History repeats itself.. .

[Holden Ross]

History repeats itself
I didn't learn, I wouldn't listen
I couldn't see the books were on the shelf
For my good sense, I never missed 'em…

The pained, haunted voice of a woman singing the second stanza of “History (Repeats itself)” by A.O.S. while on the screen images of both Holden Ross and his Father, Frank Merritt, flash briefly before ending with a shot of Frank holding up the N.L.C.W. American Championship after he won it the fourth, and final, time. If you look closely you can see the smile is fake. The photo fades out with the music. The soundtrack is replaced with the sound of back-up alarms on a rumbling dump truck, the sounds of a grinder chewing up steel, hammering, and unintelligible chatter you might hear if you hung out around a wrecking and scrap yard.

The scene fades in on Holden sitting in his Throne. He’s sporting a pair of black cut-off Dickies, a battered and well loved “Ghostemane" t-shirt and all black Chucks. His eyes are hidden behind a pair of “Locs,” a brand he recently picked up as a sponsor. He takes a hit from the blunt in his left hand and, as he exhales a jet of smoke, he stares at the cherry of the blunt. Watches the smoke curl up from the tip and the ash cap growing ever so slowly. He takes another hit before pulling the cherry off to save the roach for later. He then turns his attention to the camera. His eyes are at half-mast, red rimmed, and bloodshot. When he speaks his voice is a bit gravely.

“I was warned long before I ever set foot in a ring, let alone a P.C.W. ring, but I didn’t listen. I can still hear him, still see him, sitting on the tailgate of his pickup, sharing a beer together. ‘Listen to me when I tell ya this,’ get said. ‘Don’t bring your personal life into the business….don’t make it a big part of your persona, if you’re a big drinker…or if you like anything else.’ I smiled, probably scowled in confusion. ‘They will use it against you.’”

Holden fishes a glass marijuana pipe out from his right front pocket and, after the flick of a lighter, he exhales a plume of smoke.

“Obviously I didn’t listen. ‘Not the boys. Not the fans….but management…they will fuck ya. They’ll let you market yourself as a big partier or stoner, and capitalize off of it. But once you get that label you will never be more than midcard. Upper midcard if yer lucky.’ And what do ya know? This week j am once again put into a no win situation; a shot at a mothballed relic that nobody gave a shit about on its inaugural run. Trotting out the eternal whipping boy, Razor, and two first ballot hall of famers.”

He takes another hit, scoffing while shaking his head.

“And then you got me. I’ve been to war against all three, nearly killed two of em, only to have the division I dominated completely scrapped, changed, and rendered obsolete because Loki, and upper management, are a bunch of eunuchs and cowed to the Network. But I’ll be there. Representing Pandæmonium, and, ultimately crowned the new Genesis Champion much to the dissatisfaction of management.

I didn’t link up with David by random chance; we both saw the same bullshit going on and we weren’t going to stand for it. We started murkin the dead weight, you’re welcome, and added Gerry for credibility. And this week, Pandæmonium will continue showing it sees of Chaos when I walk out the new Champ…..”

The scene begins to fade after Holden stands and walks off camera. The steady hammering of steel on steel continues until the scene ends.