There is such a thing as a crime against the soul of a nation. A person or a political party can deliberately incite actions that diminish the strength, the integrity, and the overall well being of a nation's inner core. America's soul is in a fragile state. It has suffered severe violations over the course of this past decade; of course I mean the terrorist attacks. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a terrorist, I just like to fuck things up. That’s why I joined Aceldama after all. America treats people in a delusional manner; it’s own moral belief high on a pedestal away from the judgemental views of the world itself. It gets away with its wrong doing, mainly because it has been hurt in such a way itself. Like HOW for example, not even realising the mistakes they are making because they are too astounded to know any better. The time of favouritism is over in High Octane Wrestling, It’s time for Germany, Britain, Japan and Denmark to show its true power, this alliance has brought together a whole army and it could very well bring this company apart.
So, when we last saw Static he was stood over Chris Kostoff at the end of Turmoil. Raising his arms high above the fallen LSD Champion, sending a message that he was within reach of his ultimate goal of regaining his LSD title.
However a lot of questions were still unanswered. What happened to Katrina and Shane? Were they still after Static? What was the true reason for their diabolical scheme to control the rage within him? Why has Static aligned with Aceldama and how did it come about?
Friday March 5th 01:37am
Static is sat outside the Kallisten Arena; the air is chilled as he is sat on the steps leading up to the main entrance to the arena. Wearing stone washed jeans and a dark brown leather jacket, a faded, red lucky strike cigarette packet in one hand and a windproof zippo lighter in the other. Using his bottom lip and his lip piercing for easier access he flips the packet open, gripping a cigarette with his teeth and pulling his head back he began wrestling the cigarette from the pack, closing the pack before sparking it up in one easy motion. The surrounding area was quiet, trash covered the HOW grounds from the show and the hustling sound of scattering trash the only thing to be heard from his surroundings. Static took a short and sharp inhale, exhaling seconds later blowing the smoke out in front of him. Placing the cigarette box inside his jacket pocket he checked his watch with his free hand. It was getting late, yet he had nowhere else to be.
The sound of footsteps could then be heard, the sound becoming louder as they approached. There stood a man not seen before, his eyes slightly glazed, his hair, short and messy. His clothes out dated. Denim jeans and a Led Zeppelin T-shirt, the look was completed with black sweatbands on both wrists and a pair of beige boots. Static looked up, acknowledging his arrival but not saying a word as he exhaled another cloud of smoke from his lips.
“So how’d it go?”
Static: “Your Late…”
A shrug was the only response Static received, as he stared up un-amused. Static stubbed his cigarette out against the wall he was leant against and pulled himself to his feet. Static walked forward, with a slight smirk on his face they shook hands, Static gripping tightly, obviously glad he’s ok.
Static: “Took your time Dylan, so you managed to avoid Katrina too then?”
Dylan: “Just like the surname, Mother Fucking DEVINE!!”
Static smirked again, stood in front of him was Dylan Devine, Static had became friends with him through Katrina, the one woman he now despised. Dylan was another inmate of Katrina’s dreaded asylum, a narcoleptic who would pass out at the slightest sign of excitement, known for his anger problems, within reason of course, because normally he would get so pent up with aggression during a fight, the excitement of spilling some one’s blood would drop him to the floor out cold, he’d gotten older now though, the signs obvious by the battle scars across the side of his face.
Static reached into his inside pocket and took out the cigarette packet, opening it up he got a look of disgust from Dylan.
Dylan: “Didn’t you just put one out? Come on, surely you could wait at least thirty minutes or something.”
Static: “When did you suddenly rule my decisions? You know Dylan, despite the fact I was introduced to you via that stupid cow Katrina, and you helped me when I needed it most, I’ve never asked where your from?”
Dylan: “Don’t worry, I’m not American if that’s what you’re getting at.”
Static: “So where are you from?”
Dylan: “I don’t remember too well.”
Static: “You don’t know where you’re from?”
Dylan shook his head, Static now smoking the freshly lit cigarette. Crumpling the now empty packet and tossing it to the floor, Dylan’s jaw dropped sarcastically.
Dylan: “Dude, there’s a bin just there, why you got to litter?”
Static: “America is already dirty, that won’t make no difference to this subsided country.”
Dylan: “So you want to grab a beer or something?”
Static nodded, exhaling the last drag of his cigarette as Dylan tried to flag down a cab. Static sighed, flicking the cigarette down the street he looked at Dylan, cab after cab driving past without a second glance at the wanting look on his face.
Static: “Let’s just walk for Christ’s sake. There’s a bar just down the street.”
Twenty Minutes Later…
At the bar and leant over a pool table, Static is lining up a shot and has the pool cue gripped tightly. Dylan has his drink in his hand, on completion of taking a drink he turns to Static, his accent has since changed, to a thick Irish accent.
Dylan: “So how’s the wrestling going these days?”
Static: “Huh?”
Dylan: “What you looking at me like that for? I said how’s the wrestling going these days?”
Static: “What the fuck happened to you voice?”
Dylan: “Nothing, what are ya saying boy?”
Static: “Your speaking with an Irish accent, I’m not drunk enough to fall for any stupid tricks Dylan.”
Dylan: “I’m not speaking Irish, another pint?”
Static: “Yeah, last game though, I have some training to do this week.”
Dylan headed to the bar as Static racked up the pool balls ready for the next game, he was pointlessly throwing the balls into the plastic triangle, he’d never realised they had an actual way of setting up. He didn’t care though, he wanted to get this over with and get some sleep, the show had drained him of energy and Dylan was still bouncing off the walls at finally getting out and about. Dylan wandered back over with two pints of beer and handed Static one.
Dylan: “So, you going to tell me how the wrestling’s going then?”
Dylan’s accent had changed again, his voice now sounding French. Static was oblivious to the fact that Dylan had more than just a problem with narcolepsy; he also suffered from Dissociative identity disorder. A split personality sort of speak, it was mainly due to the damage sustained over the years from the narcolepsy, but he had developed a problem with remembering where he was from and picking up on different accents and dialects which despite Dylan being unaware of, could change the sound of his voice.
Static: “You’ve got to be taking the piss Dylan, you’re not French.”
Dylan: “French? What do you mean?”
Static: “Just quit being a dick will you.”
Dylan stared blankly at Static, a look of confusion now on both men’s faces, Static took a rather large gulp of the ice cold beer and placed the glass on the side as he stepped up to take his shot at the pool table.
Dylan: “So how is the wrestling going?”
Static: “Not too bad actually, finally got a chance at regaining the title I lost almost a year ago, before the whole incident with Katrina’s brother.”
Dylan: “So you got a match next week?”
Static: “Yeah, got the heads up as most the guys were leaving, the cards pretty solid for next week, still stuck in the midsection though.”
Dylan: “And still dreaming of being in the main event huh?”
Dylan’s sarcastic tone was easily picked up by Static who smirked and took another shot sinking another ball. Dylan laughed out loud before taking a drink, almost dropping the glass out of his mouth as he tried to watch Static taking the next shot.
Dylan: “So who you facing then?”
Static: “Two guys, it’s a triple threat, although I can’t see anything really threatening about it. I shouldn’t have too much of a problem putting those two to rest.”
Dylan: “Who are they? Anyone good?”
Static: “Not really, got a new guy, he’s got two wins under his belt so far, but his opponents weren’t exactly the toughest. The other guys got a bit of a better reputation though, he got quite far in the invitational for the world title.”
Dylan: “What's an invitational?”
Static: “Nothing important, but yeah this Justin guy got beat by Max Kael and now he thinks he can just walk into a title match at the Pay-per-view.”
Dylan: “And can he?”
Static: “What do you think fuckstick?”
Static attempted to pot another ball but missed, allowing Dylan to take a shot and at least compete against Static, as he handed Dylan the pool cue he lifted his half empty glass and took another gulp. Dylan was bent over the pool table, his mind completely focussed on taking the shot. Pulling the cue back and potting the ball, he moved on to the next, the same again. Static smirked; shocked at Dylan’s ability despite the pressure Static had placed on him by potting six of his seven balls. Dylan was quickly catching up, onto the black to win the game, Statics attention was slipping, he finished his beer as Dylan took the last shot….
Dylan: “Fuck yeah, I beat you mother fucker. I beat you.”
Dylan began jumping up and down, pointing at Static and flipping him off. Static turned his back, as Dylan began an ‘I beat you’ chant which he was repeating as he danced around the table. Suddenly there was an almighty thud as Static jumped around to see what the commotion was, there was Dylan, in all his glory, lying face down on the floor, the pool cue wedged against the side of his face.
Static: “Fucking narcoleptics. I swear to god Dylan we can’t take you anywhere.”
Static hoisted Dylan up and over his shoulder with one hand, a true show of strength as many of the people in the bar were stood staring at Static after the commotion had caused most people to stare and whisper. Static headed towards the door, mumbling to himself about how much of an idiot Dylan could be. Static grunted towards the barman, motioning with his free hand to open the door and hold it for him. His only response was to stare back at Static with a blank look, Static repeated again, pointing towards the door. The message had sunken in, the barmen raced round and held the door open as Static walked past and just nodded as he walked out.
Barman: “You know in America people say thank you.”
Static paused, turning his upper body 90 degrees and his head another 45 so his eyes locked toward the barman.
Static: “In Britain I’d have smashed your skull in for being a cunt. As you were saying.”
The barman didn’t respond, just sighing and walking away as Static propped Dylan up against a nearby mailbox, Static stepped off the pathway slightly, flagging down the nearest taxi before making his way back onto the pathway and lifting Dylan back up as the cab pulled up. Static opened the back door and shuffled Dylan into the taxi with a struggle. Finally succeeding he climbed into the front and shut the door before driving off into the distance.
The following morning…
The sun blitzed across the room as the blinds were pulled open, the room suddenly sprang to life as it suddenly changed from complete darkness to brightness in a second. Static stood at the window, taking in the view from the crummy bed-sit where he was laying low at the moment. Static was in his training gear, a sleeveless top and baggy shorts and trainers, the top covered in sweat, his hair messed and obviously wet. Dylan on the other hand was just coming round on the sofa. Still in the same led zeppelin t-shirt from the previous night. Static was holding a water bottle; he took a quick drink before swilling it into Dylan’s face, making him jump up from a lying down to seated position.
Static: “Morning sunshine. How’s the head?”
Dylan grunted, still trying to wake himself up. The bed-sit was trashed, there was litter scattered all over the floor, the room itself looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in months, the single bed in the far corner uninhabitable for some one to sleep on. It was surprising to think that people were actually allowed to live in it.
Static: “So then, are you going to get up?”
Dylan: “What time is it?”
Static: “Just passed nine. I’ve already been for a run and now I fancy some breakfast.”
Dylan: “Breakfast, sounds amazing.”
Dylan rose to his feet and let out a long winded yawn as he stretched his entire body, right in front of Static who couldn’t resist gently nudging him which caused him to topple back onto the sofa. As Static smirked he outstretched his hand, helping Dylan back up, Dylan wandered over towards a pile of clothes and began smelling each shirt to see which one was clean enough to wear.
Dylan: “No
Eww!
Mmm taco bell…maybe not…
Bingo! This’ll do.”
Dylan had retrieved a suitable shirt however it was bright pink, and didn’t match anything else he was wearing, but that didn’t bother him as he quickly changed shirts, hiding his bare chest from Static. Static walked over towards Dylan, but Dylan snapped.
Dylan: “No, you can’t see this.”
Static: “Can’t see what?”
Dylan: “Nothing, never mind.”
Static: “You ok Dylan?”
Dylan: “I’m fine, honest.”
Static: “Ok, sure.”
Static turned and headed towards the door, it looked as if it was a light brown to begin with, but somebody had thrown a tin of black pain at the wall and covered half the door, either that or some body had tried to burn it down. Static reached the door; just looking over his shoulder to make sure Dylan was following. Dylan was stood still, motionless, silent.
Static: “You ready?”
Dylan: “Huh? Yeah, Hey Guy.”
Static: “Yeah?”
Dylan: “You think Katrina is still looking for us?”
Static: “Dunno man. I don’t know what I’d do if I ever come face to face with her again though.”
Dylan: “The memories still haunt me.”
Static: “You’ll be ok. We’ll be fine.”
Dylan: “Really?”
Static: “Yeah, no sweat. Now, Lets Eat.”
Dylan nodded as the two left the apartment, Static leading the way down a decrepit staircase that’s crooked and twisted, lastly we see the two, walking side by side, discussing this weeks event as we fade out, then we fade to black.