The Second Great Awakening: Constants

Out of the cool pitch black a red haze blossomed, radiant and comforting, into a yellow that wasn’t. A flash of white scored out a horizon, and the rest of the white bled through and started burning.

He tried to block out the sun and gave up a metal arm to the devouring light. He wiped his wet eyes, blinking amidst a sea of diamonds, waiting for the world to come back into focus.

The iron giant roared to life. Shook off the loose nuts and bolts and oiled his hinges. His reflection challenged him. “Ammo ache,” he declared, then groaned, and tried to fix his jaw. “Lemme me.”

Beyond the walls, a chattering swarm had surrounded him in his sleep. He looked down on them and said a silent prayer as they followed him through the valley into parts unknown.

They pulled all kinds of faces and screamed the right way, out of control yet anchored firm. Pulled from the brink and cast out again into the thunder and fire, to and fro, by the thousands.

The golden god fed on them and grew larger still, as they wailed in unison. “Ammo ache!” he declared, then groaned, unable to fix his jaw. “Lay may lone.”

Bigger giants came, drawn by the lights and broken dancing. They blackened the sky in waves and swatted everyone away. He retreated back to the mountains, tired and rich, and said a silent prayer amidst howling winds. “Ammo ache.”

Cocooned in pitch black once more, against the burning white hot light and the red. A wicked shadow promised sanctuary, trying to find a way in. Hungering. An’ jealous. “Ammo ache,” he declared. Get up! Then he groaned, and his jaw came unstuck.

“I’m awake!” the giant blared with sudden clarity, catching his head as it lolled to the side. An unfocused cold stare fixed itself on Cyril Salazar, arms folded and brow furrowed, waiting for him to come to his senses.

“Wahey, got there eventually,” Minion said in a flat, unimpressed tone. “Come on, CTE-esta’s over hermano, we’re on company time.”

Von Kelsig sat upright, quick and lucid, offended by the remark. His intrusive manager was ready for the Barcelona heat, decked out in mustard shorts and a white open shirt with fleur-de-lis patterning embroidered in sapphire. An elaborate gold chain hung over tufts of chest hair poking out at the collar while uneven and jagged toenails poked out of his flip-flops. His eyes were hidden behind the purple full-moon lenses again, and shaded by his straw fedora.

The giant meanwhile had dozed off wearing his ring gear. “Just resting my eyes,” he grumbled, peering out the tinted windows of the tour bus. They were parked halfway down a dead-end street between a quaint little city park and a monolithic basilica that was ancient, classic and modern all at the same time. Cyril jittered obtusely for a moment then calmed.

“Been doing that a lot lately,” he muttered, raising his chin and tucking his hands into his pockets.

Von Kelsig stretched his tired limbs and let out a satisfied groan. “My head’s fine, thank you,” he reiterated, for the nth time since leaving Paris.

“Good, hope you’re feeling more confident in your rope work this week,” the dwarf chided the Murder Show as he rose to his feet.

“I’ll work how I want to work.”

“Alright. As long as you’re smart about it,” Cyril said with a shrug.

The giant stifled his frustration with a glare. “I know what I’m doing,” he stated, smoothing down his shirt and lumbering out into the fresh air. Dejected, Minion clicked his tongue and adjusted his hat then, with a small sigh, followed.

The street was busy with well-to-do looking groups of politely smiling civilians fascinated by La Sagrada Familia. Hundreds of cell phones hung in the air, wafting like flowers in a meadow, aimed up at the landmark. People started cheering suddenly and they all turned in an instant to face the remarkable human emerging from the Prevost, standing head and shoulders above everyone else. Hessian went into auto-pilot as a smattering of fans hurried over to greet him, posing for pictures, signing boxed playsets and comparing hand sizes while Minion stepped to the curb and looked across the road.

A small area had been cleared next to the park entrance, occupied by a camera crew and fringed with Enemigos. Simon Tillier stood chief amongst them, gawking back at him after hearing the commotion. He mouthed something over and held up two fingers. Cyril nodded and retreated back into the growing throng orbiting the giant, huckling him away as more onlookers gravitated towards them.

“Big Revelator crowd,” Von Kelsig remarked as they crossed the road, “alotta people asking if Don’s gonna show up.”

“Only a matter of time. That’s why we’re here after all, these are his people. You’ve been in their good graces since WarGames and they’re all rooting for you to put a beating on the guy that blasphemed against their hero,” Cyril replied, lowering his voice and choosing his words carefully. “Imagine the heat you’d get here if you were still running the old, ahem, dark gimmick? Thank God none of those tapes still exist.”

“Behave yourself,” the Murder Show said under his breath as Simon started his lead-in, nudging his manager as they approached the set.

“Hold up,” Cyril paused, feeling a sudden buzzing against his hip. He produced his vibrating cell and winced, “shit, I gotta take this.”

“Now??” Von Kelsig whispered, “what about-”

“It’s your match not mine,” Cyril murmured back, fluttering a hand.

The flustered seven-footer raised the back of his hand and mouthed an obscenity, then turned to wait for his cue as Minion waddled off down the sidewalk.

“Hey kid, how ya keepin’?” a gruff voice asked down the line.

“Hi Cooc, I’m fine thanks. Been keeping busy, we’re just about to shoot an interview actually. How’ve you been?” Cyril’s tone was cool but his calculating eyes were darting in panic behind the purple lenses.

“No sweat, I won’t keep ya long. I’m good, so’s Cecil. He sends his regards. Did you get my text?”

Coocoo Haggerty had a way of doing business that Cyril’s older brother had always envied. While Cecil Salazar was a creature of diligence and finesse, Coocoo possessed a commanding presence and an unbending will that was unteachable. Knowing what such a man wanted allowed Cecil to bolster his influence exponentially. Coocoo could convince a rattlesnake to eat its own tail, or force it just as easily.

“Yeah, shit, I meant to get back to you on that, sorry. I, uh,” Cyril spun around to see Hessian lurch over beside Simon Tillier as the interviewer introduced him, “I’m relocating to his place full-time when we get back, actually. We’re gonna turn it into a proper fight camp; nutrition, fitness, promotion, the works. Let me get back to you once that’s all finalized and I’ll let you know what we’re working with.”

The line went quiet for a moment, then he heard the telltale crackle of a cigar draw.

“Alright kid, no sweat,” Coocoo wheezed eventually, and Cyril relaxed. “But do me a favor? Call me back before then, whenever you get a minute. I gotta know about this fuckin’ boulder that rolled out the sea.”

The dwarf snickered, “you’re not the only one, Cooc. I’ll make sure to hit you up when I get some downtime, yeah? I gotta boost, we’re live.”

“No worries, take care.”

“You too.”

Cyril pocketed the phone and zipped back over to the ongoing interview. He had missed out on the introductions and pleasantries, and Von Kelsig was halfway through answering a question regarding his loss to Sykes at ReVival 47. He glanced at the camera and held fast, ready to make his move.

Hessian: I came up short and only have myself to blame for going high-risk against a former champion like Jared. He fought well to earn the victory. No tight-pulling, rope-leveraging or low-blowing, just an intelligent competitor who bested me on the night. The match had an actual finish, I’m happy with that much, and now I’m focused on what’s ahead.

Simon Tillier: And you’ll certainly have to have your wits about you as of course you’ll be going head to head with former Five Star Champion, “The Leg-

“He’s a five star PUNK is what he is!”

The junior interviewer feigns surprise as Hessian’s snarling manager pops up beside him out of nowhere.

Simon Tillier: -end” Rob Williams, and it appears ladies and gentlemen that we’re being joined by Hessian’s longtime manager, Minion the Imp. Welcome! Can we get another mic out here please?

An assistant deftly crab-walks past Minion and deposits a microphone into his grasp, disappearing off to the side again without disturbing the shot.

Minion the Imp: I said he’s a fu-

Simon Tillier: Alright! Instantly regretting that. Well now that you’re here Minion, I was just explaining that “The Murder Show” here will be squaring off against “The Legend” this week on ReVival. As it pertains to the rankings, a win is going to be crucial in avoiding a drastic drop down the board and falling further out of title contention talks. Your thoughts?

Minion the Imp: The rankings? What do I look like, a statistician? You’re talking about the strongest roster ever assembled in the history of the sport of professional wrestling, Simon Tillier, it doesn’t matter where the names are ranked. There isn’t a man or woman in PRIME who isn’t capable of going on a tear and upending the whole system in just a few short weeks. What matters is being here in the first place and being a part of the conversation, because if you’re not in PRIME, or trying to get here? You’re not worth talking about, simple as that.

Simon Tillier: Anything to add to that, Hessian?

Hessian: I’d rather go oh-for-ten in PRIME than be the number one guy in any other company.

Minion the Imp: You hear that?! Looked you dead in the eye and didn’t even blink when he said it. Rob Williams couldn’t get halfway through a sentence like that without developing a speech impediment! I heard he only got a spot on the roster because someone ordered Wade Elliott off of Wish and lost the receipt. He’s out there grinding in real time like the rest of ‘em, trying to build a legacy like the one Hessian capped off perfectly on his last run by going out on top. Believe me when I say “The Legend” needs this win a lot more than Hessian does.

Simon Tillier: Is that true?

Hessian: I’ve been out of the game for over a decade, I’m still shaking off the ring rust and it hasn’t stopped me from picking up wins so far. Do I want to be Universal Champion again? I’d be mad if I didn’t, but I’m not going to lose sleep over it. This isn’t my first rodeo. To Minion’s point, I already accomplished something that most of the roster can only dream of. This is overtime for me, it’s an extra bonus round. I’m not under the same pressure as everyone else. I’m here to do what I want to, not what I need to, and I don’t necessarily need to win against Rob Williams. But I want something else out of this match that might lead to me getting the win anyway.

Simon Tillier: And what would that be, exactly?

Hessian: To beat some respect into that lowly dog. You see, ever since WarGames my teammates have been firing on all cylinders. Daytona and the Whoresmen are establishing themselves as the dominant force in PRIME. Avalon forged his legacy as Alias Champion and has a shot at the Uni in the coming weeks. Winters is Five Star Champion. Even Bobby’s streak continues to live on. They’re doing incredible things and I wish them all the best because, regardless of the loss at Culture Shock and despite our differences, they treated me with respect throughout that journey. I owe them my gratitude for that.

Minion the Imp: Which means he doesn’t appreciate what Williams did to Don Winters at ReVival Forty-Four.

Hessian: Correct. I didn’t know Don at the time, and I had Hayes Hanlon to prepare for, so I never intervened. I got to know the man on the way to Culture Shock however and, after fighting at his side, I don’t think he deserved what happened to him. Sure, he went on to humble Williams on Night One when he beat him for the Five Star title, but “The Legend” doesn’t strike me as someone who takes all that in their stride. At ReVival Forty-Nine I’m going to teach him the far-reaching consequences of his actions and, whether I go up or down the rankings, one thing that’s for sure is Rob Williams is going to learn his place.

Simon Tillier: There you have it folks! Hessian goes one-on-one with “The Legend” Rob Williams this Friday at ReVival Forty-Nine, coming to you live from the Palau Sant Jordi here in beautiful Barcelona, only on the ACE Network! Check local listings for start times.

“The phone call sounded urgent, everything alright?” Von Kelsig asked later as they were crossing the road back to the bus.

“Yeah, all good,” the dwarf replied coolly. “Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay. You didn’t miss much.”

“I’ve been looking at getting a place,” Cyril continued, expertly weaving his narrative, “close to HQ. My agent just threw me a bum offer, "If I'd known that I’d have ignored it.”

He noted the indifference in the giant’s acknowledgement, and waited until they were seated in the lounge of the Prevost with a couple of chilled cervezas before probing the issue further.

“So how’s everything back home?” he asked casually.

Von Kelsig’s gaze dropped away from the basilica outside to the bottle in his hands. “Not much of a home now,” he shrugged, “everything’s been dismantled and sold or stored. Ground’s been graded and now it looks like there was never anything there. Groundskeeper moved back to England with his wife, said he’s got a job on a DIY reality show for one of the networks. She wasn’t happy about it. Home’s just two empty houses and some empty warehouses scattered across an empty valley now.”

Cyril let the awkwardness dissipate with a couple of slow sips and a long look around before he piped up again.

“Empty you say. So there’s no one in the other house at all now?”

“Mm-hm.”

Another pause, a little less awkward and tinged with hope.

“Sooo..”

“I know what you’re gonna say,” Von Kelsig interjected, his eyes softening and beard hitching up at the cheeks as a smile started to form. “I can’t say the thought hadn’t crossed my mind already. But I’m nowhere near Vegas.”

“Screw Vegas!” Cyril pipped excitedly, “I’d take that place across from you in a heartbeat! Peace and quiet, middle of nowhere, fresh air, you kidding me? We’re traveling together anyway, means when we come off the road we can kick back, fire up the grill, shoot the shit and workshop ideas.”

“Doesn’t sound too bad to be honest,” the giant admitted. “You wouldn’t be the worst person in the world to live next to.”

That would do for now, Cyril thought. After sharing a chuckle they sat in reflective silence for a while, admiring the city view as they were driven to their next appointment. “It’s so strange,” Von Kelsig rumbled eventually. “I remember moving into the house before Parts Unknown was even built, thinking about my career and how I’d never considered it ending. Now I’m back in PRIME and I’m reminiscing about the park like it was always going to be a thing too. Funny how that goes.”

“As the ring rats in Rob Williams’s circle-jerk would say, can’t last forever, amirite?” Cyril grinned and presented his bottle. “Hey, here’s to everything ending and good times ahead.”

Von Kelsig stared across the aisle at his manager in contemplation. Behind the purple lenses Cyril was staring back, studying him closely, trying to discern any supernatural sense that might contradict his innocence. Finally the giant sat forward and clinked bottles, “sure, I’ll drink to that,” he said reluctantly.

Stirring in the deep, longer than the day and blacker than night. Obscene and unyielding to the blinding light. Waiting at the ready, to grip him by the jaw again, desperate to steal his eyes.