Wes’ afternoon was busy. Sacrifice was just days away. He’d be leaving for Minnesota in the morning, and for now he was trying to tie up some loose ends. He had one ear tuned toward his youngest daughter. 8 year old, McKenzie Ikeda, laid on her stomach on the floor, coloring in a book, and humming. The other ear was listening for his phone. He had an appointment in 15 minutes, and he fully expected his visitor to cancel. He returned to his emails, when his office phone’s intercom system beeped loudly.

Lynne McClinton: *through speaker* Mr. Ikeda, John Cena is here for his 2:30 appointment, sir.

Wes looked up at the back of his closed office door. He shook his head.

Wes Ikeda: Thank you, Lynne. Send him in please.

A few seconds later and the door swung open, widely flying back and bouncing off the back wall to return once again to a closed position, moved by its own momentum as John Cena walked in, his eyes immediately moving to Wes’ own. He gave a single sideways grin and immediately sat himself down in the chair opposite Wes, looking nothing like one would expect. One would have expected him to have the appearance of a child being sent to the principal after what had happened on Warfare but no, Cena was sloppily dressed in a white wifebeater complete with oil stains, torn jeans, and black motorcycle boots. His expression was relatively blank aside from the slight smirk on his face, his eyes giving away nothing as he took his seat and stared at a man who had once been a very close friend to him. There was a moment’s silence and then John spoke in a flat, emotionless voice.

John Cena: Sorry, your friend John couldn’t make it today. He had better things to do, so he sent me instead.

Wes didn’t blink. He stared right through John, speaking in a calm, unwavering voice.

Wes Ikeda: McKenzie, why don’t you go find Aunt Nikki, and let her know Daddy is in his meeting. She should take you to lunch, okay?

Having been surprised, and slightly shaken from John’s forceful opening of the door, McKenzie all too happily agreed, and got to her feet, scrambling to the door, and closing it behind her. Wes settled into his chair, relaxing a bit.

Wes Ikeda: No less than 5 people have been trying to get you into this building, John. I find it rather interesting that you came at my request. Why are you here, exactly?

John gave a dramatic sigh and the bitter sarcasm was not lost in his reply as he shook his head.

John Cena: Oh I don’t know Wes, maybe just because... I don’t know, I didn’t have anything else to do today? Just kinda thought it might be fun to give my ol pal Wes Ikeda a visit. That’s all. Of course it would have nothing to do with a particular text I got the other day or anything. Nothing at all. I was planning on coming by here anyway and visiting Lynne. Maybe a few other... office members. Make a day of it! You know?

John reclined more into his seat, arrogantly propping his dirty booted feet onto the edge of Wes’ desk and grinning.

Wes Ikeda: Well, last time you sat across from me, you lied through your teeth, and did exactly what you said you weren’t going to do. I’m alright with your being a dick, John. You can do whatever the fuck you want, really. But, even as a prick I kinda thought you’d always be a man of your word.

John Cena: People like to believe that they know a person after a while but, truth is, people are always capable of surprising you. What did being a man of my word ever get me Wes? Maybe it was just time for me to change tactics a little.

Wes Ikeda: Ah, I see. When you can’t physically run when things are tough, you show your true colors. Fair enough. Let me make myself perfectly clear to you, John. You’re looking at the only mother fucker on the planet who is not afraid of you or whatever other destruction you think you might be able to cause. So you can drop your bullshit, because you’re not going to prove anything to me.

John simply stared at Wes for several long moments, unmoving, his gaze never leaving Wes’. Then he shifted in his seat and when he spoke it was if he hadn’t heard a thing Wes had just said. As if he wasn’t taking a bit of this seriously.

John Cena: So... wait... how do you know that you are the only “mother fucker on the planet who is not afraid of me?”

Wes gave John a smirk of his own and rolled his eyes.

Wes Ikeda: If this routine makes you happy, then I’m not going to sit here and preach to you, John. You obviously have what you want, absolutely nothing. I mean really, does that keep you satisfied, John? Have all of your goals been met, because you managed to somehow turn the most positive, most trusting woman I’ve ever met into a woman who is terrified to know you’re in the same town as her? I hope that’s an accomplishment for you, cause God knows you’re failing at everything else.

Wes grabbed a thick manilla envelope, and pushed it toward John who caught it just before it slid off the end of the desk. Wes certainly knew where to place his punches that much was for sure. John’s face had lost all humor during the time Wes had spoken. John planted his feet back on the floor and leaned forward in his seat, his eyes taking on an angry gleam and his voice losing all sarcasm.

John Cena: It’s better to have nothing than to have everything and lose it all. Trust me on that. Maybe even you, the great and powerful Wes Ikeda, will learn that one day and know exactly what I mean. Don’t talk about her okay? Nothing about her...

John stopped himself, looking to the floor for the first time since he had arrived. When he looked back up it was at the envelope in his hand.

John Cena: So, what’s this?

Wes Ikeda: I told you that I would take Jess off of the table, when you left her alone and let her move on with her life. You have not done that. So I, like you, will do whatever, your feelings on the matter be damned. Treat others like you want to be treated right? You get what you give.

Wes sighed heavily.

Wes Ikeda: And I did have everything, and I lost it all. You bought James Fucking Bond’s car from me for a dollar! Thanks for letting me buy it back by the way.

John had purchased over 15 of Wes’ classic cars, because after a long legal battle regarding royalties with EBWF’s previous network, Wes was concerned they’d come after his personal assets. When the matter had been cleared up, Wes had bought his property back. John didn’t so much as crack a smile. He just began to look impatient as he looked at the envelope.

Wes Ikeda: As for that, John, that is the paperwork for your immediate release from EBWF. Along with a check for the remaining two years and some odd months of your contract. I have given up the rights to your name and image, only allowed to include your matches in highlight reels and home videos with your written permission. I have dropped the no compete, you can walk on to Raw or Impact, next week. Most importantly, I have agreed to keep secret the fact that you assaulted a child, and instead tell the public it was a part of the script, saving what reputation you have left, and allowing you to move on. All you have to do is sign it, and walk out.

Subconsciously John’s hand had started gripping the envelope tightly in his fist as Wes had been speaking. His breathing had visibly increased in rate as he silently processed this though his face remained strangely blank. You could have heard a pin drop the room had suddenly lapsed into such a strong silence. Finally when John did speak, his voice was so low that Wes hardly even heard him and that was probably because it wasn’t really meant to be heard to begin with.

John Cena: You’ve never lost everything...

John cleared his throat for a second and then looked directly at Wes, this time his voice a little stronger, his eyes almost glassy and his jaw set as if fighting to control something he didn’t want anyone else to see or know about.

John Cena: And what happens if I don’t sign this?

Wes Ikeda: Don’t make this harder than it has to be. There is nothing I or the board want more than to be rid of you. And not a single thing you’ve done in the last three months has made it seem like you want to be here. So just sign it, and try to salvage your career man. I’m trying to give you a chance, John. This is going to get worse. We both know it. This is a dignified out.

John Cena: And exactly when would this “chance” take effect Wes?

John’s voice had taken on a harder edge and everything about his body language couldn’t have been more different than it had been just a few minutes before.

Wes Ikeda: You sign it and we don’t ever have to see each other again. That’s what you want isn’t it? Fair trade.

John simply tossed the now crumpled envelope back across the desk, his voice bitter and his eyes acidic.

John Cena: I’m not going to sign that. Nothing about what is in that envelope is what I want.

Wes knew John wouldn’t be motivated by money. He thought maybe he’d have a shot at offering to save John’s reputation, but that had failed too.

Wes Ikeda: What can I give you to ensure that my girls don’t ever have to be in the same place at the same time with you, ever again.

For the slightest of microseconds John seemed to wince but then, in the blink of an eye, it was gone and was replaced by the same hollow stare he’d worn for months.

John Cena: Some things Wes, just can’t be bought. No matter what the choice in currency. There’s absolutely nothing you can give me right now that would make me sign that.

Wes Ikeda: You want Phil that bad? He didn’t... I mean... things just happened. It doesn’t excuse your destroying his car, breaking in to Jessica’s house or putting your hands on my sister.

Again Wes’ words seemed to strike a nerve. John shook his head and stood, as if the chair were suddenly making him claustrophobic and he just needed to move. Walking behind the chair he looked ready to erupt. His sarcasm had returned but with a much sharper ring to it.

John Cena: Ding, ding , ding! Look at that folks we have a winner! I want “Phil” that bad. I want “Phil’s” head on a stick! And then? Then... I just want to be done. With everything. Maybe my actions weren’t excusable but guess what?

Wes stood up too, raising his voice.

Wes Ikeda: You don’t give a fuck! You’ve made that very, very clear. So this is how it’s going to be. You’re being fined $500,000 for the attack on the kid and his dad, to compensate this company for the settlement it had to make to that boy’s parents to keep your name out of the fucking papers. You’re going to pay Richard Roberts $30,000 for his work on that negotiation, and you’re going to donate $1 Million to Boys and Girls Club of Omaha with a written press release, apologizing for the confusion over the God damned script.

Wes exhaled loudly, the vein in his neck throbbing. Two hot Italian tempers were bubbling, and Wes looked John dead in his eyes.

Wes Ikeda: And none of the settlement bullshit, or charitable donations are to cover your ass. They’re not even to cover the company. I’m doing all of that to keep you out of the press because you’ve already embarrassed your parents enough.

No sooner were these last words out of Wes’ mouth than John pushed over the chair he had been resting his hands on, sending it crashing hard against the wall and bouncing off the back of the desk. He stalked up to Wes who didn’t move an inch or take his eyes off John for a second. Both men stood nose to nose, almost as if begging the other to do something.

Wes Ikeda: Do it. Come on, give me one more reason. It’s all I need. We both know it.

Already John’s hands had balled themselves into fists but it was at these words that he slowly felt his hands relax. He stepped back slightly and slowly reached into his back pocket, pulling out a blank check. He smirked, holding it up directly in Wes’ field of vision.

John Cena: You won’t get rid of me that easily. I’m way ahead of you, boss. All those expensive and valuable cars of mine that have been just sitting in that pole barn of yours? Sold em, to a private collector. They’ll be gone by Sunday. Just fill in the amount. I made enough to cover all of it.

Wes Ikeda: Not letting a stranger on to my property, and your code was changed weeks ago. So I’m going to tell you what you just told me. Fuck you and your money.

Wes smirked.

Wes Ikeda: This is my house, John. You can walk around and terrorize everyone else, but you’re not going to shake me. Not to mention that I used to know a guy who told me that if he ever tried to sell the Plymouth to shoot him on sight, ‘cause he was probably out of his damn mind. Now, I’m not going to bother going over to the safe to get my gun, because I can promise you this, and I swear to God, John you had better be listening to me. If you don’t check this bullshit at the door Sunday night, you won’t need me to shoot you. I can promise you, if you don’t stop letting the anger make you blind, Punk is going to end you.

John gave a sick grin

John Cena: And I bet you and everyone else would just love that wouldn’t you? Just keep this in mind Wes, every house, no matter how big or impressive, has a weak spot. You just gotta find it. I know you remember? We used to be buddies. I know your weaknesses. And as for Sunday? I think I’ll be the one doing all the “ending.”

Wes Ikeda: I might be worried, John. But you knowing my weaknesses isn’t a concern to me. What are you going to do? Hurt my children? Are you going to hurt my sister, again? I won’t love it, and neither will Nicole. Nicole, who up until you left your handprints on her arms, had believed in you no matter what. She won’t enjoy seeing it. I won’t enjoy seeing it. I’m not concerned about what you know about me. I’m not the one you want, and as far as I can tell. I’ve given you your match, and covered your ass, so you have no issue with me. You left, and drove her into Phil’s arms. You got mad, destroyed his car, and caused me to give her a brand new job that let her be with him every day, so she could have the resources to get as far away from you as possible. You broke into her house, scared her senseless and now, they went house hunting together yesterday, in Chicago, far away from here and you. So every dumbfuck move you makes pushes her closer and closer to him. It’s not me you want, John. It’s either to kill Punk or torture yourself, or maybe both. I’ll look forward to your generous donation to the children of Omaha.

John’s hands had slowly rolled into fists once more as Wes had talked. It appeared to take everything John had in him though to slowly take a step back, keeping his eyes trained on the man that, for now, was still his top-ranking superior. John nodded slowly, already starting to back up to leave the room.

John Cena: Kill Punk or torture myself? Yeah, well, it’s one of those.

John turned and started toward the door, feeling there was no further “business” to be done here but then he stopped and turned back around, his anger visibly mounting to an almost explosive level.

John Cena: Oh and Wes?

John picked up the second chair that was closest to him and hefted it hard against the side wall of windows, instantly breaking the thick and sturdy glass into a huge demented mosaic of spider webbing.

John Cena: Your window is broken.

John turned and stormed out of the office slammed the door with even more force in his leaving than when he had arrived. In an instant, the door flew open. Lynne McClinton entered before Wes had even drew a breath.

Wes Ikeda: Fix that.

Lynne nodded, and turned to go as Wes snatched up the release papers that John had left on his desk. The EBWF Chairman threw them in the top drawer, cursing under his breath. There was nothing to motivate John Cena to end his reign of terror. Money, nor reputation, nor friendship would bring back the man that the hard working people at EBWF had known. For the first time, Wes found himself hoping that Phil Brooks would put an end to the walking liability that John Cena had become. Wes Ikeda stood up, went to the mini bar on the far inside wall of his office and poured himself a glass of ice water from a pitcher on the marble countertop. He took a drink, swallowing hard, and exhaling deeply at the lengths someone would have to go to. CM Punk would have to end John Cena’s career. Somewhere deep down, the Wes of old smirked when he realized that was precisely what he hoped CM Punk would do.