[updated:LAST EDITED ON Jun-16-03 AT 11:48 PM (EST)]Hands clenched into stone fists, he found himself planted in place. His eyes narrowed to unforgiving slits, he stared at nothing, his mind racing against itself. He had extinguished all other options, searched out every other possibility. Hopes that he could keep this quick, painless, and without public incident had come crashing down around him the moment he had concluded that his Prize wasn’t where it should have been.
His Prize ... that which belonged to him, by default if by nothing else.
Surrounded by the organized chaos that he called his “living space”, he realized fully that his self-imposed isolation; his under-the-radar attempt to stay out of the so-called “spotlight”, had to come to an end. Every cell in his being dictated it.
“War”, he simply muttered.
It wasn’t a declaration. Nor was it a suggestion. It was a CONCLUSION.
The time was right. Having been out of the ring for several months, he had fully healed from the brutal beating he received just after what should have been one of his biggest moral victories. He was ready to bring the battle back to those who had always opposed him. He was ready to risk everything; his freedom, his life, his cause. All of it. All for what was owed to him. All for what he deserved.
Relaxing his fists, he inhaled, eyes roaming the room and finally resting on a stack of bills on the coffee table. Letting out a tension-relieving breath, he picked up the bills and leafed through them, pulling out the Cable bill.
Thumbing through the envelope’s contents, he retrieved the pay-per-view calendar. An eyebrow raised when the letters “GXW” jumped out at him.
He smiled. It was fitting. They would know him. They would prepare for him. But god knows ... they would never be READY for him.
Max Blackshire swept the hair from his eyes. “War, indeed.”
His Prize ... that which belonged to him, by default if by nothing else.
Surrounded by the organized chaos that he called his “living space”, he realized fully that his self-imposed isolation; his under-the-radar attempt to stay out of the so-called “spotlight”, had to come to an end. Every cell in his being dictated it.
“War”, he simply muttered.
It wasn’t a declaration. Nor was it a suggestion. It was a CONCLUSION.
The time was right. Having been out of the ring for several months, he had fully healed from the brutal beating he received just after what should have been one of his biggest moral victories. He was ready to bring the battle back to those who had always opposed him. He was ready to risk everything; his freedom, his life, his cause. All of it. All for what was owed to him. All for what he deserved.
Relaxing his fists, he inhaled, eyes roaming the room and finally resting on a stack of bills on the coffee table. Letting out a tension-relieving breath, he picked up the bills and leafed through them, pulling out the Cable bill.
Thumbing through the envelope’s contents, he retrieved the pay-per-view calendar. An eyebrow raised when the letters “GXW” jumped out at him.
He smiled. It was fitting. They would know him. They would prepare for him. But god knows ... they would never be READY for him.
Max Blackshire swept the hair from his eyes. “War, indeed.”
