These Stars - ★☆☆☆☆

“How does it feel to be on the mountaintop?”

I haven’t even been champion for more than three minutes when a friend of mine hits me with this question in the back.

I say back, “I wouldn’t know… but I’ll tell you when I get there.”

He looks at me for a moment, claps me on the shoulder, and laughs.

“I think maybe you have this championship thing figured out, Ker,” says the FIST of DEFIANCE.

Yeah, maybe I do. 

In hindsight, the setback in Colossus might have been a good thing in the long run. Half a year to get from that place of defeat and humility to this “mountaintop” was plenty of time to consider what I stood to inherit with these stars.

More than just an everlasting symbol of wrestling prestige. Or a storied piece of this company’s time-honored history. Or a launchpad for future legends and champions alike.

What I have in these stars is a rare opportunity to define this stage of my career. A chance to push limits, alter currents, and climb to an ever higher level.

This is hardly the mountaintop for the Emerald Apex.

And if that were really the case, then you can expect me to start stacking bodies to keep this climb going… 

DAY 1 Now the real work begins.

“Once again, I appreciate you doing this, Scott.”

Walking alongside his VVingman, Kerry Kuroyama punctuated his gratitude in the form of a supportive clap on the shoulder.

“Don’t mention it, bro,” replied Hunter. “But, are you sure it’s cool for us to be out here?”

“Yeah, it’s cool… I pulled a few strings.”

Clad in their ring gear, the tandem followed the aisleway toward the ring ahead.

Around them, Rogers Centre rested within the rueful silence of a warfield the day after a long, violent battle. With the retractable roof pulled aside, a cascade of morning light revealed halos of empty seats encircling the remaining squared circle, now a blood-and-sweat-stained testament to last night’s carnage.

Kerry thought it eerie, walking back to the very ring he fought in only hours ago with the stadium devoid of its thousands of screaming fans. Later on, when the ring crews returned to reset the place for the second night of UltraViolence, it would be buzzing with life once more.

But until then, they had the place to themselves.

And sure, it was an unusual choice in location for a quick sparring sesh. But given how many of Toronto’s local wrestling schools had become havens to spot monkeys and gymnasts, he felt there wasn’t much of an alternative.

“Well, at least I got the chance to step into the UltraViolence ring,” quipped Scott, leading the way up the steel steps to the apron. “Even though I figured you’d spend your first official day as champion just kicking back and taking it easy.”

Kuroyama shook his head as he followed him up. “I can’t afford to get comfortable now, Scott. The game has changed, now that I have this…”

His knuckles lightly tapped the face of the Five Star Championship draped over his shoulder.

“These stars might as well be crosshairs… and in little less than four weeks, that creep Williams takes the first shot.”

Kerry pictured the man’s face and immediately tasted bile. Hunter, meanwhile, made the face one makes when smelling spoiled milk.

“Man, how does the Mrs. Doubtfire guy keep getting title shots?” he asked out loud. “He smells like someone stuffed old limburger cheese into an ashtray. And then peed into it. Plus, his tattoos are stupid looking.”

Kerry found himself nodding in agreement as the two of them stepped through the ropes to enter the ring.

“Dude is a definite scumbag…” he concurred. “And yeah, I have much better tattoos. But all the same, he’s a former Five Star champ in his own right. And a chance to retake the belt just fell into his lap. So… I’m not taking any chances.”

They went to separate corners. Hunter continued his preliminary stretches. Kuroyama removed the belt from his shoulder, and propped it up over the top turnbuckle.

The Five Star Title stared back at him.

After everything he'd endured since Colossus, he wasn’t about to see it taken from him by a goddamn Whoresman, of all people.

“Gotta prove to the world I’m not just another member of the one-and-done club.”

Like him, he wanted to add.

Kerry went into his own stretching routine, his body welcoming the stinging reminder of Steve Harrison’s crucible of punishment from hours ago.

The pain felt earned. What was a little pain, when comfort could be a poison?

“Pride can be poisonous too,” said that voice from within.

Sure, sure…

“You got this, dude!” Scott declared with certainty. “As for me… I’m just happy I don’t have to face you in the first round of the Almasy again!”

Ah, yes… the Almasy.

The next mountain to climb.

“Always meant to give you that rematch,” said Kerry. “But hey… there’s always the finals.”

From across the ring, Hunter’s smile spread wide.

“Heh… you know what, dude? I think I’ll take you up on that offer!”

In his corner, Kuroyama hunched over into the ready position, the ball foot grinding a divot into the blood-soaked canvas.

“Finals or bust, then,” he said, and nodded. “You ready?

Flicking his wrists, Scott nodded back. “Ready!”

In a flash, they flung themselves into one another.

The slap of their colliding meat echoed deep into the far corners of empty arena.

The pain was as beautiful as it was fresh.

There’s a fine line between being a true, natural enigma in this universe…

…and just being a weird, incoherent asshole for the sake of appearing cryptic and mysterious.

I still can’t quite figure which side you fall on, Rob.

Trying to understand you is like analyzing a Rorschach inkblot made up of flecks of shit splattered against the porcelain bowl of a toilet. Regardless of what I “see”, at the end of the day, my brain has a limit on how much it cares to dwell on the topic of human excrement.

And sadly, that leaves me with a perspective of a man whose motivations here in this industry are comparable to his sense of humor.

Purely masturbatory.

I like to believe in a hypothetical future where you will one day remove the imaginary buttplugs wedged deeply into the orifices of your brain that control things like “logic” and “humor”. A day where you might actually find the potential that was promised when you first arrived.

Remember, Rob? Months into your arrival, you shook the world and did the impossible, dethroning one of the most successful and accomplished talents of the modern era. Then Donnie Winters nailed your ass to a cross, proving that the only ship that was burning was the one carrying your credibility.

But what you’ve done with yourself since then… that’s the part of you, Rob, I can’t figure.

You drifted around with a bunch of tweakers, offering the world a glimpse into a urine-soaked existence nobody asked for. You became the dick-joke-cracking tagalong to the Whoresmen. You offered yourself as the personal safety blanket for WAAAH-nna Daniels. And, most recently, you inserted yourself into the Alias Title match, because the “vibe” called for it, or whatever.

But yet, through all that, you never again blinked an eye at these stars.

Until now… by random chance.

Is it luck?

Can it really be called that when your fortune is a guaranteed slaughter, you miserable asshole?

Sounds to me like a curse. An inescapable death sentence.

I hope you know what kind of champion you want to be, Rob.

Because right now, while you’re gearing up to win something you never earned on your own merit, or even seemed to care about in recent memory, the actual champion has been steadily planning to remind this company what it means to carry THESE STARS…

DAY 14 When it is appropriate to wear a championship belt in public.

“Can’t believe we’re gonna be late to the show because you’ve got a thing against Uber and Lyft.”

Ami Troy looked up from her phone, ensuring Kerry caught her pointed gaze.

“By the way, totally not saving you from Mom when she finds out.”

Kuroyama forced a smile that did little to hide his feelings of dread over that prospect.

“Sorry, babe…” he quickly apologized. “But you know my stance on taxi services…”

“Awww, is the big, bad Seattle-Beast frightened of the dopey green spoopy-faced skelly boi?” teased Ami through a puckered frown. “Don’t worry, scaredy cat, I’ll protect you.”

Her elbows jabbed his ribs. Kerry snickered while giving the arm snaked around her waist a light squeeze.

They continued together through the parking lot. The Target Center loomed ahead of them, lit up in brilliant blue and white lights. The dulled roars of the crowd coming from within made it clear the show was well underway.

After spending the day around the city, the plan was always for the two of them to eventually make it to the arena in time for the ReVival broadcast.

Problem was, Kuroyama was under the woeful impression that public transport always arrived on schedule.

He hoped he hadn’t missed Scott’s match. Still, with Ami tucked into the crook of one arm and the Five Star Title slung over the shoulder of the other, being a few minutes late was a small price to pay to savor a few more minutes of a splendid evening stroll.

“Didn’t you say comfort was a poison?” mused that voice from within.

Okay, fine…

He had to admit that for the time being, life was going kinda alright.

But right then, of course, the pointed sword of fate came in the form of a mechanical chirping from over his shoulder.

“Oh, I think Kerry Koalayama’s Salty Bitch Detector is getting a reading,” said Ami, almost casually.

That damn koala.

Throughout most of the day, ol' fuzzball had been snoozing away within the satchel strapped to Kuroyama’s back. Now he was awake, with of a trilling mechanical device clenched between his double-thumbed paws.

Ami rose upon her tip-toes and leaned in to get a better look.

“Oh damn, this thing is off the charts!”

Kerry shook his head, at a loss for understanding when, where, and most importantly how his marsupial mascot acquired engineering skills.

“I swear, I have no idea where he keeps getting those things,” he bemoaned. “I get Henry’s plague doctors to babysit him for a few days, and suddenly, I have a mini Doc Brown over here building satellite dishes and micro-tanks and dingo-disintegrators…”

Ami wrinkled her nose. “Dingo-disintegrator?”

Kerry shrugged. “...what? Never said I was good at coming up with names for koala inventions. Wrestling… that’s more my thing.”

“And you’re so good at it, too,” she said, booping his nose. “But maybe you should leave the thinking to someone better equipped for it, hmm?”

“OH-HOO-HOOOO, GOOD LUCK WITH THAT!!

Kuroyama shuddered the moment he heard the voice.

Slowly, the two of them turned around, unsurprised to see that the Salty Bitch Detector was, in fact, getting an accurate reading.

“If it isn’t the happy power couple…” said Erik Black, in his best disdainful Alan Rickman voice. “Kerry Kay… and Ami the Tsunami…”

The bastard in white wore a wide grin, standing tall on the back end of a large aluminum semi-trailer almost twenty feet away from them.

“Ugh, not Raisin again…” muttered Ami. “Don’t Nedward’s boots need licking or something?”

Kerry could feel his rage quickly surging forth. The day had been going so well, until this asshole showed his face.

“Fuck off, you Hugo Drax-looking bag of dicks!” he said forcibly. “I’m not screwing around with your Looney Toons deathray stuff anymore!”

He nodded to the championship on his shoulder.

“In case you haven’t noticed, I got real hot-champ shit going on here… so let’s not make this a thing, yeah?”

Black’s smile quickly faded into an ugly sneer

“Oh, believe me, Kurry… this is going to be a THING!” he seethed. “We are DEFINITELY making THIS a THING, Kurry!! We are making this the BIGGEST of THINGS, KURRY!!”

“Raisin, stop trying to make this THING! happen,” Ami called up the trailer. “It’s never going to happen!”

“PFFWHAAT?!!” Black spurted dismissively. “You don’t just LEAVE a MAN INDEBTED to a bunch of PISSED OFF YAKUZAS and expect to WALK AWAY like NOTHING HAPPENED!”

With a cackle, the heel of his ivory white leather loafer stamped twice down on the roof of the semi-trailer.

The double doors swung aside, revealing a smoke-filled interior.

Suddenly… they were there.

Lithe, dark forms, moving like shadows as they sequentially came tumbling out of the back of the open trailer.

Kuroyama nearly dropped the title facepalming himself.

“Seriously… NINJAS?!”

The scourge of the City of Lakes. Kerry counted almost two dozen.

“Compliments of your UNCLE ANZU!” crowed Black from above. “I’m going to RUIN YOU, KURRY KOO-ROW-YAH-MAWW!! I’m going to RUIN EVERY ASPECT of your LIFE! Your FAMILY! Your RELATIONSHIP! The ALMASY! And YES… even your JOKE of a CHAMPIONSHIP RUN!"

The ninjas steadily advanced, their numbers tightening into a semi-circle to entrap them.

Meanwhile, from atop the trailer, Black tugged at a drawstring hidden with the lining of his blazer. In a flash, a white PARACHUTE flourished forth from his backside and caught the wind…

"You’ll RUE THE DAY you FRICKED with ERIK BLACK!!”

Then the bastard in white was AIRBORNE! Flying away like a leaf in the wind…

“HA-HAAAA-HAHAHAHAHA--BLEGHK!!”

…only for his dramatic escape to come to a sudden and violent end, as the wind slammed him directly into the broadside of a passing bus.

Finally, Kerry thought. One that actually arrived on schedule.

Black disappeared along with the bus, looking like an insect splattered against the glass. Now there was the pressing matter at hand of the enclosing pack of black-shrouded shinobis.

“Looks like you’ve got a warm-up for this Williams character,” said that voice from within.

Sighing, Kerry removed the koala-satchel from his back and gently set it to the asphalt beside him.

“Well, babe… looks like I’m going to have to beat the shit out of these ninjas. Can we pick this up later?”

Ami, satisfied that Black was gone for the time being, answered with an indifferent shrug.

“I guess so… but I’m totally ratting out Raisin to Mom.”

Then Kerry felt a weight hit his chest.

He looked down to see Ami’s hand pressing a pint of Kakubin whisky up against his pecs.

“Go get 'em, Majima.”

Kerry frowned. “I thought I was Kiryu…”

“Whatever, nerd!”

Kerry stared thoughtfully at the small whisky bottle as he received it into his hands.

The ninjas continued to slowly close in, but for the moment, they were hardly a concern to either of them.

“If there was a time to ask…” said the voice. “It’s now.”

Yes. Now.

Kerry’s hand took Ami’s. A moment later, he found her eyes.

“Ami Troy… will you manage me?”

She frowned on the spot. “Geeze, Kerry, you didn't even get down on a knee. Are you taking tips from Wade?”

Kerry wavered, unsure of how to respond… until her frown flipped over into a smirk.

“Yes, of course I’ll manage you.”

Kerry beamed like a man who only just discovered how to smile.

In a matter of seconds, he twisted off the top of the small whisky bottle, threw the pint of liquid fire down his gullet, and dooted the Popeye theme to himself upon finishing.

“Hey babe, you need some help?” asked Ami, punching the air. “A little hoo, a little hi-yah, a little kicking? A little belt-holding?”

She gestured to the strap resting on his shoulder with her final suggestion.

Instead, it found its way wrapped around the champion’s waist.

“Sorry, babe…”

The brass buttons connected together with a satisfying snap.

The sensation of electricity flowing through his body was instantaneous.

“...but the Five Star Title stays on during ninja fights.”

I could spend a day coming up with reasons to kick your ass, Rob.

Attempting to set RIA on fire? That’s one

Threatening my koala? That’s another.

Faking a terminal illness? 

…yeah, that’s a BIG one for me, dawg. 

But the only reason I really need, Rob, is having you standing across the ring from me.

Because I want this world to understand the champion I intend to be…

Consider the fact that you and I are fighting on the anniversary of our nation’s independence, at a time when our national pride seems to be at its lowest point in our two-fifty and some change years existence.

And while the world around us continues to burn, the majority of our fellow Americans will simply spend the evening looking skyward. Losing themselves in the short-lived allure of pretty fireworks. Embracing the latent animal reaction to ignore the coming troubles, through a series of baseless distractions.

But I want to give the world something else to look at, Rob.

More than just another distraction.

I want to remind them that the fires of HOPE are still burning strong.

I want every overweight person out there staring at themself in the mirror and hating what they see to tune into ReVival and see THESE STARS… and find within themselves the motivation to get off the couch and hit the gym.

I want every burger flipper, pizza slinger, and burrito wrapper feeling trapped in their dead end, minimum wage jobs to see THESE STARS… and realize they can do better for themselves.

I want every basement virgin Rob Williams fan to see THESE STARS, then set aside the hand lotion, pick up the stick of deodorant, shave their necks, step away from their computers, and crawl forth from their goon-caves in the hopes of socializing with some actual human beings.

In a world where everything feels progressively fucked, and everyone feels more powerless than ever, I want the people to SEE THESE STARS, and WAKE THE FUCK UP. 

I want them to realize their own agency. I want them to feel inspired to get the fuck up and do something other than giving in to this overbearing cloud of doom. 

Look at yourself, Rob. 

Until this match, you seemed completely satisfied accepting a fate of playing second fiddle in the most indulgent tag team project in this company since Red and Ted. 

But with some actual luck, perhaps THESE STARS will reawaken a fire within you…

Unfortunately for you... I’ll be there, ready and waiting to consume the flames.

DAY 19 I lied… I hate the pain.

The phone rang late.

Kerry balked when he saw the name on the screen.

Nearly three weeks had passed since winning the title, and not a peep out of the son of a bitch. Not even a text.

Now, out of the blue, he just up and decides to call?

“Better than not calling at all,” reasoned the voice.

Groaning, Kerry’s thumb pressed into the green phone icon.

“Hey…”

First, a beat of nothing.

Then, a familiar voice.

“Congrats, Kay.”

Kerry melted, suddenly forgetting whatever stupid thing it was that Zack Daymon did to piss him off. Up until that moment, he didn’t realize how desperate he was to hear his cousin speak those words out loud.

“Thanks, man…” he said emphatically. “That… means a lot to me. Look, I know shit’s been weird lately, but we should really--”

“We can’t find Beto.”

Kerry blinked.

That fleeting moment of felicity was suddenly gone, swept away in a wave of confusion.

“...what do you mean you can’t find him??”

Then, chimes to the music of Grieg filled the air…

A B C D E C E      D# B D#           D Bb D...

“Nobody's seen him for a couple weeks,” Zack continued over the phone. “And… you know, given his past, some of us thought it was a reason to be concerned.”

The chimes rang again. Kerry passed through his darkened lodge, gunning for the entrance.

He promised himself that if he opened that door and found a green skull mask looking back at him, he would willingly rip a motherfucker’s spine out of his body.

“Yeah, I’d say so,” he grumbled into the phone. “Look, Zee, can you give me a second? I need to beat the shit out a grim reaper real quick…”

Reaching the door, Kerry twisted the knob and pulled it open…

…

…only to wake up on the floor.

Confused, and barely conscious.

“Hello again, koutavi.”

That voice…

His vision slowly came back into focus.

Seeing the unmistakable set of bright sapphire eyes and voracious smile staring back down at him, he immediately hoped he was dreaming.

But this was reality.

Ioanna Drakos was in his house.

And she had just beaten the shit out of him.

“Miss Ami has tasked me to be your new personal trainer.”