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**Sebastian Everett-Bryce** · (07-09-2022)

People often ask me why someone like me became a wrestler. As though the fact that I am isn’t enough, they have to quantify it. They have to understand why someone with my background ever considered a profession in which you choose to get beaten up on a fairly regular basis. It’s funny - when people ask Sloane the same question, it’s different. They want to know what drives her, what makes her keep fighting, what makes this industry the one she chose. But when people ask me, it’s as though I don’t belong. The spoilt little rich boy who has no right to be here. Why? Because my father has money? Because I could have taken some bullshit office job and just waited for the day that he handed over everything he’d built so I could spend my days drinking champagne and eating caviar.

I belong here just as much as you do. I belong here every bit as much as every single person that sneers at me because they think that my privilege has somehow made it easier for me to be where I am today.

I don’t have a story like Sloane’s - this amazing story of familial connection and stolen late nights staying up to watch tapes of Japanese wrestling. Her fight is driven by the love she has for the father she lost.

I have a father who hated me the moment that I was born. I have a mother who did the bare minimum she could to ensure I survived him. I had a grandfather who loved and supported me who was exiled in case he ever encouraged me to be something other than that which my father wanted by design.

I know I’m not perfect - my external bravado often masks an internal struggle that most would never register. In the back of my mind is always his voice, poking and prodding at me to tell me that I’m not enough. That I’m never enough. That I can never be enough. That no matter what I achieve, I’ll never be able to look myself in the mirror and say that I’m better than my father.

Am I? Look at the things I did to win Championships when I first arrived in this country - I stomped my friend’s face into the ground knowing she was suffering with concussions. I turned on my partner all because he was holding the World Heavyweight Championship. When I try to do things the right way, I fail - because… Perhaps… Maybe I’m no better than him. Maybe I have to bend the rules just to get the edge to make me better than the person that stands across from me.

Maybe that’s why I told Sloane that she couldn’t beat me last year. Maybe that’s why something broke between us. Maybe that’s why it took months for us to fix what I’d broken and that she was forced to find comfort with someone else.

Maybe that’s why she and Thad are so close now.

Maybe I’m just not enough.

See how easy that was? Three or four simple questions and I’m inside my own head, trying to find an exit that’s getting further away by the second. Staring down at the broken memories that torture me. I get so deep and in the end, I can’t distinguish between what I’m remembering and what I’m imagining. All of that… Every last but if it was because of my father. But it’s not the same as Sloane. And I’m not as strong as Thad. At least now I’ve learned to mask the doubt - and while I’m admitting it right here, right now that will be the last of it - I’ll tear up this paper and set fire to it and I’ll paste on that smile that everyone knows and I will play the fool. Because that’s who I am…

Not my father’s son. The reject, that failed to become what he wanted me to be.

21st June, 2005, Cobham, Surrey

“Sebastian! Get in here now!” Called a stern and angry voice from behind a cracked door. A boy’s face appeared from around the corner at the end of the hallway. His fingers grasped at the oak panel with his small hands. “Now boy!”

The child jumped, he stepped out into the hallway to reveal pristine stone coloured chinos and a polo shirt. He started to walk towards the office door and paused for a moment, when he looked around and a woman was standing looking at him, with her hand over her mouth and tears in her eyes.

“Go on, darling.” She said quietly. “Don’t make him any angrier.”

The boy’s lip was trembling already - he must have been no older than eleven years old. He took a deep steadying breath before reaching up and pushing open the door.

“Get outside and knock before you walk into my office.” Said an unseen voice.

“But you asked…” Said young Sebastian.

“Did you just speak back to me?” Asked the voice.

“No, sir.” Said the child. “I’m sorry, sir.”

He immediately stepped outside and pulled the door back into place. A moment later, he reached up and tapped on the wood. The silence hung, as it did, Sebastian pulled on the bottom of his t-shirt nervously.

“Sebastian.” Said the woman at the end of the hallway. He glanced up at her, and she was motioning to him tugging on his t-shirt. She shook her head. “Stop.”

He paused, realising his error and immediately began trying to flatten down where the edge of the t-shirt had started to curl up as he tried to stuff it back into his trousers.

“Come in.” Said the man, a little quieter this time. For a second time, Sebastian pushed open the door and stepped inside. He closed it behind him and turned to face the desk. His father, Sebastian Everett-Bryce II, was facing away from him, leaning against his desk with something in his hand. But what it could be, Sebastian had no…

“Sebastian has shown himself to be a kind-hearted, courteous young man who is extraordinarily likeable. He shows a keen eye for sports, and is always willing to help.” Said his father, turning slowly to face him. However despite the glowing report, his face didn’t appear to be happy. “However.”

Seb’s heart was beating out of his chest - he had a feeling he knew what was coming next, but in that moment he’d have done anything for the report in his fathers hands to spontaneously combust. But he knew it made no difference - it was just for show. The contents were already burned into his father’s memory. His father glanced at him, his eyes cold and merciless.

“Sebastian’s work could do with more care and attention. He has a creative mind, but a lack of focus and in subjects in which concentration is fundamental, he often lacks the ability to stay on task. This isn’t always a bad thing, as not everyone is supposed to be a scientist or a mathematician. Sebastian flourishes in the performing arts. A little of the application he provides to learning scripts applied to learning the periodic table would allow him to achieve across the board and allow him more time to focus on his artistic endeavours.” Said his father. There was more to the report, but the point had been made. He held up the report. “What is this?”

Seb didn’t speak. His feet felt as though he were pinned to the ground, his entire body frozen in place.

“I said what the hell is this?!” His father raged throwing the report in Seb’s direction. The papers hit him and exploded all around him - if he hadn’t been so terrified the scene would have amused him as the individual sheets floated to the ground. “I send you to one of the finest private schools there is and you waste my time, my effort and my money on fruitless pursuits.”

“I just…” Seb began, but his father stepped forward and swung. The back of his father’s hand collided with Seb’s cheek and he staggered backwards and tripped landing in a heap upon the ground. His eyes burned with tears, and with the shock he felt delayed the sting of pain upon his cheek.

“Do not talk back to me.” Said his father. Seb wanted to argue again - to tell him he asked a question. But instead, he lay there unmoving, looking at his father’s perfectly shined Oxford shoes. “Get off the damn floor, and stop that fucking crying.”

Seb pushed himself up slowly, his hands still shaking. As he got to his feet, his father turned away from him and walked back to his desk.

“You’ll be starting at Berwick Academy at the beginning of next term.” He said quietly.

“What? Boarding school?” Said Seb, the tears still stinging his eyes. “I don’t want to go to boarding school.”

“Then you should have worked harder.” Snapped his father. “You’re lazy and arrogant. You have no ambition. You shame me.”

“Dad…” Seb began,

“Father.” He snapped, his eyes narrowed. “I accept the title because you are my child, but make no mistake you get your weakness from your mother’s side.”

“Don’t you speak about my mother…” Seb said defiantly. But he knew his mistake too late - his father stood from his seat and opened his belt - Seb knew his fate when he began to wrap the leather around his balled fist, and closed the door.

_____________________________

Seb couldn’t be entirely sure how long he’d lay there, silently crying while his father worked at his desk. But after the lashings, he’d not spoken another word. Eventually, Seb slowly managed to push himself up and climb to his feet. He turned away from his father and reached for the door handle.

“If you breathe a word of this to anyone, I’ll make sure you don’t get up next time.” He said without looking up from his paperwork. “And you’ll spend the next seven nights in the cellar.”

Seb felt the tears well up again - he hated the cellar. Cold and dark. Seb was afraid of the dark. There was no bed, either - instead he would have to sleep on top of whatever he could find. If he was out of luck, he’d have to sleep on the cold concrete floor.. It was the punishment reserved for the most heinous of his crimes.

He pulled open the door and broke into a run - he didn’t stop when his mother called him, nor did he stop when he almost knocked the gardener over as he ran out of the door. He ran and ran and ran and didn’t stop until he reached the bus stop. He climbed onto the first bus that arrived and rode it until he was told there were no stops left. He walked through the strange town, his head down, his eyes red and his body in agony from the straps.

He’d have to try and hide them somehow. No-one could ever know his father had done this. It wasn’t worth the repercussions.

Seb wasn’t looking when he walked into a large something - immovable but soft. He looked up and felt panic in his voice.

“I’m sorry!” He said, looking up at the large man with a handlebar moustache and tattoos all over his arms.

“It’s alright, son.” He said. “I’ve had bigger bumps than that.”

The man laughed and Seb noticed the others around him - they laughed too.

“You alright?” Asked a woman - she looked kind, and was pretty. She had pink hair and kind eyes. “You been crying?”

“... Bit.” Said Seb. “I’m okay.”

“You lost?” Said another - muscled, but with a shaved head and a clean cut face.

“No, I just… Can’t go home yet.” Seb said. He saw the looks that this strange group exchanged and felt the embarrassment spread up his face. “Anyway…”

“You want to come see a show?” Said the woman. She held out her hand, and offered Seb a flyer. “Professional Wrestling! Come and see the Notorious Big Ink face off against Handsome Harvey Wallbanger.

“That’s us.” Said the man with the tattoos. Seb chuckled.

“That’s better.” Said the girl, holding out her hand. “Come on - supposed to be a fiver, but we’ll sneak you in and you can watch from backstage.

Seb bit his lip, these were strangers. And strangers were dangerous. But right now, he couldn’t help but feel that going home was more dangerous than anything that could happen inside that small community centre.

“Okay.” He said, taking her hand. “What’s your name?”

“Danica Daze.” She said smiling. “But my real name is Natasha.”

“I have a friend called Natasha.” Said Seb smiling. “Well… Kind of a friend.”

Seb and his three new friends walked inside the building, for a night of well-mannered-frivolity.

I never realised how much that one day would change my life. It was pure unbridled joy - I didn’t care who won or who lost, all I cared about was the fact that I felt more free than I had in my entire life. That’s when I knew this business meant something. That moment on that night made me understand that I had a chance to be something other than the pathetic, worthless unworthy child that my father made me out to be. Because in that small community centre in god knows what town, I saw a future.

And so I grasped hold of it with both hands and I refused to let go - because why would I ever want to stop feeling like this? Some people are addicted to alcohol, others to drugs but for me it’s that feeling you get when you step out onto a ramp and the whole building reacts. For better or for worse, they make you feel something. I almost lost that last year - that feeling that comes from being in the middle of something truly special.

I lost that feeling that I had when I was eleven years old at my first ever event. I forgot what it was to be that kid who didn’t want to go home, and ended up finding a new one. I forgot that nights like this are right in my comfort zone - tournaments, chaos, the unrelenting realism of the unknown. And I know what everyone thinks - this is just another chance for me to come so close but fall short, this is the event where I finally cross the line to victory. I’m not afraid of the hard fights - I’m not afraid of facing my shortcomings. I want this, because I want to prove that these past ten years haven’t been in vain. I want this because I want to show my father that I’m not the cowering child that he remembers. I want this because, despite everything, I still want to force him to acknowledge my victories.

And I refuse to be ignored.

8th July, 2009, Cobham, Surrey

“Will you keep quiet you idiot?” Snapped Sebastian’s father in a whispered yet aggressive fashion. Seb was carrying several shotguns, and had trouble keeping them all together. He’d already stumbled once and scared away an entire field of pheasants that they’d been hunting on the Everett-Bryce estate.

“Give him a break, Seb.” Said one of his father’s friends - one of the few that Seb could actually stand. His name was Bradley. “Come here son - let’s give you some experience in shooting one of those instead of carrying them.”

“Don’t give that moron a gun, Bradley.” Warned his father. Seb flushed.

“He’ll be fine.” Said Bradley, before lowering his voice. “Just do as I say.”

He handed Seb the shotgun and stood to his side.

“The secret is to know the field - the placement of everything. You don’t have to know where the targets are, but you have to understand the key is to know where the key markers are. Trees that guide flight paths, obstacles that force them to fly in a particular direction. Clearings where they’re likely to be bunched closely.” He said. Seb turned and cast him a look. He winked, and Seb smiled.

Seb’s father twitched with anger.

Seb looked around and saw a clearing, and above it was a canopy of trees. It meant that if they took flight they would all have to fly to the right. He took a deep breath and lifted the gun. Bradley gave the signal and a moment later, the air was filled with pheasant and Seb fired. Two loud thuds later confirmed what Seb had known the moment he pulled the trigger. He’d hit his target.

“Brilliant!” Said Bradley.

“Dad, did you see…” Seb said, wheeling around, gun still in hand. His father let out a yelp of terror and flailed as he fell backwards. There was a splash, and then thunderous laughter as Seb’s father started to lift himself out of a small pond. “Oh god… I’m sor…”

But Seb stopped as his father climbed to his feet. Everyone stopped. Seb tried hard not to feel like he was small - he was older now, more grown. And yet the look he gave made Seb feel like he was eleven all over again.

“Come on, Sebastian, it was an accident.” Said Bradley.

“Shut your fucking mouth.” Sebastian said, pointing at Bradley, his eyes still on Seb. “Go and get your kill… Boy.”

Seb felt a chill in the air, there was a reason his father was sending him out there. He couldn’t see it - but he knew. Seb turned and slowly began to walk towards the clearing. One of the pheasants had fallen near a tree. Seb picked up the first, and then walked to the second. As he leaned down to pick it up, there was an explosion above his head and pieces of wood rained down upon him.

Seb fell to the ground, into the small pool of blood that had fallen from the bird.

“Jesus christ, are you insane?!” Shouted Bradley as he rushed towards Seb. “Seb, are you alright?”

“I… I think so…” Seb said thickly.

“You could have killed him you maniac!” Shouted Bradley. It was then that Seb realised that the explosion was a gun shot. And it had come from his own father.

“Maybe now the idiot child will remember that his place is behind me, not vying for the attentions of some…” His father said. Bradley helped Seb to his feet, an arm wrapped around his shoulder.

“Some what, Sebastian?” Bradley asked firmly.

“You should leave.” Sebastian senior said. “Now.”

“With pleasure. Come on Seb.” Said Bradley, as he tried to lead Seb away from the party.

“Sebastian, you stay here. You’re not finished.” Said his father. Seb took a deep breath.

“Ignore him, come on.” Said Bradley. But Seb stopped - he knew how this would end if he left. Bradley would be punished just to punish him.

“I have to finish.” Said Seb quietly.

“You have nothing to prove, son.” Said Bradley. “You’re a good lad.”

“He’s pathetic. No wonder you’re so attached.” Said his father, with a smirk.

“Let’s go, Seb…” Said Bradley. But Seb pulled back and away, moving towards his father. He cast a look back at Bradley. He slowly shook his head, before turning and walking away.

“Let this be a lesson to you, boy.” Said Seb’s father quietly. “That no matter what you do, I will always have power over you. Now you stand there, and you watch him walk away.”

Seb closed his eyes tightly, trying hard not to cry, as he watched the only person that had ever stood up for him walk out of his life for good.

One man taught me how to read the field - gave me a lesson that I’ve never forgotten. How to look for the right opening and opportunity. It’s how I viewed this tournament - once I get past Krystal I expect in the next round I’ll face Ken Davison - a fellow UGWC Superstar and one half of the Cooperative Champions - and while I know Ken is a capable wrestler, I also know he’s comfortable in a team with Kyra at his back. And while I’m sure there’s more to him than that, there’s a big difference between a singles wrestler that finds himself in a Tag Team compared to a Tag Team wrestler trying to fight it out alone. No muscle memory. An unfortunately willingness to lean on someone else.

It’s sad but true. I have no fear of Baltimore’s Elite.

And then Bobby Bourbon, that No Good Bastard - I could repeat what I said about Ken, given his well-known Tag Team capability, but the difference is that I’ve seen him progress in a tournament before. In fact, my debut year in UGWC, it was Bobby who fell prey to Sloane in the final of the Wrestlestock Open. Time has passed, but Bobby has continued to prove that he’s a constant threat and a continued nuisance. And yet, I can’t help but smile when I consider the prospect of our facing. XWF Vs UGWC has always had a kind of bite to it - even without adding Valor and Level Up to my resumé.

And beating up bastards is something I’m looking to do more of.

And just like that, it’s Semi-final time. I had a little more trouble trying to see the outcome of the bottom half of my bracket. And then one name stood out above all others - Jason Cashe. Sloane’s best frenemy. He and I have pretty much always seen eye to eye, save for the one or two occasions our heat got risen. But I’ve always wanted to fight Jase - if for no other reason than to see just how a man who is seventy eight percent marajuana smoke hits as hard as Sloane told me he did. We never crossed paths during his time in Valor, but I look forward to the prospect of facing him for a chance to move on to the final.

Facing and beating. That goes without saying.

And then there was one - the one I’m hoping for. Whether or not it comes to pass, only time will tell. But there was a time when the world assumed that Dicky Watson and Sebastian Everett-Bryce would come to blows. Me, the newly signed and fresh-faced challenger, and Dickie, the glowering Empire Champion almost a year into the debut reign in Fight! NYC. But those plans were derailed by a split personality and the closure of the company. And whilst the Fight no longer exists, my urge to face the very best in this business remains. And I’ll die on the hill to say that Dickie is one of the absolute best. It would be an honour and a privilege to face Dickie in the Final of the Cannabis Cup - it would be an honour to beat Dickie Watson in the final of the Cannabis Cup. The only question still to be answered is this.

WIll it be Dickie who makes it to face me?

Because rest assured, I will be in the final. And when people ask about the significant moments in the birth of my Empire I will point to those three days in New York as the turning point in everything that is Sebastian Everett-Bryce. I win this for my mentor and the man who believed in me when I didn't, Chris Page. I win this to see Johnny Hitmaker's head spin at ringside. I win this for the eleven year old boy who made friends for life in a community centre in London. I win this for every single child that’s ever grown up to feel like they don’t deserve the good things that happen to them.

But most of all, I win this for my father - because if it wasn’t for his bitter contempt and willingness to be cruel, I may never have found my way to where I am today.

The rest of you should probably curse him for that.

Because my name is Sebastian Everett-Bryce - and I am the winner of the first ever Cannabis Cup.

Deal with it.

Threaded Mode \| Linear Mode The Sins of the Father - Cannabis Cup RP #2
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