"Under Pressure"






-FRIDAY, FEB 3 2017, PORTLAND, OREGON-

--The Westin Portland, 750 SW Alder Street, Room 303, 6:06 PM PST--


Flashes of the events that'd occured the previous night in the Spade residence had been lingering, sporadically popping before my eyes since I'd woken up this morning in my Westin Portland Hotel room.

I'd discovered a massive pile of unopened mail addressed to Henry Spade immediately in the home's foyer overflowing off the side of the entryway table. During the...questioning...of Henry's elderly mother and older sister it'd been made clear the man himself hadn't lived there in months. What's more, they'd both sworn to ignorance of his current whereabouts and if they'd been lying they'd taken it to their shared grave.

But it hadn't been the disappointment of coming up empty handed on Henry or the erasure of his relatives that had me seeing snippets of psycho shit. Something had happened during the tor- er, interrogation sessions that lay claim as catalyst to that. Something unexpected to say the least. Something...impossible.

Henry's mother had...she'd....

'Well if you're gonna dwell, then _dwell_.'

....She'd...her _head_...had changed. And she'd snapped at me with a mouthful of razor sharp teeth. I'd thought I'd finally gone off the deep end...but it'd happened. It'd actually happened. I'd seen proof of Nixon's reptilian race with my own eyes. I'd stated before my belief in the conspiracy theory but it blew my mind to physically come into contact with a shapeshifting hybrid.

Henry's sister hadn't shifted. Either she was able to control it and had refrained or she hadn't been a hybrid. I found myself hypothesizing on the genetic make-up of Henry himse-

::KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK::

Steve Sayors. My first interview with the man. I'd almost forgotten......

"Jim Caedus, it's good to meet you."

"Is it?"

...Miniscule crew, good. Sayors is taller than I thought he'd be in person. He's taller than me...(derisive snort) of course he is. Fuckin' horseshit.

"Okay Jim let's get you over by the window. One of you close the curtains."

"Close the curtains?"

"Yeah, well, generally for this type of thing we want to use a simple backdrop to keep the viewer focused on you and not the background."

"I'm familiar with the various forms of filmmaking, Steve, I was a child actor and I've been wrestling since '96. I ask because you're cutting all the natural light and I don't see a gaffer or grip."

"You were a child actor," he asks, spinning to locate the missing member of the crew!? "Anything I might have seen?"

"Who gives a shit? Let's get this goin'."

"Kip! Kip where the hell are you," he shouts into the hall? A second later 'Kip' enters hauling the filtered light source. "My apologies Mr. Caedus. New hire."

"Mhm."

It takes them a good ten minutes to set up and we're underway...

........................

"Good evening XWF fans, I'm Steve Sayors, here now with your XWF Television Champion; none other than...' The Man They Call Caedus'.

Now Jim, you've got the most important bout since winning the belt coming up tomorrow night at XWF's Savage Saturday Night against the very man you won it from, Thomas Nixon, in a _rematch_ for the Television Title.

Coming off of a loss to Robert Main, who simply _dominated_ that Triple Threat Elimination Match on Wednesday Night Warfare, do you feel at all nervous about your rematch with Nixon?"

"Christ, can't anyone kill that fabricated fuckin' invalid vinyl? 'Round and 'round with the fallback rusty, dusty, dipshit dust up. I may be The XWF's resident Dirty Dr. Seuss but I'm definitely not nervous about knuckling-up with Nixon again. I'm fuckin' hard on it."

"I'm sorry, you're 'hard on it'?"

"Stiff, Steve."

"Uh, ok...meaning?"

"Meaning that motherfuckin' monitor-lizard better tuck that tupinambis tail 'tween 'is cheeks 'cause this cock is rocked, locked and ready to block."

'Dirty Dr. Seuss, AND Adults-Only Ali.'

"You see Steve, when it comes to Thomas Nixon I've no need of bein' nervous. We've battled before and I beat the man then; I'm sure you recall our incendiary introduction. I've been a...fan, for lack of a better word, of his since I signed up. Since lifting the title from his talons I've spent more time scouting Nixon's every broadcast and promo appearance than I've spent keeping up with my own personal hygiene. But then, I'm still half hobo only one paycheck in with the company and I'm putting most of that away to eventually purchase the Goonie house over in Astoria, so you understand if my odor is less than floral. I've studied up for the second time on his matches leading up to and including our own. I again sat entranced through the Chaos and Reno epic and I reviewed the violence of versus Venom Vega. I even rewatched the McBride Beat Down twice but that was just for fun."

"Is that necessary?"

"Don't mistake my wordplay as a playful personality. Interrupt me again and I'll act on the fact I won't catch flak for attackin' you Steve from the brass in the back. Crystal?"

"..."

"I've taken my graduate course and I've become quite familiar with the adapted promo persona, in-ring ability and new Nix bag o' trix. He's going to be twice the competitor and pain in the ass he was the first time. Good. I love a challenge...and everyone knows Nixon is one of the highest of heights around on the subject.
Am I nervous? No. I'm anxious. Anxious to retain my title and plant my second fuckin' summit flag right up his ass.

Nervous? Not hardly. Confident. Confident I can not only keep up with the man, again, but pull off what many, like you Steve, would seem to see as an upset at this point. An upset. I'm considered the underdog here, as the champion, just like I was _before_ I became said champ. That's fine. I'll take on the role of underdog if that's how Nixon wants to paint it, which in my opinion he has at great length in not so uncertain terms interspersed between blowing kisses to the gridiron, musin' on Mikey and a Prince spritz. I like being in the position of underdog as much as any other. Doesn't really matter to me, as long as I get Nix in the ring.

If either of us should be nervous it should be him. He has to accomplish what he already couldn't and this time the rules and the clock are on _my_ side. Despite Robert Main, _I_ have the momentum, the odds and _history_ on my side. Nixon claims he's no coward and indeed he didn't break the rules to save his strap. That doesn't mean I won't. Call me a coward, I couldn't care less. I show my balls all the fuckin' time; I accept all challenges and I push myself to limits even Nixon refuses to. Call me a coward but really I'm just obstinate. I'm not finished being the XWF Television Champion and I'll do whatever it takes to keep this golden girl with me awhile longer. Having to go through what I have in and out of the ring, facing opponents here and elsewhere who fought as dirty as they possibly could... Sometimes you have to dip into darkness to get what you want and I'm living proof. However, I didn't need to fuck around in our first encounter and unless he forces my hand with some surprise dirty tricks of his own I won't have to this time either. It just behooves the guy to keep in mind I intend on retaining by any means. Does that mean I'll successfully repeat Saturday?"

'Say yes.'

"As much as I'd like that question to be rhetorical, it isn't. I can't say yes and I can't say no. Only the truly unbeatable can confidently claim victory without possibility of looking like an idiot. I'm not unbeatable. I already have my first defeat. I'm not underestimating anyone ever again. Not that I ever underestimated TNix. Far from it. He does seem to be underestimating _me_ however..and as much as he'd like to portray his distractions as 'fuel' and 'motivation', distractions are distractions. Simple and plain. Couple that with underestimating and overlooking an opponent in the slightest way, you've a formula for failure. Again, I'm living proof."

"..."

"..."

"..."

"Speak, Steve."

"Jim, you've reiterated you aren't nervous, you say you're confident, but what about the pressure you _must_ be feeling right now knowledgeable of the fact, I'm sorry for saying it again, that Nixon is coming off of a win and you're rebounding from a loss? There is no taking away the talent Robert Main has but he's no Thomas Nixon and _he_ just handed you that first loss _after_ first pinning Seraphina."

"Anyone can beat anyone on any given night Steve. Rustic but apt words. Robert was the better man that night. I intend to be the better man tomorrow night.

Pressure? Of course there's pressure, Steve. Pressures of pride, of expectation and will. Pressures of responsibilities to my future tag partner in Bob Bourbon. I want the Bourbon Men to be the only team in that Lethal Lottery IV tournament with two titles already in hand. It sends a monumental message, not unlike the message Nix intends on sending JJ and McBride using my blood as ink and epidermis as media. But pressure is what has always brought the best outta me, Steve. Always. I shine brightest beneath the crushing weight of pressure and that'll become more than apparent in our match."

"Well it looks to be the end of the road for this interview, Jim, we're just about out of time. Any final remarks?"

"That's all I get? A measly fuckin', what-"

'I'm not wearing my watch.'

"-15 minutes?"

"I'm sorry Jim, you know we have airplay restrictions for-"

"Beat it," I say as I toss Steve out of frame and into Kip the Grip.

The light topples, casting me in shadow.

"Thomas, we've both said it before: words are just that. Words. Nothing more. You've wasted many trying to convince either me or yourself...or both...that I'm no longer capable of defeating you or holding onto my championship belt. When I hit you with Katabasis and introduce you to the lowest point of your XWF career I'll be sitting on your face and making you eat those words with a side of tossed salad."

'That forked tongue'll lick all those nooks and crannies clean.'

"This is my time now, my title now. You can't have it. I don't give a shit what beef you have with The Pride of The Irish and I hope my Celtic cuz crushes your cranium for that matter. You aren't proving yourself worthy of anything greater if you can't find the strength to move on. I'm warning you, keep backing up and you're gonna get your uppity ass tackled for a safety in your own end zone."

'Yeah fuck-o, we know football shit too.'

"But it's too late now isn't it? Kinda like last time. There _is_ no turning back and again you enter _my_ den of destruction. Fuck a message. I'm Jim Caedus."