The House That God Built, Part II

[Christian Garcia]

The video we're shown now has some visual tearing and color aberration that marks it as an older wrestling tape. The date is marked 9/23/2016. It's a small indy show in a baseball park. The song 'Who Shot Ya?' by Notorious BIG can be heard as two men make their way to the ring. One of them is a shorter Caucasian, with noticeable knee braces over his white-on-black tights. The other is a younger, un-tattooed, thinner Christian Garcia, his hair tied in a high bun rather than the usual dyed comb-over he has now.

 

The tape is skipped forward, and the camera is revealed to be a handheld camera. It's currently being held in 'Selfie' mode by the caucasian man.

 

Blake Cooper: Ay yo, it's me, it's me, it is YOUR BOY B.C., and I'm here live with the biggest fan of the Last Chancers in the world... Atlas! Spencer! Kaffee!

 

The man is clearly faking a smile as he shifts the camera a little bit to reveal a younger, shorter-haired, less-tattooed Jasmin Kaffee holding a two-or-three year old child. She looks miserable, thin, pale, and sickly, but she's smiling too, and the kid seems pleased.

 

Blake: Say hey for the camera, little buddy! How'd you like your first wrestlin' show with Uncle B and Tio G?

 

Atlas: Yay!

 

Jasmin weakly joins in.

 

Jasmin: Yaaaay!

 

He throws his hands up with excitement, and Blake throws up one of his too. Another man shows up, looking oddly like an older version of current OCW Superstar Jared McGregor, Junior, and also gives a smile to the camera.

 

Jared Sr.: Oiiiii! There's the little man of the hour! See, I'm not so scary!

 

Atlas still views Jared with suspicion, but Jasmin gives him a playful tickle and gets the little guy to laugh! Soon, Jared joins in, and the little fella's having too much fun to even think of being scared of the Irishman.

 

Blake, however, isn't faking his smile as much, especially when a familiar voice joins in.

 

CG: Jasmin, we got places to be, let's go! Vamanos!

 

All smiles fade, except for Jasmin's. Jared looks concernedly at the camera, before turning to the approaching CG.

 

Jared: Oi, Felix, gimme a minute here, she wanted an autograph-

 

CG: She can get one later, she's got a fight next week.

 

Jared: Felix, you can wait five bloody seconds.

 

CG walks into view, giving Jared a puzzled look, and the elder McGregor stands his ground. He's shorter than CG, about five foot ten, but he doesn't look intimidated.

 

CG: Something wrong, Jared?

 

Jared: It's a fucking picture, Felix. Give me a second.

 

CG: One.

 

Jared huffs, and turns around, giving Jasmin an apologetic look.

 

Jared: My son's got his first game of the season, and I promised him I wouldn't miss it this time, otherwise I'd go to your fight, love. Next time, for sure.

 

Jasmin: No, no, it's okay. it's okay, it's okay. Life happens.

 

Jared: Good luck.

 

He gives the camera a glance, then looks back at Jasmin, patting her on the shoulder before walking off, intentionally bumping into CG on the way over. The other man shoots him an ugly look, then looks over at Blake with mild annoyance.

 

CG: See you next week, B.

[Christian Garcia]

There's the sound of a tape ejecting, and another being entered. This tape is dated the same day, but is much later at night. It's the interior of a relatively small townhome. A window reveals the Denver skyline. Muffled by walls, a woman can be heard vomiting. It sounds painful.

 

Blake: Whoever's watching this? I'm done with this shit. I can't watch this anymore.

 

Blake stomps his way towards the sound, and to a closed door. Blake knocks on it fiercely, only his hand visible in the video frame. When he speaks again, there's a barely-concealed hint of anger in his gentle tone.

 

Blake: You decent, darlin'? Can I come in?

 

Jasmin's voice comes through raspy and weak, like every syllable weights a ton.

 

Jasmin: I'm okaaaay. Jus' gimme a minu-

 

He doesn't give her a minute, opening the door and making sure to catch the poor girl in frame. She's laying on the floor, and she's noticeably very thin. She looks far more muscular than she ever has in her OCW career, but also thinner. Her shins are also noticeably bruised.

 

Blake: Mary, mother of God, Charlie Kaffee, what in the fuck are you thinking?

 

Jasmin: Happens everrry time...

 

Blake: And that's supposed to make me feel better!? What is this!?

 

Jasmin props herself up against the edge of the bathtub, looking at Blake with half-lidded eyes and giving him a shaky thumbs up.

 

Jasmin: Jus' cuttin' weight... gotta make... championship weight...

 

Blake: Woman, I don't give a fuck if you've gotta make weight, you need a doctor. Did Felix tell you to do this?

 

Jasmin's look suddenly takes a turn for the concerned.

 

Jasmin: N-no, this is normal, everybody does it.

 

Blake: I do not. Care. If everyone does it. Did Felix tell you to cut weight? How much have you cut?

 

Jasmin: I dunnoooo...

 

There's a long, unnerving pause. The tape is ejected, and then another tape replaces it. This one is marked a week later, around the same time. Blake has a front seat to a fight between Jasmin Kaffee and a woman notably shorter and smaller than her. They're about the same size weight-wise, however, but Jasmin looks like a ghost compared to the fit, healthy-looking opponent. It's the end of a round, and Jasmin sits in her corner, being coached by Christian Garcia. Her shins are swollen, and starting to turn purple.

 

CG: Check those FUCKING leg kicks, Jasmin! You are letting her eat you alive!

 

Jasmin: Coach-

 

CG: Check the leg kick, take her down, and put the elbows on her, you are bigger than her, USE IT!

 

Jasmin: Coach-

 

CG: We are down a round for the first time in your career, we CANNOT let this continue, do you understand?

 

Jasmin: Coach, I can't-

 

CG: Yes, you can!

 

Blake's breathing is unsteady. Angry. The camera trembles slightly. The referee comes, takes a look, and motions for Jasmin to come on. She does, noticeably staggering with her first couple of steps. The tape then fast-forwards. Jasmin's standing with her opponent at the center of the cage, the announcer and referee between them. The referee holds a shiny silver belt.

 

Announcer: And NEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEW! COMBAT SPORTS INTERNATIONAL! BANTAMWEIGHT! CHAMPION! OF THE WOOOOOOORLD! Jasmin "Rou Garou" Kaffee!

 

The belt is handed over to an elated, grimacing Jasmin, and the tape is ejected. A new tape, from after midnight the next morning, shows a piece of paper with some numbers written on it.

 

Blake: Her weight at her last physical, after her last fight, was 180. To make championship weight she had to drop to 135. Fourty-five pounds.

 

Blake: What in the sam hill are they doing?

[Christian Garcia]

The tape skips again, this time dated '9/23/2022'. The camera is once again held to face Blake, who has a beard flecked with gray and longer hair now. He's dressed sharply, and appears to be in some kind of office.

 

Blake: My name is Blake Cooper Hathaway. I'm a retired independent professional wrestler and sports journalist from Aurora, Colorado. I've been doing a little research into the career of mixed-martial-artist turned professional wrestler Charlotte Jasmin Kaffee. She's a close personal friend of mine, as was her former mixed-martial arts coach.

 

Blake: I have evidence that I want to share with you, the OCW Universe. You're not being told the whole truth. And even if I've left my wrestling days behind, you deserve to know what you're dealing with.

 

Blake: And I think my friend deserves people in her corner who care about her health. But to do that, there's some other stuff I gotta do first.

 

A woman's voice can be heard off to the side.

 

Woman: Mister Dupree will see you now, sir!

 

The tape skips forward again. Blake has a thin-lipped, sardonic smile, and lifts a small card, holding it close to the camera.

 

"Managerial license. B.C. Hathaway. Signed, Tiberius Dupree."

 

Blake: I have to speak to you guys as loudly as I can. That means I gotta get this message out on TV. You'll see me after Red Sun Rising.