Apologue

Two weeks had passed since OCW managed to track down their former employee, who fell on hard times and remained under the radar for over fifteen years. An agent was assigned to support this man, ensuring he got cleaned up, had a warm place to stay and prepared for a meeting at the OCW Headquarters to discuss his future. On December 7th, 2019, Alex Rixon arrived for that appointment. A receptionist had advised him to stay in the hallway until someone brought him into the scheduled forum. Alex couldn't sit still and started pacing back and forth. Resiting lines in a grizzled mumble under his breath, that he'd plotted the evening before. Unbeknownst to him, his prescience had caught the eye of a janitor who glanced over with a chagrin. Calmly, the janitor strolled over with bucket and mop being pulled along for the jaunt. Janitor: May the Lord strike me down! You're 'him' ain't you? Alex's head shakes frantically, caught off guard by the janitor's intervention. Alex Rixon: Sorry, and you're? Janitor: Ah sorry! I'm sorry! I can't help but get ahead of myself. Tyrone is the name. Now you're Alex Rixon, right? Alex Rixon: Guilty as charged, I guess... Tyrone: Man it is good to have you back. You won't remember me, I joined after the whole incident. But man oh man, the other boys were going on about you, back in the EWA days. Alex Rixon: Really? I figured they'd forgotten about me. Look, kid, I'm not worth fussing over. Get a load of the state of me. I've not had my shit together in years. Those guys, well they had a future in this business. I'm just hoping to scrape the barrel and get by. Tyrone: Hey, easy up! There's a lot of people that want to see you. People were devastated when the news broke out about your injury. Karim, Vega, Leonheart, all those boys in the back kept speculating how things would have been if that day never happened. Alex Rixon: I've been having those same thoughts. Once upon a time, I thought those answered laid at the bottom of a bottle. Things are looking up though, I can't take that for granted. Two weeks ago I slept on the ground, up until that point, it had been years since I slept on a mattress. Tyrone: That's rough man.. Alex Rixon: That's life kid... Tyrone's facial expression dropped, like a child who had seen a fallen hero accept his own mortality. Alex Rixon: At least that was my life... Tyrone: Things will get better. After all, we're in the number one promotion in the entire world. This business is in your blood. It doesn't matter whether you can compete in the ring or not. Alex Rixon: I don't know, kid. Never able to become world champion is a hell of a pill to swallow. Tyrone: Then make a world champion! Alex Rixon: Oh ho no. That's the last thing I want to do, development is off the cards. That didn't exactly pan out well for me now, did it? Tyrone: I ain't talking development. Look, there are so many good talents here today. Some can execute the crispest moves, yet can't spit a lick on the mic, feel me? Alex Rixon: They just need practice. How can I resolve that, these things just take time... Tyrone: No my man, they don't need time. They need a mentor. Someone who can push their image, get them over with the people than ever before. I remember the feuds back in the day, you'd talk the talk and make the enemy walk your walk. There's talent in this very locker-room that needs that experience. OCW Official: Mr Rixon, we're ready to see you now. Would you like to come this way, please? Alex Rixon: Wish me luck. Tyrone: Good luck man... Alex proceeded to the office door before he could pass through, a bellowing voice stopped him halfway. Tyrone: HEY! Alex stopped and turned his attention back at Tyrone. Tyrone: Think about what I said. With two slow nods, Alex ventured into the office. -TWO HOURS LATER- The office door opened, Alex emerged back into the hallway and spotted Tyrone still loitering around in close proximity, pretending to keep busy. An excited smirk smeared across Tyrone's face as he once again strolled over to hear an update of the meeting. Tyrone: So... Alex Rixon: So? Tyrone: So... what the hell is the goddamn low down? Don't leave a brother hanging now! Alex Rixon: They've offered me a job. Tyrone: That's great. As what?! Alex Rixon: Well...urgh, I am the new sound guy. Tyrone's descended into anger. Tyrone: WHAT IN THE HELL ARE THESE BOYS THINKING GIVING THIS MAN RIGHT HERE A 'SOUND MAN' JOB! Alex placed both hands on Tyrone's chest, preventing him from heading passed and towards an office. The effort to halt Tyrone's aggression descended into laughter. Alex Rixon: Hahahaha, I'm sorry, I just couldn't resist. Alex wiped a couple of tears out of the corner of his eyes. Tyrone: Man! Stop playing with my emotions! I can't take or stomach this shit. What's going on then? Alex Rixon: You're looking at the new official OCW manager, in charge of mentoring talent. Tyrone: You screwing with me again? Alex Rixon: No I am not. Tyrone: If you're screwing with me again I'll- Alex Rixon: I'm not! Relax... Tyrone: Can I buy you a drink to celebrate then? With a forceful kick, Tyrone shoved the cleaning trolley to the side. Along with Alex, they walked down the hallway on their way out of the building. In the distance, one last utter of doubt could be heard from Tyrone. Tyrone: You know if you are still screwing with me, only one of us is coming alive. You do realise this, don't you? Alex chuckled, amused by Tyrone's explosive behaviour and out of relief that his life is finally getting back on track.

In the heart of downtown New York, the hustle and bustle of city life continue at an unfaltering pace. Everyday people, living everyday lives. The Big Apple serving a haven for opportunities, with many would-be entrepreneurs walking towards ventures holding disposable coffee cups. For one soul, the word disposable surmises the past fifteen years of his life. A man who's dreamed had broken through tragedy, snapped beyond repair. That unfortunate event triggered a chain of events that toxified his career and eventually spilt into his personal affairs. This downward spiral led to him being alone, surviving on the streets of New York City. At first, he went into hiding. Some people recognised his appearance, they found it amusing to harass a former wrestling personality that fell on hard times. Some tried to exploit that for shameless profit, even at the detriment of his own health. Eventually, the unhygienic lifestyle and growth of facial hair had allowed him to carry on existence without further bother. Until one day when that all changed, and so did that man's life, forever. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Dressed in bedraggled clothing, a tramp is slouched over on the sidewalk, to ashamed to lift his own head. From afar, two voices are heard among the chatter of others, a topic that rings a bell of familiarity. Their voices draw closer. Fan 1: Dude I'm telling you, an armbar is going to hurt way more than an anklelock. Fan 2: Come on man, an armbar rarely does the trick. Besides, your closer to the opponent, easier to fight out of. Fan 1: Oh yeah? Well, you can roll through an anklelock. What's the point in trying if your opponent is just going to roll through? Fan 2: Not if you lay down next to the sucker, no. Target the legs, hard for the enemy to wrestle back. The fans cross a tramp, unawares of his prescience. Tramp: Any change, please? The Tramp's request brings both fans to a stop. One starts patting his jacket pockets demonstrating there are no contents. While the other stares with a frown. Fan 1: Sorry, man. I've got nothing. Tramp: What about your friend there? Can you spare me something? Anything? Fan 2: Hey-th-that is you. I know who you are. Tramp: Forget about it. Move along. Fan 2: Nah man, I can recognise that face anywhere. Had your poster one time. Fan 1: What are you talking about dude? Fan 2: What am I talking about? This man here used to be a professional wrestler. Fan 1: I don't recognise him. Fan 2: Well you wouldn't. Your stupid ass thinks an armbar is worse than an anklelock! This man, right here, hasn't been seen in over fourteen god damn years! Clutching his fists covered in filthy fingerless globes, the tramp grows agitated, as the fans conversation draws more attention from passersby.[ Not wanting to give a violent outburst, his eyes drift to find a sight to ground himself, to alleviate anxiety. Suddenly, his vision fixates on an electrical store window, visible between two parked cars on the opposite side of the street. One of the 4K televisions aired an OCW production, demonstrating statistics of one of their wrestlers. The Tramp's face turned red with anger. Completely unfazed by the fans rambling before him. Fan 1: Cut it out. We'll settle the debate later. What do we do about this, huh? Fan 2: Like what? Fan 1: Urgh dummy. A wrestler not seen in fourteen years! That sounds like viewers to me. Need to take a picture or a recording of this guy. Fan 2: That may be the smartest thing you've said in a long time man. Social media, Youtube, people are gonna eat this up! The Tramp stood up, undeterred by the fans recording his image and movements on their cell phones. He walked across the street, having no regard for the traffic or his safety. Nothing mattered more than getting closer to that television. Woman in Sedan: What the hell? You lunatic! Cab Driver: Get out the road you fucking bum! By a great miracle, the Tramp made it to the other side without incident. He stood watching a person who he had held disdain for so long. As that person ended his professional wrestling career. Accident or not, vengeance remained at the forefront of the Tramp's mind. Once that wrestler went off the air, the Tramp turned to discover a mob of people armed with cell phones and cameras. Back into hiding, he went, sleeping in the roughest alleyways, where a homeless person often avoids due to gang violence and the intolerance of rough sleepers. -ONE WEEK LATER- -All the images and recordings taken of the Tramp went viral. The information held a greater gravity than anyone expected. Many people tried to search for him again, the intentions mostly positive. A lot of fans wanting to hand out money offer a place to stay and try to bring this man's life back on track. Among the searchers, an investigator went off the beaten path. They knew the Tramp's history, how historical sightings ceased when fans first identified his situation. To the dungiest parts of New York, the investigator searched. Within a day, he found his target. - The investigator found the Tramp rummaging in a trash can. Two taps on the back of the right shoulder from the investigator caught his attention. He turned around to him showing a heart-breaking sight. In the Tramp's mouth, a blackened banana skin was gritted between his teeth. That being the best form of sustinence he found. Investigator: Alex James Rixon. I'd like you to come with me, please. Pulling the banana skin out his mouth, the Tramp scanned the Investigator, top to bottom. Tramp: Mistaken identity. Leave me alone... Investigator: I'm sorry sir, but you're Alex James Rixon. I've been looking for you. A couple of fans revealed your whereabouts. Did you know there's a missing persons report out for you? Alex Rixon: Tch, yeah right. This is a trick, just like all the others. You don't know me, you don't know a damn thing about me! Investigator: You were a professional wrestler, signed to my client, back in 2005. In your spare time, you frequented the development centre. During a session, a student broke your neck performing a move. The organisation and my client, could not and could never clear you to wrestle again. This incident remained outside of public knowledge, might I add. The Investigator presented a card, displaying his association to the OCW brand. Alex Rixon: Fine, ok, you did your homework. But a missing persons report, are you kidding me?! I've been living this way for years. SPAT ON! URINATED ON! SPOKEN TO AND TREAT LIKE A PIECE OF GODDAMN SHIT! Investigator: Sir, please I- Alex Rixon: Don't sir this and sir that! You're doing this to line your own pockets. OCW offered me work, to be a production guy, a cameraman or hell even a 'manager'. I know what my body can do, I could have stepped back in that ring. But just like my whore of an ex-wife, they turned their back on me. Investigator: Alex...cards on the table. I do get a commission in finding you, I won't hide that fact from you. OCW couldn't in their right minds clear you...you vanished. Only until those uploads popped up online, they dug deeper, discovering the divorce, the drinking habit, the inability to hold down work. Alex Rixon: What was I supposed to do huh? I worked my butt to the grindstone to become World Heavyweight Champion. I finally reach OCW, then some greenhorn gives me a booboo and that's it? Curtain closed! Investigator: They never turned their back on you...and that missing person report, issued by your daughter. Do you even know how old she is? Alex Rixon: WHAT KIND OF QUESTION IS THAT! YOU SEE THIS, THIS RIGHT HERE! The Tramp brandishes a tattered wallet, it's only contents, a picture of an eight-year old girl with flowing brown hair. Alex Rixon: Every damn day, I see this picture and count. My wife hasn't let me see her for so long. I can't afford lawyers, hell I tried to connect online, seek her out. The internet cafe turfed me out for stinking out the joint! Investigator: How old is she Alex? Alex Rixon: She's coming up eighteen! Investigator: Wrong...she's almost twenty three...and a mother... The Investigator's words brought forced Alex's legs to turn to jelly. On the ground he buried his head in his hands. Alex Rixon: She's a mother...I could have seen her years ago...I need help! Please! I need help! Investigator: Si-I mean Alex. That's why I'm here. OCW always considered you family, it's time to come home and rebuild your life. FIN. ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- NOTE: This promo is an invitation for anyone who is interested in using this character as a manager. The plot is, your wrestler is the one referenced in the story, having ended Alex's career. It's about vengeance but designed to construct a strong personal bond. It's been years since I've done this. Open to criticism but I really enjoyed writing this :)