The Random RP Thread

[ABMorales787]

"Well, I have to tell you, it was something rather short of surprise that I felt," I replied to the attractive young reporter in the front row. I stood in front of a small sea of them, various reporters from around the country - maybe even a few from around the world, but I could never tell these days - all gathered in front of the podium that I stood at. It had been the definition of a media circus in Los Angeles, surprise surprise, as we came closer and closer to Meltdown 100. I had been on the stage for ten minutes or so already. I'd gotten through most of their more inane questions - how did it feel to finally be here? How did it feel to be a part of history? I had given them the standard canned answers, the kind of crap that Max wanted me to say. I was waiting for someone to ask something interesting the whole time, Stoya's gaze resting on me from the back of the room. She pretended to be interested in her phone or in the binder she carried, but she was hanging on every word. I felt the slightest twinge of regret, knowing she caught hell every time I deviated from the script, which was often. Maybe she didn't deserve it. But I was fighting a war, and war had casualties.

Stoya was no innocent. No one would blame me for putting her in the crossfire.

"What did you feel when Showtime returned to WZCW?" the girl in the front row had asked. I gave the beginning of my answer with a bit of a grin on my face as I took her in. A red blouse, blazer. Very professional. Not even too low cut. Someone who played by the rules.

I liked her already.

"Here's a list of things I've called Showtime over the years. I had my assistant prepare this list," I said as I pulled out a piece of paper prepared just for this occasion. Perhaps I only imagined Stoya raising an eyebrow from the back at me, but it was a pleasant thought in any case.

"Slime. A liar. A thief. A monster - that one was big for awhile. I accused him of abandoning his wife and child - true, by the way. A glory chaser. Cocky. Brash. Arrogant. A bastard. All that and more besides. And every time I said it, all of you sat there in your seats and tutted, tsked, and shook your heads over so slightly. I was clearly crazy. I was just lashing out at a better man. I was all those things, just trying to project them onto Showtime to make myself look better, right? Because I was the monster, not Showtime. Not dear old Showtime. Not everyone's favorite wrestler. Not the shining world champion. Not the odds on favorite to go into the Hall of Fame next. Not your buddy, not your pal, no, not Showtime, never Showtime. He was just too good, right?"

"And then he came back into this company, knocked Titus's lights out, told him what he thought of him, and he's spent every waking moment since railing about why he deserves to be respected more than Titus, all the while taking every chance he can to knock out his former partner again. You've learned to hate him. You've learned the hard way everything I always knew about Showtime. You learned that he's everything I ever called him."

"I hate to say I told you so."

I looked out on the reporters. Not all of them were regular faces - this was a big event, of course - but I saw people whose names I knew. Whose faces I saw at these things all the time. The same people who had written about me for years, who had written down the things I'd said about Showtime and wrote their little comments after it, calling me a fool, calling me crazy. It was a strange feeling for me, to be validated in this after so long. I had grown so used to being on the outside. To look at this room of people I'd hated for so long, to realize they agreed with me, whether they liked it or not...that was something new.

"Who's the bad guy now, Showtime? You wore the mask of the valiant hero every time we stepped into the ring while I was champion, or while you were. You had the whole world buying into it. What will it feel like, I wonder, when you step back into the ring against whoever it may be, and see them all turned against you? You think you can handle it now, I'm sure. You've heard them boo you, you've heard them cheer for Titus against you. You think it won't be any different than before they learned to love you. I know better. You'll be in the middle of your match and you'll look for them to give you some support - you'll try to draw on their cheers, and they won't be there. Just hate instead. What will you do then, Showtime?"

I met eyes again with the girl in front. Did I know her name?

"I look forward to finding out, Showtime. I can't wait."

I stepped down from the podium and the room went into an uproar, everyone trying to get in one last question. I started to make my way toward Stoya, ignoring them, but instead found myself face to face with the girl in red.

"Do you want an exclusive?" I asked, somewhat surprised at the words I was saying.

"I've got another press conference in 15 minutes," she said, smiling shyly. Of course she did.

"Then tonight. Meet me in my hotel room."

"What's the number?"

"You seem clever. Figure it out for yourself."

She blinked once and smiled again, unsure of herself, but I was already leaving. I tried to walk past Stoya on my way out but she caught my arm.

"What was that about?"

"What? Showtime? Sorry, but there wasn't a page in the script about him. Sue me."

"The reporter. That woman - that girl. She can't be more than 20."

"What's it to you?" I asked casually, feigning it partway. It was a deliberate blow to her, and I wanted her to feel it.

To my surprise, she showed that she did. Clear pain flashed across her face before she managed to get it under control.

"Do whatever you want. Just make sure you actually show up to Meltdown 100."

"Why bother? I haven't got a match. No one bothered to book me."

"If you'd ever talk to me for more than thirty seconds, perhaps I'd have found time to tell you that it's you who's facing Showtime at Meltdown 100."

That gave me pause. I knew it was up to Titus, and I knew that I was an option, but...

I looked at Stoya harshly. Crossfire? No. I was aiming right at her. I still wasn't sure she deserved it, but I had to do it anyway.

"Send me a text next time, will you? I have things to do."

I turned my back without seeing her reaction, feeling an absurd flash of guilt as I walked away.

----

Later that night, the door to my hotel room opened as I sat on the bed. I worried it was Stoya, earlier than expected. Instead, in walked the young reporter in the red blouse. She looked surprised to see me, inexplicably, as the door closed behind her.

"You promised me an exclusive," she said.

"I did. What's your name?"

"Jessica," she said as she walked closer to me. I stood.

"Who do you work for, Jessica?"

"WrestleTown.org," she said. I had never heard of it.

"I can make you a deal. I can give you my exclusive. I'll tell you who Showtime is facing at Meltdown 100. In exchange, well..."

I shrugged. She was clever enough to get in here, she seemed like she could fill in the blanks.

"You really expect me to sleep with you for a headline?"

That was exactly what I had proposed, but that wasn't what I was really after. Well, perhaps if she had agreed, but...at any rate, I said, "God, no. I don't sleep with reporters. Too much baggage. But you can do me a favor. Listen..."

----

An hour or two later, I hadn't kept up with the time, the door opened up once more. It was Stoya this time, or at least I'd hoped it was. If it wasn't, I supposed I was about to be robbed.

"Drake? I got your text, did you want some -"

I was standing on the other side of the partially opened bathroom door. I had a fairly good idea of what had just opened. I strode into the room, my shirt off and my pants unbuttoned.

Stoya was looking at Jessica, laying in my bed with the covers pulled up to her neck and her hair tousled. Stoya was looking at her with no expression. She turned at the noise of me walking in and took in the sight of me. It didn't take much imagination to figure out what had happened here - or at least, what I wanted Stoya to think had happened.

"Bit early, aren't you Stoya? Oh, well. I needed a room service menu, actually, was wondering if you had one."

Stoya stared at me with a blank face. I couldn't tell if she was near tears or completely unfazed. She turned on a dime and walked right out of the room - though she shot a half glance back at me and Jessica on her way out. When the door closed, I turned back to Jessica.

"You are very strange, Drake Callahan," Jessica said as she turned over the covers and got out of the bed. To my surprise she went to retrieve her shirt, which she had taken off. That hadn't been part of the bargain.

"I'm playing my own game. Don't worry about it."

"I could just report this...whatever this is, instead of whatever you're about to tell me, you know," she said as she pulled her blouse back over her head.

"WZCW Superstar invites young reporter to his room to lay fully...er, nearly fully clothed in his bed for an hour? Who'd believe that?"

She laughed as she gathered the rest of her things.

"You're right. So what's the story?"

"Showtime is facing Everest at the big show. Have fun with that."

Her eyes glittered at the lie. She took the bait, hook line and sinker.

"I...wow, I can't believe it. This is huge! I need to get back to my room. This was...weird. This was really weird."

I nodded as she moved past me to the door. I sat back down on the bed and she was gone.

What did I want from Stoya? I had to break her first, I knew, before I could break it off with Max. If Stoya refused to work with me, then Max would have to reconsider his relationship with me. Perhaps he's send another agent. With any luck, he'd come out himself. But Stoya was his most trusted agent. If she would just leave, rail against me to Max, yell and scream about how awful I was...

I had to push her there. Deep down, I didn't want. I wanted things to be the way they used to be. But I couldn't have that. I didn't deserve that. The only thing within my reach at this point was freedom from Max, and I had to go through Stoya to get it.

I sighed and ran my hands through my hair, pushing it back. I thought about Showtime. I thought about what we'd been through together. Showtime was my greatest opponent, my greatest foe. I had met him one on one for the world title, he had stood across the ring for me in other world title matches. We had been part of the main event of Kingdom Come together. I'd never been able to put him away when it mattered. There were no stakes on the line other than history this time. Would I be able to win? I didn't know. Showtime was like a man possessed and I...I wasn't what I once was.

All the other things swirling about in the company came to me then. Ty was back in the flesh and I felt nothing. In another time I'd have been stark raving mad over it, plotting to tear him down during his match with Dave. Would I even watch it?

There was Zeus, as well. Everyone wanted to know why I had attacked him. The reporters had steered clear of it, though they probably would have gotten to it if I'd given them more time. Their fault for wasting it. Truth be told, I had only gone after Zeus to piss more people off. I knew Zeus was the golden boy of Banks and his ilk. The angrier he was at me, the more I was likely to piss off Max, and the more pissed off Max was...the closer I was to freedom.

What that meant, I didn't know for sure. But I knew I needed it. One way or another.

Soon enough, I would stand across the ring once more from Showtime. I had come to him as a contender, I had come to him as a champion. I had come to him for my rematch. I had come to him for blood. I had come to him an equal in the biggest main event of the year. I had worn every mask in my arsenal and he'd shown me all of his.

I was coming to him now as something different. I think, for the first time, I was coming to Showtime without a mask. Only myself, yearning to be free, would stand across the ring from Showtime and that...

That would be something to see.
__________________

 

[ABMorales787]

The second coming is upon us. Kneel to your king, for this is the second coming of the Beard. Those that stand in his way will soon fall into the annals of history. Protect yourself and surrender now. For those who look to suffer dare step toe to toe with my monster. If you care about your family you mustn’t try to stop the beast. For he will destroy. Stand by our side and just believe. Believe in the Beard and you’ll be safe. Away from all the fear and carnage he will reap upon Wrestlezone Championship Wrestling. The end is near and soon all will be forgotten. Fear the Beard.

The familiar draw of Ezekiel Hewitt is heard as he speaks The Beard’s word, Beard stands idly by as Hewitt cuts an exclusive promo for the WZCW app as Beard was absent from last week’s shows. Beard approaches his handler as he places his cold, clammy hand atop Hewitt’s shoulder.

You were right Ezekiel. The end is indeed near. For you have spoken your final word.

Hewitt is stunned as he looks on concerned as Beard has a blank look on his face and Hewitt’s eyes widen with fear.

You have shown me your way and it was greatly appreciated. I will never forget that. You unleashed the monster within. But we can take me no further. You cannot relate to the pain that I suffer. You cannot feel the anger I feel because of this company. This company took everything from me. My wife, my child, my family, my friends. Now I’m a loner. I will stop at nothing until I have this company falling before me. Revenge is best served violent and violence is upon us. I will shake Wrestlezone Championship Wrestling to its core. For each victim I take my vision becomes clearer. The World Heavyweight Championship is the Holy Grail and I have a ticket to destiny. My final step in ending this company is taking their prized possession and burning it to the ground. For only we will remain.

Hewitt has noticed a change in Beard’s composure since winning the KFAD case as he seemingly has no control. Beard’s grip on Hewitt becomes stronger, dropping him to his knees. He grimaces in pain as he tries to address his monster.

We will. We will destroy this company together.

Hewitt’s words were raspy and short as he staggered to get through them. Beard releases his grip but shoves Hewitt to the ground. As he lay on his back, Beard stands tall over his body.

You are not the we I speak of Ezekiel. It is time for you to say goodbye. You are the next victim in my quest for destruction. I can no longer be tamed. I’m at peace with myself. Your services are no longer needed. For we have a bigger plan.

Beard falls to a knee as the camera pans towards them. Beard gives a glance towards the camera as Ezekiel shouts in anguish, Beard grabs the camera and destroys it as the WZCW app exclusive comes to a halting stop.

---------------

I don’t do well in these places.

We see The Beard standing next to a woman, horrified beyond belief. Her akin pale and her eyes wondering. She seems anxious as the half bearded man in a suit continues to ramble on.

I use to come to these places all the time, but they never seem to work. It seem to make things worse and never truly relaxed me, you know?

Nothing but silence from the other passenger as she looks at her watch, counting every second.

He’s a good one though. Isn’t he? I’m in need of a true guide. It is time for new-

Beard is cut off as the elevator dings and as soon as the door opens the woman dashes out as Beard shakes his head at her lack of social skills. The King for a Day holder slowly exits the elevator and wonders down the dark, narrow halls until reaching his destination. Beard sighs as he grasps the door handle and slowly turns it. The door opens smoothly as Beard enters the dimly lit room. Beard lets out a relaxed sigh as a light flashes on in front of him.

I’ve been expecting you, please have a seat.
Lets solve your problems, we must defeat.

The familiar voice of Dr. Zeus is heard as he turns his chair around and is face to face with a seated Beard.

You may strike fear into others Zeus, but your words have no effect on me.

You may not fear my words, but your mind will listen.
For my words are your inspiration and your career will glisten.
You are the missing piece to the puzzle, the solution.
Your soul has been wasted and your mind filled with poisonous pollution.

Zeus pauses and studies his new patient’s face. Beard seems unfazed as he stares into the soulless eyes of the good doctor.

After becoming King for a Day I learned that I can speak for myself. Ezekiel Hewitt showed me the way, unleashed the beast within. He had done all he could do and it was time to send him out to pasture. He doesn’t know the pain I go through. WZCW must be destroyed, for they did this to me. They destroy my life, my future. And now I will destroy theirs. However I cannot do that alone. I need someone who has been through hell and has felt my pain. I need you.

Beard reaches his hand out as Zeus ponders the possibilities. He rubs his chin and pulls at his own beard as his eyes widen with the thought of pure destruction. Zeus leaps from his chair and begins to pace around the room. He pace quickens as Beard follows his every move. Suddenly Zeus stops and falls to the ground.

If it is destruction you seek, stop in your tracks.
For you and I shall form a pact.
The world shall fear what we bring.
The angels in Heaven will sing.
The songs will bring fire upon the Earth.
For my War Horse has been given birth.

Beard stands up as the chair slides across the room. Flashes of lightning brighten up the dim room as thunder booms in the background. Zeus feels the rain as his arms are outstretched as he looks to the Heavens above. Beard stands over the good doctor and bows his head in appreciation of his power.

At Meltdown 100 our fear will be heard
Wrestling will hear our every word.
Stop in their tracks and at Ascension we will rise
Our plans we will devise.
Stone and Saboteur will be added to our growing list
The deal will be sealed with a deadly kiss.
For The Beard seeks destruction.
And the good doctor provides the introduction.
The Horsemen will ride.
Until the day WZCW dies.

Zeus lays on the ground staring at the ceiling as Beard stands above him, unworried. Beard holds his King for a Day case in the air and staring at the same ceiling the Good Doctor is latched on.

Isabael Stone and Saboteur will feel a wrath of a new monster. For the old Beard was angry at the world, now a calming has come over me. For now my path of destruction will stop at no one. Victims continue to fall and one by one they will fall beneath our feet. Until one remains, the WZCW World Heavyweight Champion. Fans should shield their eyes from the horror as we carry out our promise. WZCW is dying and we will bring the body bags. For the Horsemen ride forever. Fear is upon us and it is in our hands. For we shall be feared as the horror won’t stop until only we remain.

 

[ABMorales787]

I've heard legends of that man.​

Blue Valley, Nebraska. We see Titus walking up a street, he's back to his determined self. Clean shaven and looking tidy. He stops to a man preaching on the corner. The man pauses.

Titus: Is it you?

The camera focuses on the man. It's the second Mr. Morality Benjamin Meldon.

Meldon: It is not. I would suggest having a word with Chillingham.

Titus: Where can I find him?

Meldon: Fawcett City in Minnesota. He runs the Shazam club there. You go there, you find your man.

Titus: Thanks bro, keep fighting the good fight.

Meldon: It's for your own good.

Fawcett City, Minnesota. Titus is in a taxi, he's talking to the taxi driver.

Titus: I always thought that Fawcett City was in Wisconsin but apparently it's not. Why am I here? What am I looking for you may ask. This week is Meltdown 100. I'm the only person who was on the first show who will be on this one. That's huge.

Titus pauses.

Titus: I look back and think about the Elite X reign, my two world titles, my Lethal Lottery win or the many many people I've faced. My focus this week is to find out who I am facing. I thought it would be Meldon, but seemingly it's the so called Mr. Immorality.

The taxi driver pulls up outside the Shazam club.

Titus: Thanks.

Titus walks out and knocks on the door. An opposing figure answers. It is, of course, Mr. Immorality James Chillingham.

Mr. Immorality: Ah Mr. Avison, to what do I owe this pleasure?

Titus: Is it you?

Mr. Immorality: How about you step into my office.

Both men walk into the club.

Mr. Immorality: Would you like a drink?

Titus: No. I want to know if it's you.

Suddenly Mr. Immorality swings a punch for Titus. Titus ducks and quickly returns one back to him. Immorality takes a few steps back and then charges Titus who in turn moves out the way. He crashes in to the wall and turns around. There's a kick to the midsection as Titus is able to get a Tit drop on him. As Immorality is knocked on the floor Titus grabs him in an ankle lock. The pain in Immorality's face is obvious.

Titus: Is it you?

Mr. Immorality: No man it's not! Let go of me. I can give you a clue.

Titus lets go.

Mr. Immorality: You want a former Iron Heights inmate. I think you know who I mean.

Titus leaves as we cut to Keystone City. Titus is sat on a bench near a mosque.

Titus: I couldn't get him out my mind. In the history of Titus Avison as a wrestler he was the moment that people took notice. Before that I was a joke, after that I was a rock. Mohammed Hasheem was the sort of person who no one liked. There was only one man who took his open challenge. It can't be him surely?

Prayers look as though they have finished, Titus spots Hasheem and shouts at him.

Titus: Is it you?

Hasheem looks around.

Hasheem: Don't talk to me. I assume you mean Meltdown 100? No. They asked me to be a part of the show. I said no. I'm a changed man. Just leave me alone.

Titus: So it's not.

Hasheem sighs.

Hasheem: I went to jail in Iron Heights, I then have to live in Keystone. I see your face everywhere and I despise it. You're a gent, I ask you to leave me and I wish you will on your mountainous task.

Titus' phone rings as he walks off, you hear a familiar voice.

Voice: See you on Meltdown, friend.

 

[Dagger Dias]

Scene opens up to the inside of Theron's tent. He is laying on his back, fast asleep. The screen shows him tossing and turning for a few seconds, before a mosaic animation fades to black.

====

Theron Daggershield: The Prismatic Dragon Campaign

[YOUTUBE]PO-wJ5iUPKQ[/YOUTUBE]​

Scene fades in. Elegant music plays as the scene opens to the waiting room of the manor of Redbeard, a high ranked official in the town of Wheloon. Theron Daggershield the Fire Genasi Warblade and his Merry Band of Misfits are waiting for the guards to summon them for their audience with Lord Redbeard. Theron is practicing Warblade maneuvers, Kirilah the Paladin of Mystra is praying to her deity, Shrevi the Dragon Shaman is enjoying a drink while practicing his gambling techniques, Marazara the Halfling Rogue is admiring the gold coin she pilfered from the guard who showed them to the waiting room, Jessiron the Monk is meditating on the floor, and Devra the Sorceress is sitting on the couch reading her spellbook.

Theron: Does anyone know why Redbeard called us here today?

Shrevi: Perhaps he found out about my gambling spree last week. I admit I used a bit of a frowned upon tactic to win all that gold.

Marazara: I stole a gold coin from a guard, he doesn't know about that, does he?

Theron: He will if you tell him, you're usually stealthy enough for no one to notice your roguish antics. So I wouldn't worry about that or Shrevi's gambling. He summoned all of us so it has to be something big.

Kirilah: The main thing I am concerned about is what danger may be in store for us. We still have no idea where the other half of our party ended up when we got attacked by the Kobold Sorceror. I pray that my deity keeps us safe wherever Redbeard sends us.

Jessiron: What do you think, Devra?

The sorceress looks up from her spellbook for a moment, then begins reading again.

Shrevi: As vocal as ever. She doesn't talk much, Jessiron.

Jessiron: I've never heard her say a word. Theron, can she even speak?

Theron: Only when casting a spell. Otherwise she's always been silent. Leave her alone. As for Redbeard's reasons for calling us here.... My theory is that he might want to send us out on another quest, although only just barely returned from our last adventure.

At that moment the door opens and two armored guards walk in.

Guard: Lord Redbeard awaits, come inside.

Theron and his allies follow the guards and the scene fades out.

====

Scene fades in to a view of The Merry Band of Misfits sitting in a row of chairs across from Redbeard who stands before them in his meeting room. They sit from left to right in the order of Shrevi the Dragon Shaman, Marazara the Halfling Rogue, Kirilah the Paladin of Mystra, Theron himself, Jessiron the Monk, and Devra the Sorceress. Redbeard stands with a window behind him. He is taller than average for a human, 7 feet tall. Despite his name, he has a long white beard.

Redbeard: You're probably wondering why I called this meeting.

Jessiron: To tell us why your beard is white instead of red?

The other all look at Jessiron.

Theron: That's only funny if I do it. Don't be rude. Sorry, sir, please continue.

Redbeard: Right.... So, anyway. I need help from the lot of you. As I am sure you all are aware, a dragon has been sighted flying into the top floor of the Tower of Redemption.

Theron: Yeah, but we've fought against plenty of dragons before. I'll slay that dragon in no time. When do we leave?

Redbeard: Slow down there, kid. Do you not even want to know what kind of dragon it is?

The Merry Band of Misfits all become silent as they await the answer to the question.

Redbeard: Prismatic.

Theron: Oh....

Redbeard: And not just any Prismatic dragon. A fully grown adult Prismatic Dragon. Two thousand years old at the very least.

Kirilah: Even my deity fears adult Prismatic Dragons....

Theron: I'm honored, but why us? Kirilah is right. The deities themselves would struggle in such a battle.

Redbeard: I chose you because you're the bravest warriors this land has seen, at least since back when I was your age. I want you to investigate this matter. Attempting to fight the dragon would be throwing your lives away. In order to reach the top floor of the tower, you'll need to gather dragon scales from 9 other types of dragons to unlock the door. If you succeed, more gold and platinum than you could ever count is your reward. Do you accept?

Shrevi: I'm in. The chance at getting that kind of loot is all the convincing I need!

Marazara: I have always wanted to see a Prismatic Dragon in person.

Theron: I accept.... but on one more condition.

Redbeard: Name it. No other party of adventurers would dare take on this task.

Theron: If we succeed.... We still get the gold and platinum you promised.... However, you'll also have to tell us why your name is Redbeard yet you clearly don't have a red beard. I know it's not due to your age.

Redbeard: We have a deal. Gather a dragon scale from 9 elemental dragons then return here for instructions regarding the tower.

Theron and his allies get up out of their chairs to exit the room. Redbeard looks out the window once they leave.

Redbeard: I really do get sick of the constant mocking of my beard, but that Fire Genasi Warblade and his Merry Band of Misfits are my only hope of figuring out the mystery behind why that colossal dragon would come all the way out here.

The music no longer plays and the scene fades out as Redbeard sighs.

====

Scene fades back in to a view of the Merry Band of Misfits at the town square.

Theron: Alright guys, I suggest we take a day to relax before embarking on this quest for the dragon scales. It would be too late to leave town now, we would not get far before it becomes too dark. We would leave the next day. Meet here at sunup. In the meantime, you can do whatever you wish as long as you stay in town. I want to visit the local gladiatorial arena personally.

Shrevi: I'll go gamble some more then. We could use some more gold for supplies.

Marazara: Give me the money from your winnings yesterday. I can go buy the stuff we need.

Jessiron: The rogue taking all the money? No. I'm coming with you.

Theron: So everyone knows what they are going to be doing then? Meet here first thing in the morning.

They all nod in agreement and then they momentarily seperate. Theron watches as the other misfits go off to do their own thing. Shrevi goes to the tavern. Devra finds the largest tree in town and meditates in its shade with her spellbook by her side. Marazara heads to the merchant bazaar with Jessiron to purchase supplies for their journey. Kirilah finds a place to herself in the local worship site to pray to her deity. Theron is by himself now.

Theron: Well, time to go to the arena. It has been a long time since my last match. My days of having matches in the World Gladiatorial Combat Federation were some of the most fun I ever had. I want to get involved with that again, it was a good way to take out frustrations in between quests. What an adrenaline rush it was!

A dwarf walks past Theron, he turns around to ask the dwarf about the arena.

Theron: Excuse me.... Who is in charge of the local arena of the World Gladiatorial Combat Federation these days?

Dwarf: Oh, that'd be Damgar. He's a big orc in a suit. Usually stands around by the door to the battle grounds doing paperwork. Can't miss him.

Theron: Alright, I remember Damgar. Thank you!

Dwarf: Sure thing, kid. Now if you don't mind, I need to get to the tavern. Word around town is some armored Dragon Shaman is winning everyone's gold in the gambling corner lately.

The dwarf wanders off in the direction of the tavern.

Theron: (thinking to himself) And.... There goes Shrevi's next gambling victim.

Scene fades out.

====

Scene fades in to the World Gladiatorial Combat Federation Arena. Damgar the Orc is filling out a form regarding an upcoming show. Theron walks in.

Theron: Damgar! Long time no see.

Damgar: Theron Daggershield? Is that you? What brings you back to these parts?

Theron: Redbeard sent my Merry Band of Misfits and I on another quest. In the meantime, I was wondering if you need any more gladiators for your next show. It has been too long since the last time I set foot on the battlefield.

Damgar: Let's see, according to my card here we do have an opening. I can put you into a triple threat match. Adding you to the card would certainly generate some interest for the fans. Things are different now though, I would have to start you off on the rookie tier.

Theron: That works for me. Who are my opponents?

Damgar: The first is Davros Loyalar, an insane Half Orc Barbarian with a mask. He is a large contender but never says a word. He also has a creepy goblin manager who does his talking for him. Davros will do anything that goblin tells him to do, as if he took Davros under his wing for the sole purpose of having him do his dirty work for him. The two have had their alliance since before Davros was a gladiator.

Theron: And the other guy?

Damgar: The other is a human rogue wearing red robes named Zanneiros Monsterheart. He is out to torture opponents and can be lethal in a triple threat scenario such as this one. If either you or Davros are in a position to get flanked, he would not hesitate to strike.

Theron: Count me in then. That sounds fun!

Damgar: Go get prepared then. I will inform the other officials that you are going to be competing.

Theron heads to the training room to go through his Warblade maneuvers before the match begins. He goes inside and closes the door behind him. Fade to black.

====

Scene fades back in using a mosaic animation. Theron's eyes open.

Theron: What a strange dream....

He turns around to lay on his side, and goes back to sleep, fade to black.

 

[Spidey Revivey]

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there, wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared dream before." ~Edgar Allen Poe​

The moonlit waves ebbed and flowed along the coarse beach, sounds of slurping and gurgling escaping the waters. A seagull could also be heard from the sky calling out to the night. The breeze that carried the ocean to shore danced hypnotically upon the waves in a maddening prelude, just gently stirring the loose bits of sand scattered across the shoreline. A small bonfire eating away at driftwood illuminates the edge of the coast in violet flames. A figure in white stands before the fire; cane in hand. But it is not a man.


She tosses the cane into the heart of the driftwood, and watches the fire swallow it. The bonfire grows a darker shade of purple. She begins chanting loudly the words she was always forbidden to whisper, always forbidden to think. But now she was free.


Fallen, but free.



Excita meos principem. Venite ad me, omnes in nomine diaboli.
(Stir my prince. Come to me, all in the name of the devil.)

Excita meos principem. Venite ad me, omnes in nomine diaboli. Excita meos principem.

Excita...


A crack of lightning escaped the sky and struck far off into the oceanic distance. Thunder rolled like the growl of an alerted lion, and the teasing breeze pushed more playfully against the unnatural flames and her white dress. She started to recite the words again, but her voice caught and stuck inside of her throat.


There he was, lying spread-eagled on the dark sands. Sitting up, he looked around confusingly; his blonde hair landing in wisps over his eyes as he takes a gloved hand to push them back. Looking down at himself, he bolted up and swore loudly. He was sporting a tight black shirt and leather pants- neither were his usual apparel.


Seeing her, he stopped in his tracks. Surely this was another dream. The redheaded woman was always there, with that same cat and mouse game of hers. He wouldn't move this time, no matter how curious she made him feel. He would stay in control this time. Ramparte spat on the ground in defiance, irritated by his appearance and hers. But curiosity swelled inside of his being once more. Why is she in white? What happened to her green dress?


Who was she? To him?


He strode slowly towards her, taken by her beauty as he had been several times before. He stopped midway, however. Gaining back his cold attitude, he stood with fists clenched. A smirk clearly visible from her vantage point. He raised his head high; letting her get a good look at him from the light of the crackling fire.


She took one step, and then another. Uncertainty rode the breeze now as the wind clenched her dress pleasantly. Ramparte's smirk turned into a smile as he admired her body. As she stood before him, words became hard for him to find. He looked away from her, not understanding what was coming over him. Here she was, not running. Not walking away into crowds. Not some mirage in the distance or a face on an old video tape.


She was real. She made that apparent as she took his face in her hand.


Eyes locked on to one another, Ramparte found his voice. As coarse as the grains were on the beach, he shook under her touch and questioned her accusingly.


Who are you woman, to tease me so?


Letting go of him, she turned to leave. Seeing how this was going to play out, he grabbed her wrist violently and pulled her towards him, locking eyes once more. His lips trembled as he shook his head. She panicked and the flames tremored brighter. Her fear crept through him, and against his instincts he loosened his grip. His eyes softened and he whispered an apology. Now she looked away and feebly answered him.


My name is Erin. Erin Amarthe.


Breathing in her name, he took his hand and pulled her face towards him.


Now that I know your name, who are you?


She looked at his clothing uneasily and bit her lip.


An angel...


Part of him figured as much, but he wasn't done just yet. Applying a small amount of pressure to her chin, the big question escaped his lips before he could ponder it any more.


And what do you want with me?


She gave him a faint grin and looked him over more liberally. Her hand treaded over his and glided meticulously across the entirety of his arm to his shoulder and finally resting against his chest. Without thinking, he released her chin from his grasp and placed his own gloved one on top of hers. Emotions stirred deeply within The Catalyst; a play of lust and love began to take center stage as the world of WZCW faded from his thoughts.


You're no angel...


And with that, he leaned over her and began kissing her neck. Shock ran through her body and revealed itself within her eyes like candlelight as he took hold of her. New experiences coursed through her and her blood became adrenalized.


Erin closed her eyes and fell further from grace.


Turning from one side to the other, he kissed her neck once more and glanced at her sweet face as she held his own. Before he could say another word, she took his lips and made him hear the choir inside of his head.

The trim of her gown fluttered and transformed- giving birth to monarch butterflies. Blissfully unaware, Erin and Ramparte held on to one another as they encircled the hellbound pair. Dancing delicately with the breeze they sprung away and disbanded.


They were oblivious to the arrival of the stranger in the neckband. His dirty cravat shone brightly upon the flickering of a dying bonfire. Isis shook his head at the two in disgust. Clearing his ash-covered throat, he pulled the cane from the fire and examined it. No burn, not even a mark betrayed the stick.


Saltatio pro me, anguem.
(Dance for me, snake.)


It stirred to life, and lost it's solid state as it slumped to the ground in a coil. The cane wriggled through the sand and made it's way towards the young lovers.. The head of a hooded snake, an asp, took shape and slithered closer. Isaiah Israel chuckled, and taking a page right out of Ramparte's textbook, recited a quote among the embers of a beach.


With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate
Of life at once untie: poor venomous fool
Be angry, and dispatch.


Ramparte woke up right at the moment the asp snatched a butterfly from the air.

 

[Miko]

What is the price of power?

What is the most you would sacrifice for that power?

Wealth? Possessions? Your very self?


Primary function?

S.H.I.T wanted a rest, the loss to Matt Tastic had hit home harder than it would've anticipated, it didn't hate Matt Tastic, it could even offer it a grudging respect for having the savvy to manage it twice.

It potentially didn't have to turn up for Unscripted. The notion was oddly... appealing.

Primary function?

Its first thought had been to enter the battle royal for an opportunity for the Elite X Title.

Then it had had a second thought. Second thoughts are not something a remorseless killing machine have very often, so it paused to take an extra special look at this one.

It thought; Why?

The answer was obvious of course, because it was a match, a chance to destroy some opposition and get another shot at the Elite X Title. In short, it was what it did.

Primary function?

S.H.I.T exists only to destroy!

Why?

Why base so much on one simple mantra? Had Matt Tastic been right in what he said? Was there a place in WZCW for an unthinking, unbreathing killing machine?

A bizzare notion struck it at that moment, a reminder of what it did the last time it required answers. It read the bible from cover to cover.

------- --------------- -------

The librarian looked up as the shadow fell across her, aiming a soft smile at the new customer. Her face froze at the sight of the square frame, with the merciless red eyes beaming down at her, mouth set in a permanent snarl.

"Can I help you?" She said uncertainly.

S.H.I.T exists only to destroy! The voice screamed inside its head.

This one requires some books. It droned at her.

"You're in luck, we have lots of books here. Any books you want, in particular?"

Books that answer... what? books that answer what? The librarian was staring at S.H.I.T, questions. It finished lamely.

Four hours later, and S.H.I.T felt comfortable in the knowledge that it could defeat any quiz team in the world. Yet that didn't really cover it.

S.H.I.T walked back to the Librarian, the sentence 'the quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog' uses every letter in the alphabet.

She looks up in surprise, "does it?"

Affirmative.

"Hmm, thats interesting," she said pleasantly, before reaching toward a plate of cookies and putting it in her mouth.

You will eat 35,000 cookies in a lifetime. ERROR; Inexact figure given, it depends on the individual.

She raises her eyebrows, "you wait until I tell Shannon about this."

The average person speaks for 10 minutes a day.

"You should meet my mother in law."

All of this information is unsatisfactory.

"I don't know, I am having a blast."

This one does not understand, this one wants to know why!

"Why what?"

WHY? It droned, sounding like a monotoned petulant child.

"I think I can help you," said the librarian, as she stands up and walks over to a bookshelf, "wait here." She commanded.

This one obeys.

After a small amount of time of her searching the books, she returns with a volume in her hands.

"Here," she says, offering it towards the robot. S.H.I.T takes the tome, and reads the front cover.

The wisdom and quotes of Fredrick Nitch. It observed.

Much later as Backstage Worker Bob is making his way through the backstage area toward where he would normally find S.H.I.T, with a note in his hand. Coming from further down the corridor, S.H.I.T's usual haunting grounds, is a noise which is best described as a cat throwing up hairballs while its nails are being scraped down a chalkboard.

As he turns the corner, he sees a sight that might turn the stomach.

S.H.I.T is sat with its back against the wall, playing the high harp.

Bob's mouth opens. Bob's mouth closes. Bob's mouth opens. Bob's mouth closes.

"What? I.. what? What?"

S.H.I.T looks up at Bob with a stare as cold as a blizzard in a freezer.

Greetings Backstage Worker Bob. It said.

"Whuwhuwhuwhu?"

This one notes your confusion; But is it not written 'without music life would be a mistake'?

Backstage worker Bob gapes at S.H.I.T, before suddenly remembering what bought him here. "You're booked for a match at Unscripted." He said, proferring the note.

S.H.I.T twangs a string, this one is not going to enter the battle royal for Unscripted. This one is going to have a rest.

"No, no, you're booked against Constantine, I've been sent to tell you."

S.H.I.T twangs another string, almost thoughtfully. Constantine... How interesting.

"Are you going to face him then?"

Of course, this one exists only to destroy. S.H.I.T said, If it did not seek to destroy Constantine, then it wouldn't be fulfilling its purpose.

Destruction is this ones purpose, destruction is this ones life. Life without music is a mistake.

S.H.I.T twanged another string.

"Uh huh."

Thank you for the information.

S.H.I.T considered for a long moment, it had absolutely no intention of taking part in the Unscripted PPV, instead devoting more time to learning, but John Constantine was a special case, an old enemy, older than Matt Tastic.

Constantine was an enemy, and he had been the reason S.H.I.T had been forced to make common cause with Barbosa.

Matt Tastic was an enemy, and he had been the cause for S.H.I.T to re-evaluate itself.

"The man of knowledge must be able not only to love his enemies but also to hate his friends."

John Constantine and Matt Tastic had been responsible for as much forward progress of S.H.I.T as its friend Barbosa, S.H.I.T couldn't experience love, but when looked at from a new perspective, it had a lot to thank them for. Barbosa, Barbosa had been the cause of more inner conflict than S.H.I.T had ever known before, it couldn't experience hate, but it had no reason to thank him for that.

S.H.I.T had fought a war with Barbosa, an absolute war, and after it was done they were attacked by the Empire and left to be blown up by C4, S.H.I.T had managed to grab a special vest and throw it over itself and Barbosa, and after that had formed a sort of bond with Barbosa.

John Constantine was the leader of the Empire, and put himself into their cross-hairs, in turn he managed to re-focus S.H.I.T and S.H.I.T eventually claimed the Elite X Title from him, after the disaster that was 'Natural Selection' and the short term return of Hunter S. Kravinoff.

S.H.I.T had emerged from that better than when it went in. It decided at that moment that it was going to go to Unscripted, it was going to thank John Constantine for that, it was going to thank him the only way it knew how.

It was going to destroy him.

"Where did you get a harp?" Bob asked, jolting S.H.I.T back into the here and now.

This one purchased it at a music store. S.H.I.T replied, almost curiously, before twanging another string.

"Oh," Bob replied, sounding disappointed. "That just sounds so normal."

 

[Dave]

The Beginning Of Something Big​

It hadn't been a tremendously long time since John Constantine had made his triumphant return to a WZCW ring – the well-earned sweat of his endeavours still resting on his forehead. A return that had seen him reclaim some of the form that took him to the main even of All Or Nothing or claiming the King For A Day briefcase. He had made good on his word to reduce Titus, the glorious hero of the WZCW fan base, to his knees and mercilessly delivered a Collateral Damage that would no doubt send shock-waves through WZCW and it's talent base.

But the Power Trip was not done with WZCW/ His massive achievement of defeating Titus was only the first step on a long path for John Constantine. A path that required momentum as much as talent. He had to move forward and he knew just how to do it.

Constantine: Mr. Banks!

Kenneth Banks was not a man that Constantine was particularly aware of. Truth be told, Constantine hadn't yet got the measure of the man. He wasn't like any of the other authority figures in WZCW, he was a self made man. A man with years of experience in manipulation and enhancing his own lot through opportunity. Unlike the other figureheads in WZCW, Constantine wasn't sure that Mr. Banks could be so easily manipulated.

Banks: Ah, Mr John Constantine. Hell of a match out there tonight. I can see your return being a fruitful endeavour indeed if you are to perform like that every night.

Constantine acknowledges Mr. Banks' praise – bowing his head and allowing a small smile to creep onto his features. Closing the door behind him, Constantine moves inside the room. He pulls a chair out from under the side of the desk and looks to Mr. Banks for approval – a gesture met by a simple nod of his head.

Banks: I must apologise for not being there personally when you resigned with us. As you can probably appreciate, it has been a period of great profitability but instability. I'm afraid that I just could not find the time away from here.

Constantine: Please, Mr. Banks, your attendance would perhaps drawn too much attention to the meeting and in doing so would have possibly given Titus the upper hand in our match tonight.

Banks: Quite.

An awkward silence falls upon the room as Constantine begins to develop a in an attempt to navigate successfully through the conversation – the importance of which could not be understated. Constantine had long since learned that WZCW was akin to politics – a field in which Constantine was somewhat of an expert. Aligning yourself with the right people and saying the right things could be massively beneficial to all parties. But one wrong move could spell disaster – this was the risk that he took.

Constantine: I am afraid, however, that I would have liked some time with you to consider my future within this industry and the future of this company. I am very aware that your time is precious and you are a man who appreciates when succinctness at all costs so I will cut to the chase. But if I could, I would love to tell you a tale from my past.

Mr. Banks silently nods his head in agreement as he rests his pen upon the wooden table in front of him, perhaps reluctantly giving Constantine his full attention.

Constantine: About 10 years ago, I was a bright-eyes young politician just trying to make his way in the world. Trust me when I tell you that my record was cleaner than a whistle. I volunteered constantly for anything that would put it's name to a good cause. I had this idea that if I applied myself and just kept on going I would eventually find my way to the big time. So one day this campaigner drops into my tiny little office in St Louis and he drops this clipboard on my desk and gives me a speech about how a disease was spreading through some breed of animal in Western Africa and how he needed my help.

Mr. Banks raises a hand to Constantine, silently remonstrating about his time. Constantine quickly retorts.

Constantine: I promise this is going somewhere.

Mr. Banks lowers his hand and settles back into his chair as Constantine continues.

Constantine: So before I know it, I'm on a plane to Nigeria – a benefactor in some useless fight against some unknown disease. So the first thing I do when I get off the plane is ask some faceless representative about this disease. Hell, the name still escapes me but through his broken English, he begins to tell me about this disease. You see, this disease was a real threat to the wildlife of the continent. It would infect the host and would slowly squeeze the life from it's lungs until it could no longer continue to walk- completely unknown to the host. After a few days or weeks, it would just collapse and die – no possible way of saving it. It would spread like a cancer through the wilderness killing everything it possibly could. Thankfully we were able to end this disease eventually but it was not without it's share of endeavour.

Constantine slowly thinks about his actions before suddenly sitting bolt upright in his chair.

Constantine: The reason I bring it up, Mr banks, is that I see a similar sort of ailment making it's way through WZCW. And just like in Western Africa, it has infected it's host. And perhaps more strikingly worrying is that one day WZCW will collapse and die if it is not dealt with. That disease, Mr. Banks is clear for me to see. Your new WZCW Heavyweight Champion is the self-proclaimed “Master Of Swag”. Your Elite X Champion, a title that I once help with aplomb, is being sullied by a radioactive freak.

Constantine shoots out of his chair, impassioned and full of gusto.

Constantine: I fear for the future of this company if this freak show is allowed to continue, Sir. Your business, the business that you invested so heavily in will be nothing more than a footnote in wrestling history if you do not take drastic action to end it before it becomes a pandemic that cannot be controlled. I, Mr. Banks, am the man you have been waiting for. I am the man who can protect your investment and put drastic actions behind sharp words. Give me one match with Ricky Runn and I will continue the work I started with the burial of Titus tonight. With that one win, I can act like a shot coursing through the veins of this great company. I will rid this company of it's disease and allow it to be the dangerous animal that it once was. One chance...

Constantine catches himself in a diatribe as Mr. Banks stares on without any words. Constantine slowly sits back down as Mr. Banks silently considers his offer.

Banks: You know, they told me about you before they resigned you. They told me that you would eventually crash through my door with some ridiculous idea that I supposedly could not refuse. Surprisingly enough though, I like this one.

Constantine smiles gleefully, catching a scent of a World Heavyweight Championship match at Unscripted.

Banks: But I am afraid that Ricky Runn is out of the question presently. He may be the target of much of your rage and perhaps the man you may wish to dethrone sometime in the future. And as much as I would love to see Ricky Runn versus Constantine at Unscripted, I am afraid that it cannot happen. You see, the wheels of Unscripted are already turning and it is just too late to change anything. Additionally, my main event is sure-fire ratings winner. So on this occasion, I am afraid that I am going to have to turn down your request.

Constantine screws his face up as Mr. Banks denies his request.

Banks: However, your passion is inspiring and I do see it having some monetary value. And John Constantine with wind in his sails is something that everyone wants to see, whether they choose to admit it or not. With that in mind, I do feel as though we can come to some sort of agreement that will both serve to further your mission within WZCW and give the fans something to get excited about. A win in this match might just raise your stock through the roof and a match with the World Heavyweight Champion may not be too far away.

Constantine: I'm listening.

Banks stand up and moves around his desk to an A4 piece of paper pinned to the wall. He considers it for a moment and then turns back to the seated ex-politician.

Banks: How about this? For one night only, a rematch between two of the fiercest competitors that WZCW has been proud to call theirs. A match between two of the most dominating Elite X Champions in the history of this company – And indeed the man who began his reign by stripping you of the Elite X Championship at Kingdom Come 5. A secret match that will get the crowd going wild... At Unscripted, it will be “The Power Trip” John Constantine versus The Mandroid S.H.I.T!

Constantine had thought about SHIT many times in the last 6 months – How he had bested him at the biggest event in WZCW history, but more importantly about how he was the epitome of the problem. Sure there were bigger fish in the sea but Ricky Runn, Fallout and the ilk would wait their turn. In truth, a win against SHIT and moreover sending a message against the Mandriod would have them lining up. SHIT was a worthy next opponent and had carried the Elite X Championship well after taking it from Constantine's waist – Constantine often thought that he would have respected the man under the cardboard if he wasn't part of a bigger problem. But he was a problem and one that John Constantine knew just how to solve.

Constantine smiles widely as Mr. Banks helps him picture the scene. Standing up, Constantine outstretches his hand and is met by Mr. Banks in a vigorous handshake. Constantine nods his head in thanks and heads towards the door.

Banks: Just one more thing, Mr. Constantine. Your story, the one about Africa. How did you finally end the disease?

Stops stops at the door, facing away from WZCW's owner.

Constantine: … We... I couldn't. That won't happen again.

Constantine stops in the door way, perhaps contemplating his past actions before heading out of the door and leaving Mr Banks with an inquisitive yet pleased look upon his face.

 

[Viola Moonlight]

Steven Kurtesy looked around the almost bare apartment he used to live in, clutching the keys as he pondered about all the memories that he had attained up until this point. After a moment of staring off into the distance, a hand is placed on Kurtesy's shoulder that gives him a slight jump. He turns around to see Michelle Frost (friend and trusted psychiatrist) slide her hand off and walk in front, viewing the empty rooms with a smile. Kurtesy saw her smile and for a split second, he felt happiness too.

"This is place is going to need a woman's touch but I'm in love with it."

She turns to Kurtesy.

"Thank you so much, especially paying my rent a few months in advance."

Steven gives off a weak smile.

"It's the least I could after you picked up all the slack that Sandy and I left behind. You deserve your own place and practice, Michelle."

Michelle smiles from ear to ear before giving Kurtesy a big hug.

"I appreciate it, Steven. Good luck on your journey."

The two stop the embrace before Steven turns around and walks slowly towards the open door of the apartment, looking to go outside.

"Yeah..."

Steven trails off the last part of his sentence as he continues to leave. Before Kurtesy is out of sight, Michelle leans against the front door.

"Hey! If Sandy or yourself are ever in town, don't hesitate to swing by!"

Steven turns around and gives off a wave before leaving a slightly concerned Michelle at his old apartment. After a couple of seconds, she turns back inside and locks the door.

--------------------------------------------------------

We see Kurtesy walking through the sunny car park to where Sandy Deserts had just pulled up in her motorcycle and pulled off her helmet. He continues over to her as she turns the ignition off so the two can talk without interruptions.

"Everything sorted?"

Kurtesy nods.

"Yeah... Michelle's elated about the apartment."

"Good... good."

The two share a small pause before Sandy pipes up.

"Hey, are you sure you want to do this? Y'know, starting anew? I totally understand if you're having second thoug-"

"I'm sure, Sandy. Five years ago, I was the cheery, fun-loving and happy doctor who just wanted to help people and make them laugh. Ever since I joined WZCW, I've become someone else. I don't know who I am any more Sandy and I need to leave. You said it yourself that we need to get away from it all, especially after what happened to... mother."

Another small pause as the two half-siblings let the tension slide.

"Okay. As long as you're 110% sure."

"Are you?"

Sandy nods.

"Definitely."

One more pause before Sandy breaks the silence and throws a second helmet at Kurtesy, who catches.

"Well then, what are we waiting for? Let's go restart our lives."

Both Sandy & Kurtesy get their gear on before jumping onto the motorcycle. Sandy starts the ignition as Kurtesy looks back to his apartment for a few seconds before putting his head down. As Sandy adjusts her goggles & gloves, Kurtesy notices something sticking out her backpack and gently zips it open slightly, revealing a WZCW sweatband. Before she can notice, Kurtesy grabs the sweatband and takes a good hard look at it, rubbing it with his fingers.

"You set back there?!"

Sandy turns back to see Kurtesy looking up at her, nodding his helmet. She turns around and he zips her backpack shut, holding onto her waist as they ride off out of the carpark and onto the road, still clutching the WZCW sweatband tightly in his hands...

... not letting it go.

 

[Ubermensch]

The TV MA logo appears in the top right hand corner of the screen. Despite the opening logo, the scene remains pitch black. In the background, Eric Stratton; the cold hearted father of Barrett Stratton, is heard talking on the phone.

Eric-…yes…what?...yes you will get the other half of your payment when the job is finished…did you receive the 500 thousand I already sent? Good…I will be in contact with you within the night…yeah…

The phone conversation apparently comes to an end as the scene opens outside Barrett’s house. It’s an overcast sky, dark, and windy out in the cold Brentwood air. Leslie Oakmont, Stratton’s girlfriend, helps him hobble up the driveway. He is visibly sore from the Elite X Battle Royal. Barrett wears a pair of jeans, a camouflage baseball cap with fishhook attached to the brim, and a Dixie Outfitters shirt while Leslie wears a red Ralph Lauren cocktail dress and black heels.

Barrett-Damn my leg hurts.

Leslie-I know baby, we’re almost there though.

Barrett-Shit…

The camera pans over to see a Mercedes limousine parked outside Barrett’s house.

Barrett-My dad’s here…of all the nights…I can’t deal with this. Give me my flask.

Leslie rummages through her purse to pull out a flask with that Kappa Alpha insignia emblazoned on it. Barrett reaches into his pocket and pulls out some pain killers. He pops two of them and then turns the flask up to wash the pills down before Leslie stops him.

Leslie-Whoa, Okay…that’s enough…

Barrett-I can’t deal with his trash tonight.

Leslie-It’s okay baby, I promise. Look…we will tell him okay…

Barrett-Tonight?

Leslie-Yes! What better of a time?!

Barrett-Yeah…you’re right…hell I know why he’s here, he’s about to cut his failure son off…

Leslie-Was, about to cut his son off. And you’re not a failure.

Barrett-Yeah…alright…screw it, let’s go.

The couple continues up the flight of stairs to house entrance as the camera pans inside the home. Inside, Anderson , Eric’s assistant, and Eric Stratton are awaiting the couple. Both of them have a scotch on the rocks, and Eric is staring into the fireplace deep in thought.

The door to the Fourier opens, and in walks Leslie and Barrett getting his father’s attention. The pair walk into the living room to an awkward silence and nothing but the sound of the crackling fire.

Eric-…Barrett…

Barrett-Listen, I know what this about alright?

Eric-Oh you do?+

Barrett-Yeah and I’m done with your shit.

For the first time Barrett appears assertive to his father.

Barrett-My whole damn life I’ve sat back and taken your trash. All that pressure to succeed, to live up to your name…the abuse…

Eric-…

Barrett-Yeah, what now?!

Barrett gets in his father’s face.

Leslie-Barrett calm down!

Leslie attempts to position herself in between the father and son but to no avail.

Barrett-You thought because you bought me this, or put in the best schools, or the best wrestling camps that it made you a good father, but you ain’t shit old man.

Eric becomes visibly angered as well.

Barrett-You came up with this little scheme to have become the face of the WZCW, and take over it, well it’s a stupid ass plan, by stupid ass old man, and it didn’t work. All you care about is your money, and your name. You never cared about me, you were never there for me, never around…you were never around for mom either, why do you think she left your ass?!

Eric-Watch your tongue boy!

Barrett-I’m about to watch my fist into your damn nose you old bastard. Mom left you, but you lawyered your way out of that one right? Just like you always do. She got nothing, because you! She lives in a damn trailer park, and you tell everyone it’s because she went crazy…no it’s because you buried her just like your planning on burying me.

Eric-…

Barrett-But you know what; I don’t give a shit anymore.

Lesie-Barrett!

Barrett-I’m done playing your game old man. Because I am going to be way better father to my kid then you were to me!

Eric-…What?

Barrett-Yeah that’s right, Leslie is pregnant. You'll never have a thing to do with us or her. You won't ruin my kids life like you did mine!

Eric peers over at Leslie who reluctantly nods and looks down at her stomach. This announcement puts Eric in a state of shock, he steps away momentarily contemplating this news and staring back to the fireplace.[i/]

Barrett-What?!

Eric-Barrett…I…I didn’t know. I’m sorry.

Barrett-…

Eric-I always thought I was doing what was right by you, by us, and our family. Sending you the right schools, trying to make you I thought it meant to be a success. I see now…I see now that I was wrong.

Barrett peers away to hide a single tear running down his cheek.

Eric-I put too much pressure on you, I brought all this on you. I never got you the help you needed. Barrett, you are my son…my only son, you’re the father of my grandchild, and that makes Leslie my daughter now. That is our family, that is how it is, how it should be. ..

Eric places his hand behind his son’s neck pulling him forward.

Eric-Son, I am sorry. I could never cut our family off, you’re all I have…can you forgive me?

Barrett-…

Barrett pauses briefly and embraces his father as Leslie tears up at the emotional scene. Eric goes over and hugs Leslie as well.

Barrett-I...I forgive you dad.

Barrett says sobbingly.

Eric-Thank you son...

The trio recover from the heartwarming reconciliation and dry their eyes.

Eric-I can’t believe this! This is an outstanding occasion. My son, is going to be a father, and I am going to be a grandfather. I don’t know how I feel about being so old ha, but I am extremely happy, for all of us.

Barrett-Ha, Thanks dad.

Eric-Situations like this call for a celebration. Anderson?

Anderson-Yes sir.

Eric-Make my son and his lovely bride to be here some drinks. You’ll both have to excuse me; I have some phone calls to make…

Anderson goes over and pours them both a glass of champagne as they sit on the couch in front of the fire place.

Anderson-Congratulations you two.

Leslie-See I told you! I mean this is amazing, everything is going to work out babe.

Barrett-You were right, I mean I thought we were done. I just had to tell him, I couldn’t live like that anymore, under his boot.

Leslie-I know babe, but your dad has had a change of heart. He’s for us now, for you babe.

Barrett-You’re right…it feels like the weight of the world is off my back now. No more embarrassing myself in the WZCW, I can concentrate on us, on the baby…

Leslie smiles back at Stratton as the two share a kiss before Eric walks back into the room.

Eric-Alright! Barrett, I tell you what. We’re all going out to eat to celebrate this occasion. But first…

Eric reaches into his wallet and pulls out 4 100 dollar bills.

Eric-Why don’t you and Anderson go into town and get you and I some coke to celebrate the good news, eh?

Barrett-Dad, come on…

Eric-I’ve already got it all set up. It's not every day you welcome a new edition to the family.

Barrett-Haha okay. You know I will. Babe you ready?

Leslie gets up assuming she is going as well.

Eric-Barrett…the streets of Nashville are no place for the future mother of your child. Just let her stay here with me, besides, she and I have a wedding to plan...

Barrett-Ha, alright.

Barrett gives Leslie one last kiss good bye and makes his way to the door with Anderson. Eric’s demeanor quickly becomes more solemn watching his son walk to the door. Just before Barrett and Anderson leave, Eric stops him.

Eric-…Barrett wait!

Eric walks over to his son and pauses in front of him. His stares at his son before giving him one last hug.

Barrett and Anderson walk to the parked Mercedes limo. Barrett gets in the back as Anderson drives them. Inside the limousine Barrett pours himself a drink from the bar and leans back; sighing in relief.

Barrett-Where are buying this at anyway?

Anderson-Inglewood.

Barrett-Inglewood?! Ha, dad’s got a shitty connect, whatever…

The camera pans back over the Barrett’s house where his father and Leslie sit in the front of fire drinking champagne.

Eric-So Leslie, congratulations.

Leslie-Thank you so much sir! We are so happy you are supporting us, trust me.

Eric-It’s quite alright. Blood is blood Leslie, you always do what’s best for your family. You will realize that now that you have a family of your own. So how far along are you?

Leslie-Only a month! Like I literally just found out! I was so excited.

Eric-I bet. When you see that child for the first time…you look into their eyes, and you see nothing but potential…uninhibited potential. You see everything you have done, and everything you couldn’t have done. Your hopes are on their shoulders, you want them to best you in every way…to make you proud…make your family proud.

Leslie-You’re right, I mean I can’t wait to hold it. It’s all I think about, mine and Barrett’s child, part of both of us. Uh forgive me, but I really shouldn’t be drinking.

Eric-Ah, of course, true enough. That’s how I felt with Barrett when I saw him, I saw the potential to be everything I wasn’t…hmmm…in a way I guess he didn’t let me down.

Leslie-Wait, what do you mean?

Eric-When Barrett was a boy, we knew something wasn’t quite right with him.

Leslie-…

The camera cuts to an overhead scene of Barrett’s limousine driving through Brentwood and exiting onto the Interstate headed for Nashville. The city, and car lights race by in the background while the dialogue between Leslie and Eric continue over the car’s departure.

Eric-Sure he was smart, well…smart enough. But he was so violent and destructive. He was impulsive, never thought about anything beforehand. That boy never had a friend that didn’t benefit him or didn’t fill his ego, never. Fine enough, but when we took him to the doctor, they just dropped a bomb on me Leslie. They told me, that my son was a psychopath.

Leslie-What?!

Eric-We didn’t know how to take it. All I could see was him squandering away his future at some point, throwing away our family name…everything I walked so hard for.

Leslie-I…I can’t believe that! I won’t!

Eric-I suppose he can function well enough. But all the signs are there, you have to see it.

Leslie-…what did you do?

Eric-We did nothing.

Leslie-What, why?

Eric-I couldn’t let my only son be outted with something like that. Besides, early I guess, he had this sort of ruthless quality to him. I suppose in a way I actually was pleased with his diagnosis…at first at least…We paid the doctor to destroy his records, and we never brought it up to anyone, especially him. But as he got older, it got to be much more problematic. Always bailing him out of jail, bribing different people, the assaults, the rape allegations…he was a time bomb. When the boy’s trading, he’s ruthless. He will go after anyone for profit, he doesn’t care. It was same on the mats and in the ring at first, but it seems he’s finally lost any focus he once had…

Leslie-Why didn’t you ever him the help he needed? The medications?

Eric-Ha, medications…and have that show up and come to light?! In case you haven’t noticed girl, he’s been medicating himself for quite some time.

Leslie-You mean with the alcohol?

Eric-The alcohol…and the weed, pills, the cocaine…whatever the boy can get his hands on to keep him level. You saw how easy it was for me to get him out of the house. I loved my son, I really did.

Leslie-Wait, what do you mean “loved” your son? You still do.

The camera pans back over to the Barrett’s living room.

Eric-Leslie, Barrett is on a path of destruction. He is bad for the family, bad for me and he is bad for you. He has failed me in almost every way, and he will do to the same to you girl.

Leslie-What are you talking about?! He is not.

Eric-Don’t be so naive girl, or even play that way. I know your sort, I married her once…

Leslie-But you just said you would be behind us, that you would support us.

Eric-And I will, but I won’t support Barrett. I have sunk enough in that enough ship.

Leslie-I don’t get it.

Eric-After tonight, Barrett will no longer be in either of our lives.

Leslie becomes irate at this statement and stands.

Leslie-What the hell do you mean he won’t be in our lives?! Where did you send him?!

Eric-…

Leslie-Tell me!

Eric smirks and goes to pour another drink.

Leslie-Oh my god! You sick son of a bitch!

Leslie panics, reaches and fumbles for her phone to call Barrett and warn him of what appears to be his father’s plot against his life. Eric quickly smacks the girls phone from her hand and into the fire place and grips her wrist.

Eric-Now you listen to me! I have wasted so much on that boy, all for nothing! I brought him into this world; he is mine to take out!

Leslie tries to escape and run to the door, but is back handed by Eric and falls into the couch weeping hysterically.

Eric-Don’t do anything foolish girl!

The camera pans over to Barrett’s limousine now driving in a blighted neighborhood. Housing projects, abandoned factories, and dilapidated homes line the streets as the limo continues to its destination. Leslie and Eric’s dialogue can still be heard.

Eric-I will give you a minute to control yourself. I know this hurts, and despite you being with my son to better position yourself, I know you had feelings for him. Now I have a proposition for you. Your father and I’s firms have merged. We will both post record breaking profits from our portfolio this year. What you don’t know is that I have power of attorney over all of your father’s assets. He wanted this merger so desperately.

Leslie-Daddy…

Eric-Your future, your families’ future is now in my hands. The future of my name is now in you. You have two choices. One, you go and live in some trailer raising your child, my grandchild, with nothing to your name. Living a lifestyle you have never known, having nothing, because you will be nothing.

Leslie-…or?

Eric-Or…you stay with me.

Leslie-What?!

Eric-I will raise soon to be deceased son’s child up like it was my own. In memory of him. I will give you the lifestyle you are used too and everything you want.

Leslie-I…I can’t…

Leslie is distraught and hysterical in tears.

Eric-I will give you a minute to rethink that. Think where you’ll be without me, hopeless and so will your entire family. You’ll be alone with a baby, a white trash single mother. I’ll give that child whatever it wants, and whatever you want…but you’ll…well…you’ll give me whatever I want as well.

Eric sits next to Leslie placing his hand on her thigh. She peers up at him in anguish with tears streaming down her face as he begins kissing her neck and running his hand further under his dress.

The scene cuts to Barrett Stratton exiting the limousine in the run down Inglewood area of Nashville. There is virtually no foot traffic in the area as the car pulls into an alleyway running adjacent to dilapidated homes on both sides. Stratton and Anderson exit the car and wait for the dealer.

Barrett-Well, where the hell is this guy?

Anderson checks his watch.

Anderson-They should be here any minute… uhhh…look, let’s just forget this whole thing Barrett we can go get some liquor instead…

Barrett-What? Hell no son, I am raging tonight.

Anderson-Barrett come on lets go man…

Anderson grabs Barrett’s shoulder as if to lead him back to the car.

Barrett-What’s your problem? We’re good.

Just then a blue Grand Marquis pulls into the alley way. The windows are completely tinted out and the car sits on 24 inch chrome rims. At the sight of the car Anderson’s face seems to go deathly pale and he slowly begins edging his way back to the car. The Grand Marquis turns on it’s high beams illuminating the alley way and making it difficult for Anderson and Barrett to see. Out walks a medium built man wearing a Red Chicago Bulls Hoody, jeans, and a red bandanna hanging out of his back pocket.

Dealer-What up man?

Barrett-…What’s up with the lights?

Dealer-Ah you know, gotta keep everything on the up and up around here.

The dealer approaches as Anderson begins to back further away from them.

Barrett-You got the stuff?

Dealer-Yeah man I got it.

Barrett-Well? Are we gonna stand here in this alley all night are you gonna sell me some yayo so I can get on with my night?

The dealer smiles and looks over to Anderson who is almost at his car.

Dealer-I got it man, it’s close by. Real close…

Barrett-What the hell do you mean you got it close by?! Are you new to this boy?!

By this time Anderson has already opened the car door and preparing to back out of the alley and flee.

Anderson-I’m sorry Barrett…I really am…

Barrett-What do you mean you’re sorry?! Where the hell are you going?! Anderson!

Barrett briefly runs toward the car, in a futile attempt as Anderson quickly reverse the Mercedes out of the alley and back out onto the street, screeching his tires as he takes off.

Barrett-Anderson! What the f*ck is this?!

Dealer-Looks like your boy left your punk ass.

Barrett-Punk ass?! Bitch I don’t know what you think this is, but you got a whole lot of ass whoopings coming your way!

Dealer-Oh for real?

Barrett-Yeah for real, give me that coke and I may leave some teeth in your mouth.

Dealer-Ha aight man. Lets just see what my boys think about that…

Barrett-Boys? the only boy I see is you.

Just then two other black men enter the alley way. One is smaller and slim than the first wearing an all red T shirt. The other is a large, built guy wearing a black wife beater. Both men have red flags hanging out of their jeans implying they are members of the Blood street gang. At the sight of the two menapproaching, Barrett’s confidence quickly turns to fear as he is clearly outmatched.

Barrett-Look man, I don’t know what this about…but I’ll pay you whatever you want…my dad will…

Dealer-Bitch your daddy is the one paying us.

This news his Barrett like a ton of bricks as he realizes he has been betrayed by his father.

Dealer-Yo get his ass!

The smaller blood immediately charges Barrett and slugs him in the face and attempts to tackle him against the wall. Barrett repositions him in a clinch and knees him to the face knocking him to the ground. At this, the larger gang member charges Barrett, but Barrett grabs a lose brick from the wall brings it crashing to thug’s head and stomps after he falls. The original dealer charges at Barrett who throws the brick into the Dealer’s face his knocking him to the ground as well.

In a fit of rage and adrenaline, Barrett grabs the smallest gang member punching him once to the face and then placing him in a rear naked choke.

Barrett-You picked the wrong one tonight!

Barrett tightens the choke causing the gang banger to gasp for air and cough as he struggles to breathe. Barrett grabs the fish hook from his cap bill and plunges the hook into the corner of his mouth causing him to yell in pain. Barrett then violent pulls the hook back opening up the side of his mouth after fish hooking him. The man falls to the ground writhing in agony, screaming and clutching his mouth as blood pours onto his hands. Just then the bigger man recovers to his feet and delivers a massive right cross to Barrett blindsiding him and knocking Barrett to the ground. Both gang members then begin violent stomping Barrett as he attempts to get back to his feet, but to no avail and can only cover up from his beat down.

Dealer-Aright, come on…

The drug dealer halts his fellow gang member and the two walk back to the car and seem to be rummaging around in the trunk.
Barrett is slowly crawling to the opposite end of the alley in a futile attempt to escape from his assailants. He is shaking and vomiting blood onto the alley ground. By this point the commotion has alerted many of the nearby neighborhood dogs who can be heard barking in the background. An elderly lady in turns the lights on in her house and looks out into the alley to see what the commotion is about. She is shocked to see Barrett crawling in pain and spitting up blood.

Barrett-help…please!

Barrett screams out reaching up to her house. The lady thinks briefly and then runs from the window closing her blinds and turning the light off from fear of involvement with the scenario.

Barrett-No…

Barrett’s assailants return to him.

Dealer-Nobody’s got sympathy for yo ass.

Bigger gang member-Aye, stand him up.

The first dealer stands Barrett up holding his arms behind his back as Stratton looks on in anguish.

Barrett-Please…don’t…

The bigger gang member cocks back and delivers a powerful punch square to the jaw. The force of the punch knocks Barrett from the dealer’s arms and to the ground leaving him unconscious.

Bigger gang member-Whooohooo… now that’s how you knock a mother fucker out.

Dealer-Hell yeah, come on let’s tie his ass up…

The duo begins duck taping Stratton up, starting with his mouth and continuing from his shoulder down to his legs. The bigger guy hoists him up over his shoulder and heads toward the alley way placing Stratton in the trunk of the car. They then go get their fallen member, who had been cut open by Barrett, help him to the car.

The next scene opens up out in the countryside. It’s still dark outside and the car pulls deep into a field in an unknown location. The trio exits the car and pops the trunk where Barrett was placed. The three look into the trunk, and the first dealer pulls out at a glock model 22 .40 caliber semi-automatic pistol. He pulls the slide to the rear inserting a round into the chamber.

Dealer-Who’s gonna do him in…
The smaller blood that Stratton injured with his fish hook snatches the glock from his comrade. He still holds his rag to his face to stop the bleeding from the other assault.

Smaller Dealer-I got this.

The blood lets out a two shots into the trunk that echo out into the cold night air.

Smaller Dealer-…punk ass…

Dealer-Let’s go.

The bigger gang member lights a match and tosses it to the inside of the car, setting the grand marquis to a slow blaze. The trio leaves the scene of the crime in a nearby car of another member of the Bloods that apparently followed them to the scene and leave.

The camera focuses on the burning Grand Marquis as the scene fades to black.

 

[Spidey Revivey]

The cemetery gates rumbled open from his touch. Hauntingly attractive marble from the statues and grave markers seemed to illuminate his path by moonlight. His cane picked apart the holy ground as he trudged onward into the graveyard. He was in his usual attire that evening; a white suit complete with a polished chrome spider resting on his lapel. His blonde hair pinned up in a black slip of cloth and his face immaculately clean shaven. The ground sparingly covered in tufts of verdant green. Unbeknownst to him, as he walked past each blade, the lush grass turned to amber in his wake.

Ramparte looked up into the black. Stars bitterly gleamed on from their stations; the moon waning but still queerly burning the night sky with an unholy radiance. From a distance he could hear coyotes carrying a conversation in the gloom. Twirling his dark mahogany cane before tucking it underneath his arm, The Catalyst leaned against a tombstone and thought of his current situation.

The List of The Slain was a special piece of parchment that he wrote the names of the people he had beaten in the ring. Only he knew the reasons for doing so, and he had nobody to share that information with. Nobody he could trust.

Except maybe Franklin "Flex" Mussél, his vigorous tag team partner.

Ramparte once again took his eyes to the moon. The crescent shape reminded him of the bizarre smile that would creep from Isaiah Israel's infernal lips whenever he came to him. The crescent shape reminded him of the way Erin's angelic eyes would shut in despair whenever he did what she forbade him from doing. He garnered an angel and a demon on his shoulders, and in between them, the world itself.

He breathed in the ghostly air.

He abandoned Flex in the abysmal cave with no desire of retrieving him. In that time the cold flames of regret started to form. Regret being something The Man in White wasn't accustomed to. But that night seeing the other half of Cerberus being swarmed by the unhallowed alliance of the Pale Riders Dr. Zeus and the treacherous Amber Warren stirred something inside of Godfrey Ramparte. Something that felt like loyalty.

Ramparte shivered.

"We are all searching for someone whose demons play well with ours."​

Chuckling to himself, he ran a leather-bound hand over the epitaph of the stone that supported him. HERE LIES so on and so forth; Ramparte didn't care. He never truly cared about anything but himself, but Meltdown Madness proved that was a lie. Or was it?

In the shade of a weeping angel a figure took form. Tensing up, he locked eyes on the being yards away from him. The silhouette moved slightly, hesitantly, and then came into the light.

Erin Amarthe, the angel with fiery red hair in the gorgeous green dress stood before him.

Ramparte flicked a strand of blonde hair from his face. A genuine smile lit his face right then; a smile of relief. Standing straight up and bringing his cane down in support, he called out to her by name. Even with her so close to him, being surrounded by her presence filled him with uncertain joy. He couldn't help but say her name again.

I am here. Why did you leave him, Ray Roading?​

Even hearing his birth name didn't jolt him out of his bliss.

It was a mistake. I was thinking about me. I came to his aid at Meltdown. I am atoning for what I have done.


Are you? And what of this List of The Slain you have your demon carry for you? What is this all about?


I cannot share that with anyone.​

Erin brushed her pale hand against his spider pin.

Surely you can tell me. I'm your guardian angel.​

Ramparte seized her hand and shoved it away. Taking a step away from her, The Catalyst peered at the moon for a third time. Spectral clouds pawed at it now, covering it's radiance in smokey gray. The cemetery yawned darker.

That is for me and me alone. I am the embodiment of revelation and the catalyst of a decadent age that has yet to dawn. It's not for you or my partner to know.

Please give me some acknowledgment for coming to his hour of need.


Even now you ask for attention?


I am who I was born to be.​

The angel rolled her eyes at him mockingly, but pleased at his answer. Sighing, she ran her hand through his sunkissed hair and removed the black bow with ease. He rested his hands upon her celestial face and looked into her emerald eyes longingly. Erin bit her lip.

Go ahead then. Be both sinner and saint to them. But there will come a time when you must cross over to one side or the other. Like a mortal to the afterlife.​

Ramparte grinned wolfishly and surveyed his surroundings. She was right of course. In his mind, he will have to turn to one shoulder or the other in search of a spiritual guide. But now was not that time.

Now was the time to explore his most hedonistic aspirations.


Scene fades to white as Ramparte locks eyes with the angel in the graveyard.

 

[FunKay the Inevitable]

We enter a large conference room. It is a standard looking affair. Well furnished, large, polished wooden table in the centre, various leather chairs dotted around, even a plant pot or two. At the head of this table is a much larger, more intimidating chair. It is both wider and taller than the others and is already occupied by someone. Their back is to us. They are looking out of a large window which replaces a forth wall for the room. The view is that of an urban metropolis, working like the hive of any good economy would. We can see the occupant’s right hand dangling to the side, holding a peanut, shell and all.

Then various men and women in suits file in and take up the remaining seats. They do this in silence. Only one does not take a seat, but rather stands beside his chair. Meet Andreas Johansson. Second generation Swedish-American, he’s a career man who has worked hard to get to his executive position and is extremely nervous about his pitch today. He’s hoping to increase revenue with a new scheme he’s designed. This should be of interest, but to us. Nor indeed to the persona sat in the window seat, and it is them we begin to focus in on. Andreas begins to talk, we do not listen, just as the head of the table does not. Slowly we begin to encroach on this mystery figure and we get closer and closer to them.

Suddenly we begin to share their thoughts and opinions. We see snippets of their life. An alarm clock goes off. They brush their teeth. They get dressed. They eat some toast. They drive to work. They click a pen, cross the ‘t’s’ and dot the ‘i’s’. They drink some coffee. They drive home. They enjoy some television with a loved one. They brush their teeth again. They return to bed. And repeat. Dull. Predictable. Boring. Then older memories, fainter ones begin to bleed into these duller, more recent ones. Memories of a squared circle where blood, sweat and tears were all shed. Where flesh was torn and bodies were broken. There are soul crushing defeats and fabulous conquests. It is an emotional roller-coaster; a direct contrast to the dull mediocrity of this office.

As Andreas continues his oh so enthralling speech, the peanut in the mystery person’s hand is crushed. It cracks and crunches with such crisp effect that Andreas stops and all those dotted around the table turn to confront the source of the sound.

???: Enough.

An awkward pause. The suits all look at one another, confused. Andreas, now even more nervous, sticks his index finger into the top of his shirt to get some fresh, cooling air in. He’s sweating like mad.

Andreas: Uh, sir?

???: I’ve had enough.

Andreas: W--We could afford the investment in the ship yards sir, quite easily and I--

???: ENOUGH!

The man called ‘sir’ releases the crushed peanut, the remnants dropping onto the lovely, though no longer clean, crimson carpet. Now there is silence. Terror has crept into the entire room. They are all thoroughly terrified of this man. He rises from his intimidating seat, a throne of sorts. We see the back of him. A suit, well groomed brown hair. He turns around and surveys the room. No one dare speak. Andreas stands, his sweating getting worse, frozen in fear. Then we finally see the man in all his glory. He is Steven Holmes and he takes his leave, exiting the conference room, all eyes on him until he slams the door behind him. Everyone looks at Andreas.

Andreas: Was it something I said?

___________________________​

Now it’s later. We’ve followed Holmes back to his home; the Manor. Dusk is swallowing up the remaining light of the day and night is soon to follow. A blue hue is cast all over the luxurious manor. It is as well kept and beautifully maintained as we remember it last time we were here. We go through the stone walls and inside where we look for Holmes, seeing various empty rooms, locked, shut away, untouched, yet surprisingly clean. It is a strangely empty location. We cast a look over the garden, still brimming with wildlife, looking brilliant, beautiful. Topping it all off are the additions of various statues put in place when the lady of the house moved in.

There is something overwhelmingly gothic about all this and the feeling is enhanced further as we travel down a spiral staircase to see light coming from an ajar door. We creep in to catch a glimpse of what lurks inside; the familiar back of Holmes’ head. He is sat on a lavish chaise lounge, clearly built for two, but occupied by one. The television set is on. This is what is casting the light, rather than the ridiculous fireplace, striking electrical lights and various candles. They are all off or not in use. Holmes is focused, his pupils narrowed as he stares at the television, only blinking when it is absolutely necessary. The rest of the world is out of focus as he is squarely and solely interested in what in unfolding before him; WZCW’s All or Nothing 2014.

The events of the pay-per-view absorb Holmes. His gaze does not break away as he witnesses new champions crowned, old scores settled, every ounce of energy used. It is not until the Tag Team Championship match that life seems to enter Holmes:

Harrys: Representing The Elite, they are the team of Michael Winters and Showtime, David Cougar!!

“The Elite”? “THE ELITE”? Two former foes and their cohort have stolen a moniker that was not bought, self-proclaimed or borrowed, but given by birth-right. Steven Holmes believes he is and always will be an Elite, nay, the Elite. He was born to it and forever more it shall be him. This alliance with a name as such is a provocation! A bead of sweat begins to roll down Holmes’ face as his eyes grow larger and his breathing louder. He clenches his fists and swallows, restraining himself. He watches them in action and continues analysing the show. Slowly his breathing quietens and his previous state returns. Then, the main event:

The two men in the ring are ready to go at it, and Harrys waits for a third person to come out, but no music hits. Harrys exits the ring, and Akiyama-san is about to call for the bell, when suddenly, the lights go out and…

[YOUTUBE]KkhzdKgV1iM[/YOUTUBE]​

The crowd explodes.

Copeland: IT’S TY BURNA! IT’S TY BURNA!

Cohen: I… I can’t even… How!?

Flames erupt, creating the Chaos symbol on the stage. Ty Burna rises up from the flames, standing still, head down for several moments. Then he slowly looks up, his gaze aimed straight at the ring. Triple X is in shock. Ricky Runn is on his knees, trying to hold it together.

Ty walks through the fire and down the ramp.

Harrys: And… And their opponent… Ty Burna!

Holmes’s eyes this time narrow. He smirks. An oh so familiar look that the biblical serpentine, Satan, would be jealous of.

Holmes: Tyrone...

And so he watches the remainder of the show as Ty Burna makes quick work of the main event and re-takes the World Heavyweight Championship, rebranding it and re-crafting it to his own design. Holmes notes it all down in his head. He has become immersed, nigh on obsessed. There is a hunger in the pit of his gut that must be satisfied and only his mistress can succeed in relaxing the otherwise insatiable appetite. This is a mistress that only one other knows about. That one other just happens to be his wife, his queen, Celeste Crimson who has snuck into this darkened room, undetected, unnoticed, untouched.

Since they left WZCW within mere weeks of one another, Celeste and Holmes were quickly married. They longed for a child together and sure enough Celeste fell pregnant quickly thereafter. It is eight and half months after the fact and she is due to give birth at any moment. For her to enter unnoticed would seem surprising but to her, it has become to norm.

Celeste: Steven...

Her husband sharply turns to face her. She sees the wild fire in his eyes. The hunger she had feared would return has been reignited. They stare at one another. Celeste may have a swelled stomach and have all the bizarre conditions that come with human pregnancy, but she is still a beautiful woman and one that Holmes remains madly in love with. He has failed to show this recently and now she knows why. His life has been empty, at least partially. There has been a void that has yet to be filled. She is familiar with the feeling. She understands.

Not a single word is exchanged as the two come to the centre of the room to meet one another. Holmes holds her. They never break eye contact. Many sensible questions would and perhaps should be raised at this moment. Any normal couple would indeed quarrel and argue, but this is no ordinary couple. Instead they understand one another and into a passionate embrace this surfaces, complete with kiss. Celeste Crimson will entrust her husband to his mistress. She fears it could consume him, but she is prepared to let it be so. She feels his passion and she recognises what he must do. And he loves her for that.

___________________________​

We’ve shifted setting once more. It is another date an office familiar to many, but not to Steven Holmes. He’s walked through the corridors of power many times, but the times have changed. In the past he would be made to sit outside like a naughty schoolboy as the board of directors, or whatever sycophantic suit was in charge, would make him wait. Not now. Holmes is early and he’s been allowed early entry to inspect the office of the new head honcho, without protest or charge. It is a beautiful scene. An office rife with character and atmosphere as opposed to the stale and sterile conference room Holmes is used to dealing with.

Personal touches are everywhere with photos of various television personalities from other streams of televised revenue. There are longhorns mounted on the wall. Everything seems to shimmer brightly against the wood finished walls. It’s a golden brown sort of feel; warm, and no doubt empowering. This could be a man Steven Holmes can respect, something which causes him to chuckle. Then, the door bursts open. Enter Mr. Kenneth A. Banks. Holmes rises to greet him and Mr. Banks looks him up and down. There looks to be a moment of awkwardness and then Banks bursts into a big ole’ laugh.

Banks: Ha, ha! Hope I didn’t keep you long Mr. Holmes.

Holmes: Not long at all.

The two men shake hands. It is polite and courteous but underneath both men are trying to gain a foothold in this meeting. They’re both very rich and very stubborn capitalists. The pair grin at each other before the handshake goes on for a little too long and those smiles fade. It is Banks who breaks the handshake first, not out of weakness, but to relax his guest.

Banks: Heh.

A pause as Banks moves behind his desk.

Banks: Won’t you take a seat Mr. Holmes?

Holmes does as he is asked and relaxes into the highly comfortable armchair sat opposite the large wooden desk that Banks proceeds to sit behind. As the WZCW owner gets comfortable, he puts his arms on the table.

Banks: Let’s bypass the fat and bone and cut straight to the meat of this one; you want back onto the WZCW active roster. I’ve got no issues with that. You’re a former World Heavyweight Champion, a recognisable star from the past. It’s smart business to bring you back into our fold. That said though, a pregnant wife, a comfortable position of power outside of the wrestling ring, the possibility to be injured again. So the question has to be asked: why bother coming back?

Another, longer pause. Holmes has to think. How can he summarise his feelings, his wants, his desires into coherent speech? How can he express himself? He makes an attempt at it.

Holmes: The way I went out, clutching my wounds, limping away, turning my back on my woman, my warrior queen, it was...well it was rather pathetic. I believe that all good things must come to an end. It’s a simple fact of life and indeed of death. That cannot be my end though. I won’t let it be my end. My body has healed, any mental fatigue I had has long since diminished. I’ve grown weary of the painful mediocrity that has become my life. Indeed I will have a child and it will be a wondrous experience, but it is better that I satisfy what lurks inside me now when they won’t remember and recall my absence than later.

It’s time for me to return to my old mistress and to tear into men’s flesh once more, rip and bleed them like pigs. Then I will retire, the peaceful king after years of solidifying my legacy and conquering those who dared cross me. David Cougar no doubt thought this and no doubt Ty Burna did too. We are all battle worn men and sometimes we need to heal our injuries but we always return to the battlefield. We always rise once more and this will be no different. It is time WZCW remember who the true “Elite” is. It is time they recall that Aristocracy Reigns. It is time for them to tremble in my wake and fear me. It is time.

There is that fire again in Holmes’ eyes. Banks can see it. He’s seen it all over the world and all over the entertainment industry. He’s familiar with it and so he smiles, satisfied with his answer. This deal will be done. Again he sticks his hand out, standing up as he does. Holmes reciprocates.

Banks: A done deal then.

Banks goes to break the handshake, just as he did before, but Holmes refuses to relinquish it. The two men lock eyes. Suddenly the mood is deadly serious.

Holmes: I’ve had issues with this company’s hierarchy in the past. I’ve even tried to buy it before. I want you to remember Banks I am as rich and as powerful as you are. So I offer you the courtesy of a warning. Don’t. Fuck. With. Me.

It appears that this might break down at any second but then Banks breaks out into a laugh which in turn just about sets Holmes off.

Banks: Of course, but remember don’t fuck with me either.

The pair still shake hands and chuckle, but underneath there is still a deadly serious meaning. They both mean business. Holmes is back and he is ready for war. He can only hope that Banks will remain on the sidelines during his crusades.

 

[ABMorales787]

*thud*

The microphone hits the ring mat as Chris slowly backs away from Myles and Anderson. He slips through the ropes and makes his way up the entrance ramp. The crowd doesn’t know what to make of it. Chris stops when he gets to the top of the ramp and looks out at the crowd. His eyes are sad and burdened. He then turns and exits through the curtain. We cut to commercial.

Connor: I don't believe it - Chris K.O. is back?!

Cohen: But apparently his voice isn't...

Chris pushes through the curtain in the gorilla position. His beard is lush and telling to the hardship he has faced over the last 210 plus days. He frantically stumbles down the hallway as his face drips of distress and sweat. Several backstage workers reach out a hand to ask if he is alright, but he dodges each gesture. However, he does grab something white from one of the workers as he continues stumbling down the hall. However, the camera does not reveal what he grabbed. He quickly finds a door in the wall and escapes into a bathroom. He slams the door behind him and is relieved to find himself alone. He walks up to the sink, sets down what is in his hand, and splashes his face in a hurry. As he wipes his hands down from his brow to his chin, he looks in the mirror.

He can’t help, but stare. He has avoided almost all mirrors since being rescued, but he now had to truly face what he has become. The scene turns into slow motion as Chris blinks. When he opens his eyes, he sees another man.

Chris is in a much smaller bathroom, now. He lifts up the top right of his lip to check for any food residue in his teeth. Upon finding none, he slips on a pair of rose-colored shades and exits the bathroom. Gone are the hallways, for we now see K.O. on a plane. He steps down the aisle, brushing by another 20-something year old man in the process, and returns to what appears to be his seat near the front of the plane. He has to step over a woman in order to get to his seat near the window. He rubs his forehead from a chair shot he received from Dustin Hunter less than 24 hours ago. He lets out an annoyed sigh and then leans back in his seat. Just as he closes his eyes-

Woman: Don’t worry, I won’t tell your secret, honey.

Chris opens his eyes and leans up to look over at the woman next to him. She is a middle-aged white lady with curly blonde hair. Wrinkles cover her face as she smiles at Chris.

Chris: Excuse me?

She leans in to whisper.

Woman: You are WZCW Superstar, Chris K.O..

After about a year in the company, the novelty of people recognizing you in places you didn’t want to be recognized in moved way past flattering to just plain annoying. Chris gave her an uninterested nod.

Chris: Yep, that’s me.

He quickly re-closes his eyes and leans back in his chair.

Woman: Come on, now. You don’t have to be rude. Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?

Chris can only smirk as he keeps his eyes closed, as if she only knew.

Chris: No, she didn’t.

Woman: Well, you are just grumpy that you lost the EurAsian Title to that James Howard fellow.

Her statement strikes a nerve with Chris, but he bites his tongue.

Woman: I watched the show last night with my grandson. He is an avid fan of WZCW. He wanted Stormrage to win, but I’m glad that Howard captured the belt. Those two boys have a bright future, don't you think?

Chris sits up as he prepares to snap back at the woman’s unwanted comments, but he is stopped by a sudden turbulence. The “fasten seatbelts” light pops on overhead and the captain speaks through the speaker system.

Captain: This is your captain speaking, please remain seated as we are going through a rough patch up ahead. Thank you.

After the captain finishes, Chris finally notices that the woman has grabbed onto his wrist for security. Suddenly, he feels mortality kiss his forehead. Some more turbulence occurs, and the plane begins to fill with uneasy chatter. Chris looks around the plane, but then looks up at the front of the plane to see a stewardess knocking on the bathroom door.

Stewardess: Sir, please come out of the bathroom. You need to return to your seat.

Again, some more turbulence occurs as the plane shakes. The woman’s grip tightens on Chris’ wrist. He decides to finally speak some encouragement to her.

Chris: ---------

An exploding sound occurs and then a deafening swoosh. The plane is nosediving as oxygen masks drop from the ceiling. Chris grabs his own as he frantically looks over and sees the woman putting on her own. The experience could have lasted several minutes, but it was all a blur to Chris, that was until the plane hits the water and then the tail-end explodes. Chris submerges under the pitch-black water and tries to unbuckle his own seatbelt. He struggles at first, but is finally able to get free and ascends towards the top. He sees an orange glow up above and, upon surfacing, discovers that it is the wreckage of the plane that is on fire. He yells out for help, but he can’t hear his own words due to the ringing in his ears and the irritation of the water.

|-------------------------------|​

We switch to a shot of a hand turning off running water. We return to the backstage bathroom in current time where Chris fled to after exiting the ring at AS 79. He takes a hand towel to wipe his face. On the counter, in the background, is an out of focus blur of the white thing Chris was carrying earlier. Chris discards the hand towel and picks up the item on his way out. Upon exiting, he looks down the hallway and sees something that turns him stone-faced. The camera doesn’t reveal what he sees, but he looks highly disturbed as he backs down the hallway and begins running away.

We cut to a shot of the inside of a door, which is being furiously knocked on from the outside. A light flicks on within the home that the door belongs and the camera pans to reveal Ian Crawford, Chris K.O.’s former off-screen agent. Crawford is in some type of night robe as he opens the door with a scowl. However, his anger quickly disappears as he spots the source of the tapping at his door. It is none other than the bearded Chris K.O.

The scene cuts again and we see Chris sitting in Ian’s study. Ian walks in with a cup of hot brew and hands it to Chris. Chris nods politely as Ian takes a seat adjacent to his former ally.

As Ian looks at his almost unrecognizable former friend; he remembers the partnership they once had. Ian proceeds to take a small sip of his own brew, but then he breaks the silence.

Ian: I saw you come out on AS 79 a few weeks ago.

Chris doesn't respond as he sips his drink. He looks down, in a somewhat disturbed manner, at the wood flooring.

Ian: Chris, are you alright?

Chris nods as he takes a sip out of his own cup. Ian pauses as he tries to decipher the man before him. He proceeds to push his glasses up on his nose and then sets his own drink up on a table, next to his chair. He leans forward and speaks with deep sincerity and curiosity.

Ian: Why are you here?

Chris looks directly into Ian’s eyes as he takes a drink out of his cup. He swallows and then sets the cup aside. Just as he opens his mouth, the scene cuts away.

|-------------------------------|​

We are back in the dark ocean now as Chris screams for help as he floats along with the burning wreckage from the plane he just crashed in.

???: Hey! I hear you!

Chris turns and sees an inflatable raft bobbing towards him as it glimmers in the burning orange that engulfs the remains of flight 6133. Chris yells out for help and starts waving an arm up above the water.

Chris: Over here!

A silhouette of a man paddles on the side of the raft as he tries to make his way over to Chris. Chris swims towards him and they are finally able to connect. The man pulls Chris up into the raft. Chris quickly examines the man who pulled him up. He is white, slim, and has brown hair with a slight stubble.

Chris: Thanks!

Man: Don’t worry about it! Did you see anyone else?!

Chris looks over the rim of the raft and then shakes his head “no”.

Chris: No, sorry.

Chris leans back to catch his breath, but then quickly realizes that the lady who was sitting next to him on the plane is laying on the other side of the raft. Chris leans over towards her.

Chris: Is she okay?!

Man: She’s fine. She was awake when I pulled her in. Help me yell for anyone else out there.

Chris nods and then begins yelling with his rescuer. The scene cuts out.

|-------------------------------|​

We transition to a close-up of Meltdown GM, Vance Bateman. He rolls his eyes.

Bateman: I don’t understand why we are giving him a chance. He no-showed this past week and now he thinks he can negotiate on his terms.

We cut to shot of Chuck Myles.

Myles: Come now, Bateman. You wanted him to communicate with us, and here we are. He reached out to us this time.

???: All three of us.

The camera pans down and we see none other than WZCW Majority Owner, Kenneth Banks. He is rubbing his chin as he smiles in anticipation. A knocking comes at the door, and then immediately opens. Ian Crawford walks in, dressed in a suit with a red tie; followed by Chris K.O., who has something tucked under his right arm. Banks stands up and shakes hands with Ian. With that, the two parties sit down on a set of chairs on each side of table that separates them.

Mr. Banks: Mr. Crawford, how can we be of assistance to you and your client, Mr. K.O.?

Ian unlatches his suitcase and flings it open on his lap.

Ian: Yes, let’s talk about the return of Chris K.O. to WZCW.

|-------------------------------|​

We return to the raft where Chris, the woman, and the man are all sleeping. It appears as though day is breaking as the camera reveals that they are floating in open waters. The crash site of the plane is absent in the backdrop. The man wakes up in a jolt. He looks around and sees that nothing is around, until he spots that their raft is actually heading towards a small island up ahead.

Man: I don’t believe it.

He smiles out of relief and quickly begins to shove Chris’ arm.

Man: Hey, man. Wake up! Look!

Chris wakes up and looks out to see the island up ahead.

Chris: Where are we?

Man: I don’t know, we must have drifted pretty far overnight once we fell asleep after looking for more survivors.

Chris runs his hand over his buzzed head. He then looks over at the woman still asleep.

Chris: Oh, shit!

Man: What-

However, the man quickly realizes what is wrong as he looks over at the woman and sees a puddle of blood underneath her. He quickly stumbles over to her and begins checking her body.

Chris: What the hell happened to her? I thought you said she was awake last night!

The man frantically responds.

Man: She was!

Finally, the man finds the source of the bleeding and sees a piece of shrapnel lodged in her side.

Man: Oh, god.

The man proceeds to lay her flat on her back.

Chris: Is she- is she still alive?

A sudden gasp of air comes from the woman as she coughs up blood and opens her eyes wide.

Man: Oh, god! Hold her shoulders down!

Chris abides and holds her down from wailing in the raft.

Chris: What do we do?!?!

The man looks around, but isn’t quite sure.

Chris: I said, what do we do?!?!

Man: I DON’T KNOW!

Suddenly, another gasp comes from the woman, but this time it stops her motions all together. Chris covers his mouth and backs away from her. He begins swearing profusely under his breath. The man closes his eyes and grits his teeth. After a small moment of silence, he looks up and sees that they are getting closer to the island up ahead. The scene cuts out.

|-------------------------------|​

We return to the office room from earlier.

Mr. Banks: So, then it is agreed. Due to Chris’ unfortunate circumstances we will waive any previous contract he had with us, but in return he will sign a new one going forward, with his return scheduled for the Lethal Lottery as a surprise entrant. Agreed?

Ian: Agreed.

Ian looks over at Chris, but then clears his throat as he turns his attention back to management.

Ian: One last thing, Chris will not be returning to WZCW alone. He will be using a manager.

Bateman: You?

Ian shakes his head “no”. Ian then looks over at what Chris is holding in his hands. Bateman double takes as the other two look dumbfounded.

Bateman: You’ve got to be kidding me! Is this some kind of joke?

The camera reveals for the first time what Chris is holding. It is none other than a rough looking volleyball with a red face painted on it. Bateman looks like he is about to pull out his hair.

Ian: His name is Steve.

Ian half-shrugs at Myles and Banks as he realizes that it is a bit looney.

Bateman: Of course his name is Steve, and Chris is Tom Hanks!

Myles: Bateman, please. Chris, are you sure you don’t want to compete in a smaller billed match for your return? You know, to knock off ring rust?

Ian: Chris already survived insurmountable odds this past year. What is 29 other men and women compared to that?

A loud slam occurs as Bateman puts his hand down on the side of the table. He stands up to project loudly.

Bateman: That’s it! I’m tired of you talking for K.O.. We invite him back and he walks out, and then no-shows! Now, he has his agent come in and book his way into the LL without uttering a single word to us. Why so quiet? Why the hell is there such a change in motivation? What made you change your mind so fast? HUH?!

Chris stands up, opposed to Bateman. He looks Bateman square in the eyes and opens his mouth.

|-------------------------------|​

We cut back to the scene in Ian’s study. We get a close-up of Chris’ dry lips.

Chris: Ty Burna.

Ian looks taken back.

Chris: When I went to Ascension 79, I ran to the back out of anxiety. I went to wash my face in the restroom, but when I left, I saw him there in the hallway, with his back turned. Like he never got put in the casket. Like he never burst into flames. I kept telling myself last year’s Lethal Lottery was an illusion when he returned, but it wasn’t.

Chris hesitates for a moment.

Chris: I let go of a lot things on that island, Ian. But there was one thing I never could resolve.

Chris pauses again.

Chris: Will you help me resolve this?

Ian pushes his glasses up on his nose and then smirks.

Ian: Ty only cares about one thing, Chris. And that is the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship. You want to get his attention? Force yourself into the world title scenario.

Ian picks up his mug and takes a sip.

Ian: And it just so happens that this year’s Lethal Lottery is for the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship.

|-------------------------------|​

We return to the scene in the office. Chris is still standing opposed to Bateman, who begs to know his motivation. Chris speaks slowly.

Chris: I have my reasons.

Bateman sneers.

Bateman: Just remember, that if it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t have a job.

Ian stands up with Chris.

Ian: And you three remember that if it weren’t for us, you wouldn’t have your jobs either.

Banks smirks as he stands up to shake Chris’ hand.

Mr. Banks: Welcome home.

Chris shakes Banks’ hand and then proceeds to exit as Bateman sneers some more. Myles nods at Ian as he follows behind Chris. The camera gets a close-up on Steve, the volleyball, as the scene fades out.

|-------------------------------|​

We cut once more to a shot on the island. Chris and the man are piling sand on a mound. They finally both stop, and then fall back into sitting positions. Chris wipes sweat from under his nose.

Chris: She was right next me.

The man perks up on the other side of the mound.

Man: Pardon?

Chris: The woman, she was sitting right next to me when the plane went down. She knew who I was…

Chris pauses.

Chris: But I didn’t even know her name.

Chris runs his hand over his shaved head. The man looks sympathetic on the other side of the mound. He stands up and walks over to Chris. He holds out a hand.

Man: Steve. My name is Steve.

Chris looks up and nods politely. He grabs his hand and stands up. The camera zooms out as we see that they are on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere. The scene goes black.

 

[ABMorales787]

The production line was in full flow, busy workers rooted to their spots while the foremen whipped them on, each of the workers in full, robotic flow, hand assembling large, pink fluffy bears before passing them on to the next bored, hopelessly depressed individual, who'll then do his piece before passing on to the next, who will then do his piece. The end result is an efficient, well oiled machine, a machine that makes the man at the very top a lot of money. This comes at a price however, the price is the Human soul, 133 Human souls in fact, the men and women on the factory floor.

Not out of place amongst the other workers is stood a Robot. Well, it is out of place, the Robot sticks out like a sore thumb in the physical sense, but in the mental capacity, this thing is on a similar level.

It had heard that hard work was a secret to happiness. It wasn't sure it agreed at this stage, one look at the workers around it made the conclusion seem illogical, one week in the conditions had confirmed it. Perhaps hard work was a secret to happiness, but S.H.I.T calculated that it helped if you enjoyed the work in the first place.

"The secret to happiness," came perhaps the only cheerful voice within miles of this factory, an older man, bent nearly double from years of work but maintaining an age old pride that not even the nastiest of charge hands could destroy, his skin is boiled like old leather. "The secret to happiness is a good woman," he inhales through his nostrils deeply, as though the air smells of honey and not misery, "a good woman who cooks a good meal." S.H.I.T had started to suspect that if its story was put to screen this man would be played by Morgan Freeman, skin pigmentation issues aside.

"My Gertha always cooks me a good meal, and on Sunday, when the kids and grandkids come round." He smacked his aging lips and put his finished piece onto the conveyor-belt, where it made its way towards the Machine, pink fluffy bear bearing down ominously, "a menu fit for a King on Sundays."

This one does not imbibe Human nutrition. S.H.I.T said in its familiar monotone.

"Not even chicken wings?"

Negative!

"Ain't no one can survive without chickenwings!"

This one...

"Tin can!" Came a deep, booming voice from behind the Machine. A voice that S.H.I.T ignored.

"Rust box!" The voice shouted again, the words booming out in a sound like steam trains mating. Again, it was ignored, although this time S.H.I.T was the only person ignoring it, as the rest of the factory floor turned their attention to the behemoth that was addressing the only being, living or otherwise, that wasn't afraid of him.

"Best talk to him, sonny."

A meaty palm slapped S.H.I.T on the shoulder, the Machine deigned to ignore it.

"I am talking to you!" He snarled.

This one has permission to speak?

"I seen you talking already..." the voice trailed off as S.H.I.T, despite all resistance from the hand placed on its shoulder, turned to address the creature it could not think of as Human. In fact, it had filed this one under "Walrus".

You have business with S.H.I.T?

"Boss wants to see ya," he said, before feeling he was losing the initiative and in a magnificent effort to rally it back, looked around the room in a way that suggested that whatever he was going to say next was going to be incredibly funny. "Probably gonna sack you because you're doing such a bad job." He guffawed. A mild, obligatory laugh followed.

"Whats that? That make you angry?" He asked in the face of all the evidence.

This one does not feel anger.

"Yeah! We'll soon see about that!" He said, attempting to squeeze the hand placed on S.H.I.T's shoulder.

S.H.I.T processes information, however. It continued, oblivious. It processes important information, categorises it, and then seeks the appropriate reaction. It does this by filing people and events under certain categories in order of importance, threat or usefulness, then it reacts accordingly, some reactions may be construed as anger.

The Whale mans already very close eyebrows knitted together, to form perhaps the hairiest caterpillar in history.

This one has filed you under "mild nuisance", now we must seek out our employer. S.H.I.T added, before the creature could reply.



The giant pushed the office door open and coughed respectfully to announce his presence. The figure behind the desk looked up and beamed the brightest, whitest, most expensive smile S.H.I.T had ever seen. It almost made up for his cheap suit, one of the ones that merely attempt to look expensive. He filled the room, especially when compared to the other figure in the corner, making himself as small as possible, S.H.I.T noted the white lab coat.

"You know me, obviously" said the first man, before laughing a laugh which came all the way from the belly. It had a unique quality, that laugh, since it went a way to showing every characteristic of this man, with his head thrust back the massive floppy mountain of perfectly crafted hair bobbed up and down in unison with the shoulder pads from his white, 1980's suit. His impressive, chiseled chin moving up and down as the jaw let the gale burst forth unstoppably.

"Yes, you know me, since I am your boss." He really emphasised that last word.

Affirmative. S.H.I.T replied.

"This contract, this one that you signed, this means that I own you." Really making sure there could be no doubt as to the future relationship between these two.

Affirmative.

"Own you." The grin had totally faded, some people just have to make a point.

Affirmative.

"Good," and suddenly, the grin was back. "It has come to my attention that you are not everything you said you were."

If S.H.I.T were capable of looking guilty, it still wouldn't bother making the effort.

"In fact, you are significantly more," he said, the smile turning sly. "I have been reliably informed, and indeed my own people have confirmed this, that you are in fact, a Robot."

Aff...

"No need explaining yourself," he said, rising to his feet. "I've heard all about you, Mr. Scale Humanoid Industrial Technology..."

If it were possible for S.H.I.T to experience that sinking feeling, it still wouldn't bother making the effort.

"... trying to lie low in my own factory, for shame." He guffawed again. "Well, you've been found out you naughty rascal, and now we will have to decide what to do about it." S.H.I.T did not like how cheerful the man was sounding at this point, it also became conscious of the man in the lab-coat looking acutely embarrassed, though it became even more conscious of the fact that the ogre had yet to remove his hand from what can only be described as S.H.I.T's shoulder, for lack of a better word.

"A new role of employment should suit you," he said, "a demotion of course."

S.H.I.T looked at him expectantly, a glare as uncaring and even handed as gravity boring a hole straight through the man.

"You are to get the good name of this company out into the world. And you shall do that by getting yourself out into the world."

Silence.

"You shall do that by taking up your old position in WZCW," he carried on, in the face of the stare, "where you will compete in their," he looked questioningly at the man in the lab coat, "Lethal Lottery event?" The man in the lab coat nodded, "Lethal Lottery event."

A wave washed over S.H.I.T, suddenly it was in the ring again, the crowd urging it on as it laid waste to opponent after opponent, Piston Chops reigning down, men and women being trapped in the Industrial Strength Vice to roars of approval or derogatory cheers, depending on where S.H.I.T stood in the crowds favour at that particular time.

It felt a pang, before it had left to seek happiness elsewhere it was on the road to the greatest prize WZCW had to offer, before Triple X had managed to out think the Machine in the number 1 contenders match. A prize that had been held by its long time associate, friend and enemy Barbosa, a prize that would go on to be claimed by Ty Burna at the event.

Surely it was not, not what? Regretting its absence? Perhaps regret isn't the right word, but there was a sense of a task unfulfilled.

This one will be a WZCW employee, again?

"You will take up your old position," the man in the labcoat confirmed.

"But you are still the intellectual property of Burglary Inc." Said the mad, smiling man. "And since we've never been introduced, as I don't generally meet the help. Pleased to meet you, my name is Rex Burglary." He extended a hand, which S.H.I.T merely looked at.

This one no longer has to obey your foreman? S.H.I.T asked.

"Well, I shouldn't think so."

S.H.I.T's hand flashed up in a lightning quick motion, grabbing the meaty hand on its shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze, it looked over its shoulder and felt a satisfaction as the mammoth man went pale and sank to his knees. Burglary and the man in the lab coat watched watched, the former shocked, the latter impassively. Only when it heard the man behind it make a bubbling noise did S.H.I.T release its grip. It then extended its hand towards Burglarys own, but the owner of the company pulled back.

"Quite alright, thats, erm, quite a grip you have there."

"Industrial Strength," said the man in the lab coat smiling slightly.

Burglary ignored the man. "So, you accept my offer?"

Affirmative! This one has unfinished tasks in WZCW, successes it must achieve, Humans it must cripple.

Rex rallied magnificently. "Well, try to keep it clean, we don't want you tarnishing the good name of Burglary, Inc."

S.H.I.T merely stared as a reply.

"Well, you can go now." He said, running out of ideas.

This one has a demand to make.

That took him aback, "well?" He snapped.

S.H.I.T remembered the conversations it had been having with the factory floor staff. You must improve working conditions. You must install a vending machine. You must command that Sally from the office go on a date with Verence from logistics. You must give the old man with a fondness for chicken wings an early retirement and pension. You must install a jacuzzi on the roof. You must raise the Christmas bonus. You must double rest hours without adding on time to the end of the day. You must quadruple the amount of Holidays.

Finally, as an afterthought it added. You must improve health and safety, Humans are weak and fleshy creatures prone to injury.

"I think we can look into some of that."

Excellent. This one will prepare to crush Humans.

S.H.I.T turned on its heel and walked out of the office and down the stairs, the others on the production line staring as cautiously as possible.

S.H.I.T had finally kicked into gear, it had experienced mundane Human life and was astonished that any of them could stand it, it needed to be back in front of the masses, dealing out destruction to all that opposed it, and there was plenty to oppose it.

WZCW! There was no such thing as a mild nuisance there, each and every competitor was uniquely brilliant in their own way, each offering a fresh challenge. The break had been good, S.H.I.T had vague information about what was going on in the fed now, and it knew that little of its past ties were there, perhaps this was in effect the fresh start it had desired.



"Why am I doing this again, if I complete all of its demands I'll end up broke."

"WZCW is a different place from the one it left," the man in the lab coat said in answer. "Alliances forming, titles won and lost, friendships formed and shattered.
"WZCW has become a whirlpool of chaos, a world of chaos where you can almost predict the next move by its sheer unpredictability. There is no balance, old greats are fading, new faces are emerging, anything can happen. It is a world of circles, new and exciting, but a world of circles can become too much plot and intrigue, it needs someone who moves in a straight line." He grinned, "and S.H.I.T moves very much in a straight line, it thinks its a pure killing machine, but it will do whats right purely because it thinks its right and damn the consequences, everywhere needs a man like that.
"That's not to say that its grasp of whats 'right' and 'wrong' are views everyone would agree with, but WZCW has a build up of factions and S.H.I.T would take them all on single-handedly if they were in the way of its goals, it is truly unrelenting. Sometimes, in a world of intrigue you just need a simple thinker. One that knows no pain, nor fear. One that is utterly without mercy."

Rex couldn't help but feel that he was being played, "right." He managed. "Why am I doing this?"

"Revenue and profits," was the answer. "S.H.I.T is your walking advertisement."

That was more in tune with Burglary's way of thinking, he didn't hold for this experiment and good storytelling business that his new associate was apparently associated with.



S.H.I.T considered its missed opportunities, an opportunity the Lethal Lottery granted it again. Perennial title competitors couldn't count on having too many chances, and S.H.I.T had blown its last. Maybe now was the time to take WZCW by storm.

S.H.I.T's natural state is of something that seeks to destroy, and one of the things it likes destroying is natural states. WZCW had entered into a natural state, it had its chaos and intrigues, but it still had its tiers, its expected performers. With a lot of the favourites in the Lethal Lottery, any of them as winners sets in motion a chain of events, most of which could be somewhat planned for. Well, Ty Burna, Beard, all the others, the Mechanical Man felt like throwing a spanner in the works, it felt like taking what it was due.

It felt alive! Like it had a purpose again. Perhaps that is the secret to happiness.

It could win the WZCW Title, or die in the attempt.

 

[Showtime]

Scene opens with Showtime David Cougar pacing around a room talking on his cell.

Showtime: ... So I beat him in the ring, no scratch that. I made him pass out in the middle of the ring, humiliated him in front of his home country no less. And then he somehow flukes winning the Lethal Lottery and wouldn't you know it, it's for the WZCW Title. Outrageous! My Lethal Lottery victory wasn't for the title, I had to do it the way everyone else did, the proper way, by beating the champ. Not in some crap shoot match. I should be the WZCW Champion, not Matt Tastic. So, do you think we have a case?

The scene changes to where the receiver of the call is. We see a wooden desk where a koala bear climbs up the side. A hand reaches out to pet it and then turns to reveal himself as Justin Cooper.

Cooper: I'm sorry to hear that Showtime. You know I always was a mark for your work, but I'm afraid that whole linear champion stuff only applies to be. Technically, I'm the most decorated champion in WZCW history, well next to you anyways.

Showtime: Oh yea you're some champion alright. Your greatest claim to fame is beating Chris K.O. and Constantine on the same night. That amounts to what, a couple of Elite X title reigns and an EurAsian.

Cooper: And let's not forget I beat Ricky Runn. That means I am a former WZCW Champion.

Showtime: Congratulations, you beat Runn before he hit puberty. Tell me though, of all your "title reigns" isn't the shortest one the only one you actually won.

Cooper: ..... Sam Smith is a cheater and I hope Tastic holds onto that belt till the day you retire.

Cooper hangs up the phone in anger and then comforts his koala as he flips some pancakes on his counter top griddle. Showtime hangs up his cell in annoyance. Inside the locker room with him is Josh Constantine and Steven Holmes.

Constantine: Did you have to bring up the fact that I lost to that lunatic Aussie?

Showtime: We've all had to deal with some embarrassing losses in our careers, get over yourself.

Holmes: None more so than you of late.

Showtime shoots a glare over at Holmes. All is currently not well within The Elite.

Showtime: What's the number for that lawyer again?

Constantine: We've already spoken to him and he says that we don't have a case. Tastic is the WZCW Champion and is set to face The Beard at Kingdom Come. The only way we get in is if either of them can't make it, and Banks is watching up like a hawk now.

Showtime: To hell with Banks. We are the foundation that this company was built on. We've won every title, we've created classic matches out there. Our ideas and our presence have shaped WZCW to become the premier wrestling federation, and if we don't get what he deserve then WZCW should burn to the ground.

Constantine stands up and places a hand on Showtime's shoulder to calm him down and address the situation.

Constantine: Look I understand you're frustrated. We all are, but the fact is what's done is done. We didn't win Lethal Lottery. We should take some consolation in the fact that you won the EurAsian Title and I successfully retained the Elite-X Title. If we hang on to this belt for a few more months then the WZCW Title will be ours soon enough.

Constantine smiles proudly as both belts are shown on screen. Showtime bats Constantine's hand off his shoulder and adjusts his belt.

Showtime: That is all well and good John. I'm sure you must be thrilled you successfully defended your belt after taking most of the last two months off. At the rate that you are going, you might make it to your 7th title defense by the time next years Kingdom Come takes place. I think you are both forgetting that we aren't the future of WZCW, we're the god damn present and the WZCW Title and every other belt should be held by us, not guys like Matt Tastic.

Showtime looks to his side and sees Holmes still seated on the bench, head down with an ice pack on his shoulder.

Showtime: And what the hell is your problem anyway?

Holmes slowly gets up to his feet, not taking an eye off Showtime.

Holmes: My problem is the fact that you both are holding gold right now while I'm here with nothing to show for my success like some third wheel. My problem is that you both dropped the ball and let me get eliminated early on in the Lethal Lottery match. The three of us inside the ring should've guaranteed victory, but instead one mistake after another cost us. My problem, with you, is that we've been carrying your inflated ego these past few months and if it wasn't for me you wouldn't be EurAsian Champion right now.

Showtime stares at the finger being pointed directly at him. After a moment of hesitation he speaks.

Showtime: So you're saying this is somehow my fault? I'm not the one who pulled a knife on Tastic's grandpa. Do you have any idea what third world country we're in. You are lucky a riot didn't break out right there in that arena with our two bodies taking the blunt of that punishment. If you don't think you are up for being a part of The Elite, then maybe you should get the hell outta-

Constantine: ENOUGH!

Both men turn to look at Constantine who is shaking slightly in anger.

Constantine: Is this how we're going to go out, bickering like school children? No, that's not the way we all want it. We are the best WZCW has to offer and it's about time we damn well show. Changes definitely need to be made and some need to seriously be considered.

The three men contemplate the situation and appear to reach a mutual agreement. The three men shake hands and apologize to each other.

Showtime: Desperate times call for desperate measures.

----------

Scene opens on the set of The Show. We see the signature chair and desk that Showtime occupies and wait for him to turn around on the chair to face the audience. Suddenly the desk is lifted off the ground and we pan out to see a team of people moving props off the stage and dismantling the set. Off stage we see Showtime taking a moment to supervise the progress. He turns around and continues his conversation with Leon Kensworth.

Showtime: Basically I felt that it was time for a change. I had a lot of fun doing it and it was a great experience for me. It helped me get my foot in Hollywood and it even helped me get my foot in WZCW. When I first came in I was immediately branded your stereotypical, cocky bad guy. Some fools who are no longer running this company didn't think I would last 6 months. I lasted longer than every wrestler that was here before and after me. The Show helped me stand out as the larger than life character that I am and without it I may not have reached the heights that I have in WZCW. However, time constants have prevented me from putting my full focus into so I felt that it was time to end it.

Leon: The end of an era.

Showtime: And hopefully the beginning of a new one. One that will be more successful than the last.

Leon: So far it's been a steady success for you and The Elite. You now have two titles in your stable and there's no telling what will happen next.

Showtime: We are very proud of the fact that we now hold two titles, but I'd be lying to you if I said that we we're happy with our performances. The WZCW title is the only title that should, nay, must be held by The Elite and we failed last week in doing that. The next time an opportunity like that comes around we won't let it slip through our fingers.

Leon: This week you won't get that opportunity, but the outcome may determine who becomes the number one contender after Kingdom Come. This week Constantine has the night off again while you and Holmes team up to take on Mikey Stormrage and Ty Burna. There is a lot of history there between all five of you, and especially between you and Ty. How do you prepare and handle for situations like that?

Showtime: Well you know wrestling, and sports in general, is funny thing when it comes to competitors and teammates. Live long friends can turn into bitter enemies, opponents can become allies. Sidney Crosby a few years back said he hated everybody on the Philadelphia Flyers. Maybe he forgot that Maxime Talbot, who played alongside him last year and won a Stanley Cup with him, was on the Flyers. The fact is once they were teammates and then they hated each other, and the same can go the other way around. Not only have I had tons of history with Ty Burna, but I've also feuded with my partners, Holmes and Constantine. And yes he butt heads from time to time, but that's cause we are fierce competitors and want to be the best. Right now we are united in our goal to be just that so what happened between us in the last is just that, in the past. We are committed to the future and we won't rest until we have the WZCW Title and we'll do whatever it takes to win it.

Now Mikey he knows exactly what I am talking about. This is a guy that was a part of a successful tag team for a long time. Throughout much of their success it was his partner James Howard who carried their team. Yea Mikey had some flashes of success here and there, but ultimately it was him who failed time and time again to beat The Sacrificial Alter, it was his partner who won the first singles title between them. Mikey was an afterthought in Strikeforce until he decided to turn on his partner. Friendship thrown out the window over a title, we've seen it a million times before. Now with Tastic it's the opposite. They feuded over the EurAsian title first and then became friends after. Mikey and Tastic both went back to their fun loving selves. Good for them, good for the merchandise, but what's the angle? The Elite are united to win it all, but what are they united for. Friendship? It doesn't last in sports or in wrestling. Winning, championships, is what lasts forever. Sooner or later, Mikey or Tastic will turn on the other. Somebody will turn on them and when they do, we'll be there to reap the rewards. So how do I prepare for a match against an opponent I have history with? I don't. I know everything there is to know, and sooner or later, we'll see things eye to eye.

 

[Spidey Revivey]

The cane struck the unfamiliar ground as cars sped by. Almost rhythmically, the pavement sounded off with the clinking of steel on stone. Ramparte's driving glove cracked as he applied pressure to the head of it; a dog in mid-bark in his grasp. Electronic billboards illuminated the brisk night sky in a wave of advertising. As far as he could see, Tokyo was alive. Passerby kept their faces down as they hurried through each other and passed by him. Foreign words escaped their lips, and their tones were ominous. Feeling like Dracula from the Bram Stoker novel, The Catalyst nodded to them with a toothy grin.

That smile faded slightly when he turned away. The demon himself, Isaiah Israel, stood before him on the sidewalk.

Ramparte: After all this time, here you are.

Isis sported a very out-of-place top hat, and proceeded to tip it towards him in mock salute. The city's noise dimmed until all that could be heard was the narcissist and the devil.

Ramparte: I deserve an explanation, Isis.

Isis: Oh my dear Ramses, do ya think that is what ya deserve? Riddle me this young pup - month after month rode on...did ya summon me? Did ya mention me even in passing to any of your little friends? Do they even know I exist?

All that time slipped by, and the big fight came upon ya and then ya asked for my help. You really are a weird little human. I thought you'd show more care into that List ya sold your soul for. Instead you conjure imps. How quaint.

Isaiah Israel leaned into The Catalyst's ear. His putrid breath left a dark green stain on his cheek.

Isis: Still got angels in the outfield, mortal? Have ya plucked her wings and made her cry out for her maker yet?

Ramparte shoved the demon away and attempted to walk passed him. Like the monster in every horror movie, Isaiah appeared in front of him again.

Isis: So you have been touched by an angel then.

Ramparte: No. She calls out to me from my dreams and when I am alone with my thoughts. I hear her cry when I do terrible things. The angel haunts me. She has become my own devil.

I needed to see if I was getting what I bargained for with the List. Yes, the kappas weren't what I truly wanted, but then again I haven't made a lasting mark in the company either. The Catalyst will be a name that will be remembered. I just need time.

Isis: Time, I am afraid, is something ya don't have anymore.

With a wave of his wrist, shackles sprouted from the ground and latched on to Ramparte's own. Confused, The Catalyst shouted at the foul-smelling monster what was happening. Isis kept the grin on his face.

Isis: I regret to inform you that the year is fiscally over after Kingdom Come VI. Win or lose, it does not matter for you. Ya didn't make your quota, Ramses baby. You're out of business. Hell ain't too bad. For me, anywho. Not too sure how mortals hold up down there. Heard it ain't that nice.

Ramparte: Isis, please! We can work out a deal. "The Devil's in the details!" There is more to my bargain than beating people in the ring to fill out names on paper, now wasn't there?

Scratching his chin, the demon beckoned him to continue.

Ramparte: I am not a foolish being. Brash? Yes. Vain? In spades. But I am always the thinking man. My deal wasn't to jot down wrestlers into my records and be granted success. The reason I gave up my soul is for much more than that. My deal was to defeat my enemies, and what I want will be granted to me.

At Flex Mussél's Gym...at the Sidekick's Training Grounds...Cerberus Corporation...the Gala so many moons ago...people perished. I took their souls and put them into the List. I have fulfilled my promise!

Isis: What are you saying? That the authority down below has made a mistake? You're a bold little fucker - I grant ya that.

The chains lurched downwards, yanking Ramparte to kneel as he felt himself being dragged closer to Hell.

Ramparte: By hook or by crook, I held up my end. What could I have possibly done wrong?

For once, innocence shined brightly in the young man's eyes. The shade of a being rolled his brimstone eyes in answer.

Isis: The victims were supposed to be wrestlers. I've been in this game far too long to be hoodwinked by some greedy blonde upstart. See you in Hell.

Ramparte: Re-negotiation!

Isis: There's nothing you have that I want.

The chains slipped further into the ground, and with it The Catalyst. Fear escaped the once arrogant tag team champion. Perspiration ran down his forehead and passed his chin as he was brought to both knees.

Ramparte: I have an angel that whispers in my ear...

Isis: That will soon change once you're singing Falsetto with the boys and I.

Ramparte: Please. I can give you many more souls if you give me one more year. Wrestler and otherwise. I came in late to the game. That would be a breach of contract, wouldn't it? And I'll toss the angel in, too. I know you want her head.

Isis: This is somewhat true...and you are now in your own little clique..just getting started, you are...fuck it all...

Another wave of his wrist and the irons vanished. Ramparte picked himself off of his knees and looked down, away from the demon's eyes. Hope and dread filled his heart in a crimson yin and yang.

Isis: Silver-tongued devil. Give me a hundred souls for your own, plus the glittery twinkle bitch. One year. In return I will grant you whatever it was that you bargained for. You no longer need the List, but you might want to hold onto it. A reminder, eh?

Ramparte: Deal.

The two monsters shook hands. Once Ramparte let go, the demon evaporated in plain sight and the city around them came back into the picture. From deep down, he heard the angel again. A remorseful sound was on her lips. Uncertainty. The Catalyst went back to stepping in time to his cane. A mist of rain came down on Tokyo. Ramparte passed a shrine, and then sneaked a glance up into the night's sky.

Ramparte: I...

His voice caught inside his throat. His prayer hung loosely from his lips. But he couldn't bring himself to say it; not even to himself. Was there anybody that could even hear him now? Pride filled his lips at that moment, and he licked his lips seductively.

Ramparte: I'm on the clock.

The Catalyst trotted through the crowd with hellfire on his heels and bloody footsteps in his wake. The world seemed to have slowed down around him as he walked up to the doors of The Tokyo Dome and saw himself in. Cerberus was in for a dogfight, but for Ramparte it was a fight to the death.

 

[Dagger Dias]

The Healer of Tyr

​

A young blonde human girl in blue armor under blue robes bearing the symbol of the deity Tyr is seen meditating with her eyes closed in a futuristic room, resembling a space station. A celestial voice calls out to her.

Celestial Voice: It is time. Can you hear me?

The girl opens her eyes.

Girl: Tyr? Yes I can hear you.

Celestial Voice: Your true purpose will soon be revealed, Kaleesta. You must return to the Prime Material Plane. To Faerun in the Forgotten Realms.

Kaleesta: I will go and heal in your name anywhere I am called, but why a return to Faerun? I have not yet healed the Gamma World from the destruction brought on by the Golmeks.

Celestial Voice: I am warping your prayer chamber to Silverymoon City. There you will begin your true calling, you must accompany a holy warrior of Mystra by the name of Theron Daggershield.

The girl stands up, looking upward.

Kaleesta: Theron Daggershield.... Tyr, why him? Is he not the one who-

Celestial Voice: Yes. The very same. He was betrayed by the Cleric who traveled with him, and is now in dire need of your healing gift.

Kaleesta: What happens when he comes into my prayer chamber? The inhabitants of that plane cannot comprehend it.

Celestial Voice: Just tell him the truth, Kaleesta. That it's bigger on the inside. He will be fine. There is no other way to explain it to anyone from the Dalelands.

Kaleesta: If that is what you have for me, Tyr, I accept. I will accompany Theron.

Scene fades out as a strange whirring sound is heard.

====

Fade in to a room at the Moonsea Shugenja Inn where Theron is resting after his match at Empire Rally 6. There is a knock on the door. He gets up out of the bed to answer. Theron opens the door, but the angle does not show who is on the other side.

Theron: Who are you?

Angle changes, revealing that Kaleesta was the one who knocked on the door. She walks into the room and both of them are now onscreen.

Kaleesta: Name's Kaleesta.... but everyone calls me "The Healer". I hear you are in need of a Cleric.

Theron: Yeah I am actually.... I'm leaving in the morning to find the rest of my Merry Band Of Misfits.... They got attacked by a Sharran Angel.

Kaleesta's facial expression immediately turns serious.

Kaleesta: Did they have gemstones!?

Theron: Yeah, wait, how did you know about the gemstones?

Kaleesta: I've faced Sharran Angels before. My prayer chamber can take us right now to wherever your friends went. Come on!

She runs into the hallway, Theron follows her. In the hallway is a blue chamber encrusted with sapphires, appearing to be the size of one humanoid in length and width.

Theron: Ummm, I don't think there's enough room for both of us in there, let alone my Merry Band Of Misfits.

Kaleesta looks back at Theron with a smile.

Kaleesta: Sure there is, it's bigger on the inside!

Theron raises his left eyebrow as Kaleesta unlocks her prayer chamber. They both go inside. Fade to black.

 

[Con T.]

Dear Reader,

I know we don't know each other that well, but I'm sure we'd get along fairly well. I'm what most would consider a nice enough fellow. I'm surely no Mother Teresa, or whatever munter happens to be walking down the road, dirty pillows sagging to the dirt, of India, (or whatever third world country the old bird comes from, that she's dead set on saving). But I fancy myself a good individual. You know: live life in moderation, partake in the occasional frolicking kitten video on YouTube, perhaps overtip a waitress who goes to the trouble of tarting herself up a little bit. After all, my kind generosity can always be of use to poor people.

But since you and I barely know each other from Adam and Eve, you'll have to take my word that I'm a nice fellow. I wish we were more acquainted, but circumstances being what they are, you'll just have to believe me. I'm a man of karma: good juju, and doing unto others as they would do unto you. I like to think that the universe rewards you for good behavior. Essentially, the universe is one gigantic prison guard, allowing its inmates conjugal visits for every time they don't shiv their cell mate.

But if that much is true, then it can't even begin to explain the fucked situation I find myself now. All of that karma rubbish is just that, because the world has decided this to be the approximate time to drop a hefty bag worth of horse jizz on the worthless shell of remnants I call my life.

My name is Dale McKail, star of the new reality show "Prince Charming", future WZCW superstar, and a man who's life is now anguish. And, like any good fellow, my woes begin with my lovely ex-wife, noted Casting Director, Tabitha Morely-Buckman. As a matter of fact, I can pinpoint the exact moment my life took a turn to the (proverbial and literal) shitter. In all started in the plush office of the leathery cumdumpster herself.

As I walked the streets of Park Lane, sewage just under my feet and the smell of pollution and decay fermenting in the air, I arrived at the doors to Tab's Westminister office, and the humble home of British Casting Agency. Where if we can't make you a star, feck off! As I rode the elevator to the lavish suite that was Tab's office, a mixture of dread and anger churned within my stomach. For nothing could prepare a man for the monstrosity that was Tab. Tabs was the absolute worst, a dreadful, dreadful human being. Do not let her passing looks deceive your judgement; she is the Anti-Shag. If you punctured her skin, legions of spiders would crawl from the pus-filled opening, gouging at your eyes and slowly eating away at your carcass. All the while, Tabitha's unearthly shrill laugh will torment you as the spiders slowly pupate your remains.

And yet...there was always something to Tabs, a certain air to her. Goodness knows I can hate her from afar, but up close...up close, I can't escape her. She has a charm that harkens back to her younger days, when she was absolutely irresistible. Oh, the things I went through, just for a whiff of her scent when she was young. She could rob me blind, loot my bank account, steal my pills, and fuck me over every which way. But no matter how much I could hate her, up close, there was no fighting her. From afar, my stomach churned with a combination of murderous rage, bilious hatred, and not a small degree of fear. But up close, that hatred is left tucked away, in place of a seizing fear, and an unquenchable lust.

Of my many failures in life, this inability to overcome this most primal of instincts proved the most damning. With any luck, I'll have saved you from the eternal hopelessness of the Anti-Shag. You will thank me later.

I finally reached the top floor of the BCA's posh office, and quickly made my way out, desperate to be out of such a confined space. As I shuffled out, one of Tab's many man-slaves dourly greeted me with a hand shake. I knew this one well; Richard. The little bell-end, I'm sure, was part of the chorus pushing to "dump the bastard" during the divorce.

"Afternoon, Dale. You look atrocious today."

"Fuck off, all the same, Richard."

"And late, as always. Tabitha is waiting for you in her office, I'll show you the way."

"I'm aware of the way, Richard."

"Yes, well, wouldn't want to hold Tabitha up any more than you already have." That goddamned smarmy smile. Have you ever heard the saying, "In another life, we could be friends"? That was never true with Richard and I. Even if Richard didn't constantly fill Tabitha's mind with the idea to divorce me, even if Richard didn't fill Tabitha with the rage to break my kneecap with a golf club, and ruin my pro wrestling career in London, even if Richard didn't leave incessant late night calls to Tabitha insisting how well he could treat her, Richard and I could never get along. All because of that smarmy smile. That god awful smile, combined with his rat face and buck teeth, would make Richard and I mortal enemies. In this life, in any life, there would never be a circumstance in which Richard and I were friends.

As I was corralled into Tabitha's office, proustian memories filled my head of the times we had together. I almost felt...dare I say it, wistful? There Tabitha sat, with her raven black pixie cut. She was yelling into her phone about some wanker who offed himself in the night, leaving Tabitha in a bind to the casting for one of her shows. It had been my idea to jokingly suggest to Tabs' a position as a casting director. The role essentially involved sweet talking poor, impressionable souls to sign on with you, before screwing them over in the end. If Tabitha had a calling in life, this was it, I laughed. Little did I know Tabitha would wine and screw her way to the very top of the British Casting Agency. At the time, dating a muscle bound pro wrestler was appealing to Tabitha; she relished having a bit of muscle to hold onto. But after I busted my knee cap (which, I'll remind you dear reader, was her fault), my dreams of pro wrestling stardom were dashed. My career was placed on hold, and Tabitha decided she couldn't be with a man with no prospective future. And she needed to be in a relationship where her partner earned as much as she did.

Boy, those were the days.

"Jesus, Dale, you look like Hell."

"Lovely to see you too, dear." Boy, sometimes those days feel so vivid and real.

"No, no, I mean it dear. It's bad enough you got the ugly stick of evolution, but it looks like God decided to beat you with that stick."

"Tabs, can we skip the formalities? Just give me a job, please? I'm already three months behind on rent." Dear reader, I wasn't beyond pleading. Yes, Tabitha may be a harpy, but she just so happened to be a harpy that could control my very future. I signed a contract at a very early age with the BCA, so Tabitha essentially owned my soul.

How long did I sign my contract for, you say? Why, 'til death do we part, of course.

"Stop spending your money on anal beads, Dale."

"Why would I ever need those, Tabs? I mean, why would you when I have you to ever so gently bend me over your desk, and-"

"Ok, ok, I get it, Dale!" She looked up at me for the first time, and I caught her scintillating hazel eyes. Those very eyes that, with a little anger, always could get me in the mood. Again, it was impossible to hate Tabs from up close. She rolled her eyes, and gave an Oh-Why-Not shrug. "And here I was, planning on offering you a chance at WZCW, only the greatest wrestling promotion in the world."

What? No, really, what? Dear reader, you have to know the amount of times I sent auditions tapes to WZCW's office. The amount of times I tried to get backstage when they were in the UK. And the amount of times I left Becky Serra drunk voicemails. And now.... Tabitha was going to offer it to me, just like this?

"What's that catch, Tabs?" I tried to analyze her, but God knows Tabitha was a puzzle. A puzzle that I had the distinct honor of being able to crack. I think that's what attracted her to me in the first place; I was willing to call her out. It was a gift that none of her faithful man slaves would never acquire.

You hear that, Richard? I said, did you hear that, Richard?

"Dear, there's no catch." She offered her pleading look, complete with doe eyes.

"What's the catch, Tabitha?"

Tabitha was done playing; she shot me a death glare. "Listen, Dale. The honest to God truth is, it bothers me that you and I coexist in the same damn city. Because every time you walk these streets, your failure is always going to be associated with me. Do you know how that feels, Dale? To know that no matter how successful I am, there's always going to be that lingering scent of failure trailing? Christ, it's haunting, Dale, you know? I have a massive amount of pride, but simply having you around devalues me. It's like placing a studio apartment in Hyde Park, and having some smelly hobo occupying the front stoop. So, there's clearly two ways this can go; you have to leave, or I do. And since we both know the latter can't happen...I called in some favors. And they're ready to offer you a spot in the big leagues, just like you've always thought you deserved."

"....What's the catch, Tabitha?"

"Oh, Jesus Christ, Dale. Well, for starters, you'd be working for Americans..."

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Tabitha! You can not be serious? Americans? Really?"

Tabitha gave me a pleading look, and held her hand up. "I know, this isn't exactly ideal-"

"Not exactly ideal? You might as well have me working for that bell-end, Richard!" I turned my head to see Richard listening to our conversation in the other room. He looked down, sullen, and pulled the blinds on his office.

"Dale, please calm down. I'm afraid there's more..."

Well, here it comes.

"You see Dale, I tried to paint you in a good light, I really did. I swear, I built you up to be a future world champion. But... Well, let's be honest, Dale, you really don't have the talent on your own."

Pardon me, dear reader, but I almost had an aneurysm right then and there. "You do realize that you were the one to ruin my chance at a worldwide promotion when you shattered my kneecap, right?"

"Dale...Dale, you remember how many wacky gimmicks they gave you to make fans care? You were everything promotions wanted, except you couldn't wrestle or talk. Remember when they gave you the gimmick of The Christmas Tree? Or when they wanted your gimmick to be a centaur? They tried everything with you, Dale, they really did. I mean, let's be honest here...just being Dale McKail sucks. You need a gimmick."

I was listening. I was pissed, but listening. Sometimes, you have to swallow a few things to get ahead in the world. Tabitha continued on.

"So...Americans love reality television."

Nope. Nope, nope, nope. I got up, dear reader, and I walked right to the door.

"Dale! Dale, for God's sake, don't blow this! This could be your last chance to be a wrestling superstar!"

I paused. Reality television was the dirt worst...American reality television somehow managed to be worse than that. But this could be the big break I've always deserved, dear reader. This could be my big chance. Surely, I wasn't below a little unpleasantness to get to it. "So... Americans love reality television, yes?"

"WZCW is looking for cross promotion with other television programs. They're looking for a higher woman demographic, so the reality show 'Prince Charming' came to them and asked to use on of their superstars. They want one of their superstars to appear on their show...at the same time that they are filming 'Prince Charming'. So that's the deal, Dale. Appear on this one reality show, be Prince Charming...and you can work for WZCW."

I had to take this all in, dear reader. "...Prince Charming, yes? You mean the show where little tarts primp around in little cozzies for some jackoff, and let their little knickers fly just to be on television?"

"Yes, Dale, that is the show."

"Tabitha....if you fuck me on this..."

“Dale, really now…neuroticism has never been fetching for you, dear. So really, now, are you in?”

“… Fine, Tabs.”

“Great. Now, Richard will see you out. In a few days, you’ll receive your flight ticket for the US. Really, Dale, this is going to be great.” With that, her focus went right to her computer, to answer e-mails. I can’t believe it…my dream, just handed to me like this. This was the chance…the one chance I had to make it all up. Just like that poor little confused white boy said…this was my moment, I owned it, I- “Honestly, Dale, be a doll and fuck off already.” Snap back to reality, I suppose. Tabitha waved me out of her office, and motioned for Richard to come lead me to…well, really, to God knows what…



---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Coming this fall to CBC…​

"I just know he's the one for me..."​

Fifteen beautiful women are whisked across the country on a journey you've never seen before...

"I never imagined I could be so happy."

But this time...they'll be on the lookout for him...

"He's so dreamy...and he's British. It's so exotic

These girls are here for all the right reasons. They're here to find their eternal happiness. And they know that could only happen with their...​

Prince Charming​

Coming this fall to CBC​

 

[Kermit]

*Beep beep beep*

An empty dump truck backs up to the back of the arena that hosted Meltdown 113. A crane bulldozer is nearby as it reaches down and scoops up a giant pile of dirt. It curls up its hand and moves its arm over to drop the dirt in the back of the dump truck. We zoom out to see two men smoking giant tobacco pipes as the crane continues shoveling dirt into the truck. They are sitting at a small white table with a teapot set and crumpets on small plates, resting on beautiful white doilys.

Cigar Connoisseur #1: Well, I do say. What an ending to a rivalry! Dirt K.O. is toppled by the ever-vigilant Ty Burnquist.

#1 huffs on his pipe as he raises his glass of tea for a sip.

Cigar Connoisseur #2: What now for dear Dirt K.O.?

#2 huffs even harder on his own pipe as he raises a crumpet up to the side of his mouth and nibbles on it.

Cigar Connoisseur #1: Compost? *Meh meh meh meh*

#1 cackles as he pulls a crumpet and tea to his mouth at the same time as he smokes on his pipe.

Cigar Connoisseur #2: *Meh meh meh meh meh*

#2 mirrors him, but is trying to stuff two crumpets into his mouth with tea as he cackles. They both continue laughing until #1 starts to choke on the three crumpets he is shoving into his mouth while sipping on tea and chewing on his pipe. He punches his own chest until he is able to force down the crumbly crumpets that did crump his cackling.

Cigar Connoisseur #2: I say, how do you feel for a nice game of Cricket?

#2 daps the sides of his mouth with a napkin as he continues huffing on his pipe.

Cigar Connoisseur #1: Jolly good idea, old sport. Let's take leave of this place.

#2 nods as they both stand up. #1 pulls out a match to relight the tobacco in his pipe. While doing this, #2 reaches in his suit pocket and pulls out a bottle of lighter fluid. He begins dousing the table until the bottle is empty. #2 throws the bottle on the table, and then #1 throws his match on it. It goes up in flames as the two connoisseurs walk away, side by side, with arms around each other's shoulder.

*Beep beep beep*

The dump truck drives away in the background. The scene fades to turquoise.

 

[Spidey Revivey]

Hiya everyone! This is my first ever RP so I want you all to be nice to me, okie day?? Why does that question have two question marks?? Why does that one? Okay okay that is better. *Clears throat* My name is Batti and that rhymes with catty, which I totally am !

I've been watching for like a long time now and I gotta say, WZCW is the shiznit!!! I hope to one day be a Harbinger and fight like an Elite when it's Showtime. Ha! Get it?? Get it?? This again?? F-F-S...


Batti takes a breather by stepping away from the laptop. It is open to some website where fans can RP as their favorite characters from the hit shows Meltdown and Ascension. Her avatar is of El Califa Dragon and her signature has Ramparte giving Amber Warren the infamous lick right before he sent her to the hospital with his finishing move. She's just so goddamn excited as anyone can tell if they took a look at her room. There are Stallbucks coffee cups stacked in a corner, posters of Ty Burna, Everest, Constantine, Matt Tastic, El Swago, and Armando Paradyse displayed all over her walls. There is no room for anything else. Even her desk has a S.H.I.T. mug and a Cerberus hoodie lying on it. She picks up a pencil with the words "Heard Legends Of That Man" that would have had the full catchphrase if she wasn't so busy jotting down fan letters. She frantically starts writing on a notepad her thoughts and leaves the computer unattended.

Without missing a beat, she picks up where she left off.


Oh em gee. That's wayyy better. I am like the biggest fangirl this side of the Shipyard. That's right. I ship it. And you know what would make such a cute couple one day? Me, Batti Otaku, and WZCW!!!! Grrr that just makes me want to reblog it on Stumblr. Maybe after I get this out of my ol' noggin.

Anywho, I am obsessed with the show. Like, totally. And one day I'm going to marry a superstar. But which one?


Batti puts the eraser in her mouth and thinks about it.


Herrrmmmm lemme see. I think Ty Burna is out. He has Serafina, who is just so gosh darn mysterious. That's cannon. Maybe Mikey Stormrage? He likes video games, doesn't he? But isn't he in a bromance with Tastic? Wait, no that's Ramparte and Flex I'm thinking. Oh, well.


She rolls her eyes up at the ceiling, lost in thought.


Team Live Mas is a good ship, though. They like tacos, which is epic. Batti Stormrage? Batti Tastic? Meh. Batti Runn? Now that sounds totally waifu material right there. But swag is soooo 2012 though. I need somebody that can keep up with the times.

Wait a min...M? No he's gone...grr. I guess I'll have to find my Senpai when I get there, huh?


She jots this down, and sticks it to her ceiling fan. There are thousands of notes like this on her ceiling fan. She starts talking to nobody.


Batti: I am totally the company's #1 Fan. My tears came pouring down when the Mayhem Championship was retired by Vega. I lost my shit when Dr. Zeus played mind games with Steven Kurtesy. I L-O-L'd so hard when Barbosa dismantled the Swag Pack. Through it all, I stayed dedicated, and I deserve a shot against the greats.

It's the dawning of a new era, the Fan Service Era!! And we demand service!! I'll take the place by storm with my thousands and thousands of Metube followers and forge a path that would make Black Dragon talk and Eve Taylor balk. You hear me, world??! WZCW IS BATTI!!!


She laughs like a raging hyena and raises her arms to the sky. The posters themselves seemed to shiver.

 

[Kermit]

Unseen RP for Revolution against James Howard

How Chris K.O. Got His Groove Back​

A dump truck is sitting outside a motel parking lot. It is accompanied by a couple RV’s and worn out cars that look like they are the remains of the ones you saw on Pimp My Ride back in the early 2000s. It’s night time and the name of the hotel flickers in neon piss yellow above the smoke-stained exterior of the residence. The Roach Mo_e_. With the “t” and “l” absent, a rustling can be heard underneath the sign and in the parking lot. There is some movement in the back of the dump truck.

Slowly a dirty white-taped hand scratches its way out of the dirt. Like a baby escaping the womb, a fully-bearded man crawls out of the pile. It is none other than Dirt K.O.. Sorry, I meant Chris K.O., but you get the joke, right? Anyway, Chris sits silently against one of the four cold walls that confine the dirt he sits upon and, up until seconds ago, was buried underneath. A small grumble occurs as Chris scratches at his dirt-covered belly. He snorts in one of his nostrils before standing up and exiting the back of the dump truck.

With dirt covering him from head to toe, and his stomach growling, Chris walks away from the diseased motel in search of something to eat. Much to his glee he spots one of the only places in the world that would accept him in such condition; Waffle House.

Among the crack ****es, pimps, and risky college students, Chris fits right in with his wrestling tights and dirt and blood covered body. Chris sits down and starts browsing a menu. A waitress walks up and gives him the once over.

Waitress: You okay, hun?

Chris smirks as he looks up at the old, red, curly-haired waitress.

Chris: Yeah, I am just starving. Can I get the Chicken and Waffles?

The waitress smacks her gum as she jots down the notes in her orderbook.

Waitress: Sure thing, hun.

With a wink and a turn of the heel she walks off. The scene pauses.

Now, this is usually the time where we might flashback and see some shots from the island, but let’s be honest. Where is it really going? So instead of shoving it in as a side-narrative for the foreseeable future, let’s get through all that crap.

|-------------------------------------------------|​

The fast forward symbol pops up on the screen. We quickly go through several gifs of Chris on the island as he conquers the elements in order to survive. We see him sharpening a stick, catching a fish, hugging Steve the Volleyball, drinking orange gatorade, smoking cannabis, flying a kite, shooting an arrow, constructing a hot tub, fighting the Enderdragon, deflating footballs with a New England polo on, and then finally waving down a helicopter that is flying up in the air.

|-------------------------------------------------|​

We return to Chris in the Waffle House. During the island montage he found some time to doodle on a napkin. He is attempting to doodle Mohammad. Each attempt is a failure. It keeps coming out as George Clooney mixed with the kid from Slumdog Millionaire. Chris couldn’t remember the kid's name and he didn’t care, because his waffles had arrived.

The waitress sits the plate down, and Chris goes to town.

He went to town because he remembered he didn’t have his wallet on him as he was still in his wrestling tights from his recent match. So, he found a 24/7 pawn shop that paid him $20 for one of his boots. Chris knew that the man would turn right around and sell it on Amazon as a collector's item for a way higher price, but Chris was hungry. Chris took the money, and with one boot, blood and dirt covering him, and in his wrestling tights, returned to his chicken and waffles.

He consumed the waffles quickly as a clock hung above his booth. The short-hand hovered around the 3 in the a.m.. As Chris continued to eat, syrup dripped down on the doodle of Mohammed. It was only a doodle, but Chris reacted as if he had stained a piece of art. With his dirty thumb he smeared the syrup away. He sucked the syrup off his thumb and continued eating. However, a quick glance back down made him halt his consumption. It was a sign from the Waffle House god.

In the smearing of dirt, syrup, and Muhammad was the image of something familiar. Chris’ lips quivered as he slowly reached down for the sacred napkin. He brought it to the level of his eyes. In a timid manner he muttered.

Chris: James...Howard?

???: You heard about him returning to?

Chris quickly looked over to a booth on the opposite side of the aisle. It was a crack ****e with 5-day old make up caked on her cheeks.

Chris: What did you say?

Crack ****e: Yeah, he’s returning at the next PPV and has issued an open-challenge for his first opponent since his return.

Chris: That’s it. That’s what he kept talking to me about in the locker room about his big announcement. He was trying to get me into a match. This napkin must be a sign or something to confirm that I need to fight James Howard.

Crack ****e: Yeah, I’d suck bacon off his and Stormrage’s back for nothing. Strikeforce gets me so hard.

Chris: THIS IS IT!

Chris puts one foot up on the table as he holds the napkin doodle high and proud.

Chris: Fighting James Howard is not only going to be a re-debut for him, but also for me. The Waffle House god and-

Chris gestures over to the Crack ****e.

Chris: This possibly transgendered Crack ****e has given me a new direction.

Chris grabs at his heart.

Chris: This match is going to be a game-changer for me. I can feel something inside of me that is pouring out…

Crack ****e: Me too, baby.

Chris: What is this feeling I feel? What is the opposite of sadness? What is the opposite of despair?

An annoyed college student, who has one ear-bud in his ear as he furiously works on a last-minute project, retorts.

Student: You mean happiness? Hope?

Chris: Yes… Hap-e-ness. This is new for me. This is new for my direction. I feel a burden (Ty burdened... heh heh) lifted from my core. It has been left down in the dirt pile from which I crawled out of. YES! I HAVE HOPE! I HAVE HAPPINESS!

Chris jumps out into the aisle. The camera zooms in as he spins and executes a power ranger like move.

Chris: I’m ready to deliver some kick-assery have some fun! Get ready WZCW, Chris K.O. is ready to fight! Let’s do this James Howard!

Chris holds up the napkin as the camera switches to a close-up of it. It actually does kind of look like James Howard. The camera fades to periwinkle as the song picks up.

​

 

[Theo Mays]

The Last Hurrah

A consistent, impatient tapping echoes throughout the small corridor. It rapidly increases to the point of a random pattern.

You that bored there buddy?

Beard looks up baffled as he sees the smiling face of his former longtime partner, The Local Talent. Talent bends down to pick up nothing and hand it to Beard.

You dropped this bud.

Dropped what? You literally handed me nothing you dope.

It’s your jaw. You dropped your jaw. I’m jaw dropping, and it was your jaw that dropped.

Beard sighs as he face palms.

I didn’t miss this. Not one bit.

You totally did brothaman or else I wouldn’t be here.

I’m not even sure how you found me. NO ONE knows about this.

Beard and Talent soak on the room as Talent taps Beard on the head, further frustrating him.

I’m not actually here. I’m your conscious. So I’m kind of here, but I’m not here actually. It’s actually a mental thing, not physical thing. Kind of fitting considering us.

Shut up. Please just shut up and get out. Get out of my head.

Beard closes his eyes as he tries to shake his conscious. He opens them back up and Talent is gone. Beard seems shaken as he grabs his bottle of wine and takes a swig.

Still sipping that cabernet? You miss me yet?

What...the...fu-

Beard, furious can not believe his eyes as Talent places his finger of his mouth to censor the big man.

Come on dude, this is a family show.

Beard swats Talent’s finger as he reaches for his wine, taking a big gulp.

We’re not at TV Talent, this isn’t a show.

Not the point pal. When you get to cursing, your blood pressure raises and that’s no good.

My blood pressure is fine.

Still sipping that wine buddy? Red red wiiiiiiine!!!!

For the love of all things whatever, please shut up. Please.

Please? That’s all you got?

Pretty please.

Talent’s eyes get wider as he hangs onto Beard’s silence, waiting for the final part.

With a cherry on top and lactose free whipped cream.

Haha YES! You did it. I finally got you to say it after years of trying. I think I’m going to cry. This might be the greatest moment of our tag team career.

Talent hugs Beard, who shoves him away. Talent comes back, locking on even tighter.

I thought you were gonna shutup?

Did you actually think I’d shut my mouth, be real now.

Good point. Just tell me why you’re here.

Only you know why I am here Beardy, considering you brought me here.

Clearly I’m at a crossroad.

You opening up? This easily? This couldn’t go any better.

Beard swats Talent away, who crashes into a filing cabinet.

Anyways.This crossroads. I’ve been reading up on what seems to be my newly found drunken identity which is pretty much the Beard you know. Not the Beard that I am. I got so wrapped up in this character that I turned into it and I’ve become a failure. And I think I am going to quit. I’m a quitter.

Talent nods his head and scratches his chin. He starts bouncing around before throwing his arm around his former partner.

Now I’m now wizard with words.

Beard rolls his eyes.

But you sir, are no quitter. You sir are a, pardon my Spanish, a fucking winner.

It’s French.

You say potato, I say tomato. Same difference. But seriously dude, I’m sorry.

For what?

I’m a quitter. I quit on you, I quit on us. I knew of your insecurities and I never even bothered talking to you about it because I was ashamed. I barely knew you, but I was embarrassed and I was worried that I’d lose you. That’s why it was so sudden. And I’m sorry. I can’t help but put some blame on myself.

Stop with the sob shit. You had nothing to do with this man. This is all on me and the beast I became after all that went down. You had a family, a family that you couldn’t keep your secrets from. Me? I quit on my family. I quit on my fans. I quit on the company. I quit on my friends. And more importantly I quit on myself.

I was on the rise and I bought into the fame over the fun. I walked out on Emily and our child. I walked out on the fans that put me there. I walked out on a company that was willing to put the world title on me and I balked. I chickened out. I couldn’t handle the pressure and I took my ball and left. Fantasy reflects reality Talent. I’m a quitter and now I have nothing.

Talent wipes tears from his face as Beard finishes off his wine as throws it across the room, shattering it. Talent comes back to reality after getting caught up in the story.

No just no just no no no no NOOOOOOOOO! You were nothing more than this comedy dude who wasn’t really funny but in a way you were hilarious. You won the tag team title with another dude and I am jealous much. You guys were so cool as the Bearded Gentlemen. So cool. I know he left you too, but this built you into what would become a superstar.

You became the manliest man in WZCW. No one was manlier, not even Action Saxton. And then you transformed. You may not have been the lovable goof that we knew, but you were this monstrous force and people wanted to see you kick ass. Despite losing the Gold Rush tournament, you were the one they remembered. You won the King for a Day briefcase, you defeated Ty Burna, you won the World’s championship, and then main evented Kingdom Come. You won life dude. You took this character and you turned him into a big time player. You did what only you believed you could do. No one had faith in you, but yourself.

But what now?

Talent throws Beard a phone. Beard catches it and looks confused.

Did the right thing pal. There was another person who had faith in you. You should probably give them a call. Just remember those who loved you through it all man. I’ll see you on the flip side my freaky bearded brother.

Talent fades away into obscurity as Beard stares at the phone, conflicted. Beard begins shaking as he dials the number. He waits and waits until the machine picks it up. He is choked up as he looks for words.

Hey. It’s me. I’m sorry. I know that means very little right now, but no words can make up for what I’ve done to you guys. Only my actions can. And even then it is going to be tough. Just know that everything I’ve done is not me. The man I became is not me. I found myself and despite it being near impossible, I want to change the past. But not our past. I want to change our future. Babe, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I know it is going to take more than your favorite flowers, daisies. Your favorite chocolates, trick question you only eat white chocolate. Or your favorite wine, a ‘72 cabernet sauvignon to fix this, but this time there’s no leaving. I’m all in babe, finally I’m coming home.

Beard hangs up the phone as he paces around his unit. He pulls a bag from under his desk and opens it up. He takes his trunks and throws them to the floor. Followed by his wrist tape and knee and elbow pads. Finally, his traditional white boots, slightly unlaced gently next to the items below.

Through it all, I want to thank you guys. I know I haven’t been the easiest guy to work with and I’ve stirred the pot at times. But I want to thank you guys at WZCW. You guys put the strap on some dude who was named after his facial hair and while I may not have shown my appreciation then, I was forever grateful. From my Kingdom Come debut in a TLC tag match to my final Kingdom Come in the main event, it was a fun ride. I accomplished more than I ever could imagine. You guys rocked, you really did. Thank you for all the good times and maybe we’ll reconnect one day but until then you guys go out there and keep kicking ass. Nothing but love.

Beard shuts down the unit and locks up as he throws the key off into the distance. A smile on his face as he walks away, jacket in hand. Whistling a familiar tune.

 

[Spidey Revivey]

It was a time of change.

It was a roaring new age.

________________________________________


[YOUTUBE]Mx_0LK1DfrE[/YOUTUBE]​

The Madame's Loft wasn't the largest speak-easy in New York City, and neither was it the oldest. What it was was the liveliest 1920's-styled bar and cabaret in America. The women that evening wore clothes resembling the Flapper movement of the time: a feather boa aligned their shoulders, short skirts and a slither of a headband with a feather or two poking from its folds. The men appeared to keep up with the lady's fashion, for they wore the slickest of suits and their hair was gelled back with a pompadour flair. In this one little nook of New York, it was like stepping back in time.

There was no jukebox. In its stead was an ensemble of the randiest musicians and singers imaginable. A cavalcade of Boppers and Doo-Whoppers sat at their tables waiting for the lady serenading the stage to finish (but not rudely, for music was religion in The Madame's Loft). The atmosphere was truly rhythmic, and the cigarette smoke that hovered over them all only added to the enigma that was their world. Even the bartender was dressed to the Nines- a quirky blue bowtie seemed to have landed like a butterfly on his polyester shirt. There was nothing out of place, save for the songs themselves. Instead of classics like what Al Jolson or Louis Armstrong would have cooked up, the beats were modern. The young songstress had just finished "Blank Space" and was gearing up for "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun".

As if on cue, the Lady of the Evening, The Madame herself floated into the speak easy.

For me, it was the sight of all sights to see. She was accompanied by at least a dozen men, all of whom dressed even sharper than the gentlemen already in the Loft, if it were possible. They had opened the door for her, clamored to light her cigarette (which was held in place by the longest cigarette holder I had ever seen), and they even pushed one another to be the first to take her coat. She didn't say a word one, until a young man tried to remove her outlandish feather boa. The flapper stuck one slender finger out and firmly tapped the fellow's nose. He apologized profusely as she took a drag from her fancy holder.

When she walked over to me, I realized in my hypnotic stupor that there was nowhere for her to sit. The place was indeed lively, as I said before. I began to get up politely so she would have a place, but she waved me off in old school charm and summoned her entourage. Two men got on their knees, one atop the other, and a third man (whose sole purpose was apparently to carry for her a cushion) placed the throw pillow squarely on the adjacent man's back. It was at this moment I had realized the singer had stopped her song and everyone in the place quietly paid attention to this one lady. At first I thought it was because of the scene she was making. I would not have blamed them for this woman was beyond eccentric. But after the interview it hit me- these people revered her.

Madame Kitty Hawke. The Lady of Lights.

Stumbling over my own damn words, I greeted her and introduced myself.

"My my my. Nice to meet you, my dear. But please, call me Kitty. So sing me a tune- what brings you to my stretch of the highway?"

Of course my voice faltered. How was I to keep my composure when this Old World angel sat so carefree on the backs of dapper fellows? Being a woman myself, it made me feel funny seeing the dominant sex being treated in a manner, especially in public and in a retro bar. And her voice! It was like the sound of rain hitting a tin roof. The darkest shade of blue passed those lips and with it I felt every pain, and every victory this woman held over New York City. I was well passed stammering at this point. But she gave me an encouraging look as she exhaled the dragonlike smoke. Another woman got on stage at this time, followed by a handful of musicians, and together they began "Sweet Child O' Mine", but it wasn't the rock sound of Guns N' Roses, but the smooth melody of Ella Fitzgerald. I told her I was doing a small editorial for WZCW.com, one that probably wouldn't make the website, but still I was a rookie reporter and by all accounts the rumors I've heard of this woman obviously held true.

"Oh I thought that was you on the other end of my chatterbox the other day. Darling, I am all for the glamour and glitter of that swingin' stable of stars, truly, but I don't see how that's my dice."

She smiled kindly at me, and puffed away at her cigarette. None of the men she was sitting on appeared to be in any physical pain, but I couldn't help but think they were. I told her how they were making a firework of the wildest movement in wrestling history. Women were making their marks unlike ever before. Celeste Crimson, Eve Taylor, Kagura Ohzora, Amber Warren...if there ever was a time to be empowered as a strong female, it was now. To me, such news was almost staggering. I had grown up in a family where males were considered Alpha and had their turns at the supper table first. But Madame Kitty Hawke? She was everything that my little community would have dropped their jaws at.

Her stance didn't move, however.

"As should be the jimmy of the whole thing. Fine time to be alive for sure, but as you see, my beautiful bird, I am in no kick of a pickle to jump into the squared circle. Ya see, I have my own little mentourage..."

With one gloved hand she gestured at her posse.

"And not to talk daggers at the scene, but I'm afraid I might eat the little boys alive over there. Some say I'm pretty copesthetic about it."

She flicked her holder, and ash from the tip fell. One of her own leapt towards it with an ashtray in hand.

"The twinkle of those gold belt buckles does make a gal envious, but I'm not sure I'm Grade A on the foray, you dig?"

I told her I did, but if I have to be honest: her lingo was most queer. I'm not even sure "Grade A on the foray" was even something people said in The Roaring Twenties. Or any time period for that matter. Kitty's face went from pleasant to putrid in three seconds flat as she scolded the bartender for not taking her unspoken order.

"KENTUCKY BOURBON YOU MOSEY LOOKIN' DANDY! How DARE you not flitter my way with a glass of good stuff knowing I own the damn place. C'mon daddy-o... while I'm still a dove among crows, here!"

There's no denying Madame Kitty Hawke is the Queen Bee on the Flapper scene, but I best not pester her more on joining WZCW's ranks. Together we shared a few laughs as well as drinks (Had a Tom Collins, but nursed it due to me driving back home after the interview) and even if she is uncertain about taking a step towards a wrestling career, there's no denying in my mind that she is the type of lady the company would enjoy having. There's an otherworldly feel about her, as if she used her quote unquote "Mentourage" to poke through the holes of her era to get to our own. She'd slip right through with boas over her arms and that spear of a cigarette holder between her fingers. Some woman.

Some woman for sure.

 

[Find'er Woo'er Ryder]

Cancun, Mexico

6 Months ago

Rave music blares thourgh the speakers as women laugh and whistle. It's ladies night at Penthouse, a Gentleman's club,
Armando Paradyse makes his way through a curtain from the back and begins to thrust his hips towards the women, slowly and one at a time. With each thrust, the women scream and lose their minds. He begins to dance and grind on a few of the women. Women start holding out one dollar bills and putting them in his g-string. After about ten minutes of dancing, he collects the rest of the bills that were left or thrown on stage and stuffs them in his underwear.

In the back, Armando is putting his pants back on, and is approached by his manager. While Armando is getting dressed, his manager talks. Unfortunetly, we are unable to hear what he is saying but Armando doesn't seem to happy about it, he shakes his head and leaves with fustration on his face.

Yauco, Puerto Rico

3 months ago

"Arrrrrmanndoooooooooooo" a women yells out. "Get down here Mijo, your breakfast is going to get cold."
A door opens up from the basement and Armando comes through it to the kitchen. After getting fired from the strip club, he was unable to get work, so he had to move back home with Mama Paradyse.
Armando doesn't leave the basement much, only to eat when his Mama calls him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and it's starting to bother his Mama.
"Armando" she snaps at him "Get your ass out of my basement and go get a job! I am tired of looking at you."
Armando smiles at her "But Mama, if I leave, you would miss your only son."
Mama Paradyse shakes her head, and sighs, ""Armando, listen."" she pauses as she clears her throat. "I am not your mother. I found you at a hooker convention when I was eighteen. You are not even Puertorican!"
Armando is silent, unable to speak. He holds back his tears and stands up, and puts his arms around the women he thought was his birth mother after all these years. "It makes sense Mama, that why I can never say Puertorican right. Or spell it for that matter."
She pulls him away from him, "Even though you are not my biological son, you still need to get a job, now get out of my house mijo."
And with that Armando, goes back down to his Mama's basement and changes his clothes and races out the door, hoping to find a new adventure!

1 month ago

A full two months goes by, Armando got a job being a coffee bitch, to a radio personality. Basically his job is to get his boss coffee anytime he demands it and to listen to the radio. Everything was going fine until he hears an ad about WZCW. Listening very carefully for names of his past co-workers. Only name he really recongnizes is Matt Tastic and he is the Champion, Armando can't believe what he heard. And on top of that, no mention at all of the Mayhem Championship!?! Armando decided he had to find out what is going on with WZCW so he walks over to his bosses computer and logs onto WZCW.com. He begins to read and found out that Vega was bored with Mayhem and decided to retire the belt. Armando is furious, how can WZCW retire the only belt Armando ever won? While he is reading more into this, his boss comes in and sees what he is doing. He begins to yell at Armando and Armando snaps, and flips off his former boss telling him that he quits!

Two weeks ago

Down in the basement, Armando is putting his old ring gear on when his Mama calls for him, which is strange because it's not breakfast, lucnh or dinner time. He gets excited when he knows whats in store for him, afternoon snack time! He races up stairs and sees his Mama holding a package with his name on it. He opens it and inside is something he ordered on WZCW.com that day at his former job, a replica WZCW Mayhem championshp belt! He is estatic when he fastens the velco around his waste!
"Are you really getting back into WZCW, Mijo?" His mama asked.
Armando nods with a smile and races back down to his basement.
"Thank you, Jesus" His Mama proclaims. "Tired of his ass in my basement."

Present day

A phone rings and Armando rushes out of bed to answer it. He smiles and drops the phone and begins to dance all around his room. The camera zooms in to who is caling. Mr. Banks it says on the caller ID. Mr. Banks tells Armando he has one shot to prove that he can be part of this roster, and is signing him to an exclusive contract. He is welcome back at the Roulette Rounds! The week after Unscripted.​

 

[K Web V3]

"Dad!!! Come here!" I hollered for my dad, Logan McAllister. I wanted to show him this new character I created while playing WZCW 2K15. I thought it looked cool, hopefully he did too.

"Whats's up Hayden?" My dad said as he shambled into my bedroom. He looked like he had been dozing on the couch. "Look at this character i made dad. Look familiar?" I pointed at the tv and at my 'creation'. "Haha, looks like I'm staring at myself. Good job buddy." Dad ruffled my hair afterwards and I "attacked" him. We tussled around on the floor, having an impromptu match in my room. Midway thru, we paused, both red and sweaty.

"When i win dad, you have to wear my frog hat to the park later!" Frog hat. My dad hated my frog hat. It was a green hat with round frog eyes on the top, and little flaps to keep ur ears warm. Plus, if u squeezed the flaps, the hat would ribbit!!

"Not the hat. Anything but the hat." As soon as my dad finished I pounced. We battled back and forth, until, taking a page out of my dad's book, I grabbed a WZCW action figure and 'clocked' my dad. "1....2......3!" I said as my hand slapped the floor.

LATER THAT DAY.......​

I was swinging and going super high(I hoped I wouldnt flip over the pole!) and watching my dad sit on the bench.....frog hat firmly placed upon his head. He hadn't complained about my 'cheap shot.' He just grabbed the hat and got ready. I hopped off the swing, and didnt land smoothly. I tasted some sand , before getting up and running to the slides.

"Hey dumbass! You look stupid in that kiddie hat dude." I saw my dad stand up and get in this random stranger's face. "Haha. so i look stupid wearing a hat my kid thinks is funny huh?" My dad grabbed the guy's shirt and pulled him closer. "You're very lucky that I'm trying to enjoy the park with my son. You should thank the kid at the top of that slide." The man looked at me, waved and said "Thanks kid."

BEDTIME​

I was tucked in bed as my dad finished reading me a chapter from my bedtime stories. My dad read 2-3 chapters a night, and we were currently on the second book of 'A Song of Ice and Fire' series, Clash of Kings. I loved the stories and always begged my dad to read more chapters every night. As I started to fall asleep, my dad kissed my forehead and said "Goodnight buddy. I love you."

This was a side of my Logan McAllister nobody ever saw but me. THIS is the true Logan. The kind, caring guy who just wants to make his child happy. My dad is a good man. He should be cheered by WZCW. If they saw this Logan McAllister, my dad would be a super face in no time.

My dad is a good man.​

 

[K Web V3]

"So ahre you excited to see Fenway Pahk today Hayden?" The question broke a brief period of silence as I walked with Brittany O'Shea towards historic Fenway.

"Yea! And we play the nasty Yankees tonight too!!" That's right. My first Sox game and I get to see them play the damn Yanks. Only thing missing was my dad.

"Fuck the Yankees" the profanity fell from Brittany's mouth from habit, and she was quick to apologize. "I'm sorry Hayden. I have a bad habit of sayin' bad words." She laughed afterwards but I could tell she was nervous.

"Relax! I've heard worse before." I was surprised Brittany had wanted to take me to the game, but my dad told me it was because she wanted to get to know me better.

We got to the park and Brittany gave the guy our tickets. My dad had given me more money than was necessary, and so of course I wanted souvenirs!

"Hey Brittany, can we buy a few things?" I asked, already knowing she'd say yes. She nodded and we went to the nearest merchandise spot. I quickly picked out a new Red Sox hat,a stuffed Red Sox bear and a two shirts for dad and grandpa. As I was scanning to see if I needed something else, I saw Brittany looking at a visor, before checking the price and putting it back. I grabbed it and checked out.

"I'm all done Brittany." I was already digging into the bag, getting out the visor I had secretly bought.

"So let's get some tawnics and some food and grab a seat then?" As she finished, she noticed the visor in my hands.

"You weah visahs Hayden?" She was being completely serious and I couldn't help but laugh.

"No silly! It's for you. I bought a new hat." I handed Brittany her visor before pulling my new hat. Nothing fancy, just the same hat the players wore.

"Wow. Hayden McAllistah, you are one wicked nice young man. Thank you, I love it." She hugged me and even gave me a quick peck on my cheek before she started adjusting the visor.

"Food time Brittany!"

*** Yankees 2 Red Sox 4 Mid 8th Inning***​

The Sox were winning a close game. Big Papi hit a homerun, making him 5 away from the 500HR milestone. I was having a blast. Brittany was awesome to be around and we were bonding via this Red Sox game. As i noticed the top of the 8th inning end, I got excited. I knew what was next!!!

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After the song ended we watched as the Sox came up to bat.

"Thanks for asking me to come to the game with you Brittany." It wasnt the first time i had said thank you tonight, and probably wasn't the last. Brittany looked over at me and smiled.

"No thank you foah bein such good company. You McAllistah's sure ahre gifted at layin on the chahm." She bumped me with her shoulder and we watched as the game moved into the ninth.

***Post Game***​

We were walking back to my grandpa's house, Sox victory in tow. It was a pretty quiet trip back as I was pretty sleepy. Brittany parked the car and i started to unbuckle.

"Hayden wait a sec." She placed her hand on my shoulder.

"I want to ask you a question. Be honest. Ahre you okay with me traveling with you guys foah Lethal Lottery? Cuz if not, i can stay heah Hayden."

"Okay? Im super excited that you're coming! Im glad because you're fun to hang out with, I won't be alone in the locker room while my dad is out there wrestling, and....I like the way my dad acts when you're around Brittany. He seems happy and less worried about things. So it's more than okay if you come with us."

She just smiled, and we walked up the steps together.

The door opened and as I walked in the door, my day with Brittany had ended. But I knew.

BRITTANY O'SHEA IS WHAT MY DAD NEEDS IN HIS LIFE​

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