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Extreme Ways - Centurion - 09-21-2021
------Monday, September 17th, 2001------
(This was not what Andy Cortinovis had in mind when he decided to become a professional wrestler.
Three months ago, Andy made his debut in the CCWF under the name “Centurion”, a rank held by Roman generals. His career has been pretty flat thus far – a short Triple Tag Title run is all he has been able to accomplish, but his alliance with The Wildcards has risen his stock to the point where he is now contending for singles titles. His first major pay per view match was tonight, when he faced fellow Wildcards member Roller for the IC Title. It was a legendary bout that saw Roller retain the title, but it was not what happened during the match that will be remembered forever.
It is what happened after.
Someone cut the power to the arena, causing the place to go pitch black. By the time utility crews were able to restore power, fans and wrestlers alike were horrified by what they saw in the ring – Centurion and Roller, nailed to a cross, and cut up in some sort of ritualistic fashion. The entire show came to a halt as EMTs had to rush to get the two wrestlers out of the ring and out of the arena in order to save their lives.
Luckily, their lives were spared. Their careers, however? That remains to be seen. The IC Champion Roller had already gotten a bit long on the tooth, and Centurion was brand new to the business, and this was his introduction to the ultraviolent world of professional wrestling that some of the sicker owners and promoters reveled in.
We open up inside the Broadlawns Medical Center in Des Moines, Iowa. There, sitting in a waiting room are the members of the Original Wildcards – Maverick, Heru’ur, Enforcer, and Steve Jason. Heru’ur, who never spoke and just sort of existed as a mysterious Egyptian man that intimidated people, just stares directly into a wall, not moving. Enforcer has his feet up and is reading a crappy old magazine. Maverick and Steve Jason are both looking uneasy as they stare at the door that leads out of the waiting room and back into surgery.
Two hours after arrival, Enforcer decided he was tired and had enough of waiting around. He and Heru’ur would head back to the hotel, causing the first rift that would eventually lead to their removal from the Wildcards. Maverick and Steve Jason, however, remained as their fallen comrades were still being treated for the nasty injuries they suffered.
Roller was the first one out of surgery. His wounds didn’t seem as deep or as life threatening as Centurion’s, so all the doctors had to do for him is get him stitched up and put on some pain meds. After a brief visit with Steve and Maverick, Roller has passed out, and the two remaining Wildcard members return to the waiting room as Centurion’s fate still is unknown.
Finally, several hours later, a doctor opens the doors, and calls out to Maverick and Steve.)
Doctor: Andy is out of surgery and he’s awake, though he’s still rather out of it at the moment. You can go see him, but try not to cause him any extra stress.
(Maverick and Steve barely listen to the doctor as they quickly bolt from their chairs and down the hallway, before entering a hospital room.
The sight they see is a pretty rough one – Centurion is all bandaged up, looking as if he was in a severe car crash, with tubes connected to him and monitors going off. The most noticeable set of bandages are on Centurion’s hands and wrists, which almost look like thick mittens with how bandaged they are. Centurion turns his head towards the two men and raises his hand, though he’s only able to get it inches off the bed, and even then it is a struggle. Centurion speaks, but his voice is low and raspy, and he speaks slowly.)
Centurion: …...whaddup?
Maverick: You look like shit.
Centurion: Nah, I’m perfectly fine. Who are we facing next week?
SJ: Hopefully no one. Hopefully we sue the pants off of C(beep)ver and get this entire place shut down...and give you a nice amount of cash to lay on while you recover.
Centurion: (cough) As nice as that would be, I doubt that will happen. I saw Omega set a man on fire and nothing happened. By the way, you know what sucks? Getting stabbed.
Maverick: That’s what Roller told us.
Centurion: You talked to him already? He must have gotten less of it than I have.
Maverick: He was on the upper side of the cross, so the blood didn’t rush to his brain like it did for you. That’s why he was able to regain conscienceness a lot more quickly than you did. Do you have any idea who did this? The lights went out, and whoever it was left through the Maintenace tunnels. We never saw any traces of these dudes backstage.
Centurion: Sorry, I didn’t get the chance to check IDs.
Maverick: You didn’t recognize a voice or a face or...
(Steve places his hand on Maverick’s shoulder, getting him to stop his line of questioning.)
SJ: Why don’t you run to the café and get us a couple of coffees. I’ll stay here with Cent.
(Maverick looks down at Centurion, then back over to SJ, before nodding his head and turning to walk out the door. SJ walks closer to Centurion and leans down to speak to him.)
SJ: We’re going to find who did this, and we’re going to beat the unholy hell out of them. And you’re going to get patched up and be good as new. Don’t worry, Andy...you’re going to be alright.
(Centurion’s face scrunches as he turns his head away from SJ. A tear begins to run down his face as he looks off into the distance.)
Centurion: No, Steve...I don’t think I’m going to be.
------Thursday, July 14th, 2007------
(At this point in his career, Centurion had practically done it all. He was inducted into two Hall of Fames. He won the XWF World Title, which was the highest title in the federation at that time. He was known as one of the best, and most consistent performers in the industry. But there was one label that was just attached to him…
…flake.
Upon losing the World Title to Brad Pierce at the end of May, Centurion took some time off. What he said to the public, and what people believed, was that Centurion simply needed some time to rest his body after going through a long and grueling road schedule. The truth was, Centurion’s mind was shattered. He was spiraling further and further into a deep depression. It didn’t matter how many victories he racked up in that time, he was still unable to get his mental health in check. So when a match between Centurion and Jose Chavez was booked for that year’s edition of Leap Of Faith, and Centurion did not show up, folks just assumed he ran from the challenge.
The truth is, Centurion couldn’t attend the match…because he was institutionalized.
We open up inside Meadows Psychiatric Hospital in Centre Hall, Pennsylvania. There, sitting on a couch in a private room is Centurion, who is wearing a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants, a very unusual sight for the mostly dapper dressing Centurion. He has both of his arms on the back of the couch, and he is tapping his foot on the floor, either in nervousness or impatience. Sitting facing him is a therapist, who has a clipboard in her hand.)
Therapist: You missed group this morning.
Centurion: I didn’t miss it. I skipped it.
Therapist: You know, you have to complete your group therapy sessions if you want to be released from here.
Centurion: What exactly are those group sessions supposed to help me with, huh? I’m seated between a young girl who watched her father be murdered in cold blood, and a woman who was violently raped, and I’m supposed to sit there and just be like “yeah, my brain doesn’t work so great”? Do you know how much of a piece of shit I feel like when I have to listen to people with legitimate trauma talk about why they’re here, when all I can say is that I have some sort of medical condition that doesn’t allow me to produce serotonin?
Therapist: You’re still going with that, are you?
(Centurion stops tapping his foot as he cocks his head to the side.)
Centurion: What do you mean, “still going with that”?
Therapist: Part of the reason you are unable to heal properly is because you are incapable of cleaning the wound of your trauma. To make an analogy, it would be like if you kept getting stomach aches over and over again. And you’re trying your hardest to fix your stomach aches. And sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t, but after getting it looked at more closely, you find an infected wound you completely ignored. Your mental illness isn’t just because your brain “isn’t producing enough serotonin.” It’s because you have unhealed trauma.
Centurion: From what? This isn’t going to be one of those “you’re sick because your daddy didn’t love you” conversations, is it? Because I don’t think I can take any more of that.
Therapist: No, though your relationship, or lack thereof, with your biological parents can play a role in your mental health moving forward. No, I’m taking something more tangible. Something in your career perhaps?
Centurion: Ha!
(Centurion puts his arms down from the back of the couch and just shakes his head.)
Centurion: I’ve have more injuries than I can count. I mean, look at me…
(Centurion holds his arms out and shows off some of the scars he’s accumulated over the years.)
Centurion: I look like a pin cushion. Some of these scars are on top of other scars.
Therapist: True, but I’m more interested in those scars on your wrist.
(Centurion arches his eyebrows and glances over at his wrists. There, he sees the scars the therapist is referring to – two very distinct circles left from the assault made on him six years previous. Centurion rubs his wrists before looking back over at the therapist.)
Centurion: Yeah…got them early in my career. There was a guy, called GD, who used me as some sort of message. Put me on a cross. It’s one of those things that happens.
Therapist: Is it? How many others in your line of work do you know have gotten crucified in their careers?
Centurion: Well…very few.
Therapist: It must have been scary for you. You were young. Early in your career. Something like that? Did you go to the hospital?
Centurion: Of course. It was the first hospital trip of my career. I had serious doubts about continuing my career…
Therapist: But you did anyway.
Centurion: What else was I going to do? The money was good, and the XWF started calling. I had an opportunity to leave my old federation behind and become a superstar. Why wouldn’t I do that?
Therapist: You didn’t take a whole lot of time off, did you?
Centurion: I mean…I took about a month. I wasn’t going to make any money just sitting at home, so I had to get back out there…why are we talking about this anyway? This was so long ago.
Therapist: Did you ever see GD again?
(Centurion stops and thinks for a moment. He looks into the ceiling, pondering the question, then looks back down at the therapist.)
Centurion: No. Once the CCWF went under, he just sort of…vanished. The business was changing. All that death and murder stuff wasn’t going to fly like it did there, so I’m sure he went on to do something else, or he’s in jail. Hell, he could be dead for all I know…or care, for that matter.
Therapist: It must be frustrating to have never gotten closure. To not know what happened to your abuser.
Centurion: Hey now…
(Centurion stands up and walks away from the couch. He walks over to stand in front of a window, and he leans up against the window while still looking at the therapist. His speaking as gotten faster and his breathing has gotten heavier, but there doesn’t appear to be any anger in his voice.)
Centurion: Don’t use that word. “Abuser”. That term applies to so many other people. I am not a victim, alright? I’m a professional wrestler that was caught off guard once. Do you know how many others get put into that situation and don’t make it back to the business? I’m one of the lucky ones.
Therapist: There’s no doubt about it.
Centurion: When we get into this business, we know what we’re getting into. There’s always a chance something horrible may happen to us, but that’s what we sign up for.
Therapist: Which is what your friend Jayde told you, right?
Centurion: …what?
(Centurion glares at the therapist, unsure of what she meant by those comments. Then, a wave of memories came flooding back to him. It was the Titan Wrestling Corporation in 2003. Centurion was there for a brief run as the XWF was rebuilding. A faction consisting of himself, Maverick, the aforementioned Jayde, and other former XWF wrestlers were locked in a war with a faction known as Demo Pac, lead by former Universal Champions Cooper and Bigg Rigg, as well as Little Demo, other wrestlers that have been lost to time, and a mysterious “Overweight Man”, who acted as a manager and a mouthpiece for the unit.
Backstage at one of the shows, Jayde was assaulted by the group, and left to the wills of the Overweight Man, performed some rather disgusting acts on her. Jayde was known as being a bit “precocious”, so her comments on the assault fell on deaf ears. Besides, in Jayde’s words, “there are no rules in professional wrestling. This was always a possibility. It’s what we signed up for.”
Centurion hadn’t thought about that night in years. A wave of survivors guilt washes over Centurion as he remembers the look in Jayde’s eyes that evening.)
Centurion: …how do you know about that?
Therapist: We've had some people watch a lot o wrestling in order to get a better understanding of you and what you've been through. This was one of those events that was an immediate red flag for us. You never got your revenge on her abuser either, did you?
Centurion: No, I never saw him again. I have no idea what happened to that man.
Therapist: Just like GD.
Centurion: So, what are you saying?
Therapist: I'm saying your previous trauma has made you empathic towards others, especially when it comes to those who are victimized and aren't able to seek their revenge. You may be in professional wrestling for the money, but you act more like a mercenary. You want paid, because you want to live a glamorous lifestyle, thinking it will all be taken from you soon, and you want to bring justice to people who you think have wronged others and never got their comupance. And I think you're incapable of just letting go. I think any lose ends cause your mind to break. Which is something we can work on...
(Before the therapist is able to continue, a knock on the door is heard. Before the therapist can answer, the door cracks open, and a staff member peaks her head in.)
Staff: Doctor, there is a Walter Crowe here, saying he has some legal papers demanding Mr. Cortinovis’ release.
(The therapist’s eyes go wide as she glances over at Centurion, who is in a daze as he stares down at the floor.)
Therapist: Tell him Mr. Cortinovis is nowhere near ready to be discharged. In fact, I think we are on the verge of a breakthrough.
Centurion: Sorry to tell you, doc…but I don’t think you’re going to cure me.
(The staff member closes the door as Centurion slowly walks towards the door. The therapist stands up and puts her hand out in front of her.)
Therapist: Wait! If you leave now, you’re leaving this wound unhealed. This thing is going to continue to follow you throughout your career. I can help you in here. I can’t help you if you go back out on the road.
(Centurion reaches the door and looks back at the therapist. He takes a deep breath in, and his glazed sad look is replaced by that trademark Centurion smile. She quickly shakes his head as he opens the door and points at the therapist.)
Centurion: Next time I’m in town, I’ll leave you a ticket, Doc!
------I Broke Everything New Again, Everything That I Own------
So...here we are.
I'm sure you're laughing hysterically right now, Giovanni. I'm sure you think you've always accomplished everything you set out to do. After all, you've gotten in my head. You forced me to drop everything in order to respond to your weekly messages. I was in the midst of a hot streak before you popped back up - a war with BoB, a UGWC championship around my waist - things were going smoothly for you until you popped back in my life. I would say you've been controlling my life for the past three months…
...but the truth is, you've been controlling my life for the past 20 years.
Every decision I have made in my wrestling career has been in response to that fateful night when you nailed me to a cross. Every enemy I've stared down has been a reflection of you. Every ounce of expensive liquor I've spilt is because I almost died in the ring one night, and I wanted to live my life to the fullest. Everytime I went home with some random woman, or tossed thousands of dollars on Red, or agreed to wrestle in an exploding cage of fire match…
...every time I pop those pills, or sit in that therapist office. Every time I held that gun in my mouth, and almost pulled the trigger…
...it's because of you.
Is that what you've wanted to hear your entire life, GD? That I am a completely fucking mess because of you? Well CONGRATULATIONS! I hope the payoff was as good as the suspense. I know we've been building to this moment for a very long time, and I'm sure this revelation feels less like an orgy and more like a sad orgasm.
Here's the thing about it, though, Giovanni. Those nights I had that gun in my mouth? I ended up not pulling the trigger. Why?
Spite.
I know there are too many people who would be overjoyed at my death, and I want them to be as miserable as possible. I also know that my untimely demise would have giving you the ultimate victory. It didn't matter if it was 10, 15, 20 years after the fact - if I drove myself to suicide because of your actions, you ultimately would have succeeded in your goals.
And I never wanted to give you that satisfaction. In fact, while all the wins and all the titles and all the glory was great, there was ultimately one goal I wanted to achieve more than anything. The one goal I've had in the back of my mind for 20 years, and one goal that I finally get to accomplish.
I wanted to live long enough to piss on your grave. I want to be there when they put your sorry ass in the ground, and I want to be the one who ultimately pours the dirt on your cold, lifeless body. And I want to walk away knowing it's the last time anyone will ever see you, think of you, visit you ever again. No gravestone, no funeral, no fun stories around a campfire about how funny grandpa was.
Nope, just you...gone from all eternity. As if you never existed. Poof.
In the end, that's the worst fate that could befall you, isn't it GD? All this talk of a "prophecy", building this empire and "becoming a god", and all you get for it is a Wikipedia page and your name on the program. You wish so dearly to be a monarch, when you can't even pull off being a fascist convincingly enough.
You should never have come back. You should have stayed in the shadows for the rest of eternity. That would have kept the lore and the mystique alive. You would have forever haunted my dreams, your servants would never have left you, and those who saw you, however briefly, would always be wondering what was about to happen. What would you have accomplished if the CCWF did not close? What kind of pain and anguish would you have caused if you would have been able to continue unchecked? That question would never have been answered.
Instead, you decided to risk it all, and instead of being a shadowy figure that causes pain and destruction, you're most recent legacy is that of a mid level Anarchy wrestler who couldn't get the job done against the most basic of opponents. You're not a god - you're a man. A man who bleeds. A man who feels pain. A man who can be destroyed. Most importantly, you're a man I can bury. You're a man I can move on from.
You almost took my life from me, Giovanni. Now I get to return the favor. I may not be able to kill you at Relentless, try as hard as I may, but I will take everything from you. Once your servants see your bloody, mangled body, they will leave you, en mass, upon the realization that you are nothing more than a fraud. Your career will be over, I can assure you of that. Whatever prophecy you hoped to being about - whatever Armageddon's Reign was supposed to be, is going to be snuffed out permanently. You'll never show your face in the professional wrestling world ever again. And your "benefactor" will see you as a waste of time and money, and will cut you off completely.
Which brings me to the real reason you're here - money. Someone paid you to come back. Someone sent you one hell of a check so you could return from the shadows and haunt me. And this person has to be incredibly smart, since they knew not only of your existence, but how to find you. Whoever funded you did so in order to take me out, and I'm DYING to know who that is.
I hope the money was worth losing everything. I hope you were able to fully enjoy the past several months, when you were jumping into pools of champagne or whatever the fuck you consume. Have you ever heard of the phrase "more money, more problems?" You are about to become the very embodiment of it. Cashing that check, however big it was, will be the single biggest mistake of your life. And it will be the biggest mistake of whoever sent it to you in the first place.
You said something very interesting in our contract signing. You said that I "asked for this". I didn't ask for you to be a constant presence in my life, but if you mean I asked for this to be a Raw Brutality match, then hell yeah I did. It's because I don't want to wrestle you, Giovanni. I want to fight you. I want to beat the unholy shit out of you. I want to inflict pain upon you that you've only ever inflicted on others. I don't want referees or front office stooges or medical professionals stopping this fight. I want you to bleed like I did. I want you to cry like I did. And I want you to have my face buried in your memory for as long as you live. You got to taste my blood, Giovanni. Now I get to taste yours.
One final thing, GD. I need to thank you. I know that sounds like an absolutely shocking thing to say, but allow me to explain. You've given me an opportunity at a second chance. You have granted me the ability to shed 20 years of pain and mental anguish. You have given this old man the chance to completely restart my career, which is not something I ever expected. What do I look like when we come out the other side?
Well, that's yet to be determined. In order to slay you, I'm going to have to dig down into the deepest depths of my soul, and pull out a darkness I've kept hidden my entire life. When I'm done with you...I don't know if I'll ever be able to bury that again. You may have turned me into a monster - a copycat of the very thing I have been attempting to kill my entire career. I may wake up Saturday morning and burn everything - my friends, my family, my entire life - to the ground in the pursuit of a newfound greatness. That could happen.
Or, I could wake up Saturday morning feeling like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders. I could be calmer and more focused than I've ever been in my life. I may become the Guru of Happiness, talking about mindfulness and some shit. I don't know. I won't know until this is over. But I do know what you're going to be…
You're going to be a broken, shriveled husk. A shell of a human being that is discarded. When you wake up on Saturday morning, you're going to find yourself lower than the pigs and skunks of the earth.
That is...if you wake up at all.
If you don't think I'm willing to go deep enough, and get sadistic enough to kill another human being, I implore you to watch this year's Snow Job. Actually, you could skip that. Just go to a cemetery in Green Bay, Wisconsin and look for a small grave with the words "Holy Roman War Horse" etched in it. That's all that remains of the last person who didn't think I had it in me to take a life. You'll also notice a distant lack of flowers, or lights, or anything that looks like anyone cares about him. That's a snapshot into your future.
This isn't just for me, GD. This is for Miyoko. It's for Boris. It's for every one of those innocent people you've kidnapped and brainwashed. It's for Jerry, the cameraman you stabbed in the CCWF. It's for Roller, whose career never recovered. It's for Shawn and T, the two original sacrifices. It's for any other human being you have victimized whose names and faces are lost to time. And, yes, this is also for me. Enjoy your last days of being a god, Giovanni, because this Friday night, you will meet your…
FINAL FANTASY!!!