The Black Sheep of the Academy

[Christian Garcia]

Watching El Parca vs. KC Barrett backstage, Christian Garcia is wearing a black and gold suit, with a Scumchester-branded wristband, a symbol of solidarity with his mentor, rival, and friend(?). He looks... tired, especially when Aries reappears.

 

CG: What a joke.

 

CG: I gave months of my life to that Academy. I gave my first title reign to this bullshit. You kicked me out of your fucking boys club, and for what? For you to fake the dead and-

 

He cuts himself off with a frustrated, low hum.

 

CG: You kick Jasmin out of your stupid little gang because she didn't know what to do, you go sell yourself out in a stupid match against stupid Spider and leave your family in the lurch, AGAIN, and for WHAT? FOR WHAT!?.

 

CG, enraged, runs his hands through his dyed blonde locks. The camera shifts just enough to see his face. He's not enraged... he almost looks like he's in despair.

 

CG: And now you're gonna go ahead and prey on Miguel! What's next? You gonna go dig up Valmont from his trailer park and go after the tag titles? You gonna start a new 'GOAT Academy' and try to rope in some other gullible sucker like me?

 

CG: You gonna stop by Wrex's place and teach him how to be a proper OCW father figure to Megan? You gonna finally check in on your son after he spent six months in the pen? I was right about you, you piece of shit!

 

CG: AND PEOPLE ACT LIKE YOU'RE THE GOAT!? PEOPLE ACT LIKE YOU'RE BETTER THAN ME!? YOU'RE NOT BETTER THAN ME, PINCHE SERPIENTE-!

 

CG turns away from the broken screen, and looks up at the ceiling, letting out a frustrated scream. He runs his hands over his face, letting out a long, weary sigh. A deep, dawning realization hits the former North American Champion. Taking a few steps back, he sits on the costuming table that was under the TV he just demolished, and looks off at something in the distance.

 

There is a pause, long, and uncomfortable. People, attracted to the noise, whisper furtively and mutter under their breath, but CG ignores them. A single, shaky inhale, followed by an equally unsteady exhale, as the North American Champion puts words to the feeling that has been haunting him for the past month.

 

CG: I want to blame you for this, Stephen. But I can't.

 

CG: I'm no closer to a title than I was before, these people still don't respect me, and now I'm... look at me, what do I even have? Luis can't stand me. Jasmin hates my guts, Wrex doesn't trust me, my best friend barely even looks like the guy I knew, and....

 

CG: ...you're not better than me. You're not better than me.

 

CG throws a bit of broken glass off of the table, along with a roll of unused fabric, before placing his head in his hands. The camera fades out on the image of a devastated Garcia, contemplating nothing as he tents his hands over his mouth, trying to keep some measure of composure.