Naughty Mystery

Well well well. If it isn’t the consequences of my own actions.

I mean, I guess they’re consequences; being you two weirdos. 

But hey! Look at us! A pretty tame, pretty light-hearted squabble at Ultraviolence has gifted us a main event slot! 

It’s familiar territory for me. They used to call me “Main Event Horizon” for a minute. I wonder how you two boys will handle those bright, bright lights.

From what I’ve been told, the lights you’re used to are the ring lights fourteen year old girls use for their TikTok videos. Livestreaming. Putting your freaky deaky selves out there on the internet for all the world to see.

I know a little bit about that, too. But that story is a lot more interesting.

I know you’re trying real, reaaalll hard to “Guess! That! Tag Partner!” But buddies?

I don’t have an answer yet. There’s still a real good chance I show up at ReVival 90 by my own damn self.

But you piqued some interest in this tag team stuff, I’ll give you that. So I’m undecided. 

Like I said backstage. There’s a LOT of me to go around.

But there’s a little bit of excitement in a little bit of sharing, I think you’d agree.

And even more so, when there’s a little bit of mystery.

Hayes rested his chin on his forearms, crossed on the kitchenette counter of his hotel.

In front of his direct stare, a small, familiar orange container. “Alprazolam” across the label.

The pills looked different; small, orange, and round. Even the name was just the general term for the drug Hayes had once lovingly known as Xanax. A drug he thought he’d conquered, or the anxiety that prompted its abuse.

Apparently not.

“You know you don’t have to be afraid of it,” came Paul’s voice, joining Hayes at the counter.

“I know,” Little Brother replied, without lifting his head. “But I am.”

Paul offered a nod, taking the bottle in his hand, inspecting it.

“I understand,” he said. “But you know what’s different this time?”

Paul set the bottle back down in front of his brother’s face.

“I’m not enabling you anymore.”

Hayes lifted himself from the counter, taking the container in his own hands to study.

“That wasn’t you, man,” he said. “And it’s not your fault that I can’t get a grip on this shit.”

“Yeah, but I definitely wasn’t helping. Every time you felt a little funny, every time you got wound up, there I was. With a bar or two at the ready. I shouldn’t have let it get as far as it did. But shit, I was more fucked up than you were those days, so what do I know.”

Hayes laughed through his nose, giving the pills a shake.

“I just—”

He turned his eyes to Older Brother, holding them up with a weak smirk.

“--I just thought I got past it. You know? Just feels like when we were teenagers. Hayes panics, here’s a bar. Hayes is anxious, here’s another. It was just good not feel so fucking numb all the time.”

“Wanna know what I think?”

Hayes nodded quickly.

“Yes. Fucking please.”

Paul smoothed his beard a moment as the words collected in his head.

“I think your panic has come back because you’ve been so hung up on everything you did in year one. And buddy? That was more than three years ago now.”

Hayes didn’t want to admit it, but Paul was absolutely right. He chose not to confirm, maintaining a quiet.

“So if that’s it,” Big Brother continued, maybe you gotta look for something new?”

“Pfft, like what? A new fed? New entrance music?”

“What’s your hang-up with the tag division?” Paul steered.

“I…what?”

“That whole thing with the Foot Soldiers. Are you actually going to find a partner?”

Hayes shrugged. “I haven’t been looking. Was probably just gonna show up and see if I could take them myself.”

“So what, all those backyard trampoline matches against the neighbors kids meant nothing? Do the Hanlon Haymakers mean nothing to you anymore?”

Paul joked with a punch to Little Brother’s arm. Hayes replied with a playful shove to the shoulder.

“I dunno, man. I’ve always felt better when I don’t have anyone to rely on. Or disappoint.”

Paul stood, collecting a coffee cup to refill.

“And that, Lil’ Bro, is exactly why you should give it a shot.”

Hayes mulled it over, pushing a hand through his dark hair.

“Fuck. I gotta talk to Joe, don’t I?”

“Yeah,” said Paul with an empathetic sigh.]

“That would be a good place to start.” 

Hmmm? What’s that?

Oh, no. I haven’t decided yet.

Doooon’t you two be so hasty! This is a slow burn. It’s always better that way.

Well, not always. I like to mix it up.

But in this case? No. 

No no no no no.

You’re gonna have to wait for it.

In the meantime, you’re welcome to remember how I popped these pecs backstage. And keep wondering if you’re gonna get ALL of me.

Or if you’ll have to share me.

“How’s this supposed lawsuit going?”

Hayes rolled his eyes behind his aviators while mid-bite of his panini. Joe was quick to accept a little lunch date at a sandwich shop in downtown Pittsburgh. Pennsylvania had been dealing with heatwave, but it was nice enough to sit outside by the street.

“But more importantly,” Joe redirected, gesturing to the monstrosity on his plate in front of him. “Would you look at this absolute masterpiece??”

His “Primanti Stack” was indeed, quite a sight. A monstrosity of meat, cheese, tomatoes, slaw, and french fries. All shoved between two slices of Italian bread. Joe picked it up, studying how to attack the thing, before taking a sloppy bite.

“Mmm,” he mumbled through his bite. “I fuggin’ love sandwiches.”

Hayes laughed, setting down his turkey.

“Kind of in a holding pattern,” he said after swallowing, answering the initial question. “Court date isn’t until early September. I guess they’re trying to get me at every angle they can.”

“Sounds pretty dumb,” Joe replied, coming up for air.

“Very.”

A pause. Hayes hung an arm over his chair, gazing out to the street.

“Hey dude,” he said, a little sheepish. “Sorry about that.”

Joe cocked an eyebrow while going in for another bite. “About what?”

“ReV 87. After I lost to Daytona.”

“Oh, that? Dude, it’s nothing. You were having a shitty moment, we’ve all been there.”

“Yeah, but I shouldn’t have put my hands on you like that,” Hayes insisted. “You were there for me, and I shoved you. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“From how it looked from my angle, dude, that was probably the best outcome.”

That caught him by surprise. Hayes took a moment to chew on it.”

“Yeah,” he said. “You’re probably right.”

Joe continued battling his sandwich, thinking nothing of it. Hayes admired him for that.

“Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Yeah man, what’s up?”

“The tag division,” said Hayes. “You love that shit.”

“Oh, yeah!” Joe replied with a burst of energy. “Tag is awesome!”

“Why?” Hayes asked, leaning in with his elbows on the table. “It’s never been my thing. What does it for you?”

A quizzical look from Fontaine.

“Bro, you should know the answer to that.”

Hayes remained silent, but insistent. Joe wiped his mouth with a napkin, and smiled genuinely.

“Because everything’s great when you’re doing cool shit with friends.”

A beat. And then a smile creeping behind his mustache. Hayes nodded at his stable-mate, who maintained his own smile.

“Well,” said Hayes. “How’s your schedule?”

“Nah, can’t be me right now. But I’m flattered.”

“Got any ideas?”

Joe tapped his temple, eyes flicking upward in thought. And then it came to him.

“You know…I think I just might.”

Well…aren’t you two just a pair of peaches?

Oh yes. Absolutely juicy to the gills. Filthy.

Some people out there may say “oh, look, Hayes Hanlon is picking another fight,” but the way I see it, it’s a good thing he’s there. If I was left alone in the ring with the two of you, well…I just don’t think I could contain myself. I’ve been absolutely famished waiting for a moment like this one, and as I come to know myself more and more with time, I just know that I would go and go and go and take and take and take, well past the time I should have stopped. I’d overflow.

But who could blame me? 

One look at Satan Jones and every man, woman, and beyond would make a deal with the literal Christian Devil to do unspeakable things to that eight pack…but for my money, the real secret to the sauce is Kris Roswell. So demure, so wholesome - and those kicks! The man must take immaculate care of his feet, to throw all those kicks, to go by The Foot Soldiers, to try and fail to hide all that simmering bubbling heeeeat. Toes of the year, I’d wager. His achilles could be anyone’s Achilles.

…

But oh. Who am I, you may ask?

Don’t you like the mystery? Doesn’t the waiting make it all the more exhilarating? There’s nothing sexier in the world than the antici-

…

-but I get it. Maybe it’s an unfair advantage that I receive main event billing under the initials “???”, and maybe it would be an even bigger shock to the PRIME roster to realize that Hayes Hanlon has friends. Lots of them - well, several of them, at least. Let me assure you all - any time Hayes Hanlon has treated someone like garbage in PRIME, they’ve deserved it.

Brandon Youngblood? A generational gatekeeper who’s done everything in his power to suppress, suppress, suppress as he grows older and worse. Ivan Stanislav? Criminally sadistic, ugly as sin, and genuinely incapable of accepting blame or fault unless it serves a larger/grosser purpose. Jared Sykes, Jason Snow? Spotlight stealers who are not missed. And don’t get anyone started on Nate Colton - though everyone knows about him. Ask any of Hayes’s stablemates and they’ll tell you the same thing - “he suuuuucks.”

Sure, Hayes has had a tenuous relationship (at best) with the fans, but if we’re being honest, Nick Stuart and Richard Parker have done a hell of a job with slanting everything Hanlon does towards a certain perception. None of these people know the full Hayes Hanlon - I probably don’t either, to be fair - but Hayes Hanlon is someone who shows up for his friends when they need him the most, Hayes Hanlon is someone who has put his body on the line for his allies, and maybe most importantly of all…

…

-pation.

Ha.

…

The world sees a mustache with a grudge, or an unpolished gem, or something lesser than they might imagine he should be, to which I would respond - bitch? The man’s a Hall of Famer and a Triple Crown winner, and if there’s one and only one thing missing from putting him on the Mount Rushmore of this sport, it’s turning that Triple Crown into a Grand Slam. Two Unis, an Intense, and a Five Star. All that’s missing is the tag titles.

So hell-the fuck-o, Foot Soldiers, your division just got impossibly more difficult. “Sorry.”

But oh, the difficulty builds with the anticipation and it builds with the mystery! Doesn’t it flip a switch inside of you? Doesn’t it give you butterflies behind that wall of phenomenal abs? Doesn’t it make you sweat with heat?

Speaking of heat…whew, and I right, fellas? Scorcher out there, every day, everywhere in this country. I’m going for a swim.

…

~~~~~

I love this pool in this moment more than any pool that has ever existed in any place. I couldn’t tell you a single thing about it apart from water, shade, a tiny little diving board, and absolute isolation, but those are the only ingredients that matter. Hayes might argue with me that the Farthington Manor pool is better, and he is probably correct, but flying to England and back seems like a real bear of a way to beat today’s heat ahead of a Pittsburgh ReVival. 

The water agrees with me. It makes my abs glisten in a way that Satan Jones could only achieve with baby oil. The hair element, though…that’s a different animal. I have what I have and Satan has what Satan has, and he can keep his Lil Nas X horns. No one else is pulling it off. I wonder if they hurt to touch…I can’t wait to find out.

I watch his streams, and yes, I’m absolutely a “little devil.” Not because I care about anything he has to say - I don’t watch hot shirtless men on the internet for the stories. I just think it’s incredibly inspirational for a giant hayseed from the worse half of Kansas City to transform themselves with a bombastic name, a scandalous haircut, and the greatest ab routine known to man into becoming a genuinely talented wrestler on the up-and-up in the most competitive federation on the planet and who am I kidding, it’s the trunks.

It’s the trunks, it’s the trunks, it’s the trunks. It’s all I can think about when I’m watching.

I’m so used to wearing much larger clothes, myself, both in and out of the ring, and so when I him out there, so confident, so bold, the second coming of Elizabeth Hurley in Bedazzled - yeah, it awoke something within me. A lot’s been awakening within me these days. A lot about myself, a lot about my self-confidence, a lot about my understanding of the effect that I, too, may have on the men and women and beyond I see every day.

Satan’s got his red pair, and I Googled as hard as I possibly could to find the same exact pair in my own colors of choice, but to no avail. A missed opportunity, as far as I’m concerned - perhaps a brand deal can open up in the future and they’ll start selling this particular brand of banana hammock in more than just red or black. I chose black, obviously, for today’s swim - and when I say today’s swim, I mostly mean today’s casual float with a cocktail and a book. Yes, it’s smut. No, it’s not Tsonda Tsmut.

It’s so freeing to feel this vulnerable with my body in the open air, and yet also terrifying - which is why I mentioned the absolute isolation. No one else has access to this spot today. It gives me room to be free, to explore myself. To take chances and wear microtrunks that barely contain me, without fear of judgment or paparazzi or both.

“Judgment?” I can hear you asking. “You don’t strike me as someone who might care about someone else’s judgment.”

Well, some yes and some no. With time comes maturity, and the most brazen overtures of my youngest days have given way to just the slightest crack of self-awareness. 

Greatness is my past, greatness is my future, yes. But with time, I have come to realize that I have a few options for how to treat life’s beam of light through the present. The present could be a pane of glass where I carry on the rest of my life exactly the same way as I have before, unwavering, but almost certainly dimming with time and distance…it could be a mirror, where everything that’s shaped my past must be directly and irreversibly reflected and deconstructed. Or, it could be a prism, and I can take this time to bend the perceptions everyone in the world has ever had of me, of who they think I am, of the beating heart that pumps beneath the skin, transforming it into something more brilliant, more exuberant, more colorful.

I’m leaning prism, the scariest of the three. But the one that feels right - at least right now, in this pool, on this float, with this drink, lower half freer to the scorching summer air than ever before, safely hidden from everyone from whom I’m not ready to show this side of me - which, honestly, brings my thoughts back to Hayes.

He’s at an interesting point in his career as well. Glass, mirror, prism - I wouldn’t blame him for picking any of them. I felt so eager to jump at the chance to fight along his side because it’s safer to go into these uncharted territories together. I want to support him as he reaches the next level, just like I know he wants to support me.

So Satan Jones, I hope you understand a few things. One - hell yes to what you’re doing and keep doing what you’re doing because it absolutely turns my crank and my feral imagination is better for it. And two - when I come for your neck, ruin your main event debut, and teach you the real meaning of “devilishly handsome”...when it’s, let it happen. Please understand that I only choke the life out of you with the highest regard, and because I want to see what it does to the horns.

And Kris Roswell - Kris Roswell. Mr. Feet himself, King of Kicks, you need to know that your coy boyishness and the relatively tame shadow you leave next to Satan’s only tells me that there are layers to you. Deep, beautiful, masculine layers. I’d love to start peeling them away for you, if you’d let it happen. One by one, with kicks of my own, you freaky little foot man hiding in there. Satan has his little devils and Roswell could be home to a thousand little mysteries - sexy mysteries. Sexy mysteries like me.

Whew, I’m really getting myself worked up…must be the heat, or the smut. Or maybe it’s just the thought of myself and Hayes Hanlon entering the prism together, de-feet-ing the Foot Soldiers, and changing everything the tag division thought it knew.

Mysteries always have a twist.