Wrestling, with a Fetish Ch. 09

Tyson "The Alpha" Mel was an international megastar known all across the world. His exploits were damn near legendary in our business. Especially since he went pro less than fifteen years ago. He was also our company's reigning world champion, an achievement made roughly six months before my first dark match. Doing the math, this made Tyson Mel our company's longest title possessor out of the entire roster. No easy feat to accomplish, both in the ring and with backstage politics.

Tyson's youth was something of an odyssey. He was born in the United States to American parents. However they were Christian Missionaries and never fully found a place to call home. Instead they constantly traveled the world like religious gypsies. This gave Tyson an incredible educational background. Everywhere he went he was constantly learning. Languages. Cultures. History. You name it. Because of his ever flowing lifestyle, whenever asked where he was from, Tyson would respond: lots of different places. A response he would use with different global accents. A response that started as a joke and eventually became exactly how he was introduced before matches.

As he grew in years, so did his interests. During a time in Mexico, he was introduced to the style of Luchador wrestling. The amount of athleticism alone captured his attention. But the reactions from the fans captured his heart. From there he began to study other nations who took part in professional wrestling. He learned of the numerous greats all across the globe as well as hot spots where it was very popular.

When he was of age to leave his parents, his first destination was Calgary, Canada. After spending some time owning his basic and technical skills, Tyson moved back to Mexico. From here, he learned how to fly. The rigorous training was difficult but he exceeded expectations being able to defy gravity and wow the crowds. Afterwards he moved to Japan. It was here he learned what is known as "Strong Style", pushing the limits of what he could dish out, and receive. Tyson also dabbled in different forms of martial arts, which he soon incorporated into his matches. When Tyson felt fully content with his training years, all that was left was finding his place in the world. And so his journey as a complete wrestler was well underway.

In the years that came after, Tyson quickly gained the attention of fans all over the world. He found ways of blending all of his wrestling styles to perform at levels no other wrestler did before. Tyson became a literal prototype as a new breed of professional wrestlers came into existence. No longer were people being known as second, third, or even fourth generation wrestlers who followed in their family's footsteps. Instead, an entirely new generation rose in popularity. Captivating both old fans and new fans alike. These were wrestling fans who wanted to be professional wrestlers. And I am very much a part of this new generation.

Three months ago the company owner approached my friends and I about going for the World Tag-Team titles. Minutes afterward he asked me about going head-to-head with the World Champion. A question I would have been a fool to turn down. I admitted up front I wasn't sure if I was ready for such a thing. Both Anthony and Carmen reassured me now was a really good time to cash in on what was obviously trending.

My friends and I were already the most popular group in our company. Chasing the tag titles was an obvious choice. Plus reinstating the "Freebird Rule" was going to turn the wrestling world onto its head after their planned victory. But many fans were beginning to compare me with Tyson Mel. Exactly how, I didn't see it. Our styles were kinda' similar. But he was definitely far more athletic than I was. More acrobatic than I was. More technical. The list went on and on. The one thing, the only thing I could possibly think of that made us comparable was our popularity. And to be honest that made me worry. Not that Mel was ego driven. But it's acceptable to say almost anyone hates it when another person steps in their spotlight.

Our feud started two months ago. Almost three weeks after Anthony propositioned me to go after "The Alpha". The buildup was very well planned out. Each week Tyson would call out anyone who was a top contender for his title. And each week an unfortunate soul would get ambushed by Tyson's friends. Among them were the brothers Max and Jeremy Stag, The Stag Party. Having them involved would increase the interest of the upcoming tag title defense against my friends. Because Tyson and his crew were eliminating anyone rightfully eligible to challenge for his title, this would create the illusion he wouldn't have to defend his belt at the pay-per-view. We all had to give it to Anthony for booking such a creative trap for the fans to play right into.

The week after the third ambush, Tyson approached the empty ring with a mic in hand. The ten pound belt of plated gold and leather was slung over his shoulder. He strolled with great confidence. Truly believing he was untouchable. The fans cursed at him. Damned him. Swore he would get what was coming to him eventually.

Once he reached the ring he spoke into the microphone. Demanding all of the talent in the back to come out onto the entry stage. One by one everyone on the roster did as told. Man and woman alike. From here he demanded the people in the production crew to play a video package for all the world to view. The video was a simplistic but well edited montage of everyone who fell victim to his traps. Specifically the highlights of each ambush and the suffering that followed. Bret Locksley and Grizzly among the victims. When the video package was finished, "The Alpha" raised the mic to his face and began to rant.

"What you've seen is clearly me making a statement. And that statement is this: no one is on my level. No one can do what I do. No one is smarter than me. Nobody at the top of that ramp can take this title from me. Everyone who was meant to have a chance was obliterated before a match could be held. Do you know why? No, because if you did I wouldn't be in this ring right now having to spell it out for ya'. I took out each of those men because I didn't feel like having my time wasted."

The crowd became red hot. The chants of "FUCK YOU TYSON" roared like thunder. Anyone watching at home was most likely hearing the recognizable sound of an audio bleep to cover the fans' profanity. But there was no mistaking what they were saying. Each word was filled with venom. And it was also a miracle nobody took the act extremely seriously. Otherwise an arena containing close to twenty thousand fans would've stormed the ring and hung Tyson Mel up by his neck.

"Yeah, yeah, like I haven't heard that before. Most of the time it was from husbands after I just spent a few hours with their wives. But none of you people have to worry about that here. Damn near all of you are so butt ugly, I wouldn't put myself at risk of catching the latest S.T.I. floating around. What is it called again? Oh yeah, stupidity!"

This further infuriated the people in attendance. You had to give it to him. When Tyson was a good guy, he made you eat from the palm of his hand. But when being the bad guy, he wanted you to chop his whole arm off. He was definitely an asset to our company.

"Back to you losers at the top of the ramp. Not a single one of you are listed eligible for a title match. I've looked at the sheets. None of you are! But tonight, I'm feeling generous. Tonight, I'm feeling frisky. Tonight, I will make an offer. All it takes is just one of you. Just one. I just need one of you to step forward and I promise you, you will get a shot at the title. So who's it gonna' be?"

The talent at the top of the ramp didn't move forward or back. They stood there chatting among themselves. The video that played earlier had an effect on them. Tyson wasn't to be trusted. He could actually be a man of his word. But most likely he was inviting someone to walk into another beat down. The risk greatly outweighed the reward.

"What's the matter with you chicken shits? DO ANY OF YOU HAVE THE BALLS JUST TO MAKE ME BLEED?"

"I'm your huckleberry." my voice boomed in the arena's sound system.

The roster slowly split onto two sides for me to pass through, like Moses parting the Red Sea. No music was needed. The crowd alone would have drowned out my entrance theme. I walked past everyone on the stage and stood my ground halfway down the ramp. Mic in hand, I raised it upward and spoke.

"That's just my game."

"Then I guess you're next," Tyson smirked "get him, boys!"

It was a trap after all. And I took the bait. But I stood my ground. I never flinched. In fact I looked a lot calmer than I should have. I decided to keep moving forward and entered the ring. Tyson stood his ground as well, but a look of concern was showing on his face.

"I said get him!" he shouted into his mic again.

I stood a short distance away. Unfazed by his call for an ambush. I simply turned my head to view over my shoulder, slightly raising my eyebrow. Then my gaze returned to Tyson's eyes. Confusion washed all over his face.

The jumbotron above the entry stage started showing a live feed of events happening backstage. The cameraman was running towards his destination. When he finally got there, what he filmed caused the fans to scream louder than they did all night. It was Tyson's crew, each of them incapacitated by my friends staring right into the camera.

Chi-Town Brown stood over one man who was knocked out and face down on the floor. One of Chi-Town's boots was pressed into the man's back. Another unconscious man was on his knees, being held up by his collar. Ian Famous was holding the shirt in one hand, and tapping his baseball bat on the ground with the other. Lastly was Titan who had Max and Jeremy Stag slung over each shoulder, a giant grin on his face. Tyson's trap was broken.

"No one" I took a step forward "is coming" another step "to save you" one last step "from me."

By now we were nose to nose and snarling at each other like two male lions ready to battle for possession of the pride. I made the first move and clocked Tyson in the side of his head. The man fell to the ground like we're all trained to do. He got back up and I clocked him again. This time Tyson stumbled backwards into a corner.

I chased after him throwing punches into this chest and stomach. He grabbed me and made us switch places. Now he was punching me in the face and in the stomach. He reared back and thrusted his boot into my gut. I folded over and fell to one knee. Tyson walked away with his arms out to his side, taunting the fans for bringing me down. When he turned to face me, I charged at him and tackled him to the ground. My fists pummeled him all over without restraint.

Tyson was still able to squirm away and get back to his feet. He charged at me, swinging his arm to connect a haymaker on the side of my head. I caught his wrist, trapped his arm, and dragged him face first to the ring mat. Down on the ground, I used my legs to immobilize the arm I snared. From here I put the weight of my upper body onto his upper back. My arms reached past the sides of his head, hands coming together just under his chin. Tyson was now trapped in my submission finisher and I refused to let go.

"The Alpha" sold the submission beautifully. He held his breath to make his face change colors. His eyes opened wide. His one free arm thrashed about. His legs continuously kicked without stopping. Finally he closed his eyes and went limp. All of which I would later see during a replay. I released him from my grip and noticed the World Title belt was beside us. I took hold of it and slowly rose to my feet. I raised the belt high above my head while I stood victorious over Tyson's prone body. The fans were going crazy. It was the perfect way to end the show.

The atmosphere backstage was a positive frenzy. Everyone was there and eager to talk with me. High fives and hugs were spreading like a virus. It was very jovial. Smiles in all direction. The buildup finally paid off. At one point Titan called out to me and motioned for me to go to him. He was standing next to a monitor feed and pointed out what was happening in the ring. The image on the screen made us burst into laughter.

Tyson was still in the middle of the ring. Pretending to be choked out. The arena workers ushered people toward the exits and Tyson wasn't moving at all. A group of medical personnel arrived with a stretcher and did what they could to get Tyson onto it. Job completed, the strolled him to the side of the ramp and into the backstage area. Clear of the crowd Tyson was freed of the stretcher and rushed towards me. We shook each other's hand, followed by a friendly embrace over a job well done. Finally we rejoined the others and got on with our night.

The next several weeks featured a lot of back and forth action. One week my friends and I would get the better of Tyson and his crew. The next, the opposite would happen. Numerous tag matches took place between our two teams. Barely any of them had a pure finish. Most nights would end with all of us spilling into the crowd and both teams being disqualified. No finite winners or losers. The singles matches were a different story. Each of us took turns facing members of the opposing teams. Those matches ended properly. We won some. They won some. All of it meant to build toward the coming pay-per-view.

The last television programming before the event was designed to be really emotional for the fans. To make them worry. To make them feel doubt. It may not have been the best executed plan. All that buildup only for nothing to pay off. But overall it seemed like a good idea.

Nearing the end of the night, our two factions got into another scuffle. This time Tyson's group got the better of us. My group was picked apart and bodies were all over the ring. I was the last one still conscious. On my hands and knees with blood pouring down my face. Staining the ring mat below. Watching my friends get their heads kicked in while I was helpless to do anything about it. Then the turned their attention towards me. Taunting me regarding the damage done to my friends and I. Tyson got hold of a microphone and sat down in front of me.

"You can't win. Your friends are finished and you're next on the chopping block. So tell me, hero. Do you have any last words?"

I took my time looking at my teammates. None of them were moving. Then I looked to the fans close by. One man was screaming at me to fight back. A little girl was crying. Some attractive women covered their mouths in shock when I made eye contact with them. Having played the heartstrings of the crowd, I turned my attention back to Tyson and gave him my response.

"I'll see you Sunday." and spat my blood in his face leaving multiple red dots all over his skin.

Tyson Mel stood up and took hold of an already dented steel chair, given to him by Max Stag. Gripping tightly with both hands, he swung the chair like a golf club and popped me in the head. I dropped to the mat and stayed there for as long as necessary. It hurt like hell. I knew it wasn't personal, but it almost felt that way. The crowd fell silent followed by a thunderous roar of disapproval. It was a job well done.

Backstage the Doc cleaned me up and looked at the cut on my forehead. It was easily plugged with some rubbing alcohol and a Band-Aid. No stitches needed. It always amazed me how the tiniest nick to the forehead could create such a gruesome appearance. After being medically cleared for the night, Carmen and I made our way back to our hotel and prepared for the next several days of travel.

Our first destination was my place. I was relieved to be home and able to rest before the big event. Carmen was amazing to have around. If we weren't bumping uglies, we were being very tender with each other. But the pay-per-view was still on my mind. The whole thing had me scared. This was a major moment in my career and knew everything had to be done with the absolute best precision possible. No mistakes. Two days later we returned to the airport and headed for our next destination: Fabulous Las Vegas!

Our plane landed at Harry Reid International Airport a little after noon. Speaking honestly, I was a little upset we didn't arrive in the evening. Getting to see the city lights from above has always been breathtaking, no matter how many times you see it. Especially the glowing tip of the Luxor Hotel and Casino pyramid with the mystical sphinx out front. Let downs aside, I was happy to finally be on the ground. The airport was practically the backyard of where Carmen and I were staying: The Tropicana Hotel and Casino.

The hotel was a very warm colored, beach themed resort around the southern most end of the Las Vegas Strip. It was one of the many mega-casinos within the city, and neighbored by 3 others much like it. The first was Excalibur, a large castle themed structure. Next was New York-New York, the exterior designed with numerous New York City landmarks that included a roller coaster designed to travel through each of those faux structures. And lastly was the MGM Grand, a simple cross shaped building famously known for some of the most amazing sporting events in the world. Conveniently, the pay-per-view was being held within.

Both Carmen and I spent the short cab ride from the airport to our hotel with our jaws in our laps. Since I was a child, there were many trips with the family to Las Vegas. But each visit always felt like I'd never been there before. This was no different. Carmen never ventured to Sin City a day in her life. Watching her reactions made her so much more beautiful to me.

Check in was swift and came with a surprise. We originally booked a basic room during our stay. Instead we were upgraded to one of the most luxurious Sky Villas in the hotel. An upgrade I would later find out was gifted to Carmen and I by Anthony. Carmen was losing her shit. I tried my best to play it cool. Or did until I saw exactly what we'd be staying in.

Our villa was on the twentieth floor shared with very few rooms nearby. We'd soon find out why. Entering the room was like stepping out of Las Vegas and straight into an actual luxury home located in a tropical paradise. The space alone was freakish in size, rivaling most one-story, three bedroom houses. The decor was beautiful, festive, and most likely very expensive. The windows went from the floor to the ceiling, giving us a breathtaking view of the Vegas Strip north of us. Marble counters, huge sofas and love seats, giant televisions, enormous spa style bathroom, even bigger master bedroom with a gargantuan bed. So on and so forth. Carmen and I were standing in the doorway for a solid minute before either of us said anything.

"HOLY FUCK!" Carmen spoke first, enunciating each syllable with valid exaggeration.

"Yeah." my voice cracked, still trying to keep my cool.

Slowly we walked inward and took in the entirety of our brief living space. I kept telling myself Tyson and I would have to put on a ten-star match to be worth all this. So much led to this moment and there was plenty more to come. After touring the bedroom Carmen grabbed me and threw me on top of the mattress. It was playful but surprisingly aggressive. Then she jumped and landed beside me, kissing me all over.

"Oh babe," her lips pecked my entire face "fuck looking for a home. Lets just travel the world and live off room service!"

I knew she wasn't truly serious. Just caught up in the moment. I played into the fantasy a little while returning kisses of my own. My hands roamed her body to keep the moment going. But we weren't fully in the mood for such things just yet.

We took a few more minutes to explore our villa. Commenting over the layout as well as the contents within. We joked about the expense it required to create such an environment and how many items within were replaced from numerous guests who stayed in the room before us. Then Carmen found a brochure about the amenities of the hotel. This led to discussing meals, gambling, shows, and finally Carmen freaking out over the pool.