Entry 21

After my beating on Warfare, I took it upon myself to maybe take a little more care in what I get myself into. What the hell was I doing here? I don't belong in a ring. I don't belong fighting these assholes. All because of that little card... Then I met Tokyo.

This guy gives me the creeps more than anything. I met up with him privately, which he strangley insisted after we clearly met publicly. Not an agent. Not a rep from the company. Just some guy. Yeah, I know, right? But what else was I supposed to do? I had no way in and this guy promised me one. He apparently has some connections. He promised me answers too, like he already knows something.

And you know? After a month or so here, I still have no clue what's going on. I was in a match with three other guys that had more than a week's experience under their belt. Hell, combined their match count is close to one hundred matches. But, that's only because of Duke, the Intercontinental Champion. The guy's been around forever, apparently. He's won a lot of matches, that's for sure, and it didn't stop him this week.

Anyway. I wasn't about to deal with this asshole after losing that match. After the show, I scraped up what little money I had left from my "Mystery Sponser" and went vehicle shopping. I made some dough from my couple matches in the XWF, which made it easy enough to find a simple piece-of-shit old van to get me the hell out of the public transportation scene.

He ALWAYS insisted we used public transporation... Buses, trains, cabs....... It drove me nuts. He had a fucking car. Why didn't he use it?! He picked me up in the damn thing the first time we met.

Like I said before, I have no clue what's going on to this point. In fact, I think I'm more confused than when we started. Everything that I woke up to still points to the XWF, so I can't give up if I want to know what the hell's going on. I can't let myself be held back again.


Entry 22

I decided I had enough of the swamps and the alligators, so I was heading west out of the state of Louisiana. It was a little over a three hour drive to Houston. I could hang out there for a while, until the next event called for me at the least, then hop on a plane and be where I need to be. Ready.

However, about an hour and a half into the drive I felt like I could barely keep my eyes open. Which was weird because it was only six o'clock in the evening. I fought it for a few miles, then after a few heart-stoppers I decided to find a place to pull off and maybe close my eyes for a few hours.

It wasn't safe along the highway. I pulled off at the next exit, passed through a few fields and through a forest, and parked the van. What was nice about this van was it was a "Rapist-Van". Know what I mean? Don't take that the wrong way or anything. A van with no back windows and just one sliding metal door on the side and one on the back. Rapist-van. It was pretty comfortable in the back. I like a few huge blankets and pillows back there and it's better than any bed that I ever remember sleeping in.

I woke up a few hours later to the sound of a crackling fire. I ignored it for a few moments before realizing what it was. I opened my eyes and seen the glow of the flames flickering from outside. I sat up and crawled up to the front seat. There was a large fire pit about twenty feet in front of the van just blazing away. I opened the door and jumped out. The fire was huge and so bright that I couldn't stare directly into it. I approached it with my hand in front of my face to somewhat shield the light from my eyes. For as big as it was, it didn't seem very hot at all. Then, the craziest thing happened.

The fire roared at me and stretched out over my head. I fell on my back then quickly crawled away as the fire fell to the ground like a tidal wave. After it failed to gobble me up it let out a wale and slowly pulled itself back into place. From behind the fire a silhouette walked around to the front of it and towards me. As it got closer, I could make out the suit the figure was wearing, which was made up of a white collared shirt and loosened tie. The face, however, remained indecipherable. It was almost like it was scrambled, like static. That's all I could hear, too. Static. It started out quiet, then as he walked closer and closer it became louder with every step... Like standing by a waterfall.

I tried to speak, asking in my head, "What the hell is going on?!", but no words came out of my mouth. I was stuck on a single breath and couldn't move. The figure then came to a stop a few feet away from me and reached behind it's back.

From behind the back, the figure presented a firearm and pointed it at my head. The feeling of dread and panic showered over my body and I began to sweat. I couldn't breathe. Then, I woke up.

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"Wake up!"

The sound of the asshole's voice echoed through my head.

"Wake up! You dead asshole!"

I feel the wind being kicked from my lungs. I cough and squeeze into a fetal position as I squeeze my eyes even tighter.

"You plan on just lying there until the next event again? You seen what happened last time you punk'd out. Get your fucking ass up!"

He kicks me again, but I'm ready for it this time. I block it and open my eyes.

"Well, well. It's alive." Toyko said through a thin screen of cigar smoke.

He pulled his foot out of my grasp and jumps out of the van. I look around for a minute or two before I realize where I'm at. I'm still lying inside the van, it's morning, and I'm sweating my ass off. I couldn't believe what I'd just seen, dream or not. It seemed real enough that I was trying to decide which of the two were reality. I scooted out of the van and planted my bare feet on the hot pavement.

I was still in Lafayette, parked in the middle of a vacant lot outside of the arena. I never left. The entire trip was a dream? I could remember vaguely every little aspect of that one hour drive... Vaguely. I remember pulling over. I remember falling asleep and waking up to whatever the hell.......

"An impressive showing this week," the fat, smoking creep said to me.

"Think so?"

"No, I don't think so. It was fuckin' PATHETIC!"

I rolled my eyes and crawled halfway into the van for a shirt.

"See? That's the attitude I'm talking about. Do you even care that you completely sucked?"

"Come on, pal. I wasn't that bad."

"Losing is unacceptable."

"Unacceptable?! It was my second match and it was against guys that were either champs or could be champs. I think a victory was somewhat of a long shot to expect fro----"

Tokyo reached back and back handed me across the mouth. I whipped my head back and stared him straight into his fat eyes.

"What the hell, man?!"

"UNacceptable!"

"Look, I'll work on it, alright? Get me another match and I'll have another go at this."

"Have another go, huh? What kind of shit do you think you're into here? This is the XWF, my friend, you need to realize that one of these times, you may not walk away."

I started getting a weird ringing in my ear.

"What's the matter with you? And why the hell are you soaked in sweat? Were you having a nightmare?!"

I didn't want to talk about it with this asshole.

"I dunno. I don't remember."

"Well, imagine that. It looks like you're next chance will be during the Madfare event coming up."

"Get me involved. I want in."

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Entry 23

What Tokyo failed to tell me was that Madfare was close to a month away. I waited nearly three weeks for him to get back to me about another match. Ridiculous. I made it to Houston like I orginally planned and stayed there for the duration. After the night I thought I had out in the woods, I decided to get a hotel room instead of sleeping in the van. It became a regular thing, as well. The entire reason I bought the van was to have a mobile home, now it seems like a waste.

I didn't have a single nightmare after that night either. In fact, it's almost been like I haven't dreamt anything at all. Thank God. It wasn't like it scared me or anything. I just remember it so vividly that I still feel like it really happened. But there's no way.

So, like I said, it took close to three weeks before Tokyo finally contacted me about my next big fight.

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The hotel phone "branged" like an old pay phone. It not only drove me nuts but threw me out of a stone cold sleep. I jumped up and reached across the bed like it was reflex and would have probably knocked it off the table if it wasn't bolted to it somehow. I juggled the receiver a few times before holding it to the side of my head.

"Huh-- Hello?!" I said into it in the middle of a yawn.

"Got you a match."

"Who is this?"

"Who? In the fuck? Do you think this is?"

I have heartburn.

"When is it?"

"It's called Wednesday Madfare. Combo of the two shows to hype up the P.P.V. coming up."

"P.P.V.?"

"Pay-per-view dumbass."

"Oh, right. So, who am I fighting?"

"Muddy Waters."

"Muddy Waters? Like the old blues guy that died like thirty years ago?"

"....."

I thought he hung up on me.

"Hello?"

"Now how is it that you remember that and not how to tie your own shoes?"

"I can tie my shoes. I don't know why I can remember some things and not others, man. I'm getting sick and fucking tired of you dragging me down about it too! If I knew what the fuck happened to me and why I'm in this position now, I'd DO SOMETHING about it! Now... Fuck off!"

There was a few moments of silence there before I realized he probably wasn't even paying attention to me. I could here him puffing on a cigar on the other end.

"Look, pal. I'm only here to help. I got you booked. Your set up for a pretty big match here. Muddy's been a contender a few times for some major shit. AND he's the current Federweight Champ."

"What the hell is that?"

"Some shit title."

Ok?

"Then why have it?"

"Beats the hell out of me. More arguing and bickering goign on over that thing than anything. I think it's for fellows that need to have something to fall back on."

"Hm."

Tokyo seemeed to know a lot more about the XWF than he led on to. For a guy that has no ties with the place, he seems to, I dunno, give me the vibe that he's been around here for a while.

"So what's this Muddy-guy like?"

"Some weird-ass hick."

"Okaaaa--y....? Is that it?"

"Pretty much all that I know about him. He talks all "durka-durk" and can't hold a job. Kind of the definition of "trashy" in my book."

"That's really not the description I was looking for."

"What the hell do you want from me?"

"I don't know. Is he any good?"

Tokyo looks at me a little disappointed.

"I tell ya what. That little phone device we gave you should provide you with enough info on this guy that you'll ever need. Try using it."

We?

"Who's we?"

"I said 'me'. Are you deaf, too? Try doing some research on this 'Muddy Waters' fellow and you'll see what I mean. There's nothing special about the guy. He's just a poor, pathetic loser. Like you."

"That little phone device 'me' gave you?"

"Glad to see some appreciation. How about winning this week?"

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Entry 24


Muddy Waters, ladies and gentleman.

Muddy Waters.

I hope that's just a stage name. Then again, everyone does call him "Muddy". It's odd that a Kentucky-fried boy like him would be named after a blues musician that's been dead since 1983. If his pappy from the Civil War would've known about this, Christ-til-Friday.... Watch out.

I seriously don't mean to nit-pick over it but come one. You a traitor or what, boy?

It just doesn't seem very redneck to me, that's all. But hell, who am I to judge?

I think I have a lot on the line the next couple of weeks. Coming off a loss like a did a few weeks ago, I think beating this Muddy-guy will move me close enough "in" to get some answers about who the fuck has been fucking with me. I know, I know. I had my chance to pin the Intercontinental Champ last time, but I didn't. In fact, HE pinned me. Cocksucker. But hey. Getting pinned by a champ is better than getting pinned by anyone else around here.

This week will be my chance to kind of redeem myself, I think. Muddy's been around the block a few times. He's even had a title shot already. I'm not really interested in opportunities for title shots or anything, but I'll beat whoever. Or at least try to.

I'm not really concerned about this week though. From what I've seen Muddy Waters is a stumbling idiot that can barely carry a sentence. I swear to God, his promos need fucking subtitles. He hasn't had anything to say yet, but God forbid, man. I'll spend a day and a half alone watching him over and over again trying to figure out what the hell he's talking about.

I wonder if he started losing his teeth yet...

I mean, it's kind of trademark with those types of people and it would definitely explain the speech impetitment. Then again, if he hasn't started losing them yet.... Man, if it's hard to hear him now.

Tokyo mentioned some shit title that Muddy's carrying around with him now, too. I don't care if it's shit or not, a title is a title. The Federweight Title, I believe. I wonder why that shit isn't on the line this week... Am I too green perhaps? I understand how the title works and all, but hell, why not Muddy? I'd bet that's a boring title to hold too. No one seems to bee too interested in it these days. Shame, for him right? Maybe he could consider that like a "booster title" to get his morale up before he goes after something a little bigger. Good for him though. Even a meaningless, worthless title that really awards you nothing is worth something.

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