A New Home.

[Jay]

“I book you tonight. One last time. Promise.”

A small Japanese man with his hair in a ponytail had backed a large bald and bearded man into a corner of a quite dingy locker room.

Karl Anderson: Hittori-san – I’m opening a pay-per-view for the largest wrestling company in the world on Sunday.

Hittori shoved him in the chest. Despite Anderson dwarfing him, Tiger looked truly ferocious.

Tiger Hittori: Opening?! I put you in main event! You and twin. Ring of Honor crowd they love the no hair twins!

Karl smiled and shook his head.

Karl Anderson: EXCLUSIVE contract my friend. Gedo ran this by you, I’m sure. Don’t try and play me, brother. I just came to hang out, see the boys one last time before swapping the NEXCO for those American highways I’ve oh-so-missed. I’ll miss-

Hittori pushed past Anderson and started shouting after another guy. Left perplexed, “Machine Gun” took a moment and leaned back against the wall. He took in the slightly cramped but charming locker room. There were some well known guys lacing up their boots, going over spots and generally shooting the breeze. Guys he’d stolen shows with, tagged with, beaten up… Guys he hoped he’d see again on the road.

The road for Karl Anderson now, though, was one he had never travelled. A very unfamiliar one. One with a more global feel. He’d left America in 2008 after spots chiefly with Pro Wrestling Guerilla and the floundering NWA and never looked back, aside from the odd excursion or tour with the company that had become his home – New Japan Pro Wrestling.

But now the big dogs had come calling, and after much deliberation he knew it was time to move on. While his family, his friends and his legacy remained in Japan, Karl Anderson’s future was with the EBWF. He had no idea what to expect – Wes Ikeda and Vince McMahon had been duking it out like Vince and Eric in the 90s, but Karl hadn’t paid much attention. Truth be told he never had the time. His job and his family had been his entire life. But now was probably his one time to live that childhood dream of being recognised like all of his childhood heroes. He’d got the call and realised that at 36 it was all-in or bust. Be a stalwart in Japan, which would be fine. Or become a global attraction, an opportunity which at the end of the day any man with half a braincell would jump at.

And then he walked in. The one man Karl had both been dreading and looking forward to seeing. Yet again a smaller Japanese man, wearing a bandana emblazoned with ‘RAINMAKER’ approached him with a solemn look on his face.

Karl Anderson: Gedo… Man-

And he was cut off once again. Gedo patted him on the shoulder.

Gedo: Say hello to Mr Jericho for me.

And he turned and walked away. Anderson had been ready to apologise yet again, but instead couldn’t help but smirk.

Karl Anderson: Oh, I will.

---

It was his first house show. After two weeks on the road, Anderson had been featured on TV once and left off the previous Warfare. Patience was a strong point of his, though. And it gave him plenty of time alone with his thoughts… Lethal and Sydal he had known for years, and personally he was thrilled to be getting in the ring with them. Baron Corbin was an unknown entity, and he would reserve judgement on him until he met him in the ring. Everyone, to Karl, had a chance to prove themselves to him as a man between those ropes, and he would respect any man who went toe to toe with him. This was a profession built on brotherhood. With the added stipulation of the number one contendership for a title belt, Anderson felt that it was the perfect way to start a legacy on the world stage based on the foundations of wrestling. Winning a belt and defending it was bread and butter to him. He relished it.

The ideas he had for now, however, culimated in...

Karl Anderson: You!

A young man feverishly toying with a boom mic jumped at the boom of Anderson’s voice. Dropping the microphone, he turned and looked up at the Machine Gun.

Production kid: Y-yessir?

Karl Anderson: Ha! Sir? Save pissing your pants for when you’re not around fancy electrical equipment, kid. Unless you wanna swap this gig for one in local radio. Alternatively, I could make you famous. How’d you like the sound of that?

Production kid: I-i-i-I uhh… It’s my first night. I’m just helping out. Shadowing. Training. Learning.

Karl Anderson: COWERING. C’mon, there’s bigger guys than me around here. That camera there, you know how to work it?

Production kid: Well, uh, I… It’s…

Karl Anderson: Of course you do! I’m sure I could. And I could film you crying and put it all over the internet and you’d never work anywhere ever again. But I have a better idea… If your little arms can handle it you pick up that camera and you follow me.

Karl Anderson walked past the kid, clearly with a destination in mind. The youngster didn’t move an inch. Anderson looked back and shook his head impatiently.

Karl Anderson: COME ON! There’s not much of the show left and I have the best idea. PICK IT UP!

The production assistant picked the camera up immediately.

Karl Anderson: And FOLLOW!

Anderson walked off and the poor young man scurried after him.

---

The camera was all set up and Karl Anderson was stood in front of a black curtain looking a little bit excited.

Karl Anderson: If you listen carefully, EBWF fans you can hear the voice of the past. Beyond this curtain, addressing a sold-out crowd in a rare one-off appearance is someone I could not care less about. A man so offensive to my tastes as an aficionado of the esteemed art of professional wrestling that despite his many accomplishments and his popularity amongst all of you – I would not think twice about disrespecting. I’ve done my research. I’ve spoken to my many friends in this industry. The man I am about to introduce myself to is just one example of why I have came to cleanse this modern mess of a business. And while he doesn’t know it yet, what I am about to do will make his former self smile. I am doing this for yesteryear. I am doing this for the men who fought to make this business great. The men who fought tooth and nail to make professional wrestling GREAT… Before the 21st century came and ruined everything. And even changed great athletes like this man…

Karl gestured towards the curtain and grabbed a microphone. He turned and pulled the curtain apart, emerging onto a stage. The packed-out crowd didn’t notice him, nor did the man stood in the ring until he spoke.

Karl Anderson: Lance Storm.

The crowd had been cheering for something Storm had just said, but fell silent at the sound of Karl Anderson’s voice. Lance Storm, stood in the middle of the ring at the end of the ramp separating the two men, remained typically expressionless. His face was matched by his bland outfit, but there was something in the air which suggested a fun atmosphere had just had all the hype sucked out of it.

Karl Anderson: Yes. Lance Storm. Standing before you is a man I once admired. A man who helped legitimise cruiserweight wrestling in North America. Now he stands before you a joke. A performing monkey who panders to each and every one of you with his quirky nature and his deadpan humour. It’s because of-

Karl Anderson finally turned away from the camera and towards Lance in the ring.

Karl Anderson: -people like YOU Lance Storm that I accepted the call to leave my home in Japan to come here. But instead of telling you…

He dropped the microphone and began to march down to the ring. Lance was ready for him and dropped his microphone also. He beckoned Karl into the ring, who wasted no time in sliding underneath the bottom rope. The two immediately exchanged blows as the crowd began to process what was happening and started backing Lance. Lance indeed gained the upper hand and backed Anderson into the corner.

After a few clubbing forearms to the head which left Anderson dazed, Lance called for the superkick to the delight of the packed arena. He sized his foe up… But Anderson ducked it. Storm turned around and Karl Anderson kicked him right between the legs. The Canadian collapsed to his knees in agony as a flustered Anderson looked down on him – the crowd erupting in boos. Anderson screamed at him and proceeded to kick him squarely in the side of the head. Eyes wide- Lance fell sideways onto the mat. Anderson slapped himself in the face and straightened himself up, unbuttoning the top button of his shirt. He picked up the microphone that Lance had dropped.

Karl Anderson: It had to be done, Lance. I’ve been here two weeks and I already despise it. I despise everything about it. I wanted to be treated with respect. With dignity. With honour. Treated like I am in Tokyo. In Kyoto. In Kobe. With reverence and with legitimacy. Instead I’m hounded by reporters about my wife, what suit I’m wearing, my kids, what the female wrestlers are up to… Things that do NOT pertain to ME as a PROFESSIONAL WRESTLER.

With the anger of the last statement, Anderson once again delivered a boot to the head of Lance Storm, who had been attempting to get back to his feet.

Karl Anderson: I am NOT

He delivered a stomp to the gut of Storm.

Karl Anderson: A CELEBRITY. Look at me! Do I look like I want to be in magazines? Plastered all over social media? Every idiot in attendance here knows that’s not what Karl Anderson wants. Hell, most of you idiots probably don’t even know who I am. Reason number two as to why I’m out here…

He dropped the microphone and picked Lance up. Holding his face in his hands he looked at him with disgust. He stood him up straight, looked him dead in the glazed over eyes and spat directly between them. Then, out of nowhere, he hit him with the Gun Stun. Getting back to his feet with the microphone in hand, he gestured towards the young man holding the camera who had followed him out.

Karl Anderson: See, kid? I made you famous. I suppose you can consider this a Sacrifice. And trust me when I say it is the first of many. And three more are coming your way come Sunday. Matt Sydal, Jay Lethal… Once upon a time I would have considered you brothers. Yet you come here and tow the company line, patiently waiting for the big-wigs to hand you something. Baron Corbin? I literally have no idea who you are, so are you even worth my time? You can do your best to show me on Sunday, but if you had a pair of balls about you I wouldn’t be stood here questioning your existence.

He once again eyed up a stirring Lance Storm.

Karl Anderson: This shell of a man lying at my feet is my warning to not only the three of you, but everyone employed by this company who dares to stand in my way. To any of you who I find dirtying the legacy of this thing I have devoted my life to any further. To anyone who like the once decent Lance Storm here chooses to tow this modern line as opposed to respecting what came before. I will personally end each and every one of you. And it starts Sunday. Jay Lethal, Baron Corbin, Matt Sydal…

Once again he picked Lance up and hit him with a gun stun. This time Lance was busted open.

Karl Anderson: …don’t say I didn’t warn you.

And the footage ended there - with Karl Anderson standing tall over a bloodied and lifeless Lance Storm.

[Juan Ramirez]

Don't ever leave you numbersigner.

[Ben M]

Welcome back!