PRESS versus LUKE KNUX

Press’ face was washed in an eerie glow from the computer display in front of him, and the scrutiny in which he reviewed the webpage he was staring at gave him a ghoulish appearance. On the screen were the brackets for the PAW Championship Tourney, along with the current card set to take place in Shreveport. It would be the first round of the tourney, and for the second time, he had made main event. Not only that, but his partner had been entered into the tourney as well, luckily on the opposite end of the brackets from himself, and would be facing the resident self-proclaimed censor of PAW.

He knew that Luke Knux would be out for revenge in their match up. How could he not be? The announce table shenanigans had cost them a $1000 fine from Xayachack, but Munin had covered the cost, saying that they had just been doing what it is that they did. Besides, all in all, it was what was right for business. Between their attack on Knux, and the devastating consequences that followed Cross Recoba in the main event, The BombTrax had put their mark all over PAW’s marketing department. If it was destruction that sold tickets, then these two were top draws.

Thanks to Recoba they were $20,000 richer, which made what followed the main event that much sweeter. The only thing that could have topped their end of the show would have been if Unreal’s plan had been allowed to reach fruition, in which, he supposed, none of them would be sitting around today thinking about the future if it had. He couldn’t help but allow a snicker to escape at the thought that the entire PAW universe owed a debt of gratitude to a fucking monkey.

His eyes drifted along the page and came to rest on another name that burned into his mind. Alex Cross. He could feel his neck muscles tighten at the mere thought of the cocksure son of a bitch that Munin continued to coddle, despite the fact that he had disappeared for two weeks of recoup without a word. She hadn’t really been herself since he’d been gone, and even though he knew that it shouldn’t, it gnawed at the big man’s insides. Just like he knew, deep down, nothing good would come of these pesky feelings that continued to surface when it came to the exotic beauty.

Feelings that he hadn’t even considered until one sweltering day under an Arizona sun at a worn down carnival. The BombTrax had went there to discuss getting themselves back into the business with the local operation, but instead were there just long enough to destroy half of its roster. Their relationship with The Lady had seemingly formed out of nothing, yet the more they interacted with her, the more they realized that she had more in common with them than just wrestling. At times she even seemed to enjoy their company, which was a rarity, for him at least, considering he often made it difficult for anyone to get to know him.

Their meetings were always veiled under the guise of business, but had a way of turning casual, like old friends just getting together to have a chat. It helped that they apparently knew some of the same people, although they didn’t realize it until circumstances brought them together, and that these same people considered both parties family.

Yet there was also the writing on the wall that wasn’t so visible, at least not to the Lady. She didn’t know about their mission, a fact that wouldn’t be a surprise, considering that they took great care to keep it hidden, but one in which she seemed to be covertly involved in, non-the-less. Samedi had seen it right away when Fate showed itself at the Crossroads, tying the four of them together in the not so subtle way that the universe often employed. Before that, the conversation with her friend Jin, a herbalist and martial arts instructor who also happened to be the matriarch of a band of generational hunters.

Everything about the situation made it seem clear that she had a greater part to play in the men’s life than they had prepared for on that day in late October. What that part was, exactly, was the thing that grated at Press’ nerves.

Fate was usually always subtle, but there were times it could be downright vague. This was one of those times, and he didn’t like it. Youth hated it even more, convinced that as far as they were concerned, Fate had a major hard on for the two men. One that would eventually snatch any kind of happiness that they could possibly obtain in ventures where it was obvious that destiny was involved. As far as Youth was concerned, Fate, was never a good sign.

Press understood where his pal could get that notion, but wasn’t whole heartedly sold on it. After all, if it hadn’t been for fate they would have never met. Never formed a tag team. Never had any of the success that they had garnered in their careers, albeit little in the last several years. If it hadn’t been for fate, he would have never met Tammy.

The thought of his former love elicited a new bout of feelings mingled with a little dread. He knew that was part of his problem with Munin, the reason he was always so curt, quick to escape anything personal. Tammy had been the love of his life, hell, maybe still was, seeing as he hadn’t been with anyone since her. Thirteen years was a long time not to have anyone of the opposite sex in your life, but at this point, even trying seemed like more trouble than it was worth.

The thing that set the situation apart from others was that he couldn’t find any real contempt for Tammy. Experts on the subject said that most break ups went through the same grieving process as a death in the family.

First came denial, a disbelief in what was transpiring. Then anger, which Press was never in short supply of, even back then. Bargaining was the next step, one that he had never really allowed considering the circumstances. Next came depression, which came with its own form of denial, as Press felt he had every right to feel what he felt when he felt it. And then, finally, came acceptance. The hardest of pills to swallow.

The problem with these experts and their steps to grief was the fact that they were derived under set conditions, under one set of circumstances. What happened between him and Tammy wasn’t a break up, it was a separation. In a lot of ways she didn’t choose it, and he most definitely didn’t want it. It wasn’t because of a loss of love or commitment on either one of their parts, or because of some sort of infidelity or misdeed. It was a matter of faith.

When their time with the Arch-Angel Redemption was at an end, and they were set free to go back to their old lives, Press and Youth had doubts about the service that they had just been a part of. They had been asked to do a lot of dreadful things, all in the name of God’s will, and had executed the tasks without hesitation. In their changed states, their divine selves, everything was clear. But once made simple flesh and blood again, those uncompromising values slipped through the cracks to reach conscious. The conscious of what was really right and wrong despite the evidence of divine sway.

Yet, Tammy did not waver. Not once. Her faith in the cause, her faith in Redemption, her faith in God was sincere, genuine, and complete. For her there was no doubt, and so when it came time for them to return to the mortal coil, she was granted a pardon to remain behind. To remain in Purgatory, with Redemption, as his servant and caretaker. When she said goodbye she had told him to move on with his life, to live unhindered and free. She had also told him how much she loved him, and always would. That for her, their love was one of the largest reasons behind her faith, and why she had to remain.

He couldn’t very well argue with that, but at the same time it left him in a very human condition. Lonely. Sure, he still had his partner, had a part to play in the grand scheme of things, and a mission. But he didn’t have her to share it with. He felt cheated, like their time together had been cut too short. He was angry about a lot of things, sometimes even angry at God, but above all that idea loomed at its core.

In the beginning that anger was used as fuel to get through to the next day. Later it would be used in the mission. But as weeks stretched into months, and months into years, loneliness began to seep into the anger, blend with it. Churn it up so much that the only way to find any relief was when he was cleaving off some vampires head, or sending another evil spirit back to hell. But there wasn’t enough evil in the world to make him forget about Tammy, and for whatever reason, no matter how hard he tried, he could never stop loving her.

Acceptance was a long process, but isn’t always one that is constant. You can go years without thinking of someone or hearing about them, and then one day you run into them at the grocery store, and although the feelings aren’t exactly the same, nor nearly as strong, there is a slight pull just beneath the heart where the soul resides that reminds you that, at one point or another, you cared for that person, and perhaps always would.

So he often went through periods of acceptance, trying to avoid the subject at all costs, putting it out of his head with sheer force of will. He was even happy sometimes, though he went to great lengths not to promote it. Two main events in a row for instance. A good shot of top shelf whiskey. An opportunity at a championship. A good meal with his partner. And of course, anytime he ended up around Munin.

He frowned at the thought, realizing that was a double edged sword. Definitely mixed emotions if nothing else. On one hand, the opportunity to see Munin excited him, gave him a feeling of elation. On the other hand, it elicited a feeling of dread, which if he was being honest, was just a fear of the unknown. And there were a lot of unknown factors when it came to the Lady. Enough of them that he knew he would have to be cautious, despite what his young partner might think.

If it were up to Youth, he’d shove the big man right at her.

Press grinned at the thought of that, and shook his head at the absurdity just about the time that Youth rounded the corner into the kitchen, and flicked on the overhead light. He jumped at the sight of Press sitting over at the table, placing his hand over his heart and taking in a deep breath.

“Jeez, dude! Somebody needs to put a frickin’ bell on you!” he exclaimed, opening the fridge and fumbling around until he produced a bottled water. He turned back to examine his partner for a minute, and then raised his eyebrows in question. “What are you doing sitting in the dark anyways?”

“I was just checking the website to see what they have cooked up for us this upcoming show.” Press replied with a smirk. “Should be interesting.”

“Oh, yeah?” Youth questioned in a serious tone, his interest suddenly peeked.

“Yup. Looks like we’ve both been signed up in a tournament for the PAW Championship. First round matches take place on this card.”

“Hell Yeah! Who’d I draw?” Youth asked excitedly, damn near bouncing around the kitchen.

“Ian Wright.” Press responded dispassionately.

Youth slowly stopped his victory hops, and settled against the counter on his elbows with a confused expression. “Who?”

“You know, that guy who came out and said he was the savior of Purity, a real ‘Puritan’. As I recall, he mentioned us. Yeah, yeah….” Press grinned, and pointed his finger in emphasis. “He made a flaming comment about you.”

Youth stood there for a moment with a look of utter disdain, and slowly began to shake his head. “Every god damn time. Do they not get it! It was the 90’s, it’s the gimmick they came up for me in TCWF. Now you very well can’t change a gimmick after it’s already caught on, it would just fuck with your success. I mean, you’d think that in this day and age with all the civil rights bullshit that a comment like that wouldn’t fly anymore.”

“Well if it’s any consolation,” Press remarked, a grin still smeared across his face. “The fans did boo when he said it.”

If looks could kill, Youth’s eyes were spraying bullets in Press’ direction. “And just who the fuck is your opponent?”

Press winked, and flipped the lap top around so that it was now facing his partner. “Read ‘em and weep!”

Youth stared at the screen, and reached into either side of his scalp with his fists. “Main Event! AGAIN!! IF…..I didn’t know any better, I’d swear you were fucking the boss!” Youth exclaimed, but then brought his hands to his side, a coy grin beaming from ear to ear. “But, I do know better. Pussy!”

Press indignantly turned the computer back towards him, and grunted in response before saying, “Maybe you should think less about my lack of a love life, and more about your opponent. Feel like taking a trip to the park tomorrow morning?”

Youth took a sip of his water and started for his room while speaking over his shoulder in response. “Sure. I wanted to check out the new Haunted Mansion now that it’s finished anyways. I’ll set the alarm clock for nine. No reason to get up too early. I’ll need my beauty sleep if I’m going to be on camera tomorrow.”

“Yeah, you’re not flaming at all.” Press chided at his departing partner.

“Whatever.” Youth retorted as he disappeared through the door. Just as Press was about to turn the computer off, Youth’s head shot around the corner, and he spat, “At least I’m not a pussy,” before slamming the door before anymore insults could be hurled. Press smirked, hitting the power button, and made his way to his bed.


Brandy Irving stood in one of the production departments office with her feet firmly set, her knee’s bent, and her throwing arm poised with a dart in her hand. On the wall in front of her hung three portraits; A Brandon McKay head shot with a few pin holes already decorating the journalist’s smug smile, a picture of Unreal with her hair up in braids and a baseball bat slung over her shoulders, and finally, an autographed 12x16 glossy of Sam Xayachack. She eyed all three with a vicious glint in her eye, and then threw her arm forward letting the dart fly. The pointy object lobbed through the air to land firmly in Brad McKay’s forehead, and she ‘whooped’ in victory after the new affliction.

The only thing that could have made this game any more fun was if these weren’t just pictures, but really the objects of her disdain. Unreal had threatened her not once, now, but twice. Brandon McKay was still taking liberties, claiming to be the voice of PAW, and so far, she had been with the company for a whole month, and had yet to have a meeting with her ex snuggle bug and current co-owner of PAW, Sam Xayachack. If she didn’t know better, one could surmise that he was purposefully trying to avoid her. She was convinced it was because of that Jezebel Unreal, but couldn’t prove anything, other than that bitch was crazy!

Just then, the door burst open to her office, and one of the camera operators, Frank, she thought his name was, fumbled into the room. He took in Brandy, with darts in hand, and then noticed her targets, while she stood there with hand on hip expectantly.

“What the fuck, Frank?! Do you know how to knock?” She spat icily.

“Sorry, miss, but you said you wanted to be notified if he showed up.”

“My Sammy’s here?!?” She squealed, throwing the darts on her desk, and rushing over to slip on her jacket that was thrown across her couch. When she turned around she could see Frank shaking his head ‘no’, and her excitement turned to utter disappointment. “Then who is it Frank?”

“That big one, from The BombTrax. He’s snooping around the offices, looks like he’s wanting to cut a promo or something.”

She sighed inwardly at the same time that she smoothed out the front of her jacket, and then looked up at Frank who was still standing in the doorway eyeing her. She could feel the heat rise to her face as she pointed out into the hallway, and screamed, “Well get after him you idiot! I need this interview if I’m going to dethrone Brandon Mckay!”

Frank stuttered in response, but upon seeing Brandy’s disgusted expression, turned on his heel and ran down the hall. She took in another deep breath, this time to help regain her composure, and then confidently strode towards the door and out into the hall. There was a loud commotion at the entrance to the production department, and suddenly Constance Church appeared, wild eyed and terrified. She rushed towards Brandy who sidestepped just in the nick of time as Church made her way for an emergency exit.

“Outta the way, bitch! That Yeti’s on the loose, and I’m out of here!”

Constance tore through the emergency exit, and was gone before Brandy could make any kind of retort. She shook her head, and then made her way towards the sound of cursing. When she rounded the corner, Press was looming over Frank, who looked like he was turning fifty shades of green and probably on the verge of passing out.

“Listen you dipshit, I’m not threatening anybody here. I just need someone to operate a camera while I say a few words. This is the production department, isn’t it?”

Before Frank could sputter out his response, Brandy swiftly slipped in front of him, damn near knocking him over, and held out her hand and gave an award winning smile. “Brandy Irving, here, and I think I can help get you what we both want?”

Press eyed this new thorn in his side with a grimace, and then looked from the woman’s face to her hand, and then back to her face. “I just want to do my promo and get out of here.”

“Exactly,” she replied, removing her hand after realizing that it had been poised there for too long without being taken. “And I want to be the one to conduct the interview. The PAW fans are brimming with excitement after what you and your partner did, and I want to be the one to deliver your first words on the subject.” Brandy edged her way around the big man, and pushed open a set of double doors that led into an empty conference room. “Come on in, and take a seat. Frank here is going to grab his gear.”

Press looked back to frank who offered him a goofy smile, and he just shook his head, before growling, and then stalking towards the room. “Fine, but this had better not take all fucking day.”

“Oh, it shouldn’t take long at all.” Brandy replied sweetly as Press passed her into the room. She then turned to Frank, and spoke in a venomous tone. “Frank! Get your shit, and get in here! YESTERDAY!”

Press eyed Frank, who almost ran into a support beam head first trying to scramble towards the equipment room, and then back to Brandy, who was now focused back on him with her most pleasant journalistic smile. He flopped down in the chair at the head of the table, and she slid into one of the seats beside him, crossing one leg over the other.

It didn’t take long for Frank to return, equipment slung over his shoulders, under his arms, and even attached to his belt. He quickly buzzed around the room setting up as Press’ fingers tapped loudly on the surface of the board room desk. Brandy just sat there, never moving, never flinching, that smile ever present on her face. The big man thought she looked like one of the wax statues that he and Youth had seen on the Rock N’ Roller Coaster.

Finally, with a mic positioned in front of the two seated people, Frank stood behind his camera, and gave the thumbs up that they were a go.

“Hello, everyone, and welcome to another exciting edition of PAW Extra!”

“Wait…” Press held up a hand, the other stroking his goatee. “The name of your show is PAW Extra?” He asked incredulously.

“It’s a working title, honey. I’ll edit that shit later.” She replied, tossing her hand around more than an Atlanta debutant. “As I was saying, I’m Brandy Irving, and I’m here today with one of the most talked about men in PAW, one half of The BombTrax, Press! Now, Press, many people feel that after what we saw on WICKED #2, that you and your partner, Flaming Youth, are a couple of wild cards. Is there any methods to your madness, or do you plan on just sticking it to anyone dumb enough to be caught in your way? After all, who could have guessed that you’d ever take a dive to Cross Recoba? Furthermore, how about the devastating attack on Luke Knux that you claim was because of our very own color commentator, Constance Church?”

Press shook his head, but leaned forward into the microphone. “You people get paid for this shit? Really? Let me break this down for you, Brandy, Constance Church has nothing to fear from us as long as she is fair and respectful. Hell, we don’t need her to like us, and if she wants to root for the other guy, that’s fine too. The point I wanted to drive home was respect. Respect for the talent, respect for the wrestling, and respect for the product as a whole. Simple as that."

Brandy snorted a bit before breaking into her next pitch. “You’re sitting her throwing the word ‘respect’ around a whole lot right now, but when it came time for your match against Cross Recoba, respect seemed to go right out the window. You took a dive in your first singles match here in PAW, in the Main Event, no less, all for what looked like a big stack of greenbacks. Is that your definition of respect?”

“Yeah, I didn’t see that one coming.” Press chuckled, rolling his eyes at Brandy. “You know, Youth and I just made a pretty big move to come out here to Louisiana from Vegas. Gave up home and hearth just to break new ground for PAW in the months that follow, and as with any new company, that sort of move comes on some shaky ground in the pay day department. So when an asshat like Recoba shows up wielding twenty thousand bucks, doesn’t seem like a bad pay off to me to give him the ‘W’. After all, it isn’t nearly as important who gets the 1, 2, 3, as it is who gets to walk out on their own accord. Last I checked, it was The BombTrax who walked on that encounter, while Recoba was carried out on a stretcher. It was a win/win for everybody.”

“Ooookkk! Not sure that Cross Recoba would view it that way, but the past is the past, and it’s time for us to talk about the future!” Brandy shifts in her seat, and leans forward conspiratorially. “The PAW Championship tournament is set, the brackets have been filled, the matches have been booked. Now, you and your partner are both listed as combatants in this tournament on opposite ends of the spectrum, meaning that if somehow you ‘BOTH’ get past the other participants, we could see a match between The BombTrax! How do you feel about that?”

“It’s a moot point, and a bridge we’ll cross when we come to it. It wouldn’t be the first time Youth and I have been pitted against one another under similar circumstances, and business is business. There’s not a match or a championship out there that could come between us, and here is no different. Matter of fact, despite what the mouth breathers around here may think, it’s a pretty good probability that ‘THAT’ match is exactly what you’ll see on St. Patricks Day.”

Brandy shrugged, and leaned back in her seat. “Alright, so on to this card, and the Main Event of the night, Press versus Luke Knux. Although this matchup is a part of the first round of the tourney, I think many people would agree that it’s also a grudge match for Luke Knux after that heinous power bomb through the announce table. You told him that it wasn’t personal, but after that kind of mayhem and destruction, do you really expect the viewers at home to believe that?”

Press smirked, jerked his microphone up from the table, and then moved around the desk to get right in line with the camera. Frank fidgeted nervously behind the apparatus.

“You know, Brandy, here’s the thing. I don’t give a fuck what anyone believes, especially Luke Knux. In our line of work people get dumped on their heads all the time, and usually for a lot less of a reason than what we gave ole’ Knuxy. But I guess that’s just it, ain’t it? What business you in Knux?”

All of the amusement fled Press’ eyes, and what replaced them were two baleful orbs that burrowed their way into the camera.

“You See, Luke, no fucking body understand why you’re in our ring. No, that’s not a fucking attempt to say what you said about Johnny Raike last week before he chopped your fucking ass down. Nah, I’m not saying I don’t know who you are, or that you’re not worth my time. Fuck no, man, I know exactly who you are. You’re Luke Fucking Knux. You’re a guitar hero, hell of a musician, a modern day Rock N’ Rolla! I wasn’t trying to shit you while you were crumpled at my feet, man. Me and Youth, we’re real fans. It’s no surprise to us at all that Sam and Munin would jump at the chance to get you involved with the park, you’re a super star. Instant Legend. I mean, we got Knuxy’s Castle, which is basically a place where fans can go and mimic living like a rock star. We got the Rock N’ Roller Coaster, which takes you on a voyage through music history, hosted by you and fellow musician Griff Hawkins. Not to mention it gives the park direct access to the Suicidal Scumbags, exclusive merchandise, and exclusive concerts. That’s not small town mom and pops shit, dude. That’s a chance at really skyrocketing this place into PPV and national recognition. So when I say I know who you are, hell, even why you’re here, you can trust me. Cause I just promoted the fuck out of you on my own dime.”

Press’ lip curled as he moved closer to the camera, his eyes now the only thing visible to accompany his voice. Frank could be heard whimpering.

“But that’s not what I fucking asked you, is it, Luke? No, I said, what fucking business are you in? Cause, Luke, I ain’t no rock star. I don’t sell the masses on sex, drugs, and rock n’ roll. No, my friend, I’m in the wrestling business, and I’m here to tell your musical little ass, that that ain’t no business that you want to be in with me.”

His eyes drove home the point, but just as quickly as the tone had changed, the big man took a few steps back, and settled against the table beside Brandy, who gave him a wide berth. He chuckled darkly for a moment, and then flicked his nose with his thumb before looking back into the camera.

“That isn’t to say, Luke, that I’m not my own commodity. That I don’t have something to bring to the table for the park. That I don’t have my own draw, my own steam, my own brand to market, cause I do, Luke.”

He nodded, while giving the camera a disturbing grin.

“And at Wicked #3, you’re going to get a chance to find out just what it is I’m selling.”

He dropped the mic on the table before methodically making his way towards the door and disappearing from view. Brandy stared at the microphone on the table, up to Frank who just stood there, a dumb expression on his face, the camera still rolling. She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes as the realization set in that she had lost total control over that interview. She stood up abruptly, knocking the chair over in the process, and screamed in Frank and the camera’s face.

“WHERE THE FUCK IS SAM!?!?