[As I stepped out of the darkness of the alleyway into the street under the bright incandescant street lamps, I smelled the lurid stench of decay rise up from behind me. The smell overpowered me so, I couldn't muster enough courage to turn and see where the horrid odour was in fact coming from. I finally managed to realize I had to follow the man who had so brutally attacked me. One minute we were discussing the entire world of wrestling, and the next he was going insane with rage and started to bash his fist into my skull repeatedly, each blow coming quickly on the heels of the last until I could feel myself blacking out.]

[I had only met Marcus Gaines a few days earlier, he a wrestler, me a reporter for a magazine following the Gladiator Wrestling Assosciation. He seemed to take a liking to me, maybe it was the idea that I could somehow understand his plight better than most, and that I'd even try to understand why he was in fact the way he was. At any rate, he somehow took me into his confidence, and steadily began building a friendship with me. Although, in all honesty, I had no intention of being the man's friend, I just wanted a scoop, something that could push me into the upper strata of elitist article writers.]

[Of course it was cruel to play off the tepid emotions of Marcus Gaines, him having the problems he does. But I've been looking out for number one since I realized I was the only one who was going to do it more than just half-assed. Gaines was just another paycheck, but I led him to believe he had someone who'd listen to him better than most had, maybe that's all he wanted or needed, I was only willing to listen as long as he had something to say about wrestling, and ultimately, the coveted Gladiator title.]

[And talk he did, the only real effort I had to put into the whole thing was knowing when to push record on my micro-cassete recorder, and ensuring the topic stayed focused on the only topic I was truly interested in. I remember wondering if he actually put much stock in the idea of me wanting to be his friend afterall, he was a weirdo, a lunatic if you will. The man has a crush in a woman who is a few years older than him, and she doesn't even give a rat's a** about the guy, nothing more pathetic has ever been heard in the history of the world, I shall dare say.]

[And so we talked for hours, those hours turned into a whole night, him to vent to someone he thought actually cared about his problems, and I, to write the best damned article I could and hopefully anchor myself up in the lowly life of a writer. I sit here feeling strange pouring all this out onto my computer screen, but the more I actually concentrate on typing this out, the faster it pours onto the wordprocesser. At times even thus far, I feel surreal, but I figure, for posterities sake, this needs to be read by someone. Even if it won't ever be published by this magazine, or any other for that matter.]

Wednesday, December 20rd, 2000

[I approached Marcus just as he had gotten into a car after leaving the arena where Gladiator Wrestling's premier card, Wednesday Insurrection had just been held. Marcus coming off feeling mighty high I'd assume after beating Dark Tiger, I recall him saying just as I mentioned that I had enjoyed watching his match, "Amazing how much hot air it turned out Dark Tiger could blow out, eh?" I smirked.]

Myself: Yeah, I know. I'd really like to get an interview with you, mister Gaines, if I could that is?

[He merely nodded and moved away from the door as I got in eagerly. I suppose he figured he was in for another run-of-the mill interviewer with just any old columnist. But slowly I got him to take me into his good graces. As I finally managed to rest easily on the seat of the car as the driver steered us away from the curb, Marcus looked at me with an air of fascination and annoyance all in one glance. I took it as a somewhat good omen as I veered inward with questions as I got my previously aforementioned micro-cassette recorder.]

Myself: So, mister Gaines. A win against Dark Tiger, how do you feel?

[Marcus sighed, as knowing this question was coming and he had in fact already thought up an answer to the question before I had even confronted him.]

Gaines: Well, ya' know, mister johnny weatherstation, I feel kind of sore. But don't go thinking Dark Tiger did much in the way of competition, if I have to face him again, I'm sure I'll lose less weight by not sweating as much. Oops, shouldn't have said that should I have? Get you all hot and bothered...

[I force a smile, nothing he could have said would have made me want to stop trying to raise my stakes in the world of journalism.]

Myself: Did you ever think you would have made it this far in the title tournament? I mean was there ever any doubt on your part?

[Gaines chuckles shaking his head vigorously from side to side.]

Gaines: Nah.

Myself: Okay, and what are your thoughts on Tyler Russell coming to your aid after Tuff Stuff accosted you in the ring after your win?

[At this point Marcus raises an eyebrow at me in confusion.]

Gaines: Accosted? What the hell does that mean? Is that like using a pricing gun? If that's what it means I'm not quite sure what you're asking or even what you're getting at.

[I can't begin to tell you how frustrating it is to get messed around with and toyed with the way Marcus Gaines does.]

Myself: Fine, attacked. Tuff Stuff attacked you in an ongoing vendetta the PoR has with the stable C.E.O Runner created with you involved in it.

[Gaines takes on a face of utter surprise and shock in hearing the news, as if it was his first time knowing of it.]

Gaines: He did? I'm shocked. And you say this Tiger Woods came in and helped me out? Isn't he a golfer though? Or is he now trying to own some more sports?

[I can feel the anger rising up from my stomach at this point, but as always, the love of money is much stronger than the love of carnage, in almost every respect.]

Myself: No. Not Tiger Woods. Tyler Russell, he came out and dazzled the crowd by knocking Tuff Stuff out. Like, he came to your aid. What do you think of that?

[Marcus waves it off in the air.]

Gaines: Good for him. Thanks.

[I can't help feeling angry, all my hopes for an extremely well written article seemed to be getting dashed out the window simply because this man wants to poke fun at my questions, or me in general. So I let loose on him, which is very easily a blessing in disguise.]

Myself: God dammit, Marcus. You think you're hot sh*t? No wonder your damn therapist could give a rat's ass about you. And why she's busy with some guy.

[My first reaction is to duck out of the way of any onslaught Marcus might fire at me. But as I slowly uncover my head, I see an odd look plastered upon his face. As if I had stuck a knife or other sharp object directly into his spinal column. The face he made was the kind of face you'd see on something like a gorilla or monkey, anything with humanoid facial features, that would seem as if the animal were feeling so much pain because of a predicament it was involved in. I sat up in the chair and reached over to him in a heart-felt gesture, the best one I could muster.]

Myself: Dude, I'm sorry. I should have realized that was a sore spot.

[He recoiled from my touch and looked at it as if I were a zookeeper handing a gorilla a bit of food it had never had before.]

Myself: Marcus, come on. I'll buy you a drink and we can talk, okay?

[Marcus looked at me with a bit of contempt for a moment, then shook his head solemnly looking rather glossily at me. I leaned over towards the driver, and told him the directions to a bar I knew that was a little out of the way. And before I knew it, I was talking about life, love and death, and just about everything else underneath the sun with Marcus Gaines.

!--------------------!

[The bar wasn't very loud at all, very few customers, which would have been considered odd for a Thursday night. As we sat together on stools at the bar we knocked back one after another of the vodka the bartender fed to us repeatedly. It took a while to loosen Marcus' tongue after what I had said in the car, but after the alcohol started going to his head, I finally got into the conversation I had wanted in the first place.]

Myself: [With a slight slurring of speech.] So Gaines, tell me something. What exactly are your thoughts on Chris Cane?

[Marcus shrugged with a sly smile on his face as he looked down into the glass of vodka resting on the bar.]

Gaines: You know. I remember back a while ago. I had to participate in some ridiculous gauntlet match where Chris Cane had to take on me and two other guys from the goof troop pool the GWA has to offer. I had to do some P.B.S fundraiser for people like Cane. He's really pathetic you know?

[I shook my head as if to deny Marcus the right to have an opinion.]

Myself: You can't honestly be considering fighting Cane, can you? I mean he is on your side.

[We simultaneously took a drink from our glasses and he looked at me with a scornful glance.]

Gaines: Same sides? And what side is that? If you're talking about whatever the hell this whole Runner thing is, I don't think it could legitimatley be called a clique even. Hell, it isn't even a cult. At best we're all second stringers in a world of fifth stringers. As far as I'm concerned Chris Cane is as good as beaten.

[He took a gulp out of his glass and stopped to chew on some of the ice that floated about awkwardly inside. I regarded him for a moment thinking what I could possibly ask the man.]

Myself: Well, he is kind of tough isn't he? You don't think you have much to worry about?

[Marcus only shook his head, without any forethought or pauses.]

Myself: Okay then, so if you're thinking you've got a surefire win against Cane. What do you think about the other side of the brackets? Uhhmmm, Mei Himagoto or whatever and Johnny Viscous.

[Marcus let out a shrill belly laugh, as if everything in the world were all at once funny.]

[As I'm writing all this down, I find myself interrupted by the sound of a vacuum cleaner. I assume the janitor is now cleaning up on this floor. As worried as I in fact am about being found here, I don't think I have much to worry about. As if the janitor could see me even if he wanted to...]

[Anyhow, I shall finish the story.]

Gaines: Well first off, Mei Himagajino has one nice rack. I'm not just saying that so she'll let me cop a feel or anything, I mean that completely sincerely.

[We both stifled a short burst of chuckling then Marcus proceeds.]

Gaines: I never do know what her name is. I don't think anyone does. I'm still trying to figure out what she's doing in the tournament. Isn't she like... pregnant or something? Or did I blow her cover? See, I don't mind women wrestling, more power to them if they want to do that whole Girl Power schtick. My only fear is that, how does she know how or when her impenetrable fortress got impenetrated? By that I mean her whole pregnancy thing, you know?

[I nod with a smirk on my lips.]

Gaines: I'd hope that skinny prick Ryken doesn't believe that he could father the thing, he probably has hard enough time keeping a watchful eye on that staff of his. I mean, this might be a little gross but, Mei has obviously been in the ring with countless men, so is it so hard to believe that she's been in bed with countless men?

Myself: That is sort of understandable, in a twisted sort of way.

[We both chuckle and take a sip of our drinks, clinking them back down on the bar at the same time.]

Gaines: And couldn't it be inferred, that simply because of all this drama going on in the poor l'il lady's life, she may not be able to properly focus on the semi-final match, let alone the final match; If she can make it of course. Just too many variables.

[I nod my agreement and take a quick sip of my drink before he goes on.]

Gaines: And Johnny Viscous? I faced that son of a gun before as I recall. I think he thinks he's actually got a shot at anything more than an a**kicking, ya' know? I mean, as if he actually could beat Mei, herself. Even with all her personal trauma, a romp in the ring with Viscous would be like tip-toeing through tulips, or something like that. And say, by some miracle Viscous manages to squeak his way into the finals against me, he couldn't beat me before, how could he hope to beat me now? If anything I'm unbeatable.

[I shake my head disapprovingly.]

Myself: That's a bit cocky if I may say so. No one is unbeatable.

[Marcus turns to me with a smirk, and a slight eye twitch as if he has something so clever, it can't contain itself within him.]

Gaines: Say that to Godzilla. That thing has been beaten so many damn times, and yet keeps coming back, and if alls it takes is an atomic bomb to do the trick, I'd say we may all soon be screwed.

[I smile and look into my glass. My mind wanders now that I've had my crack at all of this and more. How do I manage to get out of hanging around Gaines again? My mind wanders towards his soft spot, the one part of him that actually gets hurt frequently enough.]

Myself: So how are things with Debra?

[Marcus' smile begins to fade gradually, and he looks at me with a bit of dry anger brewing in his eye.]

Myself: Any luck contacting her? Getting her to be with you and all that?

[Marcus looks like a volcano, about to erupt in every direction, as I get ready for him to spurt expletives my way, he steadily gets off the barstool and walks casually out of the bar. And for a moment I still regret, I feel a conscience, like I knew I had hurt his feelings and needed to make it up to him in some way. I got up off my stool dropping a twenty dollar bill on the bar and rushed out of the bar after him. I ran after him and stopped as I reached him, placing my hand on his shoulder in the hopes it might comfort and console him.]

Myself: Marcus, look I'm sorry. I shouldn't have brought that up. Whatever you think is going on with her, I'm sure it's just you're imagination. Besides, even if something is up, look at it this way; She's just one woman out of a million, there are plenty of women who would love to have you around.

[He stops walking and turns abruptly at me, and the sheer force of his turn forces me into an alleyway. I am forced to start backing away as he approaches me. The look in his eyes was absolutely inhuman, I'm not sure I'd ever want to encounter something that fierce ever again, if I could that is.]

Gaines: Do you honestly think I want anyone else but her?

[He brutally thrusts his fist into my chest pushing me back further.]

Gaines: Do you think I will settle for anyone else but her?

[Another push and I'm getting more and more frightened.]

Gaines: 'Cause if you do, you're dead wrong.

[I raise my hands in self defense, hoping maybe he's just a little too drunk.]

Myself: Come on, Marcus, It isn't like you mean anything to her.

[Of all the things I regret the most, that is the one. Marcus seemed to become the very embodiment of rage, as suddenly the first blow hit me square in the temple, the second was even harder knocking me back. He continued to hit me, I wasn't sure how many times he'd struck me, but the next thing I knew, I was standing over myself.]

[And that is where I am now. I suppose I'm through denying the fact that I am in fact dead. As I sit here trying my hardest to type this on the computer, I find my fingers are hard to touch the keys of the keyboard merely because I still don't know how to take advantage of the corporeal world. All I hope to accomplish is for someone to read my story, and realize that perhaps Marcus Gaines should be put away... I hope my wife isn't too sad.