TREASON?

Regardless of who was talking and what their reasons were, it remained a fact that people were talking.

Be it Seth Raide's accusations of treason, Pimp Bizkit's acknowledgement that he'd been beaten fair and square or Nathan Williams' outright denial, people were talking.

These people - some Taylor's bitter enemies, others his allies by default, some even in a nauseating state of awe and appreciation of their Lord - were all feeding the same beast.  Every single one of them, whether they realised it or not, marched to the beat of one solitary drummer, the Lone Gunman.

In the space of a week and a half, Seth Raide and his followers had generated more HKWF publicity John Taylor than the Gunman himself could've even imagined.  In such a short space of time, his better part of a decade spent toiling away on the ground floor of the HKWF branch of the Entity tree was rendered obsolete.

Taylor felt that he deserved it all, though.  He assured himself of that.  Deep down in his supposedly black heart, he knew that he was no traitor.  Would he tell that to Raide and company?  No, probably not.  Their crusade was only then becoming interesting, why break such cold news to them and cut the whole thing tragically short?

Taylor saw no logical reason.

He wasn't the traitor.  The traitor was the conglomerate known as the Hong Kong Wrestling Federation.  The HKWF itself had committed treason most foul on a generation of hard working competitors that should've known better than to form such an orderly queue on the bleak road to a heartless assassination at the hands of a faceless, voiceless firing squad brandishing the company's insignia.

The treason committed by Profit's administration and the greater collective conveniently packaged in HKWF wrapping wasn't as clear to see as that which Taylor had supposedly committed by walking back into the GZW earlier that year, but it was there.  Like a bitter cancer, its roots were sewn years previously and allowed to develop gradually, only rearing its ugly head when it was too late for the poor sap victim to do a damn thing about it.

Taylor knew all about it.  He'd experienced it first hand.

The feeling that, at a mere twenty-five years of age, your career had long since peaked wasn't one that Taylor had been fond of.  It had felt as though he'd been raped in a dingy street corner and left to lie and rot in the harsh cold.  It'd felt as though hid dignity and self-respect had eloped just to get away from him.  He felt terminally ill.  He felt stripped.  Bare.  Unwanted.  Unneeded.  He probably wouldn't have minded so much if such crimes hadn't been committed by the very hand which had promised to feed him for the foreseeable future.  He' felt betrayed. 

He hadn't reacted quite like Seth Raide would go on to do years later.  Instead, he just shut up and got on with his job.  He was a HKWF Midcard wrestler.  He became the loyal sheep to the couldn't-have-cared-less shepherd that was John Profit.

Sure, even back then, Taylor'd had all the equipment, all the tools, all the potential in the fucking world, but it wasn't enough for Uncle John.  It was never enough...

Throughout his years in the HKWF ranks as something of a foot soldier, Taylor had always been consistent.  He was the solid performer who would constantly deliver in what in reality were nothing but throwaway matches.  Like a dog, Taylor could always be relied upon.  If Sebastian Covenant or Monarch had gotten a little too wild the night before or if Mrs. Murakame felt her beloved Sho was too ill to perform, John Taylor could always be relied on to fill in.  He was the cheap but effective adhesive that held it all together, but not once did he get credit for it - that wasn't his bit.  He was the Hitman, the bodyguard, the lackey who could step it up to the levels of anyone on the roster, but was never given the opportunity do so.

"The Lone Gunman" John Taylor had been good.  Dependable.  Solid.  But he wasn't a star.  If Uncle John ever did anything for Taylor, it was reminding him of that at every available opportunity, lest he would've forgotten.

"You'll never be a star, Gunman."  The words of John Profit from years before came back to Taylor and he uttered them on instinct, hardly aware he was even doing so.  "Relax, though.  That's not your thing.  You're not the Champion or the Challenger.  You'll never be the ace or the villain .  But that's not a bad thing, Johnny..."

Taylor shuddered.  For a moment, he had stepped into the shoes of John Profit and assumed the role of the executive bullshitter.  Taking a number of deep breaths, he searched frantically for John Taylor.

He was in John Taylor's kitchen, sitting at the new, wooden table over a mushy bowl of cereal.  He could've wretched at the sight and smell, but in the search for himself, he refrained.

"What the fuck?", he muttered to himself.  His mind was all over the place.  Ramon Amador tried to milk him for all he had in one hand while the weight of both the HKWF and GZW teetered in the other.  He tried to relax, to calm down and return to John Taylor's trademark state of sedate awareness.

Fuck that.

"TRAITOR?!"  Taylor screamed at the top of his lungs.  He was alone in the room but he just knew an exclusive of the Lord of the Coliseum sitting down to a bland bowl of Weetabix at three in the morning wouldn't go untouched by the Entity in some grubby way or another.  It'd be on GZW TV within the hour, probably.  For once, he embraced the prying eye.

"Seth Raide, you want to label me a traitor?"  He asked, already knowing the answer.  "...Fantastic.  Seth, you are trying to wage war against something that doesn't exist.  Jackie Lee is nothing but an old man who knew the right wrinkly asses to kiss in order to keep his job decades after his prime.  In the grander scheme of things, he is a non-factor.  He means nothing, we both know that.  He wields no real power, he's but a dead ringer cog thrown into the works by Profit himself to try to shake things up a bit and boost sagging ratings.  The minute Uncle John thinks the gimmick has run it's course, he pulls the plug.  Let's be fucking realistic about it, Rebellion.  This 'Double Main Event' at Wyldesyde doesn't mean a damn thing.  Are they so fucking delusional over there that they think the fans will believe for a second that John Profit would willingly give the green light for Lee to go ahead with what is being touted as such a big risk?"

"Ass-licking aside, Seth, you've built yourself quite a nest over there since I last saw you trying to get work with the evil GZW...  Congratulations.  A pat on the back is in order, but I won't go there.  I say this not to butter you up, but rather to highlight your worth to John Profit and the HKWF.  Sure, it wasn't always this comfortable...  You based your gimmick on it not being comfortable, for fuck's sake, but forget that.  Today, you're technically the biggest star in the HKWF.  Of course, titleholder records would tend to prove otherwise, but we both know I'm not a HKWF competitor anymore.  Realistically, ninety-nine-per-cent of that locker room would just as soon cut my throat on my way in than look me in the eye or acknowledge my recent success.  Pretty harrowing stuff, knowing that such a huge proportion of one's peers abhor one and would love for one to fail.  Truth be told, however, I couldn't care less..."

Taylor gradually seemed to lose his sense of location, his eyes tightening that little bit as if he were picturing talking to "The Downfall" directly, face to face.

"Raide, the comfortable stranglehold you've got on your company, as impressive as it is, pales in comparison to my own on the grander plane of Combined Championship Wrestling itself.  Relatively speaking, you and I are the equivalent of each other in our respective promotions - both as far atop as possible, both self made and both having overcome career-dulling constraints.  A mutual respect undeniable lies there.  However, the similarities end there.  Whilst ultimately we share a common position, the way we're interpreted by the masses is wholly different.  You, through slyly camouflaged marketing tactics, come across as the free-thinker, the libertine...  The one true Rebel with enough balls to take a stand against the tyranny of the greedy capitalist...  Quite an enviable position, Rebellion..."

"In contrast, however, John Taylor is the greedy tyrant.  John Taylor is the traitor who turned his back on the company that made him in order to make it big in a less challenging but better known promotion.  Are such accusations in any way accurate?  Perhaps.  Whether they are accurate or not is beside the point - such accusations are irrelevant.  I am John Taylor.  Some of my peers call me a traitor.  Others call me a liar.  A cheater.  A quitter...  In any event, they now have no choice but to call me "LORD"...  I am the majority titleholder within Combined Championship Wrestling.  I am by the far the most fighting champion in recent memory, yet I'm still robbed of the credit and respect that I EARNED by the one man that knows how to do just that the best - John Profit."

"Thanks to your Uncle John, Seth, the fucking seat fillers now see you as this enigma on, if not above, the level of the Lone Gunman.  Profess your hatred for the man that made you "Rebellion" all you like.  It certainly doesn't convince me.  Thanks to that man, the fans see you as the face of HKWF.  To them, John Taylor is nothing but a GZW guy masquerading himself as a second-rate, second-coming of Monarch.  Thanks to Profit's fucking seeds and your resulting interference at both Crimson's "At Our Best" and HKWF's most recent Wyldesyde has made me look weak.  Incompetent.  Seth, that bothers me.  Generally, I see HKWF business as HKWF business, but when you so choose to involve me like this, then it becomes John Taylor business.  Whether or not it was your intention, you became the crutch that Nathan Williams has come to lean on after his failure to beat the Lone Gunman after two successive tries...  Ever the family man, John Profit must've surely been grateful.  But he'd never repay you, right?  You hate him...  Wait, did you say you were headlining the next HKWF Pay-Per-View with me for my title...?"

"Coincidence, I'm sure..."

Taylor opened his eyes wide.  He felt as though he'd just had a one-to-one conversation with the man once touted as "Rebellion" and come out the other side.  Fidgeting at his slightly unkempt goatee, Taylor averted his gaze to what was now a bowl of wheaty mush staring up at him.  He ignored it.  Rapid thoughts of his upcoming HKWF and GZW title defences against Albert Wuchie and Justin Sharp, respectively, whizzed through his mind.  He ignored them.  He really had a lot to be thinking about.  He decided to give Larry Collins a call and see if there was any news on the Ramon case.

Realising it was by then almost 4AM, however, he thought the better of it and went to bed.  Allowing things to simmer a while would do no harm.