PROMO: The Dark Side

[Toxxic 0]

Landon Maddix’s hotel room

Tokyo, Japan

Roughly 9.30pm, local time

 

Landon Maddix reaches out of the shower and grabs a towel, then begins to briskly dry himself. The World Champion is feeling upbeat, chipper even; the loss to Zyon has already faded to the back of his mind, given that it was obviously a fluke brought on by not wrestling for a month. He feels good now, back on the top of his game and thoroughly ready for what this Sunday will bring. Still drying his back, La Cucaracha opens the bathroom door and steps out into the rather cooler hotel bedroom; Megan is still off seeing the sights of Tokyo so Maddix has a couple of hours all to himself. After over a year of frustration and anger, after months of talking and jibing, insults and injuries, he finally has what he wants. Michael Stephens, the man formerly known as Toxxic, has agreed to a match. All in all, this call for a celebra-

 

"Cold shower?"

 

The voice comes from the far corner of the room where an armchair sits in relative shadow, away from the illumination of the one bedside lamp Landon turned on before he went to perform his evening ablutions. Maddix jumps like he's been stung and hastily wraps the towel around his waist as he turns and slaps the main light switch on... and reveals a man with chin-length black hair sitting in the chair, steel-grey eyes regarding him over steepled black-nailed fingers.

 

"Guess not," Michael Stephens says in regard to his earlier comment, casting a quick glance at the steam emitting from the bathroom before turning his attention back to Landon, "I guess size really doesn't matter, at least as far as my sister is concerned, hey?"

 

"Toxxic!" Landon spits, "what the hell are you doing here?" He grabs the phone and raises the receiver to his ear to call security, but the lack of a dialling tone alerts him that something is wrong. Looking down, the World Champion realises that the cord has been cut with a sharp knife.

 

"Whoops," Michael Stephens says, "guess you'll have to pay for that, Landon. Careless. Oh, I seem to be sitting on something..." he casually pulls a cellphone out from his back pocket, a cellphone that Landon recognises. "Hey, is this yours?" Stephens grins. "Wow. Good job you don't need to call anyone, right?"

 

Landon Maddix is never going to win any prizes for intellect, but even the dumbest person in SWF history could work out that something is wrong here. Michael Stephens has changed; the hesitant, polite, vaguely weary man who has appeared on SWF programming and done his best to keep out of the way backstage has disappeared, gone like he never existed. Instead the Englishman is radiating a malicious amusement at Landon's discomfort, an amusement that only increases as he gets up and begins to walk across the room towards his towel-wrapped host.

 

"How the hell did you get in here?" Landon demands, but Stephens just grins and gestures at the open window behind him.

 

"Come on Landon," the straight-edger says, "your window is next to a fire escape, and that's a piece of piss for a high-flying spotmonkey like myself. Oh, and if you're wondering how I knew which room is yours, well, it's amazing what a bit of bribery will do for hotel staff when you're pretending to be a devoted fan. Don't worry about Megan either," he assures Landon, "I hear Tokyo can keep people entertained for days, she won't be disturbing us. There's no cameras, no Ben Hardy and Gus, no Joe Peters, no Janus and the security guys... just you and me, having a little chat."

 

"Toxxic, have you finally flipped?" Landon inquires, "are you filing an insanity plea to try and get out of our match or something?" However, rather than taking offence Stephens actually starts chuckling.

 

"Far from it. Actually, I came here to thank you."

 

That throws Landon off. The World Champion opens his mouth to respond... and shuts it again, confused.

 

"See, you've really made this easy for me," Stephens tells him, picking up a can of PepsiMax - Landon's PepsiMax, damn it! - from the table and cracking it open, "I couldn't have asked for it to go any better. I mean, do you know what's going to happen on Sunday?"

 

"Yes," Maddix snaps, "I'm going to beat you, snap your goddamn neck and keep the World Title!"

 

"Actually, you're rather amusingly wrong," Mike returns, "because you see what is actually going to happen is that I'm going to beat you and become World Champion for the fourth time." He leans closer suddenly, startling Landon.

 

"And this time, when I drop you on your head and your vertebrae shatter, every motherfucker in the building is going to cheer me."

 

Landon doesn't really have much of a response to that.

 

"You see, I went through most of my SWF career being booed," Stephens tells him, taking a swig of PepsiMax and pulling a faint face, "and that was fine, I could live with that. But then when I was facing Pretzler, and now when I've come back again, people have decided to cheer me. You know what? I thought to myself 'I could get used to this'. But I had to be careful. I mean, if I'd come back and gone straight for you then people might have thought 'hang on a minute, Toxxic hasn't changed much'. So no, I bided my time; let you attack people; injure them in my name; let you display what a crazy bastard you've become and all the while make it clear that although I hated what you were doing, I wanted no part of you. So now if you ask any average SWF fan on the street, or hey, anyone in the locker room, they'll all tell you that I don't actually want this match on Sunday." A icy smile flickers across his face briefly. "Poor ol' Toxxic, he was forced into it you know. Protecting his sister. Hell, protecting the rest of the roster from Landon Maddix, the Crazy Man! And you know what that means?" he asks.

 

"You're still a whiny pussy who needs to stop listening to emo?" Maddix hazards.

 

"No. It means that if you seriously injure me on Sunday, the entire world's going to be gunning for you. The fans will shit on you, Peters will go mental, and the entire locker room will be queueing up to take you down because they don't know if it'll be them next," Stephens tells him, "whereas if I should accidentally injure you in my desperate attempts to get out in one piece from a match I was blackmailed into, everyone will say you had it coming and I'll probably be a hero." He grins again. "See what I mean about you making it easy for me?"

 

It's not easy to look contemptuous and dismissive when you're barefoot, damp and clad only in a towel, but Landon Maddix gives it his best shot as he faces his enemy down.

 

"Toxxic, you're pathetic," he snarls, "you're expecting me to believe that all this softly-softly, wussy-with-a-conscience Michael Stephens thing is an act, and you're actually executing some sort of masterplan?"

 

"Oh, it's not an act," Stephens assures him, "I'm really not interested in stirring up old rivalries and being judged on my previous actions anymore. But for you, sunshine, I'm prepared to make an exception."

 

"Wow, I'm flattered," Maddix snorts. "Face it Toxxic, you're weak; you couldn't deal with it when you nearly injured me last year, you're certainly not going to do anything to me now. If you even show up on Sunday, it'll just be a question of how long you can last."

 

"Landon," Stephens says softly, "last year was before you started breaking necks and blaming it on me, before you screwed my sister, and before you beat her into a bloody mess. This ain't gonna be like last year... ya get me?"

 

"Bullshit," Landon says, "I know you Toxxic, if you'd wanted a fight you'd have come for me right from the start. You haven't got the patience for this crap!"

 

"Yeah, you know Toxxic," Stephens agrees, emphasising the name, "but that's not who you're getting on Sunday, Landon. I don't rush into things anymore, I'm a bit more careful. My name is Michael Stephens," he grins, "and I'm far from perfect. And I'm not Toxxic." He looks at his watch and raises his eyebrows. "Hey, I've gotta dash. Been fun," he says, looking back up at Landon before Maddix can decide whether that moment of inattention would warrant an assault, and if so, where his towel would end up, "but I've got a schedule to stick to. But hey," he adds, "just in case you were thinking of telling anyone about our little conversation, just remember that after all the insults you've thrown, the shit you've stirred and the trouble you've caused to me and mine over the last six months or so," he shakes his head sadly, "no-one's going to believe you." He turns to go, unlocking the door and opening it a crack before looking back at Maddix over his shoulder.

 

"I'll see you on Sunday, Landon. Make sure you're looking good. I have a feeling it's going to be..."

 

One side of his face creases up into a well-remembered lopsided grin and he gives the World Champion a saucy wink.

 

"...Sensational."

 

And with that, he steps through the door and shuts it behind him. Landon Maddix stares at the door for a moment, still trying to work exactly what has just transpired, then shakes his head and heads to the wardrobe. All of him except his hair has dried during the conversation with Stephens, and he opens the door to grab some clean clothes...

 

...and out of the wardrobe tumbles a blonde girl with her hands and feet tied with duct tape, while more tape makes a gag above which her eyes are bulging in fear.

 

"Jesus!" Landon barks, springing back, then recognises his manager. "SHIT! Meg, are you OK?" He quickly starts pulling at the tape, but it's infuriatingly resistant and it's several seconds before Megan Skye's mouth is free.

 

"I'm OK, I'm OK," she breathlessly assures Landon, then tears begin to well up at the corners of her eyes, "Christ, Landon, I was so scared he was going to do something to you-"

 

"Who?" Maddix asks, before the obvious answer presents itself. "Wait... you're telling me Toxxic did this to you!?"

 

"Yes," Megan sobs, "he was waiting for me, you were in the shower and you couldn't hear... that fucking psycho..." As Landon gets the tape off her wrists she flings herself into his arms and clings to him. Maddix hugs her for a second, but then finds his attention drawn to a piece of paper taped to the inside of the wardrobe door. It has some words on it, written in black marker in Toxxic's distinctively scruffy handwriting:

 

'WELCOME TO THE DARK SIDE'

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

"So, how'd it go?" Sean Davis rumbles as he and Amy fall into step beside Michael Stephens as the straight-edger crosses the hotel lobby, "reckon he bought it?" Michael wobbles one hand from side to side in a gesture of uncertainty.

 

"Maybe, maybe not," the Englishman replies. "I think I might have worried him, but we'll have to see. If not... well, that's it now. Nothing more I can do til Sunday."

 

"You sure something that blatant will work?" Davis asks.

 

"Nah man," Amy butts in, "Landon's pretty dense, innit? Yer gonna need somethin' pretty fuckin' obvious to make 'im pay attention, ya get me? Anyway," she continues, addressing her brother as they walk out through the hotel doors onto the street, "as long as he's more worried about what you're gonna do to 'im than what he's gonna do ter you, yer laughin' ain't yer?"

 

"Don't worry man," Davis reassures Michael Stephens, who's still looking dubious, "he'll have fallen for it, you're a good actor! C'mon, let's get some sushi."

 

"I ain't eatin' fuckin' raw fish..." Amy can be heard to start arguing with the Perfect Storm as they walk off. However, Michael Stephens doesn't follow them for a second or two. Instead the former Straight-Edge Sensation looks back and up at the hotel, grey eyes staring up as if somehow he can see through the walls and into the mind of his opponent on Sunday, see what he's thinking, what he's feeling, what he's planning.

 

"Yeah... yeah, I'm a good actor alright..."

 

Amy and Sean are already almost hidden from him by the press of bodies, only their height compared to the rest of the pedestrians allowing Mike to keep them in view. Finally turning his back on the hotel, he hurries after his sister and his oldest friend in the SWF, perhaps his only real friend with the company.

 

"...I'm a very good actor..."

[Guest The Satanic Angel]

Oh, snap.

 

Very nice.

 

Dark side =/= Sean Davis, I hope..