Let's Streak! ... Okay, Not Like That.

--- Prologue ---

One! Two! Three!

Max held onto the ring apron loosely in defeat outside of the ring as Datura’s hand is raised in victory. The crowd had mixed reactions for the heel. Some booed her for her attitude and how she took the match into her own hands. Some praised her for it as well as her athletic ability shown in the match.

Max drowned it all out. The Perfect Disaster hung his head low by the ring apron as his hand slowly slipped away from it. His return match and momentum… instantly brought to a halt.

“You tried, Max!”

“Get up and stand up! You had the match won!”

Max shook his head to the fans trying to urge him on. He got up from the floor when the dizziness from the belly-to-belly passed, and left the arena quietly, despite the appraisal from those in the front rows.

---

Breakthrough 45. I’m not very proud of how that went down. I’m not very proud of my performance. I came into that match at less than one-hundred percent.

I came up short. Datura got the victory. Patrick Jones took the fall that I probably should have been taking instead. C’est la vie.

I screwed my return up hard.

But it’s whatever. You know why? I don’t plan on making that mistake twice.

Fate of the Gods II. The biggest PPV for the Visionaries of Wrestling. The culmination of a year gone by.

I’m not going to make the same mistake of showing up short again. The people want my best.

They’re getting my best.

--- Act One ---

The Disaster walked along the halls of the Roy Wilkins Auditorium with a sigh. His gear was packed away for the most part in his duffle bag. He traded his merchandise shirt and wrestling sweats for a Panic! At The Disco T-Shirt and a pair of ripped jeans. The only thing that could tell him apart from other unruly teenage would be the signature fedora he wore to the ring. As he walked the halls, he bowed the brim of his hat low, as to not have to look at any of the fans passing by. The defeat was still getting the best of him.

However, one thing caught his eye. Throughout the hallways of the Auditorium were posters for Fate of the Gods. Katie Moicelle, the current reigning Zero Gravity Champion, was set to defend against Tristan Ambrose and Ace Watson. Max stopped in-front of that poster for a moment and stared down Katie and the 0G Championship over her shoulder before placing a longing hand over it. He held it there for a moment before moving past it.

If I keep acting up like this, I’ll never get a shot at her. Hell, with how things seem, she might be one of the hardest hills to climb with her position so far up on the next card.

“Hey! Give that back!”

The sudden shouting from off to the side took Max out of his longing gaze. He turned around and saw the scene fully. A child was crying with his middle-aged looking mother… as three grown men, probably drunk, loom over them.

The first one was tall and lanky.

The second one was a little on the short-stacked side.

The third, the one in the middle and the biggest of them all, held a replica World Visionary Championship belt over his shoulder with a smirk. He was a perfect mix of the two: tall and bulky.

“Or what? What exactly are you going to do?” The brute ‘champion’ told the woman straight to her face. His friends didn’t have to do a thing to help him, the woman already looked intimidated as well.

“... I’ll call the police.” She shakily said. They all merely laughed.

“The police? Is that your best shot? What are they going to do? Shoot an innocent black person? Get out of my way already.”

“Actually, I am going to ask that you give that back. Now.” Max said as he finally got close to the scene, standing between the mother of the child and the one holding the championship belt.

“Oh? And just who are you?”

“Doesn’t matter. Give it back. I’m not going to repeat it.”

“You have about as much bark as a chihuahua, shorty. You scare me about as much as the woman does behind you. You her husband?”

“Nope. Just someone getting tired of bullies.”

With that, Max instantly rushed to point-blank range of the man, looking for a knee to the gut--

WHACK!!

-- and instead took a straight right hand to the dome, sending him spiraling to the ground. He barely held himself up on the ground. The match prior to this encounter did not help Max in the slightest.

“Oh… I see who you are now. You’re the overhyped brat who returned to VOW? That faggot, right? Well, would you look at that… BOYS! I just knocked a wrestler! I really am a champion, now!” The man boasted before holding the championship high. Right after, he made sure the wrestler stayed down with a firm kick straight to the ribs right after. Max writhed on the floor at that point as the pain started to shoot through his body again. He wasn’t prepared to get into a fight, not after the match he had gone through. “Come on, let’s get out of here, guys. I’d say we’ll see you again, kid, but… no one really cares for PRE-SHOW matches!”

The trio of jocks turned and left, leaving the child crying where he stood. The mother walked over to Max. “Are you okay?”

“If I can take… agh… a piledriver… onto steel steps, then a punch and a kick isn’t going to do much more than hurt my pride. But, thanks.” Max said as he started to push himself off the ground. Instead of looking the mother in the face, though, he went straight for the child. With one arm weakly over his torso, favoring his ribs, he knelt down before the kid with a smile. In his other hand, he held his phone and asked:

“Give me… your name and either your own, or your mother’s, telephone number… and I promise you, I’ll make this up to you in time.

---

Craig Anderson.

You remind me a lot of myself, you know that?

I could do without the high flying action, though. The skies aren’t exactly my thing.

But, everything else about you, I like. I like it a lot.

I don’t have any ill-will towards you, Human Spitfire.

So… let’s put on a show people will enjoy, yes? You want respect and glory just as much as I do.

So, let’s get to earning it.

--- Act Two ---

The next day…

“Eye For An Eye. You would be the next on my list…” Max said to himself. He found himself walking around the Roy Wilkins Auditorium again as VOW staff worked to rid the halls of all the paraphernalia regarding Fate of the Gods. Max’s eyes managed to catch a passing glance at another championship match poster.

Pick Your Poison, Two-Out-Of-Three Falls Match
Defending I4NI Champion, Heath Williams
Versus
Challenger, Tyron Bickerton

Max merely scoffed to himself before walking on.

… you would be on my list, y’know, if Zero Gravity didn’t already seem out of my league right now.

---

“Yeah, I know those guys.” A security officer with the Auditorium said. “They’re a real pain in the ass, truth be told. Harassing bunch of bullies.”

“You wouldn’t happen to know where they like to hang out or anything, would you?” Max asked quietly from within the camera room as he saw himself get taken down to the ground again by the brute of the group.

“Unfortunately. They hang out at Patrick McGovern’s. Have ever since I’ve known them from college. Bunch of frats who haven’t changed one bit. You’ll probably find them in the corner, making sleazy remarks at passing women or trying to pick a fight with their man.”

“Despicable. Thank you for the lead.” Max said quietly before leaving the room.

It was only the afternoon by the time he finally left the Roy Wilkins, so he needed a bit of time to kill. So, for the day, Soloke hit up the closest gym for a bit of training. After a couple of hours of practicing his kicks and working out his cardio, he set out for the bar…

---

“Hey, baby! Nice legs, open twenty-four hours, right?”

“With a man like that next to her? Oh, I bet they’re just BEGGING to be made to do the splits with us.”

“You guys always want pussy. LOOK at those lips! Practically made for cock right there, am I right?”

The trio of idiots boasted away whilst chugging down their umpteenth beer. The couple scoffed and turned their attention away. It was around this time that Max stepped into the bar and got a nice look around the place. His eyes instantly trained onto the three troublemakers, but he chose not to approach them. Not yet.

But all the same, they still had that championship belt on them. They paraded it around like they actually won the real thing.

Max took a seat off to the side, merely watching their actions for now. The three seemed to be content with harassing the couple they locked their eyes on, so they continued. The tall and skinny one got up from his seat before taking a seat next to the woman.

“So, why do you keep with a stiff like that? All business-like. BORING! Why don’t you come to our place for a night. We’re FUN!”

The woman recoiled back for a moment, offended. “You don’t seem fun. You SEEM to be drunk and rude. Even if my boyfriend was ‘boring,’ I’d still take him over hollering dogs any day of the week.”

“Don’t be like that, dollface. We just want to show you a good time.” The drunk said before pulling her face close to his with a smirk and a bit of force. This time, the boyfriend got up between the two.

“She’s taken and most certainly not interested in you. Get away from her, before I show you to the door myself.”

“Is that right? Because I’m pretty sure you can’t me on… let alone my friends back there.” ‘Lanky’ one talked down to the man. As if on cue, the other two begin to get up…

… which leads the hooded figure to run interference just as fast. With a roll of quarters in his hand, he managed to blindside ‘Short-Stack’ with a punch to the back of the head. Before ‘Champ’ could even notice, Max went from target A to B, and dispatched him with a punch just as brutal. ‘Lanky’s’ skull bounced off the bar before he fell to the ground, unconscious. With two targets down, Max turned towards the third--

SMASH!

-- lights out. Max fell hard to the ground again. He recoiled in pain as he favored his forehead, which was now busted open and bleeding out. ‘Champ’ hit him hard with a glass bottle to the skull.

“Oh, look at that, it’s the little twerp again.” ‘Champ’ said before crouching down. At this point, the couple cowardly left the scene, not wanting to get involved with a fight in their own right. Max glared daggers up at the man. “How many times do I have to tell you this. You’re NOT getting that belt back. Now, stop stalking me! Else I’ll have to call the cops on you for assault and battery!”

The last remark he said in a mock manner as he started to collect his friends. The two injured guys limped out of the bar as quickly as they could as the third got up and left quickly behind them with a one-finger salute to the Disaster. He struggled for a moment to get off the bar’s floor, but managed… to get up just in time to be confronted by the manager, who stood before him with crossed arms and an impatient look.

“... I’ll pay for and clean up everything that just happened.”

---

Talon.

You and I are a lot like, too. Just a shame we’re on opposite sides of the same coin.

Momentum-Based Strikers.

You like to feel the breeze behind your every hit, much like I do.

You like the adrenaline of the fight. You like keeping the pace forever in your favor as you chop down even the burliest of enemies down to their knees.

I respect that about you. I hope you’re not cold to me as you seem to be to others.

Else it would make a match-up such as this so… boring!

--- Act Three ---

Showtime…

The weeks had gone by so fast since the go-home Breakthrough.

The Fate of the Gods was upon us.

The show was scheduled to start within a couple of hours. The doors were still shut for the spectators.

All the wrestlers had set up their things within their respective locker rooms.

It was merely a waiting game now.

Max sat down quietly in his locker room, glancing down at his phone miserably. He read through the messages he had sent the kid.

have u gotten back my belt yet mr?

No, I’m afraid not just yet. Will you be at FOTG? I’ll try to get it back to you by then.

yes. pls get back my belt, though. mom spent so much money to get me it… she’s no happy at all.

I’ll try my hardest.

Max scoffed to himself pitifully before putting his phone in his pocket. His wrestling gear wasn’t anything spectacular. The usual black sweatpants and kickpads with a color trim. For the month of June, he wore them with three rainbow stripes going down the sides of his legs, for his own gay pride. With that, he put on the rest of his entrance gear, from the wide-brim fedora to the trenchcoat, both with the same trim of color as his pants. He left the locker room soon after to roam the halls.

A couple of minutes after Max left his locker room was when the doors opened for spectators to flood the arena. Families of all sizes instantly crowded around merchandise and concession stands before the show. Who would blame them? The card was absolutely stacked for the night.

But they were not Max’s focus for the night. Instead, he roamed the halls looking for the same person he had been hunting throughout the week.

It wasn’t terribly hard to find the brutal man, either. Compared to the majority of visitors to the Xcel Energy Center, he stuck out much like a sore thumb. If his size wasn’t a dead giveaway… the championship belt over his shoulder was.

“HEY!”

The man turned… with the same arrogant grin he had been wearing since Breakthrough.

“Well, if it isn’t the faggot. Appropriately dressed, aren’t you?” ‘Champ’ said arrogantly. “If you’re here to ask if I’ll bang you… well, you’re not nearly feminine enough, I’m afraid. Try growing your hair out more and chopping off you already small dick before you try again.”

“I’m here to take back what isn’t yours.” Max said simply, yet cold. The people around the area slowly started to turn their attention towards the two whilst moving out of the way at the same time.

“Oh, my God. You’re STILL going on about this damn belt? Why? It’s not yours either, so why should you care?”

“I care because I’m not going sit by whilst a man your size goes around bullying CHILDREN.” Max took a stance after those words, primed and ready as if he was about to start off a match. “Now, either drop the belt and enjoy the show… or allow me to take great pleasure in destroying you as a warm-up.”

“A warm-up for what? Your silly little pre-show bout? You weren’t even good enough to make it on the main card… faggot.”

“I hope your fists move as much as your mouth… or else this is going to be VERY embarrassing for you.” The Disaster said before rushing forward one more time.

‘Champ’ grinned widely before throwing the championship belt to the side with a fist cocked back. This time around, Max anticipated and ducked the fist before driving his knee home right under the man’s ribs. He doubled over with his hands now holding over his stomach. He looked like he was already about to vomit. Probably was drinking before he even showed up to the event.

“Oh, is that your best shot, Chump?” Max started to taunt the bulky man with a grin of his own now as he paced around him. “How does it feel, then? To lose to a FAGGOT?”

The man started to stir again in anger. He popped up quickly and swing his fist wildly at Soloke, but the smaller wrestler ducked the attack again before dropping the man down with a drop-toe hold. At this point, the small gathering of people started to cheer for the scrapper. Max got back up to his feet and walked over to the replica championship belt. But, thunderous footsteps stopped his advances quickly as he turned around to face the man again.

“I… REFUSE… TO LOSE TO YOU!”

“... And I refuse to listen to you speak anymore.”

CRACK!

The ‘Champ’ fell to his knees with a straight-hitting superkick from Soloke. Max paced back for a moment, aiming his shot.

“You want to know the good thing about playing the striker in professional wrestling? Your finishing moves still hold potency… in the ring AND out of the ring. A knee to the face… is a knee to face.”

CRACK!!

The man fell back. It was lights out this time around. He laid back on the cold floor of the arena, unconscious. Max stood over him for a moment with a smirk before backing away from him, favoring his knee just a little bit.

“You’ve got a thick skull, though. I’ll give you that much! But, all in all… game over, punk.”

The people started to cheer lightly for Max within the arena’s corridors. But, instead of taking in their praise… there was one thing he had to do. He pulled out his cellphone and made a call…

“Hey! Where are you sitting for the show? I’ve got a present for you, kiddo…”

---

Datura.

The odds-on favorite to win this entire match.

Like you or hate you, the people know a strong competitor when they see you. And I do not doubt them.

Especially because I’ve already been in the ring with you once before.

You caught me off guard on my first show back. Could you still beat me even on a good day, though?

Probably. I won’t even lie about that. You’re good. You don’t deserve to be in this pre-show match like I do, but here we are. Fate of the Gods in a fatal-four-way.

I respect you as a competitor, Datura. You did well to win our match last time.

I should not have fought you with less than my best.

I look to correct that now.

You are the one to beat within this match. You’re the one everyone has their money on winning.

You are the so-called ‘man’ of the match.

Me? I’m just a lowly shorty of an underdog.

But that’s fine.

Everyone loves an underdog. Everyone loves the little scrapper trying to fight against all odds.

Because it just make it all the more sweeter… when they win in the end.

Every one of my opponents in this preshow match gets me excited. Preshow or not, I’m going to treat this match as if it were the main event itself. Hell, at least everyone gets to see such a high caliber match for free as well, so that’s a plus!

I’m going to fight until my last breath this time. I’m not going to fall to the wayside and let someone else take the victory this time.

Who knows. I have one Pay Per View win under my belt and no losses. Maybe I’ll be the undefeated king at PPV!

Not. But, it’s a fun little thought. Who knows… maybe if I do win… I’ll ride this momentum all the way to Heatstroke, and then the next event!

I’ve already hit the bottom of VOW. I’m wrestling Pre-Show matches after losing my return match.

There really is no where else to go but up from here.

But… one thing is for certain…

By this time… next year…

… Maybe I’ll be in the main event for the World Championship.

That’d be a funny tale, right? Pre-Show to Main Event within a year’s time.

Yeah… that’d be fun.