Ascension Wrestling Federation - The Story
Jun 7, 2017 20:52:11 GMT -5
Mongo the Destroyer, Kira Izumi, and 1 more like this
Post by ForeverKuroi on Jun 7, 2017 20:52:11 GMT -5
He'd lived here all his life. It was dying and there was nothing he wouldn't do to stop it. Timothy O'Leary hunches over on his porch with his head between his legs. He takes a loud audible breath, exhales and raises his head up. He knew what he needed to do. Since 2000 the population in Bethesda, Ohio had been on the decline and he had wanted to do something about it. He wanted to bring back the people. He wanted to make Bethesda great again. He had just come from Belmont Savings Bank where he was trying to get a loan to finance his idea, the idea that will save Bethesda. He had been denied thrice already. Each time with the same reasoning.
'Here?'
'A what?!?'
'It's too risky.'
Of course, it was risky. That's exactly why it needed to be done. Something had to be done. He was the only one trying to do anything. O'Leary sighed.
"I've spent the entire morning at the bank. There seems to be no more use to be there. I don't have any more pull with these people. They only care about one thing - the bottom line. The dollar sign. I'm about ready to give up. Life's easy enough, but I find myself existing and not really living. I can manage to get by at the end of the month. I can pay my bills, but for what? So I can continue to go to wake up, work, pay bills and then go back to sleep?"
O'Learly interrupts himself as he looks down, his stomach growling. It's demanding food. His hunger almost appears to have manifested visually.
"I guess I'd better get lunch."
Fast forward fifteen minutes. It's a sandwich shop. A nice sandwich shop. The sun was shining on this beautiful day at the end of May. The seniors have gotten out of high school and gather with each other for a bite to eat. The weather is beautiful. The sunlight kisses your face, but not with too much intensity at a comfortable seventy-five degrees. He walk in and eyed the menu for a moment.
"The usual, Mr. O'Leary?" the cashier asks.
"I don't know why I keep looking at the menu, expecting something new to catch my eye. Yeah. I'll take the usual. But make sure there's no tomato in there. One of the new guys in the back keeps putting in tomato."
"Of course." The cashier laughs.
Timothy turns his head, eyeing the back of the restaurant. He scanned the seats for a clean seat. In the distance, at the end of the restaurant that opens up to an outdoor seating area, something catches his eye. A large man. Damn near to be a giant. He made large men look like children. He sat down with a light blue buttoned down shirt, black slacks, and a pair of sunglasses. The man was reading the newspaper. Timothy couldn't explain why, but he wanted to have a closer look. He made his way over there. Tim was a tactful man, a people's person, but the man in front of him made him forget all the social nuances that's common knowledge. He finds himself staring at the man, wondering what made him want to take an interest as a large person surely sticks out, but isn't worth this amount of attention.
"Friend, if you'd like the newspaper, you can have it." The man announces with a deep voice and a slight, but indeterminable European accent. "Just give me a moment to go over the funnies."
"No, it's not that... I feel like I know you, but I don't know where."
"You don't know me, friend," the person responds. "I'm not from around here. Just passing through."
"No. I swear that I do. I don't know where from, but I swear,"
Timothy O'Leary peeks at the large man's face from around the newspaper, alas, he's wearing sunglasses.
"I've definitely not seen you from town because I remember you look familiar, but I also remember you're bigger than I thought you'd be. Were you on the news before?"
The large man flips through to the next page of the newspaper.
"I'm afraid not. General laborers tend to not make the news."
"Oh come on. You can surely feed my curiosity a little bit, can't you?"
The large man sighs.
"Look, I don't mean to be short with you, but I really don't have the time to play twenty questions with everyone who wants a look at me. I get it. I'm a giant. People seem to think I've crossed paths with them, but I haven't. I've been spending a good five years moving from town to town, finding work and getting by. I'm just getting lunch before I check into the hotel down the street. When I wake up tomorrow, I'll be heading over to Akron. Someone needs help with a roofing project. You won't see me ever again after today. That's just how life works."
O'Leary's jaw drops ever so slightly. He lifts his finger.
"You, I know you!"
The man puts down his newspaper.
"No, you don-HEY!"
He puts his hands up to protect his face after Timothy O'Leary begins throwing his hands into his face.
"Just give me-" O'Leary knocks the sunglasses off of the man's face. His breath becomes shaky as his suspicions have been confirmed. "Fezzik! You're alive!"
The man, identified as Fezzik, loudly exhales. The release of oxygen from his breath confirmed it.
"Yeah. It's me, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your volume down, and that name out of your mouth."
O'Leary finally takes a seat across from the giant.
"That's your name, isn't it?! And how are you alive? I thought you died in that wrestling match! You were caught on fire!"
Fezzik rolls his eyes.
"Fezzik wasn't and isn't my real name. It's a portmanteau of my first and last name. My real name is Felix Ziko, and I hated the life wrestling gave me. I had to watch my back constantly. The constant emergency room visits. The constant body aches. This professional wrestling business isn't just a game. It ruins lives. It rewards harassment, assault, even murder. I remember the reactions when news went out that I died. They were stunned. I then remembered the promotion's ratings skyrocketed. Then people forgot. The violence only increased. The amount of injuries only rose. People didn't care. The only time the promotion cared was when the ratings went down, then the crazy matches resumed. That's why I left wrestling. That's why I took the fall and caught myself on fire. I got my vacation and used it to heal up. I lived off the grid for a while, until people forgot about me."
Felix Ziko looks at the window of the restaurant, looking at his own reflection.
"I'm not an easy man to forget, so it took a while. By that time, I cut into a chunk of my savings I've had so I started my new life, traveling and helping where and when I can."
O'Leary's eyes shines, listening to this story.
"Don't you miss it, though? You know, other than the bad parts."
Felix shrugs his shoulders.
"Of course I miss it. The athleticism. The sportsmanship. The competition between two men to find who is able to pit their might one on one. It's why I went into the business in the first place and that hasn't left. But I know how the business is. They see you, they let you in easy and then the abuse starts shortly after the honeymoon period. Especially for people like me. They see a giant and they see someone who can deliver pain to someone else. They see someone who can take the pain. Now I know wrestling involves pain. I'm no fool, but the hostile environment doesn't make this worth it. It doesn't make any of this worth it."
Just then, an idea popped into Timothy's mind.
"You know, I have a business proposition for you."
"You don't happen to need a handyman, do you?"
"No! A proposition to you about getting back into wrestling!"
Felix narrows his eyes toward Timothy and slowly shakes his head.
"I have to say, it's quite rude to interrupt a man's lunch, attack him, damage his sunglasses, reveal himself to the world without his consent, have him explain his life story... and not listen to a single word of it. What do you think I've wasted ten years of my life trying to avoid? This very exact thing."
"Felix, you're missing the big picture. You're not against professional wrestling. You're against the environment. You're against havoc, bad blood and chaos. What if you were the one who set the rules? What if you were the one to decide what kind of conduct is deemed acceptable and what is one that will not be tolerated?"
Felix opens his mouth. He was going to say something, but he stops himself. He ponders and rubs his chin.
"I... I can't. I've been in for too long. I'm too old."
"No you're not. There are wrestlers out there, in their seventies. They're still out and about. Still inside of that squared circle, showing that even in old age, one can still possess athletic ability. But I'm not talking about that. I'm not talking about wrestling. I'm talking about managing. Owning. Setting the rules and being in charge of the environment. You can be the turning point in wrestling culture. You can be the new standard, the example set to every other wrestling promotion in the world."
Felix waits for a moment. Just then, a woman steps outside.
"Mr. O'Leary, we tried calling your name. Didn't know you wanted some sun today. Anyway, your sandwich is ready."
Felix Ziko turns his body and grabs the sandwich out of the woman's hand.
"I'll take that. Thank you very much,"
Felix promptly takes a large bite. He coarsely contemplates the food in his mouth. "Delicious. I love how the Worcestershire adds a new dimension to this. The only thing it's missing is a slice of tomato." Felix turns back to Timothy O'Leary.
"Alright, I'll do it."
Timothy looks at his sandwich being devoured and forces himself to not care in light of something he's hungry for, more than food.
"Be the owner. Be the booker. I'll handle the logistics. We can be a team. Perhaps you can help make this a reality. I've tried to speak with the banks, but they've denied me. You used to be a celebrity. They have to listen to me."
Felix shakes his head.
"I don't have the money anymore, and my credit is shot. I have no collateral. They won't listen to me, but I might know some people."
Timothy O'Leary smiles. He shakes Felix's hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Ziko. I think you may have just saved this town."
Fade out.
'Here?'
'A what?!?'
'It's too risky.'
Of course, it was risky. That's exactly why it needed to be done. Something had to be done. He was the only one trying to do anything. O'Leary sighed.
"I've spent the entire morning at the bank. There seems to be no more use to be there. I don't have any more pull with these people. They only care about one thing - the bottom line. The dollar sign. I'm about ready to give up. Life's easy enough, but I find myself existing and not really living. I can manage to get by at the end of the month. I can pay my bills, but for what? So I can continue to go to wake up, work, pay bills and then go back to sleep?"
O'Learly interrupts himself as he looks down, his stomach growling. It's demanding food. His hunger almost appears to have manifested visually.
"I guess I'd better get lunch."
Fast forward fifteen minutes. It's a sandwich shop. A nice sandwich shop. The sun was shining on this beautiful day at the end of May. The seniors have gotten out of high school and gather with each other for a bite to eat. The weather is beautiful. The sunlight kisses your face, but not with too much intensity at a comfortable seventy-five degrees. He walk in and eyed the menu for a moment.
"The usual, Mr. O'Leary?" the cashier asks.
"I don't know why I keep looking at the menu, expecting something new to catch my eye. Yeah. I'll take the usual. But make sure there's no tomato in there. One of the new guys in the back keeps putting in tomato."
"Of course." The cashier laughs.
Timothy turns his head, eyeing the back of the restaurant. He scanned the seats for a clean seat. In the distance, at the end of the restaurant that opens up to an outdoor seating area, something catches his eye. A large man. Damn near to be a giant. He made large men look like children. He sat down with a light blue buttoned down shirt, black slacks, and a pair of sunglasses. The man was reading the newspaper. Timothy couldn't explain why, but he wanted to have a closer look. He made his way over there. Tim was a tactful man, a people's person, but the man in front of him made him forget all the social nuances that's common knowledge. He finds himself staring at the man, wondering what made him want to take an interest as a large person surely sticks out, but isn't worth this amount of attention.
"Friend, if you'd like the newspaper, you can have it." The man announces with a deep voice and a slight, but indeterminable European accent. "Just give me a moment to go over the funnies."
"No, it's not that... I feel like I know you, but I don't know where."
"You don't know me, friend," the person responds. "I'm not from around here. Just passing through."
"No. I swear that I do. I don't know where from, but I swear,"
Timothy O'Leary peeks at the large man's face from around the newspaper, alas, he's wearing sunglasses.
"I've definitely not seen you from town because I remember you look familiar, but I also remember you're bigger than I thought you'd be. Were you on the news before?"
The large man flips through to the next page of the newspaper.
"I'm afraid not. General laborers tend to not make the news."
"Oh come on. You can surely feed my curiosity a little bit, can't you?"
The large man sighs.
"Look, I don't mean to be short with you, but I really don't have the time to play twenty questions with everyone who wants a look at me. I get it. I'm a giant. People seem to think I've crossed paths with them, but I haven't. I've been spending a good five years moving from town to town, finding work and getting by. I'm just getting lunch before I check into the hotel down the street. When I wake up tomorrow, I'll be heading over to Akron. Someone needs help with a roofing project. You won't see me ever again after today. That's just how life works."
O'Leary's jaw drops ever so slightly. He lifts his finger.
"You, I know you!"
The man puts down his newspaper.
"No, you don-HEY!"
He puts his hands up to protect his face after Timothy O'Leary begins throwing his hands into his face.
"Just give me-" O'Leary knocks the sunglasses off of the man's face. His breath becomes shaky as his suspicions have been confirmed. "Fezzik! You're alive!"
The man, identified as Fezzik, loudly exhales. The release of oxygen from his breath confirmed it.
"Yeah. It's me, and I'd appreciate it if you kept your volume down, and that name out of your mouth."
O'Leary finally takes a seat across from the giant.
"That's your name, isn't it?! And how are you alive? I thought you died in that wrestling match! You were caught on fire!"
Fezzik rolls his eyes.
"Fezzik wasn't and isn't my real name. It's a portmanteau of my first and last name. My real name is Felix Ziko, and I hated the life wrestling gave me. I had to watch my back constantly. The constant emergency room visits. The constant body aches. This professional wrestling business isn't just a game. It ruins lives. It rewards harassment, assault, even murder. I remember the reactions when news went out that I died. They were stunned. I then remembered the promotion's ratings skyrocketed. Then people forgot. The violence only increased. The amount of injuries only rose. People didn't care. The only time the promotion cared was when the ratings went down, then the crazy matches resumed. That's why I left wrestling. That's why I took the fall and caught myself on fire. I got my vacation and used it to heal up. I lived off the grid for a while, until people forgot about me."
Felix Ziko looks at the window of the restaurant, looking at his own reflection.
"I'm not an easy man to forget, so it took a while. By that time, I cut into a chunk of my savings I've had so I started my new life, traveling and helping where and when I can."
O'Leary's eyes shines, listening to this story.
"Don't you miss it, though? You know, other than the bad parts."
Felix shrugs his shoulders.
"Of course I miss it. The athleticism. The sportsmanship. The competition between two men to find who is able to pit their might one on one. It's why I went into the business in the first place and that hasn't left. But I know how the business is. They see you, they let you in easy and then the abuse starts shortly after the honeymoon period. Especially for people like me. They see a giant and they see someone who can deliver pain to someone else. They see someone who can take the pain. Now I know wrestling involves pain. I'm no fool, but the hostile environment doesn't make this worth it. It doesn't make any of this worth it."
Just then, an idea popped into Timothy's mind.
"You know, I have a business proposition for you."
"You don't happen to need a handyman, do you?"
"No! A proposition to you about getting back into wrestling!"
Felix narrows his eyes toward Timothy and slowly shakes his head.
"I have to say, it's quite rude to interrupt a man's lunch, attack him, damage his sunglasses, reveal himself to the world without his consent, have him explain his life story... and not listen to a single word of it. What do you think I've wasted ten years of my life trying to avoid? This very exact thing."
"Felix, you're missing the big picture. You're not against professional wrestling. You're against the environment. You're against havoc, bad blood and chaos. What if you were the one who set the rules? What if you were the one to decide what kind of conduct is deemed acceptable and what is one that will not be tolerated?"
Felix opens his mouth. He was going to say something, but he stops himself. He ponders and rubs his chin.
"I... I can't. I've been in for too long. I'm too old."
"No you're not. There are wrestlers out there, in their seventies. They're still out and about. Still inside of that squared circle, showing that even in old age, one can still possess athletic ability. But I'm not talking about that. I'm not talking about wrestling. I'm talking about managing. Owning. Setting the rules and being in charge of the environment. You can be the turning point in wrestling culture. You can be the new standard, the example set to every other wrestling promotion in the world."
Felix waits for a moment. Just then, a woman steps outside.
"Mr. O'Leary, we tried calling your name. Didn't know you wanted some sun today. Anyway, your sandwich is ready."
Felix Ziko turns his body and grabs the sandwich out of the woman's hand.
"I'll take that. Thank you very much,"
Felix promptly takes a large bite. He coarsely contemplates the food in his mouth. "Delicious. I love how the Worcestershire adds a new dimension to this. The only thing it's missing is a slice of tomato." Felix turns back to Timothy O'Leary.
"Alright, I'll do it."
Timothy looks at his sandwich being devoured and forces himself to not care in light of something he's hungry for, more than food.
"Be the owner. Be the booker. I'll handle the logistics. We can be a team. Perhaps you can help make this a reality. I've tried to speak with the banks, but they've denied me. You used to be a celebrity. They have to listen to me."
Felix shakes his head.
"I don't have the money anymore, and my credit is shot. I have no collateral. They won't listen to me, but I might know some people."
Timothy O'Leary smiles. He shakes Felix's hand.
"Thank you, Mr. Ziko. I think you may have just saved this town."
Fade out.