Carte Blanche (Part 4 of 5) (Hatred)

The Heart Of Bandit Country June 26, 2026

The Notary Hotel was where the procession started, but it wasn’t until passing 1 South Broad Street that the mood inside Brandon Youngblood’s truck cabin changed. This journey wasn’t made alone; his wife, Amy, rode shotgun while and his son, Cody, sat in the backseat. Not a word spoken between them, even as they turned toward Packard Avenue and The Walt Whitman Bridge. There were no leaves of grass on this summer night, the mid-eighties cooling to the high-seventies, the only discernible difference a light breeze. The night sky was partially cloudy. Through the console's bluetooth, Nick Stuart and Richard Parker did what they did best, calling the beginning stanza of Kerry Kuroyama and Bobby Neptune’s foray into planetarium combat.

Where the truck was heading would be at home somewhere across that hemispherical projection. With any luck, that somewhere would be very, very distant.

Can planets be made purely from trash?

Tony and Nick's Steaks was near closing time. A shame; it wasn’t Dalessandro’s, but it at least reviewed greater than The Big Two. Not like they were going to be done before eleven anyway, and even if they were, Germantown was a good half hour away. Maybe Shay’s, then?

After all, not all the locals were…

...Bandits.

If Lincoln Financial Field was bustling with filled capacity, then the 2300 Arena was eerily opposite. All that they found at the corner of Swanson and Rittner was a spartan crew of ‘watchdogs’ conspicuously walking the perimeter of the building. Atlas Security. Their trademark black turtleneck and suit separate ensemble was changed. Powder blue.

Wonderful.

They didn’t worry Brandon; pulling underneath the I-95 overpass, to the load-in, there was someone far greater that he'd have to deal with as a barrier to entry.

Laser was nowhere to be found.

Just standard fare of grunts. They might’ve been Bandit-Adjacent, but that was a double-edged sword. Slap a few bucks in their palms, and they’ll turn a blind eye. And so it was. The doors were open. Brandon put the truck into park, glancing toward his wife before doing the same to his son. This wasn’t against their wishes; they insisted on being here for...this. Undone seatbelts and stepping into the cesspool, but not before a stop at the dash. Work gloves. Heavy. Thick. He lowered the tailgate, letting it flop open. What was underneath was obscured by the tonneau cover. If what was inside had shuffled on the trip during the trip from Eau Claire, the fertilizer fork attached to the nylon rope knotted through a tie-down hole would help to fish it out. Youngblood grabbed it by the handle, waiting for his son to finish fastening the velcro around his wrists. “Time to get to work.”

Eau Claire The Not So Distant Past

Brandon never forgot the first time he crossed the Iron Brigade Memorial Highway under all-consuming slate and cutting winds, making his way into the Altoona Family Restaurant to speak with his ex-wife Melissa for the first time since…Baby steps back into life after seeking his death in Karachi. It hadn’t claimed him. Stubborn bastard. And in those times, it would’ve been so much easier to disappear, to not attempt to rebuild in a world where so much was dictated upon a willingness To Relive, To Forgive.

Years later, and this time, the grey wasn’t for him. He lurched forward from the back cushion of the booth he was seated in, steam rising from the cup of chicken noodle soup before him as he gingerly held onto the handle of his spoon with his right hand. The volar splint had come off and recovery was proceeding as expected.

The soup. The oppressive winter. This time, it was he who was waiting. An inversion of the past, but history was having a fun time re-configuring and repeating itself. He controlled all the cards on the table, and perhaps, that was how he should’ve viewed it. Months after the Truth came out in full, it was she who made the call for them to meet after the silence ever since.

They lived mere miles apart, but since then, Cody was successful in his advanced testing so he could graduate from high school early. In the aftermath, after telling his father his intention of training to become a professional wrestler, he all but made Brandon’s house his full-time home. It was easier that way; he could do his physical training right there, and his mother...

...she didn’t support any of this.

If he’d known all those years ago what he knew now, would he have gone to Karachi? How much would he have suffered with his conscience and guilt? No...he wasn’t some hero; it was his hand that struck her, his actions and his spiral that had gave oxygen to what she had done. Neither of them were devoid of blame. But to have obscured the truth? After all the work done, the time spent, the embracing of him back into her home, her life, allowing him to be a father...

All of it forged upon a foundation that was a lie…

“Brandon...”

“All I had was a path to redemption. And you took it from me. I don’t know if any of it is real. And I’ll never know. I love you Melissa, but I don’t believe you. And I’ll never, ever, forgive you.”

Steadying himself, he glanced toward her. White had crept into the roots of her red curls. Her skin was pale, her eyes sunken and rimmed with exhaustion. The bagginess of her parka…he winced as he tried to crack the knuckles of his right hand, a shock of pain shooting up his forearm. “Are you okay? You don’t look so well...”

She eased the strap of her bag from her shoulder, resting on the cushion of the booth seat opposite him before taking a seat. “...I’ve been better. How are you?”

“What do you mean ‘you’ve been better’?”

A pregnant pause. A pursing of the lips. “I’m just...” she stammered, hands resting against the tabletop. “How are you? Really? How have you been?”

He noticed that her nails were chipped. Varnishless. “I’m doing okay...I guess.”

“I’m glad–”

“Melissa,” his back eased into the vinyl. “You look...”

“Sick?”

“Unwell.”

A chuckle. A self defense mechanism. “I just haven’t been able to sleep that well. For a while. Melatonin isn’t working. Ambien. Nothing...”

Signal flares screaming in the mind. No. She was making this about her. Looking like this, so sullen, so withered. It hadn’t been years since their confrontation, yet here she was, manipulating him to feel a certain… “You’re not drinking or anything, are you?”

“Would it matter if I did?” A break in her voice. “I’m–”

So focused were they that they didn’t see the approach of the waitress until she placed a glass of water in front of Melissa and a menu on the edge of the table. “Hello Ma’am, would you like few moments to look over the menu or do you know what you’d like to order?” Melissa had never seen her before. She was new. Young.

Melissa’s fingers wrapped around her plastic glass.

“We’re fine,” Brandon smiled. “Can you give us a few minutes, please?”

“Most certainly.” A subtle nod. “When you're ready, just raise your hand and I’ll take your order.”

Melissa’s eyes remained downcast as the waitress gave them space. She didn’t even look up before speaking once again. “I know you hate me–”

“--Melissa–”

“--my son. I haven’t seen our son in–”

“--look–”

“--I miss my boy–”

“--please–”

She was rocking now, barely holding together. “--I miss our boy...and I know you hate me...you deserve to hate me...”

If the exterior of the 2300 Arena was spartanly populated, then the fact that Brandon, Amy, and Cody were nearly the only ones inside wasn’t so unexpected.And yet, they were not alone. There was one Bandit in this domain; Coral Avalon sat at the announce desk perched all the way up in the Crow’s Nest. Why he was there was a mystery to The Diamond. He didn’t think of asking him to lend a hand.

Not after how their last encounter ended.

If anyone knew what Brandon had staked in this confrontation, it was The King of Conquerors. Some might make mention that, until he’d been placed in the carton, that he was Crownless. One Of The Greatest To Never. But, still...even under the best of circumstances...even though Coral had made The eGG Bandits more about him and usurped Cancer Jiles...even though, a year later after being christened a Bandit and carried off, he came back and banished King Crumb to The Gallows under cover of Wolf Totem…

It came at the cost of The COOLympian oozing into every pore of his life. Not just his life. Annabelle. His children. Brandon knew Coral was something of a malleable kind of man from the very first moments of knowing him. Youngblood was not as flexible; he would rather die than trudge through a foot of what Avalon had wallowed in, accolades and Universal Championships be damned.

The Crow’s Nest wasn’t a skybox, but it still gave him the vantage to watch as Youngblood and his family brought with inside the building the very tools which might very well lead to death. A Singapore Cane was easy to carry. So were the 12 packs of Budweiser that were complete and total overkill. It was the wooden tables wrapped in barbed wire that took a little more handling. Father and son, working in tandem. Amy carried with her spools of barbed wire.

Just in case.

Youngblood’s eyes scanned upward, to see just how his 'friend' and oldest rival reacted to what he was watching unfurl. Violence united them. One of the seminal moments in Avalon’s life was when he lost his own briefly from Gimmick Hell. It was Brandon who, after that traumatic experience, picked his bones clean of the All-Star Championship Wrestling Scorpion Fighting Title.

Urgh.  Slung over the Diamond’s shoulder was a bundle of light tubes. That was what brought Coral down from the Crow’s Nest, what caused him to make the approach. “You think you might be overdoing it just a little?”

Brandon tossed the ring apron upward before sliding the bundle under the ring.

“I guess not.”

Right behind him was Amy, a bucket in hand. Wordless, she handed it to her husband. Youngblood examined the contents for a moment, then doubled his gaze toward Coral. A smirk spread across his face. “Took up a collection down the road from place looking all Skid Row. What do you think?”

“Wonderful.” Glass bottles. Forties and long necks. The contents reeked of alcohol so intensely that Avalon pinched his nostrils. “You could just try wrestling him, you know. That’s worked out well for you in the past.”

It had. But...this...was different. “This is how it has to be.”

“Why mess up a good thing?”

“Because I’ve been planning this.” He shoved the bucket underneath the ring. “What’re you doing here.”

“This is Bandit Country...” Coral started. “If I’m going to be doing play-by-play, I’m making sure there’s actual equipment that works.”

“At least there’ll be one friendly face in the crowd...”

“...don’t know how friendly I’m going to be. Not after how we left it in Seattle...”

The comment tore Brandon from his trance. “I’m sorry about that.” The apology came without hesitation.

“No worries. Lot’s of pressure. I understand–”

“--no...” he cut him off. “I was...seeing...if something inside me was still the same.”

The comment lifted The King of Conqueror’s brow. “And was it?”

“If it was,” Youngblood chuckled, “I wouldn’t have apologized to you just now.”

“...and I’m not going to begrudge you hating me Brandon, I’m not...” Melissa’s voice broke. “But Cody doesn’t understand what he’s doing. He doesn’t. He thinks he wants to be a wrestler, just like you...” Brandon tried to intercede, but she kept going anyway. “I don’t want him to throw his life away!”

If there were stares from others in the restaurant, they did not register.

“I just want him to go to school, go to college, get a job–”

Enough. “--I want you to listen to yourself.”

“--you know I’m–”

“He’s eighteen now, Melissa. He’s an adult. And he can make his own decisions–”

“--I swear, Brandon, my God, I swear to God, I will do anything. Anything. But he can’t do this, he can’t…he can’t–”

He licked his lips, his eyes peering deep into hers. “--he’s not just any eighteen year old. He has a trust that he now has full access to. You know how much money is in there. It's all his. Just like was the plan.Wrestling made that happen. It did. And what’s our goal as parents, Melissa?”

A pensive gulp.

“It’s to provide our children with the best we can give them. To set them up to succeed. To be the best that they can be. And you look out in the world, and how many kids aren’t afforded that? How many kids go through the motions and go to school because that’s what they think they want to do–”

“--maybe he could’ve gone to the Olympics–”

“--maybe. And maybe he still can–”

“--and what if he gets hurt trying to go into pro wres–”

“That could happen.” They met eyes at the same level. “It could. And God, I hope it doesn’t. But he has every single resource someone can ever have to become whatever he wants to be.”

“I get it.” Her bottom lip trembled. “I used him as a weapon against you. And when you tried to come back into his life...into my life...I needed to be guarded. And the fact that you grew so much more...you wanted to be in his life, Brandon. And if you knew what had happened, what I had done, would you be?” Her eyes were shrink-wrapped with tears and her breathing unsteady. “I get it. I don’t like it but I get it. I miss him. And I miss you. And I miss whatever it was we were. And I know we’re never going to get that back. I’m sorry for wasting your time–”

She grabbed her bag and attempted to stand, only to be stopped when he reached out and clutched her by the wrist. Looking upward toward her, she couldn't help but how gentle his grip was. “You think I’m doing this because of hatred?”

She said nothing.

“Sit down.”

The bag found purchase beside her, and she did as was asked.

“That’s not what this is.” He hadn't let go. “I just want my son to be happy. I want him to achieve whatever it is he wants to. And he will. It’s not ‘normal’. But he’s not normal. None of this is. And if he’s going to be the best he can be, he needs the support of everyone. You think I told him to stay away from you? Do you think I even told him what you did? I’d like to say I thought hard about it...but I didn’t.” Now, it was both of his hands, joining with hers. “That part doesn’t matter to him. He doesn’t need to know that; he never needed to know that. It doesn’t change the fact that he’s loved. That he has a family that will support him through thick and thin.”

“I’m scared, Brandon.” She broke. “What if...what if happened between us...what if happens again? You’ve always been so scared about history being passed through blood–”

“That cycle’s been broken.” His voice was resolute. “He’s not me. I’m not my father. I wish you’d have told me everything, Melissa. I really do. And maybe some would think I should hate you...” He released his grip, letting her relax fully. “But now that I do know...hatred’s dictated and informed so much of me for so long. Now? I rather put that into something that makes sense. So if you want to heal...let’s heal. If you want to see your son...let’s support him all the way. And if it’s my forgiveness you need...” words from the heart “...then I forgive you.”

“Damn, this thing is heavy.” Cody’s voice wasn’t a whine but rather a declaration. His gloved hands worked to steady the particle board, a feat made all the more difficult by the sheer volume of nails jutting through it.

“No...just...awkward...” Brandon himself struggled to maintain. This many real nails was beyond overkill. They worked to get it inside the arena through the load-in, then through to the ringside area. Once there, sliding it under the ring and making sure it didn’t break any of the other weapons under the ring the next trick.

“Have you, like, even thought about how you’re going to get that thing into the ring?”

His father didn’t answer.

“Thought so. Just...”

“What?”

“What the hell is all this?” An exhale, trying to catch his breath. “It’s Ultraviolence, yeah. And you were in a cage, and another year, there were jolf clubs–”

“--chairs–”

“--jolf clubs..and it was a mess. But this...why?”

Brandon's fingers rapped against the guardrail. “You want to become a wrestler, right?”

“Yeah?”

“And I told you...you needed to find the reason why you wanted to do so. But here’s the thing...Cody...” suddenly, he reached over, his hands clasping onto his son's shoulders “...the answer to that isn't static. It can change with the times or the circumstances. It’s just...when you do so...you have to be true to yourself and not lie.” A parting of important wisdom. “If you lie...it’s over.”

“You just want to hurt him...real bad.”

“Yeah...” Brandon grinned. “But I don’t need all this to do that to him.” He pulled up the ring apron, as if making a show of the arsenal underneath. “This is about being true to me. This is me...wanting to do this to him. Wanting to do this to myself...”

Those words were concerning. “You’re worried about me hurting myself, and tomorrow night in this...shithole...you’re going to fight...and given everything on the line–”

“--I hope you never find someone in your life that you truly hate as much as I do this...this...Cockroach...”

“--that’s just being irrational–”

“No.” Sincerity. “Irrational is anger just for the sake of it. Anger is wanting to punish and destroy people just for the sake of it. And that’s a big part of me.” The apron dropped, and with it, he used the heels of his hands to take push up and take a seat on the ring steps. “But going away for that year...us coming back together...us becoming a family again...I don’t have that in me for motivation anymore. Hell, I even tried. Tried with Kerry Kuroyama. Tried with Bobby Neptune. But I don’t hate them. It’s physical, and it's a fight, but at the end of the day...it’s a sport. And it’s a sport I love. A sport you love and want to be a part of...”

“--So why–”

“--Because even though that’s not who I am anymore? There’s still the last bit of it, welled up inside. And if it's there? Then I'm going to pump out every. Last. Fucking. Drop of it until it’s all gone...and I'm going to use it on someone who deserves it.”

Because it’s not about killing you, Jiles. If that worked, I’d have snuffed you out years ago. Cecilworth would’ve done the same. Hanlon. Chandler Tsonda. Beating you isn’t enough. It’s never been enough. Lindsay Troy has you in this rat race and gives you opportunities and hope just because she knows you’ll fail. That’s her hatred of you made manifest; the PRIME you persist in is a prison she made for you.

I can’t keep living my life how I have been. I can’t face all the challenges before me with the same venom and rage because the very things that are birthed from are truly no more. 

The fire has changed.

 You are my last loose end. The very thing I’ve saved every bit and morsel of my hatred for. In your city. In your cesspool. At your event, a show I’ve never won at. With all the history rallying to your side to finally defeat me in the ultimate fashion…

I can’t just beat you.

I’ve beaten you before.

No...titles, your career...none of it matters to The Cockroach as much as its identity.

So on June 27th, I strip that away from you. I will bleed and rip myself apart and suffer unimaginable pain in your snake pit because what must be visited upon you will not just change you…

It will truly end you.

The ultimate survivor...

Lindsay Troy made PRIME your prison.

At Ultraviolence, I will turn your ‘survival’ into a punishment more sadistic and hopeless than what she conjured for you. 

Buzz.

Buzz.

Deliliah is pulling their straps down, Scabson; after I'm through, you will never be who and what you were ever again.

3-0.

Pucker and Kiss those platinum locks Goodbye.