Tyson "The Alpha" Mel was an international megastar known all across the world. His exploits were damn near legendary in our business. Especially since he went pro less than fifteen years ago. He was also our company's reigning world champion, an achievement made roughly six months before my first dark match. Doing the math, this made Tyson Mel our company's longest title possessor out of the entire roster. No easy feat to accomplish, both in the ring and with backstage politics.
Tyson's youth was something of an odyssey. He was born in the United States to American parents. However they were Christian Missionaries and never fully found a place to call home. Instead they constantly traveled the world like religious gypsies. This gave Tyson an incredible educational background. Everywhere he went he was constantly learning. Languages. Cultures. History. You name it. Because of his ever flowing lifestyle, whenever asked where he was from, Tyson would respond: lots of different places. A response he would use with different global accents. A response that started as a joke and eventually became exactly how he was introduced before matches.
As he grew in years, so did his interests. During a time in Mexico, he was introduced to the style of Luchador wrestling. The amount of athleticism alone captured his attention. But the reactions from the fans captured his heart. From there he began to study other nations who took part in professional wrestling. He learned of the numerous greats all across the globe as well as hot spots where it was very popular.
When he was of age to leave his parents, his first destination was Calgary, Canada. After spending some time owning his basic and technical skills, Tyson moved back to Mexico. From here, he learned how to fly. The rigorous training was difficult but he exceeded expectations being able to defy gravity and wow the crowds. Afterwards he moved to Japan. It was here he learned what is known as "Strong Style", pushing the limits of what he could dish out, and receive. Tyson also dabbled in different forms of martial arts, which he soon incorporated into his matches. When Tyson felt fully content with his training years, all that was left was finding his place in the world. And so his journey as a complete wrestler was well underway.
In the years that came after, Tyson quickly gained the attention of fans all over the world. He found ways of blending all of his wrestling styles to perform at levels no other wrestler did before. Tyson became a literal prototype as a new breed of professional wrestlers came into existence. No longer were people being known as second, third, or even fourth generation wrestlers who followed in their family's footsteps. Instead, an entirely new generation rose in popularity. Captivating both old fans and new fans alike. These were wrestling fans who wanted to be professional wrestlers. And I am very much a part of this new generation.
Three months ago the company owner approached my friends and I about going for the World Tag-Team titles. Minutes afterward he asked me about going head-to-head with the World Champion. A question I would have been a fool to turn down. I admitted up front I wasn't sure if I was ready for such a thing. Both Anthony and Carmen reassured me now was a really good time to cash in on what was obviously trending.
My friends and I were already the most popular group in our company. Chasing the tag titles was an obvious choice. Plus reinstating the "Freebird Rule" was going to turn the wrestling world onto its head after their planned victory. But many fans were beginning to compare me with Tyson Mel. Exactly how, I didn't see it. Our styles were kinda' similar. But he was definitely far more athletic than I was. More acrobatic than I was. More technical. The list went on and on. The one thing, the only thing I could possibly think of that made us comparable was our popularity. And to be honest that made me worry. Not that Mel was ego driven. But it's acceptable to say almost anyone hates it when another person steps in their spotlight.
Our feud started two months ago. Almost three weeks after Anthony propositioned me to go after "The Alpha". The buildup was very well planned out. Each week Tyson would call out anyone who was a top contender for his title. And each week an unfortunate soul would get ambushed by Tyson's friends. Among them were the brothers Max and Jeremy Stag, The Stag Party. Having them involved would increase the interest of the upcoming tag title defense against my friends. Because Tyson and his crew were eliminating anyone rightfully eligible to challenge for his title, this would create the illusion he wouldn't have to defend his belt at the pay-per-view. We all had to give it to Anthony for booking such a creative trap for the fans to play right into.
The week after the third ambush, Tyson approached the empty ring with a mic in hand. The ten pound belt of plated gold and leather was slung over his shoulder. He strolled with great confidence. Truly believing he was untouchable. The fans cursed at him. Damned him. Swore he would get what was coming to him eventually.
Once he reached the ring he spoke into the microphone. Demanding all of the talent in the back to come out onto the entry stage. One by one everyone on the roster did as told. Man and woman alike. From here he demanded the people in the production crew to play a video package for all the world to view. The video was a simplistic but well edited montage of everyone who fell victim to his traps. Specifically the highlights of each ambush and the suffering that followed. Bret Locksley and Grizzly among the victims. When the video package was finished, "The Alpha" raised the mic to his face and began to rant.
"What you've seen is clearly me making a statement. And that statement is this: no one is on my level. No one can do what I do. No one is smarter than me. Nobody at the top of that ramp can take this title from me. Everyone who was meant to have a chance was obliterated before a match could be held. Do you know why? No, because if you did I wouldn't be in this ring right now having to spell it out for ya'. I took out each of those men because I didn't feel like having my time wasted."
The crowd became red hot. The chants of "FUCK YOU TYSON" roared like thunder. Anyone watching at home was most likely hearing the recognizable sound of an audio bleep to cover the fans' profanity. But there was no mistaking what they were saying. Each word was filled with venom. And it was also a miracle nobody took the act extremely seriously. Otherwise an arena containing close to twenty thousand fans would've stormed the ring and hung Tyson Mel up by his neck.
"Yeah, yeah, like I haven't heard that before. Most of the time it was from husbands after I just spent a few hours with their wives. But none of you people have to worry about that here. Damn near all of you are so butt ugly, I wouldn't put myself at risk of catching the latest S.T.I. floating around. What is it called again? Oh yeah, stupidity!"
This further infuriated the people in attendance. You had to give it to him. When Tyson was a good guy, he made you eat from the palm of his hand. But when being the bad guy, he wanted you to chop his whole arm off. He was definitely an asset to our company.
"Back to you losers at the top of the ramp. Not a single one of you are listed eligible for a title match. I've looked at the sheets. None of you are! But tonight, I'm feeling generous. Tonight, I'm feeling frisky. Tonight, I will make an offer. All it takes is just one of you. Just one. I just need one of you to step forward and I promise you, you will get a shot at the title. So who's it gonna' be?"
The talent at the top of the ramp didn't move forward or back. They stood there chatting among themselves. The video that played earlier had an effect on them. Tyson wasn't to be trusted. He could actually be a man of his word. But most likely he was inviting someone to walk into another beat down. The risk greatly outweighed the reward.
"What's the matter with you chicken shits? DO ANY OF YOU HAVE THE BALLS JUST TO MAKE ME BLEED?"
"I'm your huckleberry." my voice boomed in the arena's sound system.
The roster slowly split onto two sides for me to pass through, like Moses parting the Red Sea. No music was needed. The crowd alone would have drowned out my entrance theme. I walked past everyone on the stage and stood my ground halfway down the ramp. Mic in hand, I raised it upward and spoke.
"That's just my game."
"Then I guess you're next," Tyson smirked "get him, boys!"
It was a trap after all. And I took the bait. But I stood my ground. I never flinched. In fact I looked a lot calmer than I should have. I decided to keep moving forward and entered the ring. Tyson stood his ground as well, but a look of concern was showing on his face.
"I said get him!" he shouted into his mic again.
I stood a short distance away. Unfazed by his call for an ambush. I simply turned my head to view over my shoulder, slightly raising my eyebrow. Then my gaze returned to Tyson's eyes. Confusion washed all over his face.
The jumbotron above the entry stage started showing a live feed of events happening backstage. The cameraman was running towards his destination. When he finally got there, what he filmed caused the fans to scream louder than they did all night. It was Tyson's crew, each of them incapacitated by my friends staring right into the camera.
Chi-Town Brown stood over one man who was knocked out and face down on the floor. One of Chi-Town's boots was pressed into the man's back. Another unconscious man was on his knees, being held up by his collar. Ian Famous was holding the shirt in one hand, and tapping his baseball bat on the ground with the other. Lastly was Titan who had Max and Jeremy Stag slung over each shoulder, a giant grin on his face. Tyson's trap was broken.
