Subject: Boulevard of Broken Dreams - II Mon Aug 26, 2024 11:54 am
Sawyer tightened his vice-like grip on the handlebars, feeling his Harley's familiar, comforting vibration beneath him as he sliced through the busy streets of Los Angeles. The city was robust with energy, with the late afternoon sun casting a warm, golden glow over everything. The tall skyscrapers, palm trees lining the boulevards like knights, and the steady hum of life combined to form a stunning backdrop that was both thrilling and intimidating at first glance. But Sawyer did not shy away from the massive city, as he had many moons ago. Instead, he tore down the strip, his hair whipping on his shoulders through the bustling wind like a flag of golden locks.
Ahead, just visible through the steamy haze of distance and smog, was the notorious Hollywood sign in all its eminence. It was still far off, perched high in the hills like a beacon, keeping a keen eye on the entertainment capital of the world. Sawyer had always found it strange how something so simple—a few letters on a hillside—could account for so much meaning within each character—embodying dreams, ambition, and the relentless pursuit of glory. He wasn’t in Los Angeles to be an A-list movie star or etch his name on the Walk of Fame. PCW was its own star-studded mecca, and he was gearing up to put on a performance of a lifetime. The engine belched as he twisted the throttle, propelling forward, weaving, and bobbing artfully through the constellation of traffic with the precision of a seasoned rider. For Sawyer, his Harley was more than just a means of transportation from point A to point B; it was a way to soothe his mind and let the adrenaline surge like waves of electricity through his veins. As he approached the bumpy hills, the road began to contort, forming sharp, sudden turns up the hill base. Rising steadily toward the blue canvas of the sky, the Hollywood sign was inching closer now, each letter increasing in size and becoming more defined.
James Christ. The name echoed like a deep bass drum in his headspace, but he wasn’t panicking; he was laser-focused. The fabric of James Christ and the myth surrounding him were constant reminders of what the future held. It wasn’t just about winning or losing to Sawyer. It was about unveiling truths behind the guise of a tough exterior. It was about making a statement to resonate through the fabled halls of PCW.
The Hollywood sign was mammoth now, the white letters crisp against the obsidian sky. He paused for a moment, looking up at the massive letters, each one a symbol of the heights he intended to reach. Sawyer took a fleeting moment to exhale. He felt like he held Los Angeles in the palm of his hand. A mass of humanity—nearly four million—was at his whim if he aimed his thumb just right. He would face James Christ soon enough, but for now, the city stretched out before him—a sprawling metropolis of amber-colored lights scattered in abundance like glowing ants. There was a sharp bite to the air thanks to an aroma of asphalt and ocean salt, a mix that was uniquely distinctive to Los Angeles. Sawyer couldn’t help but curve his stoic expression into a subtle half-grin. He visualized a giant ladder touching the cloud bottoms and saw his inevitable ascension up the rungs. The battle waged on before his eyes. He knew he was well-suited and prepared for whatever lay ahead.
He just wasn’t sure if James Christ was.
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“Los Angeles, the City of Angels. It’s gargantuan, isn’t it? It's bigger than anything I’ve ever seen. Much to my dismay, it’s a far cry from the White Mountains back home in New Hampshire, where the air is crisp, the peaks stand tall, and you can see the world for what it is. A lot simpler, a lot quieter. Some might think the lights are just a bit too bright for someone like me, but I am neither overwhelmed nor perplexed by the pressure. I've learned to immerse myself in it and the energy generated by the sellout crowds night after night. It makes no difference to me whatever side of the fence they stand on; all that matters is that they are present. Even if people disagree with the message I'll deliver to James Christ, they can still reap the benefits from it. As long as they understand my commitment to providing an example of excellence, they will be free to choose whether to follow in my footsteps or forge their own path, as James Christ has done. His story is one befitting of a Hollywood drama. A street thrall who clawed his way out of the destitute skid rows of Dallas, Texas, and turned his fists into his only salvation. His youth consisted of a chaotic whirlwind through a litany of foster homes and jam-packed orphanages with no rhyme or reason. He bounced around like a problem nobody wanted to solve. Until he found his true calling and learned to survive with his back against the wall.
He is a man forged in the fires of adversity. He embraced the negative labels, severing ties and rebelling against the system, but what did the system ever provide for him? I bring this up not to hang over your head or downplay your upbringing, James. I bring this up because there are major cracks in your armor. Fighting your way out of a disaster is your identity; it is your voice. But it is a stigma that has clung to you like a shadow and metamorphosed into a self-fulfilling prophecy. This tunnel vision focus on fighting, though it brought you the esteemed title of The Prodigy Championship, has become a catch 22. I see through the legend of James Christ. You are hollow behind the pretense of someone you shouldn’t cross with. Do you not see the varying plot holes? This match isn’t about who the better fighter is; it is about who can adapt, who can use the environment to their advantage, and who can keep their opponent guessing. Your world is so woefully narrow, James, like the desecrated alleyways you once dwelt in. You have boxed yourself into a corner. Winning is one thing, but exposing the limits of a man who will never learn to grow and mature beyond his checkered past is a lesson you will learn by my hands. Your fighting culture has become your crutch. You wave it in the faces of the PCW roster for leverage to make your challengers feel insignificant, but you will end up digging your own grave, and I’ll be the one to submerge you in the dirt. I don’t care about your hypotheticals or ridiculous recruitment tactics either. I don’t need to ride shotgun to bolster your ego or validate your choices. Salvation pulled the same antics; they tried to pass me a flier, but I don’t require an army of men by my side. You're quick to cast aspersions and condemn Lennon and Jonah, but there's a common thread as to why they abandoned you, just like everyone else has. It comes from the source:
You.
You are a problem child who alienates and drives others away as a defense mechanism.
You have mastered the art of emitting mixed signals. I can’t comprehend why you’re throwing the Prodigy Championship under the bus. You’re trying to flip this on me by stating I’m taking a 'step backward’ and climbing down to the bottom by pursuing the Prodigy Championship when you set down the challenge to me in the first place. The way you undermine the championship is a disgrace, as if it’s below you, deeming it an accessory piece. In one breath, you feel stagnant, asleep at the wheel, and desire to increase your stock in this industry. In the following breath, you sing your own praises in a falsetto, reminding everyone that you are the longest reigning Prodigy Champion in PCW history, as if you were putting it on a pedestal. I am not on the hunt for something mediocre, James. Why demean the Prodigy Championship by implying it’s anything less than what it is? You fail miserably to carry yourself as a champion. It’s clear you have lost your connection with the Prodigy Championship. It’s a shame, but it’s not unexpected. When you feel like you have plateaued, hubris seeps in. The thrill of competition is mundane, so you get comfortable and rest on your laurels. This is what you wished for, James. Dwell upon it while you’re subdued with a deflated sense of worth and your ego in disarray. This is not a step back for me; it’s just another step forward. And I don’t take steps unless they bring me closer to my purpose: hoisting the Prodigy Championship up high in the air while I listen to your screams.
Today at 9:39 pm by 
Subject: Boulevard of Broken Dreams - II 
