The backstage atmosphere of the Monday Massacre live event was typical. However, most backstage crew were more than having their hands full with setting up for the match cards. Whether it be the audio and visual technicians discussing light fixtures or theme music related topics. Or the catering department making sure the eating area was stocked full for the superstars to catch a snack or two before or after matches. Cleaning crews continued to be on call assuring the showers and toilets were kept clean. The ring crew were busy moving around crates in the hallways. Then of course, there was the parking lot. A place where superstars were advised to take their smoke breaks and where BBW-issued greyhounds were parked. Such vehicles used to transport the mass of superstars from one venue to the other. Or simply from the arena to the airport to fly to the next city should the travel time be too taxing. These vehicles only suggested, as it wasn't uncommon for other superstars to travel to venues in their own vehicles.
One superstar in particular being Damon Pierce. Occasionally traveling from venue to venue in his own car. Other times, paying for other means of transportation to get places. He wasn't comfortable with the aspect of traveling with others in the same vehicle. Stemmed from the factor of having trust issues, a short fuse and impulse control problems. It didn't mix well with other superstars who were supposed to be his 'colleagues' or 'friends'. Damon didn't need friends. Damon didn't want them. A friend, to Damon, was someone who knew everything about you. From the dirty little details of your inner secrets, all the way to your personal life and family life. Damon didn't like that. A friend was someone who knew so much about you, that they could just as easily tarnish and ruin your reputation. A friend, was someone who knew so much about you, that they could embarrass you and expose all your personal information to whoever, wherever. Damon traveled alone, for that reason. The only one he trusted in life, was himself.
Leaning against what looked to be an old car which had fine tickets placed underneath the windshield wipers and rust seen everywhere, stood Damon. This car didn't belong to him, and judging by how it looked, it didn't seem to belong to anyone. The inside of the car was bare, no trace of anything left to show it had recent activity or previous owners remnants inside. Not a car key was found, nor was there any unlocked doors. Clearly, this car was left to rot and abandoned many moths or years ago. This car today however, served as a placement where Damon would bide his time and think to himself. After the brutal display of Damon striking Caleb in the back of the head during the first minutes of the match against Melissa. Down to the result of the match where Damon was seen ruthlessly utilizing the same chair Caleb had used against him to punish Caleb with. Endless chair shots, over and over. Only until the chair would finally bend and break in two would Damon stop his onslaught. It was the beginning, and the end, for Caleb. Damon got revenge. It felt good.
However, people were still curious. They still wanted to ask questions. They wanted to know why Damon was absent last week. Why did he interfere in Caleb's match and assault him from behind. Why did Damon let his anger get the best of him. What was next for Damon after such a brutal display of violence. So many questions were lined up to interrogate Damon with. Yet he wasn't in the mood to answer them. Scanning around the garage, Damon could see the various areas of interest a fight breaking out in the garage would serve to be utilized. A parking garage always served to be the best chance encounter anyone could have in a fight to the death, or even in a simple street fight. There was no telling just what might be hidden or found around such a massive or frequently used parking garage. Such random finds being what Damon had held in his hand at the moment. Such things as a typical black crowbar and a very much used, tattered, old and flaking soccer ball. Such a soccer ball Damon had been stripping the paint off of.
The crowbar was threaded through the gap between his belt and the fabric of his jeans along the side of his leg. The hook of the top of the crowbar placed over the top of the belt just to secure it. Holding the now stripped soccer ball with nothing but the felt of the ball seen in full display, Damon had begun to reach into his pocket for a Sharpie marker just as a camera crew had found him. In company with the camera crew, stood a BBW Backstage Interviewer who seemed to be uncomfortable being around Damon. "Excuse me, Damon? Damon Pierce. I was wondering if I could have a wo-". Not letting the man finish, Damon piped in with a question of his own. "What is, anger". Simple question. However, the man choosing to interrupt Damon's free time wore a confused look on his face. "Exc.. What?" the man asked. Damon, now uncapping the Sharpie marker and pressing the cap against the opposite end of the marker to keep it in place, asked again. "I said. What, is anger". Once again, the man seemed to be confused and caught off guard.
Waiting for the man to prove to him that he had a set of brains, Damon began to press the ink tip of the marker against the soccer ball while keeping it in place. His clothing and look the exact same as it did last week when he had struck down Caleb. "Anger is.. is an emotion. It's.. a feeling". Good. The man did have a set of smarts after all. "Half-assed answer, but I'll accept it" Damon replied while continuing on to draw on the soccer ball. Doing so while continuing on with his response. "Anger is an emotional response related to one's psychological interpretation of having been threatened. It is our bodies immediate reaction involving a strong, uncomfortable and emotional response to a perceived provocation. An emotion characterized by antagonism toward someone or something you feel has deliberately done you wrong. Some say anger is a bad thing. Causing increased blood pressure and other physical changes. Some say anger can cause you not to think straight and do damage to your mental health".
If it weren't for the mask covering his face, a sinister smirk would be visible upon Damon's lips. Just when it looked as if Damon was done drawing on the ball, He soon began to draw up and down lines, connected, around the ball in a seemingly equal circumference. Once the lines had been connected right where he had started, Damon soon began shading inside the lines heavily until the entire top of the soccer ball was completely colored in black. Due to a move of the camera however, a slight glance at the side of the ball would show that Damon had drawn what looked to be an ear. An ear that he was now drawing the same, on the other side of the ball. If the crowd didn't respond to this odd situation and event, than the look on the interviewers face said enough. However, once he had finished his masterpiece, Damon capped the marker and looked up. "If that's the case, then why do I feel so good? Why does anger make me happy. Why do I find peace in anger and tranquility in aggression. Why, do I find myself loving what I have done?"
Slipping the capped marker in his jeans pocket, Damon now spun the ball around to display what looked to be a face that had detail work done to it. Realistic looking eyes, nose and lip structure, facial alignment, excetra. "This. is the face of Caleb Cammrack. Because he probably can't be here tonight due to me beating his a** in the center of the ring last week, I've given you all an example of what Caleb used to look like, in drawn form". Once more, the arena was rather silent in complete confusion as to what they were witnessing before them on the screen. The interviewer himself, now backed up a step. Especially now that it was visible to everyone that Damon had reached in his pocket again to grab a pocket knife and flipped it open. Taking a look at it for a few momentary seconds before turning the ball over and stabbing the very center of the bottom of the ball. Gashing a wide line which now exposed the inner stitching of the soccer ball. Folding up the knife and slipping it back in his pocket, Damon now pulled free the crowbar from his belt.
Pushing the hooked curve of the crowbar inside the soccerball to replicate what looked like a skull and spine, in a sense, Damon held it away from his body. "Hmm.." was the only thing that would be heard from Damon before two hands clutched the crowbar and slammed it down through the lid of the trunk of the car with an audible grunt. Piercing and bending the metal as the crowbar was stuck in place, Damon simply spun the soccerball around until the drawn face was facing him and the interviewer. Turning around, Damon now looked towards the interviewer with a gaze that nearly was seen ideal to the look that he gave Caleb before striking him a week ago. "What's the matter, Trent. You look.. scared". Damon asked the interviewer as the man now appeared more on edge and frightened that Damon addressed him by first name. "Are you scared, Trent? Are you?" Damon asked the interviewer as he took a step forward. Trent, taking a step back. "I don't.. Yes. Yes.. I am" Trent responded to Damon who stopped in his tracks.
"Good" responded Damon who now turned to look at the soccerball drawn with Caleb's likeness. Only to turn back at the cameraman who was getting a close-up of the drawing. "Consider this, my hypothetical 'head on a spear'. Caleb Cammrack, was my first victim. Let that be a lesson to anyone else who thinks that assaulting me from behind and making an example of me is a good idea". Turning away from the camera for a second, Damon reached down and slipped his hand underneath the car to grab ahold of a plastic gasoline can. Sliding it out from underneath the car with a grip on the handle and standing up once the gas can was clear of the bumper. "You want to know what the best thing about anger is? It incites fear. A fear of the unknown. A fear of the unexpected. A fear for your life. Anger and Fear. Once fused together, is power. Some allow power to get to their head. To control them. To inflate their ego or command the lives of others. Others, utilize the element of fear and aggression to destroy the lives of others".
Using his free hand to reach behind him and procure a Zippo lighter from his left back pocket, Damon began to click the lid of the Zippo open and shut. Simple flicks of his wrist, the spring of the Zippo lid would launch the lid back, then snap it closed a mere second later. Over and over. "In order to adapt in life, you need to become accustomed to change. You need to adhere to the environment. You need to ready yourself for the unexpected and become accustomed to the preexisting. Lives and times in BBW have started to change. What was once a safe place to have a match, now emits a violent streak of blood and betrayal. What was once a hardcore environment where even the hardcore enthusiasts could reign, now has become a death trap where every wrong move will get you sent in an ambulance". Damon slowly began to pace, ever so slowly, from one side of the car to the other. Not going as far as either side of the trunk within his pacing momentum. The BBW audience was witnessing a complete change in Damon Pierce tonight.
"I used to be guy who thought that the aspect of being in the big leagues would redeem me as a respectable opponent. Having left my blood, sweat, tears and shattered memories behind in the independent circuit just to get a lick of what it was like to join a well known wrestling company and find myself on the match cards nightly. What I found, was that no one cares about where you're from. No one cares if you were good in the indies or if you are a household name. No one cares, if you're all that you're cracked up to be. In this business, you evolve, you survive, or you die. Your reputation, dies. Your career, dies. Your livelihood, dies. Hell, find yourself feuding and angering the wrong person, you'll find yourself meeting the edge of a knife". A clear reminder to the BBW live audience as to the incidents that had happened recently. "I used to be the kinda' guy that would worry about what others thought about me. Worry, about what others saw in me. My wrestling potential. My background. My accomplishments up to this point".
Shaking his head, Damon soon turned his attention back to the gas can in his hand and began to unscrew the cap. Tossing the funnel and cap aside just to leave the contents of the gasoline inside the can exposed through the hole where the cap used to be. Raising the gas can over the soccer ball, Damon soon began to pour a generous amount of gasoline over the ball. Only for a moment or two, and then he soon progressively doused the entire car. Once there was no longer any remaining gasoline to be poured, Damon then lit the gas can itself on fire. Tossing the gas can on the roof of the car, Damon stepped back as the car burst into flames. The felt surfaced, drawn face of Caleb now engulfed in flamed. "I soon realized, everything burns. This is my coming of age tale. This, is my emerging from the flames like the rare phoenix. The once limited Damon, is dead. Cast into the flames of history. I now see life through the eyes of realization and self-preservation. I've already made one man suffer. Don't be the next victim".
Shoving past BBW's lead interviewer, the sound and sight of Damon clicking his Zippo would be seen through the camera following his departure from the burning car. What he had spoken to the live audience and done to the car, was nothing short of cosmetic. What he could do to a human being in the form of punishment and brutality, was genuine. His issue with Caleb began in the ring, and ended in flames. Flames that Damon himself had sparked and let run aflame in a bright glow. Crackling and rumbling from the roaring flames would maintain their level of audibility as Damon faded away from the camera angle towards the exit ramp. Where Damon was going, was of no ones knowledge. But what he had done while he was in the parking garage, was enough of a sign of things to come. If one thing was for certain, Damon no longer came to play. He came to dominate. Damon no longer came to make an impression, he came to leave a mark. Physically and mentally. Pain was his ally. Fear and Anger were his ammunition. Damon, was reborn.
