:: REJECTED :: REJECTED

Troy Insane Asylum
Troy, Missouri
Early March, 2018

Take your pills. Get better.

Take your god damn pills and get better, you crazy fuck. If enough people tell you something, you start to believe it. People been telling me I’m insane for years, yet here I am. Sick or sane? Ha. That’s a fucking joke...

Right now... sane. Then again, I’m not likely to claim otherwise, right? But these pills they got me taking... well, they kind of ensure it.

Never thought I’d say that. Me; willingly taking meds. Haven’t done that shit in years. Never thought I needed ‘em... turns out I was wrong. Or so they tell me? I guess that’s up to interpretation. For two years I tried to fight it, tried to fight against taking them. Pretending to swallow, spitting them out, trading them for stuff with the other nutjobs I was locked up with... in ‘prison’ terms, I was one rich bastard for those first two years, until I gave up hope anyway...

Can’t say I’m exactly proud of giving up...

Nicole was gone. Missing. I had no fucking clue where, other than Dillusion advising I tried her hometown. It always had been Nicole who had Dilly’s trust. Far as I’m aware, the guy didn’t exactly dislike me... but she was the one he cared about, that was obvious. If she’d told him anything, he didn’t pass it on to me, anyway.

Not even sure what the fuck happened to get me locked up in Troy, the same hell-hole that Nic was locked up in for years. I mean, I know what I did, but don’t remember doing it, you know? My hitchhiker had stolen the driver’s seat if you catch my meaning... first thing I was aware of was being in some holding cell, a cop telling me I’d destroyed some house. Didn’t even realize it was the home Nic grew up in until afterwards.

Judge took one look at my record and that was that. Hospital, fix him, drug him, make him normal, hellfire and brimstone. What a joke. Guess the place was cleaned up since the days of Nicole being locked up there, it definitely wasn’t Rikers Island or some shit... but I took a few beatings in those early days. Heavy handed orderly’s trying to ‘convince me’ to take my meds, not all that impressed when I spat them back out into their face’s. Funny how people don’t appreciate that, huh? Or not.

Like I said though. Two years I fought taking the meds they tried to push on me. The irony being that taking my meds was a step towards getting the fuck out of that dive, but the longer I refused, the longer I’d be stuck there. It didn’t change my mind one bit.

“You’ll feel much better if you take these” they’d tell me. “You’ll fit in with society better and be productive”... shit, because productivity and the ability to be another part of the flock has always been a major fucking concern for me, hasn’t it?

But two years is a long fucking time to hold on...

I hate myself in a way, for giving up when I did. I know it’s crazy – the fucking irony – to think about things that way, to hate myself because after two damn years, I gave up and decided to take the medication they wanted me to take, but it still made me feel weak. And the Aggressor, that twisted fuck that lives rent-free in the back of my mind, he wanted to fucking kill me. That’s one thing I’m thankful for, I don’t hear his insane ranting anymore... that’s something at least.

I remember taking that first pill like it was fucking yesterday. They’d finished serving up the same disgusting slop they called breakfast not long before and the bell rang for meds time... and I found myself actually standing up to walk over to join the line. No idea what I was doing until I was there, a suicidal junkie in front of me and a paranoid schizophrenic behind. Fantastic fucking company, or what?

Sketch: “Hey yo, Waldo, the hell man?”

Sketch was my roommate. No fucking clue what his real name was, never bothered to ask. Everyone knew him as Sketch. Hated that fucking name, for obvious reasons... at least he wasn’t obsessed with fucking paint.

Sketch: “Hey Wallace, I’m talking to you man! You hear me in there?”

Am I fucking deaf? Ugh. No. I’m not fucking deaf. Which he well knew, given how much he drove me up the fucking wall with his incessant talking all night when the doors were locked. In my first week there, I lasted three nights before I told him I’d break his fucking neck if he didn’t shut up. Asshole should have listened. I did break his nose the next night.

Sketch: “Duuuuuuude... come on, what the hell?”

Wallace: “Leave me alone, Sketch...”

Sketch: “Leave you alone? Wallace, dude, you’ve been here two years and never once joined the line for meds! What the fuck is going on?! Though we had an arrangement?!”

Fucking arrangements... Christ, why did I fight this bullshit for this long? I’ve taken meds in the past, not through choice admittedly, and I can’t say I like it. But why fight for this long, when it’s obvious that I’m stuck here unless I do?

Wallace: “I’m done. Agreement’s over.”

Sketch: “Dude, what the fuck?!”

He grabbed a fistful of material from my shirt, tried to turn me around. Spinning, I threw his arm off me and grabbed him instead.

Wallace: “What part of leave me alone don’t you understand, Sketch? You think I don’t know what I’m doing right now?!”

I let him go and turned, moving up in line. He followed me closely, invading my personal space.

Wallace: “I’m done fighting. Deal with it.”

Sketch: “Dude, we’ve been fighting the system together, taking down the maaaan, you can’t crap out now!”

Wallace: “Yet here I am, standing in line. Huh. Seems I can.”

Sketch: “Duuuude!”

Not exactly hard to understand why I broke his nose that first week, is it? Fucking annoying prick.

Wallace: “I’m getting out of here buddy, that’s all this is. I’m not fighting anymore... if I want to get out of this dump, I have to do it myself. Nic clearly isn’t going to help. Sad it took two years for me to realize that. So if I have to start taking their fucking pills to ‘get better’, then so be it...”

The line continued moving as I explained. I could see in my peripherals that Sketch was staring at me like I was talking a foreign language. Easy to fail to understand when the only people on the outside who should care were glad he was fucking locked up. Just wish he wasn’t locked up with me.

Sketch: “So that’s it? You’re just giving up like that?!”

Wallace: “Yup. Just like that.”

Asshole evidently didn’t give me any credit. Did he think I hadn’t thought this out thoroughly? Then again, how much had I actually let him know about me, when you really think about it? Not much. Why tell people shit when they’ll only use it against you anyway?

Sketch: “You’re an asshole...”

Got one thing right at least. I shouldn’t complain though, he fucked off after saying that. Not sure if he was actually so disappointed in me that he had to walk away or that he was just worried I’d break his nose again, but either way I wasn’t gonna complain. I watched the line dwindle in front of me; one by one, the freaks moved in to partake in the opiates of our masses... literally in some cases I’m guessing, though fuck knows what they actually pushed on us. Before I know it, I’m standing at the cage, the nurse behind looking at me like she’d seen a ghost...

Wallace: “If it helps, I’m just as shocked...”

Not even a smile. Fuck, they remove all sense of humor before employing people in this hellhole? Doesn’t matter. The broad slid two small paper cups towards me, one with pills and the other water in them... I grabbed both and stepped away from the cage, letting the next freak get their hit. It had all come down to this moment; three little orange and white pills in the cup, everything hinging on this decision. Did I finally give in, finally give up hope? For years, I’d done whatever it took to avoid this, to avoid taking medication... now here I am, willingly standing in line, holding out my begging bowl. I threw the pills back and swallowed the water without thinking. Decision made.

“Anthony.”

The voice came from nearby and I turned to look. The head shrink, Doctor Bellerin, was looking at me, bastard didn’t look remotely surprised. Curious maybe, but no shock. Guess when you’ve done the job as long as him, you learn to hide what’s going through your head. Don’t want the freaks and lunatics staring back from the void, right? The doc started walking slowly towards me, considering me carefully.

Bellerin: “You know... when I see a pattern of behavior change, I have to take a few different things into consideration...”

Can’t do right for doing wrong in this fucking dump...

Bellerin: “I have to consider the motivation, the possible angles... I have to ask myself, why the sudden change. So Anthony... why the sudden change?”

Wallace: “Well Doc, let me tell you... much as I love the first class service, the hospitality and comfort here, I think it’s time I paid my bill and moved on.”

Bellerin: “Two years of fighting against a cure for your issues and suddenly a change of heart? No Anthony, I do not believe you have simply decided that you have had enough of being at our pleasure... and unfortunately, it is me that you must convince that you are better before you will be allowed to leave, so how about we start again?”

Arrogant bastard. This is why I never trusted doctors, feared those white coats. Even the voice in my head, the guy stealing rent space from my sanity, he feared those fucks in white, even if he’d never admit it. But what choice did I have to talk to this fuck, huh? I mean, he was right; if I wanted to get out, it was Bellerin I’d have to convince I was well, and there was no possible way I could do that without telling him the truth. Fuck.

Wallace: “You ever given up hope on someone, doc?”

It was a simple question, didn’t really even need an answer, not a truthful one anyway... but the bastard cocked his head to one side and gave me that same fucking look, the curiosity clear to see in his facial features, like a new pet or case study. And then he cracked a fucking smile. He actually smiled.

Bellerin: “Let’s go to my office, shall we?”

And just like that, he threw an arm out towards the direction of his office and motioned for me to walk with him. Two years I’d not once stepped in his office willfully, not once been willing to go to a therapy session or informal chat or even go to meal without putting up some kind of fight... and yet there I was, falling in step with the lead bastard, walking with him, ready to spill my god damn guts. And in that moment, I felt weaker than I have ever been in my life, more ashamed than any other time in my pathetic forty years on this planet. Not just weakness and shame though... fear. I was scared about what I was going to become. But how could I keep fighting, when my only reason to fight had abandoned me? Got to go it alone now Anthony. Got to adapt...

“You’re not good enough...

You’re not well. You’re ill.

You should be locked up, a threat to society.

You’re broken. A reject.

Buddy, I’ve heard it all. Think of a comment, an insult or fear, chances are I’ve heard it. At least once anyway. You don’t make it to forty with my... issues... without getting to hear a lot of sanctimonious crap from a lot of blowhards who think they know everything.

Three years I’ve been away from this business... not sure how long I was away from it before that one night in the Best of the Best tournament. Lot can happen in three years. A lot can happen in six months, so three years is almost unthinkable in this business.

I can’t pretend I’ve been conquering the world in various companies over these last three years...

Nothing could be further from the fucking truth. Believe me. If anything, I’ve done the opposite. Capitulating, surrendering, forfeiting everything I always thought I was. A long tedious fucking story, one I’ll save you the boredom of.

I lost hope. Not that I had much to begin with, under the circumstances. The Rejected, it’s not just some pithy little name, a trademark to plaster on t-shirts and all sorts of bullshit merchandise. I gave up merchandise rights when I signed my contract here, so anything that gets put out with my name, Nic’s, our tag team on it... not my concern, and I sure as fuck don’t endorse it. Blame the money grabbing fucks that run this place.

And yet... here I am. I won’t asked if anyone missed me, I highly doubt it. Can’t say I care. Nicole either.

Fact is, we are here. Here in developmental hell for a company we once called home for want of a better word... and some would care. Not everyone, but some would see it as an issue. Some people would see it as an insult. Others... well, ex world champions from ‘bigger’ companies live her, just turned up in some cases. I don’t have the history they do, don’t have the experience to call upon when I try to look down on the roster of EMERGE. What a shame.

Don’t have youth. Don’t have an accomplished resume. Don’t have my sanity either... though maybe I should have led with that?

And whooooo needs that, huh? Not me. Not Us. HahaHAhaHA.

Sorry about that. Sometimes I forget my manners. And yet. Us... interesting turn of phrase, huh? The Rejected. Anthony and Nicole Wallace, or Kinneck... an intriguing package I guess you’d say.

Monday. The Rejected return to professional wrestling. Win, loss, draw, nothing matters. Willow doesn’t matter, though I’m sure the lady will protest. Willow The Whisp... fitting. But what’s a loss when I’ve lost my entire life so far? When you’re at rock bottom, the only way is up. My doctor told me that. We’re not looking to watch the world burn... we’ve rejected the world, just like the world did to us. It’s playtime...”