OOC: Formatting later
CW: Death

December 12th, 2022

The water heater hummed in the back of The Notorious Gym, filling the building with a somewhat unpleasant ambiance. It had been a long time since Ned had run the place like a proper gym and even longer since he had seen anyone besides himself and close friends inside of the place. Still, that could change, though he still hadn't decided on whether or not to keep the place. As he wiped the dust off of several pieces of the equipment such as the treadmills, he heard Darcy cough near the ring they had set up in there.

“I don't know why you haven't already sold this place off yet,” she said, though it sounded like she had just eaten several cobwebs just to get the words out.

“It's definitely a fixer-upper,”Ned replied, fully aware of the disrepair this place happened to be in, including how long it seemed to be in the aforementioned state.

“I dunno if it's still a fixer-upper if you've spent years fixing it up and it's still a dusty fucking mess.”

Ned glanced over at her, narrowing his eyes at her deliberate whinging, adding, “I hope you're at least aware that complaining about it isn't making it any more appealing to anyone, least of all yourself.”

She rolled her eyes and spat back, “if I wanted to make this place more appealing, there'd probably be a couple Supernatural posters of the hot one hanging around here.”

“Which one's the hot one?” Ned asked playfully, wiping the off the controls of one of the treadmills.

“I dunno,” she replied, faux-pondering for a moment, “which is the one that looks less like you?”

Ned chuckled, shrugging as he looked over, “so you're saying he looks a little like me, right?”

“Oh fuck offfff,” she said, giggling a bit as she shook some of the egregious amounts of dust out of the ring apron. She looked up at Ned to see him staring off, clearly with a lot on his mind at the moment as she walked towards him, softening her tone a bit.

“Hey... everything okay..?”

“Oh... yeah, it's just,” Ned looked over towards her before returning to the empty space he had been staring at prior,”I actually bought this place right before my first Warfare match. Gator showed up to help me prep for my match against a guy named John Rogan. It feels so long ago and yet really recent, too. I guess that's just how things kinda pass. They're here and you get used to them until they're not.”

As Ned finished up his thought, he looked back again to see Darcy with her phone placed to her ear, listening to some message she had received earlier. He felt a bit bad for talking over it, but something changed as he focused on her expression, a growing shock and light pain becoming more obvious as she placed her phone down and back into her pocket. Her general air of levity had evaporated.

“What's wrong?” Ned asked, still somewhat confused as a smile lingered on his face.

Darcy's face had turned slightly pale as she attempted to gather thoughts, staying silent as Ned questioned her once more, his seriousness increasing this time around.

“Darcy... what is it?”

She gulped and forced the words out, seemingly not believing them as they left her.

“I just got a call about Steven Cooper... he's dead.”

The words didn't feel immediately real as Ned heard them. As if Darcy had created some reason to lie to him or that reality had decided to directly interfere and toy with Ned. But deep down, he knew it was true. The rag in his hand fell from his fingers as his grasp loosened and, for a brief second, nothing like it was really happening. As if the world had been replaced with a waking dream with a single, nightmarish element. Following the numb disbelief, a wave of emotions hit him straight in the stomach.

And a moment later, he wept.

---

December 17th, 2022

The sky was a moody gray at the funeral of Steven Cooper, yet no rain fell. Ned looked around every now and then to see if anyone else had arrived, almost wishfully. But every time was met with disappointment. His family was aware of the funeral, Ned had made sure of that, but it was only a priest, a lawyer, himself, and Darcy who had bother to arrive. He had tried to contact Cooper's protege, Eobard Stone, but found it difficult to track the man down. Ned had known Cooper fairly well, despite their interactions being largely during Ned's months-long mental breakdown. Still, there was a camaraderie shared between them both that was one of the most real things Ned had felt during that time.

It was Cooper that stayed up drinking with Ned to make sure he wasn't going to drink himself into a coma.

The priest finished up speaking and closed his bible, stepping out of the way to allow those present to walk up to the coffin.

It was Cooper that got Ned help and put him on the path to meeting Darcy and becoming himself again.

Ned walked up and placed his hand on the fancy, smooth oak box in front of him.

It was Cooper inside of there, even though it felt impossible.

Ned sat back down for a while as the coffin was lowered, his eyes trained intently on it as Darcy sat by his side. She hadn't been crying throughout the funeral, but she did her best to support Ned, even in his catatonic sort of condition. He tried to accept the reality of the situation, but no matter how he tried to frame it, nothing about the situation felt real even at this point. He wanted to believe it was a lie. As if Steven was just being a colossal ass to him as some great big joke for not going to see him sooner. He never got to thank Steve for getting him sober. He never could now. It was supposed to feel tangible by now. Like something Ned could process and accept, but it still wasn't yet. A few minutes after the coffin had been placed in the ground and the first bits of dirt began to cover it, the lawyer stepped up to Ned, doing his best to speak respectfully.

“You... you're Ned Kaye, right?” The man asked, removing his hat.

Ned sort of nodded, finding it easier than formulating words.

“Here,” the lawyer reached into his coat and pulled out a VHS tape and a small envelope, “this is what Steve had left and he had asked me to give it to you. It's yours.”

He handed Darcy the tape, peeking into the envelope and seeing a few hundred dollars. He looked up, confused as he struggled to ask the question on his mind.

“That's it? That's all my friend had left? No house... nothing?”

The lawyer uncomfortably sat next to Ned, placing his hat back on before sighing, “Kinda, kid. Most of his belongings were basically collateral for some debt he had to some shady, underground fighter types. Not people anyone once to get mixed up with, but what are you gonna do? I say you buy yourself a drink to remember the old man by.”

Ned remained silent for a moment before his usual energy began to glimmer through the tragedy of it all.

“What's the name of these people he was indebted to?” Ned asked, Darcy almost gasping as she shook him lightly.

“Look, I get you're sad, Ned, but the people he's describing are dangerous. You don't need to do anything like thi-”

He looked over to her, cutting her off with a few softly spoken words, “I can do it.”

He turned to the lawyer once more, a purpose in his glare as his hands squeezed the envelope.

“Tell me the name and I'll get Steve's things back.”

---

---

---

Walking into frame, Ned stood in front of a mantle, countless XWF tapes and DVDs scattered atop it along with the Supercontinental Title belt, placed respectfully upright. As he stepped in front of the title, his back turned to the camera, Ned sighed, gripping onto the championship belt with a sigh as he did his best to take the situation in fully, his voice almost shaking from the emotion alone.

“So, it's come to this.”

His gaze turned upward as he lifted the belt and placed it around his waist, securing it while still being pointed away from the camera's watchful, uncaring eye. There was a cautiousness in his movements, a delicate intention to each motion as he finally turned around. Despite his calm exterior, it was very apparent that the near overwhelming circumstances surrounding this match and his personal life along it were plain on his mind, but he fought through the feelings with the best confident voice he could've put on.

“You know, when I debuted for the XWF at March Madness 2019, I didn't really know what was going to come next for me. I'm a lot of things, but a soothsayer has never been one of them. Regardless, I came in as an XWF fan who finally made it to the company I had been working hard as hell to get into for as long as I could really remember. And what show did I make my home? Wednesday Night Warfare. Sure, I've been on a ton of XWF programming, but if you're watching Ned Kaye, odds are it's on a Wednesday night. And I am faced with the fact that immediately after winning the brand's current title, both this title and this brand will be retired. After going through hell and coming out the other side with gold, I only get to enjoy that feeling for a fleeting, sobering moment. I've been watching Warfare for the decade it has been around, like I watched Madness, Massacre, Anarchy, and Saturday Night Impact before it. But Warfare stuck with me in a very personal way I find difficult to describe. Maybe some of that is due to being one of the few people here who enjoyed the XWF before joining it. Perhaps it's a matter of me spending a ton of time being on the show. But I think it's something deeper than that.”

His voice slightly trailed off as he spoke, his mind clearly in those places far in the past, though he quickly regained his earlier focus.

“Wednesday Night Warfare has a spirit and an energy and identity that I embody. That anyone from any place in the world can make it amongst titans regardless of their background or struggles. As long as you pull yourself up every time someone smacks you to the mat, you can make it here. Maybe I'm thinking back to one of the brightest spots of one of the darkest moments of my life, watching Eobard and Cooper go out there and wrestle their asses off in the ring of this show. Maybe I'm just still mourning a friend.”

Ned glanced down at his boots. The audience at home couldn't see far past his waist, but he stared for a moment at them, regardless. To a wrestler, boots meant far more than just a pair of shoes or something to protect your feet during an intense match. They were a part of you; the part that saw the danger and pain of this life and embraced it almost in spite. So many pieces of you get left behind in a ring without your input, but your boots? They were one of the only parts you had a say in leaving right there on the mat. Kaye's eyes began to well with tears slightly as he thought of his friend and teammate, but he looked up through the watery eyes, his expression all the more intense because of them.

“That's before we even get into where this landmark show is taking place. NYC. The hometown of myself and Isaiah. Placed smack dab in front of my peers, right in my backyard, for the final match in the last installment of a show that has encapsulated so much of my life. And I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a part of me that wondered if I really deserved the honor, y'know? Even though so much has changed, I still feel like that kid who came in after years of driving myself around from show to show, getting paid a couple hundred a night at best, and being plucked out of obscurity and dropped into the stage my dreams were made of. But the truth is that things have changed and not in ways that can be rewound or ignored. Wednesday Night Warfare can always come back one day, though it's continuous run has been interrupted, but I can never be the same bright-eyed, naive rookie I once was regardless of how parts of me would like to.”

“It's a lot to digest and even more to really think about.”

His fists clenched some, his nails digging into the soft skin of his palms as a few tears fell down his cheeks, tumbling down on their own accord with little consideration for Ned.

“This Main Event will be the end of an era. An era I lived through and helped build. I guess there's something more somber about witnessing things changing when you were right there, helping guide them.”

Ned looked to the side, hoping the camera would disappear if he just looked away long enough. But it remained. Right there watching, recording every word and each silent moment in-between.

“And in saying that, I realized something- a plainly apparent truth, but a truth nonetheless:”

He wiped away the remaining tears from his face, his eyes emblazoned with an unspoken passion that burned through his body as he spoke his next words through almost gritting teeth.

“Isaiah King is full of shit.”

The words carried a venom with them that was unlike Ned's normal demeanor, but came from somewhere obviously personal as he stared daggers into the camera, unable to look away any longer.

“You'll hear him talk about doing the hard work, coming in, and cleaning out corruption, but I happened to have a damn good seat at the last Saturday Night Savage and you know what I saw, Isaiah? I saw you out there, getting your ass kicked and having your Queen come out there and finish the job for you and that makes me sick to my goddamn stomach. On the one night where you are needed to show this company respect, to show that title around your waist reverence and appreciation, you put your final word on Savage by being too much of a coward to eat the loss your earned. Because for you, King, winning is”hard work,” even if it's someone else's work that keeps you winning, huh?”

Ned leans into the camera, his voice raising as he speaks with further intensity, almost yelling.

“You wanna know something, Isaiah? You wanna know what hard work is?! Hard work is getting into a string of bad losses and not letting those for a second stop you from being the man you need to be! Hard work is getting knocked out in the ring, waking up in hospice, and going back out to fight only a few short weeks later! Hard work is being pushed to your limit time and time again until the world finds out that your limits aren't for them to decide! You lift some weights and you look good in the ring, but you've got a contingency plan right behind you in case, God forbid, you have to actually lose a match!”

Doing his best to calm down, Ned begins to pace slightly, back and forth before turning his focus once more to the camera.

“I was excited for this match, Isaiah, I really was. Because I was rooting for you and I was ready to have us, in our city, show the way forward for this company in one, encapsulating masterpiece where the best man wins. But then I get to see you take the easy way out and just stroll your way over, intending to “cleanse” Warfare with the same bold cowardice we all witnessed on the final Savage. Newsflash for you, “King,” but your throne doesn't mean shit to me. You've got words, but they're all noise, you got spirit without soul, and a title without the conviction it takes to carry it. What do I have? I have bruises, scars, a chip on my shoulder, and a hell of a lot of will. I have walked down that ramp and been pinned and tapped, but I still got up and I honed in and grabbed this title from Charlie Nickles kicking and screaming because Warfare means more to me than a name! Warfare is a battle of wills, a mindset, and a tradition that might transform, but will never die! And there's a reason we call it “will”power and not “can”power, King. I will walk into that ring on Wednesday night without the pomp and circumstance of my usual entrance. I will stand beneath the name of this show and do it justice by climbing as far as I can until these two titles are both in my grasp. I will honor everyone who has ever walked into that ring, alongside me, across from me, and far away alike with a performance that will embody what Warfare has meant to millions! And at the end of the night, when the smoke clears, and we alone are in that ring, you'll look at me and see the champion of this chapter and the next standing above you. You know why?”

Ned's breathing steadied as he lifted the Supercon off of his waist, hoisting it up with an iron grip.

“Because I will it.”

"You can't run from yourself."