Princeton Haywood is without a doubt the most ignorant and ill-mannered dreg that KONSTANTINE had the displeasure of meeting. His words were always aimed to prick and annoy, nothing more than that. If he did say something of value in the rare blue moon, it would be tarnished the very next statement. With unruly brown hair, sunken eyes, and a wry grin that only portrayed perverse thoughts, Devin never understood why he was assigned to train him. Furthermore, he couldn’t find the answer to why Sirena hired him. She must’ve found humor in tormenting Devin’s ears with his senseless drivel, most of which was directed towards Devin’s age. Any sights of age and stress catching up with Devin was exploited for a cheap laugh.
If this was a few years ago, Devin would have sent him careening down some stairs. Fortunately for the bratty kid, Devin had found the capacity to disallow his instincts. No violence came to the boy--nothing severe, that is. Devin would smack him on the back of the head if he found his antics too embarrassing for public tour. Princeton would cry and whine, but it would calm him down. Over time, they established a fair relationship of irritated teacher and loudmouthed student. Despite his jeering, Princeton always found himself enraptured in Devin’s actions. He wanted to be like him in some measure, but Devin would deter him with a few simple words.
That’s a dangerous thought, Devin would tell him.
I’m a dangerous man, Princeton would reply.
A week before the next ASCENT show, Sirena gave Devin a task. Flying across the sea, he and Princeton went off to Russia to secure something for her. Princeton was way more excited for the affair than Devin was. Devin knew how this would all go down. Retrieving things for Sirena wasn’t a matter of simply going into a place and asking politely. No, Devin’s job description muted out what actually transpired on his jobs.
And Princeton helped in these endeavors in the only way he knew how.
His Russian gotten better, but his attitude didn’t improve with it. Devin dragged his hand down his face and reached for the nearest weapon. A shotgun, how quaint.
Princeton handled himself accordingly, striking the man in the eyeball with a knuckle. The eye rake gave him enough time to pinpoint key weak spots on the man who towered over him. Crafty, the young man was, picking up things that Devin used to do throughout his career. Princeton said he was a fan, and Devin was given proof that he was. Princeton swept the leg and stomped hard on the guy’s temple, either knocking him unconscious or sending him into a coma. He didn’t care either way.
Princeton wasn’t exactly a sweet boy.
He crept back to the car, humming “Rasputin”. It was another thing that irritated Devin. He had an ironic sense of humor that would drive many mad. Sadly, Sirena enjoyed it and thus Devin had to put up with it.
“You know, you should implore some of my tactics.”
“Why do you say this, boy?” Devin always stressed the latter, which only brought a sneer out of Princeton.
“Maybe you would win a championship? You’re like a bad porno with it. You get to the climax, but fuck up the money shot, I swear,” Princeton complained as he took out his weapon of choice, a pair of pistols. He spoke a vivid analogy, but something fell upon deaf ears.
“I don’t need anything from you. I lived your life before.”
“Yeah, and look where that ended you. You must have taken a wrong turn somewhere, Mr. Brando,” Princeton explained in a casual tone. Well, as casually as one kicking a door could. He fired two shots inside, waking up the compound.
“If I could be honest with you, you won’t get anywhere with that attitude of yours. Be like me, regress back a little. Show some of that old fire,” two shots into the charging brute. Devin cleaned up by firing a buckshot into the room, dropping two more people. Non-fatally, of course. They didn’t need a trail of blood; that’d be bad for Sirena’s reputation.
“This James Raven bastard thinks he’s the GOAT.”
That much was true.
“But you’re the man with the GM around his finger and waiting on your beck and call. Play it up--”
Princeton ducked underneath a flying wooden chair; Devin almost got caught by it.
“Be the man you’re trying to teach me to be! Not some old, sad prick!”
That much was true, funnily enough. Devin charged forward, driving his shoulder into the back of the last man standing. He fell out of a window, cracking his neck on the ground. If he was going to get up, he wouldn’t be able to walk properly for a good bit. Devin walked forward, seeing the parcel that Sirena wanted. Princeton brushed past him, grabbing it. He flipped in his hands and turned back. More cars showed up outside of the compound, which made Devin sigh.
“See? That sight? No good,” Princeton said, looking out the window, “think outside of the box and recreate what it means to be the box.”
They both made their exit through the window.
“Whatever the fuck that means,” the boy said.
As they returned to the car, Devin remained silent, sans for one question.
“You’re right,” he began, but he gave Princeton a look, “but answer this.”
Princeton’s eyebrow arched.
“How high are you right now?”
The boy laughed wearily and relaxed in the leather seat.
“Higher than you, old man, higher than you.”
“James, let me tell you the tale of another GOAT.”
“Well, actually, let me tell you firstly of the mediocrity of using that nickname. I feel like someone your age, with your experience, should understand this. You don’t, which baffles me. You’re not Muhammed Ali, Michael Jordan, or anyone else that has earned that moniker. In the world of professional wrestling, a title like that doesn’t exist. You might have won a world championship or a few like myself, but you can’t be the greatest of all time, except in your ego-riddled mind.”
“There’s always going to be someone better than you,” Devin flatly stated, “for instance, I’m going to prove that I’m better than you just like I did with the lead character in this story I’m about to tell you.”
“Once upon a time, in a place that doesn’t matter anymore, I met a young man like yourself. He was younger than you are now. Perhaps twenty-three or so, and he came from a family. Giovanni was their name, and when I met him, I saw this prowess immediately. Genetics and talent proved to make an argument for his overabundant proclamations of greatness. Every kid that gets in this business, with a fistful of dreams and an ego to break, says the same things that you do.”
“I’m the Greatest of All Time.”
“I am the GOAT.”
“Now, Bryan--that was his name--got more vocal with this over time. He especially got so when I was running through this federation with my second World Championship reign. One other man had that claim to fame and I beat him for it. In the universe in which we wrestled and thrived, my accomplishment and my victory must have given me the right to call myself that. I didn’t, but I spoke endlessly about how dangerous I was, and how far I came.”
“I never had the aspiration to be the greatest; I didn’t need to prove that. The greatest never have to say that they are. They have legions of fans, allies, and enemies that say it for them. Bryan Giovanni didn’t understand that; he only knew what he believed. Slowly and slowly, it grated on my last nerve. I had enemies to defeat that were way more important than this impudent, little worm. However, his skill gave him access to my realm, the top of the brand. That is where I had to deal with this narcissism, this egocentric mindset that made my eyes roll to the back of my head.”
“I had to recognize that he was a danger to my championship reign. He had submission prowess that I didn’t have, and still don’t in some respects. But I had something that he didn’t. Two things, really.”
“I had a championship that he wanted, which I made into the bait.”
“And most importantly, I had a certain level of sadistic attributes that made me a nightmare to a punk like him. I set the bait out, waiting for the hungry, young billy to take a nimble. He sniffed and gazed, hoping to be able to snatch away what was mine. He, the tiny kid that thought he was the apex predator, didn’t know that he had walked into the lion’s den. And the king of the jungle, the lion, was hungry and saw his meal.”
“GOATs, or rather, idiots like him make for such tantalizing meals. I ripped into his flesh, making sure that I broke the bone away. Ironically enough, the submissionist who preyed on arms got his arm snapped like a twig against me.”
“Truthfully, I derived pleasure from what I did. Half of it was because of who I am. I know that I’m a person with dangerous tendencies capable of terrible things. I will never deny that, but I know he must have learned a lesson from me that day. He learned that in the world, you cannot call yourself the GOAT. Because some people, some horrible people, will get annoyed by that. Sadly, some of those people aren’t just the people that will break your arm.”
“They’re the staff, watching over you.”
“They don’t care for the arm; you’re covered by health insurance. They’ll laugh at your ego, and promote it for the next eon. Because they’re just as pissed off as the person who broke your goddamn arm.”
“So, James, you’re a young man, even though you don’t act like it.”
“I know that you’re coming back to try to stand up to me, some sort of marquee fight between veterans, but understand this.”
KONSTANTINE sneered.
“The best teacher in the whole world is pain. It educates by making you feel the lesson physically. If I have to break your arm to get you to act your age.”
“I will.”
“And I will enjoy...every...second.”
