Post by Andrew Logan on May 1, 2020 17:08:24 GMT -5
~We open on a beautiful scene. We're in front of what appears to be the classic American homestead. The grass is green, the birds are chirping, everything is beautiful. The camera moves through the kitchen window, taking us into where a blonde woman is confidently making pancakes, bacon, & eggs at the stove. Toast pops up from the toaster. She smiles as she flips one of the pancakes effortlessly onto a nearby plate and goes to collect the toast.~
Blonde - Breakfast is ready! Time to eat!
~A kid comes running in, already dressed for school. He's got dark hair and inquisitive eyes. He takes the plate his mother gives him and heads for his seat, ready to dig in.~
Blonde - Hold on, Billy. Wait for your father.
~The boy sighs, since he's really hungry. But he doesn't have to wait long. A large man comes into the kitchen, dressed in a suit and tie. He leans in and gives the wife a comfortable kiss on the cheek. As he turns to the camera, it appears to be Andrew Logan, a face not seen on OCW television in decades.~
Andrew Logan - Hello, honey. It smells wonderful as always!
Blonde - Thanks, dear. Are you ready for today?
Andrew Logan - I feel good about it. Mr. Smith can't help but see that I deserve that raise. I've worked harder for him than anyone!
Billy - You'll get it, Dad! You're the best!
Andrew Logan - Aw, thanks, my man. Did you get all your homework done?
Billy - Most of it.
Andrew Logan - Most of... you little scamp! Well, we'll look at it quickly after breakfast, okay?
Billy - Okay!
~Andrew takes a seat at the table, drinking from his cup of coffee. He looks around the room, smiling at what he sees. Little Billy, trying to read while eating eggs. His wife, already starting to clean up the kitchen. His brother... Anthony Logan... standing there... staring at him... his face covered in blood... ~
Anthony Logan - You caused all of this, Andrew. Not me. You brought it all... on... yourself...
~Suddenly, the place is a nightmare. The cabinets are burning. The windows are shattered. The woman is now laying on the ground, staring lifelessly up into the air towards who knows what. There is no sign of Billy. Andrew Logan is kneeling next to the woman, tears brimming from his eyes. He looks out at the devastation, letting out a horrible scream.~
Andrew Logan - Anthony!! ANNTTTHHOONNNYYY!!!!
~Suddenly, Andrew Logan wakes up. He sits straight up, gasping for air, as if he had just been drowning. Which, in his own mind, he had. He closes his eyes, trying to shake the terrible images from his mind. A couple goes walking by, staring strangely at the disheveled man sitting against the wall. They hurry their pace. Andrew lifts a hand to run through his dirty, long hair, shoving it out of his face. He slowly gets up, stumbling like a drunk over to the entrance to the alley. He watches the building across the way, leaning on the wall, still trying to recover from the dream.~
It has been way too long since I've found myself in an OCW wrestling ring. It feels like that time of my life had ended. It's not that I had moved on; it's that I had fallen apart. I had no interest in wrestling anymore. Maybe once I had a chance to be a great star, a Hall of Famer in the business. But the company closed; I moved on. And then my brother... Anthony...
The world is a shithole now. Everyone knows it. Everyone can see it. And everyone damn sure can smell it. The Coronavirus is just the icing on the top of this rotting cake of manure. I would love to see this world burn down, just to start a new one. We're overdue.
But, you ask, if you feel this way, why return to OCW? Why enter the Manifest Destiny 2 Tournament to take on so many other wrestlers pulled from the history of the company? It's simple. All of these 'heroes' the fans worship? They need to be torn down. They need to be shown that they are false idols. Just like my brother was, and just like I was.
~Andrew Logan slowly moves out of the alley. He weaves back and forth for a second, as if about to fall down. But he manages to maintain his balance, as he goes across the road. A car comes by, barely slowing down. The driver honks his horn and leans out the window while passing.~
Driver - Out of the way, you fucking bum!
~Andrew doesn't even appear to acknowledge the driver. He keeps trying to go a straight path, which doesn't appear to be easy. His clothes are almost falling off of him, due to how shredded and worn they are. On the other side, there is a storefront with a large man standing in front. He looks on in open disgust at the approaching homeless man.~
Man - We've got no free food for you here, sucker. Keep walk-
~The sound of the gun going off is startling. The man falls backwards, a bloody hole in his chest, probably dead before he hits the ground. It was a perfect shot to the heart. Screams can be heard from people down the block, even as Andrew Logan stands straight up, appearing to be a lot more sober than he looked. He rams another load into the chamber and starts forward, banging the door open. Frenzied shouts, curses, and more gunshots fill the air. It sounds like chaos incarnate. And then, after a minute... all is quiet again.~
I look at my competition in this tournament, and there are not many people I recognize. But then, I've been out of the business a long, long time. I watched the winners from the first wave of matches. Somehow, my competition got less interesting. The fact that Jason Chase, of all people, is moving ahead of The Big Bifford shows what a shit-show this tournament could be. Chase is no competition for anyone, on any day. Throw in the crazy chick, the literal piece of shit, and the emotional egomaniac, and there's not much there to fear.
My bracket doesn't look any better. Somehow, I got put in the female bracket. Chelsea LeClair. Skye Hill. Sarah Twilight. Chey Tabernacke. And that ball-less wonder Chad Vargas. I remember him; I can't believe he hasn't gotten his racist ass buried long ago. Fucker is probably older than me and a lot less of a man. Him and Grenier should form a club: Asskissers anonymous. Because that's the only way they were given a chance in this tournament.
And then there's my opponent. A guy who just calls himself Roach. Of all the animals in the world you could choose, you went with the bug that's easiest to squash. You could have been a lion. A tiger. A narwhal. Fuck, you could have been a unicorn, and I'd have less problems with your name. A roach is a creepy bastard who crawls into hidden spaces, carries diseases, and has no redeeming factors whatsoever. Okay, so maybe you named yourself correctly, after all.
~We are standing inside of the building where the shoot-out just occurred, further in than before, obviously. In the back room, we see Andrew Logan using one large hand to point his Glock in the face of the sole man remaining in the living world. Bodies are all around them, as well as what appears to be a fairly successful drug-smuggling operation. At least until now. The man looks ready to say goodbye to his clean shorts any moment now, if he hasn't already.~
Drug Peddler - What the fuck do you want? Look, seriously, right over there, there's probably 100 G's, just take that!
~The terrified man points over with a shaky hand at a nearby open safe. That's just poor planning, leaving it open like that. The stacks of cash can be seen sitting inside. Andrew barely gives it a glance, his gun hand not wavering.~
Drug Peddler - Not money? Then... the drugs? Take them! What do I care??
~The packaged drugs could be easily picked up in front of Andrew, but he clearly doesn't care about those, either.~
Drug Peddler - What, then? Fuck, just tell me! What?!?!
~Andrew slowly reaches into his pocket with his free hand. He pulls out a battered picture, folded at the seam. On the side we can see, there appears to be a man standing there, but we can't make out any details from this angle.~
Andrew Logan - Him. I want him.
~The man swallows deeply. He tries to hide it, but his emotions are too raw. It's clear he recognizes the person in the photo. He starts to shake his head.~
Drug Peddler - I don't know him...
~The gun is forced against the man's head, silencing him for a few seconds as he expects to be seeing the afterlife within moments.~
Andrew Logan - You know... where he is. I... Want... Him.
~The man is literally shaking in his boots now. You just know his bladder has completely emptied. Thankfully, there is no Smellovision here. He slowly picks up his nearby phone, plugging in the code for it. He gets to his connections, and shows it to Andrew.~
Drug Peddler - This is all I've got. I swear. He's been on the move lately, I don't know where...
~Andrew takes the phone from the man, checking out the information. He nods and turns, starting to leave. The man breathes a little big easier. That is, until Andrew stops in the doorway and turns back, pointing the gun back at him.~
Andrew Logan - Will you keep quiet?
Drug Peddler - Of... of course I will... I won't tell no one! They'd... they'd kill me just for what I showed you...
Andrew Logan - They would. But they'd torture you first. I'll make it easier for you.
~Another gun shot echoes in the space. Andrew Logan turns and starts to leave, planning to depart before any annoying police presence shows up. He does stop briefly, though, to collect the money from the safe and throw it in a sack. He then departs, keeping his weapon at the ready. Near the dead man's hand, we see the picture that Andrew left behind. It's an old OCW promotional picture. On one side of the fold is Anthony "Lightning" Logan, his young face grinning at the camera. On the other side is his brother, Andrew, much less weathered and damaged. Much less broken.~
This week, I return between the ropes. I enter the squared circle for the first time in forever. You probably think I'm going to be rusty. I'm going to be easy pickings, even for someone named Roach. You'd be completely wrong. I may not have had the cushy pads to land on or the ropes to bounce off of, but that doesn't mean I haven't continued fighting. There is plenty of blood on my hands over the last few decades.
Roach seems to have missed his opportunity to break out in the wrestling business. I don't know what happened at Death Match, but I assume he badly blew it. He probably looks at something like this tournament as his only chance to become relevant again. Too bad the luck of the draw was against him. Going out in the first round is going to be a complete waste of everyone's time. He'd be better off not showing up.
I know how that goes. I'm a former OCW World Champion, who defeated a Hall of Famer, Silver Cyanide, to earn that honor. Did I get any credit for it? No. They still shafted me from their Hall of Fame. So maybe that's another reason I've come back, Roach. I want to make that impression, to make people remember that wrestling me used to lead to hospital stays, and sometimes worse. You didn't get to be at the top, Roach? You didn't get to get all the fame and the glory? Take a number. But I'll make you famous this week. Briefly. You'll be remembered for all time as the man that Andrew Logan, an old, forgotten relic, absolutely destroyed and left for dead.
I'm a freak of nature. I'm a bloodthirsty warrior. I'm a murderer. And I'm just getting started.