Aftershock

Following the end of Shockwave, the world of wrestling fans were buzzing at the stacked card and surprises that unfolded. Fans were long gone, hours after the show had gone off the air, and the ring was already packed up. The entrance was being torn down, as the special setup for the evening’s special XHF hosted event was being dissembled before the eyes of one of the main eventers.

Sitting out in the crowd, overlooking the arena, was the sweaty and battered Jesse Jamester. Unmasked, his face resembled that of an old cowboy, as his tongue slid from left to right on his lower lip.

What a war he had with Eron Hunter tonight. It was a memorable moment for the two men. Leaving it all out in the ring, whether defeated or defiant, they showed off for the audience, and put on the show they were expected to.

Back in the seat, boot hanging over the row in front of him, his right knee brace in the seat beside him, the Canadian Nightmare’s mask to his left; this wasn’t the same man who started the night off yelling for respect. No, this was a more somber study for the wrestling star Jesse Jamester.

As the camera man gets closer, zooming out, Jesse’s eyes flicker towards him, and he leans back into the chair. Motioning with his right hand to come over, Jesse stays right where he is, making the camera men do their jobs, since he already had done his.

“You want a sound byte right? Well, I’m sorry, I don’t have one…”

Camera man’s eyebrow goes up, as he gives Jesse a quizzical look.

“Eron Hunter earned my respect tonight… he did what I wanted him to do, for whatever that’s worth to yah-- I doubt it means much to him either.”

Spitting across the rows in front of him, Jesse wipes his beard once and runs his hand through his wet hair. The white boots were still on, but the laces were untied, and he was running the gauntlet of the high, the adrenaline of the match, the hype of the audience.

“I’m not known to give many people a shake, maybe less than a handful in my life Eron… so you know,” he says quietly, his eyes looking out amongst the near empty arena, bar some road crew members in black gear. Jesse nods, finishing the sentence in his own head.

“I did what I thought I had to do tonight, because of how I felt about my son… In a lot of ways, Eron reminded me of the way I used to wrestle. He brought that out in me tonight.”

Stroking his beard.

“Might be the old man in me, might be the soft pit of my heart that is finally catching up with the fact that my son is going to be good. I don’t know frankly. What I do know is, I have no problem with Eron Hunter any more. Eron, we don’t have to chum it up, we aren’t that like minded to do so. You put up a hell of a fight, and you're alright in my book. He’s going to do just fine for himself here in Northern Pro, not that anyone who isn't living under a rock doesn't know that already.”

Leaning forward, Jesse’s fist clenches as he turns to the camera.

“But I can’t say the same for Spike Kane and Dylan Black. With new found clarity, the bulb has gone off in this dungeon of a mind of mine. What you saw tonight was the furthest thing from what fans can expect to see at XHF GUNS Birthday Bash. It will not be a wrestling match folks…  No, this Death Match, it’s going to be a war of consequences… a war not suited for just any Nightmare, no… it's time to go old school.”

With that, he grabs his gear and stands up, walking out of the row and up into the crowd exit door. Motivation in each step, Jesse Jamester had an idea brewing.