Prison Mack (World Heavyweight title #1, 2248 words)

Prison Mack (World Heavyweight title #1, 2248 words) Dec 16, 2020 23:11:22 GMT -6 Deana Barrows, Jack Puffer, and 4 more like this

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Post by James Raven on Dec 16, 2020 23:11:22 GMT -6

I shoot upright on the mattress, a thin bed sheet soaked in flop sweat and wrapped tightly around my torso. My eyes are open, scanning my bedroom in a panic as my chest heaves and terrified gasps sputter from my lips. My fingertips fumble to peel the sheets from my body, cool air hitting clammy flesh and washing over me like a wave of calming energy.

I blink, trying to chase images of nightly terrors from my mind as I suck in slow and rhythmic breaths.

Betsy sits up in bed next to me, a reassuring hand resting on my arm.

BETSY: Are you OK?

RAVEN: … bad… bad dream…

BETSY: About wh- hang on, is this “on camera” or “off camera”?

RAVEN: … excuse me?

Betsy shrugs her shoulders.

BETSY: There’s been a lot of confusion over that sort of stuff lately. What if AQ starts pressing details again?

I don’t know how to respond to anything she’s saying. Part of me feels like we’ve already done enough to owe Shawn Warstein money for using the trademarked fourth wall break, but I’m still recovering from my nightmare and can’t worry about those details right now.

BETSY: Don’t worry about it. I’ll just assume it’s “on camera”. Give me a second, here…

Betsy runs her fingers through her hair, pulling it back behind her ears and rubbing the sleep out of her eyes gently. She adjusts her top, revealing a perfectly tasteful amount of cleavage, and puts her reassuring hand back on my arm.

BETSY: OK. I’m good. What was your dream about?

RAVEN: It was… Mack O’Connor.

BETSY: About the Righteous Rumble? Babe, don’t worry about that. You’ve got this. He’s good but you’ll figure him out and you’ll get this done.

RAVEN: It wasn’t about the match. It was about… prison…

Betsy’s face scrunches up.

BETSY: Oh. Weird.

RAVEN: Yeah.

BETSY: Was it like, Oz prison?

RAVEN: No, more… The Office prison?

Betsy looks equally confused and fascinated.

RAVEN: It’s weird. Nevermind. I don’t want to talk about it. I’m going back to sleep.

BETSY: You know if you don’t talk about a nightmare once you start it just repeats, right?

RAVEN: Seriously?

Betsy shrugs her shoulders. If she had just committed to the bit, I may have told her.

RAVEN: I’m going back to sleep. Sorry I woke you up.

I settle back down on the mattress, rolling onto my side and hanging my arm over the edge. I don’t want to talk about my dream. We’re going to do what my Irish family has always taught me to do, bottle it up deep down inside and then eventually die. I’m never going to have that dream again.

I’m never going to think about that dream again.

I begin to doze off, and hear the clanging of prison bars around me.

Fuck.

My.

Life.

What does it feel like to be a pawn, Mack?

I know that’s condescending, but I don’t mean it to be. I honestly want to know, because I can’t quite wrap my mind around the concept. I can’t relate to being a pawn, because I’ve been doing king shit since the day I burst on the scene.

We are not the same.

I’ve been saying that to a bunch of people this past year. At first I told myself that I shouldn’t repeat material, and I should hold it back, but then I realized that repeating it week in and week out should be a badge of honor. It is recurring evidence that I am who I say I am, and that not one of you is on my level.

Now, sure, normally I’m tossing it with surgical accuracy at someone like Justice Orton-Cross, or Jack Puffer. I’m using it to demonstrate that they lack the technical proficiency or in ring prowess to squeak out a victory against me. In those circumstances, it’s more an observation of fact than some deeply biting remark... of course some C-lister with more losses than wins isn’t like me.

But with you, Mack? When I say that we're not the same, it resonates deeper than that.

I’m not here to disparage your talents, you’re a hell of a hand between the ropes. You started out your GCWA career on an undefeated streak, just like I did, you were the face of this company, Jesus Christ, you’ve held the very World Heavyweight championship that we’re about to face off for! I can see some parallels. You are a worthy adversary, and I won’t take that from you…

It is as men that we differ. Our core values.

It is the fact that you would allow yourself to be a pawn in someone else's game that tells me we are not the same. It is the fact that you lacked the restraint and decision making abilities to avoid the situation you’ve found yourself in. I find myself in this match due to merit; my own hard work and accomplishments, my own choices made with the interest of myself and my partners and nobody fucking else…

You find yourself in this match due to the good graces of The Accelerator, his desperation and some bull shit loophole.

You’re here to carry out orders, to do whatever the fuck you’re told, or else find yourself back in prison quicker than Bifford can pound a full KFC bucket. You’re here because you have to be, and I know that somewhere in your mind you realize you’re going to be sold down the river before this is all said and done. The Accelerator isn’t loyal to you, Mack.

The pawn is always sacrificed first to protect the more valuable pieces, and as soon as the going gets rough he will let the wolves devour you in order to give himself a slightly larger head start.

But what can you do?

Your hands are tied tighter than the first time they brought your cuffed ass to your new cell. You need him more than he needs you. He holds the keys… right?

Wrong, Mack.

I hold the keys.

I am your survival, and your freedom, and everything that you’ve craved since your dumb ass lost to Lissie Hope, cursed us with her reign and you were rightfully imprisoned for that crime against humanity.

All you have to do is pin me. All you have to do is what nobody else in this company has been able to do. It’s not crazy to think a pawn can take the king… right?

We are not the same, and this is not the GCWA that you left behind. It’s evolved. It’s forgotten you already. It’s like that loss to Lissie erased whatever legacy you had while mine has steadily built and grown in power, and I’ve become the poster boy while you’re the unclicked roster page on a web archive somewhere only accessible by researching has-been champions. There isn’t a SINGLE competitor in the Righteous Rumble that thinks winning that match earns them a shot against you, and I know, I know… the opinion of sheep, right? But…

… every single one of them?

If one guy calls you a horse, punch him in the face. If a second guy calls you a horse, look at him funny. If a third guy calls you a horse? Maybe it’s time to go saddle shopping… and thirty Righteous Rumble competitors are calling me G.O.A.T. so who are we to argue? These are my people. This is my territory. That is my ring. The Rumble is for my belt, and you’re just some guy that is going to be on his best behaviour over the next month so that you don’t lose TV privileges for your cell block before the next PPV.

It’s because they know what I bring to the table.

It’s because each and every show I’m on the card. I sign up for more matches than management can even find for me, and there are multiple receipts to back that up. I operate at a level of excellence and I am fucking prolific with it; the silver tongue and razor wit, the honey soaked charm and the venom spit in your face and burning its way to the bone. I set the bar the rest of them need to hit and I provide a target for anyone that doesn’t fucking like it and thinks they can do better.

What the FUCK did you do with your reign, Mack?

What did you give anyone to remember you by? I have to dig DEEP into the video archives to find the six goddamn videos that can remind someone that you were good here. You were another half assed top star that thought a World title was a coronation and an arrival, an excuse to kick back and coast until someone beat you. You didn’t work unless you had to, and it’s come back to bite you.

People recognize a king when they see one.

You’re trapped, Mack. There’s no safe square to jump to. All of Legacy is laughing as I toy with you now, delivering a verbal ass whipping in a format I once heard you say on a radio show you hated, because I fucking can.

I can do whatever I want, and you can do nothing about it.

I’d say checkmate, but you don’t say anything when you corner a pawn. You just take it and move on with your life.

Fear the Raven… Forevermore...

I lay uncomfortably on a prison mattress, springs jabbing me through the thin padding. I’m inside an ordinary cell, nothing I can see that stands out from any other cell I’ve ever seen. I’m not alone. There’s a man standing at the base of the bed, near the locked threshold of the cell. Shadows cascade across his face, his body turned slightly away from me to reveal little more than the silhouette of his profile.

? ? ?: I bet you want to know who I am, don’t you Raven?

RAVEN: I know who you are already. I’ve had this dream before.

? ? ?: … nu uh.

RAVEN: Yeah, man. You’re Mac-

? ? ?: Whoa whoa whoa, buddy. Let’s not go saying any names here, especially of any former World champions and current challengers. Sexy balding men for example. Recently incarcerated men.

RAVEN: So you’re telling me that you’re not Mack O’Connor?

The shadowy figure throws his hands up in the air helplessly. He TOLD me not to say the name! What can I say, I’m a rebel.

? ? ?: I’m not Mack O’Connor. My name is actually Notmack, so, yeah… that should show you how much I’m not Mack. Now I’m here because I’d like to talk to you about letting O’Connor win the title back at The Righteous Rumble.

RAVEN: That sure sounds like something Mack O’Connor would like me to do.

The shadowy figure shakes his head in defeat.

NOTMACK: Fine, fine. You don’t want to talk reasonably to me? I didn’t want to have to do this but I brought a friend with me that can get real nasty. You’ve been warned.

The shadowy figure ducks deep into the corner, totally hidden in the darkness before he pops back up with a purple bandana wrapped around his head.

NOTMACK: Heeeeey, kid, I’m “Prison Mack”.

The shadowy figure speaks with a thick Long Island accent, a stereotypical tough guy. I roll my eyes.

RAVEN: You mean Notmack.

NOTMACK: Yeah. Prison Notmack. Take this seriously! I hear you’re thinking about beating Mack O’Connor at Righteous Rumble! Well I’m here to tell you why that’s a bad idea! If you beat Mack, he may be forced back into prison! Do you know what happens to men released to chase a wrestling World title, who have to go back to prison?

RAVEN: Well… I feel like that’s a highly specific circumstance and there’s probably not a lot of data available.

NOTMACK: Wrong smartass! If you send Mack back to prison, he’ll be a target. People will see him as someone they can push around because they saw you treat him like your son and publicly spank him! He’ll be beaten, abused, maybe the “r” word.

I roll my eyes.

RAVEN: Nobody is going to rape Mack O’Connor just because I beat him at a pay per view.

NOTMACK: Rape? Nobody said rape. I meant ridiculed, I was just trying to save time on the speech. Didn’t work. Anyways, none of this is really about what’s gonna happen to Mack if he loses… it’s about what’s gonna happen to you if he loses… YOU DON’T WANNA SEE IT, RAVEN! GET ME?! Betsy will leave you for Vargas! Lissie Hope will come back to work a NINE MONTH PROGRAM with you! Legacy will ditch you to join B.O.B. and N.W.O. will set every tag team record. Don’t test me, Raven! Lose the match.

RAVEN: Nah man. I’m not worried about any of that shit happening. Nice try though.

NOTMACK: Fine, you want Prison Notmack to break out the big guns?! Lose to Mack or Josh Allen breaks his leg!

My blood freezes in my veins.