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Theo Pryce · (02-18-2023)

Two men exit an unassuming building in bustling New York City, people jam pack the sidewalk and the traffic is nearly impassable. A third emerges shortly after, he turns and puts a key into the lock and pulls down a rolling gate from overhead, locking that into place as well. The first two men walk to their left, the third to his right.

Corey Black's face is stoic, but his eyes wide. Darting from left to right, he's looking all around him. People coming at him, people beside, people behind, he is getting nervous. Claustrophobic. He puts his head down and tries to walk forward but he bumps into a mass of humanity in front, the mass behind him hits him now, crushing him against his will right there on the sidewalk. He can't move, his breathing is inhibited, sweat forms on his brow, his breaths become quick and shallow. Pushing from behind, the side, the front, all angles just squeezing everything out of him. His movement is stunted, unable to function. The unending force becoming too much to bare, he can feel his bones almost snapping in half throughout his entire body, his brain feels like it'll explode through his eyeballs, the unequivocal dread of imminent ceasing to be!

Silence. Corey stops breathing entirely, his thoughts drift away and his body loosens.

Pressure?

That's what it's going to be? Goddamn pressure? This is Corey FUCKING Black.

A guttural roar from within Corey Black emerges through his mouth, he presses forward with his arms and all his might - the people in front of him literally disintegrate. He shakes his head and blinks a couple times, people dust falling to the ground before him. Corey looks behind, same thing, just nothingness. His breathing slows, eyes widen. The beautiful sky closes with cloud cover, blocking the view to the heavens.

His hoodie covering him once again, Corey regains his composure and once again begins walking toward his destination, skipping the train stop and opting for the scenic route, devoid of humanity all together in the first city in the world you think of when someone asks you about overpopulation.

It's a peaceful walk, in his own world, even though his worry is clearly written across his face. Without the pressure of the outside world upon him, but nobody around, he begins to speak as he walks, talking to nobody in particular but everyone at once.

"I could be complacent, continuing my legacy at home. Riding my wave until I'm ready to hop off the surfboard. Where's the adventure there? I'd have endless trolls bemoaning the validity of the things I say - everything earned, just not earned where they saw it. A trope that needs to be eradicated from our profession. I acknowledge the accomplishments and acumen of Kido-san. I take nothing from his path to our contest.

I've already got a long list of detractors, telling Kido-san not to knock me out too fast and have a 'dud' of a main event. I get it, I'm still some unproven commodity in the general landscape just because I don't frolic around in ten companies and lose interest in nine of them within a month.

There is a reason why this main event exists. And it isn't because of the hardly out of rookie year phenomenon. It's because the main event wanted to fight him. End of story. The narrative stops there.

It isn't enough that I've had some of the biggest names come through and try to take me down. It will never be viewed as a positive that I am consistently at these events at the top of the card. I was team captain for the Tara Fenix Charity Show by accident, my team all bailed. I scrounged up some friends and - well enemies - and we went to fucking work. The year before my team had no heartbeat until I stepped up. I made a lifelong friend from it yet garnered NO RESPECT. I walked into Chris Page's woman's house and tore his skin from his bones. NO RESPECT. I walked in again and nearly humbled SEB's unable to humble ass. NO RESPECT. Seem familiar?

Kido-san, I do respect you. But goddamn man, I ain't going easy on you just because of that. I've got the world's eyes on me once again and when that happens, I absolutely do not miss. You've had a small taste of that this is but let me be clear - there will be a vast majority that won't give you the credit you are due.

I am not one of those people. Not by a long shot. Real recognizes real, Kido-san.

I don't do this for the ego boost or the distorted leak of serotonin given when you send a mean tweet. Those people, those not like you and I, they will never know the glory of combat the way we do. What it does to you when you're able to outmatch, out fight and out grit someone to put them down for the three count or make them submit. You fight for a higher one than yourself - I understand that. I once did too. It was my goal to be rendered unable to fight anymore within the ring, a noble mission that I have now abandoned. My journey will end, just as yours will. But this is where we will finally differ.

Do I or do I not currently have a pulse?

Yes I do.

Let's fucking fight.

I decide my destiny. You follow a path laid out in front of you. I recognize what I need to do to be better and actively pursue it. Living in a lavish apartment, a castle, that shit is for the fucks that would still look down upon us, Kido-san. We do what we do for the love of it. Yet what you have in talent and vigor you absolutely LACK in seasoning.

The stuff that makes men like me - well, me. I've been here before, countless times, name in lights and even though the provocation is sometimes overwhelming, I've never not stood strong. Salt, pepper, paprika, everything in the cabinet is in my arsenal, there's nothing I don't know. Show me that you can do what you say you can Kido-san, prove to me and the world that when the eyes peer hardest, hands are closing around you and the test ahead is unlike anything you've ever come across - show us what the Saint of Athena should be talked about among the pantheon of this sport.

If you can.

Deathproof isn't some fucking stupid nickname, Kido-san. I've literally survived the cold embrace of the reaper's clutches more times than I can count and yet here I stand, still willing to fight the Lion. I've lived ten times more lives than every person you have ever come across inside this ring. That's what makes me who I am. Nothing surprises me, nothing you can do will make me off-guard and there's no defense for when I drive my elbow through the crown of your skull. For victory or for death, Kido-san. You choose your fate for once.

It'll take more than burning the cosmos to take me down, Kido-san. You can tell yourself you're ready all you want, you can kneel with your rosary and hope those above will guide you to your goal.. and I'll be there standing between you and everlasting glory. It's mine to take, not yours. You will not grasp the one thing I hold higher than anything.. the respect that comes with victory. Respect from within, your lord knows we'll never get it anywhere else. The sweet taste of a win, knowing that on this day, the Lion couldn't roar with the man of death. You'll continue on, you have a tournament to win. I will soldier through as well, the Action Wrestling Tag Titles are within my sights.

I won't forget this contest, no matter how it goes. As much as your peers want to write me off, I hope you know better. Look beyond the rough surface and see me for what I am, just as I do for you. When this is all said and done, I hope you and I will shake hands. I hope you will take me up on my offer to come by the Dojo and I will be honored to stand by your side any time you need me, should the situation call for it.

This narrative that has been built around me, the whispers from the darkness of demons and monsters - it's a life I have left behind me. One that I bare the scars from, the trauma from and learned something very special from. My will is stronger than any. The will to live, to fight and to win. You don't deserve anything that is coming to you in Las Vegas - but it isn't personal. It's a lesson. From a veteran to a budding star, one that will hopefully no longer be overlooked.. your wounds will heal, your spirit and resolve will eventually prevail. What you take from this is what is important. I hope it is kinship, not malice.

But between the bells, Lion.

I am going to fucking destroy you.

Good luck, Kido-san."

Corey stops talking as he comes up on a familiar block. He looks around, even into the window of the strip club next door to his apartment - nobody inside. He breathes in deep as he heads through the red door to his complex, then up a couple flights of stairs and into his place. It's old, shitty even. Through the entry way, his living room and into the bedroom - a bunch of wires clearly hang from the top, a ceiling fan shattered into pieces on the floor. Corey did that, he just hasn't cleaned it up yet. A purple and blue glow comes in through his bedroom window, the sign of the strip club is right outside.

He sits on his ratty couch and just looks ahead, thinking about where he's been and where he's going. Why he's living in such a rundown place when he could afford to live pretty much anywhere on Earth. Why there's a packed city with no people in it.. his eyes grow heavy. A blink becomes a rest becomes sleep. Eyes closed, off to dreamland where the mind takes over.

Seconds pass, seemingly, but the darkened sky is replaced with a new day, the sun now radiates in from every window. Corey snaps awake, unintentionally sleeping through the night. He stands though, stretching and his back cracks three, four, five times. Neck too, twisting his head violently each direction to release the tension. And his eyes.. remain closed. Unwillingly. Panic begins setting in, Corey clawing at his face. Moments last forever, Corey drops to his knees and settles himself. His mind races through the what ifs and whys and hows.. until it doesn't. His panicked state fades, he sits back on his heels and stops trying to open his eyes, instead focusing on his thoughts. What's within him. What drives him. What makes him who he is.

Pressure?

That's what it's going to be? Goddamn pressure? This is Corey FUCKING Black.

This dude pumps pressure into his veins daily to feel ALIVE.

A smile.. and his eyes open. The world now is bright in front of him, as he lets go of the anguish, standing up and stares forward. Out his window and into the street where the city itself is once again beating like a heart, people line up from every which way. Corey lets out a sharp breath.

"I hear you.. and you won't get the better of me," Corey says, walking over to his entry way once again to grab his shoes. But there's a knock at his door. He opens it, the tall Japanese man from the Dojo stands before him, holding a takeout container of rice and chicken.

"I thought you'd like some breakfast, sensei," the man says, dropping his head a bit and holding the foot out.

"You thought right, Ochiro, would you like to come in?" Corey responds.

"No, thank you," Ochiro says while putting his hands up and backing out the door, "I must get back to the Dojo and begin the day's training. Will I see you there?"

Corey looks down at the food, then out the window into the bright day with a big smile, "yeah, I'll be there soon. Probably won't take the train though so don't wait for me."

Ochiro nods, closing the door behind him as he heads out. Corey sits down on his couch, placing his new meal on the table in front of him. It's hot, steaming, burning even. And he sits. Waiting. Letting the food inside sit and cool. His eyes locked on it, preparing for the right moment to strike. A fork in his hand, Corey pokes the food, scooping some rice up and eating away. As he finishes, a smile comes over him. Maybe from being full, maybe from the previous day's events, but he leans back in his couch and almost falls into it, he sinks so far in.

"Good eats, could have used some seasoning though," Corey says, getting comfortable in New York City - getting comfortable remembering what it was like and why he does what he does.

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