Sympathy?

"Do I really want this?"

You piece of shit.  The lowest rung on the CCW ladder.

"Maybe it's not such a good idea..."

You would fucking say that at this stage, you quitting scumbag.  You're nothing but a strain on GZE's already tight resources.

"Fuck off.  You just want me to get lost in the hype."

Whatever you say.

"Just from a career perspective, I mean.  Is it the wisest move putting all my eggs in the one basket..."

Cut the crap and say what you want to say. 

_________

Taylor stared blankly at the balding interviewer facing him.  Having been rattling on for the last half an hour, he had grown tired of the sound of his own voice.

"John, we can call it a day if you want."

Taylor didn't respond whatsoever.  Ever the "Professional", Paul Terry signalled for the cameras to stop rolling.

_________

Paul Terry plonked a GZE branded Styrofoam coffee cup on the steel canteen table in front of the still inexpressive Lone Gunman.  Attired in a sloppy, slightly oversized black woollen jumper with a fraction of a white T-Shirt peering out above the collar, Taylor reached out and grabbed a firm hold of the cup with his left hand and dragged it in close.  Examining it for a moment, he lifted it up and took a long sip of the bitter liquid within.

"We can reschedule for another day during the week, there's no problem..."

Taylor didn't respond at all.  The Rapid City, South Dakota native stared vacantly at the coffee cup before taking a second sip.

"...John?"

Only then did Taylor peer his head up ever so slightly.  A concerned Terry was greeted with nothing but a cold glance before Taylor turned his attention back to the coffee.

If you'd like to find out what's behind these cold eyes, then you'll just have to claw your way through this disguise.

Terry frowned a disappointed frown.  Over the years, he had come to expect such treatment from many a superstar, but he truly believed that there was something more than just the mandatory politeness between he and the man once labelled as the "Hitman Of HKWF".  A mutual respect, at the very least.  He sighed.

"John, I'm gonna go.  I don't know what's up with you at the moment, but I'd be more than happy to maybe talk to you about it, away from the prying eye.  I'll be in touch, I suppose..."

Let down somewhat, the Professional turned and began to walk away.

"Paul."

Terry turned around and headed back to Taylor's table.

_________

"This's going straight through on seven-second delay, John.  Say whatever you want to say."

The scene materialised once again inside one of the designated media studios within the GZW2K1 Towers.  The Professional sat across from Taylor, eager for the Lone Gunman to speak his mind.

"Fair enough, Paul.  The order of the day is once again James Corbin, "the" Monarch.  The man that I supposedly want to pity me.  Fucking bullshit, and nothing but.  Corbin, you know full well that I'm not just another opponent.  The same routine frankly doesn't fly with me.  Try to demean me of whatever nicknames I've acquired along the way, it really doesn't make a difference to me.  You KNOW I have no intention of aiming for the sympathy vote.  You know that I'm a man after your own indifference in regard to the feelings of peers and fans alike.  I wouldn't stoop so low as to attempt to get those people to pity me..."

Pathetic.  Can't you do better than that?

Taylor twitched ever so slightly.

"Call me pathetic, Corbin.  Call me a quitter, a loser, a scumbag, worthless, meaningless, normal...  Call me what you must.  It makes no difference to me.  For as much as you may imagine it would tarnish whatever legacy I may have stumbled across along the way, I could care less if it did.  I don't believe in my legacy.  I don't believe I've yet done anything worth being labelled a 'legacy'.  I certainly don't believe that my best days are behind me.  That's not what I'm about."

"What, exactly are you about, John?"

Taylor ignored Terry's question completely and continued on.

"Corbin, I'm not about tales of pain and hardship.  It just so happened that such a story was necessary in addressing Sean Fiery.  I'm sure that's easy enough to comprehend.  However, you seem to be a little all over the place.  You try to use said storytelling against me, claiming that you'd let me into your world in the same breath.  Perhaps you don't quite get what I'm after here.  There are certainly times when I don't..."

Taylor seemed to lose his train of thought for a moment.  It came back to him after a second twitch and a subconscious stroke of his goatee.

"I don't feel threatened going into our match, James.  Don't get me wrong, I know it could quite possibly be the last thing I do in the ring, but I'm not afraid.  Excited, maybe.  Anxious?  Definitely.  I've been living in a constant cold sweat since the moment you accepted my challenge.  Sure, the cheap beatings come and go, but when all the filth settles at the bottom, only you and I, one-on-one, will remain.  When we step into the ring, everything else will become irrelevant."

Terry seemed to consider swooping in with another question, but opted not to.

"Everything I've done, everything I've failed to do.  Everything I've trained and fought to accomplish.  It will all fade to nothingness in the three seconds it will take for the first bell to be sounded.  You're bloody right that nothing I've ever done in my career will measure up to this match.  I have no shame whatsoever in admitting that.  But isn't that what I wanted in the first place?"

Don't repeat yourself, you loser.

Massaging his tense temples, Taylor let out a sigh.

"...I've asked myself that question today more times than I can remember.  I can finally say that the answer is yes.  I challenged you for a reason, Wrestling Franchise.  I didn't challenge Pimp Bizkit or Nathan Williams.  I didn't challenge Justin or Zachary Sharp.  I challenged YOU, the Monarch.  I knew the risks involved.  There was no obligation for me to lay out the challenge, I did it off my own back.  More importantly, I did it on my own terms.  That's a phrase too often dropped by the likes of Pimp Bizkit these days, but it is one hundred per cent true in this case.  It would've been far easier for me to hop on the horse's back and join the Heretics.  The gross result would be the same, I would gain a certain degree of fame, notoriety and respect via James "Monarch" Corbin.  Many have done it in the past.  Many, many more have failed to do it.  The Heretics are currently doing it, albeit through a different method than I would.  Whereas "Buzzing" Electric Sharpe and his parasitic ilk are happy to sponge and leech success and credibility from The Greatest Of All Time, I can see clearly and I realise that that is only the temporary solution.  A couple of months down the line, when the Heretics have disbanded, a previous alignment with a big name will do absolutely nothing for Messrs. Sharpe and Tytan.  Look at James Tanner, a former stablemate of Lord Deacon Kane for a prime example.  Fucking Tonya Glory thought his name was John last week.  That just goes to show you..."

Blah.  Contrived.  The kid's just as high profile as you are, you schnook.

"...The point comes back to that of the non-existent Taylor legacy.  Anyone can runner-up a tournament and become default number-one contender.  Anyone can put in the extra effort and eventually be labelled Wrestler Of The Month.  In order for me to truly build a legacy, I see no more solid foundation than to reach the Glass Ceiling.  You're being used either way, Monarch.  You're being played like a fiddle by friend and foe alike, but in reality there's no problem with that.  The recurring theme is that I'm doing it blatantly, right to your face.  Not something I'm famed for doing, certainly, but something I'm sure you can appreciate a little more than the behind-the-back politicking of your Heretic crew.  Label me a loser, but win, lose or draw at Crimson, I won't walk out empty handed.  You'll be giving me more than you'd think.  I've thought long and hard about this one, and I'm confident that this is the right move..."

Whatever.  You could've said that half an hour ago.

Taylor trailed off.  Terry waited a moment before swooping in.

"Thanks, John.  That was...  Interesting."

False.  False.  False.

Taylor threw his hands up over his face, ignoring the veteran interviewer once again as the scene came to a close.

_________

"You happy now?"

Who the FUCK are you talking to?