Beyond the Brink

You remember that they call me the Event Horizon. Right? And you remember what that is? Don’t you? It’s the boundary. The threshold. The very edge of oblivion. The exact point where you can leave yourself behind entirely, and find what’s been hiding in the dark, impossible black. It’s where I live. Right there at the brink, my toes inching closer as I walk that thin, narrow edge. It mocks me. It fucking dares me to step beyond, and find what lurks in the abyss. Chaos? Peace? A version of myself that I’ve kept chained away? Or…nothing at all? But I doubt that. Very much. I think there’s something waiting, anxiously, to be found. And I think I want to find it. I wonder if you feel the same, Nate, if there’s a version of yourself you’re hiding away. I think there is. And I wanna find that too.

Flex. Release. Pull. Relax. Extend. Retract. Since age fifteen, a gym session meant back squats. Deadlifts. Bench press. Heavy weight. Big sets. Hypertrophy for muscle growth. Maxing out ‘til failure. Creatine and protein shakes. Pre-workout to make the fingers tingle and the body fucking vibrate. Every session a chance to get a fraction bigger, stronger. More explosive. But not lately. Lately, a gym session meant doctor-appointed physical therapy for a pair of ankles that almost didn’t make it back from a trip through hell itself. With one end of a green resistance band wrapped around the ball of his foot and the other tight in his grip, Hayes pulled back to close the ankle joint, and released to let it relax. Over. And over. And over. According to Dr. Welch, range of motion was the absolute priority. Even after getting the go ahead to compete again. Power cleans and front squats would have to take a back seat to band work and calf raises. Deadlifts had to be shelved in favor of inversion and eversion exercises. Bulgarian split squats were on vacation while dorsiflexion and plantarflexion stepped into the office. It was so god damn boring. But necessary. It was a miracle that he was able to step back into the ring against Kuroyama and Rose at all, and both had taken their toll. While those matches ended with a theatrical self-disqualification and a successful pin respectively, the aftermath was anything but spectacular. As soon as PRIME was off the air, Hayes had retreated to his hotel room on both occasions, both feet buried in a bucket of ice to hold back the pain and swelling. No post-show drinks with the Boys in Glue. No drug-addled after parties. No strangers in his bed the mornings after. Just maintenance. Lucky for Hayes, the gym at Hotel Indigo in Atlanta’s Midtown was simple enough and small enough that it didn’t receive a lot of traffic. So he sat alone, listening to the dull tones of some basic radio station, next to the treadmills and assorted dumbbell racks, to keep his ankles on the up and up. That is, until Big Sister arrived to put a ripple in the calm. “Still another hour before they’ll let us into our rooms,” she said, dropping her shoulder back to the floor and taking a seat on a workout bench in a huff. “I’ve been to Atlanta so many times and I swear to GOD it’s always like this.” “You’re resourceful, I’ll bet the bar is open,” said Little Brother, eyes remaining focused on flexing of his ankle. “It’s ten in the morning, little bro.” Hayes lifted an incredulous eyebrow, along with a dark eye to his older sister. “And?” She replied with an incredulous smirk of her own, along with a casual middle finger. “I’m not in the mood. And no, I’m not going to work out. I don’t like to sweat.” Hayes, with no intention of asking in the first place, smirked behind his mustache. Olivia studied her brother with her sharp blues, noting the quiet in his presence. His lack of engagement. His dismissive nature. The opposite of what he’d shown during recent ReVivals. “So it’s all bullshit, right?” she stated. “What’s all bullshit?” he asked, genuinely, removing the band from his foot and placing it on the other, continuing his therapy. “Everything that happens on the shows,” she clarified. “All the stupid trash talk, you against me, good guy bad guy crap." She paused to read his face as he looked up from his ankle, a confused wrinkle in his brow. “It’s bullshit. Right?” Little Brother gestured to his feet. “You were there, ‘Liv. You saw what Rose did to me. You were right there through the surgery. That’s not exactly ‘bullshit.’” “Okay, fine,” she retracted. “Sure, it’s a sport. Kinda. Accidents happen, someone goes a little too hard and makes a mistake. I get that. But the rest of it-” She gestured to the air with waving fingers. “-all the other stuff.” Accepting the conversation wasn’t going to end any time soon, Hayes released the band from his foot and leaned forward from his seat. “What are you asking, ‘Liv? Where is this coming from?” She shifted on the bench to face him squarely, one leg draped over the other. “Then explain it to me. All the shit that happens at the shows. All the things you do at the shows. Acting like a fucking dickhead? Trying to get a rise out of Nate week after week? Dumping a gin and tonic all over his brother’s head?” She opened her palms and shrugged her shoulders. “Where does that come from if it’s not some kind of act? That’s not you. You were never like that growing up.” Hayes sighed heavily, letting his broad back fall against the wall. “I don’t know, ‘Liv. It’s hard to explain, but it’s not bullshit.” “I don’t buy it,” she said, shaking her head. “I’ve been going along with it since I joined you on the road, mostly because I didn’t care. But the more it goes on, whatever that character is you put out there-” “It’s not a character,” he interrupted. “I don’t have a ‘character.’” She forced a laugh, nearly snorting. “Now that’s bullshit.” “It’s really not,” he snapped back, letting his palms fall to his thighs with a light smack. “I have nicknames, I have cool signature moves and shit, but everything you see at ReVival? Everything I say on the mic, every time I beat the piss out of somebody, every time I get my ass kicked?” He made sure he had her attention, his dark eyes matching hers. “That’s real, Olivia.” She pursed her lips in a grin, and shook her head slowly. “If that’s true, Hayes, then that makes you kind of a douchebag.” “And you’re telling me this now? Have you even watched a show in the last two years? Why is this all of a sudden a thing for you?” “I don’t know!” she conceded, throwing her hands up. “I don’t know, but after you threw that gin and tonic all over Colton’s brother, I just…” She paused, and fixed her posture, lifting her chin. “I just need to know if you’re an athlete or an actor.” “Oh for fuck’s sake…” He shot hot air through his mustache and stood, stuffing the resistance band into his bag. “Where are you going?” she asked as he walked by, heading for the gym’s exit. “Our rooms still aren’t-” “I dunno, sis,” he replied, back turned to his older sibling. “Probably the bar.” Olivia rolled her eyes and pushed her hands through her auburn locks as he stepped through the door, closing it behind him. “Literally anywhere else.”

I’m tired of the climb, Nate. I’m tired of talking about the Mountain. I’m tired of everyone else talking about the Mountain. There is no mountain. There’s only what’s hiding in the dark. And I think you’re close, so close, to showing everyone what’s waiting behind your event horizon. And whatever it is, it feels angry. And I want to see it. I want to see you get rid of your chains, Nate. I’m still trying to get rid of mine. We could do it together. We could both reach far beyond the Mountain. Leave it behind. Inch our toes to the threshold. We could take that step, side by side, and see what’s waiting beyond the brink.

Hayes twirled a mimosa in its glass at the large, round bar at Hotel Indigo, eyes peering down to his phone. Watching the three small dots flicker as he waited for Phil to reply. a fine showing against Rose. i’m sure that
revenge tasted particularly sweet something like that regardless, julien will enjoy putting
the exclamation mark on that story I’m sure he’s also jealous of your match
with Nathan maybe everything alright, Hayes? yeah I’m good. a little anxious you’ll put on quite the show. I’m sure of it thanks Phil “Dirty martini, please. And I mean dirty. Keep that old vermouth on the shelf.” Hayes rolled his eyes as Olivia sat in the stool next to him, the bartender sliding a coaster in front of her before getting to work on her drink. He kept his eyes on his phone, swiping away his conversation with the Humble Proprietor. “Thought you weren’t in the mood,” he mumbled, sipping from his mimosa. “Our rooms still aren’t ready,” she deflected, not bothering to thank the bartender as he set her martini in front of her. “Clearly we both needed a little something to keep this conversation going.” “Oh, this is a conversation?” he shot with a laugh. “Doesn’t feel like it.” “Whyyyy are you being such a little bitch, Hayes?” “‘LIV-” He stopped himself as his voice started to lift. The bartender; a young blonde with a knife-like aura, turned an eye as she prepared a garnish. Olivia lifted an eyebrow, daring her little brother to continue. “Olivia,” he said, starting over. “I don’t need you, our parents, or anyone else to understand it. I know I’m…different…when the cameras turn on, but that doesn’t mean it’s some kind of act.” He took a beat, and Big Sister allowed it, letting him finish off the drink in his hand. “I’ve had to play by everyone’s rules since I can remember,” he explained. “When Mom told us we couldn’t come upstairs when she was angry or…had company. When I tried working for Dad and kept fucking up on the job sites. In baseball, even when I was at PNW and had to follow their script. But here? At PRIME?” He pursed his lips, looking past her shoulder, looking back on the last four years. “Here, I don’t have to,” he said, making eye contact. “I can tell my story. I can pick the fights that I wanna pick. I can tell the roster, fuck, I can tell Lindsay Troy exactly what I think of them. And they get the same chance to prove me right, or prove me wrong.” “And you’re free to punch people in the dick and give them a booze bath whenever you want?” “Jesus Christ, ‘Liv,” he exhaled, setting his glass back to the bar. “Do you wanna fuck Nate Colton or something? Am I gonna find him and his little brother tag teaming you in your hotel one of these nights?” “FUCK. YOU. HAYES.” she spat, her lips lined with venom. “Fuck YOU! I’m fucking tired of it, Olivia! Just when I start to get some footing, some fucking momentum, somebody has to dissect me! Pull me off the fucking ladder! Why can’t everyone just leave me the fuck ALONE!!” The bartender’s gaze burned like daggers, but it hardly mattered. The siblings were doing what siblings do, regardless of the atmosphere. “I’m not trying to pull you off of anything,” Olivia hissed. “I’m trying to call you out on your bullshit-” “You and EVERYONE ELSE!!!” “You’re such a little brat.” “And you’re just like mom.” The air, then, expelled itself from the room. Hayes fully understood the weight of his words, but he wouldn’t budge. He kept his dark, fierce eyes latched to his sister’s while her blues iced over. Her features sharpened further, her body rigid. Tense. On the verge of another strike. “What the fuck did you just say to me?” she roiled. Little Brother’s teeth clenched, breath steady through his nose. “You heard me,” he growled. “Say it again.” He didn’t. “Say it AGAIN you FUCKING PUSSY-” “AHEM.” The bartender’s interruption was enough to drive a wedge between the warring siblings, and they broke their death stares to address. She had her hands planted firmly on the bar, leering in close, eyes darting between the two. “You two need to leave,” she said in no uncertain terms. “NOW.” “That’s fine-” Olivia replied, standing from her stool and taking her martini in hand. But instead of taking a sip, or chugging the thing all at once, she thrust the glass forward, painting her brother’s face in vodka. “I’d rather be anywhere else.” Olivia was halfway out the door before either Hayes or the bartender could react. He held fast despite the burn in his eyes from vodka and olive juice dripping down his face. The bartender was quick to a phone, dialing furiously. “It’s fine,” he said, holding up a hand.” “Sir…” “Really, it’s fine,” he confirmed, wiping a hand across his eyes, flicking his fingers to the floor. “Give me a couple towels.” “I’ll clean up and get out of here.”

What do you think we’ll find, Nate? What will we learn about ourselves? Will I still be The Betrayer? The Thresher of Hooves? Will I still have to keep making comebacks? And you. Will you still be made of Diamonds? Were we ever these things? Or were we destined to be something else entirely? Will I find out if I’m actually made of Glue? .. …. …. Will YOU be made of Glue?

Mostly cleaned up, but in need of a shower, Hayes made his way back to his hotel. But first, despite his better judgement, he decided to check on Big Sister. Finding her room, a few doors down the hall from his own, he was surprised to see a collection of housekeepers bustling in and out. He peeked inside, finding no sign of her. No luggage. No purse on bed. No phone charging on the nightstand. He found a moment to sneak in, scanning the room. Still, no sign of Olivia. Save a piece of paper resting on the pillow. He snatched it quickly before any of the housekeepers could berate him, and he escaped back into the hall. Opening the note, he could recognize her handwriting clearly: Good fucking luck. He forced a small laugh, perhaps masking a sadness. And yet, that mask would stay on for now. He made way to his room, crumpled the note, and dropped it into a trash can in the hall.

Against the impossible black stands the Event Horizon. Black shoes. Black slacks. Black button-up; sleeves rolled to the elbows. Standing on an invisible platform in the dark. “A couple weeks ago, Rose told me that I ‘had a chance to do something real.’” He paces left, hands in his pockets, pondering as he walks. “To ‘build something on my own terms.’ But instead, I ‘swung for the moon and hit into a double play.’” He removes his hands, and swings them in a lazy arc across his body. “That I ‘decided living in Farthington’s shadow was safer than standing on my own.’” A pause, hands wringing together. “And I won’t lie, that one kinda hurt, Nate. She cut me deep with that one.” He smiles a touch, his mustache lifting. “I left her lying in the ring regardless, though, and while I couldn’t shake those words for a little while, I did think of you, Nate.” He turns an eye toward the camera, and smirks. “And I wonder if those words would have hurt you, too.” He spins on his heel, pacing the opposite direction. “But funny enough, it’s your own damn name that’s casting that shadow, buddy. Nate Colton! Oldest son of the great Jake Colton! So much pedigree!!” He waves his hand in an arc overhead, like reading a banner. “But not enough gold to match it.” His hand drops loose to his side. “It’s exhausting. Isn’t it. To be so tied-down to that kind of expectation.” He points a finger toward his chest. “I put that expectation on myself.” He turns his hand, and points the finger toward the viewer. “You were born with it.” He snaps his fingers, and strolls back the way he came. “And all along the way, a whoooole lot of criticism. A lot of people trying to pull us off the ladder. A lot of envious dickheads wanting to watch us tumble down the mountain. A lot of doubt.” Finally, Hammerin’ Hanlon returns to center. Or at least what we can assume is center. “But you know who didn’t have any doubt, Nate?” Suddenly, a spotlight, slamming to life. A luminous cone from the heavens, landing to the far right of our host and exposing a loveable smile from a slight man in a green suit. “Joe.” Another spotlight snaps on, to the far left, revealing the Bearded Lizard, face stoic and flat. “Julien.” A third, between Hanlon and Fontaine, illuminating the Financier, Universal Title resting comfortably on his shoulder. “Cecilworth.” And a fourth, between Hayes and FLAMBERGE, exposing the Humble Proprietor in his wheelchair. “And Phil.” They stand, and sit, like statues. Expressionless. Hayes looks left and right with a smile behind his mustache. Appreciative of the four men standing with him. “At my best, my worst, most convinced, and most skeptical, they had absolutely zero doubt. It took me a long, long time to believe it…” He holds his hands out to either side, and shrugs. “...but here they are regardless.” He lets his arms fall, thumbs placed in his pockets. “But Colossus will be about US, Nate!!” In a wild burst, floodlights explode from all angles, revealing the Brothers in Glue to be standing in a ring, surrounded by thousands and thousands of PRIMEates, roaring from the stands. “What will we find, Nate??” His voice is lifting, nearly yelling against the din of the crowd. “Will I still be the Hammerin’ Hanlon!? Will you still be the New Diamond!?” In an instant, with an audible, metallic snap, the lights drop, leaving the five Glue Bois standing against the dark once more. “Could you be made of Glue?” The four spotlights over his teammates turn off simultaneously, leaving on Hayes standing in the void. “What will we find, Nate? If we, together, step beyond the brink?” With one last hard, loud snap, Hayes disappears. Leaving only the deep, impossible black. “What will we find beyond the threshold?”