Sound from a TV fills the dark.

"Six foot three, 245 lbs of pure icon".

Wow, hyperbole has never sounded so sweet.

"That doesn't make any sense."

He's right you know, it doesn't.

"Of course it doesn't. At least not to someone like you."

Someone like him?

"Someone like me?"

That's what I said.

"Yeah. Someone jealous of all that pure iconic talent. We're looking at a legend in the making. Hell no longer in the making, but already here. Look out ECF, Plausible D, one half of the world tag team champions, Power Inc & the stable leader of the New Breed is kicking asses & taking names and one day, he will make everyone, not just my partner here, jealous of his lavish lifestyle, his gorgeous wrestling wife, KML, and his meteoric rise into icon & legend status in the annals of wrestling history."

Well, at least I got a mention in this dream. Well, not entrirely. He didn't call me Dangerous Dean Dyer, but he did say Power Inc & the New Breed, and everyone knows you & I ran those two ships. Not just you.

.
.
.
.

So let me ask you again before you sit up in a strange bed covered in a cold sweat...do you really think putting yourself through all of this will wash away the sins of the past? Kim & Zach won't be back because of Shadow's sins. Looney won't be back because of her own sins. Kristina Marie Lawless, errr, KML won't be back because of Twisted's sins. I won't be back because of Demo's sins. But in all reality...none of us will be back be of your sins. And here we go again...it all comes back to you and your sins. It always seems to come back to you. It always focuses on you. The sins of...

"NO!"

**Sitting upright in bed, covered in a cold sweat, a 37 year old man with a greying goatee & bags under his eyes stares wildly around the dark room. His eyes fail to adjust to the dark so he closes them to an even deeper darkness. Heavy breaths escape his lips.**

"Dammit Dean. Damn you."

**Cameron Jones lies back into the bed, eyes closed, heart rate slowing.**

"*sigh*"

**He does not bother to look at the clock. It doesn't matter. If you have nowhere to be and no one to be with, time is worthless. Lying on his back, he opens his eyes trying to fight through the darkness to see some sort of shape or definition in the room's ceiling. Holding back a wave of isolated & lonely tears, Cameron speaks to the darkness as he does every night about this time.**

"Maybe today's my day. Maybe today it all falls into place. Or maybe today I finally die. Maybe today."

Matt: I BLESS THE RAAAAINS DOWN IN AAAAAAFRICAAAAAA!

*The sound of water hitting the worn tiles of the locker room shower echo dimly below Matt's attempt at Toto's classic. The hot water washes away the damage from his match, washes away the thoughts of what happened after the match. All that mattered right now is that he was still standing, and that he was standing victorious. He just cashed the first check his words had written and had a fat wallet to show for it. Lost in his thoughts, he didn't hear the door to the room open. Russell Simmons, the TCW Head of Security, rushes into the area as much as Russell rushes to anything. Banging loudly on a locker, he hollers at Matt.*

Russell: Matt! We're leaving now.

Matt: GONNA TAKE SOME TIME TO DO THE THINGS WE NEVER HAAAAAAAAAAAD!

*The water turns off and after a moment, Matt walks out with a towel wrapped around him. With a smile on this face, he looks at Russell.*

Matt: You know you sing the chorus too.

Russell: Later. We're leaving now. Vans are in the back, two minutes or we leave you behind and void your plane ticket.

Matt: Seriously? It's midnight. In Chicago. In January. It's gotta be what, two degrees outside?! If I go out right now, as is, mercury won't be the only thing shrinking.

*Matt grins at Russell, who doesn't change his expression.*

Matt: C'mon Russell. It's a penis joke. At my expense. Do I have to hold up an applause sign or something?

*Russell turns and walks out, speaking loudly over his shoulder.*

Russell: Ninety seconds. It's been nice working with you, if it takes you ninety one.

*Matt looks at the closing door, exasperated. Snapping out of it, he hurriedly grabs for his bag, putting on the first set of clothes he comes across. Running out the door, shoes in hand, he shouts down the hallway.*

Matt: Van better be heated, Russell! Otherwise, you and I are gonna be hugging for warmth! And I'm a snuggler!

*Herded into the van like cattle, Matt is barely in a seat when the vans bolts forward, hitting forty before leaving the parking lot. Matt tried to see who was in the van with him, but couldn't make out any faces in the dark and crowded positions.*

Matt: Should we count off?

*Silence, mostly. A chuckle somewhere from the back.*

Matt: Ok, everyone find a travel buddy!

LePage: Shuttup, Matt!

Matt: You shuttup! So help me, I'll throw my shoe at you! Lord knows I didn't have enough time to put it on!

*The mood breaks, and people seem to have lost their edge. It hits Matt right then that he'd been punching his card with TCW for a while now. He'd slowly been becoming a vet, and if that's really the case, his comments at Endgame had more impact than he thought. A lot of these newer guys are nervous. Something is happening, and they're not sure where they should be when it shakes out. He gets a genuine smile at the thought. Well, let them decide. If it's time to step up and be a locker room veteran, it's going to be on his terms, and his way.*

Matt: Where exactly are you taking us?

LePage: The airport.

Matt: Do we get a skycap?

LePage: Please shuttup, Matt. Do you have any idea how hard it is to charter a private plane on the notice I had?

Matt: Soooooo, no skycap?

*Laughter from the van, silence from LePage.*

Matt: I'm just messing with you, Stephen. Good job, buddy. So, does everyone in here know "Africa" by Toto?

**Shoulders slumped, elbows on knees. A dark blue & red hoody envelopes the upper half of the thinly framed man while non-descript blue jeans & an old pair of dirty Nikes cover the lower half. The man holds his slightly shaking right hand in front of his face, then places the edge of his thumb up to his teeth. He begins to work on nail #10. Remnants of the other 9 fingermails lie scattered in random places on the dirty shag rug that his chair rests upon.**

"Didn't your mother ever tell you that chewing on your nails would give you worms?"

**Cameron Jones looks up from his hand & sees a blonde haired, blue-eyed all of 23 worldly years old woman smiling at him. He quickly looks down from her, more due to embarrassment of being caught in public showing off his disregard for proper personal hygene, than anything. Her smile quickly fades as she comes to the unfortunate realization that this interview is not going to be what she'd hoped for. She extends her hand & it goes unaccepted.**

"I wanted to thank you for agreeing to meet with me for our interview piece this week."

**He does not lift his head, nor does he return to chewing on his thumbnail. He looks at the floor, nodding his.**

"I was...I mean, I thought...well...I was expecting..."

**She lowers her bag to the ground & pulls up a chair to be closer to her subject.**

"A man? Yes, I hear that alot."

**Cameron nods again, this time quickly peeking a look at her before looking back at the ground. A small smile purses her lips, but not a smile of happiness of ease, but rather of embarrassment & maybe even a little displaced guilt for this former star, who now seems a shell of himself.**

"Ok, well let's get started."

5 hours later - Holiday Inn Beijing

**The 23 year old blond from earlier sits atop of the bed, leaning back into some propped up pillows. Her wireless headset blinks an intermittant blue light into the light fading room. The glow from her laptops monitor shows that according to her shirt, she is the property of the Boston RedSox.**

"I'll answer all of those questions & more later when I unveil the mysterious & sometimes illogical ramblings and reasonings from the fractured, complex & always dark mind of Plausible D. Thank you all for tuning into this weeks podcast episode of WrestleGate. I'm Woodie Burnsteen. And remember, no secret is kept secret for long when I'm on the case."

**Clicking on her mousepad, she pulls the headset off & lays it on the nightstand. Leaning her head back onto the pillow, she momentarily stares at the nothingness of the ceiling above her. She looks back down at her monitor & opens up a file.**

I met him in the lobby of rundown local motel. For what it's worth, this former global sports entertainment mega-star wanted to be interviewed here, in a place that makes the locals living in huts near rice patty fields seem like the ritz. The mid-afternoon sun barely shown through the dirt & smoke layered plate glass window. But when it did, the light strikingly lit up the silver, white & gray of his goatee & 2-3 day old stubble upon his shallow face.

I walked in & saw him sitting in a chair, wearing clothes that hung on him like a child wholoves dressing up in their Daddy's clothes. The interview lasted longer than it felt. The real answers to the questions are not in this article...they are in the man; His demeanor, personality, pauses & quirks. He is not who he once was. I was not dazzled by the smooth speaking, cocksure athlete. I was entranced & sympathetic for the soft spoken, gruff voiced hollow shell of that former self. More questions were raised by the answers provided in this interview, but one question's answer was evident & present throughout, if Plausible D is to have a chance in hell in winning his return match against Matt strikemore, he needs to return to who & what he once was.

WB-You disappeared. Gone, vanished, poof...nothing. Rumor had it, you were kidnapped by Shadow or one of his enemies. Some said that Acid Jackrabbit, for as messed up as his relationship was with his son, took you out of the picture during one of his moments when he was trying to atone for his, shall we say, sins of the father he perpetrated upon Leroy Brown. And yet others thought that you just retired to live away your final days how you wanted to. So where did you go?

PD-*Takes a deep breath* Well, I just...I left.

WB-Pardon my being so blunt, but we know you just left. But to where? And why? You were tag champions with Shadow. On your way up. Insiders had you pegged to take Darkness down, even after your defeat at his hands, people said this time would be your time. Then the situation with some of Shadow's enemies came up & then you were gone. But you returned only to see your tag belt given to Desean Blackwell. You viciously attacked him. Then you no-showed a match with Duo and nobodys heard from you since until now. And with all of that, you just...left?

PD-Um...yeah. You see...there are...were... some things that I needed to, um, sort through & get out.

WB-Sort through and get out?

PD-Well, not get out...I mean...*fidgets with fingers*...um, I just needed a break. That's all.

WB-So now, I'm guessing, now that you've gotten this break, you're back & ready to reclaim what's rightfully yours?

PD-Rightfully mine? You mean a title?

WB-Yes. Isn't that what you're back for? To reclaim gold that you once held?

PD-Oh...um...*shakes his head*...no. I'm not back for that. I'm just back because...uh...because I want...I wanted to come back.

WB-So you're trying to tell me that one of the most decorated men in sports entertainment history does not have his eyes to the heavens, looking for that one elusive title.

PD-......*shakes head*...No. I'm here because of other things...reasons.

WB-Such as? Are you broke? Is it about money? You were one of the first sports entertainment wrestlers to be considered an athlete, not a show man. You were one of the first ones to have an outside endorsement deal. You created your own foundation for the research of autism. You were once reported as having a net worth of over $525 million dollars. Is it all gone? Are you back for the money?

PD-Wow...you've really done some background work. Good job.

WB-You're avoiding the question.

PD-No...no I'm not. I'm just not going to answer it. It's not about money. People can always find money. Life is about more than money. It's about what you do with it & how you're remembered.

WB-So then it's fame? The limelight. The spotlight. Your name up on the marquee?

PD-*shaking his head* No...it's about doing what's...it's about doing the right things. It's about ending things...I mean...doing things on your...on your own terms.

WB-Let's get to your welcome back match. Your opponent, Matt Strikemore. He was a relative newcomer when you left the last time. What do you think about him & how will you prepare for some who's close to if not more than 10 years your junior?

PD-Matt Strikemore? That's who I'm facing?...I mean...yes, I mean, that's who I'm facing. He's a good kid.

WB-That's all you've got to say about him? He's a good kid? He's the Trans-continental title holder. He is a damn good wrestler & happens to have recently tagged with the man whose life, let alone career, you tried to end in a vicious out of the ring attack, Desean Blackwell.

PD-Really?...*nodding his head*...Good...cool. I mean, he's got a title, so he must be really good...the thing is...I haven't met anyone here...yet...so I'm not sure how good these guys have gotten...since I left...you know?

WB-Have you done any training for this match? Watched any tape on him? Scouted him?

PD-*looking around the room*...No.

WB-Do you not feel a need for that?

PD-Um..well, yeah...yes...of course. He's got a title, so he's good...right? I mean for me to go into this match without knwoing anything about him would be...suicide...right?

WB-Technically speaking, yes. But Matt is not known for being lethal or overly brutal in his matches. Unless the situation calls for it, then all bets are off. You don't seem to be approaching this with any sort of urgency. Do you even think you can win? Looking at you, at one time, you were listed at 6'3" and 245 lbs of solid muscle. Now you can't be what...185, 190?

PD-Um...yeah...I've kinda lost a little bit of weight. But my strength has always been stronger for my size. Somewhat...deceiving.

WB-Let's get into another recent returning vet...Twisted Brown. You and...

PD-I won't speak about him.......He is dead to me......and if we happen to have to cross paths, heaven and earth crashing down around peoples heads will seem timid compared to the pain & anguish I will rain down upon him.

WB-...Ok. If I may say, that's the most fire I 've seen out of you during this entire interview. I'll respect your wish & move on to another question...

PD-*glancing down at the ground*...I really need to go now...I'm supposed to have a press conference or meeting with Matt Strikemore in a little bit. I'm sorry...maybe we...maybe we can pick this up again...if...your people or you want to.

3 1/2 hours earlier

**He gets up from his chair as the digital recorder is shut off. Stopping with his hand on the door, he glances back over his shoulder.**

"Thank you. And once again...I'm sorry for having to cut this short...I was...I had...It was nice."

**She turns her head just in time to be briefly blinded by the late afternoon sun as it lit up the room as if several lightbursts exploded in her retinas. Attempting to shield her eyes, she sees him walk out into the early evening and swears she sees something else. Dismissing it as she turns back to pick up her bag, she will come to wish that she never saw the ominous shape that seemed to hover near, if not completely around PD's outline. Blinking away the glare spots in her vision, the door closes & he is gone.**

3 1/2 hours later - Holiday Inn Beijing

**She stares at her laptop, slowly a tear rolls down her cheek. She wipes it away wit hthe back of her hand. Suddenly her eyes widen slightly & she opens up another program.**

"Oh my god...I know what he's doing back."

**She begins to type on her laptop.**

Suicidal Tendencies

The last days of Cameron Jones

*Ever have one of those mornings where you swear you slept with your eyes open? You're just suddenly aware of what's around you. There's no startling shock of light slipping through the cracks of the eyelids. No blinking as the world comes into focus, blurred by sleep and sloth. It's just like, all of a sudden, you decide to start paying attention to world around you. Both metaphorically and literally, this seemed to be happening to Matt. He doesn't remember opening his eyes, and he certainly doesn't recall being a veteran of TCW. Both just kind of happened. He blinks hard, his eyes dry from so long of an exposure. Rubbing his face with both hands, he tries to piece together exactly how he came to be in his bed, but leaves that for a future mystery session. Looking over the side of the bed, he spots his phone sticking slightly out of his pants pocket. Reaching down to pick it up, his head throbs horribly at the change in elevation.*

Matt: Sake. Right.

*Wincing as he steels himself for another plunge, he grabs the phone and sees a new text message.*

Matt: "Press Conference. 10am. You and opponent." Ten in the morning Chinese time?

*He looks at his phone, briefly, before realizing that it was still Jersey time, and he had no clue how much a time difference there was. Fumbling around on the night stand, he finds a clock, displaying 8:45.*

Matt: It is quite simply an act of God that I'm up.

*Fingers nimbly hitting his phone, he sends over a quick message.*

Matt: "Who opponent? Car over? Why so early?"

*Rolling out of bed, his back almost immediately seizes up. The plane ride from Chicago to China was horrendous, not to mention the quick temperature change from a hot shower to waiting van didn't exactly cause his muscles to relax. As if that isn't enough, the whole main event match an hour before all of that. Matt spots the coffee maker and utters a quiet thank you. Flicking the machine on, his phone springs to life. While walking over to the bathroom, he reads the message.*

Matt: "PD. Yes. Stern." Figures it'd be Stern. It's always her.

*Tossing his phone over his shoulder and onto the bed, Matt continues on toward the bathroom. All of a sudden, his eyes widen, and he's aware of the world a bit more. The sudden change in direction causes him to trip over his own feet, hitting the floor with a loud thump. From the ground, Matt begins pulling at the blankets on the bed until his phone tumbles down to the floor. Grasping the phone, head covered with blanket, he reads the message again.*

Matt: "PD." P. D.

*Matt jumps up, his back not complaining for the moment.*

Matt: PD. Plausible Deniability. Cameron Jones. One half of Power Inc. No way.

*Matt sits on the floor, blanket strewn around him, coffee peculating in the distance. This is the kind of match you talk about with your friends when you're not a wrestler. This is fantasy booking. Yet somehow, there's a car waiting downstairs to take him to this dream match. A kid from Jersey finds himself on the complete opposite side of the world, days away from fighting one of his heroes growing up. His phone lights up again.*

Matt: "Car is waiting. Where r u?"

Matt: This. This is going to be awesome.

*************************************************

*Slipping quickly into the backseat of a car, Matt can barely contain his child-like giddiness. He contemplated bringing a pen so he can get an autograph, but then he remembered something Dean Dyer told him the week of his first match in TCW. You can be a wrestler and a wrestling fan at the same time, but being a wrestler has to come first. The fact that the other half of Power Inc taught him the lesson that's helping him deal with the other half isn't lost on him.*

*The driver pulls away, and Matt pulls out his phone. He needs to talk to someone about all this, preferably with someone who won't just nod and pretend to understand English. He hits the number for DeSean, his foot bouncing excitedly.*

DeSean: Hey Matt.

Matt: Dude! I get to fight PD!

DeSean: Cam and I aren't exactly cool.

Matt: I'm not here inviting you to high tea with the guy or anything. I'm just psyched I get to fight a guy I watched when I was coming up.

DeSean: Good luck. Whatever. Just don't come swinging by my hotel with him in tow. Things would get ugly. Speaking of ugly, where did you go after we split after dinner?

Matt: Dinner? Did we have dinner?

DeSean: I told you to sleep on the plane. Now you're hung over and sleep deprived.

Matt: To be fair, those usually come hand in hand for me. Besides, I thought you weren't supposed to sleep until it was night in the arrival country.

DeSean: That doesn't really apply when you didn't sleep the night before.

Matt: Well thanks for clearing that up now.

DeSean: I told you on the plane. Probably didn't hear me because your fool self was singing Toto.

Matt: Wait. I kind of remember dinner. We had... tempura?

DeSean: Yeah. And sake.

Matt: What's tempura?

DeSean: Fried stuff.

Matt: They just fry a bunch of stuff and serve it to you?

DeSean: Pretty much. Have you never had Chinese food before?

Matt: Wait, shut up. Back to tempura. Random stuff from the kitchen, battered and fried, and they put it on a plate and make you pay for it?

DeSean: Sounds about right.

Matt: That's brilliant. Hey, I think I'm at my stop. I'll catch you later.

DeSean: Great conversation, as always.

*Stepping out of the car, Matt is quickly rushed over to the prep area for the press conference. Stern went all out on this, it would seem. China was a relatively untapped market for wrestling, and she wanted TCW positioned as the torch bearers. With one hand permanently attached to her Blackberry, Stern powered around the prep area, continually going over the press list. She spies Matt being ushered in, and quickly shifts gears.*

Stern: Where have you been?! I want you two hours early for all PR work on this leg of the tour. Do you understand me?

Matt: You tell me about this the day of the event, and you do it via a text message? Not to mention that my sleep schedule is now something like twelve hours off. You want me here earlier? Tell me earlier.

Stern: A full itinerary was provided in your locker room after the last show.

Matt: After the last show, I was pushed out half naked into a waiting van. Sorry if my secretary failed to bring your itinerary to my attention.

Stern: Well Mr. Jones didn't have a problem following directions. He's been quietly sitting and waiting since eight in the morning. You could stand to learn a few lessons from him.

Matt: I'm not going to argue that. Where is he?

Stern: He just stepped out to the table, like you should have. Go!

Matt: Yes, m'lord.

*Matt steps onto the stage, and is visibly taken aback when he sees his opponent. It's not the same man he saw on the television. In his place is a more deflated version, in both size and impression. The clothes are the same, but they hang loose. The eyes are the same, but what's behind them isn't. Matt takes his seat, forcibly ripping his gaze off of Cameron. A strong clearing of Stern's throat jostles him back into the moment, and he goes work.*

Matt: Thanks everyone for coming out. As a representative of TCW, I want to thank you for the warm reception we've received here, and that we look forward to putting on a show that will leave you clamoring for the next press conference. I'm Matt Strikmore, the current TCW Transcontinental Champion. However, if you're an existing fan of wrestling, I'm sure you'll know the guy on the other end of the table. The legendary PlausibleDeniability!

*PD lifts his arms up in a slight wave, the sleeve of his shirt falling down the length of his forearm. He lifts the corners of his mouth, but it'd be a stretch to call it a smile.*

Matt: My division, the Transcontinental division, is known for have the most exciting matches on the show. With a veteran like PD here stepping into that situation, we've nowhere to go but up. Anything to add here, Cam?

PD: Um. Thanks for coming. The match will be good. It's for the belt. Thanks.

*The press shifts, giving sideways glances to each other. Matt jumps into spin mode.*

Matt: Cameron here is talking like I feel. We just got in last night, after a flight that I"m pretty sure got halfway here, turned around, and went the other way instead.

*The crowd laughs a little at that, and Matt takes it as a time to get off stage.*

Matt: Thanks once again for coming. Come to the show, you'll be blown away. Me and this guy, this guy here, we're going to tear it up. Right, Cam?

PD: Huh? Oh, yeah. It'll be good.

*Matt gets up and waves, smiling for a few pictures. PD slowly mimics Matt, and is shortly thereafter escorted off stage by Matt grabbing his shoulder. Matt sees Stern coming over to them, but some time is purchased for them as a few of the reporters worm their way back to her. Pulling Cameron aside, Matt talks hurriedly.*

Matt: Mr. Jones. Cameron. I'm a huge fan. But right now, I'm a huge concerned fan that happens to be a coworker. We have to talk. You eat lunch yet?

PD: It's 10:30 in the morning.

Matt: So that's a no. C'mon, lets eat.

PD: Ok.

*Cameron allows himself to be lead away from the ruckus. Matt taps him on the arm as they walk away.*

Matt: You ever had tempura?

PD: What?

Matt: Let me tell you about tempura.