▶One last stop.
“I don’t know, Doc. I do everything they ask of me. I wanted to quit months ago, but no, they needed me to stay. Needed me to be the golden ticket. They actually told me that they see no one else in the top spot.”
“That sounds like a good thing.” The Doc responds, scribbling away on her notepad as Danny, laid out on the couch, keeps talking.
“Yeah, in theory. If that’s the truth, why do they keep stacking the deck against me? They want me to be the face of the brand, but they’re scared of me actually taking the top spot. I’m just not sure why.”
“Have you considered that there isn’t an issue? Maybe you’re just feeling the pressure of being back in a world you left behind?”
Danny couldn’t respond for a moment. He wasn’t contemplative; he was shocked. He actually sat up to look the doc in the eye before responding.
“If you’re suggesting that it is all in my head, how do you explain this week?”
“What’s the issue with this week?” She might as well have insulted him with the way his eyes flashed with fire.
“What’s the matter? You mean how the week before our world-changing title match he gets to put his feet up at home and do sweet FA while I’m sent out there to embarrass Caledonia again? He gets to shovel his fat face with poutine while I have to go to war with one of my greatest rival's… I forget. Sister? Wife? Concubine? Whatever she is to Highlander, I have to be locked inside a cage with her, and then I will be the monster for taking another one of CWF’s beloved chosen sweethearts and leaving her a bloody, broken mess one show before WrestleFest. How the fuck is that not weighted against me?”
“I’ve heard it said that you basically had the week off last week as you barely entered into that tag match.” The doc said coolly as Danny snarled at her.
“Did I ask to be booked in that? Did I ask to take part? In fact, if I remember, I asked not to be booked in that match at all, but does the brass give any kind of a shit what I actually want? So, no, I didn’t waste my energy beating a pair of fuckwits that I can outwrestle in my sleep.”
“Do you not see the irony of this?”
“Do I pay you to see irony, or do I pay you to listen?”
“Maybe you should hire an actual therapist?”
“Maybe you should fuck off?”
“Gladly.”
She stands up sharply, revealing herself to have been sitting behind the desk in her underwear. She calmly walks from the room, grabbing her clothes from a hook on the door and walking out into the office building as is. It was a Sunday, so the only person in the room to see the debacle unfold was Danny’s assistant, Amelia, who poked her head round the doorway a moment later.
“Shall I start looking for a new… er… therapist… for you?” She asked matter-of-factly, as if the sight she had just witnessed was pretty run of the mill.
“For now, I think I just need a couple of friends. Can you bring me Jack and Daniels?”
“No problem.” She answered with pep. Danny sat staring at the space where the doc had sat a moment before, not even looking up when a tumbler was pushed into his hand by Amelia.
“Thanks, lass.”
“No problem. Let me know if you need anything else.” She walked away, not bothering to close the door behind her. This past May had marked 10 years since he had hired her as his personal assistant. It was one of the first things he had done when he had been handed the reins to InpuInc. Never once had he regretted that decision.
Few handled his eccentricities the way she did. Even Claudia had her moments of wanting to, and occasionally following through on, flinging a shoe at his head when he’d pissed her off. Not Amelia though; nothing fazed her. He’d taken a chance on a cherry-cheeked, stars-in-her-eyes go-getter all those years before, and she’d lived up to every one of his expectations. Hell, she’d exceeded every expectation.
Exceeding expectations was something he knew a lot about after all.
=//=
“You know Cali, I thought a lot more of you than this. A good little soldier. A puppet for the regime. Do you know that’s what you’ve become? A shining star in the dismal depths that was CWF’s post-Ripper malaise, at least, so I’m told. Didn’t really keep up all that much back then.
I sort of saw some of that when you and I collided during Infernalia. Of course you fell, and you fell hard, but that’s expected. But still, there were some bright spots. You had something, but I feel you hadn’t found your stride yet, mostly I think, influenced by the Herbert-Sanderson mind-fuckery that we were part of then, but you had something. I know this because, come Golden Intentions, that spark was present. By the time we locked horns, you’d shown the world that you had that Highlander spirit. Of course, I crushed that spirit, but still, it was there.
It would almost make me excited for this match, despite this being the most obvious play yet to wear me down ahead of WrestleFest. Almost, except there’s one issue for you. You’re finding your stride again, becoming the powerhouse former CWF champion we all know you to be. The problem is, so am I.
And Cali baby, if I’m at my best, God himself takes a knee.”
=//=
It had been a good half an hour since Danny had bade a swift goodbye to his friends Jack and Daniels. He’d walked out of his office, asking Amelia to get his car ready for him. What he meant by this was that he wanted the valet to bring his Lambo around. What he stepped out to find was Giovanni, his newest driver, waiting by the Bentley. He couldn’t help but smirk to himself. Of course she wasn’t going to let him drive. Sure, he would still be under the legal limit, but his mind wasn’t exactly straight and trying to navigate New York traffic half-cocked wasn’t the smartest plan. It was times like this that he really appreciated having the support network that he did. His mind wasn’t exactly his best friend and had a habit of working against him. Feeling a little more chipper than he had a minute ago, he greeted Giovanni and slipped into his comfortable back seat, next to which was already a tumbler filled with a beautiful-looking orange liquid. That smirk spread, almost into what one would consider a smile.
“Fancy a road trip, Gio?”
“I’d love one, sir.”
“Then take me to Bridgeport.”
“Very good, sir.”
=//=
“You know Cali, we’ve crossed paths a few times in the last few months, haven’t we? It’s getting to the point that I don’t really know what to say about you any longer. I’m bored. I don’t want this match. I don’t need this match. I have something actually important to prepare for. You know, actually taking this corrupt company and remoulding it in the image of real champions.
But no, instead of getting ready for that, I have to waste my time with you again. I get it. I really do. Most of these half-wits couldn’t hang with me for more than five minutes. They know you can’t beat me, but that isn’t the point here, is it?
They won’t give me someone I actually want to fight, but they need to give me someone who can keep me busy for ten minutes. So, I get you. Again. Yawn.
Please understand this though, Cali. My issue may not be with you, but I am going to take my frustration out on you. I’ve got to be focused against Gordy. Not because he needs my attention, but because even I can’t predict how they’re gonna stack the deck against me. That means I need to clear my mind of the bloodlust. This week I let loose.
So, what I am going to do is I am going to take that pretty little face, and I am going to use the cage as cheese wire. I am going to make you pay for your part in this. I will leave you alive, able to have your arse easily handed to you by MJF. Your compliance in trying to take me out before WrestleFest will go down as the single greatest mistake in your career. Hope it was worth it.”
=//=
“You know Gio. I don’t get what all the fuss is about.”
“It seems quite uninteresting when you just look at it, doesn’t it?”
“It’s just a glass front. I mean, at least if you’ve got that fuck off massive double W logo you could at least make that the focal point? Biggest company in the business my ass.” Danny scoffs as he turns away from Titan Towers.
“I’m hungry dude. This road trip was far less interesting than I thought it was going to be. Impeccable driving though, my man. Fancy a burger?”
“I would love nothing more, sir.”
And so, they did. Looking a little out of place walking into the nearest mid-range burger joint that Google directed them to, the two of them ordered, sat and actually conversed, getting to know one another. Danny had a rule of getting to know the staff that worked closely with him. Not out of paranoia or judgment, but because he enjoyed getting to know them. There’s no agenda when someone is already paying you. There are no angles; you just wanna do a good job, and so those who did, he wanted to keep around. Getting to know them was a big part of that.
As Gio had only been with Danny a few weeks at this point, there really wasn’t a lot they knew about each other. Giovanni found himself surprised at just how down-to-earth and normal his boss seemed. After all, before he became an employee, Gio was a fan. He had watched Danny break limbs, slash bodies, stomp in heads. He’d seen the man across from him scream with mirth as blood poured down his face. Here, though, across from him, was just a dude chowing down on a double with extra cheese and bacon. He’d heard the promo pieces in the back of the car. He was essentially threatening to shorten the life of Caledonia, but right here, just a dude with a ketchup blob on his well-manicured beard.
“Don’t try and make sense of it.” Danny answered the question that hadn’t been asked.
“I…” Giovanni began to respond, but Danny waved him off nonchalantly.
“Or that. It’s just the way things have to be.” Danny finished with a tone that told Gio to not pull on that thread.
“So, Boston. Tell me about it.” Danny turned back to Gio as he asked. For the next 30 minutes, as they finished their lunch, the two discussed their upbringings. They were pleasantly surprised to find that they had very similar childhoods, a fact that only unsettled Gio more. Still, the time passed quickly and soon they were back in the car, rejoining the road to take them back to Bridgeport.
=//=
It seems that metal is the theme of my month. Last week I turned that piece of shit trophy into a hub cap; in two weeks I stand over the carcass of Gordy King lifting that golden prize above my head, and then we have this week. Steel. A ring encased in it. A personal dungeon for you and me, Cali.
A steel cage match between two of the best CWF has, on the go-home show before the biggest event in CWF history, and we throw this in there. It seems the pencil has been gleefully exchanged for a controller as we launch 2K GM mode and book the biggest match possible that isn’t a world title match.
One thing I will say is this will wrap a lovely little bow on what has been low-key one of the greatest feuds in this era of CWF. I know it doesn’t get talked about much, of course not, why would it? But we have shown the world what we are all about, haven’t we?
Usually at this point, the promo guy would talk about how the scores are tied and how much we’re looking forward to really finding out just who is the very best. Yay for true competition, right?
Except, there’s a problem there. By my count, I beat you in the tournament. So that’s one-nil. You then got added to the World Title Match without purpose, explanation or reason and you won that one. Didn’t beat me though did you? No contest. One-nil. Then there’s the aforementioned Golden Intentions, where, despite all the excuses in the world that you muster about how heroic you were, I still shoved your ass off that rope and sent you crashing to a resounding defeat. Two-nil Ripper.
Now, I know you Aussies… wait. Are you Aussie? Carlton spends his time ruining the good name of Great Britain; are you one of us? Shit, I sure hope not. We have enough disappointments already... where was I?
Yes, right, you can’t beat me. That’s the point. That’s proven. In the bag. Finished. Caput. So let me ask you this. When I beat you again, when you have to be helped out of that ring, what does that prove for me? You have everything to earn here. If you can beat the next world champion, you go into your WrestleFest match with momentum on your side. What do I get? Proving I can beat you again? Pointless. I’ve lost count of how many times I have beaten a Highlander. This match only serves one purpose for me. To give me a chance to show Gordy King just how deep in the shit he is. Caledonia Highlander. For one last time. I’m gonna fuck you up.”
=//=
“So, what you’re saying is, if I can get the Lambo here in one piece by Friday…”
“Then I will get you some front row seats for WrestleFest, yes.”
“OK. Great. I’ll get going. I will see you Friday!” Giovanni nearly tripped in his excitement getting back into the Bentley.
“I should fucking hope I see you before then. It’s a 3-hour drive. And it’s Monday.” Danny mumbled as he turned to face this week’s arena. It ain’t no Madison Square Garden, but as it would be the last arena he would ever leave, not as a three-time world champion, he wanted to soak it in, just a little. Every arena, every show. It had become a ritual since returning to 2026. After all, every time was likely the last these days.