Post by Jimbo on Apr 3, 2024 5:12:46 GMT -5
ELK CREEK.
ELK RIVER, IDAHO.
876 miles to LAS VEGAS, NEVADA.
GOD ONLY KNOWS // SUNRISE
Kneeling at a small campfire along the dry creek bed, NOMAD pokes at the fire with the end of a large stick.
The log on the top of the campfire breaks apart, sending hot embers skyward. Satisfied, NOMAD lets the stick drop from his hand.
NOMAD shifts his attention away from the campfire and turns to look up at the dark early morning sky.
Sharp rapid movement in the darkness from beyond the treeline makes NOMADs ears perk up. He chuckles quietly to himself before dropping backwards, sitting himself on the dirt, crossing his legs.
He sits for a moment, smiling proudly as he lets the weight of his accomplishment sink in.
He pauses and the fire pops lightly in front of him. He half chuckles to himself silently.
He pauses again and runs his hand along his chin.
NOMAD stands and steps away into the dark, he returns a moment later with a small log carried in his arms. He drops it into the fire now at his feet and watches as the hot embers shoot in all directions.
NOMAD returns to a lazy seated position beside the fire, watching as the fresh begins to smoke.
He shrugs, uncaring.
He smiles slightly.
NOMAD pauses and he looks to the east. The dark orange-purple hue of the rising sun is just barely poking through the trees.
He taps two fingers to his temple before letting his arm drop. He shifts position and sits more rigid and intensely watches the fire.
Smirking, NOMAD shakes his head.
NOMAD stands and pulls the canvas roll from the side of his bag. He rolls it out on a flat bit of ground beside the fire.
He sits on his bedroll and faces the fire one last time.
ELK RIVER, IDAHO.
876 miles to LAS VEGAS, NEVADA.
GOD ONLY KNOWS // SUNRISE
“I'm not a religious man.”
Kneeling at a small campfire along the dry creek bed, NOMAD pokes at the fire with the end of a large stick.
“And yet despite the fact he was an abusive drunk - my old man was the height of piety.”
The log on the top of the campfire breaks apart, sending hot embers skyward. Satisfied, NOMAD lets the stick drop from his hand.
“I never tried prayin’. S'pose I figured that I just wasn't worth listenin’ to. My old man was fond of tellin’ me that I was goin’ to Hell anyway and that there was no use in tryin’. He was always sayin’ I should save my breath for when I beg for forgiveness.”
“I ain't the type to beg.”
“Whether I was lookin’ down the barrel of a gun, or face to face with God himself, I'm no groveller. Goin’ into TAPOUT 21 feels a bit like both, I guess. Poe and I - it was always gonna come to this, we are too much alike to be able to coexist. This is the end times, and unfortunately, there is no stopping it now. The wheels have begun turning and we are in motion. Every second that passes gets us closer. Every minute, every hour, every day. Until we are put in opposite corners and that chain is locked around our necks.”
Sharp rapid movement in the darkness from beyond the treeline makes NOMADs ears perk up. He chuckles quietly to himself before dropping backwards, sitting himself on the dirt, crossing his legs.
“Two years ago, I was walkin’ along a trail just east of here when I recorded my very first bit of promo for TAPOUT. Cross had gotten a hold of me a few weeks before and told me all about it. I was opening the first show against one of the XHFs heaviest and hardest hitters of all time - Brad Kane. I remember sitting down and listening to what Bradley had to say. To him I was just some nobody. A can lined up to be crushed. Just a neverwas bein’ fed to a hasbeen. What Bradley didn't realize is that I wasn't bein’ set up for him, he was bein’ set up for me. And now - two years later - I'm sittin’ in roughly the same spot, with the TAPOUT Openweight Championship in my bag. I'm sittin' pretty.”
“Going into that match, Cross was the only believer I had. Cross believed in my abilities more than I ever really knew. I've always taken great pride in my ring work and my ability to take a beating but at a certain point, I fooled myself into believing that I was just a really good punching bag. But Cross reached out to me, I'm pretty sure even before he had the name of the company locked in, to get me on board. Accepting his offer might’ve been the best choice I've made in my life. It gave me the ability to do somethin’ I thought that I'd never be able to do.”
“Grow.”
He pauses again and runs his hand along his chin.
“As a person, as a man, as a professional wrestler. And for some reason, Poe will still try staking his claim on that because he attacked me in a parking lot - as if I haven't had that happen before. It was this company, it was everyone who walked up and down those halls, everyone who paid for a ticket, everyone that watched on the Network. Never in my career had I felt that amount of support before. That is why I became so dedicated to this company. It offered me a chance to connect with people, people who are like me, who understand me. That is why for as long as I breathe, as long as I still hold the TAPOUT Openweight Championship, TAPOUT will never die. I will wear it, pinned to my chest, like fuckin’ medal of honour because *that* is how much this place - not just this belt - means to me.”
NOMAD stands and steps away into the dark, he returns a moment later with a small log carried in his arms. He drops it into the fire now at his feet and watches as the hot embers shoot in all directions.
“So, this stipulation I requested - this Dog Collar Match - a match where you are chained to your opponent and the only path to freedom is makin’ it so your opponent ain't gonna get up has been relegated as one of the most dangerous stipulations of all time. One of those matches that is not just career threatening, or career ending, but instead life threatening, or even life ending. I've been asked why I wanted this match by the people closest to me. And honestly? As much as I tried to change, I ain't changed completely. I can still hold a mean grudge and Poe and myself have one hell of a grudge to settle. I've been asked if I'm afraid. Yeah, I'm afraid alright. I'm not afraid of gettin’ hurt, been hurt hurt before. I'm not afraid at the prospect of dyin’, I've been beatin’ Death's ass since I started throwin’ punches. So what scares me?”
“Failure.”
NOMAD returns to a lazy seated position beside the fire, watching as the fresh begins to smoke.
“Failure ain't a new thing to me. I've had more downs than I've had ups. But at this point in my life - or in my career - where I have finally, *finally* reached the mountaintop, reached the summit, I can't allow myself to get so far and have it be all for nothin’. I remember bein’ out here before the match against Brad Kane and thinking about what was on the line. If I had failed to beat Brad Kane on that first TAPOUT show, I would have simply just moseyed on a little farther down the line until I found a place where I fit. But that didn't happen. In back-to-back months I beat Brad Kane, I beat Erin Gordon, I beat Poena - and yeah, I had few stumbles along the way.”
He shrugs, uncaring.
“But at the end of the day, I found that place I fit. To the point that I felt like calling myself NOMAD didn't fit anymore. Felt like I was myself again. Now I'm the top guy, I figured there was no better time than now. TAPOUT is comin’ to end, so we may as well put everything else to bed. Settle that one last grudge, settle that score, right that wrong and make up for lost time. Poena. NOMAD. Dog Collar. Was it a smart choice? No, it wasn't. Is it a safe choice? Fuck no. Am I glad I made it?”
“Fuck yes.”
He smiles slightly.
“Because like it or not - this is the end. This is the way things are meant to be. It can only be this way. Me and Poena. Me and Poe. The professional side of me wants to say that I recognise how talented he is as a professional wrestler, but the personal side of me knows he is nothing more than a deranged lunatic. I've had wrestlers in the past tell me that they would be the one who'd finish me off - Poe included. None of ‘em have come close. None of them have been able to finish the job. The fact I'm here now with blood pumpin’ through my heart is proof enough. Poe is different. Y'know why Poe is different?”
“He's the only one that is actually capable of doing that. For the simple fact that he is driven in this fanatical belief that the world and everyone in it should be broken and rebuilt in his image. All the Aiden Merric’s and Brad Kane’s of the world are men, men that I understand, men who are like me inside and outside of the ring. Poe is an entirely different breed. But he does have limits. I found them first-hand. When we wrestled two years ago, I took everything he had to offer, and kept getting up. Every little trick he tried failed, the game he tried playing failed, and eventually it got me right where I have been ever since.”
NOMAD pauses and he looks to the east. The dark orange-purple hue of the rising sun is just barely poking through the trees.
“Inside his head.”
He taps two fingers to his temple before letting his arm drop. He shifts position and sits more rigid and intensely watches the fire.
“He realised he couldn't break me, so he attacked the referee. He realised he failed to live up every single word he said, so he took a sledgehammer to my back. And he wants to act like he did something. He gave me a few months off. My mother did more damage to me than he or anyone could even imagine. Therein lies the problem for Poe. Talking as if he done something for my benefit in the service of some fucked up vision he has of the world, when in reality all he really did was piss me off.”
“Aiden Merric did the same thing. Albeit in a different way. He at least made me bleed and look where that got him. A trip to the ER without his championship.”
“I know for a fact that all his bullshit Poe spews about “breaking me” being nothing special in reality really bothers him. And just when he starts thinking about calling a me sheep that still remains blinded to the gift he gave me, he'll know once and for all that I am the voice in his head. I already know I am, but for him to realise it in real time will be a sight to behold. The only difference this time is that he can attack whoever he wants when things start failing to go his way - the referee, the people in the front row, Cross or even Steve Morrison - it won't get him out of facing the consequences of his actions so easily this time.”
NOMAD stands and pulls the canvas roll from the side of his bag. He rolls it out on a flat bit of ground beside the fire.
“No matter what happens, no matter what Poe does to me, I know that I asked for it to happen.”
He sits on his bedroll and faces the fire one last time.
“The nineteenth of May, a full two years after the first time we wrestled, we will be face to face for the final time in TAPOUT. TAPOUT 21. May nineteenth. We will hurt each other. We will bleed. We will go to war. You are doing it out of an obsession to have me under your thumb. The same obsession you have continued to hold since TAPOUT 3. All you have managed to do is become increasingly more deranged.”
“I've changed too. In different ways. I can look at things with a slightly cooler head. I see things now with more clarity and focus. I know where the path is going. I know where the road is taking me.”
“God only knows…”