━ALWAYS THE OUTSIDER━ [CWF #1]

"It's done." The words came out with a small sigh and for a moment he wasn't even sure Hannah had heard him over the water running in the sink on the other side of the kitchen. Lex Collins was sitting in the breakfast nook, his back to the window and the dark night beyond. They were safe here, in their gated little community, isolated. Their daughters had been homeschooled for the last two years, their oldest still taking part in ballet and branching into gymnastics over the summer. The calluses on his fingers were stained from the rebuild he was doing on a '65 Corvette. There were jack o'lanterns on the table, two handmade costumes hanging on hooks, ready for the girls to don them later on that night for the trunk or treat event over at the community center. They had everything they needed right here, so why in the hell was he feeling the itch again? 

Probably because that last time was a fucking DEMOLITION DERBY rather than actual wrestling?

After a moment, his wife turned to look at him, pumpkin guts all over her hands and hope on her features. "Did they accept our offer?"

For a second, he had no idea what she was talking about and then it dawned on him: she was talking about the offer she'd put in on a vacation properly for them in Vegas. He hadn't opened his email in days and when he hovered over it, the number on the little icon made him wince. 

1349

"Fuck me," he muttered, shaking his head as he closed the laptop. "Y'know, I completely forgot about that." 

The confession wasn't a surprise to her. She knew he'd been struggling lately, working too many hours at the garage because he needed something to do with those idle hands of his after the fifth company he'd gambled on had fallen through. All those championship belts collecting dust on the shelves in their office, and he couldn't find himself a permanent gig. 

She tried to force a cheerful smile, wrestling with the secrets she'd been keeping, too. "I'm too tired to play Twenty Questions, Lex. What's done? Better yet..." she hesitated, eyes locked on him as she took in that guilty hangdog expression on his face. "Out with it, then. What did you do?"

"Put my name in a thing."

"A... thing?" Hannah cocked her head, studying him for a moment to determine if he was being deliberately vague or if he was just low on human interaction bandwidth. Right now, it could be both. "Tell me this isn't another suicidal clown's kamikaze death match extravaganza?" 

He was fairly sure that Glum's vanity show would never see the light of day. He only remembered bits and pieces of it himself. Demolition derby. It hadn't even been thirty days since he'd left for that hot mess of a show, and here he was, dipping toes again.  

He shrugged, sheepish as she picked up his cell phone and scrolled through to something before getting up from the table and crossing to where she stood. He held it out, letting her see the logo -- CWF. The immediate reaction was a gag reflex and he shook his head, quick to correct her. "No. Fuck no. It's not that place. No naked women's wrestling. No dildos on a pole. Just.. same initials. This one's CONQUEST. It's..." he trailed off, not sure how to tell her the way he'd stumbled across it, that he'd fallen ass backwards into a YouTube rabbit hole that had ended up with him Googling Rob Riot's name. 

"Why?" 

He looked up at her question, wondering if he'd missed anything else she'd said. From the expression on her face, it was likely. "Test the waters, I guess. I... they reached out a while ago. Maybe a year now? I ignored the offer," the lie came out smoothly. He hadn't seen it because the inbox was too full and wading through that triggered his anxiety. "Mean, I had that thing with Mainstream going but now..."

"Now you're bored. You want to break more bones." It wasn't criticism. She knew him well enough to have catalogued all those baser urges. She saw something in that ticker on the main site, something that made her frown. "Rob Riot. Kintaru. Andi Snow. Wait... is this just the place that formed from the ashes of RSW?" 

"Lotta shit happened after Riot Star," he replied with another pseudo-shrug twitch of his shoulders. "Didn't keep tabs on 'em. To be honest, thought they'd all be long gone by now. Riot especially. Thought he retired a long ass time ago." He'd thought the guy was hanging up the boots when that torch had been passed -- fuck, he couldn't even remember the name of that championship now. He had a vague memory of wrestling on a boat, of a bunch of weird trips overseas. It was all hazy now, blurred from one promotion to the next and he couldn't begin to even recount the names of those he'd defeated back then. He just had a general sense that the company had been favorable. After WWH, everything else felt like gravy. 

When the silence stretched out, he looked up to find the kitchen empty. On the table, those two pumpkins remained, one orange with a grinning face and the other one white with a skeletal and almost demonic leer -- his daughters had each insisted on making their own. Polar opposites, they were, Freddie more carefree and innocent like her mother while Allegra had a tendency to get lost in the details and caught in her own thoughts just like her neurodivergent father. He set his phone down, those emails still going unanswered and unread. 

"You're going to have to tell her, you know. You know how happy she was in thinking you're going to honor that promise to hang up your boots." He looked up when he realized she was standing right next to him. She reached over and caressed his cheek with the back of her hand. "You sure this is what you wanna do, Lex? I'm worried about you going back out there."

"I got the all-clear, Han. I'm in fighting shape. Got that match with Tolson coming up in Reno on the fifteenth. Might help to have a little warm-up beforehand. And I mean, they threw me a bone, y'know?" 

"Doesn't mean we're starving and you have to grab at it. We don't need the money. Your body doesn't need the stress and strain."

He sighed. "Yeah. I know. It's just..." he pulled in a deep breath through his nose, holding it for a while. He really, really wanted a drink. Biting his lip, he shook his head, "not sure I can put how I feel into words right now, Han. I gotta do this." 

"Not gonna talk you out of this, am I?" She could tell by the set of his shoulders, by the look in his eyes that this was already happening and she hated the fact that he hadn't felt like he could discuss it with her rationally before pulling the trigger. It was too much like 2019 all over again and she felt like the ground under her was shaky, about to drop out at any second. "How often?" 

"Once a month, I think? I dunno. Definitely not a weekly thing. I'll check. First tour's in Mexico. Not far, anyhow. Won't be gone more than a day each time."

"Tell me this isn't about the bucket list, about that unfinished business--"

"Can't." He shook his head, "Five years is a long time, Han. People change. You think he even remembers showing up on our doorstep... giving Allegra those sunglasses?" 

He was talking about Kintaru and that rivalry that never really resolved because he'd abruptly bailed on RSW. The world had changed so much since then. A plague. Another daughter. Six more championships. Accolades. Too many wins to keep track of. 

"Penny for your thoughts," she murmured.  

"There's a lot of shit in my head right now." He couldn't keep the wry smile off his lips. "But hey, what else is new?"

"If this is what you want, I'll support it, even if I don't like it. It's 2023, Lex. Five years is a long time. You know that, right? They have probably been having this insular little block party since RSW closed--" 

"Always the Outsider," he cut her off with a rough chuckle, "I know my place. I know it's gonna be an uphill battle but I gotta do this. I need to get into the ring, Han. I need to hit something 'fore I go insane." 

"You're a survivor, baby." The pride oozed out of every word, cutting him so deep it was a wonder he didn't double over in agony. As if she knew, her hands were on his shoulders, one sliding around to the back of his neck as her nails dragged against his scalp, sending shivers up his neck. He closed his eyes, gave himself over to her calming touch and her gently intonation. "You keep going, keep trying to make this work even after all these doors have slammed in your face. I admire that. You are the strongest and most resilient person I know."

"No." His stomach dropped to his feet, "no, don't even fuckin' think it, let alone say it. That's not... that's not an accomplishment. That's me bein' stupid." He took a deep breath, "but here you go, touchin' me, holdin' me like you always usedta," he sounded sad as he whispered the words. "Tell me it's gonna be okay? Tell me this isn't a fuckin' mistake."

"It will because the moment it stops being good, you'll leave. I'll look over the paperwork, make sure they're not taking advantage. About time someone treats you like the hot commodity you are. And if they don't? Come home. We'll look for another place. You could always ask Sev to put in a good word for you with XWF or WGWF."

He shook his head. "I'm pushin' forty," he countered, "almost too old for this shit. I don't wanna be an afterthought, some fuckin' throwaway guy. I don't wanna be some also-ran footnote in one of those 'where are they now' specials. And the last thing I need's to ask for some handout, jumpin' on his coattails. The guy's taking off like a rocket ship. Ain't gonna ground him with my bullshit."

She pulled him down on the bench seat, her arms wrapped tightly around him, "give yourself some credit. You can't undo all that you've accomplished, Lex. It doesn't work that way. Even if they've all forgotten what you did the last time you all shared a locker room, your pedigree speaks for itself."

"I know that," he cut her off, shaking his head. "On paper, sure. In here though?" He tapped his temple, "never been good enough. Never will be."

"Bullshit." She was vehement, even though her voice remained soft so she didn't wake the girls. "Whether they know it or not, there's something special inside you. A thousand shitty wrestling promotions closing their doors while you're champion can't take that away from you. No matter what, you'll always be our–"

"Han, don't. Don't say it." He knew she would. He knew she was going to and she meant it. He could hear it in her voice, feel it in that loving squeeze she gave him.

He couldn't bring himself to look at her when the words came out, "...hero." Her hands were cool on his burning cheeks as she forced his head up, making him meet her gaze and he was surprised to see them fill with tears. "You are. You always will be, baby. You're one of the good guys, remember? You're one of the best there ever was."

He wasn't. He hadn't been one of the good guys in years. He didn't have the heart to correct her though.

She still needed to tell him that she was two weeks late. It just didn't feel like the right time for that kind of news. It was easier to deny it, to tell herself that it was stress, that she was imagining things but after two previous pregnancies, she knew deep down what was happening inside her, even if she hadn't yet peed on a stick to confirm it. Maybe tomorrow she'd tell him. She'd make an appointment. She'd--

"Han?" Lex reached for her hand, giving it a squeeze. He'd seen that shifting current of worry in her eyes and assumed that it was about him. "I'll be okay." He parroted her words back, forcing a smile. 

"I know," she nodded, blinking away the prickle of tears. "C'mon, let's go to bed. Tomorrow's gonna be a long day." 


"In this business, it's all about labels. Definitions an' suppositions, mostly. You dole out these bite-sized interactions, y'know? Tidbits on social media. Flash a smile here. Flip a bird there. The impressions start to form. You don't even have to articulate an' they already figure they got you pegged. I've always been against that kinda nonsense in the most anarchistic way – I discovered punk music at the right time, I guess. Formative years an' all that jazz. It's all about the misdirection, about swimmin' upstream when the rest of the happy little fishes are goin' with the flow. Make a few ripples… turn 'em into waves. People start to notice an' then you got all the power. I usedta call it 'sleight of mind' but it kinda came off a little hokey. Contrived, I guess. Now, I just do it on instinct, without really thinkin' too much on it. I post what I fuckin' feel like on social media and I mean with Twixxer being a raging inferno of a dumpster fire these days, it's easy to fly under the proverbial radar. Not sure anyone knows I'm still alive, still active. I pop in from time to time, say what's on my mind. I don't bother with the filters an' self-censorship 'cause what the fuck's the point, really? The first impression already happened when I fell flat on my face. And I mean, I could trot out the excuses, but the truth is that I wasn't ready. Mentally, I fucking tanked. I blew up backstage right after I puked my guts out in a way I hadn't since I was a green-as-grass rook back in 2003. Jesus wept."

Sigh.

"So, regardless of whatever I say here and now, you already have this idea of what I'm all about. Reputation precedes me, but it comes off like a wet fart of hyperbole and disappointment stinking up the place. Was supposed to be a softball, a gimme to get my foot in the door. And now I feel like a tool. I feel like I'm behind the 8-ball, all this pressure on me and I'm slated to face a dude lusting after a championship, a dude who just beat Apathy... someone I watched go the distance against by dude Big E at last year's Fenix charity event in Hawaii. Fuck me. What a welcome, indeed." 

There's a soft and rueful chuckle followed by some kind of creak. A chair? Leather? An old floor? Impossible to tell and maybe that's intentional.

"So maybe reputation precedes me. Maybe a few of you bothered to throw my name into the ol' Google machine. Maybe you came up with some shitty footage from places nobody cares about anymore. All these times where the underdog got beat down an' beat in an' beat on 'til he couldn't take it anymore. Maybe you saw the time I fought off a hell of an onslaught in Norfolk. Maybe you saw the cage match in 2017, saw me bloodied... saw me fall from an impossible height with that damned championship in my hands only for it to stop matterin' ten seconds later when the place folded. Now you're prob'ly gonna pause this, open another tab an' start lookin' shit up. 'What place does he mean? What gold?' An' that's the rub, ain't it? 'Cause there are several. There's a whole fuckin' alphabet soup of bullshit in my past – none of it matters much these days. I don't care. You don't care. We can just agree that it's best to let accolades rest. I know, I know… seems counter-intuitive, don't it? I should be campaigning, right? Tell you how I'm the right man for the job an' then you can rake me over the coals as a hypocrite. Can't say I don't care, then trot out all the bullet-points. Can't pretend like I'm some washed up scrub then tell you how I won six championships earlier this year, four of which I'm still in possession of. Whoopsies. My bad."

A derisive snort serves as punctuation.

"I could say this' just another match, y'know? More verses of the same survival song I've been pennin' since I don't know when – I could say that, yeah. I won't. I figure actions speak louder an' we already talked about how the first impression's been forged long before now. I am who I am. It's not on me to show you that, to play simpleton with my cards turned the wrong way out. Nah. It's on you to play the game, see what's real an' what's just a hell of a bluff. We make money on this shit, after all. This is my livelihood I'm waxin' poetical about. Tell me I'm gonna fail, I'm bitin' off more'n I can chew."

He drags in a deep breath, the words coming out slower now, more crisply pronounced like he's making the effort to come across clearly. That lazy drawl fades a little, the cadence of his words shifting from midwestern to urban.

"I've heard a million variations on the same theme. I've seen so many of you claim you don't care about your opponents and then ramble on at length about them, each syllable oozing with hypocrisy. The more you talk about it, the more I know you care, the more I know you FEAR. Maybe you're not so clever. Maybe you really are the wash-out loser they think you are. An' hey, if the shoes fit... go for a walk in 'em. Keep going 'til you hit the street, the city limits... the edge of the state. Keep going right out the door 'cause it's easier than me havin' to prove to you're a liar. They like to talk about how Finn Whelan tore me down in WWH. Even now, almost a decade later, people still throw that in my face. There's a handful of losses I'm never gonna recoup and y'know what? I'm at peace with that. Whelan is good. Better now that he broke free of the shackles of that vampiric twatwaffle - not gonna name names. If you know, you know. My wife was quick to remind me that 2019 was a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away. And the truth is, that was a weird time for me. I don't remember that Lex anymore. He was broken. He was walking wounded. He was a raw nerve that couldn't stop firing, a wound that wouldn't stop bleeding. Back then, I was on borrowed time. I always expected the burn out to happen. See, I always saw myself more as Icarus 2.0. The wings're better, new an' improved but eventually under those hot, hot lights... the unforgivin' spotlight of the sun's gonna melt 'em. I've got no delusions of grandeur going into this company. I know I gotta start over on the ground floor and for me, it's another day of the life I lived for seventeen years. It's the prospect of violence where my main goal's to stay alive, stay ahead of the game. I'll get back up. I've done it before an' believe me: I know all the steps to this dance. I keep fooling myself, lyin' about how I only do this 'cause it's what I know. It's more'n that. A world where I get hurt, where the punches rain down and only the strong survive is the ONLY world that ever made sense, much as it pains me to admit. That's why I keep coming back to this. That's why I can't hang up my boots for good."

There's a soft clearing of his throat and when he speaks again, he sounds hoarse, as if that soft-spoken voice is straining against a strong emotion.

"The last year, I've been writing a new story. I've been pushing back harder than ever, and I stopped pulling punches. I've been going day to day, doing the work 'cause it's what I know. I know that if I keep movin', I stand a chance. Can't stop. Won't stop. Always find my way back to this shit. I needed a spark. I needed fire in my belly, passion – that's what was missin' after I parted ways with RSW. It got too easy, too much of the same an' maybe the fire never went out. Maybe I just stopped feeling. Don't matter much now. I know why I'm here… why the nomad rode up in this ol' forgotten territory one more time. Nothin' I learned in the past's got any bearing here. It's been five years since I last saw some of you and I'm sure you won't remember me. If you do? Won't help any of you. Peter Pan grew up. Icarus lost his wings, permanently grounded. But he can still throw a punch. Can still make it burn, like fires in their hearts and incinerate the liars an' frauds out there. And maybe I'm here at the right time. The right place. You need me. This business still needs me and I'm gonna fire it up 'cause there's no yesterday an' no tomorrow. Not between those ropes. There's just this perfect moment awaitin' us out there. Test yourself. You wanna be champ, Kronin? You wanna climb the ladder and plant that flag? See if you can beat me first. Promise you it'll be harder this time since I'm fully invested. You do that, you keep my shoulders down for the 1-2-3, and I'm sure they'll give you whatever you want. C'mon man. Let's set the world on fire. Let's steal the thunder from that main event. Whaddya say? You in or what?"

The video cuts off there, the REPLAY and SUBSCRIBE buttons popping up on either side of that black rectangle.