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Prince Adeyemi · (11-11-2022)

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Isaiah King Corporation Said:The following is a work of art, a visceral experience, an unparalleled masterpiece produced by Isaiah King Corporation. It will be best enjoyed along with its musical accompaniment and your full attention, any less and you should be ashamed of yourself. Try to keep your hand(s) out of your pants, if you can - you have been warned.

Play it.

9th November 2022, Warfare.

It all happened so quickly, and as the blood dripped onto Isaiah’s tongue and down his throat the only thought running through his mind was disgust.

His match was short, sweet and efficient. Wish had gotten a few good hits in, he’d shown Isaiah what he could do, and Isaiah was satisfied enough to wrap up the show - even though they had the opener. His body had been sufficiently warmed up, his fans sufficiently entertained, Warfare sufficiently blessed by the Television champ.

Until Junior.

When the masked idiot came rushing in to prove some point. When he knocked Isaiah down and had the gall to stick his dirty, ingrate boot onto Isaiah’s chest - the change in situation… How annoying..

As Isaiah strained on the floor, his head still ringing slightly from the fall and his breath a little harder because of the tiny boot on his chest all Isaiah could do was hold down his vomit.

His beautiful hazel eyes glared into the lights, not even looking at his assailant who now had his mask off and was taunting him. He just could stare up into the stadium lights. What the hell is going on? What are you doing on the floor?

This was not according to plan, it was not the best case scenario, it was not the only acceptable scenario Isaiah had mapped out for the night, for the week, for his career. This was a pothole on the road, an ill-placed squished fly on the windshield, a piece of gum under your boot. This damn boot.

Isaiah closes his eyes and catches his breath, focusing on calming himself down. He barely feels the boot slip off his chest, and Junior rolling out of the ring and leaving him there. He barely notices Junior at all as his anger drips down into a smouldering simmer. You’re a disappointment.

Isaiah rolls towards the ropes, and uses them to lift himself up onto his feet. The crowd murmers, some cheers in and around as the concern for his condition spreads. He looks down at his Television title, shakes his head and bends down to pick it up. The show must go on, the fans must be entertained, punishment comes later.

Isaiah picks up his title and raises it into the air to illicit a cheer from his fans, he tilts his head slightly to look towards the ramp, catching the last glimpse of a retreating John Madison Junior. That wasn’t according to plan.

10th November 2022, The King’s Court.

As your ad-blockless computer wraps up it’s cookie-curated local post-election campaign ad for the party of your choice, your screen finally flickers on to a much anticipated Isaiah King vignette. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome back to another show, our dear Mr King is in quite the bad mood today, so let’s be good boys and girls shall we?

This time the feed seems to be coming from a set camera, attached to the ceiling.

Isaiah is sitting next to his own multi-screen setup, one playing his last vignette which seemed to have some glitchy colour-correction issues (We gotta fire our editor for that one, ungrateful twat), another playing his match against Tommy Wish, three playing different angles of Angelica Vaughn and John Madison Junior’s last title defence, and one playing John Madison Junior’s latest promo, and three playing differing angles of John Madison Junior’s beatdown of him on Warfare.

The screen setup seems to just be in another corner of the gym space, the only modern-looking area of the decrepit training room. Wires are barely organised, running against the wall and down to the floor. A single whirring PC powering everything. Isaiah is sat on a comfortable looking leather arm chair, the leather itself cracked and peeling in some areas. A little distance behind him is stands “Zeke”, his red jacket-ed, beat-up, alcoholic friend.

Your screen blinks and you’re welcomed to a different angle. It seems like you’re getting the feed of security cameras placed around the room.

This one zooms into “Zeke’s” face as he walks towards the Isaiah, eyes flickering across the screens.

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”You do this every match, Izz? How you’ supposed to pay attention to anything?”

Isaiah doesn’t turn away from the screens, his demeanour feels different. His back is straight but he has an elbow on the arm rest, and his head is tilted slightly to the right. He touches each finger to his thumb, repeatedly, obsessively as his eyes flicker from screen to screen. Too fast to be possibly be catching anything.

”Ooh, Mr Tough Guy, silent and brooding, can’t play games with me boy.”

Though looking no cleaner, “Zeke” seems to at least be more sober than we saw him last. His eyes twinkle with a deviousness, and his voice is smooth but sultry. His eyes linger on those last three screens with the beatdown.

“What’s the gameplan, Izz.”

Isaiah lets a sharp click from between his lips. Fingers curling into a fist before he takes in a deep breath.

“It’s been two days, get your shit under control.”

Isaiah begins to rub his temples with an index and thumb.

“You’re a champ, this ain’t how we trained, Eli-“

Isaiah’s voice interrupts him, low, menacing and uncomfortably controlled.

“Don’t you dare say that name in here, Ezekiel.”

Ezekiel catches himself, a brief sense of concern flashes across his face before his face returns to mischief.

“Get over yourself Isaiah, stop giving them power.

Isaiah exhales long and hard, and rests both hands on the armrests. He tilts his head back, chin pointing up at the ceiling.

“You know I can’t do that.”

Ezekiel shifts has hand from the back of the chair into his jacket pocket. As if like magic, it returns with a lone cigarette and lighter. Click.

“You say you’re single-minded Izz, but with all these grown ass men taking up space in ya’ head…”

“I can’t do it, Zeke…”

“First it was Jeremiah, then Eli…Jah -“

Ezekiel pauses for a second to study Isaiah’s reaction - Isaiah winces, but doesn’t do anything else.

“And now this little bitch? You barely even know the guy and you haven’t been able to think about anything else all week.”

“He went against the plan.”

“What plan?!”

Isaiah slams his fist into the armchair before he can catch himself.

“The Championship plan, my plan.”

An exasperated laugh from Ezekiel answers him.

“Well of course? You’re an idiot Iz. Why the hell would your damned opponent stick to your plan?”

“Because. It’s. My. Plan. I stick to my plan. My plan is how I reach my goal. It is how I get what I want. ”

“You more of a child than he is, then.”

Ezekiel replies quickly, shaking his head and taking a long draw of his cigarette. Click, the camera angle changes and you return to behind the pair. Ezekiel turns away from the chair and paces slowly.

“What’re you going to do about it?”

“I want to rip his throat out from between his pudgy little head and disgusting little body, and use his blood to clear my head.”

“Dark. What’re you actually going to do about it?”

“I- I’m going to-”

“What were you taught.”

“I’m going to recalibrate.”

“Why’s that?”

“That’s what Champions do.”

“Elijah was always good at beating mantra’s into us, actually that old piece of shit was weirdly good at it. What needs to change?”

Isaiah taps the armrest quickly and aggressively.

“Faster. What needs to change?”

There’s a brief silence, a fan whirs in the distance. The computer screens flicker as some of them loop back.

“Nothing.”

“Oh?”

“At least not with the fight this Saturday.”

“Explain.”

“The gameplan is good. Fight fair, fight clean, destroy him completely, win over the locker room, elevate Savage, elevate the XWF. Leading alone, leading all.”

“That what went wrong?”

“My expectations. The depravity of this awful place is deeper than I expected it to be. Junior isn’t quite the spineless but potential-filled second-generation wrestler I thought he was. The journey to the top…. Will be dirtier than I expected it to be.”

Ezekiel stops his pacing and turns back to face the back of Isaiah.

“You were always a little slow on the uptake. Good.”

Isaiah reaches forward to his mouse, and clicks a couple times. The screens flicker to all display all two of John Madison Junior’s previous fights. Your screen fades to black.

11th November 2022, Angie’s Breakfast Spot, Brooklyn, New York.

Your screen returns with a much higher quality feed. You find yourself in a classic New York diner, styrofoam plates, limp pieces of toast and bland eggs drenched in bacon grease. A larger woman works the counter pouring coffee for the three regulars seated along the bar. The camera weaves through the central walkway, before turning to capture the smartly dressed, tantalising Isaiah King.

Seated in a booth, he has a plate of three pancakes drenched in maple syrup and covered in bacon. His knife works quickly through the fluffy stack, slipping it into his mouth, leaving the lightest drop of syrup on his lips. He gives the camera a wink before licking it up. Calm down, ladies and gents.

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“Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Angie’s diner, possibly one of my favourite spots for a great pre-flight breakfast. Thought I’d put out at least one… Properly working piece of promotional work for you guys to enjoy before my big defence tomorrow. A defence against another champion at that.

Not that this company has the best creme when it comes to the top.

But, my sincerest apologies for the little technical difficulties that first video had - not sure who was to blame for that… It’s not a good look for the future face of this company, is it?

Well I’ve a lot to say about little ol’ Junior, and I’m sure it’ll get all of you excited to come down to the show.”

Isaiah lets out a chuckle, but a chuckle that feels a little less genuine than they usually seem. His twinkle, but with a little less joy. He taps his belt, which lies next to him on the booth.

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“I’ve really been looking forward to this fight, I’ve been looking forward to defend my belt on the show it meant for, in front of the fans it was meant for… Against the opponents it was meant for.

And that’s who I thought you were Junior. I thought you were a young, up-and-coming star who was looking to make a statement at the XWF.

A wrestler who saw what his father had done in this industry, the great wins, the great achievements and wanted to do the same.

I saw how you you fought, how you spoke, how you behaved… And got you all wrong.

That’s my bad, really.

You seemed so genuine, so pure, a little comical - I thought we’d have a fair, clean, fight for the years. Something worth putting on a tape of my rise to the top. Something to help you develop and grow into a better wrestler yourself. Something that helps make you a star.

I picked a simple stipulation to reflect then. One that reflected the honour of champions, a classic match, with a classic winner. No tomfoolery in the way.

But then you had to take your stuttering, muttering, two-celled brain and ruin it all.

Because you’re more like Senior than I thought? More like your father than I would’ve liked. While he rots in jail, I didn’t think the XWF needed any more of his immorality. We have a fair share as it is.

But that was too much to ask for, I guess.

Too much to expect from you.

Too much to expect from this business.

Too much to expect from my career.

And that’s okay, really.

All you had to do was keep your mouth shut, your hands to yourself, train your ass off and come show me what you could do. I’d have assessed you well, offered you my hand in leadership and taken you where your daddy issues never could have. I’d have made you a true star.

But that was too much to ask for, I guess.

Angie was a fun fight, a fight that was my propellant to this title in the first place. I beat her decisively, cleanly, fairly. I made her tap out decisively, cleanly, fairly.

You had to taint that with your spineless, thoughtless, plan-less attack.

Does Angie know you’re prone to unplanned early releases? I’m sure it’ll affect your partnership when she does. Does she approve of your actions? Or your lack thereof?

She's got expectations of you - you gonna be able to match up?

Or is she going to have to recalibrate?

You might’ve given me a cut, bruised me more than necessary… But you really should’ve murdered me if you were going to take me out.

You wouldn’t take Angie out for an expensive little dinner without asking her to go home with you would you? You wouldn’t invite her into your room just to lie beside each other with your clothes on.

You wouldn’t start something without finishing it - so why did you?

Junio, Junior, Junior.

You really shouldn’t have showed up on Warfare.

Because now anytime I want to look back at my matches, I have to think of you.

If they ever make a documentary of how Isaiah King rescued the XWF from it’s drowning, they’ll have to scour through videos of you.

Anytime I look at a child in sneakers - I’ll remember your ugly feet on my chest. And I do a lot for the kids in New York… Damn man. You really shouldn’t have showed up on Warfare.

I guess in some way, I’m still really looking forward to our match tomorrow. Not because I thought it’d elevate this championship, me, you or Savage. But because I’ll be able to replace the vile thoughts of you touching, laughing and… TOUCHING me.

I’ll be able to replace them with images of your unconscious, purple-bruised face after I make you tap out ike your unfortunate partner did. Unlike Angie, I’ve got a good reason to make it hurt a whole lot more when I cleanse the Savage ring with your spit and blood.

Hey, I’ll get my people to even send your dad a reminder that you’re fighting tomorrow - you know, just in case he wants to relieve memories of you filling up your diapers and throwing up on yourself.

I’m the heir to the XWF’s throne.

I’m going to make this belt worth something.

I’m going to lift up this entire locker room up with me. I'm going to exceed expectations.

But you’re not invited to the show.

You can rot in the undercard with the rest of your spineless kind.

I expected so much more from you Junior, you’ll regret not living up to those expectations.

I on the other hand, will just have to reduce those expectations.

I'll let Angie know she should too. Now, I've got to get these in me before I fly over there to whoop your ass.

Ladies and gentlemen, I hope you’re excited to watch a true masterclass in destruction tomorrow.

My name is Isaiah King, and I'll exceed your expectations. ”

Isaiah gives the camera a flirty wink, before turning back to his pancakes. The camera sneakily zooms into his lips, before fading into black.

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