And Justice For All
Chapter 1
16th January 2012 - Monday - 10:00pm. [Monday Night Raw]
"All right! That's enough! The match is over, damn it! Stop it!"
A man wearing the black-and-white striped shirt that identified him as a referee frantically attempted to pull the fighter away from the man that he had been brutally assailing with a knife. The cheers of the rowdy crowd were deafening, with various chants of 'Kill him! Kill him!' popping up here and there. Fights had already broken out between several members of the crowd. At ringside, a girl, obviously drunk, was getting her clothes ripped off by the men sitting next to her.
No one interfered. No security guards were present. Nothing was out of the ordinary. It was another Raw show. Things like these were expected, encouraged, and praised.
Things had been like this for two years.
The majority of the crowd remained focused on the ring. A beaten, bloodied man lay on the mat, unmoving. A large pool of crimson blood had collected beneath his head. His stomach bore several stab wounds, as did both of his legs, and his face. His own knife, stained with blood, rested a short distance away from him.
"Here is your winner, and your new WWE champion: Chris Jericho!" the announcer yelled into his microphone.
Chris Jericho, now a man in his forties, stood in the middle of the ring and raised his arms to the sky. He grabbed the championship belt that the referee presented to him, and raised it high above his head, to the delight of the crowd.
In the past, the WWE title was a prestigious championship that marked its carrier as the best Superstar that sports entertainment had to offer. It was held by the likes of Hulk Hogan, 'Stone Cold' Steve Austin, The Rock, and Kurt Angle. Nowadays, the championship was the crown jewel of a bloodsport. It represented the degeneration of sports entertainment. It marked its owner as no more than a brutish thug who had proficiency in the use of bladed weapons.
This was the new WWE.
Cheers still erupted throughout the bingo hall that had been booked for the event. Long gone were the days of wrestling in grand and glorious arenas, like the one in Madison Square Garden. Nowadays, they 'wrestled' in rented bingo halls. It was not televised. It was too violent for television. The few members of the police who investigated into this bloodsport had simply been bribed to look the other way.
Long gone were the pinfalls, submissions, and disqualifications. The rules of professional wrestling, which had long held intact, had been thrown out the window a long time ago. Now, matches were decided based on how willing someone was to take a life. The victor was the person who literally murdered his opponent in the ring. Knives, chainsaws, and other bladed weapons were the current weapons of choice. Chairs, ladders, and tables, the weapons of old, were considered too 'sissy' to be used.
Over a hundred people had died in the ring due to these matches.
The Women's championship had been abolished a long time ago, and female matches never took place at all. If the WWE had portrayed women in a bad light before, it was portraying them even worse now. The only purpose the female performers served was to participate in competitions where they took part in public displays of sexual intercourse. The groundwork for female wrestling, which had been laid by women like Chyna, Nattie Neidhart, Victoria, Trish Stratus, and Beth Phoenix, had been utterly decimated. The old, fun-filled bikini contests of the Divas had degenerated into sex contests.
Even the Attitude Era hadn't been this extreme. This was not professional wrestling. This was not sports entertainment. This was simply violence and sex combined.
The catalyst for the WWE's slow spiral into utter chaos took place almost two years ago, in the year 2010.
23rd August 2010 - Monday - 9:30pm. [Monday Night Raw]
The entire arena erupted as Chris Jericho appeared on the titantron. In fifteen minutes, he had a scheduled match with Elijah Burke for the WWE championship.
A week before that, Burke had, in an effort to break Jericho's spirit before the match, paid a visit to Jericho's father, and had broken the old man's nose with a vicious punch. Jericho went into a deep, dark depression after that incident. From that moment onwards, he kept to himself, brooding. Any attempts to reach him were futile.
However, on the day of the match, Jericho arrived at the arena casually. He was, strangely, in a jovial mood, greeting everyone he passed. Everyone backstage was puzzled. Some people even thought that he had gone mad. He dressed in peace, and never emerged from his dressing room. The only time his door opened was when he had given a tech assistant a video to be played on the titantron, which was the video that was playing now.
"This is a pre-recorded message for Elijah Burke," Jericho declared, his eyes fixed straight ahead. "I know you're watching this in your dressing room, Elijah. I want you to listen carefully to what I'm about to tell you."
"When I returned in 2007, I came back to be a saviour. I vowed to save the WWE. Needless to say, I failed. I didn't save it at all. I was weak back then. I was too soft. That's why I failed. You know why I failed?" Jericho's eyes narrowed. "It's because people like you, Elijah, still exist in the WWE. You've even been made number-one contender to my title. You, a despicable ruffian, has a chance to win the prestigious title that I currently carry. When you broke my father's nose, you got me thinking, you see. I've realized my mistake, and now, I'm going to fix it."
The entire crowd was silent. No one knew what to say.
"I've realized my mistake. I should have known better. I was wrong. I was too soft. Tonight, that changes. You'll know what I mean, Elijah. I'm going to save this company. I vow to save this company. I'm going to cleanse it of people like you."
Jericho leaned in close to the camera. "And you, Elijah, are going to be my first victim."
The titantron faded to black.
Everything had been fine up until this point.
The entire crowd was in shock. The referee was staring at Jericho with his eyes wide open in shock.
More accurately, he was staring at the bloodied knife that Jericho was loosely holding in his right hand.
On the mat, Elijah Burke writhed in pain. Blood poured down the open knife wound in his leg, forming small pools on the white canvas. Tears began rolling down his pain-stricken face, as he slowly tried to crawl out of the ring, away from the madman with the knife.
Jericho wasn't done. He attacked Burke again with the knife. Then again. And again.
Fresh wounds were opening up all over Burke's body. Pink flesh could be clearly seen under some of them. His screams of pain echoed throughout the silent arena. The referee managed to break out of his stupor and attempted to get Jericho to stop. The fire in Jericho's eyes caused him to back away. As Jericho went back to work on Burke, who was desperately defending himself with his arms, the referee frantically called for security.
Arena security, all clad in black, filled the ring. They managed to subdue Jericho, and got the knife away from him.
"Why are you doing this?" Jericho yelled, as they struggled to handcuff him. "You side with trash like that? You're just as responsible as he is!"
Jericho continued screaming and yelling as the security guards forcefully dragged him back up the ramp. Some of the audience members were throwing up, while others were quickly leaving in disgust.
"I will save this company! I will be the saviour I was supposed to be!" Jericho yelled as he was pulled backstage.
"All right, I'm going to tell you one last time: I had nothing to do with what just happened! Look, we'll put an apology up on immediately, okay? This will never happen again, Ms. Hammer. You have my word."
Vincent Kennedy McMahon, the Chairman of the WWE, sat at a beautifully carved desk in his lushly decorated office. With his right hand, he held his cellphone close to his ear. He used his free hand to swipe away some of the sweat that had collected on his brow.
He was talking to Bonnie Hammer, the President of the USA Network. The WWE had been on shaky ground with the Network for quite some time, with complaints coming in every so often from several different activist groups that wanted the WWE taken off the air for reasons ranging from homophobia, racism, sexism, and ultraviolence.
What just happened with Elijah Burke and Chris Jericho had sent a huge torrent of phonecalls and hatemail straight to Bonnie Hammer.
"I hope I can trust you, Vince," the woman on the other end of the line told him, her voice completely serious. "I'm already having enough trouble as it is. I don't need your company giving me more trouble than I can handle."
"I understand," McMahon replied, his voice level with hers.
"Any more of those stunts, Vince, and I'm going to talk with the board of directors about dropping Monday Night Raw from the USA Network. Watch yourself, Vince."
McMahon grew a little bit flustered. He leaned forward in his chair. "Need I remind you, Bonnie, that Raw alone is helping your network retain its position as the top network in America?"
"If necessary, we'll make do without you. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have work to do." There was a click, and the line went dead.
McMahon had to restrain himself from throwing his cellphone across the room. He silently cursed, stood up, and started pacing around his office. He was suddenly interrupted by a knock at the door.
"Come in!"
The mahogany door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside. McMahon raised his left eyebrow, and extended his left hand. When his handshake was not returned, McMahon cleared his throat, and withdrew his hand. He sat back down, and reclined slightly in his chair, motioning for his visitor to sit. His visitor hesitated slightly, before nodding and taking a seat opposite McMahon.
"Well, John, what can I do for you?"
The man who sat opposite McMahon, John Cena, rested his elbows on the table and stared straight into McMahon's eyes.
"I want to know exactly what you're going to do."
McMahon sighed. "I'm assuming you're talking about Chris Jericho?"
Cena nodded. "I want to know what you plan on doing to him. That maniac just stabbed another Superstar. Now, I have no love for Elijah Burke. In fact, I think he's a piece of trash. However, I have no love for Superstars who try to use knives to murder their opponents in the ring either. I hope you already have a penalty in mind."
McMahon let out another sigh. "Yes, yes, I do. An immediate firing, I think. Jericho will be stripped of the title as well. He's in custody right now, and we have no intention of bailing him out."
Cena looked satisfied. He rose to leave. "Have a good evening."
McMahon gave him a nod as an acknowledgement. "You too."
29rd August 2010 - Sunday - 3:00pm.
"Dad, you need to take a look at this," Shane McMahon, Vince McMahon's son, said as he walked into his father's office. They were both in Stamford, Connecticut, at WWE headquarters. The elder McMahon had been busy going over a few endorsement deals and contracts when his son had walked in hurriedly, waving a sheet of paper.
"What is it, Shane?" Vince asked, looking up from his work.
Shane extended the sheet towards his father. "These are the ratings for this Monday's Raw. You know, the one with the 'incident'?"
Vince sighed. "Shane, I don't want to hear anything about it. I'd much rather forget about it and move on. No use dwelling on-"
"Dad," Shane interjected. "You don't understand. Take a look at the ratings."
The elder McMahon gave in, and accepted the sheet of paper from his son. He quickly glanced over it. His eyes quickly fell upon the ratings for the final segment.
[9:30pm - 10:00pm] (Chris Jericho (c) vs Elijah Burke) - 4.3
Vince shook his head, blinked quickly, and re-read the line. He glanced up at Shane, searching his son's face for an explanation. When Shane gave no response, Vince looked at the number once more. It was right there, in big, bold font: 4.3.
"There has to be a mistake," Vince declared. "This rating can't be right. Look, not one single segment before that match passed the 3.5 mark. Hell, we haven't passed the 4.0 mark for years."
"It's no mistake, Dad. It's been confirmed three times. For that segment, we drew a 4.3. The ratings also show that the majority of the viewers tuned in after Jericho stabbed Burke."
Before Vince could say anything, Shane held up a hand to silence him. He motioned for his father to turn the paper over.
"On the back of that sheet, you'll see the sales figures for our merchandise. Take a look at the column under Chris Jericho's name."
Vince dutifully turned the sheet of paper over, and went over the new information. The list detailed which Superstar sold the most merchandise.
Chris Jericho was right at the top.
Vince noted that the sudden spike in sales had taken place the day after the stabbing. The company was making a profit. The extra revenue brought in from the sales of Jericho's merchandise more than covered what Elijah Burke's merchandise brought in.
"Not to mention," Shane added. "We've been getting calls and emails all week long from people asking if we're bringing the Attitude Era back. They seem to take this as a sign that the Attitude Era is returning."
The fans wanted blood.
Vince's brow furrowed, deep in thought. After a while, he glanced up at Shane, who was looking at him expectantly.
"Well?" Shane asked.
"Well, what?" Vince shot back. "What are you driving at, Shane?"
"If we reinstate Jericho now, he can still make it to the show tomorrow night. We can put him up against someone who hasn't been selling that much merchandise. Maybe...Chavo Guerrero?"
It would guarantee more money for him and the company.
Vince thought for a moment.
"All right. Do it."
16th January 2012 - Monday - 10:05pm. [Monday Night Raw]
Back in the present, as Chris Jericho continued celebrating his latest win with the crowd, a mature-looking man looked on.
Dressed in a heavy overcoat, Vincent Kennedy McMahon stood in one corner of the bingo hall. He had purchased a ticket, and had watched the whole show.
He had never felt so disgusted in his life.
His company had been reduced to this?
McMahon turned to leave, narrowly dodging a couple of beer cans that had been thrown around.
He had sat by for too long. He regretted letting his company degenerate into this farce.
"My company," he muttered. "My company, god damn it!"
He shot one last look at Chris Jericho.
Saviour, indeed.
"I'm taking it back, Jericho. I'm taking back what's mine."
With that, McMahon left the bingo hall, leaving the rowdy cheers of the crowd behind.
