Monday, December 9, 2013 – 12:04 AM EST – The Compound – Old Saybrook, CT


I sit, with my legs crossed on my desk in my private office. My arms folded behind my head, eyes closed. The solitude of the Compound, which normally I feel at ease with, today makes me jumpy and uneasy and I'm not sure why. It could be any of a multitude of things. My tag title defense against the Black Circle looms in the distance. Which, by the way, is no doubt playing with buttons deep within my soul. At one time, I was a very big part of that stable of misfits. Time marches on and things change.

Back then, John Madison was still a man and now he's a woman. Not even an ugly one. I'd fuck his face. Her face. Whatever. Even thinking it sounds odd to me. Back then, Luca Arzegotti was carrying my bags from town to town. Now, he's become his own man, fighting his own demons. He's an extremely talented young competitor that will undoubtedly wear the crown one day. Not my crown. No, it's mine. He can't have it.

I sit here and think about my past with the Circle and I can't help but to hate them less than I did a couple of months ago. Weeks ago. Days. Minutes. Something has changed within the winds of the Xtreme Wrestling Federation and I find myself not even giving two shits about the Black Circle and what they're up to.

It's almost as if my life had stopped completely while the rest of the world advanced with light speed. Everything is different now. The Brotherhood is a mere shell of its former self. The unenviable task of ridding the Crown from John Madison consumed me to the point where I let my Brotherhood fall apart.

John no longer wears the crown. Teddy Pryce wears it now.

I now find myself at odds with my best-friend. My tag team partner. A man who had tried to kill me long ago, and failed. A man that I saved from a bullet just this year. And he likewise. Why Griffin MacAlister would betray me the way he has is completely beyond me. It's something I may never understand.

Jacob, my trusty Messenger, tells me that he was in love with Callaway and that's why he did what he did. If he would have just talked to me beforehand, I would have understood. I'm not an uncaring bastard. Now, I fear he and I have started down this road which has no happy ending. It will only end once one of us lays in defeat inside the squared circle.

I hear a knock on the door. At once, my eyes burst open and I'm staring at Jacob, who enters slowly and quietly closes the door behind him. He takes a seat across from me. He crosses his right leg over his left knee and lays his right arm on the desk and looks at me without saying a word.


SEBASTIAN DUKE: “WHAT!?”

THE MESSENGER: “Have you heard?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Heard what?”

THE MESSENGER: “Ms. Callaway had her baby.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I didn't even know she was pregnant.”

THE MESSENGER: “Really? Because we talked about it like five times.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I don't know, Jake. Things are getting lost.”

THE MESSENGER: “Sebastian, do you need to talk to somebody?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “What do you mean? Like who?”

THE MESSENGER: “I mean, like a Professional.”


I nearly burst out of my chair at even the thought of seeing a psychiatrist.


SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I'M NOT FUCKING CRAZY!”

THE MESSENGER: “You forget a lot of things, Sebastian. You've single handedly brought down your own Brotherhood. You've inducted members, cut some loose, totally ignored the best of the bunch. Had Bitchfest 2013 with Griffin.

“Need I go on?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Who did I ignore?”

THE MESSENGER: “Well, pretty much all of them. Tony Santos didn't even wait to get kicked out. He left on his own.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Who's Tony Santos?”


Jake jumps out of his chair. He walks around the desk and grabs both of the XWF Tag Team titles out of the trophy cabinet with its busted out glass panels and lays them on my desk in front of me.


THE MESSENGER: “You ever heard of a successful tag team title reign where one guy held both titles?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Gilmour did it.”

THE MESSENGER: “Yeah, then he had you as a challenger and found himself a partner.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Maybe I'll do that, then.”

THE MESSENGER: “Griffin MacAlister is the other tag team champion whether you like it or not!”


He pauses momentarily before continuing.


THE MESSENGER: “You've completely alienated yourself from everyone that gave a damn, Sebastian! Every last person that joined the Brotherhood for whatever reason they might have had, you've alienated. Steele? Gone. Payne? Gone. Santos? Gone. Nightmare? Who the hell has even seen him? MacAlister? May as well be gone!

“Every last soul that gave a damn about your original cause is gone, Sebastian. Your Brotherhood, is just you. How successful do you think you're going to be when Griffin MacAlister stands you up in front of the world and leaves you to defend the tag team titles alone against the Black Circle?”


I stand up. Jacob steps back, unsure of what I'll do. I grabs the tag team titles and place them both back in the trophy cabinet. Instead of saying anything, I walk passed Jacob and out of my office. Much to my chagrin, he's following me.


THE MESSENGER: “Where the hell do you think you're going?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Out.”

THE MESSENGER: “Out where?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Doesn't matter.”


I continue through the corridor and through the door and into the garage.


THE MESSENGER: “You have a match in under three days! You haven't even given it any thought, have you?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Nope.”


I climb into my old beat up truck. Jacob stands between the opened door and the cab, not allowing me to shut it.


THE MESSENGER: “What the hell is going on with you lately?”


I turn the key and the engine roars to life. I shove Jacob backward and slam the door shut. I hit the button on the remote and the garage door begins to raise. After rolling down the window, I turn to Jacob.


SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Don't call me. I'll come back when I feel like it.”


Those were my last words I said to him before heading out. At the end of the driveway, I exit the gates and steer toward downtown Old Saybrook. The drive only takes a couple of minutes. Once I enter the old 18th century desolate downtown area, I find myself staring at neon lights. Its almost as if they're summoning me. One joint in particular, named O'Malley's.

I park the truck along the street and walk into the pub. The dozen or so patrons stare at me as I enter. I get the feeling a couple of them might recognize me, but I pay no attention to it. I sit at a bar stool and the bartender walks over and leans against the bar.


BARTENDER: “You're a rather large fella.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Bourbon and branch.”

BARTENDER: “Ice?”


I nod, and the bartender grabs a tumbler and fills it with ice. He pours the Bourbon, then the mineral water and places it on an O'Malley's Pub coaster in front of me.


BARTENDER: “You new in town?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “You could say that.”

BARTENDER: “This one's on the house.”


I raise my glass.


SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I appreciate that.”


Before I even know it, I've downed several glasses of Bourbon and Branch. It's passed last call and I've ordered two more. I down both of them quickly and stand up. Staggering toward the door after I slam down a hundred, a man blocks my exit.

He's not a small man by any means, but definitely not as big of a man as I am.


SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Excuse me.”

UNKNOWN MAN: “I know you.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “You don't know anything.”

UNKNOWN MAN: “You're on that wrestling show.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I might be.”

UNKNOWN MAN: “That shits fake, ya know?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “You gonna let me out of here, or am I gonna have to move you out of my way?”


Without saying another word, the man punches me square in the chin. I stumble backwards and fall down, taking a couple of tables with me. The man moves in closer to me as a clutch my chin with my hands. The man has a nice punch. I won't lie about it.


UNKNOWN MAN: “You ain't so tough now, are ya, wrestling man?”


He reaches down and yanks me back to my feet. He rears back his fist and swings at my face again. This time, I catch his fist with my left hand. My hand almost completely envelops his and I begin squeezing my hand shut with all my might. The man begins to yell out and even tries prying my hand off of his. In order to shut him up, I headbutt the man. He falls flat on the floor and clutches his forehead. I grab him by his shirt and lift him off the floor. I punch him in the face as hard as I can and he flies backwards and crashes through the glass front door and onto the sidewalk outside.

Reaching into my back pocket, I pull out my wallet. I lay down a grand and walk through the busted door and step over the unconscious attacker. After climbing into the truck, I begin to realize I'm far too drunk to drive.

Oh well. I'm not calling Jacob. I'm not calling anyone. They can all eat shit.

I begin down the road, side swiping cars and nailing curbs along the way. Maybe this was a bad idea.