Post by joeycrash on Nov 14, 2021 18:36:13 GMT -5
The day after TriForce Heroes
Crash kept one hand clasped on his Manhattan as he reached around his pockets for a lighter. He had a menthol cigarette drooping from his lips, sunglasses and a black fisherman's hat which had clearly never been within 50km of a boat - it was there to disguise the bandages from the night before. He sparked the lighter and dragged deeply. He'd agreed to meet Sophie at a rooftop bar since coffee shops were always crowded and felt imposing in their attempts to feel like a friend's living room. The sun was so bright you had to squint to focus and the gentle warmth from above was bolstered by old air conditioning units, radiating heat after years of neglect and poor maintenance. But it was quiet and that's what Crash needed in the moment.
Barely 24 hours after the match against HIS MONSTER, Crash was atoning for the eight years without conditioning his body to violent fights. His head was numb, his shoulders and legs were weighed down by his own mass. It felt like his blood was thick and heavy with the struggle. At that moment, he noticed a woman walk up the stairs to the patio.
Sophie wandered across the tiled floor with the sort of timidness you'd expect from someone asking if the empty chair next to you was taken. She sat down across from Crash in a metal chair and spent a moment removing her handbag, carefully placing a loop of it around the chair leg so it couldn’t be taken unless the chair moved first. Finally after raising her hand above her eyes to shield from the glare, she greeted him.
“You could have told me you were on the roof.”
“It’s a rooftop bar-- and your bag’s not gonna get stolen here.” Crash pointed a finger towards the loop on the floor and took another drag of his cigarette.
“It’s a good habit to have. It doesn’t hurt me to add an extra layer of security-- God, it’s too fucking bright here, hold on.” Sophie got up and grabbed a folded parasol from a pile resting against the wall nearby and stuck it back through their table. As she unwound the arms and the shade grew around them, her features came into focus. Without the blinding sun, Crash saw her freckles again. Her hair barely touched the bare shoulders beneath her tank top. She had an old tattoo of a ship at full mast sailing against the waves just above her left elbow. “Don’t stand up, I didn’t need the help!” she quipped as she flopped back into her seat. Crash felt his lips curl at her sarcastic remark.
“You’re fine. Besides, I’m a little sore. Did you see what happened last night?”
"A little sore? It looks like you just crawled out of a fender bender.” Crash smiled again, sipped his drink and looked over to grab someone’s attention. Sophie protested silently but the waiter rushed over with glee.
“Hello again Mr Crash. Are you ready for number three?”
“This is my first drink you twat,” Crash spat that insult at him as he downed the rest of his cocktail. “But as it happens, it’s too hot for a drink like this. Just a lager. And she’ll have…”
“Oh I drove here, uh, I’ll have a soda with lime, please.” The waiter vanished as quickly as he came and Sophie gave some side-eye as Crash blew out more cigarette smoke. “You’ve had three of those already?”
“If all of your questions are as exciting as this, I’ll wish I’d had ten.” Sophie scoffed and reached down to her chair-secured bag, and pulled out a battered notebook. It was hardbound in blue fabric and gold lettering, but most of that had rubbed off years ago. The fabric was tearing off the corner on the inside cover. As she flicked to a scuffed page towards the back, the drinks were delivered and Crash gave the waiter a $20 tip.
“That tip costs more than the drink.”
“It’s not his first, either. Why do you think he was so fast to get here? We might be the only ones in here but I can guarantee without these incentives, we’d be the last thing on his mind. This bar doesn’t open til the evening. I paid him $100 to let me here.”
“I suppose fame has its advantages.”
“No, spending money on stupid things has it’s advantages. We’re both getting what we want here. I get to drink in a quiet place, he gets good money. Nobody is getting hurt or taken advantage of”
“I’m sure the fact that you’re Joey Crash never came into the equation?” Crash craned his neck forward as far as he could reach without actually moving from his seat.
“Whatever you think my reputation is, is because of your dad and we’re the only ones at this place who ever knew he existed.” Grabbing his beer, Crash slowly leaned back into his seat with a wince. Sophie pursed her lips and studied her book stubbornly for a moment.
“Alright, let’s jump right in then. How did you and Mick get together?” Crash lurched forward again and stubbed his cigarette out in his old glass. Sophie stiffened as he lurched forward.
“I used to be a boxer. Bare knuckle, underground stuff. I was pushed into boxing when I was about, ten maybe? It almost kept me out of trouble. Thing is, you can only be in the gym for so many hours a day. When that gym closes, I’d go right back to being a dickhead. Especially when I turned fifteen-sixteen, I was drinking a lot. I had trouble getting spotted when the scouts came by. But then some bloke let me know about some other way I could get noticed and earn some money to boot. It felt like a no-brainer at the time. Wasn’t exactly what I thought it was.” Crash casually popped another menthol cigarette out of the box against the table and sparked up.
“Where does Mick come into all this?”
“That was him. Your dad. Mick, was the one who threw me into the mix. At first, I was having to fight men - proper men -thirty years old, twice my weight. I got knocked around. Mick helped me get back up each time.” Sophie slammed her book in one hand and chucked it onto the table.
“Mick wasn’t some leader of an underground boxing ring!”
“He wasn’t the leader, but he had a lot of skin in the game. I later found out he owed money to some guys, he tried to make it back for them by bringing in lads who could win and raking in money from the bets. He did a half decent job of it too. But one night, it got very messy. I got some injuries which meant basically, I couldn’t box anymore. There wasn’t a sanctioning body that was going near me after that - though if it was down to the injuries or the other thing… Can’t really say.” Crash took another drag of his cigarette and pulled his sunglasses down his nose an inch to see Sophie without the tint.
“What do you mean skin in the game? And what was this ‘other thing’? How did you get into wrestling? All you’re doing is creating more questions!”
“How old are you, anyway?” Sophie was flustered from the sudden change of subject. She'd barely begun to get the answers she came here for and already it's going off-track.
“I’m twenty-five.”
“And where were you born? You’re not from Northern Ireland, your accent is American through and through. You’ve got the freckles sure but those aren’t Irish, not by a long shot. And nobody born outside North America says 'fender bender. Out with it.” Sophie clammed up. She looked in her book, hoping for some inspiration to steer the conversation back in her direction. She sighed and conceded that she might have pushed things too far.
“I, uh, was born in Jacksonville-- Florida. I’ve only ever seen Mick on a few birthdays, a couple of other random days in between. I didn’t know him well at all. And from everything I’ve been able to cobble together, you’re the only relationship he really cared about for any length of time. You had eight... solid years! On the road all the time, travelling from place-to-place. Everybody who knew him said that you were all he talked about!”
“BULLSHIT!” The staff behind the bar stopped to look over. Crash, realizing he was craning forward in his chair again, reclined back, wincing again as he hit the back of the chair. “Mick might have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, including mine. But he wasn’t some knight in shining armour like you want him to be. He was a carny businessman in a carny business and everything else was a distant second-place.”
“He lived his dreams vicariously through you!”
“Oh and you were there? Well, thank you! Thank you for translating my life and memories to me because obviously you’d know better than the person who you specifically requested to get answers from! I never said you’d like the answers, I just said I’d tell you what I know. If he had dreams, they must have sucked because he completely ruined my career and now I have to pick up the pieces.” Crash swigged from his bottle and let it gently rest in his lap. The napkins beneath the drinks began to flap in the wind. He suddenly notices the honking and the mixture of music and talk radio emanating from the traffic below. Sophie hadn’t even touched her drink.
“I have to go.” Sophie tried to grab her bag for a quick exit but forgot it was looped around her chair leg. She jerked at the strap as it remained connected to the chair and it eventually fell over with a clatter. “Goddamn it!” Crash got to his feet, wheezing through the pain from his battle the night before.
“Wait, look I-- Where are you going? We can go somewhere else!” Sophie finally unhooked her bag from the chair with one last vicious flourish. Swinging it over her shoulder, she turned back to Crash and scowled at him.
“I’m going back to my hotel. I need to get ready for Mick’s funeral tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me? I should go and pay my respects--”
“RESPECTS?!” Sophie shrieked at him. “It barely sounds like you have a single OUNCE of respect for my father. You’ve made your feelings very clear, so why the fuck would you want to go? Just to see that he’s gone?” Sophie almost begins laughing as she continues, “I knew this was a mistake! I told myself before I pulled up the courage to follow you into the gym, before I even decided to come find you, this was a stupid idea so thanks for proving me right!” Sophie stormed towards the door and down the steps. Crash shuffled weakly to the balcony overlooking the street, where Sophie was already trying to hail a cab.
“Sophie! I’m sorry! Look, I’m upset too. Please come back up here?” Sophie gave Crash a disdainful look and mouthed ‘too late’ before jumping into the cab that halted abruptly in front of her. Crash clutched his head in his hands and was squinting again in the sun. He looked back at his drink which he toppled over in the commotion. At the table he saw Sophie’s blue book was still there and soaking in cheap beer. Crash picked it up and shook it off but the front half of the book looked even worse than before. Turning over his shoulder, he carefully thumbed through the back pages -- and there it was, handwritten in messy cursive:
‘Dad’s funeral is in Michigan on Friday. I should probably invite Joey.’
The camera fades into casino, gaudy carpets lined carefully with slot machines, creating mazes where every dead end presents a new opportunity to stake your money on anything your heart desires. There’s no sense of day or night. Bright lights and a cacophony of gambler’s sighs, whooping cheers, fruit machine jackpots and drunkards getting dragged by security assault the senses. We slowly pan towards the left as Joey Crash is hunched over a fruit machine, pulling the lever every four seconds or so. We hear a few tokens drop into the winnings tray and as he sweeps them into his cup, he turns to face the camera while rolling one of the tokens between his fingers, back and forth.
“Sometimes, you’ve got a feeling. Right now, in this moment, it’s pretty good.”
He throws the token in the air and catches it again, turning back to the machine and pulling the lever again. The camera begins slowly moving again towards Crash’s left hand side.
“I’ve not been the best at gambling. Not with money, anyway. There’s no skill involved with this. You win or you lose. In fact, most of the time you lose. It’s the feeling that your next win is just a single pull away that keeps you coming back. It’s all about luck. I’ve had a lot of bad luck the past few years but it looked like that was about to change.”
Crash walks away from the machine with his cup of tokens as an eagle eyed gamer jumps into his seat, hoping to take advantage of his investments. He saunters towards the camera, down a corridor of fruit machines and other games in the middle distance.
“You see, I was looking forward to TriForce Heroes - a lot. I got my first singles match in eight years and I got the fight of my life against HIS MONSTER. For not having had a singles match in around eight years, it was trial by fire. But I was the one who left with his hands raised after I put that beast down. Now, we’re both fresh early s daisies compared to you, Bert, but it was the proof that I promised everyone would see. I’m not one to be fucked with. Yet somehow, in spit of all that, I’m still not a happy bunny.”
Crash casually chucks his cup of tokens over his shoulder and it clatters to the floor, the jingling attracting a bunch of passers by who eagerly jump to the floor to pick up the scraps. The camera follows stays in front of Crash as he turns the corner to walk through a new range of games. In the back we can see shrill hen parties, men in cowboy hats and tourists passing through and trying to peek at each others’ cards.
“You see, my big plan after beating the Samoan monster was to stake my claim among the contenders for the Power Championship. You might have heard me mention this before, but I want that championship bad. If there’s one thing I covet more than anything else here in Level Up Wrestling, it’s a chance to have that strap around my waist. So there I was, getting patched up in the back when Mr Rad announced that Shephard and Covington both get to keep their championships. On top of that, the contenders will be decided by the Round Robin tournament winners! Now you tell me, how is that fair? All three of you had the same chance at glory and at the last moment, the goalposts moved. Now I’m back to square-fucking-zero since the Round Robin bastards are head of the line. In the same instance, you’re now the TriForce champion! Isn’t is interesting how one simple decision can cause such a polarity?”
Crash has made his way to the entrance of the casino where the flood of lights bleed across the sky where the stars fight to be seen. He walks down the steps along the golden handrails just ahead of the strip and takes a seat at the bottom step.
“Now I’m not going to underestimate the man whose the new Number One Contender because he’s skin and bones and not even 150 lbs. Others have made that mistake and I’m not going to. You know why, Bert? Because I used to be that wrestler. In my last run I was-- literally, about half the man I am today. I was the plucky cruiserweight with the whole world against him. And I still got shit done because I knew I had to do whatever it took to make sure I got the job done. You can’t get the better of me there pal. I know the depths that we need to sink to for the win. I know that feeling when you’re running on empty and you pull something out of nothing. If it’s a game of who can go longer in a scrap? Sure, I’ll give you the edge. But you’ll get a right hook first-- and there’s no chance you stay on your feet for long after that. Doubting you for your size could be just about the dumbest thing I could do. That’s not the reason why I know I can beat you.”
Crash gets up and begins walking down the strip, towards the camera.
“You know why? It’s because I don’t spend my entire life with my head in the clouds. I’m here with my feet on the ground, in the real world. No judgment here Bertie Boy, however you want to spend your time and money is your business. But consider me the consequences of your actions. I’m faster, my mind is sharper, I can dictate the destruction in that ring better than anyone else has seen yet in this company! Meanwhile, you couldn’t solve a Rubik’s cube if it came half-finished with the instructions.”
Crash jumps into the back of a cab that was parked along the strip and the camera follows him, sitting in the front passenger seat. Without a word, the car begins to drive away. Crash shifts in the back seat towards the middle.
“I mean, shit. Truthfully? I respect for you, Bert. You’ve been at Level Up since day one. If anyone had looked at you, some skinny stoner kid and predicted you’d achieve everything that you’ve done so far? People would have laughed. Bert? McAlroy? No chance! But here you are, on the precipice of winning the biggest prize in the company. You’ve had a real zero-to-hero story so far but that not come without its failures. You’re real lucky to have made it this far... But your luck is going to run out. Sooner or later all of those little failures are going to build up and you’ll be crushed under the weight of them. You’ll bite off more than you can chew and choke to death.”
“So what am I going to do? I’m going to make chicken shit into chicken salad. After I beat you, the Number One Contender for the Final Boss Championship, I’ll have my claim to the Power Championship set in stone. Who could deny Joey Crash, the-man-who-beat-the-man-that-beat the Power Champion? HIS MONSTER has already tried and failed, you’ll be the next. Say your goodbyes now because after I leave you in a mangled heap at EXP 16, nobody is going to believe you’re ready for Final Fantasy.”
The cab stops at its destination and Crash leaves the cab, walking up the steps to yet another casino. This one has a massive neon sign with a cartoonish Elvis dancing among piles of money.
“We’re two sides of the same coin, Bertie. But it can’t keep landing on heads forever.”
Joey Crash flips a coin over his shoulder and it bounces onto the floor, eventually spinning in place. The camera zooms closer as it looks like it’s about to fall - and we cut to black.
Crash kept one hand clasped on his Manhattan as he reached around his pockets for a lighter. He had a menthol cigarette drooping from his lips, sunglasses and a black fisherman's hat which had clearly never been within 50km of a boat - it was there to disguise the bandages from the night before. He sparked the lighter and dragged deeply. He'd agreed to meet Sophie at a rooftop bar since coffee shops were always crowded and felt imposing in their attempts to feel like a friend's living room. The sun was so bright you had to squint to focus and the gentle warmth from above was bolstered by old air conditioning units, radiating heat after years of neglect and poor maintenance. But it was quiet and that's what Crash needed in the moment.
Barely 24 hours after the match against HIS MONSTER, Crash was atoning for the eight years without conditioning his body to violent fights. His head was numb, his shoulders and legs were weighed down by his own mass. It felt like his blood was thick and heavy with the struggle. At that moment, he noticed a woman walk up the stairs to the patio.
Sophie wandered across the tiled floor with the sort of timidness you'd expect from someone asking if the empty chair next to you was taken. She sat down across from Crash in a metal chair and spent a moment removing her handbag, carefully placing a loop of it around the chair leg so it couldn’t be taken unless the chair moved first. Finally after raising her hand above her eyes to shield from the glare, she greeted him.
“You could have told me you were on the roof.”
“It’s a rooftop bar-- and your bag’s not gonna get stolen here.” Crash pointed a finger towards the loop on the floor and took another drag of his cigarette.
“It’s a good habit to have. It doesn’t hurt me to add an extra layer of security-- God, it’s too fucking bright here, hold on.” Sophie got up and grabbed a folded parasol from a pile resting against the wall nearby and stuck it back through their table. As she unwound the arms and the shade grew around them, her features came into focus. Without the blinding sun, Crash saw her freckles again. Her hair barely touched the bare shoulders beneath her tank top. She had an old tattoo of a ship at full mast sailing against the waves just above her left elbow. “Don’t stand up, I didn’t need the help!” she quipped as she flopped back into her seat. Crash felt his lips curl at her sarcastic remark.
“You’re fine. Besides, I’m a little sore. Did you see what happened last night?”
"A little sore? It looks like you just crawled out of a fender bender.” Crash smiled again, sipped his drink and looked over to grab someone’s attention. Sophie protested silently but the waiter rushed over with glee.
“Hello again Mr Crash. Are you ready for number three?”
“This is my first drink you twat,” Crash spat that insult at him as he downed the rest of his cocktail. “But as it happens, it’s too hot for a drink like this. Just a lager. And she’ll have…”
“Oh I drove here, uh, I’ll have a soda with lime, please.” The waiter vanished as quickly as he came and Sophie gave some side-eye as Crash blew out more cigarette smoke. “You’ve had three of those already?”
“If all of your questions are as exciting as this, I’ll wish I’d had ten.” Sophie scoffed and reached down to her chair-secured bag, and pulled out a battered notebook. It was hardbound in blue fabric and gold lettering, but most of that had rubbed off years ago. The fabric was tearing off the corner on the inside cover. As she flicked to a scuffed page towards the back, the drinks were delivered and Crash gave the waiter a $20 tip.
“That tip costs more than the drink.”
“It’s not his first, either. Why do you think he was so fast to get here? We might be the only ones in here but I can guarantee without these incentives, we’d be the last thing on his mind. This bar doesn’t open til the evening. I paid him $100 to let me here.”
“I suppose fame has its advantages.”
“No, spending money on stupid things has it’s advantages. We’re both getting what we want here. I get to drink in a quiet place, he gets good money. Nobody is getting hurt or taken advantage of”
“I’m sure the fact that you’re Joey Crash never came into the equation?” Crash craned his neck forward as far as he could reach without actually moving from his seat.
“Whatever you think my reputation is, is because of your dad and we’re the only ones at this place who ever knew he existed.” Grabbing his beer, Crash slowly leaned back into his seat with a wince. Sophie pursed her lips and studied her book stubbornly for a moment.
“Alright, let’s jump right in then. How did you and Mick get together?” Crash lurched forward again and stubbed his cigarette out in his old glass. Sophie stiffened as he lurched forward.
“I used to be a boxer. Bare knuckle, underground stuff. I was pushed into boxing when I was about, ten maybe? It almost kept me out of trouble. Thing is, you can only be in the gym for so many hours a day. When that gym closes, I’d go right back to being a dickhead. Especially when I turned fifteen-sixteen, I was drinking a lot. I had trouble getting spotted when the scouts came by. But then some bloke let me know about some other way I could get noticed and earn some money to boot. It felt like a no-brainer at the time. Wasn’t exactly what I thought it was.” Crash casually popped another menthol cigarette out of the box against the table and sparked up.
“Where does Mick come into all this?”
“That was him. Your dad. Mick, was the one who threw me into the mix. At first, I was having to fight men - proper men -thirty years old, twice my weight. I got knocked around. Mick helped me get back up each time.” Sophie slammed her book in one hand and chucked it onto the table.
“Mick wasn’t some leader of an underground boxing ring!”
“He wasn’t the leader, but he had a lot of skin in the game. I later found out he owed money to some guys, he tried to make it back for them by bringing in lads who could win and raking in money from the bets. He did a half decent job of it too. But one night, it got very messy. I got some injuries which meant basically, I couldn’t box anymore. There wasn’t a sanctioning body that was going near me after that - though if it was down to the injuries or the other thing… Can’t really say.” Crash took another drag of his cigarette and pulled his sunglasses down his nose an inch to see Sophie without the tint.
“What do you mean skin in the game? And what was this ‘other thing’? How did you get into wrestling? All you’re doing is creating more questions!”
“How old are you, anyway?” Sophie was flustered from the sudden change of subject. She'd barely begun to get the answers she came here for and already it's going off-track.
“I’m twenty-five.”
“And where were you born? You’re not from Northern Ireland, your accent is American through and through. You’ve got the freckles sure but those aren’t Irish, not by a long shot. And nobody born outside North America says 'fender bender. Out with it.” Sophie clammed up. She looked in her book, hoping for some inspiration to steer the conversation back in her direction. She sighed and conceded that she might have pushed things too far.
“I, uh, was born in Jacksonville-- Florida. I’ve only ever seen Mick on a few birthdays, a couple of other random days in between. I didn’t know him well at all. And from everything I’ve been able to cobble together, you’re the only relationship he really cared about for any length of time. You had eight... solid years! On the road all the time, travelling from place-to-place. Everybody who knew him said that you were all he talked about!”
“BULLSHIT!” The staff behind the bar stopped to look over. Crash, realizing he was craning forward in his chair again, reclined back, wincing again as he hit the back of the chair. “Mick might have pulled the wool over everyone’s eyes, including mine. But he wasn’t some knight in shining armour like you want him to be. He was a carny businessman in a carny business and everything else was a distant second-place.”
“He lived his dreams vicariously through you!”
“Oh and you were there? Well, thank you! Thank you for translating my life and memories to me because obviously you’d know better than the person who you specifically requested to get answers from! I never said you’d like the answers, I just said I’d tell you what I know. If he had dreams, they must have sucked because he completely ruined my career and now I have to pick up the pieces.” Crash swigged from his bottle and let it gently rest in his lap. The napkins beneath the drinks began to flap in the wind. He suddenly notices the honking and the mixture of music and talk radio emanating from the traffic below. Sophie hadn’t even touched her drink.
“I have to go.” Sophie tried to grab her bag for a quick exit but forgot it was looped around her chair leg. She jerked at the strap as it remained connected to the chair and it eventually fell over with a clatter. “Goddamn it!” Crash got to his feet, wheezing through the pain from his battle the night before.
“Wait, look I-- Where are you going? We can go somewhere else!” Sophie finally unhooked her bag from the chair with one last vicious flourish. Swinging it over her shoulder, she turned back to Crash and scowled at him.
“I’m going back to my hotel. I need to get ready for Mick’s funeral tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow? Why didn’t you tell me? I should go and pay my respects--”
“RESPECTS?!” Sophie shrieked at him. “It barely sounds like you have a single OUNCE of respect for my father. You’ve made your feelings very clear, so why the fuck would you want to go? Just to see that he’s gone?” Sophie almost begins laughing as she continues, “I knew this was a mistake! I told myself before I pulled up the courage to follow you into the gym, before I even decided to come find you, this was a stupid idea so thanks for proving me right!” Sophie stormed towards the door and down the steps. Crash shuffled weakly to the balcony overlooking the street, where Sophie was already trying to hail a cab.
“Sophie! I’m sorry! Look, I’m upset too. Please come back up here?” Sophie gave Crash a disdainful look and mouthed ‘too late’ before jumping into the cab that halted abruptly in front of her. Crash clutched his head in his hands and was squinting again in the sun. He looked back at his drink which he toppled over in the commotion. At the table he saw Sophie’s blue book was still there and soaking in cheap beer. Crash picked it up and shook it off but the front half of the book looked even worse than before. Turning over his shoulder, he carefully thumbed through the back pages -- and there it was, handwritten in messy cursive:
‘Dad’s funeral is in Michigan on Friday. I should probably invite Joey.’
[PROMO]
The night before EXP 16
Thackerville, TX
The camera fades into casino, gaudy carpets lined carefully with slot machines, creating mazes where every dead end presents a new opportunity to stake your money on anything your heart desires. There’s no sense of day or night. Bright lights and a cacophony of gambler’s sighs, whooping cheers, fruit machine jackpots and drunkards getting dragged by security assault the senses. We slowly pan towards the left as Joey Crash is hunched over a fruit machine, pulling the lever every four seconds or so. We hear a few tokens drop into the winnings tray and as he sweeps them into his cup, he turns to face the camera while rolling one of the tokens between his fingers, back and forth.
“Sometimes, you’ve got a feeling. Right now, in this moment, it’s pretty good.”
He throws the token in the air and catches it again, turning back to the machine and pulling the lever again. The camera begins slowly moving again towards Crash’s left hand side.
“I’ve not been the best at gambling. Not with money, anyway. There’s no skill involved with this. You win or you lose. In fact, most of the time you lose. It’s the feeling that your next win is just a single pull away that keeps you coming back. It’s all about luck. I’ve had a lot of bad luck the past few years but it looked like that was about to change.”
Crash walks away from the machine with his cup of tokens as an eagle eyed gamer jumps into his seat, hoping to take advantage of his investments. He saunters towards the camera, down a corridor of fruit machines and other games in the middle distance.
“You see, I was looking forward to TriForce Heroes - a lot. I got my first singles match in eight years and I got the fight of my life against HIS MONSTER. For not having had a singles match in around eight years, it was trial by fire. But I was the one who left with his hands raised after I put that beast down. Now, we’re both fresh early s daisies compared to you, Bert, but it was the proof that I promised everyone would see. I’m not one to be fucked with. Yet somehow, in spit of all that, I’m still not a happy bunny.”
Crash casually chucks his cup of tokens over his shoulder and it clatters to the floor, the jingling attracting a bunch of passers by who eagerly jump to the floor to pick up the scraps. The camera follows stays in front of Crash as he turns the corner to walk through a new range of games. In the back we can see shrill hen parties, men in cowboy hats and tourists passing through and trying to peek at each others’ cards.
“You see, my big plan after beating the Samoan monster was to stake my claim among the contenders for the Power Championship. You might have heard me mention this before, but I want that championship bad. If there’s one thing I covet more than anything else here in Level Up Wrestling, it’s a chance to have that strap around my waist. So there I was, getting patched up in the back when Mr Rad announced that Shephard and Covington both get to keep their championships. On top of that, the contenders will be decided by the Round Robin tournament winners! Now you tell me, how is that fair? All three of you had the same chance at glory and at the last moment, the goalposts moved. Now I’m back to square-fucking-zero since the Round Robin bastards are head of the line. In the same instance, you’re now the TriForce champion! Isn’t is interesting how one simple decision can cause such a polarity?”
Crash has made his way to the entrance of the casino where the flood of lights bleed across the sky where the stars fight to be seen. He walks down the steps along the golden handrails just ahead of the strip and takes a seat at the bottom step.
“Now I’m not going to underestimate the man whose the new Number One Contender because he’s skin and bones and not even 150 lbs. Others have made that mistake and I’m not going to. You know why, Bert? Because I used to be that wrestler. In my last run I was-- literally, about half the man I am today. I was the plucky cruiserweight with the whole world against him. And I still got shit done because I knew I had to do whatever it took to make sure I got the job done. You can’t get the better of me there pal. I know the depths that we need to sink to for the win. I know that feeling when you’re running on empty and you pull something out of nothing. If it’s a game of who can go longer in a scrap? Sure, I’ll give you the edge. But you’ll get a right hook first-- and there’s no chance you stay on your feet for long after that. Doubting you for your size could be just about the dumbest thing I could do. That’s not the reason why I know I can beat you.”
Crash gets up and begins walking down the strip, towards the camera.
“You know why? It’s because I don’t spend my entire life with my head in the clouds. I’m here with my feet on the ground, in the real world. No judgment here Bertie Boy, however you want to spend your time and money is your business. But consider me the consequences of your actions. I’m faster, my mind is sharper, I can dictate the destruction in that ring better than anyone else has seen yet in this company! Meanwhile, you couldn’t solve a Rubik’s cube if it came half-finished with the instructions.”
Crash jumps into the back of a cab that was parked along the strip and the camera follows him, sitting in the front passenger seat. Without a word, the car begins to drive away. Crash shifts in the back seat towards the middle.
“I mean, shit. Truthfully? I respect for you, Bert. You’ve been at Level Up since day one. If anyone had looked at you, some skinny stoner kid and predicted you’d achieve everything that you’ve done so far? People would have laughed. Bert? McAlroy? No chance! But here you are, on the precipice of winning the biggest prize in the company. You’ve had a real zero-to-hero story so far but that not come without its failures. You’re real lucky to have made it this far... But your luck is going to run out. Sooner or later all of those little failures are going to build up and you’ll be crushed under the weight of them. You’ll bite off more than you can chew and choke to death.”
“So what am I going to do? I’m going to make chicken shit into chicken salad. After I beat you, the Number One Contender for the Final Boss Championship, I’ll have my claim to the Power Championship set in stone. Who could deny Joey Crash, the-man-who-beat-the-man-that-beat the Power Champion? HIS MONSTER has already tried and failed, you’ll be the next. Say your goodbyes now because after I leave you in a mangled heap at EXP 16, nobody is going to believe you’re ready for Final Fantasy.”
The cab stops at its destination and Crash leaves the cab, walking up the steps to yet another casino. This one has a massive neon sign with a cartoonish Elvis dancing among piles of money.
“We’re two sides of the same coin, Bertie. But it can’t keep landing on heads forever.”
Joey Crash flips a coin over his shoulder and it bounces onto the floor, eventually spinning in place. The camera zooms closer as it looks like it’s about to fall - and we cut to black.
