OOC: Formatting in the morn



Step 6: To accept help.

Shadow encompassed Amelia’s apartment. She sat, shrouded in darkness, curled on her living room couch. She despised sleeping out here. It felt degrading… humiliating. Out here, she had only her thoughts and the cheap clock she’d bought to draw her focus.

With its Incessantly ticking.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Her ability to accurately measure time’s passage had dissipated much earlier. The alcohol stash’s call became louder with each skull-pounding tick. Just attempting to focus strained her. The only action that came naturally was pressing her phone’s unlock button in sync with that maddening ticking. The rhythm was the only thing grounding her, illuminating her softly for a flash, before plummeting back into darkness. Light on, light off.

Tick, tick, tick.

Her chest tightened, muscles stiff, aching from inconsistent sleep. She wanted her bed. Its cheap, unspringy, loudly-creaking springs. Her itchy, wool sheets. It would feel like a bed at The Ritz…

But she knew what she’d hear in there. The clanks; glass bottles kissing, begging her to indulge. Her tears welled with weakness, but she didn't budge. She couldn’t. Many viewed her word as disposable… valueless. So, it’d been easier for her to abandon promises. But Ned didn’t. His word was his bond and he expected the same from others. She didn’t find him incredibly impressive, but he walked the walk; an infectious quality. As her mind raced, her thoughts drifted towards her father, a twinge of reg-

Knock-knock.

Amy’s heart froze. The phone-screen dimmed. She stretched out, despite her body feeling compressed. As she struggled to her feet, the knocking returned, more violent, stopping her in her tracks.

Knock-KNOCK.

Before she could move, the door busted inwards, the lock tearing through the wall. Amelia fell back, terrified. The man in the doorway wore a beanie, his pale skin just visible, concealed by the darkness of Amy’s room. His movements eerily calm, aloofly adjusting his jacket’s cuffs as his eyes, appearing black as coal, stared.

“We’ve been looking for you, Amy,” he said, voice almost pillowy.

Her body shook rapidly, panic overcoming her, as she battled her own petrified tongue, “Wh-what do you want?”

He chuckled, shaking his head dismissively.

“It’s not what I want. It’s what Jeremiah wants. And Jeremiah wants his money back. $3000. Tomorrow morning.”

“H-he’ll get it,” she pleaded, stepping back, despite the man not advancing.

“You’re correct, Amy. The debts you owe the wicked always come due. Tomorrow morning. Lovely apartment, by the way,” his smile illuminating the darkness, as he delicately closed the door behind him. Amelia froze, listening for his footsteps. Quiet, quieter… Then gone.

Amelia fell to her knees.

And wept.

---

Ned was about to pull his hair out as he approached the bank. Actively sending Amelia money could be a massive overstep, but he couldn’t leave Amy to get hurt by criminals. The world blazed past him as his ride arrived at Tokyo National Bank. He eyed the schematics, scoping Ned’s meeting-point with Flynn. But, that would come later. This situation could put Amy in harm’s way or cause her relapse. Ned owed it to her to give her the best shot at sobriety. To protect her from the edge. As he stepped into the wire transfer line, he raised his phone, calling Darcy instinctively. 

“What’s up?” She answered, recovered from Ned’s sudden absence, but with a tone of disappointment, “Excited for our fancy dinner date tonight? You owe me like three more occasions of you wearing a suit. At least.”

Ned’s eyes welled, summoning the truth, “Amelia called. She’s getting harassed by some drug dealer she used to buy from. I’m gonna wire her some money so she’s safe, then handle this bank robbery with Mark so… I can’t make it.”

“Oh,” Darcy replied, flatly. Not overt disappointment, just silent disapproval, “I understand.”

“… I’m so sorry. I wanted this vacation to be so much more for you… for us, but I have to be the responsible one, y’know? Otherwise, who will be?”

Suddenly, behind him, Ned heard someone phonetically speaking as he typed.

“NED… EM-ER-GEN-CY!”

“Flynn?”

Next? A blur. Shots firing. Darcy’s screaming. Guns blazing.

At some point, Ned must’ve hung up. One grenade jump, minor squabble with the escaping thieves, and a Mothra later, he’d finally gotten everyone to a safe side of Floor 28. That’s when he got the truth.

---

Ned cradled his head in his hands, processing the information provided to him.

“So, you’ve both been caught in this Yakuza mess for weeks… And neither of you came to me about it?” Ned asked, glaring with intense disapproval at Crash and Isaiah.

“It’s our personal business,” Crash answered first remorselessly, “You may be captain, but, outside WarGames? I don’t answer to you.”

“Risking Shae’s safety so your tights don’t get twisted?”  Isaiah scoffed, “No chance.”

Ned stared them down, in disbelief.

“You two could have gotten yourselves killed because you were too proud to ask for help. I know people in places, Isaiah. I would have used every connection I had, but you’re too caught up in your vendetta against me to accept that option! You wanna hate me? Fine! But you put a lot of heat on yourself for that grudge. I hope it keeps you warm at night.”

Isaiah tried to cut in, but Ned spun on Crash.

“And you. You’re a father. I respect protecting your family. But thinking you have to go it alone and no one can understand or be on your level? As someone who lost his father long before he wanted to, I’ll tell you: you're playing around with a life... And not just yours.”

Crash stared daggers into Ned, “Don’t bring my family into this.”

“Then don’t get wrapped up in all this!” Ned shot back, “Your life's on the line! That means your family’s involved whether you want them to be or not! So, act like it, use your goddamn head and trust me.”

Ned rolled his eyes, clinging to composure, given the day’s events. A question crept to the forefront of his mind as he turned toward Flynn, his unicorn horn being first-aided by Irwin.

“How’d they get you three in the same place at once? Sure, some of this is tied to King and Rodriguez’s loose ends, but… Why wouldn’t those ends be included in the plans Flynn obtained?”

Irwin sputtered, clearly anxious from gunfire and outside-voices, “M-m-mister Flynn never intended ANY of this!”

“SHUDDUP!” Mark demanded groggily, still bleeding from skull-shrapnel, “Irwin’s talking crazy, Nedarooni! He’s shellshocked! Someone throw a wallet in his mouth!!!”

Ned was silent. It all fell into place. Flynn didn’t uncover some secret plot. He created it. Wordlessly, he pushed Irwin away. He lifted Flynn by his collar.

“...You did this?”

“It was a mistake!” Irwin cut in, trying to calm Ned with the truth, (the only bargaining chip he had). “We wanted a theatre troupe, but we ran into some problems… e-mailed the wrong guys…”

“SEE, Ned! Irwin messed up! As his mentor, I take ful… hal… 10% responsibility.”

…

“No, 4%.”

Ned’s gaze didn’t shift an inch, “You setup a fake heist… for what? Glory?”

…Flynn shook his head! “NO! It… It was MUTUALLY BENEFICIAL, Nedster! We ALL know why you do hero shit! ADORING fans chanting your name! The THRILL of being loved! You NEED heroic shit to-do! That’s what *I* brought YOU! You need MARK FLYNN!”

Ned rebuffed Mark, disgusted, “You’re sick. Honestly.”

…Mark’s face contorted into hurt rage. “...Don’t you PITY ME! I am a WRESTLING GOD! UNMATCHED! UNRIVALED! UNPARALLELED! You’re climbing now, Nedestrian, but I was MAIN-EVENTING while you recorded Cent’s matches over your parents’ wedding-tape! An-”

“Shut your mouth.” Ned interrupted, unamused.

Mark’s face quivered. “Wh-WHAT?”

“Listen for once in your miserable life. You think you’re better than me? Maybe. But I don’t have to play games to earn people’s trust. I don’t have to validate my existence because I destroyed the only friendship that ever mattered to me. You love statistics so much, Mark? Here’s one: we have the same 2023 loss count. So, while you insist you’re such an asset, you skip over that fact. I am, at LEAST, your peer. That must terrify you. Because I don’t have to be alone to be as good. You need me as much, if not more, as I need you.”

Ned dropped Mark’s collar, taking a breath. He turned toward the calamity still happening just outside of their safe-haven.

“Alright. We’re fixing this. Not to shove your noses in your problems and failures, but because you can do better. All of you. We’re making this situation right for everyone. And we’re doing it by the book. Any ideas?”

Crash spoke up, “We can fight.”

“Yeah…  We can.”

---

---

---

“There was plenty of doubt pointed at me and my teammates approaching WarGames. Despite an incredibly dominant 2023, I’m consistently tied to hollow platitudes or insults regarding my abilities. Mark lost to Bobby Bourbon twice, back-to-back, and people lined up to declare his time in the spotlight over. Isaiah has faced this lingering sense of inadequacy, reflected by his harshest critics. And Crash’s future’s already in question, just because he’s entering WarGames as an XWF newcomer. I drafted a team at-odds with my sensibilities, because I saw promise in these men, not just as wrestlers, but as human beings. Immediately, people questioned if I could lead three so different from myself.”

“And yet…”

“We’ve proven quickly and definitively that we are the team to beat. I can’t pretend we all see eye-to-eye, but we strive forward together regardless. And the truth is that no other team here can come together like we can. What we lack in philosophical synergy, we make up for in understanding and drive. I’ve already explained Sidney Grey’s failures as a leader. Her team consists of hostages and the unwanted. But I have much to say about the other teams mine could be face in the finals.”

“Let’s begin with Sgt. Lacklan’s Wounded Pride Club Band. Obviously, Sarah’s fuming over me beating her. A moment she’d call a fluke, but she still snagged Noah Jackson after he’d assisted me in eliminating her from the captain’s match. I’d compliment her humility if I wasn't certain she only did it because Noah’s (1) talented and (2) tolerating her antics. Now, Jackson and Bobby are rightfully upset because they feel excluded by their friends. For Noah, that’s me. I didn’t draft Noah for the same reasons I didn’t draft Kido: he’s already doing a better getting his shit together. I respect him as a friend and opponent. Frankly, I’d hoped Noah respected himself enough to hang his ego on the possibility of being drafted by me, but we’ll have to settle for getting post-WarGames milkshakes. Meanwhile Bobby’s hellbent on revenge against TK. He’s a ticking timebomb, a scorned lover, proudly announcing that if he can’t have his tag partner, nobody can. But, when Bourbon’s angry? He’s sloppy. He’s too preoccupied with the devil he knows than the Kido at his door. And atop the heap? Sarah Lacklan. She’ll denounce me, but then take everything I’ve warned Angie about and shove Vaughn’s nose in it. Just for fun. Sarah, Angie might have shared blood with you for life, but the moment she “became a Lacklan”? Her career and personal life began to spiral. You may abhor me, but you’d repeat every word I’ve ever said to hurt someone you deem unworthy. After Sid betrayed her, Angie needed someone. A sister. Instead, she got you. I once despised you, Sarah, but nowadays, I just pity you. You could own a mansion with a million rooms. You’ll never fill it with one true friend.”

“On that note, how about a man who knows nothing of truth nor friendship: Thunder Knuckles. TK drafted Doc, a veritable legend, over his closest friend. The problem? He couldn’t just commit to that decision. It had to be someone else’s fault until nobody bought what he was selling. That’s the truest Thunder Knuckles: the man using every con in the book to weasel out of his own actions. He’s got no faith in Mark Wright or Jenny Myst, despite their talent, because he really just wanted to ride Doc to the winner’s circle. It’s so shameless, I’m embarrassed on behalf of the Doctor. You’ve had your entire career to prepare for this moment: the one where the least teamplayer-y guy on the planet borrows your talent just to rerail his career and… You just go along? See, the reason I didn’t draft Doc? I want to beat Doc. He's a living legend, but I am a legend being forged. I want to face those whom I think will strengthen me most. But, TK snatched you in his grubby mitts because he needs you for a chance at winning. And he knows it. TK’s every shameless conman, pleading for your SSN, posing as customer support. Begging you to be ‘smart enough’ to trust him. What's that say about how he views friends? Bobby deserves better than you and you couldn’t care less. I hope I get to kick your ass out of War Games again, TK. Once was not enough.”

“We can’t talk about unearned loyalty without discussing Angie Vaughn. Angie’s been repeatedly used by those around her. It's utterly sickening. Be it Sidney’s abusive mind games or Sarah crushing her spirit just for a hollow victory over her own family. Going through the motions, even though everything around her has clearly changed. And “going through the motions” ought to be her team’s motto. Be it Mr. Oz, someone desperate for an inkling of respect, while he shows none to himself, or Vita Valenteen proving she still doesn’t know what she wants after years in this business, happy to just latch onto someone and hope. But there’s someone else. A friend and ally, unmentioned. The Universal Champion Raion Kido. Who dethroned Alias. Who took the lady king’s crown. And yet he’s content to wander, believing he’s without peers or contemporaries. You’re my friend, Kido, but make no mistake. I’m coming for that title. Coming to humble you as much as I have anyone else. Because if you can’t be convinced that you’re surrounded by equals through words, then I’ll do it through actions. Angie’s team, like herself, finds comfort in the unchanged. But, their status quos have been dramatically altered. Soon, they’ll learn that standing still, frozen-in-time, is no way to live. But, that day sure as hell won’t be WarGames.”

“Speaking of relics, let’s discuss the Madison Dyson tribute act nobody wanted: Dolly Waters. Why’d she retreat into mysticism? Because she wants to hurt people from afar, tormenting them like her “heroes,” but she lacks the stomach to dirty her hands. And that simple dichotomy betrays her everywhere she steps. Dolly wants to be a monster convinced that’s all she can be, so she takes part in the most ineffectual form of torment, to enable her feelings without hurting anyone. I might be defined by eternal internal conflict, but Dolly’s defined by her inability to address anything lingering within unless she uses a rune and 400 layers of repression. Suddenly, her team make total sense. Dionysus, who respects me infinitely more than he does Dolly and Unknown Soldier, wants to struggle without feeling like he’s struggling. Soldier’s attention span can only be retained by dangling a snuff film under his nose. But, the kicker' Corey. It’s no secret that he and I have a complicated history. I don’t know if I'd call him a friend. Corey might say the same. But, inexplicably, Corey’s decided that his big WarGames target should be… Jenny Myst. Why? Because she slighted him? Going from Alias to Jenny? Jesus. Look, he’s one of the most talented men I’ve ever shared the ring with. He’s accomplished so much in record time… but you’d never tell it with his frequent complaints. You’d swear he was constantly getting dismissed with his incessant whining. That’s why he and I have problems beyond our history. I climb mountains despite the pouring rain. Corey gets hurt feelings if he has to lift his foot. Dolly’s team is one of contradiction. Despite all their talent, they’ll only squander it on petty grudges.”

“But the undisputed queen of petty grudges? None other than the captain opposing me. Now, I’ve made my opinions on Sidney clear, but I’m more surprised at how her team has rallied behind her. Jay Omega, who should know she’s not worth it, still follows her headfirst into self-destruction. He must have a billion ways to sidestep this mess. Where’d the man who beat King Bourbon go? Where’s the spacefaring man who battled The Chameleon? Is he stuck on the ship? Has he been scattered amongst every other copy of himself for so long that he doesn’t know who he is anymore? And Centurion… I’m disappointed. I’m all for competition, but you delivered the pettiest personal jabs about my career. It wasn’t just uncalled for, but uncreative, and moreso, everything critics have said about you. It seems projection isn’t just your favorite way of watching film. You say my career will never reach that top-level, for who? Sidney Grey. You’re better than that, Centurion. And if you aren’t? Maybe my childhood hero’s been gone for longer than I hoped. Wanna sell out for her approval? That’s your business. But, you know as well as I, she’ll toss family away just for the thrill of it. I hope that whatever she betrays your trust over, it’s worth a hell of a lot more than Sidney fucking Grey. The world according to her is an illusion. No more real than Middle-Earth. The fantasy ends, Sidney. The buzz of booze coursing through your veins peters out. You’ll stand, overshadowed by the man before you. Who warned you where this road led.”

“The shadow that stands taller with others, not shoving them aside.”

“The shadow of The Ace.”

"You can't run from yourself."