The Haves and Have-Nots

Hidden in plain sight was a clandestine building, its secrets protected by layers of security. Deep within lay the “Stanislav Archive,” where meticulous records of Ivan’s every move were kept. This underground vault, several layers below the surface, contained thousands of documents, tapes, and digital media that served as a comprehensive record of not just Ivan Stanislav’s career, but his life.

The corridors were dark, with only faint light from flickering bulbs and shelves filled with dusty boxes. The echoes of Ivan’s past lingered in the shadows, each box meticulously labeled carefully and logically. They contained fragments of a remarkable and lengthy life, like breadcrumbs leading through the years.

The shelves were divided into different subjects, but there was one shelf that held particular significance: the shelf of unresolved matters. It mostly contained files on people. It wasn’t a large collection, but it was quite important. Most of the files were not from the ReVival Era; they belonged to the Trashcan Man’s, the Doug Troy’s, the Killean Sirrajin’s, and even the Tyler Nelson’s of his past. However, members of the ReVival Era were beginning to encroach, slowly but surely.

The largest recipient of contemporary history was undoubtedly Lindsay Troy. So much information about her business dealings, her past, her children, her relationships, and let us not forget her tremendously successful wrestling career. The Queen was much like a spider, casting a massive web that stuck to so many other points of interest. She had been so close to leaving this shelf, a rare event, and yet her recent decisions had kept her there.

Ivan smirked as he looked at Brandon Youngblood’s boxes, knowing how much his inflated ego would relish being among these rare few. They contained information on his estranged sister, failed family life, time in the Middle East, and a wrestling career that, while impressive, paled in comparison to Ivan’s own.

Turning his attention to the Battaglia boxes (three in total), they were filled with the remnants of Tom’s family, wife, and darling children. A reminder of a wasted life full of foolish mistakes and missed opportunities. Yet Ivan marveled at Russian organization. How did one manage to cram so much wasted potential into just three boxes? He would have to ask Alexei.

He made a mental note to have Battaglia removed from the shelf.

He was finished with the Anglo Luchador.

But it was the Sykes collection Ivan truly sought. From Jared’s brother’s tragic death to his strained relationship with his father. Even Justine Calvin was reduced to a mere footnote in his narrative. She simply had a folder that was squeezed into Jared’s own story. Jared’s life may have been an interesting tale, but it was no different from any other human experience.

Yet, having a place on this specific shelf was not something to be proud of. These boxes were here because each person had committed an offense against either the Russian State, Ivan, or at worst: both.

Eventually, they would leave this shelf. Either by the passing of time or by defeat.

Just like the Anglo Luchador and so many others before him.

—

Ivan carefully placed the weathered box on the cold steel table, taking a seat atop the creaky stool. The musty smell of the archive surrounded him, a heady mixture of dust and paper that transported him back to a simpler century: the 20th Century. With a delicate touch, Ivan lifted some documents from the box and spread them across the table, peering through his thick glasses for a clearer view.

As he studied each image with intense focus, memories flooded back from one year ago: June 16, 2023. A day that began like any other but ended with a fateful phrase uttered by Justine Calvin - “Gotcha.” And in that moment, Jared Sykes finally found the courage to stand up for himself.

Agonizing pain blazed through The Russian Bear’s body, a relentless fire that surged through his veins and sent his muscles into overdrive. His massive hands were no match for the weight of the five-ton forklift threatening to crush him. He grunted and strained, every inch of his being focused on preventing the metal behemoth from crushing his barrel chest.

But with each passing second, his strength waned and he could feel his grip slipping. Blood streamed down his side where one of the tynes had sliced into him, staining his shirt red and pooling beneath him in a growing puddle. Every breath was a struggle as he fought against the immense pressure bearing down on him.

The large glossy photograph was of Jared Sykes standing with a carefree smile on his face, his hair styled in tousled waves. He had his arm wrapped around beautiful Justine, who was far too confident and independent to be with someone like him. Ivan couldn’t help but scowl at the sight of them together.

They looked happy. Just standing there, backstage in some unknown arena, with their whole lives ahead of them. Together, the lovers had a future. Together, they had found happiness. Together, they would have a family.

And there, looming over him like a dark cloud, was Jared Sykes. The smug face of PRIME, the self-proclaimed “Heart” was a coward. Ivan could practically feel his bitch of a fiancee’s presence lurking in the background, no doubt grinning like a Cheshire cat at his downfall.

The coward had caught him off guard, and now he was at Jared’s mercy.

But instead of finishing him off, Jared decided to savor the moment and gloat. He leaned in closely, his voice dripping with malice as he whispered in Ivan’s ear: “I could show you so much more.”

Ivan’s eyes fixed on the photograph of Jared and Justine, his jaw clenched in anger. “No, you couldn’t,” he growled.

With meticulous precision, Ivan carefully gathered up the meager existence of Jared Sykes and sealed him away in the box. He cradled it securely under the crook of his arm. As he turned to leave, his eyes swept over a much emptier shelf. This one held not adversaries, but rather individuals who held a deeper emotional significance for Ivan.

The shelf called out to him, urging him closer. His gaze was drawn to one particular box. Its plain exterior belied the transformative life trapped inside, one that had a last impact on Ivan.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Ivan carefully returned Jared’s paltry existence to its designated spot and turned his full attention to the special shelf. He reached out and retrieved the small yet emotionally heavy box bearing her name.

—

Arina Timofeyevna’s eyes shot open as she jolted upright in Ivan Stanislav’s bed. Her hand flew to her chest, and she quickly scanned the room.

No, Arina was not in bed with The Russian Bear. He had long outgrown his childhood space. Her road to recovery would be a story for another time, but she insisted she return to the Stanislav home and watch after Ivan’s recovering mother. Secretly, it was more to avoid her broken family in Moscow than the need to take care of Fanya.

Through the induced coma, the reconstructive and cosmetic surgery, the Stanislav’s had been there for her. Fanya from afar, calling her from time to time, and Ivan insisting on paying all of her medical bills and doting on her like a surrogate father. In some ways, Ivan and Arina became closer due to their shared trauma.

As she looked around the room, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains, she noticed the trophies and commendations adorning the walls. Black and white photos of a teenage Ivan, lean but muscular, with a surprisingly familiar smile. She felt a strange sense of comfort and safety in this otherwise unfamiliar place.

But then a sound caught her attention, coming from the living room. She cautiously got out of bed, adjusting her gown, and crept down the hallway toward the source of the noise.

Alone in the dimly lit room, Ivan sat on the couch with a vintage tape recorder and earphones engulfing his massive ears. His hulking frame loomed over everything around him as he hunched forward, consumed by the haunting sounds of the recording. Beside him lay a nondescript archival box, its contents unknown to anyone but Ivan himself.

But his attention was fixated on the glossy photograph before him. A woman with wild, multi-colored hair. She had a smile that illuminated the room. As his fingers traced her image delicately, his face contorted with a mix of deep sadness and regret that tugged at Arina’s heart.

Suddenly, she noticed Ivan’s gaze had shifted from the photo to her own trembling form, tucked around the corner as best she could. His expression was one of shock and embarrassment, causing Arina to flee back to her room and bury herself under the covers like a scared child.

What secrets and memories did this man hold within? And what could cause such intense anguish in his soul? The question lingered in Arina’s mind.

What memories did that simple box unlock?

—

Rachel blinked her eyes and smiled playfully down into Ivan’s rugged face. His features were strong and masculine, but she still enjoyed calling him a Russian Teddy Bear. One advantage of his great size was that she could lay on him almost completely, feeling the heat radiating from his powerfully built frame. It was a warmth unlike any other, comforting and all-encompassing.

His happiness was matched by the smile on his face, peeking through the wild and untamed strands of his beard. Though only forty-one years old, his beard already showed signs of gray. She affectionately referred to him as a “silver bear” as he was too sturdy and powerful to be compared to something as small and sly as a fox.

He gazed up at her stunning face, a beautiful blend of Asian features. Her hair was a work of art, dyed in shades of blue, pink, and violet that perfectly complimented her skin tone. It was styled in a middle part, falling gracefully to her jawline, but as she leaned over him in their bed, it swayed like silk curtains, framing her delicate features and almost engulfing him in its vibrant hues. He smiled at the beauty before him, feeling lucky to have such an enchanting partner by his side.

He tilted his head, playfully brushing their noses together. She leaned in and pressed her lips against his, sending sparks of warmth through their bodies. The kiss was gentle and affectionate, a silent exchange of emotions that they both shared in the moment.

“You don’t ever stay down this long without kicking out.” she teased playfully, and then spoke in a faux-Russian accent, “My Praporshchik comrade Stanislav.” Booping his nose with a fingertip, she then gently slid off his body and nestled next to him on her side.

He shifted slightly, pulling the sheets around them as he mirrored her position. It was almost comical how his large frame dwarfed her petite figure, but in these intimate moments, it made him seem more protective and strong in her eyes.

“Every person has a weakness, Rakhil,” he stated softly, never once taking his gaze from her vibrant green eyes, so full of intelligence and love. The energy radiating from their gazes could have lit the room afire.

Many in OSW believed that she had tamed the wild Russian Bear, notorious for causing chaos and destruction wherever he went. Her love had softened him and turned him into a role model for others to admire. In fact, Ivan could probably hit someone with a forklift and his merchandise sales would soar - that's just how dedicated wrestling fans were in 2003.

They were Ivan and Rachel (or Rakhil in Russian)- fiercely devoted to each other despite the demands of their careers.

The fifteen-year age gap did little to weaken their bond. For Ivan, who was always a tough and formidable figure, he had a soft spot reserved only for her. His rough edges melted away in her presence, revealing a man whose love broke free of its revolutionary chains.

He had been drowning in the void of his shattered beliefs, lost and adrift. Rachel emerged like a blazing star, her violet light piercing through the darkness that threatened to swallow him whole. She was the anchor he desperately clung to, giving him purpose and reason to keep fighting against the chaos consuming the world around him.

“What is it?” His deep voice broke her thoughts as she gazed at him.

“You’re beautiful,” she whispered, her hand cupping his cheek. He looked at her with a mixture of sadness and bashfulness.

“Bah,” he grumbled, rolling onto his back and causing the bed to creak beneath them. “You are always the joker.”

But she couldn’t let it go. She sat up and shed the blankets, basking in the moonlight that caressed her skin. Her multi-colored hair fell around her like a halo.

“I’m not joking, Ivan. You are truly beautiful.” She ran her fingers through his hair, hearing his grateful sigh. He opened his eyes to meet hers, and in that moment, they were lost in each other’s beauty and love.

“What do you desire in this life, Praporshchik Stanislav?” her tone was filled with curiosity and a hint of seduction. “Why do I see sadness behind those brown eyes?”

He averted his gaze from her piercing stare. He wasn’t used to being asked such direct questions. Admitting his desires was not something he did easily. But he trusted her.

“I worry I may be alone again, someday. I want more purpose than wrestling. I want a family, children of my own. A loving wife by my side. I want to see my people happy and thriving.” He shook his head in embarrassment at his vulnerable words.

She leaned closer, her hands pressing against his chest. “No. Stay with me. Tell me more,” she urged with a gentle touch.

“A house with a yard, surrounded by nature where I can chop firewood and work outside. To retire from wrestling and never have to leave my home again. No more injuries, no more pain. To come home to a loving embrace.” An uncharacteristic glimmer of hope sparked in his eyes as he continued. “As much as I want a son, I especially want a little daughter.”

She gazed adoringly at him, lost in the depths of his inner beauty as he revealed his deepest desires and aspirations. In the language he taught her, she whispered, “Люби меня.”

Love me.

As she gracefully climbed on top of him once more and snuggled beneath the soft sheets, he assumed she had misspoken the words. “I love you too, Rachel,” he replied with adoration.

But she gently corrected him and drew her face close to his, whispering, “That’s not what I said,” before pressing her lips against his in a fervent kiss. Together, they disappeared beneath the covers, lost in each other’s embrace.

—

At the little kitchen table, Fanya and Arina sat facing each other. Arina’s eye was still a bit red, and her face showed signs of a bruise that was slowly fading away. Meanwhile, Ivan stood on the tiny porch just outside, gazing out at the endless forest ahead.

“Who was the woman with the colorful hair, Mrs. Stanislav?” Arina finally asked, breaking the silence.

Fanya stirred her tea and lifted her brows thoughtfully. “Oh,” she said quietly but didn’t elaborate.

Arina frowned and looked into her own reflection in her tea, seeing the scar on her face and how it warped and morphed with the ripples. Who was this woman who affected him so deeply?

“Ivan loved her, and she loved him.” Fanya finally spoke up, turning to look at her son as he stood outside. “She was a competitor, just like him. Two complete opposites who somehow found love in this often loveless world. I met her a few times,” she smiled fondly. “He was so proud to introduce her to me. I think she was the only woman Ivan truly loved.”

“What was she like?” Arina asked, curious to learn more about this mysterious woman.

“Fearless.” Fanya responded without hesitation. “Energetic. Happy.” She chuckled sadly. “Completely different from my Ivashechka. But they complemented each other perfectly. She was loving and kind and fiercely protective of him. I trusted her with him. She was a good woman, who could have given my son a happy future…”

“What happened?” Arina asked gently.

Fanya’s smile faded and she frowned. “It ended,” she said simply, her eyes clouding over with sadness. “And he never spoke about it. Not how it ended or why or what happened. But I know he will always love her.”

Arina stared at Ivan from afar and frowned. She thought about the loving couple with the future ahead of them.

Suddenly, it all made sense.

—

Arina opened the door and stood outside with Ivan, alone. She admired his bravery and loyalty, but on the other hand, she was disappointed by her epiphany.

The morning air wasn’t necessarily cool, but Arina couldn’t stop herself from wrapping her shirt tightly around her body as if trying to shield herself from her own words.

“Have you been terrorizing Jared Sykes out of jealousy?” she asked directly.

His response was a silent grunt followed by a dismissive statement. “What does it matter?”

“It matters because you are better than that.” She said firmly, mustering all the confidence she could find. “I know you have endured pain and heartache in your life, but that doesn’t give you the right to inflict it on others out of petty jealousy.”

As Ivan continued to stare off into the trees, Arina stepped closer and took his large hand in hers. She gently brought his fingers to her cheek, letting him touch the scar that served as a permanent reminder of Marx’s Tomb.

“You saved my life,” she said softly, feeling tears well up in her eyes. “You were there for me when no one else was. And yet here you are, wanting to hurt someone simply out of spite.” She paused. “Isn’t that exactly what that man did to me?”

Ivan turned his head and stared at her, suddenly. She expected anger. Frustration. Deflection. She knew how he operated when challenged in this way.

But he just stared at her with glistening eyes.

“I don’t want you to ever have a life like Jared Sykes,” Arina continued, her voice shaking. “A life unfinished. A man who abandons his calling as a wrestler. A joke. A man who squanders his talents. With or without your love, you are so much more than he will ever be, Starshy Praporshchik. I believe she knew that. And so do I.”

She held his gaze and bit her lip, willing him to understand and then, she released his hand and left him to contemplate her words.

—

I have always loved her and I will always love her. I have tried to push her away. I have tried to be angry at her. To somehow suppress the intense feelings that consume me, but every attempt has ended in failure. She was the brightest moment in my life. That beautiful glittering storm.

Arina was right, Jared. It was my own weakness that led me to you. My petty embarrassment. My desperate need to compare what I lost to what you have. In my desperation, I lost sight of the truth.

There will never be a comparison to what Rakhil and I shared.

I love you, Rachel, wherever you are.

Jared. Keep your perfect relationship with your jokes and charm that everyone falls for. Embrace your victory over the Frenchman, even if I could not best him myself. But know that even as I despised you, Jared Sykes, I was heartbroken to learn you were leaving us - “The Heart” abandoning PRIME for his own selfish desires.

You thought you could escape my retribution by using your unborn child and marriage as excuses. But you couldn’t run from me, Jared. I am no dragon to be slain. I am The Russian Bear.

And now, even though you’re so close to retiring, there’s one problem: I will do everything in my power to end your career before you have that chance. Not because of what you have or what I have lost, but because I will not squander the vengeance I am owed.

No one escapes Ivan Stanislav.

For I am unstoppable.

I am unbeatable.

And I am indefatigable.

Someday, your child will watch ReVival 50 and Justine will try to shield them from the truth. But they will see how Ivan Stanislav destroyed the “Heart” who ran to his family.

Your child will weep and Russia will cheer all the louder.

And then, your little box in the Stanislav Archive will be moved next to Tom. One small footnote in my life, brought to conclusion.