Now You'll Know Me

[cataclysm]

Personal Journal of Alexandr K. Mortimer
Entry Two
Tuesday, April 24, 2007

Now what?

Cataclysm failed against Brian Bruno at REBEL's "... In the Beginning." four weeks ago. Okay, nothing was ever said about Cataclysm plowing the competition over. It shouldn't even bother me as much as it does. It wouldn't bother me, either, if it didn't seem like Cataclysm couldn't care less. Obviously he's made some mistakes that need fixing; otherwise he can't possibly overcome the odds of his next match. A six-man ladder match for the REBEL Carolinas Championship!

As excited as I am for my friend, I can't seem to wrap my mind around the fact that if he loses we could both be finished. My neck is already saturated with the hot breath of "Mr. Terror" enough as it is. Cataclysm needs this victory more than he knows.

[ Alexandr K. Mortimer scribbles a neat, loopy signature before closing and storing the leather-bound journal. It's late in the one-bedroom hotel room in the Holiday Inn Express that Mortimer had acquired while they try to make permanent arrangements elsewhere. Neither manager nor wrestler - pardon me, martial arts technician - have slept. Mortimer lies on his bed in the main room wearing a plaid night coat and white night pants with thin red stripes running down them. Cataclysm sits awake on the green leather armchair in the corner. We see something we're not particularly used to; Mortimer actually doesn't have his laptop.

Mortimer takes a breath as Cataclysm observes him from behind the shadow of his hood. Mortimer folds his hands in his lap as he looks in the direction of his client. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: What are we going to do, my friend? I signed you up for REBEL knowing you’d make an impact. I signed you up because you requested it for the competition. But how can we make an impact with a zero and one win-lose record?

[ Cataclysm looks away. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: Obviously I know you don’t care for your win-lose record. You don’t care about making an impact. You enjoy the competition. But did you enjoy getting your ribs fractured on the unforgiving steel of that chair? Do you remember how long you were hospitalized because of Brian Bruno? Almost five days! And you’re just going to sit there and relax, without worry or care, and let the competition that you love walk all over you?

[ Cataclysm doesn’t seem to be listening. He sits there on the chair, looking out the window adjacent to him at the streets of Raleigh, opposite Mortimer. Mortimer has no more patience. He picks up an aluminum serving spoon from the tray on a room service cart and hurls it at him. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: [as he throws the spoon] Are you even listening to me?!

[ Just before the spoon is able to make contact with Cataclysm’s right shoulder (Mortimer’s not the best aim) Cataclysm’s hand shoots up and swipes the spoon out of the air without even turning his head to look. He tosses the spoon back to the tray where it lands neatly next to the half-eaten ham that the pair had enjoyed for dinner that night. Cataclysm did not even turn his head. Mortimer is sitting in his place with his arm outstretched from when he threw the spoon with his jaw to his chest. After what seems an eternity, Mortimer throws his hands into the air. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: That’s amazing! Tell me, how did you do that?

[ Cataclysm does not answer. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: It doesn’t matter. You don’t have to speak. I don’t want you to out-do yourself, you know?

[ Cataclysm didn’t catch the apparent sarcasm in Mortimer’s voice, or at least doesn’t care. He continues to stare out the window. Mortimer, meanwhile, is trying to find something else to throw at him. He finds an empty bottle of water, completed and filled quite a few times in the day by Cataclysm. Mortimer tosses the bottle, confident that he’ll see it again. This time the bottle travels high over Cataclysm’s shoulder. With no reason to move, Cataclysm stays put, gazing out into the street where the owner of an ’81 Honda Civic has just rear-ended a red Ford F-250. Oops. As the two men and their families fight outside, Mortimer sits on his bed, one eyebrow up, wondering why the hell Cataclysm didn’t do anything the second time. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: Do you know what? Your enigmatic behavior is definitely starting to tick me off.

[ Cataclysm turns his head and looks over his shoulder at Mortimer, who is now pulling the covers over himself. ]

Alexandr Mortimer: Good night, my friend. Please take this next contest seriously, okay? We can’t afford a winless record.

[ Mortimer turns off the lamp next to the bed and closes his eyes. In the darkness, Cataclysm is left alone. After a few moments, Cataclysm stands up and walks toward the door, taking a white card-key for the room with him. ]

[Cut. The streets of Raleigh. Cataclysm walks slowly along the streets busy with pedestrians, even at this time of night. Various cars lie parked on the shoulder, the odd two or three homeless people curled up in the shadows that they created. Cataclysm’s head is hung, hiding his face from passers-by. ]

Cataclysm: This may be the last time I speak in public, so listen up. This is something that Mortimer could never interpret to you.

[ It is difficult to tell Cataclysm’s nationality from his accent, as he very clearly doesn’t have one. He does not speak in monotone, but it’s still hard to tell. Just one more mystery in the book of Cataclysm. ]

Cataclysm: A few weeks ago, about a month, actually, I made my debut in REBEL Professional Wrestling. I fought and lost to Brian Bruno. Fine, it’s one loss, we can move on. But since then, I have not been booked, as I have neglected to ask to be booked. But just next week, I have a match that will definitely be the biggest of my short career. I will square off against five other men to climb a ladder and claim my first REBEL gold. The Carolinas Championship.

[ Cataclysm takes a right turn onto a crosswalk, into busy traffic, timing it perfectly so he reaches the other side of the street untouched, without even stopping or slowing his step. ]

Cataclysm: Now, if you know me at all, you’d know that I want absolutely nothing to do with that title. Of course, with that being said, it does no mean that I will avoid it. On Tuesday night, I will go out there, just like every other night, and give it my all. Why? Because I like the competition? Mortimer has absolutely no clue why I chose this life; a life in professional wrestling, or in my case, martial arts. As close as he is, he couldn’t possibly be farther away.

I fight because of something I want. It’s not glory, like most other men. It’s not fame, like most other men. It’s not gold or money, like most other men. What I want is respect. Now, I’m sure that my performance against Brian Bruno a few weeks ago earned me some respect. But come Tuesday night, at the Ladder to Success, I’ll make myself known.

Bruno has no respect for me because he fought me and won. Big deal, right? Listen to me very closely, Brian, it may be the same battle between you and I, but it’s a whole new ball game. On Tuesday, win or lose, I plan to earn the respect I deserve. You are blinded by this mission you’ve put yourself on, and you seem to have forgotten how it feels to lose. Perhaps it’s a good thing? I know you’ll regret it when you finally do lose.

Murcielago. Obviously this man has no respect for me; he doesn’t even care enough to get a good look at me. I am indeed a silent warrior, but how can you compare me to these “Immortals”? Tell me, how long ago was this battle between them and the Spartans? How about the “Six Day War”? My point is, whatever happened in history is irrelevant to Tuesday. Because when I step into the ring, not just with you but with anyone, I very quickly bring my opponent back to the present. The real life. And when they wake up feeling faint, lying face down on the floor, they’ll know what must have happened.

Then there was the comment about my “mask.” I don’t wear a mask, Murcielago, I see it completely unnecessary. Yes, I hide my face, but I respect myself enough to keep the rubber and plastic off. And honestly, what is with all the history lessons? My friend, it seems you are a bit behind on the times. You continue to dwell on the past when really you should be worrying about the future. Honestly, you tell this man he has a match and he gives you a history lesson. If you don’t mind my saying so, Murcielago, if your wrestling skill is, in any way, reflected by your ego, you should be first in line for the REBEL Heavyweight strap.

Matthew Kurtis. You seem like a fairly good guy. You take all of your opponents seriously… Well, almost all of them. You seem to be so sure that you can just walk in and walk out having known that you, as you so bluntly put, “kicked my ass.” Obviously, you do not know who I am as well. I guarantee you this much, the last thing you need to worry about is my ring attire. I don’t care how big you are, Matt, inside you’re just like the rest of them. Full of themselves, taking all the new talent for granted. But what happens when they actually step up and face the accused? That very man who you took for granted could be burying you tomorrow. You’re a good guy, and an incredible athlete, but you’re just so… well, to be frank… dumb.

David Banks. I must say your promos are… interesting. I find it incredibly strange that you managed to hold a press conference to talk about what? Drugs. And sex. David, if we wanted to hear about that stuff, we’d turn on the freakin’ Life Network channel at three in the morning. No, Dave -- may I call you Dave? Never mind, no we’re more interested to hear the cocky son-of-a-bitch “Chairman” that I’ve been hearing so much about. Seriously, Mortimer won’t shut up.

And finally we get to Clint Zellor. Now, I must say I know the least about this man than anyone. Well, I know about his past, thanks a lot to Mortimer. But other than that, really nothing.

[ Cataclysm stops in his tracks. The hotel is in front of him. He keeps his head ducked low, not that you can really see in the dim light of the street lamp high overhead. ]

Cataclysm: What I can say, though, is I’ve looked at this card and realized that I have been put into a match with five other guys that are easily bigger than me. Easily stronger than me. Easily better known. I look at the card and all I see is an opportunity. All I see is an opportunity to make a name for myself. To open a door that will lead me to the respect that I want. You see, I’m not in it for the gold. Not the fame, not the money. I just want the competition, and the feeling that I know that people know who I am. I want to be respected. I want to be known.

And I’m going to go into that ring, win or lose, and walk out respected by every man in there with me. By every man who will go to hell and back with me to become the Carolinas Champion. To be honest, I don’t care about the gold, take it. But there’s no way I’m giving anyone an easy battle. Not the attention-deficit David Banks, nor the hypocritical Murcielago. Not the ox-like Matthew Kurtis, nor the ever-confident and blinded Brian Bruno. Not even Clint Zellor can walk away from me without a battle they will never forget. Remember these words, all of you in this match, and Chad Kurtis, the man first in line: You are merely two-point-three-five-seven seconds away from finding yourself lying in Blue Ruin.

[ Cataclysm walks past the camera toward the hotel. The camera pans to follow him but stays put. With what little light you can see, you can see the camera fade to a definite black. ]