II. Swarm

I never was a religious person.

It was always a facade to me. The poisonous fruit was not the apple that was bitten, but the person who fell into the trap and devoted their entire life to the mission where the end result is nothing.

Simple utter darkness.

Half the things I say that come out of my mouth I barely believe in myself, it’s funny. I could light as many candles as I want to and extinguish them in front of a camera to give off the effect that I am some mystic, some beast from another realm, but in reality I live for the theatrics. Some say aura, others say cinema, I just do it for psychological warfare. I am playing the long game here, twisting my words with double meanings and confusing my opponents, the audience, and everyone around me who isn’t in it.

It’s great isn’t it?

I think so.

On the other hand, however, I am right. Life can be taken out and extinguished no matter where or when. Nobody is safe from death. It is inevitable.

Everyday since I have gotten that blocked number call telling me “Alex Stryker, I have reason to believe that your grandfather was murdered. We will speak soon.”, I have suffered through delusions of paranoia. I wasn’t afraid of anyone, I have been stabbed before. I have almost been shot, I know how to take care of myself. This is a complex situation.

All of this is too good to be true. Should I go back home and talk to my Grandmother? Would she know? What about my Father? Mother? Dragging them into needless bullshit will just stir up too much drama for my liking.

Right about now I would be lighting a cigarette trying to calm my nerves, but I haven’t smoked since I was a teenager. I could pour myself a whisky and wash it all away, but I don’t do that either. I was no detective, I was a wrestler with a death wish. I need to figure out a few things before I lose my sanity. I take out my notepad and scribble a few things down.

1. Old Duster and Trilby man with the gravel voice

2. Who the fuck is he?

3. Who the guy on the phone is?

4. Same as the trilby hat man?

5. Was my Grandfather murdered?

6. Have I gone insane?

As I write these questions down I become more intrigued in the mystery. I am more interested in these questions than I am at my Grandfather’s passing, if I am being honest with myself. He was not a good person. Any pleasantries I say to him in front of people was the facade I put on for myself. They don’t need to know, for my grandmother’s sake.

I am going to lose my FUCKING mind.

[20 Minutes After Revival 57]

“You know if you had not focused so much on your presentation and your match you probably would have won right?” Morgan narrows her eyes at me and I close my eyes and take a deep breathe.

“I honestly thought I had him, and with those shotei strikes I just…pain.” words had escaped me like my breath did. “I am pretty sure I blacked out…”

“Yeah of course you blacked out, Mr. Stryker, he clocked you good and then you didn’t answer that three count. I spit my drink out all over. I thought I was gonna choke. Losin’ isn’t the end o-the world, just another opportunity to learn from your mistakes.”

I grunt. “Thank you Bob Ross…” I stifled the laugh as she frowns.

“You’re such a bozo, you know that? You think sitting there with your slick looks is gonna get you anywhere, Mr. Stryker? You're gonna end up begging for change ‘round the corner sooner or later if you don’t wise up.” she pauses for a moment and pats my head. “You did okay, kid. You can’t win ‘em all. And if you are really good after we get out of here we can go ‘round for some ice cream.”

“I dislike you sometimes, Morgan.”

“No ya don’t, goof.”

“You’re right.”

She in her Northern British accent say “you are very lucky you have slick looks, Mr. Stryker.” I just accepted the compliment she threw at me.

I responded to her in my own posh accent. “Very delightful for you to say, miss.” And without skipping any beats she feigns an attack on me, playfully punching my shoulder before digging her nails into me. Her strength is unmatched, I give in. I solemnly swear not to make fun of the British imperial system for at least five whole minutes.

[NOW]

Morgan pleads with me “Please for the love of all that is holy don’t go chasing danger, will ya?”

“Morgan…”

“Don’t you Morgan me, Alex. I think you need to realize that someone is pranking you. Let me be perfectly honest, I think someone got your number somehow and then they decided to prank you. That’s all. Some cruel and unusual prank.”

All I want to do is solve this fucking mystery and get on with my life but I don’t know if that’s possible. I have the ability to get the head out of my ass, I am a stubborn fool. I split, she could be right but I don’t know at this point.

I need to focus.

Wrestling…

Damn it.

I really fucked myself over in my debut match. I made the mistake of showing my hand beforehand, I got cocky and I paid for it.

To be honest, I did it to myself. It was the first match in a new place. There are plenty of things that are in due time. I am at the bottom of the hierarchy. To transcend and climb the ranks I will forge along and gather up a win here or there, put them in my make-believe sack of accomplishments and hold onto them for a while. I need to strike while the iron is hot, however the forge has not been turned on yet. I need to make that person who stares across from the ring from me sees the fire deep within my cornea.

I sighed as Morgan put her hand on my shoulder giving me some reassurance. I needed to take a shower. I feel disgusting and gross. I turned the water on almost as hot as possible, you ever feel like when you pour boiling water over ramen. This hotel really fucking sucks. I should have showered at the arena. It was not foretold in the cards that I would be like a boiled corned beef.

I just felt off after my match. That sickling paranoid snuck up on me like someone was watching me, and I wasn’t talking about the fans in attendance. As I am figuring out my life all I can picture is some suit from the X-Files keeping me on a short list somewhere, following my every move and I feel like a black van is coming to come up and kidnap me and bring me to a black site facility for something my Grandfather decided to do forty years ago and then it harkens back onto me.

Just fucking perfect.

Or I am going to walk out of this bathroom, I am going to have some guns pointed at me and some mob underboss holding Morgan hostage is going to say to me “use awe gunnah come wit us whethah youse like it or not chump” in some two-bit 1950s New Jersey trans-atlantic accent. My paranoia is going to get the fucking better of me.

[Many Moons Ago]

I wasn’t always that interested in wrestling. I know it was the family business and it seemed like a well oiled machine the way that it was run.

When I was a teenager every Saturday night my grandmother would take me with her to work as she assembled the events that would go on. She was and still is a regular power house. It still didn’t take with me though.

“And if you do it like this, Alex, then you can easily pay out the wrestlers at the end of the night.” She told me once, but I was too enamored with watching Kamen Rider in her office.

“Uh-huh” I tell her quietly, focusing on the show. I could feel the death stare coming from her. I turned so slightly and I could see her narrow her eyes at me.

“Alexander Sebastian Rodgers…” she starts to lecture me. I can feel the cold stare, it was like heaven and hell was colliding inside her eyes. I can tell she was getting annoyed.

“Yes, grandmother?” I rolled my eyes and turned to her.

“I think it’s important to learn the family business, watching superhero shows is nice and all but don’t want to become one?” She signals me over and puts me in front of the window. I could see the crowd, the lights, the aura was magnificent. It was almost…cinema. I can see my grandfather and father in the ring as a tag team with a bunch of weapons laying waste to a bunch of people I haven’t seen before. I see my grandfather take out an ice pick and stab someone in the head. The guy was bleeding profusely.

“Holy fucking shit…”

“ALEXANDER LANGUAGE!”

[NOW]

I look back on the time when I wanted to be a pro-wrestling. The blood gushing from that man’s head lit a fire into me and every time I needed a long thought back to that one moment where I wanted all that glory for myself. I wanted to make someone bleed, to make someone breathe their last breath. Making someone’s eye dye out as their last look is of me giving such an infectious smile is something out of a horror movie.

Regardless of that phone call I received weeks ago I am going to continue on this different path I have laid for myself.

“Stryker, did’ya get lost in there? Did ya drown?”

I shook my head finally getting out of the shower.

“No, at least maybe I could be a ghost, who the fuck knows.”

[LIKE TWENTY MINUTES LATER]

We are uncomfortably numb in the bed as she has her laptop open. Morgan’s best laid plains seem to be watching conspiracy assassination videos.

“See? Look, I don’t think you’re grandfather was in the mob. Wait, he wasn’t was he? You think Texas Outlaw Wrestling is a mob hotbed? Shit…” She stares daggers at me, trying to get answers out of me. “You know, I am fucking with you right? You’re pappy was a fine man and whichever hooligan decided to call you and try and psych you out obviously had an agenda in mind and that’s how you lost your debut match. You are overthinking things, Mr. Alexander.”

“You know who you’re facing?”

“Some guy named Sean O’neill. Never heard of him, only know that he’s from Ireland.”

“Alex, honey, darling, sweetheart, what the fuck does him being from Ireland have to do anything? Come on, please. I think we need to come up with a game plan here, watch some of his matches and see what he’s all about. You need to redeem yourself from your first match at PRIME because you were obviously not focused. You were too worried about the doom and gloom aspect and getting in their head, when you should be reactive. I shouldn’t be telling you this, but I can tell you are rattled. I told you this after your match.”

I pinch the bridge of my nose. She was of course right. I conceded, I continue to feel like something is off about this whole entire thing.

Focus

Focus

Focus

Damn it. I can’t focus. I should have never picked up that fucking phone. I should have never entertained this idea and play along with someone’s stupid game. I have been played like a goddamn fiddle.

Game over.

When I get the chance I am going to solve thisl. I am going to go back to Texas and speak to my grandmother. I know this might break her, but I think she deserves to know. I hate to have her relive these moments again, I want to give her time to heal. This is killing me. This is eating me alive.

I feel like I am in a forest. There are many paths that I could take, everytime I go down a path I end up at the same intersection, going back and forth trying to find a way out. A way forward. I was moving in circles. I am going to give myself a massive headache, or some sort of complex. Could I escape my own nightmare I created? I just needed something to push me forward onto the correct path.

Revival 59 was only around the corner.

I am going to be the victim of my own demise and I will have nothing to blame but myself.

“Mr. Stryker, are you going to be clear minded for your next match?”

“Yes, I will.”

“I know when you are lying.”

“I will be ready. I think, I hope…I fucking hope so.”