(PLEASE DON’T CALL IT) THE O.C. [8-18-19]

Right as the music should have played to signal the next match, a different song entirely played, right as the record scratched! Instigator, by D12 pumping out over the speaker instead of the music that should have been blasting, leaving the audience in utter confusion at the sudden change up.

I’m an instigator!
Can’t you see?
Ain’t nobody worse than me!
I be the first to beef,
First to squeeze;
Take heed to the words I speak,
I'm an instigator!

From that change up came out six feet an’ five inches of Chiraqi fury! At two hundred fifty pounds, the hoss of a man was walking down the ramp with a focused fury that had his long coat billowing like a bad movie villain, the triple black wearin’, self alleged pride of the lion’s den was strolling right up to the ring like he owned it. Stepping from the floor to the apron, he hoisted himself up, only to step over the top rope. Michael Murtagh, the one man Goon Squad, had once again invaded Limitless like he owned the joint, snapping his fingers and pointing to a nearby ring attendant and holding out his hand, he was being tossed a microphone which he promptly caught one handed.

Mostly cause the other was still gripping a handle of Jim Beam’s Devil Cut, which was almost a staple for the man, it seemed.

Still, he was lifting the microphone to his lips, watching the crowd like a lion watched an audience through those iron bars: with nothing but contempt.

Michael Murtagh: “This should be the part where I do some dramatic yell, saying ‘Hellloooo, Limitless’ right? Yeah, fuck that, I’m here to prove a point, not to fucking circle jerk with a bunch of nerds who’re probably gonna go home after this, get on their computers, and jerk their dicks to eachother about buyrates, dimes, and other made up, bullshit ass lingo they learned from some shriveled dick having old man who rates matches based on some tom fuckery scale he made up back when wrestling was some shitshow of muscular fat guys punching eachother on some carny level bullshit.”

Pausing, he lifted his mic again to his lips, only to pause, trying to hide his smirk when a random fan shouted ‘AMEN! PREACH!’

Michael Murtagh: “Michael Hayden keeps telling me that he’s gonna kick my ass for coming in here. I don’t even enjoy this anymore. It’s not fun to watch some washed up alcoholic clinging to what he used to be before he hit the juice. Waah. The pathetic part is? Half of you fucks are pissing yourself, going ‘but Hayden senpai! Notice me!’, too busy to notice that he’s not even a has been, he’s a fucking never was w--”

JUST LIKE THAT, THE MUSIC HIT AND DOWN CAME MICHAEL HAYDEN HIMSELF!

Murtagh didn’t run though, he was slipping that coat off and tossing it aside, dropping the mic as Hayden moved into the ring, mic in hand and brows lifted as he lifted a hand as if to say ‘simmer down.’

Michael Hayden: “Judging by that bottle in your hands, I would think twice before bringing up alcoholism. I mean, all you’ve been doing is getting drunk since Zoey left, right?”

A gasp went through the crowd as Hayden stood his ground, looking Murtagh dead in the eye.

Michael Hayden: “You can talk shit all you want about me, about Limitless, but you’re still here. Still showing up to our events. And whether it’s to get to me or to hopefully see her face again, the fact is that you’re in my ring motherfucker. So before we fight, I want you to listen and listen good.

Still staring the Mad Dog in the eye, Hayden took a step forward, his voice losing a bit of its edge as he pointed at the bottle.

Michael Hayden: I ain’t your parent, I’m not family, I don’t even like you. But I know that a man doesn’t drink like you have, like I did, unless he’s going through some serious shit. The kind that knocks you down and grinds your face in the dirt. I don’t gotta know the details to know that you’re still hurting, and if you hear nothing else tonight, then listen to this. You need actual help Michael. So drop this macho bullshit, admit you have a problem, and try to be fucking better.

Hayden steps back, turning towards the ropes.

Michael Hayden: Now either leave the ring, or-”

CRAA-ACK!

Murtagh had listened to everything. Listened to every word with a set jaw. Hayden had failed to read the man’s body language, or he would have never turned around in that lecture while still speaking. Murtagh nearly broke that thick bottle across the back of the man’s head, dropping him with the kind of sudden violence that almost shut the crowd up entirely. He wasn’t finished though, he was kneeling down, picking up that microphone as he leaned down to look at him.

Michael Murtagh: “Speaking of problems, you really shouldn’t touch on mine when you got your fuckin’ own, you sanctimonious cocksucker.”

Snarling, Murtagh was pouring the rest of that bottle out across Hayden’s face, trying to force the nearly knocked out man to drink the booze, right as Security stormed out towards the ring, moving to sweep in while Murtagh nearly tried to drown the man in whiskey! Security escorted Murtagh outside of the building as several students rushed to ringside, gingerly pulling Hayden out and helping him up. The fans tried to give a cheer as Hayden was helped to the back, blood beginning to pour out as he went through the curtain.

Number One Contender's Match

Erik Holland vs. Diego Alejandro Matias

Getting to his feet, Holland looked around the ring before letting out a victory howl to the crowd's delight. Several in the crowd chanted "Next World Champ" as Holland smiled, making sure to give a nod of respect to a recovering Diego before heading to the back.