Apocalypse: Barbosa(c) vs. Ricky Runn-World Title

[Richard Blonoff]

Deadline is Friday, December 20th, 11:59pm CST. Extensions available upon request​

It's the moment of truth for the Swagtastic One. After beating all the odds to win the Gold Rush tournament at Redemption, and weeks of avoiding the WZCW Champion, Ricky Runn now has to put his money where his mouth is. But that's easier said than done, as Barbosa has been on a rampage this year. Will he continue his impressive form, or can Ricky Runn shock the world once again?

 

[Барбоса]

​

Barbosa: What the hell is that sound?

*The World Heavyweight Champion's determined stomp around backstage at Apocalypse is interrupted by the muffled tones of Venerean pop. As a brief few moments of looking around him trying to identify the origin of the sound, they reach into their pocket and pull out a ringing mobile phone. A grimace sweeps across their face only to be replaced by a questioning look.*

Barbosa: We don't like Bananarama?

*The angry grimace quickly returns as Barbosa presses the reject button on his phone.*

Barbosa: No, we do not!

*Barbosa continued to tap the screen of his phone a few more times, clearly changing the ringtone back, before clicking on the call log.*

Barbosa: Who was ringing us anyway?

Barbosa: Who do you think?

Barbosa: What was that now?

Barbosa: 27 missed calls. 23 text messages.

Barbosa: Damn, that doctor is persistent. Doesn't he know we have an important match to prepare for?

Barbosa: But Dr Rivers only wants to see us get better!

Barbosa: Or worse…

Barbosa: What?

*The multi-faceted conversation in the deserted corridor stops dead in its tracks as Barbosa absorbs the potentialities of Dr Rivers not wanting him to get better.*

Would the doctor intentionally undermine them, perhaps even contribute to him losing the WZCW title just to get Barbosa to relapse into catatonia?

Why else would he be so persistent with his phone calls? What else did he want from them?

One meeting they had missed. Just one.

And after two consecutive weeks they had gone to see hack quack's office and talked about things. But it had all become so repetitive so quickly. What the hell else was there to say? Surely their gorwing case file had provided Rivers with enough information to fill his next journal submission or two. There was no need for him to sabotage them.

There was no need for him to…

Barbosa: What the hell was that?

*Barbosa snaps back to the reality of the lonely corridor.*

Barbosa: That inner thought process. It wasn't one of us. It wasn't all of us in the poker room. It wasn't us full stop.

*Barbosa seems to ruminate on the question for a few moments before answering.(*

Barbosa: No, it was us. It was all of us. A momentary stream of singular consciousness and thought.

Barbosa: But it was so… linear.

Barbosa: Perhaps because it was something we all agreed upon. Or perhaps the sessions with Dr Rivers are having some positive effect - instead of spending time with three voices squabbling, we worked through things quickly and efficiently and still came to the same result.

Barbosa: We didn't like it.

Barbosa: Nor did we. Could it not be something else? We do not want to give credit to that hack.

Barbosa: What do you suggest?

*Barbosa looked down at his left hand, which clasped the WZCW championship belt.*

Maybe it is what the thought of losing the biggest shiny that forced them into singular thought in the hope of rapid, decisive and effective action.

Perhaps the realisation that Ricky Runn had so far gotten the better of them had jolted something in them.

Either through luck or design, although neither source seemed plausible considering his lack of grey matter and history of appalling fortune, Ricky Runn had managed to continually evade Barbosa. It helped that he had a wall of portable cannon fodder built around him at all times and had clearly been working on his 40 yeard dash so quickly had he run away from confrontation.

But when it boiled down to it, Ricky Runn had on some level managed to outwit them.

Did that make them stupider than Ricky Runn and his cadre of goofs? Hmmm…. If that were true, the universe might implode into a singularity of stupidity. No, Barbosa was just distracted.

Yes, that was it. Despite there being so many people in there already, again by coincidence or planning, Runn had managed to get inside Barbosa's head. He had distracted him enough that he had lost control of their emotions during a match and subsequently lost it to Stormrage; enough that they were undergoing yet another mental shift at this very moment; enough that he could not get his singulars and plurals right in their own mind.

In truth, there were other distractions too - real and imagined.

Barbosa had focused too much on the perceived threat of a tag team that no longer existed; a 'tag team' that was currently the very opposite of a team and yet Barbosa had seen Strikeforce as a potential problem rather than focusing on Mikey Stormrage alone. And it had cost him.

Another imagined threat was that of Mr Banks and Bateman. There was now serious doubt in his linear mind about their original supposition that the billionaire was out to get him. The new owner had not gone out of his way to take sides. He had even presented Barbosa with an opportunity to get his hands on Ricky, while Bateman was too busy attempting to deal with that goof in spandex.

It just seemed like another ghost that the hit and Runn attacks of the #1 Contender and his entourage had Barbosa chasing.

But there was one ghost that was definitely real, besides Ricky and his Swaggers.

One from his past, present and likely their future.

There was the robot. It was now just a few matches away from claiming a shot at the Wor…

Barbosa: It just happened again!

Barbosa: Indeed. And again, no mistakes in our combined logic.

Barbosa: No, no. We are not going to stand for this. We have had enough of standing around thinking. Now is the time for some doing.

*With that, Barbosa storms off up the corridor, clearly looking for someone or something; although the monologue conversation does not let up.*

Barbosa: But our match is not for ages yet…

Barbosa: Ricky Runn might have been able to avoid us but there is another we need to deal with first.

Barbosa: Who?

Barbosa: A liar.

Barbosa: There is no need to go after it.

Barbosa: We must! Such a SHIT liar must be taught a lesson! It had failed to help us when we were faced with a reunited Strikeforce and the Ricky Runn Gang, despite promising to do so.

Barbosa: But that was supposed to be our Christmas present and it isn't Christmas yet. Or is it? What date is it? December 22ndish?

Barbosa: It does not matter what day it is. The manbot made a promise that it did not keep and it contributed to us losing to that tub of lard with a religious awakening.

Barbosa: It was our angry outburst that cost us against Michael Brown. Not the interference of James Howard or the lack of aid from Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology.

Barbosa: No, it was our correctly placed lack of trust in SHITbot that distracted us. It probably intended for us to be so distracted and weakened that it can swoop in and take this title from us.

Barbosa: NO! IT CANNOT HAVE THE BIGGEST SHINY! Where can we find that silly Poobot fibber?

Barbosa: Probably unintentionally intimidating Backstage Bob - one of its most frequent activities.

Barbosa: Come on! Let's find that big cardboard liar! Maybe we can cost it its belt before it can do that to us!

*That train of thought is broken by another muffled strand of music, although far less poppy this time.*

​

*As they approach a corner populated by several anvil cases and boxes, Barbosa stops and yanks the phone out of his pocket again to see who it is.*

Barbosa: What? Not again…

_________________________________________________
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX​

*Accompanied by two orderlies from his hospital, Dr Rivers is walking purposefully at an unidentifiable corridor and has his mobile phone to his ear. After a few seconds, he pulls it away and inspects the face of it.*

Rivers: Rejected again? Why will he not answer his phone? Does he not realise his continued freedom and even his future mental health depend on his attending our meetings?

Luckily, being a world champion scheduled to be seen by millions on live television means he is easy to find.

*Rivers looks to the orderlies and motions them to follow him.*

Rivers: Let's go. We have a patient to help. He must be around here somewhere.

*As the trio walk off, they pass a a number of anvil cases and boxes, many are adorned with the same poster…*

Spoiler

_________________________________________________
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX​

*A quick tap of the screen and Barbosa replaces his phone in his pocket once more.*

Barbosa: Reject. You are not going to sabotage us tonight, my dear Rivers. Now where were we?

Barbosa: Going to teach the silly robot a lesson!

Barbosa: Ah yes…

*But as he rounds the corner and spies the broad cardboard back of Scaled Humanoud Industrial Technology, complete with the Elite X title belt on its shoulder and a browbeaten Backstage Bob in front of it, Barbosa stops dead.*

Barbosa: Wait…

Barbosa: No. A warning must be sent to Ricky Runn and the rest of the WZCW locker room - if this is what we do to a supposed ally, what will we do to an enemy?

Barbosa: Think about this for one second.

Barbosa: No! There is nothing to think abo…

*Before he can start moving towards his cardboard target, Barbosa drifts off again into singular thought, which seems to pick up where it was interrupted earlier.*

…ld Heavyweight Championship. But even though SHIT posed a real physical threat, it did not mean that that threat would be to Barbosa, especially if they continued to allow themselves to be distracted from what should be their only professional goal right now.

Defending their WZCW title tonight.

*Barbosa again looked down at the WZCW title belt he had been dragging along behind them since making the decision to find SHIT.*

Dragging along behind them.

What kind of way was that to treat the highest prize in their profession?

They were supposed to be the champion and yet he focused on everything but being the champion and allowed what was supposed to be a prized possession slide along in the dust, its golden panels scratched and dinged all because Barbosa had another conspiracy theory to test.

What right did they have to try to show Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology how to be a champion? At least it wore its belt over its shoulder.

If he went through with this attack, it would likely end his title reign this very night as SHIT would probably seek vengeful destruction at the worst possible time.

And even if he did not attack, should he continue to remain so distracted by perceived slights and threats, conspiracies and taunts, then they might as well march into Banks' office and relinquish this title belt, that seemed to mean so little to him, despite him knowing that losing it could cause so much mental anguish.

Hell, he might as well walk into Ricky Runn's dressing room and present it him themselves.

And then the next time the phone rings, he should answer it.

*Barbosa looks at the WZCW title again and shook his head in defiance, hefting the belt up to take pride of place on his shoulder.*

No!

Maybe this title belt and the incumbent pressures it brought were too much for his fractured psyche - winning it had sent them back to the mad house; losing it had sent them all to that place.

But they would rather lose it with all of their focus on an opponent. Should they be still be defeated, Barbosa would deal with the consequences, but he would not allow himself to lose the biggest of all shinies to Ricky Runn because he was too bust thinking about what Strikeforce, SHIT, Banks, Bateman or Backstage Bob were doing.

As for Rivers, they would dea...

Rivers: There you are!

*Barbosa's concentration on the back of the manbot is snapped by the calling of their name. They turn and are confronted with the approach of Dr Rivers and his accompanying orderlies.*

Rivers: We have been trying to reach you for days.

*Despite the seeming clarity of his thoughts,Barbosa had suddenly taken a keen interest in his shoes, like a naughty schoolboy being reprimanded by his headmaster.*

Rivers: Do you have any idea how many times we have called?

*Without looking up, Barbosa replies with more than a hint of flippancy.*

Barbosa: 28 phone calls and 23 text messages.

*Taken somewhat aback by the exactness of the answer, Rivers stumbles over his words.*

Rivers: Ah... well... yes... ah... ...it would be about that. But that should show you how importantly I take your continued treatment.

Barbosa: Or how importantly you take beefing up your portfolio of published articles...

*The doctor ignores that barb, although both his accompanying orderlies exchange knowing glances, suggesting that Barbosa has been right on mark about Rivers' primary goal in treatment.*

Rivers: More drastically, because you missed our last meeting without adequate reason, your continued freedom is under threat.

*This threat sees Barbosa raise his head to make eye contact with the doctor. He then gestures to the title belt slung over his shoulder.*

Barbosa: Preparing for a WZCW title match is not deemed 'adequate reason?'

Rivers: It is not a matter of life or death, Sonny.

Barbosa: Maybe not for you... but for us? It could be a matter of survival!

*Rivers does not respond but looks increasingly uncomfortable with the direction of conversation. Barbosa picks up on it immediately.*

Barbosa: Or maybe you already know that? Maybe you are counting on it! Counting on us losing our title just to see what happens! To see what other articles you can glean from us! Maybe another chapter in a book!

*Barbosa takes a threatening step forward, leading to Rivers taking a stumbling step backwards.*

Rivers: Now... now... Barbosa, we do not want things to get ugly. We just want you to accompany us back to Mayfield.

*With that, the two orderlies step forward to flank the cowering doctor, but despite that fear, when Barbosa makes no move to acquiesce, Rivers issues a threat.*

Rivers: We will drag you out of here if needs be.

*Barbosa quickly surveys his strategic position and something catches his eye that leads him to take a backward step. Interpreting this as surrender, Rivers and the orderlies take a furtive step forward.*

Rivers: I think you have made a good decision.

Barbosa: Conversely, we think you have made a terrible one...

SHIT: Spontaneous Action Initiated! Multiple Targets Acquired!

*Anvil cases, boxes and bodies fly everywhere as SHIT flies across Barbosa's field of vision to wipe out Dr Rivers and his orderlies.

Part of Barbosa wanted to smirk at the misfortune of someone whom they had nothing but contempt for but collectively they had something more important to focus on. So instead they just turned and walked away from the carnage, even as Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology emerges from the part man, part storage unit pile.*

SHIT: Barbosan Saturnalia Bequest Dispensed!

*SHIT looks to Barbosa, perhaps some kind of recognition but all it can see is Barbosa's back as he walks away. The mandroid's head tilts to the side, performing calculations on the situation. After a few moments, it calls out after Barbosa.*

SHIT: Three…

*Barbosa heard the manbot utterance but did not respond, continuing on down the corridor.*

They had a job to do; one that if they did not succeed, the threat from Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology, as well as being no longer targeted at them, would be the least of their problems.

Rather than looking to ensure a potential date with the robot, they had something to prove in defending their title against an opponent who had gotten them off balance.

Perhaps for the first time in a long time, they had something to prove to themselves.

They had to prove that they were capable of dealing with adversity on their own and with no self-made distractions. No help from a robotic ally. No conspiratorial excuses to fall back on.
Just them…

*Barbosa looks up at one of the main posters festooned upon the corridors of the 02 Arena.*

…him...

Spoiler

And survival.

 

[Richard Blonoff]

Deadline has been extended 24 hours via request from Ricky Runn.

 

[GI Cake]

Ricky Runn Presents: A Swagnificnt Christmas Carol​

The camera fades into the snowy covered streets of England. We find our hero, our Commander in Swag, Ricky Runn looking over the disgusting, swagless streets of England. Ricky is sitting at a desk unpacking his bags. When you are a Prince of style, and freshness the condition of your clothes meant everything. So when it came to preparing his threads he spared no expense. Removing his super fly, super styling fur coats from their air tight bags. Ricky himself was of course dressed with looks that killed even the coldest of honkeys. Under his large coat was a pair of skinny jeans and a large t-shirt with rhinestones. Though with close inspection, you can see the stones went from the shirt down to the pants, revealing that the pattern of rhinestones just made out a giant rhinestone of Ricky Runn himself. What better design to have on your clothes than one giant, shining reflection of yourself, right?

There was a knock at the door of the royal heir of Swag. Moving from the desk, Ricky raises up to stand on his two, amazing well manicured, yet masculine feet. Going to the door, he was greeted by none other than a humble member of the Swag pack, Joe Mason. Mason was doing his best to match the fresh style and baller status that Ricky brought on a daily basis, but fell short. (Though to be fair, who can match Ricky's clearly perfect fashion sense?)

Ricky:"Sup?"

Joe Mason seemed to be like a fish out of water in front of Runn's greatness. The looks, the bravado, and of course the swag was enough to unnerve even the strongest of men. Joe then responds back to the obvious leader of the Swag pack.

Joe Mason:"Hey Ricky. So, the rest of us are wandering and I was voted to talk to you... you have any room in your hotel room for us?"

Ricky was shocked by the completely selfish and disgustingly brass question asked by his lowly minion.

Ricky:"The fudge you said to me, Ninja?"

The PC Mason put his hands together to plead to the Fresh Prince of Swag-Air .
Joe Mason:"Ricky please hear me--"

Ricky holds his hand up to silence the jobber.

Ricky:"What did I tell you to call me when you ask for favors?"

Joe Mason:"Is this really the time? I mean, Tiny Jameson, he's--

Ricky turns his head and looks away with displeasure. Only saying to the obviously upset, Mason.

Ricky:"Say it."

With a sigh, Joe Mason put away the misplaced sense of pride and was reminded where his place was in the Swag pack. Looking down he muttered.

Joe Mason:"Ricky the Swagtastic voice of a generation. The rest of the pack and I need money for a hotel... one with an actual heater."

Ricky turned back to look at his disciple of Swag. Ricky now crossed his long, strong arms and said with clear skepticism in his voice.

Ricky:"Really? Are you really bothering me with this? You know what tomorrow is, right?"

Joe Mason:"Christmas?"

Ricky slaps the side of the head of Mason.

Ricky:"No fool! It's Apocalypse! Now, I know I'm Ricky Runn, the most fresh, swagtastic, king of all kings that could make Angels weep in his glory. But Barbosa ain't right in the head man. He thinks he doesn't need swag to be World Champion. Like hold up. Swags everything. I ain't Dr.Zeus, but if I was, I'd suggest he gets a Steel chair lobotomy. Stat! I need to keep my swag up to 11, fool."

Joe Mason:"But Ricky, it's Tiny Jameson, he can't last another day in this chill. If you could at least let him stay in your room with--"

Ricky looked appalled at the suggestion. Which to be fair to the man who if was an animal would be the proud, and majestic bottle-nose dolphin. He needed the entire room to himself. Looking inside the hotel room Joe Mason could spot a luggage bag carrying straight money. Joe then pleaded pointing to the fat wads of cash.

Joe Mason:"What about all that man? Could you at least spare some dough for blankets. I don't want a swear, but golly gee willikers--"

Ricky:"Nah-uh uh, I need all of that."

Joe Mason:"What on Earth would you--"

Ricky then went into his pocket and threw up a bunch of one dollar bills into the air.

Ricky:"I need to make it rain! I need all the swag I can muster. Frankly, I find it selfish that you are even asking me when I have the most important match of all time coming up. I beg you good day sir!"

Ricky slams the door in Joe Mason's face. Due to Mason's jobber status, and quite frankly meek frame, the slamming door generated enough air to hit the poor grunt in the face, causing him to get knocked out cold! Falling onto the hallway ground unconscious. Ricky opened the door again, feeling no remorse for the knocked out goon, Ricky scooped up the money that fell out of the hotel room and said to Mason before closing the door again.

Ricky:"You better get up and leave before the British Security gives you a firm warning."

The night sky began to set over the sharp, cold city of London. Ricky was sleeping peacefully in his bed. His blanket was made out of dollar bills. Though the handsome, fabled Ricky Runn was awoken when the wind from outside opened up the balcony doors to Ricky's hotel. The strong gust of wind causes Ricky's money blanket to blow away, leaving the Swagtastic star in nothing but his rather magnificent night gown. The gown, much like his usual attire was covered in rhinestones that made out a pattern of two dragons dueling under what appeared to be Ricky in a night gown. Grasping at air in hopes to grab his flying money, Ricky then exclaimed.

Ricky:"My money blanket!"

Runn's hawklike eyes began to adjust to the darkness in his hotel room. Almost like he had night vision, Ricky climbed out of bed with cat agility that would make even the most nimble of cats jealous. Making his way to the balcony door, Ricky reached out to close the doors, only for his deep, majestic eyes to lay upon a sight he had both never seen before, and yet one of someone he has seen in his life.

Glowing a sickly green, Ricky's less cool, less hip, but yet managed to be his childhood friend, Robert floating above the balcony. Tied around him were several old parachutes that also matched the sickly green glow. Yet being so distinct, Rob was now transparent. While Ricky may have been fearless, dangerously handsome, and totally overpowered ghost buster the shock of the sight caused Ricky to back up. The ghost than spoke in a ominous, ghastly tone.

Rob:"Rickkkkyyyyyyyyyyy. You neeeeeed tooooooo changgggeeeeee yourrrrr-- what on Earth are you wearing?"

The Ghost looked just as shocked as Ricky was. Though obviously being dead you no longer saw the benefits of wearing a night gown to sleep in or have need for looking drop dead good looking when you're just well... dead.

Ricky:"What I'm wearing? Bro, look at you. I'd rather be caught dead than be seen wearing those old threads you're-- Woops."

The now ghostly Rob simply shrugged.

Rob:"Jokessssssssssssss arrrrrrreeeee theeeeeeeeee leasstttttttttttt offffffffffffffff yourrrrrrrr concernssssssssss"

The initial shock of the sight of his dead friend began to fade, but now becoming more annoyed with the drawn out speech from the spirit.

Ricky:"Yo doge, why you gotta be talking like that? You sound like you coming straight outta of a Christmas Story."

Rob:"Youuuuuuuuuu willllllllll beeeeeeeeeee visiteddddddddddddd by threeeeeeeeeeeee spiritttttttttttsssssssssss youuuuuuuuuuuu neeeeeddddddddd toooooooo changgggggeeeeeeeeee your wayssssssssssssss"

Ricky:"Change my ways? Ninja please! Swag's the best thing to ever happen in the history of ever yo!"

Unfortunately Ricky's true, and quite frankly sexy words fell on death ears for the spirit faded away. Ricky sighed and crawled over to his bed.

Ricky:"Last time I ever drink European water before I sleep again. "

Despite how great Ricky's swag was, every god of hip, freshness, and sex appeal needed to turn their swag off and go to sleep. Closing his eyes, Ricky dozed back to sleep under the comfort of a regular hotel blanket. Though that sleep would not last...

What only felt like minutes later, a bright light shined into Ricky's eyes. His flawless eyelids that protected Ricky's pristine globes to see what was the cause of the sudden light. Though it was a voice that shook Ricky down to his very core.

???:"Hey there, stud."

Laying on her side next to our king of style was Ricky's high school sweetheart, and now deceased, Rachel. Much like Rob, she was transparent, and floating. However she appeared to be on fire and glowed a bright red.

Ricky:"Sweet knees and Applebees!"

Rachel:"What, you're acting like you never saw a ghost before, and trust me honey we both know that is crap."

Ricky:"Rachel what the hell are you doing here?"

Rachel:"Oh crap... did Rob visit you yet? He was supposed to give you the rundown about the three other ghosts. One from your past, one from your present, and one from your future? Oh geez if I got here before he did that ruins the whole plot..."

Ricky began to shake his ruggedly handsome face, his long majestic maine followed behind it.

Ricky:"Yeah yeah yeah, he was here. Or I thought he was... oh man someone must have put something in my drink."

Rachel then shook her head and floated away from the bed.

Rachel:"Sorry hun, this is all very real. I hate to be the chick to tell you this, but holy hell what happened to you? You became a massive prick since the last time I talked to you."

Ricky was absolutely shocked from her statement. Him, Ricky Runn a prick? That made no sense. She was off her rocker.

Ricky:"You're kidding, right? Is that what happened? You know what happened since I saw you? I won the Gold Rush Tournament that shot me into the main-event. I had my own freaking show for crying out loud! And I'm only one day away from obtaining the World Heavyweight Championship. If I learned anything, being successful gets you more haters. They don't mean nothing, I'm still the same guy I always was."

Rachel then raised her eyebrow.

Rachel:"Really?"

To which, Ricky responded back.

Ricky:"Ya, really."

Rachel:"Well we're in luck, because I'm the Ghost of Christmas Past, and I got a neat little trick. Just get outta the bed and grab my hand. We're going on a adventure!"

Ricky sighs and nods. Deciding to play along with his old friend.

Ricky:"Okay fine, let me just turn my swag on."

Ricky slowly climbs out of the bed. But before he could, Rachel snap's her fingers and suddenly they are no longer in a hotel room in England but back in the sunny and shiny, Miami Florida. Which caused our great hero to fall onto the ground with a loud thud.

Ricky:"Ow, my swag! and my spleen!"

Rachel which then chuckled.

Rachel:"Ricky do you even know where your spleen is? And oh my goodness, what is up with that nightgown!?"

Ricky:"What, what's wrong with nightgowns? Kanye West wears a nightgown."

Rachel:"Right, and I'm sure he looks stupid too, but that's not the point. Look at this."

Rachel then pointed out to much younger forms of Ricky and Rachel huddled around a Christmas Tree. They couldn't have been too old, at least 15 years old.

Rachel:"Remember that? That was when your dad kicked you out of your house for Christmas because you maxed out his credit card."

The fresh swag-prince was not easily won over by petty, weak emotions like nostalgia. Though small cracks of his shining armor begin to show with a small smile on his face.

Ricky:"In my defense, it was my Christmas present."

Rachel:"Yeah, it was a car!"

Ricky:"Are we not forgetting how awesome of a Christmas that was?"

Rachel:"Yeah, it actually kinda was... you were so sweet back then. Now you've become this... douche."

Ricky:"I am still sweet now. Look at me, I'm on that 200% Two Chains game, yo! I'd be at all the children hospital events, charities, and funeral homes cheering up all the pretty ladies. Wanna know who's a douche? My dad, my first hater. I did everything and anything to get him to notice me, but nothing! He was my first hater, and what did I do instead of doing the right thing? I tried appeasing him, I did whatever I could to make him like me and nothing worked. I wish I learned it wasn't until now that I could have realized that trying to make the haters like you was a bad idea. Look at all the great men in history. Two Chains, Chris Brown, O.J Simpson, Yeezus. Hell, even Barbosa because once you stop caring about what other people think, you become successful, and that's what I want to be, and that's what I want to be if I wanna beat Barbosa."

Rachel:"Wow... a shot of your childhood wasn't enough to change your ways?"

Ricky:"Not an inch."

Rachel:"Bummer. Okay look, I'm passing yeah off to Ghost of Christmas Present. He better whip you up in shape."

Ricky:"Do you see these abs? I'm in the best shape since--"

With a snap of her fingers, the light that exhumed from Rachel's body vanished, along with the scene of Ricky's childhood, and sending him back to London England. Almost as if he had never left in the first place. Though right behind Ricky, was none other than the Ghost of Christmas Present. Austin Reynolds!

Austin:"Oi mate, I don't see any coattails I can hold onto on this crazy cool nightgown of yours."

Ricky turned around to see his old, really old team mate and sadly his mentor. (not for looks for sure.) Unlike the other two spirits, Austin looked very normal dressed in casual attire.

Ricky:"I left them with the Tag Team titles. What are you the ghost of Swag Present or something? Because you sure weren't the ghost of personality. That's for sure."

Austin shrugged and nodded his head responding.

Austin:"Yeah, this is a night job to keep me out of the house. Old bugger at home cries all night anyway. Might as well get paid to stay up, am I right, bloke?"

Ricky:"Uh-huh... okay Rachel tried giving me a highlight reel of what I was like before, so what's your pitch?"

Austin walks over and wrapped his arm around Ricky's shoulder, and started to walk straight into a wall. Oddly enough, the arm didn't feel transparent but actually solid, so following cautiously Ricky tagged along.

Austin:"Oh it'll be pretty quick, mate. I'm just gonna show yeah the error of your ways. What your actions are doing to the people close to you. That sorta thing."

Only a few feet from the wall now, Ricky attempted to slow down but Austin pays no mind.

Ricky:"Uh yeah cool but when are we going to stop before we hit that Walll!--"

With Ricky expecting to smack right against the wall, he instead walked right through it. Passing right into the small room that had Ricky's loyal swag pack. The group were huddled up for warmth with Hollywood Jameson in the middle wearing something unusual. Wrapped up like a giant burrito Jameson had a chew toy in his mouth to stop him from crying. Though the toy fell out of his mouth and you can hear a loud.

Jameson:"WAHHHHHH I'm the A-List WAHHHHH!"

Austin:"Look at this mate. These are your friends and you have them literally huddled around for warmth. Would you have liked it if I treated you that way when I was your mentor?"

Ricky looked over shocked.

Ricky:"Are you kidding me? This is practically Heaven compared to what it was like being your team mate! They have it made, they're working for me. No one wanted these pathetic swagless bags of flesh but I took them in, and look what happened. They started from the bottom, now they're here! Sure they've taken a few lumps--"

Donny J:"Doctor says next concussion Barbosa gives me could be my last. Thanks Obama"

Ricky:"Like I said... a few. That's what they signed up for, they knew what they were signing up for when they came looking to the Buddha of swag. You think my trip to inner zen was easy? I went from losing by myself, I was in such a rut I actually saw you as salvation. Where I just extended your career just a wee bit longer. Then I had really bad luck, whatever I touched turned to smoke. It was awful, now look at me. I'm a winner, I'm a star, I'm the main-event. I'm the biggest star in WZCW. I paid my dues, I don't see why they shouldn't."

Austin:"Not much of an improvement, if you ask me."

Ricky:"Who's asking you? Seriously, you're the worst person to talk to for advice. Look at you, you're all washed up. You know when you peaked? When you were out there winning ratings and drawing people in. Though when you started to care, when you took your eyes off the prize you fell harder than Barbosa's head when he was a baby. Do you know what the main-event looks like without choking to death? Hell, do you even know what success looks like when you weren't off leaching off of me? I carried us to victory, but these band of drones. They're barely half the weight of keeping up with someone with a bad neck like yours."

Austin looks over in disbelief from the dagger sharp words from the ever fantastic Ricky Runn.

Austin:"What's gotten into you mate? You're looking at a dude wearing a giant diaper and you feel nothing? On top of that, you went out to insult me. I hope Barbosa beats you into a pulp."

Again the room around Ricky vanished before his very eyes. Though it stayed dark, Ricky couldn't even see the ground below him.

Ricky:"Ummmm Austin. You forgot to put me back in my hotel! Darn it... I should have learned before I can't depend on him for anything."

Though from the thick of the darkness a large figure in a shroud of cloth emerged. There were no features but the only thing that stayed distinct was that it's face was covered in the hood. At this point, Ricky was unamused.

Ricky:"Look here, Grim Reaper reject. It has to be like five in the morning. Just show me what you have to show me so I can go get my beauty rest so I can beat Barbosa into a pulp and look handsome as all hell doing it."

The darkness began to fade, and around both Ricky and the cloaked figure began to form a stadium, with in the middle of it being a wrestling ring. The decorations and the poster hanging from the rafters made it very clear where Ricky was now.

He was in his future, at Apocalypse.

Ricky and the figure floated above the ring.

Ricky:"Orrrrr you could just drop me off here at the Stadium so I can get her ear-- wait what!"

Looking down at the ground, Ricky's eyes looked on in absolute horror. Down at the Entrance ramp were scattered bodies of what looked like security for the show. Outside of the ring were Donny J, and Jameson knocked out cold. All that remained was Ricky Runn in the fetal position. Covering his head as an angry, manic Barbosa hammered away at Ricky Runn using none other than Joe Mason as a weapon. Everything was in slow motion except for the commentary which Ricky could hear.

Cohen:"By god Barbosa is beating a son of a bitch with another son of a bitch!"

Though shining under Ricky, was none other than the World Heavyweight Championship! When Ricky's face dropped away in fear he continued to examine the stadium. On the Titantron lit up the words. Your new Heavyweight Championship, Ricky Runn! Ricky looked over to the figure laughing.

Ricky:"Haaha is that supposed to scare me? Barbosa attacking me for winning? Um hello, he's a NUTJOB. Of course he's going to lose his shit if someone took something big and shiny away from him. Besides, are we forgetting the part where I win. Hell, he can doll out as much damage as he wants, he can break my arms, break my legs, but he can't break my swag. As long as I got that, I am winning the whole thing."

The figure seemed to be stoic, but with a wave of it's hand, Ricky and the ghost moved onto another sight. It was now the backstage area of Meltdown, where Ricky was holding his new world heavyweight title.

Ricky:"Look at this handsome son of a gun! Hell, he looks even better with that. OH LOOK OUT BASED GOD!"

Ricky then shouted as Barbosa came out of nowhere with a chair, the chair snapped against Ricky's forehead. Sending the future Ricky to the ground where Barbosa stood over him to continue the assault.

Ricky:"Oh my goodness I hope I'm okay! What will WZCW do without me!"

Then we are taken to a sight that Ricky thought in his days he would never see. He was taken to the sight of a graveyard. Where a single headstone stood. With the stone saying boldly.

Here lays Ricky Runn's Swag

"YOLO" ​

Ricky started running towards the headstone. You could have saw the fear of god in his eyes with every step he took closer to the headstone of his great swag.

Ricky:"Nooo not my swag! Please anything but my Swag! I rather die than not have my swag! I need it!"

Ricky turned back to the ghost.

Ricky:"Who did this? Who did this to my swag! I swear on everything that is cool, rad, and swaglicious I will destroy them with the power of a thousand suns!"

The ghost raised it's arms. Removing the cloak from over it's own head to reveal who it was. It was Barbosa! His glare was stone cold, peering right into the hip, dazzling soul of Ricky Runn.

Ricky:"You!"

Ricky pointed out to Barbosa. Ricky's swag filled fingers shaking in terror while he shouted.

Ricky:"You are doing to this to me with your crazy man mind powers aren't you!? You think you can break me!? Think you can break my swag, break my stride? Destroy my swagger?"

Using the headstone to stand himself back up. Ricky stood over the grave of his swag.

Ricky:"You think this will stop me, don't you? I won't be stopped and neither will my swag Barbie! You stand there, laughing, crying, or whatever it is your 40 or something personalities do because you think you're beating me with this mind game, but all you are is a swagless brute. You're a hater, you're jealous, and there's a personality in there that knows my swag blocks out the sun for 40 days in Alaska. That's why you've attacked my Swag pack, that's why you are holding on so preciously to your title. Because that's all you have, that's all you got for your claim to fame. That's the only reason why anyone even bothers to boo me. Without me, you have none of my haters that support you in lockstep."

Ricky walks up closer now. Waving that bold, and maybe even delicious finger if dipped in honey to the cold, expressionless face of Barbosa.

Ricky:"You think you can scare me. I have never been scared of anything in my life. Beat down my posse all you like you still won't get to me, but in the end you can't punch or scream your way out of a Ricky-Roll up and you know that. Attack my pride, and I will take the only thing worth anything to you. You're beatable, and you can be knocked down. If anyone proved that, it was Fatty McFatrage himself that you can lose, and I proved that I can take you out anytime I wish. Honestly, Apocalypse is a properly named Pay-Per-View because..."

The figure now seemed to be enraged began to ready himself to attack Ricky. Who looked the ghost of the Future in both of his eyes and said.

Ricky:"It's going to be the end for you"

The Ghost was just about to strangle Ricky, but then...


The alarm off of Ricky's phone began to play loudly. Causing Ricky to awake from the hellish dream. Due to the swagtastic nature of both Ricky's alarm, and the swag lifestyle he jumped out of bed. Effectively turning on his swag. Looking around to see if he was where he should be he says with relief in his voice.

Ricky:"Yeahhhhhhh I get to turn my swag on!"

Walking out to the balcony he looked down at the ground. Below Ricky was Hollywood Jameson making a snowman.

Ricky:"You there! Fatty in the hat! What day is it?"

Jameson looked up surprised.

Jameson:"Sunday, sir!"

Ricky nodded smiling brightly. Then suddenly the dream he had last night started to come back to him. Flashbacks of what Austin and Rachel said to him start to whisper to him in the back of his head. What should he do? Ricky did the only thing he knew how to do... forget perfectly good advice, and learn nothing. Scooping snow off the ground, Ricky formed a snowball and threw it at Jameson, pegging him in the face. Then shouting.

Ricky:"Get off your ass and get me breakfast you bum! The voice of a generation needs food!"

Laughing at his own perfect aim he walked back into his hotel room to get ready for the night ahead of him. Grabbing his clothes he began to change out of his night gown in front of a mirror. Looking over his brilliant form to which he spoke to himself.

Ricky:"No one expects me to win this. All of my haters want to see me lose, all of them want to see me broken and destroyed in the middle of the ring. Unfortunately for them, that's not gonna happen. Not tonight, not ever. I'm a genius, a rap lyc priest, and dare I say the next Nelson Mandela! Barbosa has nothing on me and at Apocalypse I will go out there and prove them wrong. I'm gonna prove them all wrong... even if I have to break Barbosa to do so."