was not as joyous, boiling with rage as he confronted his friend.

‘Do you know what you almost did to us?!’ Slater shouted, enraged by Falcon’s incompetence. ‘Did you not understand the basic concept of a monitored building?!’

‘I didn’t think they were gonna bloody show up!’

‘You could have gotten us arrested for trespassing without permission!’

‘Well maybe that would have done ya a world of good!’ Falcon snapped back. ‘It woulda given ya plenty of time to think about what the fuck yer doin’ wrong!’

After rolling his eyes, Slater concentrated on Falcon with a mesmerizing glare.

‘I’m sick and tired of people telling me I’m doing something wrong. You, Amy and everyone else that thinks I’m making a mistake? In my heart, and in my mind, I feel like it’s the right thing to do. And if I am wrong? I’ll deal with the consequences… just like I did before.’

Falcon continued to breathe heavily, obviously having not remained fit for a number of years. Accompanying his audible breaths, a Eurasian Collared-Dove called out from the congregation of trees, instantly inspiring Slater to listen. The bird chirped a few more times, either for assistance or company. Eventually it fell silent, at which point Slater instinctively felt the phone in his pocket.

‘I’ve been seeing and hearing quite a few birds lately…’ Slater mused.

‘At this time of year?’ Falcon replied rhetorically. After a few seconds he shrugged, covering his head with the hood of his sweater. ‘Might be a sign… I dunno for sure.’

Slater had never believed in superstitions or omens, but as he surveyed the trees of the park again, the wintery presence of the dove made him wonder.

‘All I know is this,’ Falcon continued, focusing on Slater the entire time. ‘Ya need to decide who truly matters… or you’ll end up like I did. Good luck against Kaiser. I’ll see ya around.’

Concealed under the guise of his hoodie, Falcon began to walk away from Slater.

‘So that’s it?’ Slater said, vocally commanding Falcon to stay. ‘That’s all you wanted to do?’

Falcon shrugged again. ‘It’s all I had to do, mate. Hopefully ya work the rest out yerself.’

Issuing a departing wave, Falcon stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie and strolled away. Left alone, Slater copied Falcon’s actions, warming his hands in the pockets of his coat.

Remembering the calls of the dove, Slater acknowledged the thousands of leaves yet to fall onto the grass and soil. Soon after he looked further upward, absorbing the darkness of the sky and the barely-visible clouds that loomed above the city.

I’ll work it out, he thought, beginning to stroll away in the opposite direction. Believe me, I will.




Listening to the pouring rain outside the hotel, Slater calmly initiated the recording for his latest speech. The internet-savvy public were yet to tune in, but he had a fairly good idea of what he wanted to say, having formulated the idea in his head over a couple of hours.

‘Devout followers of the Bible believe that, once upon a time, God purged the Earth of sinners with a great flood. He believed his creation had been contaminated by evil, and so he wanted to reset the world and start afresh. The one man he trusted, Noah, was instructed to build an Ark, capable of holding his family members and two of every animal. After forty days and forty nights, the flood settled. Noah sent out a turtle dove to search for signs of life, and when that angelic bird returned with an olive branch, Noah knew the deed had been done. And so they all rejoiced on that Ark, and future Christians defined that olive branch, along with the turtle dove, as symbolic objects of peace.’

‘Now, I’m not a religious individual, as problematic as that is to admit. In fact I’m rather agnostic when it comes to God and other deities, so Bible stories perceived as fact don’t exactly resonate that well with me. But it seems to me, and I think that Christians and Catholics can agree, that with the recent terror attacks in Paris... not to mention the countless wars and murders over the centuries… that God failed with his plan. An almighty creator, omnipotent and powerfully absolute, could not prevent evil from coming back. Why he never tried again is anyone’s guess, but his believers often say that God never intervened due to the concept of Heaven and Hell. The sinners burn, whereas the decent ascend to eternal harmony.’

‘However, this story does hold some weight in regards to professional wrestling, but for an entirely different reason. You see, the Orphanage think they can play God, deciding who gets to live… and who gets to suffer. They aim to control every aspect of VoW, and of course that has resulted in rebellion. I’m one of those wrestlers attempting to stop them, and at the last Breakthrough, I got my chance to give them a statement in the form of their leader, Casanova English.’

‘I fought the Messiah… and I defeated the Messiah. In other words, I vanquished a version of God, and my aching neck and shoulder remind me of that triumph every single day. The Orphanage were given their notice. Soon enough, they will no longer be the Gods they aim to become, and… at least for the moment… VoW will breathe in the air of renewed tranquility.’

‘But when it comes to playing God… I don’t believe anyone can hold a candle to Artemis Kaiser.’

‘No one remembers the last time she lost a match… legitimately. No one remembers the last time she didn’t leave someone screaming in agony, almost begging for mercy at her crippling hands. But there is one thing people do remember about her. She christened herself a ”Champion For Life”, but not only that… she deemed herself the ”God of Anger”.’

‘Artemis… there is no denying that what you’ve accomplished in your career is more than impressive. Wherever you have gone, you have conquered them all. More often than not, you have stood over your foes, smiling down at their suffering. Just recently you dominated Owen Gonsalves, and before that you almost ruined Stacy Jones’ in-ring career. Truth be told… I wouldn’t hesitate to say I’m a little intimidated by your actions. Considering my current health, I don’t think anyone seriously believes I can win… and I can’t be agitated at them for thinking that. After all, you’ve broken the healthiest of spirits in short order, so what chance does a man with a damaged neck and shoulder truly have?’

‘But here’s the thing you need to realize about me, Artemis. No matter what physical shape I’m in, I stand my ground. I wrestle with every ounce of determination I can muster, because there is always that chance to win. Even when it seems everything is against me… even when it seems I can’t break the impossible… I strive to do that, and I have done that. I returned from a career-threatening injury and sent Calvin Harris packing at Armed and Dangerous. Now Casanova knows how defeat feels after many months avoiding it, joining the list of others I kept down for the three count or successful submission.’

‘I intend… with every fibre of my being… to do the same to you in Sheffield at Darkest Hour. I mean no disrespect to your achievements and skills… but your act of playing God will soon conclude… even if I have to crawl on my broken, ravaged limbs to give you your first genuine defeat in a long, long time.’

‘I’m not sure how many people worship the ground I walk on… but I have never defined myself as a God of any kind. In the Bible, one of the reasons God flooded the Earth was due to the people worshipping false idols. I hate to say this to my Christian supporters out there… but God seems to have egomaniacal issues. He did not want anyone worshipping anything else but him, and because they did… complete genocide was the drastic action he took.’

‘People support you, Artemis, and quite frankly, some of them do worship the ground you walk on. But honestly, you don’t really care what they think. All you’re concerned about is being a God of wrestling, a Champion for life… a legendary combatant of mythical proportions. But you will not purge this environment and redefine it as your own, just like the Orphanage want to do. I will not allow it. There is nothing wrong with pursuing championships - I mean, if a wrestler doesn’t have the desire to become the World Heavyweight Champion, they should not be in this sport - but when you start ending careers for personal enjoyment… then you’re really crossing the line with me.’

‘So come Darkest Hour, Artemis… go ahead and walk down that aisle as the ”God of Anger”... go ahead and step into that ring as the ”Champion For Life”... throw as many deadly elbow strikes as you please, because I promise you one thing… whether broken and bloodied from the encounter, I will not be consumed by your destructive flood. I will grab that olive branch for dear life… and you will fail to eradicate my career… ultimately failing as the God you aspire to be.'