Subject: "The Macabre King is... Christ." Heart of Winter. Sat Feb 17, 2024 10:56 am
“Experiment?! Did you SEE the match? Were we watching the same thing?! Miles, with all due respect, Jamison did exactly what I knew he would. He fucking shined!” Aaron Elliot said into his brand new iPhone - only the best, the newest, and the flashiest for a man who strives to be professional wrestling's hottest agent.
Aaron was beaming with excitement after James Christ’s debut victory in PCW over the Lynx. There was no classy office, or training HQ in this video. Instead, Aaron sat shotgun in the car ripping down the highway through Virginia. The driver was the client being spoken of, James Christ. Cigarette pinched between his fingers, his hand hung loosely on top of the steering wheel while his other arm rested up on the door.
“This is no longer just the experiment of ‘taking an untrained fighter from the street and transforming him into a future star’, no. This is now the arrival of James Christ - the best kept secret in the sport of professional wrestling. The way he picked apart a VETERAN, Miles! A man who’s been in the industry for YEARS! - It’s nothing short of spectacular.”
“... Right. Alright, Miles. Stay up in Pasadena, collect the talent that’s collecting dust in your training facility - and I’ll be out here on the road with my boy, collecting the dubs - as kids say - and making a name for ourselves.”
And with that, Aaron removed the phone from his ear and forcefully pressed the ‘end call’ option. “FUCK YOU!” he screamed at the phone afterwards.
James’ head turned in his direction, an eyebrow arched. Aaron took a breath, calmed himself and turned to catch James’ stare. “Out of touch old man. He still rides the high horse from ZERO - who turned his back on him, and KATLA - who’s vanished off of the face of the Earth. And all of those people he’s signed as clients, who do nothing but train. He says he doesn’t see big things for you, Jamison.”
James’ face twisted into an uninterested expression as he turned to face the road again. “Fuck ‘em then.” James was always direct and straight to the point.
“Not that easy, my boy. He pays the bills. For now. But we’re going to keep doing what we’re doing. We’re going to keep this fire GOIN’ baby!” Aaron shuffled, twisting just slightly in his seat to look at James. He removed his sunglasses, getting down to business. “Get this. There’s a slight chance that the winner of your next match will be in the conversation for the PCW Prodigy championship contention. There’s not a guarantee so don’t take it to heart, but if there’s even a possibility of it - then we need to run at this full speed.”
“I’m not interested in an accessory piece, Aaron. And beyond that, I’m not interested in a possibility of having my name being mentioned in a conversation to maybe one day get a chance. What kind of shit is that?” James’ voice was stern.
“It’s a way in, that’s what it is. Listen. You just do what you did in the ring a few weeks ago, and I’ll handle everything on the business side - that’s what I’m here for, right? You’re goddamn right! Where the fuck are we anyway?” He said, turning again and looking out of the window.
“Fucking Virginia…”
--------------------
“I heard the doubts. I heard the jokes. I heard the questions of why the hell I’m here …”
“And then I silenced all of it. The doubts were eliminated, the jokes missed their mark and the questions were all answered. Can a Muay-Thai fighter, untrained in pro wrestling, make the transition? Ask Lynx. I tapped him out and showed why Aaron Elliot has so much faith in me.”
“Do I get it? Do I want it? No, and it’s whatever. Better than this rotting in a cell somewhere, I guess. I hear Jack Carlton would likely agree with me on that point; better to fight in a ring for sport than fighting on the street for your life. Homeless. Stranded. Forced to be a man before one should be? It’s a cliche story in this industry, everyone trying to be hard - but for me, for Jack? It’s a true story. The streets toughen you, they peel away the soft skin and leave a hard shell; so do you think I care that you’re taller, that you have seventy pounds on me? I’ve fucked up bigger and meaner for just a side-eye stare. You want to be king of the boxcar riders? The head honcho of the Hobo’s? Go for it, Jack. But you need to remember that no King’s will ever measure up to Christ.”
“That leaves the Macbre Messiah. It’s funny. I’ve been in this business for all of six months and I’ve seen a handful of people running with the same ideology of Tomi. Depraved and bad ass, evil and intimidating - it’s almost as cliche as the streetfighter that had a hard life. But he slots himself into the same category as Lynx a few weeks ago; someone looking to build a new identity and separate himself from whatever he’s running from in his past. That’s fine and all, but it’s not going to be at my expense. Nah’, fuck that. I’ve never let some greasy motherfucker get one up on me on the block, and nothings going to change now that my environment has changed to a wrestling ring. You’ve been in this business over a decade, what success you’ve had - that’s it, it’s over.”
“There’s talk of Prodigy championship possibility down the line for the winner, and that may be exactly what it’s taken to light a fire for the two of you. Me, though? I just want to get into the ring and fuck you up. I don’t need a hypothetical ‘chance’ dangling over my head, all I need is someone on the opposite side of the ring - and my fists.”
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Subject: "The Macabre King is... Christ." Heart of Winter. 
