The Self-Destruction of The Hardcore Hero

“People will notice the change in your attitude towards them, but won’t notice their behaviour that made you change.”

May 30, 2016

Saint City

17 days until Fate of the Gods II

Embers swirl and shoot skyward in the dancing flames. I watch on with an inscrutable gaze, witnessing it climb ever higher into the night. It gains size and stature with every stained memory tossed upon it - photos, diaries, old ring gear - anything even remotely reminiscent of The Requiem, reduced to smouldering cinders in the base of the blaze. I don’t dare turn away; I want to make sure every remnant of my former life is gone for good.

Moments in time that were once considered precious seem to disappear as soon as they burn; resemblant of an effigy. So many photographs of us from when we were growing up in the business, reaching all the way back to our rookie year, 2010, when we cut our teeth as Heath and Taylor Williams; a photograph of us shaking hands, just moments after he - as the FBW General Manager - had authorised my very first World Championship Match at FBW’s Concussion event; a promotional picture of us after winning the EBW Tag Team Championship; the very first time we wrestled each other in friendly competition, in an Iron Man Match in 2011, with the DUW World Heavyweight Championship at stake. We grew in this business together; each memory adds more mass to the fire, as if it’s representing the bond we shared growing stronger with each accomplishment we achieved.

I know what you’re thinking; why don’t I just throw the whole album onto the fire and be done with it? No. That method is far too reckless - something might survive. Besides, I want to see everything destroyed with my own two eyes. I’ve been blamed for the conclusion of The Requiem many times; know-nothing morons who think that just because I pulled the trigger, I must've been the one to destroy the team. But they all fail to see that The Requiem was dead long before that.

We were having our differences, stemming back to before we became the VoW Twin City Champions. Heath was using again, and I was firmly against it. Missy did her job, and she did it well - she patched the cracks in our team and swept our issues under the rug before the media could catch wind and blow it out of proportion. The thing about doing that is it’s never a long-term fix.

“You're out here late,” I hear a young woman’s voice state. Without even turning my head, I can identify exactly who’s speaking to me. Eyes gazing into the flames, I wait for a moment before responding.

“Shouldn't you be in bed, Mimi?”

“Couldn't sleep,” she replies. I can hear the leaves and twigs crunching under her sandals as she approaches me. Standing by my side, she joins me in watching the blazing fire. “What are you doing?”

“Making sure my past dies,” I bluntly inform her, in a tone designed to make it clear that I’m not in the mood for small talk. She seemingly catches the hint at first, as she shies away momentarily; but not even a full minute elapses before she's back at it again.

“Why do you do the things you do, daddy?” she questions.

“What have I told you about calling me that?” I snap, turning towards her. She freezes like a statue as I take a soothing breath, turning back to the burning barrel.

“I'm sorry, didn't mean to make you mad, It’s just...when I call you that, it makes me feel better…”

She latches onto my arm with both of her little hands, pulling it closer towards her as she rests her head upon my shoulder. Normally I’d be livid, but for some unexplained reason, I feel a sense of pride within me - this broken young girl trusts me enough to consider me her father. In a strange way, it's my responsibility that she - along with all of the other kids in Saint City - don't turn out like Heath Williams.

As I continue tossing photos from the album onto the fire, making certain that everything is thoroughly destroyed, I start to notice a common trend occurring in these snapshots in time; Heath’s appearance changes drastically, while mine remains relatively the same. Sure, flipping through the photo album, you can see I’ve lost and gained a few kilos several times, but his metamorphosis is far more drastic; he goes from a clean-shaven, suit-wearing, well-presented young man into what can only be described as a very sick-looking person by comparison - filthy beard, terrible posture, ragged clothes that even a homeless bum would consider less-than-presentable. It’s hard to notice when you’re living in the moment, when you’re spending every waking moment with this individual - I knew he was sick, but when you can look back and forward at the yet-to-be-scorched photos, you get an idea of just how far down he slipped, thanks to the drugs and alcohol that consumed him.

With half the album destroyed, I turn my attention to Mimi for a moment.

“You know that drugs are bad for you...right?” I softly ask her for clarification.

Her hand slides down my arm and grabs onto mine, squeezing gently. Still hypnotised by the fire, she mumbles back, “Of course I do. You and Mother have raised me well.”

“Good. Because you know, drugs ruin lives. Not just your own, but the lives of those around you.”

Pulling away from the embrace slightly, she runs her free hand through her hair and paints that heart-warming smile upon her face.

“Is that what happened to that bad man you’ll be wrestling?” she asks innocently, with a smile so sweet it makes honey jealous.

I don't respond. Instead, I pull her in close for another embrace as we watch the roaring fire. This girl - whether she understands it or not - is relying on me to maintain what little innocence she has left. I can't scar her with every detail of the horrible antics Heath has partaken in over the years; the booze, the drugs… All of the careers and lives he ruined on his way to the top. He would step on anyone if it meant getting ahead - including me - and he has.

When it came time to return to the ring from concussion issues I’d been suffering, Future Bebo Wrestling had since folded, and there was a new game in town; OWA, the Online Wrestling Alliance. OWA had bought the rights to the FBW name and its content, and for a brief period, actually had FBW’s top title - the FBW Galaxy Championship - actively defended at its events. Naturally, I knew that was where I needed to go next.

The photo album notably has no pictures from this time period. When I had returned from injury, the 6-8 month stretch without my positive influence was more than enough time for Heath’s demons to enslave him. He had become a shadow of the man he once was, and turned his back on everyone who had cared about him; breaking off contact so that they couldn’t tear him away from the euphoria he was experiencing. When I reached out to OWA, I was told that they were unable to accommodate me - maybe it was the fact that they couldn’t afford my contract on the money they were earning; or perhaps they’d heard that Heath and I weren’t on the best terms, and they didn’t want to risk upsetting one of their top talents; Heath himself could’ve told them “If he’s in, I’m out”. Whatever the reason, there was no way the company was willing to part with one of their most popular wrestlers, so I was told to seek employment elsewhere. I’ve never blamed OWA for their decision; after all, Heath Williams was the “better brother”; men, women and children alike all preferred the unpredictable antics of the Hardcore Hero, and I completely understand why. It was good for business, in their eyes.

As time went on, Heath left OWA to go to rehab and I eventually took my rightful place on the OWA roster; this occurred after my bout with depression. Feeling the sting of rejection is hard - especially when you have low self-esteem to begin with - and when a barely-coherent, drugged-up former friend of mine was chosen over me, I took it hard. I never turned to drugs to ease my pain, because I’d witnessed the life-shattering effect they had on my family and friends; instead, I found my comfort where I always have - food. As I ate, I started feeling worse about myself, so I ate more… You get the point. So, by the time I finally joined OWA, I was at the biggest weight of my professional career… All thanks to the selfishness of Heath Williams.

“It’s getting pretty late,” I whisper to Mimi, who’s falling asleep on my shoulder. “Don’t you think you should be heading off to bed?”

She lets out a cute little sigh in response, squeezing my hand again. “Just a little longer, please…”

I take a seat on a log by the fire, allowing her to rest horizontally across my lap as I continue to sift through the album. Towards the end of it, pictures of me are seen in VoW - my debut match with Brett Carson; winning the Zero Gravity Championship. I was so distraught by the train wreck that was my run in OWA that I decided to drop the Taylor Williams name entirely and stick with using my real name - I wanted nothing to do with Heath Williams, or the trouble he brought with him. But, soon after my debut, he actually reached out to me. He explained that he’d come across my matches, and they reawakened that passion inside him. He was clean and wanted to get back into wrestling.

And like a fool, I believed him.

Something poetic happens as I toss the final pictures on the fire - it begins to drizzle with rain. Not enough to make me want to pack up shop and head for cover, but just enough to hurt the fire and reduce its mass; it’s as if mother nature itself knows that this is the point where The Requiem began to die. With the fire diminishing and the album empty, I toss the book - the last surviving remnant of my time partnering with Heath - onto it as a conclusion. Because it’s damp from the light rain - combined with the material it’s made from - it doesn’t burn; instead, it puts the dwindling fire out completely.

As night rolls into day, Mimi and I head back to the dormitories so that she can be accounted for at Daily Roll Call. She gives me a peck on the cheek as we part ways.

June 2, 2016

Saint City

14 days until Fate of the Gods II

I arrive at the deserted kitchen to fix myself some breakfast -- it's far too early for any children, which means the majority of the food is uneaten. I get first pick of the day, just how I like it. I can finally get some peace and quiet; here I am, munching away on my cereal, feeling pretty good about myself…until I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Thought I'd find you here!” a baritone voice declares. I spin in my seat to see the mass of humanity known as Gristle staring back at me.

“What are you doing here?” I quiz, shocked and annoyed that he somehow managed to find me. I can’t comprehend how it’s possible, considering how far off the map we are.

“That’s not important right now,” he replies, pulling out the chair next to me and seating himself the incorrect way, leaning his beefy arms across what would normally be the backrest.

“I beg to differ,” I grumble, refusing to turn to him as I stir my cereal. “The point of this place was for Jos, myself, and all the kids to live away from the judgment of narrow-minded people like you.”

“Look, man… I’m not here to try and talk you into or out of anything. I just want to chat to my friend.”

I can’t figure out what he’s getting at, or why he’d assume I’d want to chat with him, of all people. I haven’t heard from Gristle in a very long time, and it’s convenient that he shows up just as the true extent this Heath issue comes to public light.

If you’re not caught up on everything, Ben Digby (better known as Gristle) is an old childhood friend of mine, whom I watched wrestling with back in the day. Ben was always larger than everyone around him, and pretty imposing because of it; being the stick figure I was back then, I was prone to bullying, and Ben was quick to my defense. He was like a bodyguard - the big brother I never had.

When he and his family moved away, I remember being devastated - I didn’t make friends very well at all, so the few I had, I held very close. We didn’t see each other for several years until he returned to the school, but nothing was the same - he’d changed in the time he was gone, and became a complete stranger. We’d go on to mend fences later on in high school, when we both began training for the ring. Even though we were close enough to be considered friends, I’ve never seen him that way since the day he left my life.

“Talk,” I order him, continuing to eat the cereal that’s been reduced to mush by its accompanying milk.

“I’m not about to pretend I know what’s going through your head, because I don’t. But, do you?”

I shoot him a look that says “Are you serious?”, and I think he senses the hostility - he leans back slightly, but doesn’t change the subject.

“Do you even realise you’re hurting someone you spent your entire adult life training and improving with?” he questions me. “I mean, come on, dude… Think about what you’re doing here.”

How dare he. He’s got no clue what’s going on here, nor does he know how Heath’s mind works. He wasn’t there the first time around, he doesn’t understand that this isn’t gonna end with a simple conversation over tea and biscuits. Heath will always refuse to listen to reason.

“I thought you said you weren’t going to try and talk me out of anything,” I snap, throwing the stainless steel spoon back into the bowl, sending some of the slush flying across the table.

“I’m just trying to appeal to your sense of reason, buddy,” Ben declares, pulling off a calming tone akin to what a therapist would use. “This isn’t who you are, man…”

I angrily slam my fist on the table in front of me and turn to him with unbridled fury.

“Maybe it’s not who you think I am!” I bellow. “But it’s who I need to be.”

I waste no time standing from my seat, and leaving yet another former friend in my rearview mirror as I march from the cafeteria. It’s still a mystery to me how so many people can’t understand just why I’m doing this. I’ve explained time and time again that Heath Williams is a very dangerous individual, but nobody has the sense to believe me, even with all the evidence piling up on Breakthrough week after week. I was forced to watch as my friend circled the same drain he had years ago; as the pressures of performing on such an elevated stage continued to build, he turned to the harder substances. It’s a miracle Tyler Storm made it out of that match at Nothing Else Matters in one piece - I’ve seen Heath lunge at opponents with a live chainsaw in a drug-fuelled rage!

Striding across the vast island, there's only one destination I have in mind: Rebecca Saint’s Living Quarters. Climbing the stairs leading up to her sanctuary is always an endurance test, as I'm pretty exhausted by the time I reach the top.

“Hey! You in there?!” I shout, banging on the front door, still trying to catch my breath. I quickly realise the frustration in my voice may be masked by my gasping for oxygen.

“It's open,” a voice calls back from the other side of the wooden door.

I push the door open and see Rebecca sitting in her chair, legs folded, reading a magazine as the ocean breeze blows in through the open window. She doesn't even acknowledge my presence; she's completely fixated on whatever article is so interesting to her.

“Do you have any idea what goes on around here?” I question her. Without taking her eyes off the magazine, she reaches out and grabs a small handful of m&m's from a glass bowl situated next to her and tosses them into her mouth before responding - my pet peeve.

“What you mean?” she answers a question with one of her own, the small chunks of the candy-coated chocolate swishing around her mouth loudly as she chews them.

“Gristle is down there! He came up to me in the cafeteria!”

“Yeah, I know,” she states, still chewing obnoxiously loud.

“You know? What do you mean you know?”

“I invited him here.”

“Why would you do that?!” I ask angrily, moving forward into the room.

“I have my reasons,” she remains cryptic, flipping the page of her magazine as she swallows her snack. Before it even reaches her stomach, she's already grabbed more to shovel into her mouth - the cycle of irritation continues.

“Gristle is on the list of the absolute last people I want to see right now,” I inform her, pacing back and forth to try and eradicate the urge to punch a hole in the wall. As you'd expect, she doesn't respond - her magazine is far more important. As she reaches for another handful of m&m's, I lunge forward and latch onto her hand before she can place them into her mouth. “That's enough of that,” I quietly declare, lowering her hand back into the bowl. There's little resistance, and she dusts her hand off after relinquishing the chocolates.

“You don't need to be a big baby about this,” she states, glancing up at me from her reading material for a split second.

“Can't you just tell my why you'd bring him here?” I plead with her. In a huff, she slams the magazine closed, throws it down on the seat beside her and stands to confront me.

“I did it because I wanted to make sure you’re focused on what you're at Fate of the Gods to do,” she states.

“What are you talking about?”

“You and I are different from everyone else,” she explains, walking by me toward the opposite end of the room. I turn in my place to watch her as she continues to speak. “People like Gristle - they don't think the way that we do, because they're not like us. We’re unique; we’re better than they are.”

She turns around to face me.

“They're inferior to us, and can't see the bigger picture; do you remember why we broke away and came to this island?”

“To give these kids another chance?” I take a stab in the dark.

She begins slowly walking back towards me.

“Precisely. We really are - for lack of a better term - visionaries. We’re doing this to help them - those kids who come from broken homes - because they deserve to live a life without that constant conflict. Their alcoholic mothers and drug-abusive fathers create a toxic environment that makes them hate this beautiful life…”

She comes to a stop directly in front of me, her big brown eyes gazing up at mine.

“Does it make us the bad guys for saving them from that?” she asks.

“Of course it doesn't,” I'm quick to respond, because why would it? No child should ever have to go through that.

“Not everyone shares your opinion,” she informs me with a smirk, brushing her hand against my forearm as she walks past me once again. “People like Gristle will try and tell you that this is a cult; they’ll tell you I'm brainwashing these kids.”

“Are you?”

“Not at all,” she assures me, approaching the bowl of m&m's. “I simply give them guidance; without someone to call the shots, we would have anarchy.”

She grabs a handful of candy, pivots in her place and faces me. “People live in society with a government, and politicians who change the way they live. They break the law, they go to jail. Isn't that, by their logic, living in a cult?”

“...Where are you going with this?” I question, open palms raised to the ceiling in perplexity.

“Heath Williams is a hazard to himself, and everyone around him. I know you’ve been telling everyone that very same thing for months now, and I know - outside of Mimi, probably - I’m the firstperson to believe you. I want you to see that people will try and tell you that you're doing the wrong thing, mainly because they don't understand why you're doing it.” She places a single m&m in her mouth as she approaches me again. “What matters is how you feel about what you're doing. People constantly tried to discourage me from establishing Saint City, but I knew it was the right thing to do; much like people will tell you that ending your former friend’s career is wrong. The question is…”

She pulls me into an embrace, placing several of the candies into my mouth before whispering: “...are you gonna listen to them?”

She’s right! It’s like she can read my mind. I have no doubts that what I’m doing - and what I’m planning to do - is the right thing for everyone, whether they like it or not. Much like the photos in the album, you can’t see what’s going on while you’re living in the moment - it’s only when you step back and look at everything that you see the magnitude of the situation. I’m convinced now more than ever that I’m in love with this woman, and that I have to be the one to force Heath Williams into retirement. Before I can respond to her, she latches onto me, and we’re soon entwined in a passionate kiss.

June 6,2016

Location: Unknown (presumably somewhere in St. Paul, Minnesota)

10 days until Fate of the Gods II

I'm seated silently in the very same dark room, at the very same table that I have been broadcasting from for weeks now. The Heath Williams Tour of Self-Destruction has been a rocky road - an emotional, undesirable trip down memory lane, and into the hearts and minds of those who directly suffered from the impact of Heath’s derailment. I know how tough it must've been for those folks to relive such tragic events in front of a national audience, but I felt I owed it to them - I wasn't able to stop him back then.

This time will be different.

“Good evening, America,” I greet the viewers, sitting at the table with my hands folded. “I'd like to thank all of you for joining me on this roller coaster ride known as the Self-Destruction Tour, and I hope it has been an eye-opening experience; I hope you youngsters out there who think it is a good idea to imitate Heath Williams have seen the consequences for those kind of actions; and any parents watching, I hope you realise how serious this issue is, and that you need to step up your game when monitoring the type of people your children look up to.”

I stand from my seat, peeling a Valencia orange as I slowly make my way around to the camera side of the table.

“I could talk to you all day about how the majority of the VoW roster are terrible role models; for each upstanding citizen - such myself, Ace Watson, Matt Robinson - you also have your fair share of delinquents - Stacy Jones, Kelsey Spencer and Katie Moicelle are names that spring to mind.”

I toss the orange peel onto the table behind me, break off a piece of the fruit and pop it into my mouth.

“Now, the likes of Stacy and Katie may seem like the bottom of the barrel - and trust me, anyone willing to openly discuss their sexual encounters on a public forum such as Twitter comes pretty close, in my view - they’re still head and shoulders above one individual. You all know who I'm talking about: the I4NI Champion, Heath Williams. The--”

Pause for air quotes.

“...’Hardcore’ Hero himself; the man who needs a warhammer in order to deal with me. I know that this installment in particular will be the one Heath is going to be tuning in to watch, so I hope you folks don’t mind if I speak to him directly. Don’t worry - I’ll ensure any and all profanities are censored for your little ones before this goes to air.”

I eat another orange segment, pacing back and forth before coming to a stop in front of the camera.

“Do you know what really gets under my skin when it comes to you, Heath? The fact that you can shoot your heroin, snort your cocaine, ingest your magic mushies - indulge in every illegal substance under the sun, without a care in the world - and the people running this company pat you on the back, praise you for a job well done and reward you with title opportunities. While people like me - honest to goodness, hard-working people like me - are fat-shamed by them, and told to “go and shed a few pounds”! VoW’s representatives like to tell the media that they crack down on substance abuse, yet someone such as myself - who has never used drugs, and never will - is ostracised, while a junkie like you is promoted!

But unfortunately, that’s just the world we live in today; those who are trying to turn their lives around - maybe lose a little weight - they’re subjected to fat jokes and other forms of discrimination; take a look at Ryder Blade’s Twitter feed from late last year for reference. Casanova English had some choice words about my appearance a couple of weeks back, and I barely know the guy outside of fighting your battles for you! But people who are genuinely sick, and struggling with life-consuming addictions are put on a pedestal… Rewarded for this disgusting behaviour! ‘Heath Williams has a bright future!’, they cry. ‘That belt was made for Heath!’

I was the first double champion in VoW history. In fact, I'm the only individual to hold that distinction to this day! Did I get a parade? No, of course not. Was my name up in lights? Ha, are youkidding? All anyone could talk about was Heath freakin’ Williams…”

I turn my back to the camera for a moment, placing the orange down on the table, balled fists leaning on either side of the fruit.

“‘When will Heath break out on his own?’ People asked. ‘Will Tyron ever stop riding Heath’s coat tails?’ Regardless of what people like Zahara Matisse would probably lead you to believe, this was never a case of jealousy…”

I turn back, facing the camera with an aggression that's shown itself many times before. I can feel my blood boiling beneath the skin, the nerves in my face reacting almost as if I've been physically burned.

“They don't get it! If it weren't for me, you wouldn't even be here! You'd be dead in a hole back in New Zealand somewhere, with a syringe sticking out of your arm if I wasn't around to save you every time you fell apart. You may have passed the drug test on Breakthrough not too long ago, but now that you're all alone again, it's only a matter of time before you slip back into your old habits; I watched your series of vlogs, I saw you struggling to retain your sanity.

It eats away at you, doesn't it, Heath? Everyday, the cravings get stronger, feeding off your will to stay clean like a parasitic leech.”

I pick the remainder of the orange up for a visual demonstration.

“It gourges, and gourges, and gourges, until one day…”

I ball my fist, squashing the orange pieces - a shroud of citric acid showering the camera and its lens.

“...It bursts - your will has been sucked dry - and, once again, the addiction has consumed you.”

I walk back around to the opposite side of table, cleaning the orange juice off my arm as I take my place.

“I didn't want it to come to this, Heath… I really didn't. I would much rather have the option to talk this out with you like adults; sadly, we both know you're anything but. You're a child when it comes to giving up that euphoria; you'll bite, scratch and claw to hold onto it, even at the cost of your health and your friends.

I take no pride in having to destroy your career - mainly because I was the one who built it to the level it attained. I was the one who brought you into VoW; I was the one who carried you to the Twin City Championship! As a matter of fact, we'd still be Twin City Champions right now if you had just listened to me and never started using again; instead, you pissed it all away and cost us the titles without even knowing you'd done it, because you were that f*cked up on whatever you had taken.”

I tone it down a notch for a minute, resting my hands on the table and averting my gaze from the camera lens momentarily.

“You have no idea how hard I worked to get here. You can't imagine what I went through up until, and including, the moment I finally became the Zero Gravity Champion; I felt like a King; I f*cking did it.

Winning the Twin City Championship meant just as much, if not more - within six months, I'd achieved what no-one else could in years.”

I glance back at the camera, my fists clenching involuntarily as I remember the moment it all came crashing down around me.

“Having to babysit you ended all that; I was so distracted trying to make sure that you weren’t going to overdose that I let my guard down, and it ultimately cost me - I lost my Zero Gravity Title to a runt half my size.”

I circle the table once more, much slower this time.

“When you showed up to Double Jeopardy drunk and high, I knew I had my work cut out for me - I was, yet again, going to have to be the captain of the sinking ship called The Requiem. As skilled as I am, even I couldn't swerve around the iceberg that night - we went down to The Neon Babes, all because of your incompetence.

I should've seen it coming going into this; I took a gamble on you, and lost everything. It was in that moment that I realised I had no other choice - I had to take you out, for not only my sake, but yours as well; your addiction had messed with your mental health so badly at that point, you actually believed you were three different people!”

I come to a stop behind the table, slamming a closed fist on it.

“I did what I had to do! I wasn't willing to go down that road again! Unlike you, I’m someone who learns from my past mistakes, and words simply won’t get through to you. You were my friend, and I cared about you; I needed to end your career before anyone else could get hurt, and so I took you down with The Buster Breaker at Nothing Else Matters.”

I look away and chuckle to myself for a second; it's not a chuckle of amusement, but rather a situation where you're so frustrated, it's just a natural response.

“You couldn't leave it at that, could you? You had to be this fearsome warrior returning from the dead!”

Arms spread wide for sarcastic emphasis.

“I gave you a free pass to go home, hug your son, forget about wrestling and get clean - get the help you need! Instead, you chose to retaliate and demand this match against me at Fate of the Gods, well…”

I pause, biting my tongue. I know I have to keep my composure to some degree, or he's going to see this and believe he's gotten into my head. I ultimately decide to take a seat, folding my arms and placing my feet up on the table.

“Do you remember what happened your first night here, Heath? September 28, 2015; Armed and Dangerous in Thunder Bay, Ontario; you appeared in a pre-show match for your first exposure to a VoW crowd. And you fought well in that match, especially considering one of your opponents that night was Kincaid - but, you lost following a Red River Crossing.”

I put my feet down, stand up once more and calmly walk back around the table, toward the camera; all the while continuing to talk, like a college professor dictating a history lecture.

“I distinctly remember that night, because it was the same night I won my very first title here. Who did I beat again..?”

I shake my head.

“His name’s not important. I’ll tell you what is important, though; once I beat him, he was never seen inside a VoW ring again.

Fast forward to Breakthrough #37 in Birmingham, Alabama; the night I lead The Requiem to the Twin City Championship following a defeat of The Cutthroat Corps. Can you tell me where Cera and Dathyn are now?”

I stand idly by the camera, stare deep into it as if I'm looking Heath right in the eyes.

“Exactly - they're both gone.”

I continue to pace around in full professor mode once again.

“You see, Heath, when I walk into a championship match as the challenger, I leave as champion; and everyone I beat, sooner or later, disappears from the VoW landscape; Heath, Fate of the Gods will be no different.”

My pacing ceases as I stand behind the desk.

“My theory is that when I beat you and become the I4NI Champion, you’ll follow suit and leave VoW, just like the three aforementioned individuals; once that happens, the healing process can begin! You can mend strained relationships, fight your demons, kick your filthy habits - all without the stresses of the wrestling industry to hinder your recovery. Now, I'll be the first to admit that in the beginning, I had no interest in that belt of yours - I look back at its history, and I find it laughable; the very foundation of the title’s establishment was toughness, and yet the major holder of it has been...Mr. Sensitive, Tyler Storm, of all people? I've seen Spelling Bees more hardcore than the match the pair of you had!

No, I had zero interest in that championship… That is, until I saw how much it meant to you in that interview. You leapt to defend that belt’s history and what it represents with such passion and intensity, it was almost as if I'd insulted you personally. That championship is more than just an accomplishment to you, isn't it? It's an extension of who you are, it makes you feel complete. It's like the ultimate drug, right? One where the buzz never fades.

Having seen what it means to you, I want that championship now more than ever.”

I approach the camera one more time; this needs to be said up close.

“I want to take from you what you cost me twice - the thrill of being a champion in this business. I want you to feel the same hollow feeling and sense of regret - the same thoughts of failure that I had to endure each time your selfish drug use cost me my glory! When all this began, all I wanted was to show a struggling friend that he needed psychological help, to prevent the deterioration of his mental health; but now…

Now, I won't be satisfied until you're broken - shattered - lying in a pool of your own blood. This aptly-named Pick Your Poison Match - for the aptly-named I4NI Championship - is your life’s biggest mistake, Williams. You have to endure a minimum of two falls in that ring with a pissed off silverback that you've been poking and prodding relentlessly.”

I step back from the camera for a moment, taking a deep, cleansing breath.

“Don’t mistake my confidence for conceit, Heath; I know this isn’t going to be easy; I know you’re not going to go down without the fight of your life, but I welcome that. Not only do I want to end your career and make you suffer for all of your misdeeds, but I want to embarrass you in front of the entire VoW fanbase! For too long, they’ve considered me second to you, but that ends in Minnesota at Fate of the Gods II, with me lifting the I4NI Championship in triumph!”

I switch my focus back to the viewers, as I prepare to close the show.

“Thank you once again for taking this ride with me, America. It’s been turbulent, I know, but it’ll be smooth sailing soon enough. Just a word of warning, though: If you have little ones, I advise you against purchasing the pay-per-view, or sending them out into the backyard to play during the first portion of the show, because you’re not going to want them to see the bloodbath I unleash upon Heath Williams. I wouldn’t want to scar them for life.

So, America, as we head toward Fate of the Gods II - and the demise of Heath Williams’ career - I want to wish you an extra-special good night, for the fourth and final time on this tour…”

I approach the camera one final time on my way out of frame.