Roulette Round: Meltdown Madness 85, Ascension Anarchy 60, Aftershock Insanity 19

[Kermit]

Image Credit: Killjoy​

Meltdown Madness, Ascension Anarchy, and Aftershock Insanity has arrived!

Everything will be drawn randomly. There are no guarantees on who you will face and what will be at stake. Everything could be on the line for the stars of WZCW as they enter the MGM Grand Garden Arena in Las Vegas, Nevada. Test yourself against fate and cast your dice on the most chaotic show of the year!

**Notice the extended deadline**

Deadline is Tuesday March 12, 2013 at 11:59 PM (Central). No Extensions Allowed!​

 

[FlexAmerican Dynamite]

The Khronicles of Krypto​

Fifty Shades of Green​

Krypto can be seen wandering around the backstage hall of the arena hours after his defeat at the hands of Vega in a match Krypto believed in his heart he couldn’t lose.

Krypto: My one chance….my one opportunity I earned….all for nothing.

The resident alien begins to feel aching all around his small body; it’s not a feeling of pain so to speak but just a tingling sensation that doesn’t sit well in the pits of his stomach.

Krypto: Oh no, even hours after the match the effects still seemingly stay with me. Was everyone right….was I a fool to choose that match? Should I have chosen somebody else, did I waste my shot and make my win Mentorship win all for not?

Krypto leans against a wall and lets what is almost his lifeless body collapse to the floor.

Krypto: I let that dangerous robot SHIT get his clutches onto RJ just so I could get my Saucer and…..I ended up being beaten and stuffed into it myself. There is no telling what SHIT could be doing to him right now. RJ sacrificed himself just so I could get a shot at winning the Mayhem title and I let him down, I let the fans down, I let all my friends and family back on my home planet down, I even let my dear departed friend Lars down.

Images of his former best friend and WZCW fan Lars begin to swarm through Krypto’s mind. Feelings of loneliness creep upon like a storm cloud of sadness. The cold feeling of despair Krypto felt before his match against Vega has only been amplified by the heartbreaking loss. The tingling sensation intensifies in the alien’s body. Memories of his father, mother, and his fiancée he left at the altar to come to Earth all come back to him like a boomerang smacking him in the face.

Krypto: I left all of them….just to come here….and fail. Was any of tonight even worth it?

Flashbacks of his match with Vega earlier come back to Krypto. He remembers Vega dropping the steel steps on his bruised and damaged legs, he remembers gasping for air and struggling to breath while Vega is locking in the Triangle Choke, he feels his body smash into a thousand pieces as Vega hits the Killswitch into the Saucer, and finally his hopes and dreams being crushed at the Mayhem champ closes the Saucer door and traps Krypto inside.

Krypto: Well at least I have discovered pain is an enjoyable sensation.

Suddenly the tingling sensation in the resident alien is gone….it seems to have been replaced by a slow burn of sorts. One that would feel uncomfortable and unnatural to a normal person but is seemingly the only thing Krypto can clutch onto with his feelings of failure and loneliness doing quite a bit of damage to his already fragile state of mind. Krypto soon returns to his feet and begins his wandering once again.

Krypto: I was told by various humans that a match such as the one I competed in would tear away at my body and give me irreparable damage to my limbs and maybe even my insides, and while that may have been the case hours after the match the pain doesn’t hurt anymore it….it feels good, fun even. Was this the pure enjoyment of pain the deranged character Barbosa was talking about earlier? Does enjoying this feeling as much as he does make me as twisted and sick and he is? No, there’s no way it can, me and Barbosa might both find pleasure in pain but there are many other difference between us. Plus there can’t be anything wrong with me for enjoying a smash to the face every now and then….or maybe all the time. I’d gladly welcome another vicious war with Vega or anyone else capable of giving me as much of an adrenaline filled thrill ride.

Krypto’s mindless wandering soon causes him to bump into the group of Leon Kensworth, Johnny Klamour, and Stacey Madison who are coming up a flight of stairs and are presumably on their way out of the arena.

Krypto: You humans have all enjoyed pain at one point or another correct?

Stacey: Not this freak again….

Kensworth: Um…what are you talking about Krypto?

Krypto: Pain is a sensation commonly enjoyed by the beings of Earth correct? How can it not be, it’s such a fantastic feeling.

Kensworth: I don’t think I understand what you’re saying Krypto.

Krypto: Tell me Mr. Kensworth hasn’t there ever been a time you’ve felt your blood rush and body parts tingle at the sight of your own blood or feeling of a blunt object smacking your bare skin?

Kensworth: Well I was smacked repeatedly by some no-talent rookie named Joe West awhile back but that was neither fun nor enjoyable.

Krypto: Maybe he wasn’t hitting you hard enough for you to really feel the fun, mind if I give it a try?

Krypto tries to smack Leon but fails in his attempt as Leon blocks the alien’s slap and instinctively gives Krypto one of his one sending him down to floor.

Kensworth: Krypto! I’m sorry it’s just….all these years of being bullied and intimidated by all the wrestlers I finally had to break down and take some self-defense classes, it was just instinct.

Krypto: Don’t apologize Kensworth, hit me again!

Klamour: What are you some kind of masochist?

Stacy: I’m so out of here….

Stacey storms out of the area while Leon and Johnny stay out of strange curiosity of Krypto’s sudden or as others would say amplified insanity.

Krypto: Don’t just stand there Leon hit me again!

Krypto returns to his feet and marks on his face where he would like Leon to slap him again.

Krypto: Oh wait, this time do it with a chair.

Krypto then fleas to pick up a nearby folding chair and stick it in Leon’s hand, Kensworth looks confused and refuses to hit Krypto again yet the alien still urges him to fulfill his violent needs. That is until Johnny shoves Krypto down the nearby flight of stairs leading to the lower darker part of the arena.

Kensworth: Why did you do that Klamour?!

Klamour: Well he wanted to feel pain, why not give it to him?

Klamour leaves the area laughing at what he’s done while Leon looks down the flight of stairs and sees Krypto is somewhat stirring and is not too injured and decides to just leave after a very stressful day due to the Pay-Per-View. Krypto begins to shake out of cobwebs of the fall and realizes what happened.

Krypto: Why did I do that, why did I urge him to hit me? Why was I so obsessed with pain moments ago and did the fall knock me back to normal? This planet, its people, its strange ways must have corrupted me. Maybe it was a bad idea to come here, I need to leave, regroup back on my home planet. But how can I, RJ is out of my reach, Mr. Myles has confiscated my Saucer, there’s no way possible to get into communication with my family.

At that very moment Krypto notices a strange figure conducting some kind of “experiment” while simultaneously pelvic thrusting around a table of some sorts in the basement that is in close proximity of the stairs he was pushed down. The figure seems to be Mister Alhazred. What the Mad Professor seems to be doing has garnered his attention but the alien seems much more interested in what is on Alhazred’s right hand: The Power Glove. The glove looks almost majestic to Krypto.

Krypto: That piece of technology…how did a human such as yourself acquire that?

Alhazred abruptly stops his thrusting turns around from what he is doing annoyed, almost angry by the interruption of Krypto.

Alhazred: Leave, I’m busy.

Krypto: That glove, its technology that’s beyond the years of a normal being on this planet. It’s as advanced as some of the forms of communication on my planet.

Alhazred: I already know how awesome my Power Glove is, now leave.

Krypto: Your glove, it may be the only way for me to get in contact with my planet, I need it!

Krypto lunges at the glove but Alhazred’s quick reflexes lead to a backhand courtesy of the Mad Professor to Krypto’s head.

Alhazred: Nobody can have my glove but me!

The shot sends Krypto back a step or two and looks to have even knocked him back into his masochistic state of mind.

Krypto: Yes, the pain is back! Hit me again Alhazred!

Alhazred: Are you insane? Another Level 5 will crack your little weak skull.

Krypto: I can take anything you throw at me.

Alhazred: Is that so?

Krypto: I live for this newfound pain and punishment, can you give me what I need Alhazred?

Alhazred: Hmmmm

Alhazred steps from in front of the table revealing dozens of test tubes, vials, beakers, and other types of glasses filled with weird colored liquids.

Alhazred: These are chemicals I’ve recently been experimenting with Krypto. I had been saving them to use in catering table to weaken everyone for the Roulette round but why not test it out first on such a…interesting subject as you. If you want to feel the ultimate pain and punishment then these liquids will take you straight to hell…I mean Heaven.

Krypto: Ultimate Pain and Punishment? Finally someone can give me what I need, thank you Alhazred.

A demented smirk develops upon the face of Alhazred as Krypto is about to drink what we can only assume are deadly liquids Alhazred has concocted. Krypto is just about to chug them before something stops him, almost like a realization of some sort.

Krypto: Wait.

Alhazred: What is it?

Krypto: I don’t deserve to enjoy this pain alone, my planet needs to be aware of this sensation, I need the Power Glove.

Alhazred: For the last time you midget weirdo you can’t have my Power Glove now drink my deadly chemicals!

Alhazred wraps his Power Glove around Krypto in a sort of chokehold while trying to force the chemicals into Krypto with his left hand. Krypto however is somehow able to wiggle free.

Krypto: You can’t just keep this pain to yourself Alhazred!

Krypto hops on Alhazred’s back and tries clawing at his eyes leading to the Mad Professor flailing around the room knocking the chemicals off the table with his Power Glove and onto the floor. Eventually the floor becomes so slippery both men crash onto wet and glass filled canvas. Alhazred makes his way up first but his body filled with shards of glass hinders his vengeance upon Krypto.

Alhazred: You’re going to pay for this soon enough you little freak.

The Mad Professor then exits the basement, looking for what we can only assume is medical attention. Krypto whose body is also filled with glass in multiple areas begins to roll around on the rest of floor attempting to soak in the rest of the sharp glass, this is until he notices Alhazred has exited the room.

Krypto: You and I are soon going to share the pain Alhazred, and I will have that Power Glove as well……

 

[Johnny Scumm]

September 15th, 2001

In a busy New York Hospital, the beds are taken up with patients from the top floor all the way down to the bottom. Nearly every patient is your average, everyday man or woman, but one man, lying in a Hospital bed just like all the rest is Michael Sullivan. Still listed down as the lead Vocalist in the Band "Dirty Angels", he's recovering from the two throat surgeries that he's been put through since a tragic incident live on stage one night only a few months before. A visble scar on his throat is there for all to see and the fact that his condition isn't great and his speech is rasping & quiet is not stopping members of the public popping their heads around the corner to see a famous Rockstar. The nurses try their best to hold them back, but sometime it just isn't enough. One man though has permission to visit and that's Sullivan's bandmate, Alex Sandro. He has a blank look on his face and approaches the bedside, taking a seat beside Sullivan, who is lying on the Hospital bed, looking tired.

"Mike, you look like shit."

Sullivan coughs and laughs simultaneously and tries to bring his voice back to muster up some speech.

"Thanks. So do you and you've not been through this".

Sandro doesn't laugh, or even put a smile on his face. Instead, he puts a hand on the bed and leans in towards Sullivan, so he can talk quieter without being heard.

"We're going down the pan without you being around Mike. We can't perform, we can't even put out a report to the fans because NOBODY knows what's happening with you."

"I can barely talk to you Alex, you think I'm gonna start singing right now?"

He coughs again, chestily.

"Well, you better wanna start singing again soon!"

"Why?"

A look of pain comes over Alex's face. Not that he's hurt, but one that you know means he doesn't want to say what he's about to.

"If you're not coming back to us, then we're over. The guys can't be doing with sitting around waiting. Jimmy's had offers from two other bands asking him to play Bass and he's taken both into consideration."

"Bastard."

"So what is it then Mike? Are you coming back with us or not?"

He looks away from Alex, obviously upset.

"I've told you, I can't sing."

"Stop going around the question Sullivan!"

Michael swallows and musters up all he has, his anger building. An attempt to shout is all that comes out.

"I. CAN'T. SING!"

"Well then, it's over. We can't use you anymore and you'll obviously just be a liability holding everything off forever. Dirty Angels are dead and you killed them."

Sandro takes another look at Sullivan laying in the bed and walks out the Hospital ward. Sullivan hasn't seen him since.

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March 12, 2013


In his house in Nevada, Thrash is sitting on the edge of his bed, perching & smiling. Next to him is a set of Docking Speakers for an iPod, where blasting from the speakers is "Crying For My Love" by Dirty Angels. As the song begins to fade out, he grabs the iPod off of the dock and puts it into the pocket of his Jeans.

"Those were the days."

He stands up from the bed.

"Back then, being a successful musician was all I dreamt of... and it was happening. But then it was taken from me, like most of my belongings have been now."

Starting to walk down a corridor that leads to the staircase, he stops to look at his Gold discs.

"Not to mention, we were successful. I mean, back in the day, we wore more Spandex than Saboteur! Talk about a fashion crisis. But now, the band are no more and I'm no longer Michael Sullivan."

He begins to walk down the stairs into the living room.

"Now, my name is Thrash and I... I am a professional wrestler. I no longer entertain the fans by singing the hits to them, by I entertain the fans by hitting others in front of them. Ha, sounds almost the same. But it's harder, I can't deny that. There's physical exertion, week after week, the kind you don't feel from coming out and singing songs to people. But I'm appreciated and that for me is enough. It's the reason why now, I hit the Gym everyday. If I can't work on my voice, I have to work on my body & that's what I'm about to do. Once again, Gym, here I come!"

Thrash grabs a bag located next to a table and lamp, as always and heads for the door. When he opens the door, instead of walking straight to his car, he freezes. That's because, standing right in front of him, is former Dirty Angels Drummer, Alex Sandro. Slightly greyer than he was 12 years ago (Sandro was the oldest in the band), he hasn't otherwise changed a bit. Still dressed in his usual kind of get up and with a face that seemingly hasn't aged one bit, Thrash is shocked to see him standing at the door.

"Mike. Long time no see."

"Alex. What the fuck are you doing here? You were the one that left me, remember? You're the one that walked away from me and now you're here?!"

"I've come back to talk to you. There's things that I need to tell you."

"Like what Alex? And by the way, my name isn't Mike, or Michael anymore. It's Thrash. After you guys abandoned me, I decided to make a name for myself as a Wrestler and now I'm known simply as Thrash."

"Yeah, I've seen you on TV. Wrestlezone Wrestling or something like that right?"

"Wrestlezone Championship Wrestling, and I am one of their Superstars. I'm loving every moment of it. It's like being a Rockstar, I'm entertaining the people that love what I do!"

"Great, sounds brilliant. Listen, Mike, I refuse to call you Thrash, it sounds stupid, can I come in for a minute? We need to talk."

"Ugh, fine. I was just about to hit the Gym, so you've got minutes. And I mean...minutes."

The two men walk into the house and both take place on a sofa that's placed in the centre of the room. Thrash still has his bag over his shoulder, reminding Sandro that he has "minutes".

"Right, let's hear it Alex. I'm still confused as to why you've come to see me, I told you that we're finished, what point it there in-"

"We're getting the band back together."

A look of shock and sadness comes across his face, as if he can't express himself clearly.

"The band? You're getting Dirty Angels back together? You know that I can't sing Alex! Not to mention, even if you wanted me back, I'm not a musician anymore. I'm a performer, yes, but I'm a Wrestler now."

"Well... that's the thing. We knew that you couldn't sing anymore, so we found a replacement vocalist. There was a guy that was just so into the band and he was such a good singer that we thought we'd put him in and then let you know about it."

"So, you don't come round to reconcile, you come round here to attempt to ruin me even more? You're going to put together a band that I created, a band that I wrote endless songs for, and you're going to take it all away from me by not letting me get involved?"

"You're a Wrestler now! You said it yourself Mike. Not to mention, you've said you can't sing. 12 years ago, you told me you couldn't sing. I don't see what's so wrong here that we're doing. The band need to be known again. People ask me continuously if we're getting back together and we decided that it's finally time we do."

A look of anger comes over the face of Thrash. You can tell that inside he's fuming, but it's still a bit more tame on the outside.

"Get out Alex. Get out, right now and don't you EVER, come back here again."

Sandro stands up and tries to calm him down, but the arms of Thrash begin to tense under the pressure and as Alex sees that he is obviously angry and able to hurt him beyond previous beliefs, he begins to back up and out of the door. As Thrash watches him pass through the doorway and turn around, walking away having hit the last blow, he slams the door behind him, taking his Gym bag off of his shoulder, throwing it hard to the floor. He turns around to look at the living room, as his back crashes into the door and he slides to the floor.

"Talk about surprises. Is this really the way things are going to go now? I take a new path in life and something comes back, kicks me in the ass and gives me the shock that I really don't need right now? I guess it is."

His head falls into his hands, Thrash is obviously saddened by what's just happened to him.

"Surprises are going to be a common occurence over the next few days though. Starting with Dirty Angels getting back together, that's the surprise that I didn't really want. But come the weekend, there's going to be many surprises I might want. It's Roulette week for WZCW. I've never been part of it before, but I know that this weekend, it's ALL about surprises. I could be given a title shot, I could end up facing the World Heavyweight Champion, Showtime. One of the matches could get me into the Lethal Lottery, or I could be dealt a big loss in a Handicap match that I wasn't expecting. When it comes down to it, my WZCW Future could really be decided with a spin of a wheel. I don't even know what show I'm on this week, so I'm running off of little to no information. All I do know is that it's the night of opportunities. I could make a true name for myself in wZCW this week, only having fought in TWO matches."

Thrash looks up towards the ceiling and points, obviously meaning to point into the Sky.

"Wish me luck folks. You're looking down on me, but even you don't know where I'm going this week. Enjoy it though, I know I will."

Will Thrash manage to overcome a surprise this weekend and will he take all the opportunities that he's given in Roulette Week? Only time will tell.

 

[Барбоса]

Barbosa: A year.

One long year we have spent cooped up wherever that was.

Barbosa: It was not a year. It was just over 9 months ago. 40 weeks. 281 days. 404,640 minutes. 24,278,400 seconds to be more exact.

Only 24 million seconds? It felt longer. Much longer. Drowning in a sea of nothingness. Forced to be nothing more than spectators as our outer husk parade around aimlessly.

Now, admittedly getting to watch us… or should we say him defeat… him inside Hell in a Cell was immensely satisfying but it would have been more so had we been allowed to take part. But that was just one bright spark in the dreariness of our recent existence.

Since being shafted by the referee at Kingdom Come, we have had to sit idly by and watch us trying to get runover in Dallas, singing on Meltdown, failing to win back our WZCW title at Redemption, breaking back into that place we tried so hard to escape from all those years ago and then getting sidetracked firstly with that ridiculous cardboard automaton and now with those cretins that call themselves the Empire - like it will hide that fact that they are still just Justin Cooper and Alex Bowen - all the while Showtime Dave Cougar continues to benefit from the victory he stole from us!

???: Excuse me, sir. Is everything all right?

What? How did you get in here?

???: I beg your pardon sir but I entered the same way you did.

*Barbosa looks over towards where the poker room door should be. Instead all he sees is a sea of people's heads, all bustling about trying desperately to get their over-sized luggage into the overhead compartments. He looks back to the origin of voice and sees an air stewardess somehow managing to both smile and frown at the same time, and through a layer of make up that would have mortared the Great Wall of China.

It is then that Barbosa notices a looming shadow standing beside him. Turning to see what it is, the former inmate of Bedlam jumps up to his feet when he sees who or what it is.*

Spoiler

Barbosa: SHIT on a Plane!

*Barbosa quickly shakes off that outburst, although it does draw a few screams from surrounding passengers and the stewardess.*

What the hell are you doing here?

*The machine cocks its head to the side in a questioning manner, but before Barbosa can explain further, the stewardess chirps in again.*

Stewardess: Sir, if you do not and your colleague do not take your seats and settle down, we will reopen the cabin doors and ask you to deplane.

*By giving such an ultimatum, the stewardness makes herself the target for the dual stare of Barbosa and SHIT: one a heated stare filled with the kind of anger that those eyes have not seen in months and the other as blank as a piece of cardboard with a face drawn on it…

However, after a few seconds of tension, Barbosa lets out a sigh, his shoulders slump and he sinks slowly back into his chair and fastens his seat belt. After a few more seconds of SHIT continuing to stare at the stewardess, the former asylum resident reaches a hand up towards the cardboard man and gestures towards its seat.*

Please, sit.

*After another few seconds, the automaton slowly lowers itself into its seat.*

Yeah! Now we can watch Cash It Dolph!

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*Two hours into the flight, after having finished the movie and dinner service in relative silence and with SHIT staring straight ahead, Barbosa restarts his previous conversation.*

Did we know it would be here?

Shit, it's name is shit.

No, it's name is Scale Humanoid Industrial Technology.

What does that mean?

It means that there is more than one person in this world dumb enough to think that by encasing a man in cardboard and telling him that he is a robot so many times that he actually believes it, it actually makes him a robot…

But it is a robot.

We stand corrected. More than two people. The real question is, why is it here with us?

We invited him.

What? Why?

Much like it seems to have realised that it needs help against the Empire, so do we.

But we are one of the most accomplished - and unsung - tag teams wrestlers in WZCW. We have even defeated a tag team all by ourselves - a team that included Justin Cooper we might add.

That lone victory was long ago and Cooper is a different animal now. And he has a better partner - one that has bested us in the recent past.

Bowen did not best us. He bested him, the other us. But what about all our other victories? Empire have already proven that they cannot stand up to us.

It has only been proven that they could not defeat us. And by us, we mean Barbosa and Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. We might have one of the best tag team records in the whole of WZCW but we have also been fortunate to have called upon a stellar cast of tag partners at various times - Kurtsey, Kravinoff, Toyota…

Even Ty Burna.

*Despite carrying on this conversation with three of himself, Barbosa is struck momentarily dumb by his own mention of the Harbinger of Chaos. Only after a few moments does Barbosa snap out of it.*

And now Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology. We have a question…

Yes, we do. What the hell is this? Really? Has he let us out for some reason - Some sort of planned mental disintegration to help it perhaps.

*Barbosa gestures to the unmoved SHIT seated beside him.*

Or are we really out for good? Are we back to being ourselves again after 24 million seconds of unified nothingness?

Truthfully? We do not know.

What do you mean you we do not know?!? We always know!

All we know is that we are sure to run into the Empire again.

Yeah, because we want to finish the job we started at Apocalypse!

And to do that we will need the assistance of Scaled Humanoid Industrial Technology to make sure we do not suffer a physical rather than a mental break. But beyond that, we do not know.

So we are saying that after we deal with Empire the future is a lottery? A roulette?

Yes, and we are not a fan of these roulettes and lotterys.

Well, we did hate Las Vegas.

We loved it!

Too little to be left to chance. Not enough control. Not even we can plan for everything.

But we could get the big gold belt back!

*That gave Barbosa food for thought. The chance to get the world title belt back would get anyone's attention. He thought on very little else for the rest of the journey *

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*Throughout their journey together, SHIT had been watching and listening to its companion. Even as they had taken in Cash it Dolph as well as nutrients, SHIT had continued to watch, listen and gather intelligence. And if SHIT were human, it would have considered it fascinating to watch the mental unravelling of someone who had seemed so together - bodily ticks, instantaneous changes of personality, arguing with himself in the collective personal pronoun, like he was a gestalt entity.

It could see how Barbosa had caused so many in WZCW so much bother, besides him being a skilled warrior. He kept them off balance by being constantly off balance within himself. How could his opponent know what he was going to do if Barbosa himself did not know?

However, this time spent in his company had given SHIT an opportunity to gather information and so far it had identified three distinct personalities, all with separate body languages, tones and stressing points in their speech.

There was the angry one who had called it as a "ridiculous cardboard automaton." He was the one it needed to watch out for. He may not be the rudder of that ship but he was certainly the explosive armament.

Wait, was that a simile? SHIT does not do such human forms of speaking…

If it were human, it would have been disturbed by that.

Then there was the loud childlike one who screamed "SHIT on a plane!" and wanted it to watch the cinematic picture with him.

And then there was the subdued one… the mastermind behind it all. A human might say he is too clever for his own good. SHIT just knew he was clever.

However, that was not the most important thing about this side of Barbosa. SHIT had dealt with clever people before. It itself was clever.

His importance lay in the factual anomaly that for some reason, SHIT listened to his suggestions and despite its cleverness, SHIT could not explain it.

This conundrum filled its motherboard with numerous philosophical questions regarding motive - why had it done that?

Why?

Such questions might have caused an overload if it had been the first time that this Barbosa had brought such a query to its processor. But it was not. Indeed, it was a regular occurrence when SHIT found itself interacting with this maniac. Or should that now be these maniacs.

Why had it felt the need to ignore him early in their association, despite knowing it would only goad Barbosa into action?

Why had it felt the need to destroy him so badly that it had gotten up from the most vicious punishment it had yet been dealt?

Why had it felt the need to help that same maniac who had dealt out that punishment at Apocalypse?

Why had it felt the need to abandon its mission in Bedlam when they had asked them to? Was it self-preservation? SHIT had never been one for that.

Any why was it now on a plane with its erstwhile nemesis? Usually it travelled Frieght instead of coach. It had also posed the question of how does a robot put all of its electronic parts through an airport scanning device? Fortunately for the humans, this airport had had the full body scanners preventing the need for any unpleasantness.

Still, there were far too many "whys" in there. It was starting to look like the worst Scrabble draw ever.

Wait… was that a joke? SHIT does not joke.

Another most troubling development.

Or was it?

Was this what SHIT was going to get out of hanging around with Barbosa?

Was this what it was to have a… personality?

*SHIT thought on very little else for the rest of the journey.*

 

[Theo Mays]

The Beard and Le Gentleman Masque burst through the tunnel, clutching at their newly won tag team championships. The two are flabbergasted as they are approach by the beautiful Becky Serra

Bearded Gentlemen, you guys have just won the tag team championships! Congratulations guys! Where to next?

There’s only one place to go. WZCW….we’re going to Disney World!

Beard tramples off celebrating, with his arms in the air as Gent follows suit shrugging his shoulders as he passes Becky by.

Wait guys, I wanna go to Disney World too.

Becky storms off after the new tag team champions as the screen fades to a parking lot as we see Beard, Emily, Gent, and Liam exiting a trolley into the bright sunlight of the crowded lot.

Are you guys ready for the VIP treatment?

Beard, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but I don’t think anyone here cares about us. Frankly we probably scare the intended demographic.

Don’t be silly Gent, kids love us. Plus we are pretty much celebrities now. And this is the home of celebrities. And champions.

It is beautiful. A perfect place for a future family vacation.

Sir, would you like me to take your coat? Sweat is beginning to protrude from your brow.

Liam we are on vacation. You don’t need to cater to us. Go have fun. We’ll meet you back at the hotel.

Liam carries off reluctantly as Beard yanks Gent over to whispering range.

Is there a reason you brought Liam? I like the guy and all, but is there no-

Emily gives Beard a stern look as he bows his head in apologetic form.

It’s quite alright Emily. Liam is my closest of friend and no lady friend of mine was interested in accompanying me today.

The group comes to a halt as we reach a line chop full of whining children and stressed out adults. Gent is on his tip toes as he tries to peer over to see how long the potential wait may be, but Beard isn’t wasting time.

Pardon me, coming through. Worldwide celebrity coming through. ‘Scuse me. This guy here was trending worldwide on Twitter just a few days ago. Pardon.

Nothing but hateful glares at Beard as he merges his way through the crowd as Emily and Gent embarrassingly follow as they finally reach the front, where they are greeted by a not so happy employee.

Welcome to Disney World. How many tickets?

We won’t be needing tickets. We are celebrity guests here today as we are champions and champions come to Disney.

Sir, I’m not sure what games you are trying to play, but I don’t see any proof of you being a champion.

Oh so it is proof that you want Miss Sunshine. I’ll give you some proof.

Beard holds up his tag team championship as the employee just yawns and pops her gum at The Beard.

Aren’t you a little young for toys sir?

Beard is furious as he is on the verge of losing his cool before Emily steps in and pays the lady as the group heads on in their adventure.

Beard I don’t want to be the bearer of bad news, but I think the VIP treatment is for champions of handegg.

Say what now?

You know America’s favorite sport. Handegg.

You mean football.

No futbol is the great sport of Europe. A true form of companionship.

You mean soccer.

No I mean futbol.

Soccer.

Futbol.

Soccer.

Handegg.

Football.

CHILDREN!!!!!!!

Emily lets out a roar to stop the childish bickering between the tag champs. The two are ashamed as Emily catches her breath.

You two have come so far and have achieved the ultimate goal as a team and now you are going to embarrass yourself here like a bunch of immature 12 year olds? You guys did the unthinkable. You beat Saxton and Saboteur. Be proud of yourselves and be a team. You guys are together for a reason. I’m not gonna be here to be the voice of reason if this becomes a thing. Got it?

The teammates nod their heads in agreement as Emily shakes her head in approval and gives them a hand signal to embrace. The two partners hug it out as a child with a mouse balloon watches in the background as his father tries to grab his attention.

C’mon son. Goofy is down the road, lets get our picture taken.

Daddy, it’s The Beard.

The child runs over to Beard and Gent and tugs on Beard’s pant leg.

I’m so sorry Mr. Beard. My son is a big fan. He loves you guys.

Beard has a twinkle in his eye, almost as if a single tear is ready to slide down his rugged check. Emily watches on with a smile as Gent stands back.

Well shoot, I can’t let my biggest fan go without a high five.

Beard holds up his hand as the child jumps and high fives his favorite wrestler.

Alright kiddo, lets leave Mr. Beard-

Nonsense pops. Get over here. Lets get a family picture. You, your boy, and the tag champs.

Emily snaps a photo for the father and son as they make small talk with the Bearded Gentlemen.

It’s a Small World. Can you ride with me?

Beard smiles and lifts up the boy as the two venture off onto the ride.

And hear I heard Beard was an ass.

Hey!

Gent, back off. Under that rugged beardness is a great man and a true sweetheart.

After the scene at Disney World we cut to the hotel room with a television with constant channel surfing.

***CLICK***

“Hello. I’d like to play a game.”

***CLICK***

“I’d like to spin the wheel Pat.”

***CLICK***

“Random Dancing!!!!”

We pan out to see a very frustrated Beard with Emily cuddled in his arms as the big man places the remote on the table.

Babe just pick something. We have hundreds of channels.

I get that but everything seems to link back to the shows this week.

Emily looks at her bearded love in a state of confusion as Beard continues to explain.

It’s roulette week for WZCW.

Care to explain?

Everything will be chosen at random. Match type, opponent, everything. It is going to be utter chaos.

And the Beard thrives in utter chaos.

For the most part yes. However this is completely random. My chaos is through some serious planning. I mean I could end up fighting Gent. We just won the titles, the last thing we need is some sort of riff between us. You saw that at Disney, we can’t have that happen again.

Sit down, breath, and relax. I’m sure Gent is calm about the matter. Just enjoy a glass-

The front door to El Hotel de Beard swings open as a frantic Le Gentleman Masque tumbles in, dropping his title on the table and hanging his coat and cane up.

Good eve-

No time to talk Emily. Beard, we must speak.

Gent plops down on the couch next to his partner before continuing his rant.

This week, no good. We can’t have this randomness ensue. I mean we’re still getting over our championship hangover.

I know right! Emily over here thinks this is a good thing.

You boys don’t see the bigger picture.

Beard and Gent eye Emily up and down, waiting for her explanation.

This could be huge for you guys. Imagine one half of the tag team champions facing off for the WZCW Title.

That would be sexy. Double the gold.

That would be quite the occasion.

One of you two could battle such names as Titus, Barbosa, Constantine, Rush, and the list goes on. The opportunity here outweighs the fact that everything is going to be completely random.

As with life, the best things are always the things you don’t prepare for you.

Exactly. And we learned that today. You not only made that child’s day, you made mine. I saw how great of a dad you are going to be and I’m even more excited now. You have a soft spot, it’s kind of cute.

Shhh! They can never know. I can’t be the biggest, baddest, beardest man on the planet if they know I’m a softie.

Gent breaks out in laughter as Emily soon follows. Beard looks on, trying to be angry but soon he joins in on the laugh party as the three laugh it up until a sudden pause from Gent.

Where’s Liam?

We now cut back to Disney World where Liam is on Splash Mountain surrounded by screaming faces as he keeps a serious look on his face at all times, with his arms up in the air and the last image we see is that of the photo flashing up a Polaroid of Liam and many other screaming riders.

 

[Viola Moonlight]

"Loose Ends"​

Sandy Deserts, the person
San Fransisco Peaks, Arizona
February 23rd, 2013 - 1800 Hours​

For a lovely, sunny day driving up to the renowned mass of mountains alongside my best friend, it was a very lonely, depressing drive. My friend, known to most as "The Professor," was one of the most relaxed & out-going person you'll ever meet. He always wore a smile across his face and no matter how busy or complicated his life would get, he would take time out of his schedule to make conversation with you. This was a trait that he carried around like a badge of honour and people like myself looked up to him, yearning to create themselves in his image. He was the reason why I pursued a career in psychology and became a doctor. When I was down, he would always lift up my spirits. When I needed help, he consoled me and showed me in the right direction. When I needed a friend, he was there.

Today is different though - the once heart-warming grin that never left his face decided to take an extended vacation and atmosphere during the trip was nothing short of frightening. The Professor sat in the front passenger seat of Bessie (my Monster Truck I was driving the both of us in that we both enjoyed heavily) staring silently out the window. Nothing had been spoken the entire way up until this point and it seemed like it would continue to be that way. Although the Professor is unable to use his voice-box for the remainder of his existence, he didn't wish to communicate with me... in any fashion. Two friends who have a history like the Professor and I do never do something like breaking off any form of conversation. Yet, the Professor watches on as the lush landscape of nature's beauty brushes past.

Something was wrong and I wanted to figure out what - so being the only human capable of talking, I decided to break the silence. "I've handed over the reigns of our business to Michelle" I finally said. Michelle Barnes was never prominent in our lives but she was a valuable asset to the Professor's psychiatric practice. She spent most of the years at our offices working as an understudy whilst she went to University to finish her degree. She had proven herself that she was ready to take the leadership role and continue running the practice in my eyes. However, the Professor failed to move a muscle in response to this news. "I'm no longer active as a psychiatrist and it honestly feels like a huge weight has been lifted from my shoulders - hopefully, with the stress of patients ringing you up at ungodly hours of the morning and the copious amounts of paperwork disappeared, I should be able to concentrate on my wrestling... to say I haven't been the most successful star on the roster would be a huge understatement."

It seemed the Professor budged on that comment, turning his head and staring at me in disbelief before focusing back on the view through the windows. I don't blame him for reacting this way though - it must feel like Déjà Vu for him considering he did the exact same thing, passing off the reigns to myself to focus on his wrestling career. "I apologise if I offended you" I added. The last thing I wanted was the Professor to give me the silent treatment... well, the closest thing to the silent treatment that a person with Dysphonia can achieve.

From the many hours of driving causing exhaustion for the both of us, we finally reach our destination: the Monastery of Agassiz Peak. It was a place that the Professor called his home away from home; a place where he could connect with his spiritual side in peace and harmony. Apart from the Monastery, finding civilisation was quite a distance to travel so disturbances were down to a minimum. The Professor had decided he needed to live a life of solitude to clear out all his apparent demons that haunt him and this was the perfect spot. I've been here multiple times to visit the Professor on his many trips up here but I have yet to feel that same appeal. I know I've had some issues that still linger to me to this day but restricting myself behind secluded walls to solve them seemed a little extreme for my tastes.

I stopped the truck out front of the entrance of the Monastery walls, which the Professor was quite eager to enter. He almost immediately jumped down from the high platform, fetching his belongs from the tray attached to the back. As I slowly climbed down out of the truck, I was greeted by a familiar face: the Master of the Monastery. "Ah Sandy! It is good to see you here once more" he expressed with a smile across his face. "I appreciate you bringing young Steven up here. I know it must be hard for you to let go of such a good friend for the time that he wishes to spend here."

Indeed it was hard for me but it was something I needed to do, for his sake. "I thought it would be better if I took him up here so that way I knew he reached the Monastery safely. There is nothing worse than not knowing" I replied - reminding me for a brief few seconds of the upcoming Roulette Rounds that I'd be partaking in soon after All or Nothing. "I just hope you can handle that loud mouth over there for a while." I chuckled for a moment before I glanced at the Professor who didn't seem to appreciate that comment. "Excuse me, Master."

I walked past the Master and followed the Professor who had no intention of stopping until he was inside the Monastery walls. "Steven!" I called out but he did not care. I was forced to run, catching up with the Professor. I stood in his path and he looked very annoyed as he stared into my eyes. "I have no idea what is going through your head Steven and I cannot begin to imagine what it could be like to be in your shoes but I'm not the enemy here - I'm your friend... your best friend. I just want you to remember that and all the times that we've had together because I know I will. I don't want you to forget me as you potentially spend the rest of your life inside these walls." I started to tremble slightly as the annoyance in his face started to slip away. "I love you, Steven" I said to him truthfully as I hugged him tightly, sharing what would be our last embrace in a very long time. As I let go and look into his eyes, he gave me a very weak grin and gently pushed me aside to make his way inside the sacred grounds.

My head dropped down as the Master walked past me, patting my shoulder as a sign of compassion for the situation. "I'll make sure to take care of him - I will let you know when Steven is ready to interact with outsiders and you can visit him." I looked up to the Master whose encouraging smile brought me back to a more cheery state. "I'd appreciate that." As I finish my sentence, the Master follows the Professor through the entrance of the walls where I see him for the last time as they close the old, wooden doors.

Trying to put on a brave face, I turn around and head back to Bessie... but no matter how much the sounds of nature and the exquisite beauty of the surrounding area tries to put a smile on my face, tears of sadness begin to stream down my face as the realisation of "losing" my best friend has come to fruition in my brain. I climb up the side of the truck, turn the ignition over and drive off down the same road we came in on balling my eyes out...

... crying.

----------------------------------------------------------------------​

Sandy Deserts, the wrestler
All or Nothing (Backstage)
February 25th, 2013 - 2200 Hours​

"... and the only thing I can think about now is moving forward - no reason to dwell on the past and the losses I have attained."

"Well, thank you for your time Sandy. This is Rebecca Serra for WZCW signing off."

It was the usual chaotic frenzy that everyone has to endure during Pay-Per-View time: the reporters were rushing around trying to film as much footage they could to present on either the live broadcast or on WZCW.com; and the wrestlers were being monitored and ushered by the backstage workers to keep the show moving smoothly. My time in the building had expired well and truly as I was apart of the warm-up match for the Free-To-Air Pre-Show to entice viewers to order the product; a match which I was eliminated prior to the finish. I was very disappointed in myself as I thought I would at least make it to the final two but alas, it was not meant to be.

As Rebecca Serra and her crew were fiddling around with the equipment so they could move to the next location, I picked up my suitcase behind me and began to walk off to leave the premise but something caught my eye and Is stopped walking: Celeste Crimson had stumbled in from one of the corridors and unceremoniously dumped herself on top of some storage boxes where she slouched over, draining the last drops of water from her bottle before tossing it across the ground. She didn't acknowledge that I was nearby and she wasn't in a happy mood. "Hey" I said as I went over and sat down next to her. She didn't budge from her position. "Sorry about your match tonight... I guess it wasn't the night for the Fairy Glitter Armageddon to shine, huh?"

There was a small pause between the two of us as Celeste looked up to me, showing me something that I haven't seen in the face of Crimson before - it reminded me of the encounter with the Professor. "I snapped Sandy and I couldn't help myself. If I remained calm, cool and collected, I could've walked out tonight as the Elite X champion. Do you know how long I've been wanting to call myself a champion?" I didn't have an answer to her proposition and Celeste had nothing to follow-up with. The two of us sat there for a few seconds before Celeste got up and walked off, leaving me in a pool of my own thoughts.

Not again, I thought. I hope she is okay.

----------------------------------------------------------------------​

Sandy Deserts, the "Sandman"
From An Unknown Location
March 11th, 2013 - 2000 Hours​

"Nightfall... for some, it indicates that the horrors and nightmares of the world will soon emerge from their daytime slumber to wreck havoc among the land and its people. As you can see from this baron wasteland which I stand upon right now, known as Death Valley in the Mojave Desert, one would think of why that would be the case. There is no shelter out here apart from the painful embrace of a cactus branch and the scarcity of food and water is dearly noted. Any normal person could not deduce any logical reason as to why one would come out here and spend their time attempting to survive when they can list off many places in the surrounding area that easily caters to their needs."

Sandy crouches down and touches one singular flower that appears to be growing through the scorched earth.

"For others though, it is seen as a test of strength and perseverance to survive in such harsh conditions. It creates them and it moulds their character, standing tall among an empty crowd that has scattered for greener pastures. These select few might have encountered more obstacles and struggled more ferociously than their counterparts but the result allows them to steam-roll past any challenge on their journey."

She caresses the flower as she turns her head towards the camera.

"Just like this flower, I too have been facing my own trials and tribulations. I have rehabilited from the brink of insanity to study amongst highly intellectual peers to achieve a degree in psychology; I have trained many tireless hours to get my body physically-fit to restart the only life I knew inside the squared circle; and right now, I have suffered many defeats in my quest of becoming the defender of dreams. Just like this flower, I am not looking to throw away all this hard way I have spent getting to this exact moment."

Sandy stands up and opens her arms out as if she was embracing her surroundings.

"I am here to stand tall against anything that dares to block me reaching the pinnacle of my success that I once achieved. I stand here ready to fight and surpass all comers who wish to make a name for themselves. I'm here, digging my feet in the ground and not looking to budge an inch any time soon because this territory is mine and I will defend it. It doesn't matter whether the Empire's dictator wants to send their soldiers my way to clear their path or someone wishes to dangle Benjamin Franklin above my head as a reward to take me out - I'm here to stand tall and I will not be taken out as easily as most people perceive. I'm ready to fight and I'm ready to reach for the stars... and it all starts in my home territory of Las Vegas."

She moves toward the camera - up close and personal.

"Get ready to dance a round with the Sandman at the roulette tables, boys and girls because this Desert will be waiting here, ready to blow up a sandstorm... ready to achieve her dreams."

Sandy smiles as she reaches into her pouch and blows sand towards the camera, causing the glitter to shimmer as it slowly trickles down the view.​

 

[IHW]

Where We Left Off:

Ring Ring Ring

The phone rings. Blaze stares it down, as he sits across the room from it.

Ring Ring Ring

Brent doesn’t want to get up just to be disappointed once more.

Ring Ring

Blaze jumps up after hesitating. He runs around the coffee table, nearly spilling his soggy meal, and reaches for the cell phone.

Ring-

Blaze picks up the phone.

Brent Blaze
Hello?

There is no answer, but as he pulls away he reads the screen.

“One Missed Call- From Alexis”

Leon Kensworth: Ladies and gentlemen, I am here with one of the eight men who fought for a spot in Lethal Lottery this past Sunday, he is Brent Blaze.

Leon pauses, as Blaze stands there smirking.

Brent, you have been on quite the roller coaster of a ride throughout the last few weeks. You have a few wins under your belt, as well as some losses. What do you think of your time here in WZCW, so far?

Brent Blaze: Leon, first off, you are lucky to be getting this interview. This is the first time I have agreed to do one of these. I think its best that my addicts know what I am thinking, so I shall speak the truth, and the truth is, I should still be undefeated. I have said this before, and I will say it again, Vega was a fluke. The paper champion got lucky. And, in this eight man over the top rope match up from AON, that was just as much a fluke. All them guys were gunning for me. I proved myself in the first two weeks I was here. I am no joke. People will soon realize that the best is yet to come.

Lets speak more on All Or Nothing. What were your thoughts about that match, and your performance?

All Or Nothing. Those three words, they meant everything to those of us in the battle royal. They meant everything to me. They meant everything to you Leon- you are my fan. It meant everything to them- the fans, my fans. Each and every one of you are my fans whether you like it or not. Wins and losses, they mean it all in this business. Maybe I didn’t get the win at All Or Nothing, maybe I came up short last week against Vega, but, win, lose, or draw, I know that at the end of the night I’ll have your everlasting support. Just as you have me to lift you off of your pitiful feet and place you back on the ground whenever you fall. We have each other; we help each other. You all, my fans, you’ll continue to love me eternally. Listen Addicts, the blood that flows through my veins, it will continue to flow until I leave WZCW; and that day is long and far to come. I am here to stay. It may seem redundant, but I am the future. Many men and women alike have muttered those words, but none mean it to the degree I do. I am the future, and I am here to stay. Not even Ricky Runn can take me out of WZCW!

Connor Reese may have taken me out of the battle royal at All or Nothing, but he will not put out the fire that is Brent Blaze. I gave it my all and got nothing in return! Runn and Reese gave it nothing, and some way, some how they got it all; the win, the spots in Lethal Lottery, the chance to face off one on one with the WZCW Champion at Kingdom Come! My route won’t be the easiest, but I assure you, my Addicts, I assure you that I will obtain a spot in Lethal Lottery. I will go on to win that match, and I will do so by throwing out however many opponents I have too! The faith that all of you have in me, that faith will drive me straight to KC! I will be the victor of this years Lethal Lottery. I will go on to Kingdom Come and I will capture the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship from Showtime, from Steven Holms, or from whoever happens to hold the title at the time! My impending potency shall be spread! My influence will overcome every opposition. I am the future! I am the best! I am the addiction, and you all are my Addicts!

What you are saying is-

Blaze interrupts in the middle of Leon’s sentence.

What I am saying is, short pause and in a smooth and quiet tone, the addiction has just begun.

Blaze stuffs his hand into the camera and the feed shuts off. The interview is now over, as we see Blaze walking away without saying a word to Kensworth. He checks his phone.

“One Missed Call”
-Alexis

Damn.

Blaze scroll through a few pages on his Galaxy S3. He finds a seat on an equipment box near the interviewing area. Blaze sits the phone down and begins to look around the building pondering if he should return the call. A few moments pass, when suddenly-

***RING RING RING***

Blaze gets ticked off at the interruption. He checks his phone and see the name “Alexis.” He lets the recognized theme song play for a few moments, and then decides to answer.

Hello?

Voice: Brent?

Yes?

Hey, this is Tammy, Alexis friend. I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for days. I figured you have been busy with all you’re wrasslin’ stuff. Alexis told me that you two were going on a date the other night. I figured I’d call and let you know-

What! Tammy? Where is Alexis?

Tammy: She is fine. Well, now she is.

Tammy pauses, as she gets choked up a bit.

I found her the other night passed out on the floor of her hotel room. I was coming to discuss you twos dinner date. You know, the normal girl gossip? Well, she was just lying there. There was a bottle, half full, of these pills sitting there on her bedside table. I knew exactly what had happened. I called an ambulance, and they took her to the hospital. They stabilized her condition and she if fine now. They just haven’t released her, yet.

Brent listens, silently, as Tammy continues.

She needs help, Brent. I have heard a lot about you. I know how much you mean to her. What I do not want to know is what happened the other night that caused her to take those pills. I don’t know what you did or she did or what was said, but what I do know is that it needs to be fixed, and soon. Whatever happened, it has to be fixable. You have to fix this Brent, and you have to help Alexis.

Brent breaks his silence.

I will.

He hangs up the phone, and proceeds down the hallway, and exits the building.

 

[Bernkastel]

The shrillness of the alarm banged against my skull, as the light from in window burned my eyes. Was it morning already? It took me a few moments before I could summon the strength to turn over and hit the snooze button. Immediately I rolled over in my sheets and went back to bed. It was two days after the fallout of the All or Nothing pay per view. And like always we were all on the road again. Instead of lavish suites and limousines, I had surrounded myself with cheap motel service and even cheaper booze. It just wanted to be left alone.

Fifteen minutes passed. Beep… beep… beep. I hit the snooze button again.

Sleeping was the only way that I knew to escape the reality that was my incompetence and failure. It wasn’t fair. I had worked my but off for so long, and tried so hard so many times, but had nothing to show for anything I did. And I don’t think I even succeeded once. In a huff I rolled over, threw the covers off my body, and promptly drew those wretched blinds shut. I withdrew to the comforts of the bed; it was where I wanted to be. I had no desire to think of anything, but I couldn’t stop the memories from flooding back.

All of my failures over the past year - Kingdom Come, Redemption, All or Nothing, the Mentorship Program. What did I have left?

I heard my door open but I did not seem to care, “How long are you going to stay in bed?” Asked the figure. I turned my head and barely acknowledged my tag team partner Sandy Deserts.

She stepped into the room and threw back the blinds, I winched as I tried to shield myself from their brightness.

“I know how disappointed you were when you lost your Elite X title match, buts it’s been two days. You aren’t going to solve anything mopping around here.”

I didn’t acknowledge her, and nor did I care. I hadn’t even so much as spoken to anyone within days, and I didn’t want to start now. I was a wreck; and I didn’t know how to fix the damage. It was if a voice in the back of my mind was telling me to give up and move on.

Sandy walked over and sat down on the edge of the bed, “The Roulette Rounds are next. One year ago you made your debut at the exact same shows, and you made a statement. You could get lucky again. Perhaps you’d get alone shot at Sam Smith and the Elite X title-.”

“I don’t care about that anymore,” I snapped. “I don’t care if I win or lose, I don’t want to train, and I just want to be by myself.”

Sandy sighed and stood, “Fine. But you’ll get nowhere in life if you spend all day just mopping about. Be proactive and do something about all this.”

Do something about all this? Do something about all this!? Just who the fuck did she think she was? Haven’t I done enough already? What was the point? I brushed her off and pulled the covers back over my head, and Sandy begrudgingly left the room.

Burn everything with fire. Make it so the ashes never regenerate. To find peace within my existence I had to find out just who I was. Would one more loss be the last straw? Who am I?

 

[MMSoldier]

Let me teach you people a word.

The screen is full on white, as snow falls at a rapid rate. The field Jimmy’s in is covered with hills of snow, and more continues to fall.

Jimmy: This is snow, hope I don’t have to teach you that.

He winks at the camera.

Jimmy: The word I want you to learn is a downeast word. You come up here during the winter, and you’ll hear it often.

Flynn extends his bare arms and motions to the flurries around him.

Jimmy: A storm like this has happened over the year. Superstorm Sandy, whatever Nemo classified as. They both were nor’easters.

Jimmy glares around at the activity in the air around him.

Jimmy: This week, the shows are randomized. This nor’easter goes through the town, not caring about what’s around it. Just like I don’t care about the roulette being stacked against me.

The Devil’s Dancer smirks and looks up at the sky, the snow sprinkling in his hair.

Jimmy: The fear of the unknown is unneeded; if you fear not knowing then you fear life itself. The unpredictability is what makes life. The shows this week show this, and I will enter with no fear.

Jimmy shakes his head, causing moisture to fly from his hair as the motion dislodges the snow.

Jimmy: I could face Vega again, one of the few men in sports I do not respect. I could be facing David Cougar on Aftershock in a cage for the championship. Hell, I could face a returning Ty Burna in the cell for all I care!

Flynn sweeps his hand across his body, removing more snow from his person.

Jimmy: This nor’easter has no care in the world, and I will have no care for what happens this week.

Jimmy glares into the camera, his eyes cold and piercing.

Jimmy: WZCW, you’re on notice, there’s a storm alert. The Devil’s Dancer wants a match, and he don’t care who he faces, so you best be ready to dance.

 

[Miko]

“What do you mean it’s gone AWOL?”

“Just exactly that,” said the Scientist, more patiently than he would’ve given himself credit for. There is nothing worse than people who ask to have explained what should be obvious. “Come and see for yourself.”

He beckons the moderately dressed man over the S.H.I.T’s storage crate, indicating that he should look inside, the other man does so.

“Good God,” he blasphemed, “what the hell is that?”

Excuse me sirs, could you let me out of here?

The Scientist rolls his eyes, “it would appear to be a small metal, orb shaped object, if you would indeed notice its roundness.”

Hello? Can you hear me?

The two men look down at Krypto’s robot companion RXJ, left on the floor of S.H.I.T’s storage crate, propped up and stopped from rolling over by a small sign on which is written “I am S.H.I.T, please insert target for destruction!”

“It appears it wants us to think that it is still here. That this is indeed S.H.I.T.”

“This poor, pathetic thing?”

Now there’s no need for that!

“So where the hell has the actual S.H.I.T got to?”

The scientist sighs, if he’d known that he’d be out looking already.

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

S.H.I.T didn’t really know why it’d run out on that place, why it had convinced RXJ to take its place while it travelled to the next event with the man it had called its enemy only recently. Perhaps it was because of the change it had noticed within him inside of Bethlem, instead of reciprocating as mercilessly as S.H.I.T itself had attacked, the other had actually backed down, the man of many voices had re-emerged.

This was a change only further exaggerated on the plane journey, Barbosa had spent almost the entire thing ranting to himself as much as to S.H.I.T about various things, all the while S.H.I.T had watched, learning when to recognise his various incarnations, the wide eyed maniacal, the nonchalant but more aggressive one and the subdued one, the most reasonable of the three or perhaps more personalities shown by this once single-minded creature.

S.H.I.T had endeavoured to destroy the emotionless husk that Barbosa had become, almost hoping that Barbosa would return the favour. It had thought until that moment in Bethlem that it had failed, but when it was spoke to by no less than three variations of the “Ultimate Inmate” it had realised that it had perhaps been more successful that it thought, just not in the way it set out to be.

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

Barbosa was of a similar vein once, but now he is more than single-minded destruction, perhaps S.H.I.T could achieve that as well. Perhaps a journey of sorts was needed.

It’s thought process was interrupted by another figure clattering into it, knocking them both over. S.H.I.T starts to climb back to his feet.

“Get up Fats!” Came a voice that was instantly recognisable to S.H.I.T. “My luggage won’t carry itself!” S.H.I.T looked at the prone, obese figure lying in front of it, surrounded by split open bags with more food than two men could possibly eat in a lifetime, as well as more condoms than either were likely to use in their lifetimes. The fat man was clearly unconscious but that wasn’t stopping the smaller man from berating him, delivering a good, solid kick into his bulbous side.

Alhazred sighed and looked around for the first time, to see what had caused this incident, his eyes immediately spy S.H.I.T and he takes in instant step back with a gasp of surprise, dropping on the floor S.H.I.T couldn’t help but notice an awful lot of Sandy Deserts pictures. Not all of them in the cleanest of conditions.

Alhazred points an accusing finger, “you!” He said, and made as if to attack.

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

“We must get searching for it, if something happens to that thing it will be the end of both of us.” Said the moderately dressed man, putting his jacket and shoes on.

“Yes,” said the Scientist patiently, “but a blind search will no doubt be fruitless, I have contacted WZCW and asked them to get in touch should they hear anything.”

“You’ve told them that we’ve lost it?” Said the other man, rage clearly rising.

“Not at all,” said the Scientist soothingly, “I’ve told them that we’ve let it out for the day but asked them if they can keep an ear to the ground, they are of course highly invested in it for their performances.”

The other man grunted, placated for now.

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

S.H.I.T prepared itself for battle but none came, instead Alhazred lunged forward and before S.H.I.T could react threw his arms around the Automaton, burying his head in S.H.I.T’s cardboard chest.

“Let’s never fight again.” He said, a tad weepily. S.H.I.T’s urge to destroy was almost overwhelming, Alhazred had left on bad terms, left it alone with the brainwashed, mindless drones of chaos, but S.H.I.T resisted the urge, instead using its arms to reciprocate Alhazred’s hug.

After a moment that probably would’ve been too long for anybody watching Alhazred finally released his grip, “lets go out,” he said smiling almost maniacally, “just like the old days.”

S.H.I.T considered this for a moment, before nodding in the affirmative, although it takes the time to indicate the Human known as Fats. Alhazred looked where S.H.I.T was pointing.

“Fats!” He shouted, “Fats, wake up!” He delivered another stiff kick to the man’s blubbery belly but was unable to stir him. “Oh well,” he said, fishing in amongst his luggage he withdraws a marker pen but unable to find paper settles for the fat mans forehead, tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he writes “gone out with S.H.I.T!” On his forehead. Then, no doubt unable to resist he adds a picture of a penis, complete with hairy testicles.

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

The Scientist puts the phone down.

“Well?” Asked the other man immediately, much to the Scientists annoyance, he’d spent too long with this man, even the sound of his breathing was revolting to him now.

“It has been sighted in a restaurant, called (name removed, advertising prohibited) with, Raziel Alhazred of all people.”

“Who is that?” He snapped.

“Alhazred was the man who converted S.H.I.T to the Apostle’s of Chaos in the first place.” Said the Scientist.

“Loyal to this man was it?”

“It would appear so,” the Scientist conceded.

“Then it would seem even he succeeded where you failed.” He said nastily.

The Scientist gritted his teeth. “Let’s go find our project shall we?”

“’Project’” the other man mocked, “you really do think you are a Scientist, don’t you?”

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

“Then Missy went missing so I tried to find her for a while, then I recruited Fats, did you meet Fats?” Alhazred asked, swaying by this point, polishing off his second bottle of wine. S.H.I.T nodded in the affirmative. Alhazred hiccupped, “where was I? Oh yeah, then Mister!” other patrons looked around as he said the accused name far too loudly, “Mister has been hiding her from me!” He shouted, slamming down his glass causing the remnants of wine to fly out, mostly all over another table, the patrons look set to complain but S.H.I.T turns its snarling, furious gaze on them and they go back to their meal.

S.H.I.T looked back at Alhazred and again nodded in the affirmative. Implying that he should continue, but the smaller man was occupied attracting a waitresses attention, clicking his fingers and making some kind of strange thrusting motion with his pelvis. Finally the Woman can ignore him no longer and approaches the table.

“Are you ready to order now?” She asked, huge fake smile plastered on her face while on one side the Machines unrelenting stare seemed to bore straight into her and on the other the strange man with the large glove was certainly leering.

“Yes, another bottle of that (name removed, advertising prohibited) please.”

“Sir, this is a restaurant, are you ready to order food?” She asked patiently.

“What? No, I’ve already eaten and he doesn’t eat at all. The wine will do fine, you’re welcome.” He said, turning his attention back to S.H.I.T as the Waitress left. He indicates her retreating back, raising an eyebrow at S.H.I.T and thrusting with his pelvis. S.H.I.T has no idea what Alhazred is trying to say, so it just nods its head in the affirmative. Alhazred gives S.H.I.T a “you dirty bastard” look before filling both of their glasses with the wine.

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

“How much longer?”

“Hours yet,” the Scientist replied, the same reply he’d been giving for an hour already. His attempts to make the other man wait for his return was fruitless and now he was becoming even more unbearable in the close proximity of this car, the thought of a few more hours with him was not a pleasant one.

“Put your foot down will you for God’s sake!”

Good idea.

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

Alhazred slammed his empty glass down on the table and staggered toward the restroom, S.H.I.T watched him leave before picking up its own glass and carefully pouring the contents into Alhazred’s, not spilling a drop. A Woman from another table notices this and leans across, “are you trying to get him drunk?” She said with a giggle.

S.H.I.T turns its furious gaze on her. Cold red eyes staring straight into hers.

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

The Woman flinches back, and looks down, concentrating solely on her meal. Just in time for the return of Alhazred, who happily drinks the full glass of wine. He rises to his feet again, clumsily, knocking the chair over behind him and raises the empty glass.

“I propose a toast!” He said far too loudly, drawing the attention of all the other customers, “will somebody fill my glass please?” No one moves, “that’s better,” he said, proffering the still empty glass in the air, “I propose a toast!” He shouted, “to old friendships renewed!” Here he indicated S.H.I.T with a big beaming smile. “Will somebody fill this glass!” He shouted again, thumping the table.

A snobby Maître D approaches the clearly plastered Alhazred, “excuse me sir, I am afraid I am going to have to ask you to leave.” He piped up, voice thick with disdain.

As a reply Alhazred turns and throws up on his shoes.

“Thats the man!” Came a deep, husky but female voice, “thats the man! He made” and here she visibly shudders, “thrusting motions at me!” She was pointing at Alhazred and flanked by two large security personal, who were both dwarfed by her. Alhazred see’s the commotion and commences thrusting at the Woman again, vomit all down his front. Seeing all they need to see the Security Personal make a move for Alhazred. Alhazred see’s them coming and immediately flips the table over, causing screams and comments of “dear me,” from the rest of the patron’s while he grabs the Maitre D and attempts to use him as a Human shield, keeping the Security at bay.

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

Suddenly S.H.I.T was on its feet and the first Security guard was dropped with a Piston Chop, Alhazred shouts out and throws the Maitre D into the second one who is staggered, S.H.I.T reacts instantly and locks him in the Industrial Strength Vice, causing the man to cry out in pain. Alhazred turns and runs, stopping for long enough to shout out “thank you!” before disappearing completely as Police flood the building.

“Let him go!” One of them demands.

When the Human submits! S.H.I.T replies. The officer withdraws a taser gun and shoots S.H.I.T with it, causing the Machine to release the hold and rise to its feet.

Power capacity at 400%!

“Well what do you know,” said the officer. S.H.I.T raises its hand for a Piston Chop on him but is shot with three more tasers, these eventually manage to subdue the Robot.

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

The Scientist walks out of the restaurant and back to the car where the other man is waiting for him.

“Where is it?” He barks as the door opens, the Scientists sits down and straps himself in before deigning to reply.

“The Police Station.” He replied simply.

“How?” Begins the other man, but is cut off.

“It doesn’t matter, what does matter is we are not the first to come looking,” he said in a warning tone.

“Oh no, any idea who?”

“The Maitre D simply said a big man, who managed to convince the owner not to press charges.”

“Oh dear!”

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

S.H.I.T sat in the holding cell, surrounded by the dregs and scum of Humanity. It’s night with Alhazred had taught it something, the man was still clearly a deranged madman, and a roaring pervert, S.H.I.T could be glad that his most likeable qualities are still in place. Still he had taught, or perhaps he had re-enforced a lesson Barbosa had taught it. To be Human is to be lost, is to be searching.

Alhazred had left again though, left S.H.I.T alone to take the fall in the restaurant, much like he’d left S.H.I.T alone with the Apostle’s of Chaos. That was another important lesson. If you are going to spend your life lost, searching, then it is perhaps not best to revisit your past and make the same mistakes again. S.H.I.T wasn't angry with Alhazred, it had learned to expect it from Alhazred, it could almost say it liked Alhazred.

S.H.I.T looks up from its view of the ground, even the people in this cell were giving it a wide birth now, after S.H.I.T had dealt with a particularly difficult one of them by twisting his arm up his back and ramming his head into the wall. The cell was darkened now by the presence of a large Police Office, who is looking directly at S.H.I.T.

“Him?” He asked, pointing at S.H.I.T.

Yes, he is the one. Came a voice that could only have been from behind the frame of the large Police Officer.

“You can’t even see who I am pointing at,” said the Officer.

Indeed but we described to you a man in a cardboard box, we can’t imagine you are pointing at anyone else.

The man grunted in acknowledgement and opened the door, “you are free to go.”

Without question S.H.I.T stood up and walked past the others, straight out of the door.

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

"Its made bail," said the Scientist, sitting down in the car again.

Both men sit in the car in silence for a long time.

"So what now?"

"We are back to square one. No idea where it is, waiting on word from WZCW, hoping it is in good hands."

"The only good hands are ours."

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

S.H.I.T and Barbosa head down the road away from the Police Station, to passers-by they no doubt looked like the local weirdo’s, whereas normally a robot would look like fun, this one and the strange man muttering to himself create a wide berth.

Why? Why did we collect it from there?

He asked us to.

Did they read it it’s rights?

The Smoker rolls his eyes at this. Robot’s don’t have rights. Robot’s also have to obey the three laws.

Thou shalt not. . .

The three laws of robotics;
A robot may not injure a human being or, through inaction, allow a human being to come to harm.
A robot must obey the orders given to it by human beings, except where such orders would conflict with the First Law.
A robot must protect its own existence as long as such protection does not conflict with the First or Second Laws.

But it hurt us!

What should that tell us?

That those laws are the product of fiction, devised by author Isaac Asimov for use in his Science Fiction Novella.

So we are not giving instructions, it is doing what we ask of its own free will?

Apparently.

The four walk in silence for a while, or in S.H.I.T’s case even more silence.

So why did we help it?


Because he asked us to.

Because it watched Cash It Dolph with us!

The group come to a stop outside of the arena, Barbosa turns and looks at his cardboard ally, S.H.I.T stares back, both nod before going their seperate ways.

S.H.I.T didn't bother to thank him, it doubted very much he required thanking anyway, it didn’t know why it had chosen Barbosa as its contact, why it had asked Barbosa to collect it from the Police Station. Still, the fact remained that the man had. S.H.I.T wondered how much internal debate that had caused, it had watched Barbosa seemingly go to pieces on that plane journey, a man once of a single-minded purpose as S.H.I.T shattered into fragments again.

S.H.I.T knew it would never understand Barbosa, but it realised now that it wasn’t important, not if it could depend on him to help when needed. Like at All Or Nothing.

It’s thought process was interrupted by running feet, S.H.I.T turns to look in the direction the sound was coming from.

You didn’t say thank you!

Thank you!

S.H.I.T wondered if it would ever understand the Human race in general, like its endevours to understand control mechanisms, religion and a lot of other things this exercise was met with failure. Perhaps S.H.I.T's ability to only see things at base value was a hindrance, perhaps a higher level of thought really was required, the ability to believe in what you can not see, for the first time S.H.I.T considered that being single minded was a drawback. Perhaps the Human's it had observed and tried to understand had been the wrong choice, Barbosa and Alhazred weren't normal by their races standards. Still, if to be Human was the be lost, to be searching, then it was at least starting on the right lines.

If at first you don't succeed, try, try again.

It didn't know who had said that, or if it really was good advice, but it was a start.

 

[Harthan]

I sat backstage in an out of the way room after my match with Ty.

"You heard it. Everyone heard it. Do you believe me now?" I practically shouted at Stoya, who was pacing back and forth. She shot me a sharp glare before replying.

"I always believed you. I'm not your enemy here, Drake," she said stonily.

Her pacing was making me even more uptight than I already was. I stood up and rubbed my hand over my jaw, trying to sort through all the thoughts racing through my head.

I lost. That in and of itself didn't totally surprise me. I wasn't unbeatable, one on one. I knew that my loss inside Hell in a Cell was Ty's manipulation at work, but one on one against a crafty devil like Ty, I knew it was possible for me to lose. I didn't like it, but I wasn't surprised. Besides, I'd gotten my revenge rapidly. I had been so confident I'd gotten the better of Ty in the end. And then that music. Everyone was in on this - the producers, the technicians, the music guys, absolutely everyone. Ty had paid off or threatened everyone in this company until they were willing to do everything possible to mess with me.

That was his message when he had his music playing. Even as I had laid him out on the mat with a steel chair, he was reminding me who was in control. Who ran this place. Who had the power to shape their own destiny, and who was going to be strung along like a puppet.

He'd drawn the line in the sand.

"Son of a bitch!" I shouted, doing all I could to not put my hand through the wall. I was - almost literally - seeing red.

"Calm down," Stoya snapped at me, irritably.

"Calm down? Calm down?! You want me to be calm when everyone and everything in this company is turned against me? I have no allies, no support, my back is against the wall at all times, and you want me to calm down?"

I was seething with anger by the end of that. But Stoya rounded on me, matching me pound for pound with rage as her eyes lit up.

"Then quit! Leave! What the hell do you keep doing this for anyway? Ever since you lost the world title, you're constantly miserable, always being caught in one conspiracy or another, so why don't you just quit?"

I opened my mouth to shout back at her before her words really sunk in. Was that an option?

"No," I said aloud. "That is absolutely not an option. The last thing I'm going to allow them to do is chase me out of here. All of them would be happier if I just ran out of this company again, but that is the absolute last thing I am going to allow to happen. If you don't believe in that, then -"

She threw a hand in my face, stopping me dead in my tracks.

"Will you shut the hell up? Do you even hear yourself? You're so obsessed with making other people miserable that you don't even care about making yourself happy!"

I raised my voice again.

"I'll be happy when I have the world title in my hands and absolutely no one can pretend I'm not the greatest wrestler in this WHOLE DAMN COMPANY!"

Her eyes positively on fire, she screamed at me, "MAYBE YOU AREN'T!"

That hung between us for a long moment. It was like she'd hit me in the face. I proceeded with as more calm as I could possibly put into my voice.

"What exactly are you saying?"

She looked at me, still obviously furious, but also nearly in tears.

"I'm saying you were world champion for a month. You won it in a chaotic six man match, and lost it when you had to defend it one on one. I'm saying maybe it's time to reevaluate - take some time off, train harder, get in absolute top shape - then come back and try again."

She said that calmly, almost imploring me. I still couldn't believe what I was hearing.

"I won the world title because I was the best, because I was at the top of my game. And I lost it because I was screwed, and every time I've ever tried to get it back I've been screwed. I don't need to get any better, because I'm already the best. How can you say you believe me, then turn around and say something like that?"

She shook her head and put her hand over her eyes.

"Goddamn it, Drake, are you listening to anything I say to you? I do believe in you. But I'm trying to help you."

I took a step closer to her.

"You can help me by supporting me. Not by telling me that I need to hit the gym, that Ty isn't running the show and screwing me over."

She gave a half sigh, half scream of exasperation before meeting my eyes again.

"That's not what I'm saying - !"

Enough. I was done with this.

"I KNOW EXACTLY WHAT YOU'RE SAYING! You think I'm insane, you think I'm crazy, and you want to get me away from this so you can convince me you're right and I'm wrong. I've had a woman who tried to convince me that she was right about everything, that her way of thinking was the best, and she almost got to me, Stoya. Almost."

Her eyes were smoldering, her anger returning. But I could see behind them, I could see I was hurting her.

"Don't. Don't you dare compare me to her."

"Then stop acting like her."

That had stung, and stung deep. I saw that as plain as day. She met my gaze for a little while longer, then turned, grabbed her coat, and left.

I watched her go silently. I didn't know what the end of that meant for us, exactly. Right now, it didn't matter. I sat back down on the folding chair in the middle of the room, tilted my head back, and closed my eyes for a minute.

When I opened them, I was still furious. I grabbed my coat and turned my phone on, preparing for a video recording. I stormed out of the room and out of the building. I had a message to deliver.

----

Recording on the front facing camera of my cellphone, I walked the streets late at night. Maybe shouting into an expensive cell phone at this time of night was a bad idea, but I knew the streets well enough. I could handle myself here. Soon, I would return to my hotel room, and upload this video to Youtube, then share it on Twitter, Facebook, the WZCW message boards, everywhere.

"This is a message for Ty Burna. It's very simple. We are not done."

There was true, real rage in my voice. I didn't have to act for this.

"Maybe you think this is it. Maybe you think you beat me, and then you humiliated me with your little music stunt. Maybe you think I'm just going to go away now, focus on the Lethal Lottery. That I'm ready to play nice now that I know you're in charge. I'm not. I'm not even close, Ty. I'll say this once - this is not over."

I continued walking down the street, the camera jilting back and forth, catching views of street lamps and windows.

"Maybe you think you can hide from me this time. It's the WZCW Roulette, after all, and I'm sure you're going to rig it up so you get the nice and easy victory and you stay far, far away from me. It won't matter. It won't matter what match you pick for me, what match you get, what show I'm on, it won't matter if you're on a different continent for all I care. I'm going to hunt you down. I'm going to find you. And we're going to pick this up right where we left off. I'm going to rip the mask off your head and expose you for what you are. And then you'll be forced to come out into the open, and everyone will see I was right the whole time."

I clenched my fist off camera, though the tension in my neck was probably apparent.

"Then you'll know what it's like. For everyone to turn on you. You probably love it right now, don't you? Hiding under your mask, everyone thinks you're the best. You kiss babies and hug fat girls, you do the whole nine yards and all the while you pull the strings behind stage and do everything you can to keep WZCW's one and only honest superstar down."

I spat on the ground as I picked up steam.

"Well congratulations to you, Ty, I'm down, but I'm not out, not by a longshot. You win the first round, kudos to you, but this is going to be a much longer fight than that. I'm coming for you. I'm going to find you. And when I'm done, everyone will know who and what you are. They'll spit in your face, they'll throw garbage at you. They'll hate you as much as they hate me. And some of them will want to prop me up as a hero for finally exposing you, but I won't let those traitors and sycophants use me as a symbol. I'll just walk over your corpse on my way to the world title again.

"So get ready, Ty. Savor your victory while it lasts. Because very soon, I'm going to hunt you down. I'll stalk you like prey. I'll find you. I'll hurt you. I'll tear your mask off.

"Ty, I will rip your fucking heart out."

 

[The Crock]

February 24th, 2013 -- The early morning hours of the day of All or Nothing (2:45 AM)

Sam Smith sat on the patio of his hotel room, Chelsea Shaw sat across from him. They watched the city in front of them -- the lights slowly turning off in countless windows as people went to bed -- and talked back and forth.

Sam: Remember when we were kids, when we used to park up on the big hill up behind the high school and stare up at the stars for hours? It all seemed so big, so wonderful, so amazing -- it used to leave me in awe at what an amazing world we live in. The older I get, the more that wonder turns to a resounding feeling of insignificance. I mean, what's the point?

I remember thinking I'd change the world with my law degree, that I'd make a real difference, but I spent years of my life trying to cultivate a dream that I realized was just that -- a dream. I was one man, with one dream, but I couldn't leave my imprint on the world. I became a wrestler so I could entertain people, but I became just another monkey to them -- just another show dog out to parade in front of them. They didn't care about me. I was insignificant again.

I mean something now.

Chelsea: It seems so shallow, Sam. Look what you've given up for an ounce of fame, for an ounce of validation. You turned your back on everyone in your life -- even I almost gave up on you -- your body is broken down, and who knows what kind of stuff you've taken to curb the pain and detach from that. Is that really what your dream was, Sam?

Sam: Would anybody dream of being a villain? Would anybody want to be in my position? No. I wish the world were the way we all envision it, but it's not. The world is a harsh place, and you have to scratch and claw your way through life to leave your mark. I'm not sorry for that. I do what I have to do -- not what seems like the storybook thing to do.

I never asked to become cold, angry, and full of hate. I never asked for my knee and back to hurt so much that I have to take pain killers just to function. I never asked to be a shell of the man I wanted to be. It's what I had to do.

You always think that it won't be you. You know, it won't be you that wakes up in unimaginable pain. It won't be you that loses the love of his life because he couldn't handle the responsibilities of being a real adult. You're going to be someone, right? You'll be the perfect man, because that's your plan, right?

Until you live it, you don't know. I am who I am, Chelsea. You can't keep trying to change that. Stop wasting your time.

The scene fades out.

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

February 24th, 2013 -- The morning of All or Nothing (8:05 AM)

Silence.

Confusion.

Clarity.

The first few moments after waking up in a new environment can be a shock to the system. Sam Smith stared at the ceiling of his hotel room -- light crept in through the blinds and danced in front of his eyes. He listened as cars zoomed by his window, as people rushed to run errands; the sounds of life outside pulled him from his slumber. His head felt heavy, as it often did after taking a few too many pain killers. It was as if a fog had descended from the sky and come to a stop in front of his face, as a reminder of the night before -- as a matter of fact, it was his only reminder of the night before. Sam's memories had jumbled together with his dreams, he wasn't sure what had happened last night.

He stared at the ceiling for a few more moments, before tilting his head to the left. The sight that welcomed him immediately cut right through the fog, and sent a shock up his spine and a cold sweat across his brow. Chelsea lay in the bed next to Sam sleeping peacefully, blissfully unaware of the hustle and bustle of the world outside of the hotel room.

Sam's mind sped a hundred miles an hour, and he couldn't quite fully grasp the emotions that were crashing against him. He stared around the room, for any signs of why she was in his bed. He could clearly remember when she had arrived, it was midnight, but... it got a little cloudy after that. He was sure they'd been talking, but how had she ended up in his bed? Sam gently rolled out of bed and shuffled over to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and stared at the man in the mirror -- he was struck with a disbelief at what he had become. He was a man that couldn't remember what he had done last night, but moreso, he was a man that feared what he had done last night. He was a coward. He had succumb to temptation, he had allowed Chelsea back into his life.

Sam silently bolted out of the bathroom and pulled on some fresh clothes, then he grabbed all his things and tossed them into his suitcase. He crept toward the door, all the while looking back over his shoulder at Chelsea, she'd continued sleeping on. Sam cracked open the door, but the guilt kept him from stepping out. He walked back over to his night stand and pulled a pen and pad out of drawer. Sam quickly scrawled a note across the paper and left it on the bed next to Chelsea. He walked back over to the bed and slowly turned the knob, finally walking out of the room.

As the door clicked and locked behind Sam, an air of freedom overtook him. He grabbed his things and jogged down the stairs, ready to make his way to the arena for the PPV.

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

February 24th, 2013 -- During All or Nothing (8:15 PM)

Sam Smith walked up the ramp and though the curtain to the backstage area. The Elite X Championship was draped over Smith's shoulder and sweat glistened across his back. Agents, producers, and countless other WZCW employees hustled around, trying to manage the chaos of the live PPV. Smith darted down the nearest hallway and approached the locker rooms.

Off in the distance of the hallway, Smith could see the World Heavyweight Champion "Showtime" Cougar walking toward him, his championship shining around his waist. The two men slowed as they met in the middle of the hallway -- Cougar had a focused look across his face, which was met with a look of disdain from Smith.

Showtime: Great match, champ.

Smith offered a steely stare as a response and began walking away from Cougar.

Sam: Good luck, Showtime. I'll see you soon.

Cougar scoffed and grinned, while shaking his head and continuing on his way.

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

"Empty your mind, be formless, shapeless - like water. Now you put water into a cup, it becomes the cup, you put water into a bottle, it becomes the bottle, you put it in a teapot, it becomes the teapot. Now water can flow or it can crash. Be water, my friend."

A vignette begins to roll.

Narrator: At your lowest point, you must decide your path. Will you be destroyed by environment, or will you adapt?

Images of Sam Smith writhing in pain after his beat down at the hands of the Sons of Destiny roll across the screen.

Narrator: It is in your hands to determine that; will you be the hero...

A smiling Sam Smith raises his hands in victory after winning the Elite X Championship for the very first time, ending Michael Winters' reign.

Narrator: ...or will you be the villain?

Sam Smith holds a mic in his hands, as the fans shower him with boos. A sinister smile creeps across his face.

Narrator: It is ultimately up to you to decide. Those who choose to adapt, those who choose their path, will prove victorious.

Sam Smith stands at the top of a ladder and holds the Elite X Championship above his head, while Triple X lies in the wreckage of a table below.

Narrator: You must become that which your environment proves most fruitful...

More images of Sam Smith flash across the screen -- he stands tall over Celeste Crimson, over Mikey Stormrage.

Narrator: ...if you wish to be a true champion.

Sam Smith and Rush raise their hands in victory, after exceeding their dominance over their opponents.

Narrator: But even a true champion is not without flaws.

Smith taps out to "Showtime" Cougar at the WZCW SuperShow.

Narrator: No, a true champion is the one who adapts.

We are met with the final of image of Sam Smith walking down the entrance ramp, the spotlight focused on him as he approaches a dark ring.

The scene fades to black.

 

[GI Cake]

It is three in the Morning, in Las Vegas, Nevada. Only one day before the start of Meltdown Madness, and as with most of the WZCW roster, the Second City Daredevil went out to enjoy what the city could provide. In Vegas, you can become rich overnight, or lose it all to a nasty scam. A city where magic and love are around every corner, a place where even the unluckiest of people could find the metaphorical rabbits foot.

Ricky Runn and his agent, Rob were in a casino. The Daredevil was slouched over at a slot machine, watching the last of his money get flushed away at a slot machine. With a sigh he then swore at the machine.

Ricky: Oh come on, there's no way I could spend $100 on this machine and not get a single winning spin! Where's Drake Callahan when their is an actual conspiracy?"

Rob was sitting right next to Ricky, his hand was firmly planted into his face, trying to hold back the dissatisfaction of seeing the Daredevil spend away, yet another chunk of money. He then said with sarcasm clearly present in his tone.

Rob: "Well I don't think it is your luck, after all Voodoo Mama Juju cleared up your bad luck, right?"

Ricky however failed to pick up the sarcasm in Rob's tone and said back to his friend.

Ricky: "I know, right? I swear, if I didn't know any better, I think he got his voodoo. Maybe I'm not the one who isn't lucky, but like I bring bad luck with me, you know what I mean? Once Dr.Juju recovers we need to go back and ask for another spell to fix up that little kink in my luck."

Rob then muttered.

Rob: "I don't think that will change any--"

Ricky: "Ooo look, Blackjack! Come on Rob, give me $100 more dollars and I promise I will earn back all the cash I lost in that broken slot machine, I promise!"

Rob's eyebrow raised up when he contemplated letting his friend gamble away more of their cash. With a ton of reluctance he handed Ricky another $100 bill and said to him while handing him the cash.

Rob: "Alright this is your final roll of cash Ricky, if you lose anymore then you're grounded yeah hear me? We'll head up to the room and just rest. Got it?"

Ricky eagerly took the money and walked with Rob and nodded his head, absently agreeing to whatever the terms that came with the money. Ricky then began to make his way to the roulette table and the sight before him shocked and surprised him. Wearing a tight Ricky Runn T-Shirt, and numerous little lucky charms on her person. She smiled and whispered into his ear.

????: Hey there handsome, looks like you need some good luck in your life. That's where I come, my name's Lucky."

Ricky was a bit caught off from the woman who was now clinging to his arm with her lips near his ear, but before he could respond Rob quickly broke the two up and said sternly to the loosely dressed woman.

Robert: "No thanks Lucky, but we already spent plenty of money trying to get rid of Ricky's bad luck no need for him to spend another dime on a glorified gold di--"

Ricky: "Woah man come on now, that's no way to talk to a lady. Can we at least give her a chance?"

Ricky interjected, then the woman turned to the agent and pouted her lips to him. Rob sighed and rolled his eyes.

Rob: "Yeah yeah fine, like I could ever stop you from messing with a girl with a pretty face anyway."

Ricky: "That's the spirit, now where's that roulette?"

After a fair bit of walking, the group found the roulette table towards the back of the casino. At the table, Ricky cashed in the last of his money for the night and placed it all on black. A gamble which Rob stood firmly against. However he kept himself silent. Before the ball was thrown into the spinner, she gave the Daredevil a kiss and whispered.

Lucky: "Here's a kiss for good luck."

With the ball spinning along the wheel Ricky and Rob began to mutter to themselves for it to land on black while Lucky remained as cool as a cucumber. Sure enough, the ball landed on black 15 giving Ricky back his cash and some extra back. Ricky looked back to Rob and then Lucky and said in surprise.

Ricky: "See Rob, I told yeah having some good luck around wasn't a bad idea!"

Later that night


As the night carried on Ricky had enjoyed his new found luck in the form of the rather loose woman. The rest of the night was a bit fuzzy for the now lucky Daredevil, but at around three in the morning, Ricky's memory could pick up what happened to Lucky.

We are now at a wedding chapel, and inside the wedding chapel was a properly sloshed over Ricky Runn, Lucky, Rob, and even a few WZCW wrestlers like Triple X were all in attendance. Before the ceremony began, Rob approached Ricky and said to him quietly so no one else can hear the two.

Rob: "Ricky, are you sure this is a good idea, I mean, sure you are getting good luck with Lucky and all, but you're getting married, that's a commitment dude. Can you handle that?"

Ricky: "Rob my man, don't worry bout me. I -hiccup- love luck! Plus man, she can do that thing with her hand where she just finds the right place inside my--"

The pastor of the church cleared his throat to let Ricky know that he was blurting out what was suppose to be a silent conversation between him and Rob. He then began the ceremony. All was well until he asked the audience.

Pastor: "Now is there any reason these two should not be wed?"

The crowd was mostly silent until a drunken Mikey Stormrage shouted out.

Mikey: "Yeah, Ricky's mother is a ****e! Haha!"

The pastor looked at the fat drunk with narrowed eyes before continuing.

Pastor: "well anyway, I now pronounce Richard Jackson and Lucky, man and--"


CRASH!

Suddenly, the large chandelier from the ceiling of the chapel fell, going straight down towards Ricky and Lucky, however fortunately for the two they were able to back step and avoid the falling chandelier. Once the shock cleared up Ricky let out a sigh of relief than said.

Ricky: "Whew, that was a close one, it looks like my luck is clearing up after all."

SMASH!

That talk of good luck ended however as a shit meteor crashed through the roof of the chapel. No amount of luck in the world could have changed the directory of the meteor, it crashed into Lucky, killing her instantly. A shocked Ricky kneels down and shook his fists into the air and shouted at the top of his lungs.

Ricky: "LUCKYYYYYYY NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO"

 

[Skairipa Matrix]

We see Dustin's apartment in South Detroit and go inside where Dustin has his phone to his ear and he paces nervously as he awaits to see if the person will answer. Dustin hears his call go to voice mail and he sighs and takes a big swig out of the vodka bottle he has on his kitchen table.

Dustin: Uh hey Katie, It's me. Listen we need to talk about what happened last week so uh call me back when you get this please. Alright bye.

Dustin hangs up the phone and takes another big swig of vodka, Then looks at the bottle and sees there is only a bit left and he chugs the rest down then puts the bottle down on the kitchen table.

Dustin: You know what, I'm just gonna drive myself crazy sitting around waiting for her to call back. Maybe I should get some sleep.

Dustin lays down on his bed and closes his eyes and right away he falls asleep. All of sudden we see the image of a run down house. Inside the house we see 2 children who are visibly upset. Suddenly their father walks into the room with a lit cigar in hand and an open bottle of whiskey in the other.

Father: Austin, Dustin I said get the fuck out of here!

We now know this is Dustin Hunter's father and a memory from his childhood. The father now takes a huge swig of whiskey then burns Austin's arm with the lit cigar.

Dustin: Dad, Leave him alone!

Father: You shut up too!

Suddenly the father loses it and smashes the bottle of whiskey on a coffee table causing whiskey and broken glass to fly all over the room. Dustin & Austin cower in fear as their father walks towards them and after punching Austin in the face for getting in his way, He throws the other half of the broken bottle at Dustin causing it to scrap against the side of his head leaving a big cut. Their mother now walks down the stairs and sees this scene and runs over and pushes her husband away from her sons.

Mother: What are you doing?!?!?! You just hit your son with a broken glass bottle!

Father: That little bastard wouldn't shut the hell up so I could watch my show!

The mother checks on both her sons in tears as her husband, In a drunken rage punches her in the face. The mother falls to the ground and yells for her sons to leave and Austin helps his brother up and carries him out of the house and all we hear is one last loud scream from The Hunter's mother when suddenly Dustin jumps up out of bed.

Dustin: Whoa.

Dustin is breathing heavily as he realizes it was only a nightmare of a memory from his childhood. Dustin reaches under his hair and rubs the side of his head where he still has a scar from that day.

Dustin: I remember that day, The day my father cut the side of my head open with a broken bottle. Because that day my life changed forever. You know why? Because that was the last day my mother and brother were alive!

Dustin gets dressed and packs his bags, Getting ready to leave for Vegas.

Dustin: From that day on, No longer was I a helpless child, No that day I decided if anybody was going to attack me I was gonna learn to defend myself, I was going to learn to fight. That's the day I stole my knife from the store so I could defend myself on the streets.

Dustin checks his phone and sees he still has no text or missed call from Katie and sighs to himself as he puts his phone in his jeans pocket and puts his favorite black hoodie on over his t-shirt.

Dustin: So far, This hunter has not found his prey in WZCW. But the first time, Lets chalk that up to a fluke and at All or Nothing, I was SCREWED! I should have won that battle royal and been given a spot in the Lethal Lottery but no that washed up never was rock star screwed me over!

Dustin punches the wall in anger and sees blood dripping off his knuckles and he shrugs it off and walks outside and puts his suitcase in the car.

Dustin: This time all the matches are completely random, So I have no idea who they are putting me against but rest assured this time I will find my prey. Wheather it be a lowly piece of crap like Thrash or the champ himself Showtime. It doesn't matter who I face because I will hurt my opponent, I will mangle them and break their bones. I will force my opponents nightmare to come to life!

Dustin gets in the driver's seat and starts the car then drives off as the camera fades to black.

 

[FunKay the Inevitable]

Silence and darkness; two entities that are married together in near perfection. The disruption of these elements leads to a volatile cocktail of disturbance that defies the very nature of humanity. That disturbance is labelled fear, and it is that emotion that strikes us when the darkness and silence in our scene ends abruptly. With no illumination in the dark, a metallic crunching bursts forth. It echoes in the room, the returning sound waves corrupting our ears. Then, the noise changes. The clanking ceases and a click connects something. Then, a new noise comes forth:

Spoiler

[YOUTUBE]MQIfvrGUt_U&feature=fvwp[/YOUTUBE]

With this sound comes a new marriage; light and sound. The noise proceeds to begin a countdown, which is confirmed by the visual aid, beginning to draw us in and down from 8... The noise grows louder as the image is projected onto a wall. Beeping comes next as continue to hurtle towards the start of something: 7...6... A sudden, satisfied sigh creeps into our ears along with a realisation; we are not alone. 5...4... We search for the source of the sigh, but to no luck. Then a rustle, something is going on about and the denial of any visual to support this disturbs us greatly. 3...2...1... The picture starts.

Our new vision is that of two boys. They are young, children you would say. One is soon on his way to becoming a teenager, though he has not quite reached that adolescence yet. The other is a couple of years behind, though his size does not suggest so as they are the same height. It is only in the facial features that we can see the significantly more aged face of the elder of the two boys. The elder is dressed in a tuxedo with neatly styled hair. He is fit for the finest formal engagement. The other though is raggedy. He is dressed in ripped jeans, grass stains on the knees. His shirt is filthy, as are his hands and his face. The most notable element of the scene though is his smile. He is genuinely happy. The other, more formal, is stony-faced. He is neither displeased nor overjoyed.

They stand as if exhibits in a museum, to be gawked at and talked of. They stare right at the camera, their expressions the same at all times; the elder deadpan, the younger happy. Then, the frames run out, the screen goes white and the tape cuts out. The only sound is that of the film rotating over and over with nowhere else to go. A click silences the noise – another raises light all around the area. With full visibility, we can see that we are in a room of pure white. Everything, from the roof to the floor and the four walls in-between is total white. It would be enough to drive any sane man mad. That is when we see our two players in this scene; The Holmes Brothers, Steven and Erik.

As if mirroring the image seen on screen, the elder Steven wears a lavish suit, always making sure he is formal and distinguished while Erik is dressed in a tank top and jeans, his fists taped up as if ready for a battle. He wears a thick, black beard around his mouth and is tattooed on both arms. The facial expressions are utterly different however. Steven is grinning like a cat while Erik sits, completely unmoved by his nostalgia trip. Beside him is the briefcase Holmes presented him at All or Nothing, the one containing a million dollars. Like a crooked vulture, Holmes puts his fingers together and leans back, his smile ever present:

Steven: Twenty years and we’re still inseparable, eh Erik?

Still Erik is unmoved, staring intently at the screen ahead of him.

Steven: Hmph. Not a fan of a good old walk down memory lane?

Again, Erik is still, unresponsive.

Steven: The cold shoulder? Why Erik, people will talk.

Finally Erik turns, rotating his head to face his sibling, but his expression remains the same.

Erik: What was the point of that Steven?

In comparison to the rich, proper pronunciation of English with rich overtones that is Steven’s voice, Erik sounds as if he is directly from the East-End of London. His accent is thick and sullies the rich tapestry that is the Holmes family tree.

Steven: Simple Erik; to remind you, and the entire world that while we’re worlds apart, we’re still brothers and we’ve changed. I was utterly serious and dreadnaught in that footage while you were happy as can be. Now? I smile like a madman at every chance while you are incredibly serious at every step. What’s the point? We’ve accomplished our dream Erik. I am moments away from capturing the gold that will cement the Holmes name as an omnipotent beast that all will fear the world over.

Erik: Our dream? Steven, that dream is yours. There was time where I shared it, true, but when I was sent away all those years ago, I founded and forged a new dream; to become my own man through any means necessary.

Steven: And yet here we are, all these years later, you at my side, fresh from a combined effort in vanquishing an enemy. We worked toward a common goal, and we shall continue to do so.

Erik: Oh shall we?

Erik’s eyebrow rises, the first hint of emotion from his face all scene long. Holmes still has his warped grin fixated on his fat face. Then, a wry smile sneaks onto Erik’s face and he bursts into a mighty roar of a laugh, Steven follows soon after, his laugh more direct and piercing like a dagger to the back. The two brothers suddenly grab and embrace one-another in a massive hug. They smile in similar fashions, both with one side of the face raised in a deformed smirk, while the other side sinks into a total non-reaction; like two halves of the same face.

Steven: Ah, the Holmes Brothers are reunited at last. Why did I not do this much sooner? It’s been far too long.

Erik: Oh far too long Steven. I didn’t even make your wedding or witness your most brutal wars. We’ve not been together like this in years, and yet when you contacted me from your hotel before All or Nothing, I knew this was meant to be. The Holmes’, back for more. The brain and the brawn.

Steven: Ah, but which is which?

Again they laugh, their sinister nature intertwining with one-another; like a perfect marriage of madness. Then, they quieten to a halt. Both men take a deep breath and relax.

Steven: We planned it so wonderfully did we not? X thought he was surrounded by traitors in the ranks of WZCW when in reality, it was the ultimate weapon that ended his dreams and hopes; it was a Holmes after all, and it was a two act structure. You did the raw brutality and I did the tidy work, finessing the bloody mess you creating.

Erik: Outstanding.

Steven: Indeed. And now we reach the final hurdle; the World Heavyweight Championship.

Erik: Now there’s a prize to be won.

Steven: Indeed, and the volatile nature of these Roulette shows makes the concept of myself challenging all the more delicious. I could be facing “Showtime” David Cougar, ripping his most prized professional prize away, or a completely new challenger could rise from out of the ground and drags him six feet under to claim the gold before it ultimately nestles itself around my waist.

Erik: And even if Cougar wins I would wager you have him surrounded with spies and traitors and moles of all sorts.

Steven: Oh quite. If Cougar is to emerge from the Roulette unscathed, then my goodness we will witness the most masterful destruction of a man’s mind, body and soul ever. The plan I have laid out will create a sense of fear and paranoia not seen since the days of war in the world. Not a soul will be trusted. If Triple X’s life was a living hell, then Cougar’s shall become the embodiment of a torment seen only by those occupying the ninth circle of hell itself. You see for Cougar there shan’t be anywhere to turn, and for WZCW there won’t be any heroes anymore, and for the Holmes family, Aristocracy shall Reign!

Both men smirk like mad as we fade out from our scene. It appears our time is at an end, when suddenly we cut to the same footage witnessed earlier of the younger Steven and Erik, only this time it is real time.

The boys stand as their father films them, either side of him a disapproving pair of women. One is dressed like Steven; regally and formal. The other is dressed like Erik; common and somewhat stained in this pure environment. Then, as the father lowers the camera, his eyes fill with tears and the mothers move in. They grab their respective child and pull them away, signalling the end as we cut to black.

 

[Thriller Ant]

The scene opens in the middle of the unmistakable glow of the Las Vegas Strip. The sun is down, but the sidewalks are jam packed full of people, making the hour somewhere between dusk and dawn. Standing in the middle of the drunken and provocatively dressed wave of humanity is Brother Mason Westhoff. He is dressed in a suit, as is his wont, and unable to keep the disgust toward his surroundings off his face.

There are many reasons I chose to join WZCW, many of which I have articulated before. One that I have not brought up fits perfectly with our location this week: Las Vegas, Nevada. Back in Texarkana, I had built myself a safe zone, a bubble. Only my followers came to worship The Almighty with me at Bridge to Salvation Church. When I accepted outside speaking obligations, every step was taken to make sure no one that could potentially be hostile would enter the location. It was a lot of work to get there, but I earned the right to live in that bubble.

Brother Westhoff opens his mouth to continue, but before he can say anything, a very intoxicated man stumbles into him. He’s wearing a red t-shirt and jeans, both showing signs that the man had some trouble getting his drinks into his mouth.

Ay, watch your…Ooo, look at da Mister Fancy Man in da suit.

I wear this suit because I’m a man of class and dignity. Now, I must ask you to stumble back into the hole you crawled out of. I am in the middle of something at the moment.

Jus’ ‘cuz I don’t wear a suit don’t mean I not class ‘n’ dignity. I successful investment banker in Denver. Use my bonus money t’ take trip Vegas for weekend.

A crowd begins to gather around the two men as the intoxicated man's voice continues increasing in volume. Brother Westhoff takes no notice, however, and continues to speak at the same level.

Why should I believe you? No successful, self-respecting man would be out in public like this.

I jus’ let loose VEGAS BABY! Monday, I go back t’ real world and work.

You are still in the real world. Traveling to a different state doesn’t change reality. I am a prophet from The Almighty always and I act as such. From what I can tell, you are little more than a common drunk. You could tell me that you are the president, yet that perception would not change.

Whaev, man. I bes’ up an’ comin' banker in Denver. I don’t drink when home, jus’ on ‘cation here. An’ I do not like how you talk at me, Mister Fancy Suit. Maybe I need kick your ass!

The intoxicated man takes a wild swing at Brother Westhoff, who just takes one step to his right, cause the man to miss by a large margin and send himself flying to the sidewalk below. Brother Westhoff chuckles and shakes his head at the man for a moment, before signaling to the camera man to follow him. The path ahead of them had cleared a bit as the crowd has gathered around the fallen man either to check on him or to see what everyone else is looking at.

Come, let’s get back to the hotel.

Brother Westhoff enters the classiest looking building on the strip, which happens to be the hotel he is staying in. He continues speaking as they move through the luxurious lobby and to the elevator.

Many have said that faith only grows stronger when it is challenged. Essentially, I was allowing my relationship with The Almighty to stagnate by controlling my interactions so much, which saddens me when I look back at that time. That’s when I knew it was time to leave the bubble I had encased myself in. I ventured farther and farther from that comfort zone, and before I knew it, I had arrived in WZCW.

Brother Westhoff and the cameraman step into the elevator, where Brother Westhoff selects the top floor of the hotel.

I’ve never been challenged more than I’ve been challenged here, and as a result, my relationship with The Almighty has never been stronger. That’s how I decided that I was not the only one that would need to leave their bubble.

The elevator arrives at its destination. Brother Westhoff leads the cameraman a couple doors down the hall, swipes a keycard, and opens the door to a large, fancily furnished suite with massive windows overlooking the neon glow of the strip. He walks over to those windows, takes a death breath, and continues to speak.

Las Vegas, the modern day equivalent of Sodom and Gomorrah from the holy texts of the religions descended from Abraham. A vast majority of those people stumbling around the sidewalks down there are bursting forth from their safe zones. Our friend earlier would be a perfect example. That man has been in a bubble for years. I assume he was valedictorian in both high school and college, coddled by professors, and is now the boss’s pet at the bank he works for. He never learned how to handle himself because everyone has bent over backward for years to keep his perfect life intact. I was terrifyingly close to having the same done to me.

Those people down there staggering around the sidewalks are trying to escape from their jobs or families or other terrifying realities they are bounded by. The problem is that they can’t handle themselves in their newfound freedom. Everything they’ve surrounded themselves with to control their life is gone. Hence, the drunkenness, crime and other poor decisions.

As he says that, Brother Westhoff points at a quickie wedding chapel down the street. A couple stumbles toward the front door with a crowd of five people doing the same behind them, seemingly offering encouragement.

I am not weak like them. I faced the world head on and have thrived outside of my bubble. Now, in WZCW, it has been my job to force people out of theirs. People don’t like talking about religion and the afterlife, but I force them to. People don’t like talking about how they sin, but I force them to. People don’t like talking about their failures, but I force them to.

Mikey Stormrage was living in a perfect little bubble with James Howard in Strikeforce until Grand Mystique, Brother Jacobs, and I destroyed it. Look at him now; he couldn’t even scrape together enough will to earn a chance to be locked in a steel cage with Grand Mystique. I have no doubts, however, that one day Mikey Stormrage will thank us. Thank us for removing him from his bubble filled with a poor diet, alcohol and mind-numbing video games.

Brother Westhoff walks away from the windows and, after tossing his suit coat on a nearby chair, sits on one of the couches. The cameraman follows, sitting across a small coffee table from him. Brother Westhoff leans forward as he speaks once more.

This week, WZCW presents the annual Roulette shows where all the matches are created by a random draw. The newest member or the roster could end up with a World Title match. The tag team champions could stand across the ring from one another in a singles match. Anything can happen. For these three nights, everyone in WZCW is forced out of any bubble they may have enclosed themselves in.

That is, except for me. I have a locker room full of enemies because I haven’t allowed myself any sort of safe zone, other than Grand Mystique and Brother Jacobs. I don’t care if I’m facing Brent Blaze in a First Blood Match or Showtime Cougar in a Submission Match. I don’t care if I have to team with Drake Callahan or Dustin Hunter. I take comfort in the uncomfortable. With the support of The Almighty, I will take a successful first step toward the Lethal Lottery and Kingdom Come with a win here in the Las Vegas cesspool.

 

[a0161613]

We see injured WZCW competitor Derek Jacobs lying on a long couch. He shuffles restlessly as he struggles to relax his massive frame on the awkwardly shaped sofa. He jumps sharply when the door opens and a tall gentleman in a suit walks. Jacobs sheepishly adjust his t-shirt and jeans around his gut.

“Mr Jacobs, how are you feeling today?”

“Not great Doc. I’ve had real trouble sleeping. And when I do sleep, I have terrible nightmares.”

The doctor takes a seat. A large man himself, he also takes some time to get comfortable in his arm chair. “Would you mind talking about them to me?”

“I can hear terrible voices.” The doctor begins to scribble in a notepad. Derek begins to look extremely nervous as he talks about these torturous visions. “These voices, what do they say?

“I can only make out a few words, sacrifice, victim, destruction. It’s so noisy and I can’t see anyone but I can feel pressure; an incredible pressure.”

“What do you mean?”

“When I was taken to the hospital, when I was hit with that chair, I had a fractured skull. I couldn’t get out of bed for weeks, I could barely speak. I had no visitors. My brothers from the Bridge to Salvation Church neglected me and I had abandoned any friends from my old life so they had no reason to see me. All I could do was think; about what I had done upto that point and how I had got there but I don’t have many memories of the days before that night.”

Jacobs struggles to get his words out but the doctor nods to him encouragingly and allows to him to talk freely. This freedom appears to reverse any inhibitions that Derek seems to have. “You have been forgotten by your friends, your family? That must hurt.”

“A brotherhood is only as strong as its’ weakest part and because of one fateful moment I had been discarded, thrown away like a broken cog in a machine.”

The doctor draws a line under his scribble in his writing and pauses. He eyes up his patient, trying to evaluate how truly damaged he was at this point.“We spoke about Mr Westhoff before. You still refer to Mason as your brother?”

“For good and bad, he has been as important and influential as anyone in my life. I was not a good person before I met him.”

“He was there. Do you blame him for what happened?”

“Brother Mason is not pulling the strings and he did not put me in this position.” Jacobs speaks with a great deal of certainty about this and it clearly surprises the doctor as he raises an eyebrow. Jacobs doesn't see this doubt as he has his eyes closed.

“What happened that night could be seen pure chance, misfortune or an unlucky turn of circumstance.”

“Nothing that happens to them is down to chance. There is always a plan in hand that means that they always have more than a degree of control. I was a sacrificed pawn in the grand scheme of their true plan.” The pain is now clearer than ever. The physical wreck of Jacobs was clear just by looking at him but the mental damage raises its’ head in a big way. He speaks words that are drowning in pain. “And this other man, he is orchestrating it all? He is the puppet master that you are talking about?”

“It is his voice that I can hear.”

“That is normal, he is the reason that you are here.”

“He is taunting me Doctor Masterson. We sought to cleanse and instead I was punished for my efforts.”

___________________________
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

We see Mason Westhoff and The Grand Mystique in a familiar darkened room. The only light comes from a small monitor which is playing the All or Nothing’s opening match. The action is well underway.

“Master, we have seen this video many times over. What else can we learn from our destruction of Stormrage?” Westhoff is more than a little confused but his leader is absolutely focussed on the screen, despite having seen the same match three times already. “I’m not one to question you of all but we have seen Mikey Stormrage laid out, broken. He was helpless and completely unable to survive the punishment that we brought to him. I was determined to sacrifice myself for our cause but I misunderstood your message.”

“I thought you meant to see Mikey exhausted and battered in the cage after I had forced much punishment upon him. I was willing to enforce a disqualification, I would have used a steel chair if it had come to it but you had true faith in me. Mikey was defeated before he entered the ring because you had faith where he had nothing, nothing to fight for and nothing worth saving.” As he watches himself seal a hard-fought win, he nods as he talks with passion and enthusiasm. “It came to me a few days ago. You had no reason to doubt me but you had no real faith in Stormrage. You knew he would be left with nothing and you knew....” He pauses as if lost for words. He closes his eyes and exhales calmly. “I thought I had discovered true enlightenment but the real pleasure is finding that this life can surprise you at every turn. I had never considered that discovering the Almighty would be so illuminating.”

“This.”

Despite Westhoff’s lengthy and verbose praise for him, GM only seems interested in the event unfolding in front of him.

“Stormrage fights back. After you have pinned, when we have him trapped, he still resists everything.”

“It sounds like you admire him suddenly, my liege.” A sharp shake of the head dismisses that thought. Westhoff looks at the screen as the cage traps Stormrage with his leader, trying to see the thing that engages GM so thoroughly. “It doesn’t last though, does it?”

“But despite it all, he had the belief to fight back when all hope was lost. He was trapped but I looked him right in the eye and saw a spark. Is it possible to have that much fight?”

“Mikey is like most of the roster, ignorant and dumb. But in a caged environment, it’s a natural mechanism to fight. He had to, he had next to nothing left and his career was on a precipice.”

The footage becomes slow-motion just as Westhoff is being squashed against the cage wall. “He is not lying here paying for his sins. He didn’t leave as the next victim of the Sacrificial Altar. That our plan is left so unresolved is deeply concerning and requires immediate resolution.” The disciple winces but GM pauses it as he is planted on the mat. ”You did your job at All or Nothing; you did offer yourself as a sacrifice on my behalf and I will not allow your pain to come at no cost. No, Mikey Stormrage will pay.”

“You have plans to put into effect at these Roulette Rounds? Such a lack of organisation at these events means...”

“It means it would be prudent to put such a plan into action at these events where pandemonium and confusion can run amok amid the masses. There is a greater plan for us, beyond even that of Destiny and Fate.” GM produces a crystal ball from his sleeve and begins to analyse it. Westhoff looks at it but doesn’t see anything of use in the crystal orb.

“If Destiny and our fate cannot affect our success then how can we hope to succeed?”

GM lifts up the orb which begins to glow furiously. “We are blessed with tremendous physical and mental gifts Brother Westhoff. They are our weapons. Those blessings and our faith will see us through.” He drops the orb to the floor and it smashes into a thousand pieces; the light cuts out of the room and both men are surrounded in darkness.

 

[Remix]

Click this first!

Identity Crisis: Chapter I

Connor Reese awakens. Bleary eyed he blinks, blinded by the bright white emptiness that surrounds him.

Connor: Where, where am I?

He sounds nervous as a wisp of grey smoke slowly floats across his field of vision.

Smoke: Ah James, finally you are awake.

As words pierce the silence more smoke appears, slowly assuming the shape of a human. Connor frowns.

Connor: James? I haven’t been called that since...

Smoke: Well, it is your name. It might not be your identity right now. And that, is your problem.

The smoke has thickened and slowly colours appear until the smoke man has formed into a translucent doppelganger of his collegiate football coach. Connor blinks, and rubbed his eyes, shocked at the phantom he sees. He looks again to see it has become his old wrestling coach.

Connor: What the hell?

Smoke: Hell? No James, your fate is not so kind as to damn you to the abyss.

He looks away from the smoke, whose form has shifted to that of Wilhelm Wunderbar.

Connor: Then where are we?

Smoke: We are in your mind. Or, what should be.

Connor: What should be?

Voice: Exactly.

Alerted by this new voice Connor looks around, searching for a new figure. He fails to find one, instead a singular golden link of a chain has appeared by his feet.

Chain: For years you have fragmented your mind.

Smoke: Every memory, every facet of your personality confined to its own box.

One link becomes two, more sprouting from the ground as the chain lengthens, trapping Connor’s feet.

Chain: By now you don’t even know who you are any more.

The metallic serpent slides up Connor’s legs binding them together up to his knees.

Smoke: Trapped within your own mind.

The chain reaches his waist, pulling him down to his knees.

Chain: Alone, but for the masks you wore.

The chain continues extending, trapping Connor’s arms next to his body. The smoke man, now in the form of Alexander Stark walks slowly towards Connor.

Smoke: Powerless, voiceless while your own body is controlled by unrestrained hunger.

Chain wraps around Connor’s neck, before forcing him to bend over until its loose end reaches the ‘floor’ of this mental chamber. A flash of golden light, and a padlock with a frowning face forms anchoring him to the spot.

Chain: Prisoner to your doubts and fears.

Smoke grabs Connor’s hair forcing him to look into the eyes of Kara. He forces his eyes closed.

Smoke: Resenting what’s left for you to trust.

Smoke lets go and begins walking away. Connor immediately looks down.

Smoke: And until you can resolve this... identity crisis so you shall remain.

The smoke phantom loses its shape and drifts apart into nothingness. The chains remain cold and motionless as tears begin to form in the eyes of the imprisoned James Darwin.

 

[Dave]

Constantine: Chance... Luck... Fortune.

The scene opens to a solemn Power Trip. Behind him, the daunting figures of Alex Bowen and Justin Cooper stand attentively. All 3 men are dressed in sharp suits, a clean and professional look for a team who have acted so unprofessionally in the last few weeks. At the front of the triangle, The Power Trip stands, a bruised face all that remains of his 60 minute battle with Showtime David Cougar.

Constantine: These are words that I guarantee that you will hear a lot over the coming weeks. As WZCW enters it's most chaotic phase of the year, a lot will be said about luck. Wherever you go, you will be blasted by ideology from those simply hoping that the upcoming shows in WZCW will throw them a bone.

With that, Bowen lets out a feeble laugh, his head shaking in disbelief.

Constantine: At Meltdown Madness, Ascension Anarchy or Aftershock Insanity, anyone can be placed in any match. And for some, this is the closest that they will come to greatness, These rounds are almost universally viewed as a chance to make a name for yourself. Those languishing in the doldrums of the WZCW roster could be World Heavyweight Champion with just one good performance and the luck of the draw on their side.

Constantine closes his eyes for a moment before shaking his head in the same fashion as Alex Bowen did only seconds ago.

Constantine: Ludicrous.

Constantine's nonchalant features soon turns to an expression of anger as he presses on.

Constantine: These rounds are not something of which The Empire respects, not is it something which The Empire condones. These rounds are just another example of why WZCW management are not fit to do the job they have been given. The same resistance to change that I encountered as I attempted to strip David Cougar of his World Heavyweight Championship will be sampled again as WZCW management decide what matches they would like to see and pass it off in the guise of luck or fortune.

Constantine inhales deeply before letting his chin drop to his chest.

Constantine: But something far more sinister is going on behind the scenes. Ask yourself, in the grand scheme of things, do these rounds really make a difference? Or is it more likely that WZCW management play it safe every year and accept you to swallow that someone who would not possibly challenge the Heavyweight Champion usually has been lucky enough to have a make-or-break showdown?

Cooper begins to s****** now as Constantine lifts his head.

Constantine: Make no mistake, people, there is no luck or chance to these rounds of shows. You will pack the arenas and hope that your favourite superstar will be so lucky as to be gifted the chance of a lifetime. But secretly, the decision makers in WZCW have already made their minds up. They have already put forward a match card that they will clutch to their chests so tightly, hoping beyond hope that no one will discover their dirty little secret.

At that, Bowen takes his chance to speak.

Bowen: You people are blind! They are pulling the wool over your eyes and you simply refuse to see it. Even as The Empire gives you the truth, you refuse to see it. John Constantine has illuminated the failures of WZCW management on multiple occasions and you simply don't want to believe it.

Constantine turns his head, cutting Bowen off with a sharp look.

Constantine: As my associate has so eloquently put it, you refuse to see the truth. Before All Or Nothing, I embarked on a quest to show you the flaws in the character of Showtime David Cougar. But little did I realise that Showtime Cougar was not the real enemy. The real enemy, as I have begun to show you, is WZCW management.

Cooper and Bowen both nod their heads in agreement as Constantine continues.

Constantine: It was not the decision of Showtime David Cougar to bring the nefarious character of Austin Reynolds into our Iron Man Match, it was the decision of WZCW Management as much as they would deny the claims. It was their decision to gift Showtime the advantage of having a referee in his pocket. After such a chaotic period in WZCW, what they want most is stability. They don't want people to rock the boat or make waves. And it is with that in mind, that they have taken everything from me.

Constantine's mouth twists into a contorted shape, a clear sign of his disgust and anger.

Constantine: Austin Reynolds gifted the match to Showtime David Cougar, allowing him to keep his precious World Championship and now, WZCW Management are going to gift what should be my rematch to someone completely undeserving. Showtime David Cougar has never met a challenge like John Constantine. He has never been through so much Hell as he did at All Or Nothing and I am willing to wager that he is in no mood to entertain such a thought as a rematch. So WZCW Management will protect their Champion, knowing that if he was to come up against John Constantine one more time, I would take that Championship from around his waist with ease.

Constantine pauses for a moment now, a look of deep concentration crossing his features.

Constantine: But they wont.

Constantine slowly shakes his head, knowing that his disappointing words are undoubtedly true.

Constantine: Instead, some no-name jobber will be fed to the Champion, allowing him to catch his breath after his biggest challenge of all. And what will happen to The Empire? We will be drawn into another war, with WZCW Management hoping that whoever faces us will use our fatigue and injuries to finally crush us. They will hope wish that such a challenge will never be made to their precious stability once more and that The Empire will give up on it's ultimate goal of rebuilding this company into a stronger and fairer Kingdom with John Constantine on the throne.

As Constantine anger begins to build, Justin Cooper begins to speak.

Cooper: After such an enormous match and effort at All Or Nothing, The Empire will be punished for their actions. And those that WZCW Management wish to protect will be gifted easy matches in an effort to help them recover. This is the true enemy.

In the seconds that Cooper has been speaking for, Constantine has calmed himself slightly.

Constantine: Yes, WZCW Management are the true enemy and it is the quest of John Constantine and The Empire now to show just how corrupt this system is and will continue to be. Whilst other WZCW wrestlers eagerly await what could be their golden time in the spotlight, The Empire will be working tirelessly to give you the truth about this company.

The Power Trip's tone picks up again, renewed by his own momentum.

Constantine: The Empire does not buy into the false anarchy. The Empire does not rely on chance, luck or fortune. We will continue to press ahead with our own agenda, regardless of what may come. We will continue to illuminate the truth in WZCW, uncaring of what hurdles WZCW Management decide to throw at us. We do not depend on chaos, we rely on our own grit and determination.

Constantine looks around at the two men who flank him before facing forward once more.

Constantine: Come what may at the next round of shows, The Empire will stand strong. At All Or Nothing, we were tested with our greatest challenge yet and we have come through it with renewed strength and vigour. In the time when we could have been destroyed, we have become more focussed. The Empire will move towards The Lethal Lottery safe in the knowledge that few will outmatch our unified strength. WZCW Management has failed to pull us apart and now they will face retribution for their selfish actions.

Cooper: The Empire stands strong!

Bowen immediately echoes the sentiments of Cooper.

Bowen: The Empire stands strong!

Constantine allows a small smile to appear in the corner of his mouth,

Constantine: What awaits The Empire is not destruction, is is growth. We will never be defeated and will never be removed from our paths. No matter what happens at Meltdown, Ascension or Aftershock, The Empire will remain. The Empire stands strong!

 

[Uncle Phatso]

Addiction is a funny thing, when it comes down to it, you can really be addicted to anything. Alex Bowen is addicted to being numb, falling back into old tricks. Both literally, and figuratively flying high, Alex sits in a plane bathroom with a quarter and plastic bag in his right hand. He's slowly unrolling a 20 dollar bill, white crumbs and powder start to fall off the green bill. How he made it through airport security with it, we will never know. But an addict will always find a way to get his fix. Slowly but effective none the less, the Morphine hits him and knocks him on his ass. Through glassy eyes he stares at the door, randomly sniffing to get every bit of his last line. A few minutes pass and someone knocks on the door, with the state Bowen is in he could care less who is knocking. But after a few knocks an angry voice is heard from behind the door.

Voice- Just because you paid for a ticket doesn’t mean you can hog the bathroom, asshole. Lets go! I've been waiting out here forever.

Bowen shakes his head, and weakly hits air with his hand. Trying to shoo away the person at the door, it works for now. But after occupying the bathroom for about twenty minutes another knock is heard. A flight attendant is at the door now, calmly knocking.

Woman- Sir, is everything OK?? We've received a complaint about you being in the bathroom for a while. This is a public restroom, and you did pay to fly, but other people would like to use it as well

Bowen looks at the door and puts out his arm, steadying himself aganst the wall in front of him. Yawning he leans forward and stands up, putting the quarter in his pocket, and flushing the bag. The flight attendant knocks on the door again, this time with a bit more force.

Alex- Jesus Christ lady, calm down. Can't a guy take a shit?

Bowen opens up the door, masking his buzz with loud talking.

Alex- How am I supposed to shit in a box, miles off ground... with all this racket?! I didn't know there was a time limit on restrooms. Sorry I can't poop in thirty seconds.

The flight attendant, a rather official looking man, and a larger older woman, all stand outside of the door. For a wrestler, Bowen is of pretty average size, but it's not always his size that catches people off guard. Years of blading have left scar tissue all the way across his forehead. Gnarled like bark on a tree, and always sticking out, and that's just from blading. The older woman gasps at the sight of Bowen, and he just laughs.

Alex- Sorry about the stink, anyone selling air fresher?

Bowen reaches in his back pocket for his wallet, but the man puts his hand out quelling the idea.

Man- Sorry sir, but you know how it is. We just didn't want to take any chances here. How about you go take a seat, and I'll make sure the flight attendant checks on you as soon as possible.

Alex- Tell that dude who called me an asshole to think before he speaks, he's lucky We're flying to Australia. Maybe next time he shouldn't drink so much at the airport bar.

It's pretty obvious that the older woman who is with the group was the one who complained, she's red faced and biting her lip. Bowen is beyond blasted, he just shakes his head and makes his way over to his seat, yawning all the way. Bowen pulled it pretty close here, he's on a flight to his tag team partners home country. Snorting pills on a plane over the ocean might not seem like the smartest idea. But the only thought in his head is how to get a blanket, a nap is well overdue. The life of an addict is taxing at times.

 

[Ty Burna]

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our Light, not our Darkness, that most frightens us.​

???: It's time to wake up Califa!

Califa: Where am I?

???: You know exactly where you are Califa.

Califa: Is El Califa dreaming?

???: A man must dream a long time in order to act with grandeur, and dreaming is nursed in darkness.

Califa: El Califa's dreams are born from within hope.

A laughter ensues this comment.

???: How quaint. Your intentions say otherwise.

Califa: Who are you to speak of El Califa's intentions?

A candle being lit can be heard. The faint glimmer of light slowly walks closer, suddenly hovering directly in front of the camera. It leans down and suddenly illuminates El Califa's cloth covered face. The holder of the candle leans forward, silver eyes flashing a brilliant orange from the flame's reflection. The laughter comes forth again, El Califa remains still.

???: We have had these meetings for five years now El Califa. But now, it's time for you to wake up!

The voice screams down towards El Califa and soon he bolts straight up into a sitting position, the cloth covering his face as the darkness has subsided to a very small studio apartment. Califa sits up in a cot while a woman's voice can be heard singing softly across the room.

Woman: Oh! You've awaken finally.

Califa turns his head towards the voice, lifting the cloth up enough for him to see, but not enough to reveal his face. A woman walks over to him, a long flowing purple dress cascades down to the floor, the woman's feet hidden underneath. Her entire body is covered by this dress, and a Hijab is wrapped around her head, a veil covering her face as well. The only visible attribute is her shining purple eyes, piercing directly through El Califa. He turns his head quickly, covering his face with the cloth once more.

El Califa: Where am I?

Woman: You are in my apartment. You've been out for three days now, tossing and stirring. You spoke of.....troubling things in your sleep.

Califa groans, rubbing his neck and shoulder as things begin to come into focus once more for him. A physical yet athletic match with Drake Callahan, the Dragon de Vuelo, the chair shot, but everything goes blank immediately after.

Califa: How did El Califa end up here?

Woman: El Califa? Is that your name?

Califa nods and falls back onto the cot spreading his arms out before placing his hands over the cloth and rubbing his forehead.

Califa: Si. I don't remember coming here.

Woman: I found you just outside the building. You were laid out on the steps, your face covered with the cloth you hold now. It seem someone left you there.

Califa: A mask.

Woman: Pardon?

Califa: Do you have a mask of any kind? I must keep my face hidden.

Woman: There was a bag left next to you, it should be under the cot.

Califa sits up, his muscles betraying him as he groans in pain again, absentmindedly rubbing the long ugly scar, the unwanted memento of a mistake that can never be forgotten. He leans down and grabs the bag underneath the cot. His gear remains all in there, along with a clean mask. He looks up at the woman who turns her back to allow him privacy. He pulls the mask underneath the cloth and quickly over his head, tossing the cloth to the side for a moment. He looks up at the woman who has now turned around. He nods his head to her.

Califa: El Califa thanks you, though may I ask your name?

Woman: Ari.......you may call me Aria.

Califa: Aria, it seems as if we have met once before.

The woman's eyes dart back and forth for a moment before burning a hole through El Califa once more, her eyes narrowing.

Aria: We have not. In fact do not thank me, thank the Roma for taking pity upon you. What were you doing out in this neighborhood so late at night? It's a miracle you're alive.

Califa: El....El Califa knows not why he was left here. El Califa was in the middle of an arena basking in victory when I was attacked from behind.

Aria: The...the arena?!?! I know your type.

Califa: El Califa's type?

Aria: Bun pentru luptător nimic. Sunteți toți la fel! (Good for nothing wrestler, you're all the same!)

Though one could not see the woman's face, it would not be difficult to tell the tone of voice was not a pleasant one. She takes an aggressive step towards Califa, forcing the luchador to hold his hands up and lean back.

Califa: El Califa means no trouble!

Aria's eyes narrow as she hovers over El Califa, an odd sight to say the least to see the smaller Aria towering over the seated masked man.

Aria: You may not but you certainly seem to attract it. Out with you!

The woman points angrily towards the door. El Califa not knowing wishing to anger this woman any further he grabs his bag, sliding off the cot and moving to the door. He opens it and takes a step out, but stops and looks back to Aria.

Califa: El Califa apologizes for bringing up any bad memories. He can assure you that there are those that mean well. I thank you for taking care of me, I will repay the favor someday.

Califa closes the door behind him as Aria stares directly towards the door. She lowers her head as tears begin to trickle from the corners of her eyes. She slowly slides up the sleeve of her dress, just above the wrist as a rather prominent scar can be seen.

Aria: You're dead, you're supposed to be dead!

Aria falls to her knees, gripping her arm close to her chest as she begins weeping quietly. The scene suddenly transitions to El Califa walking down the street, his bag slung over his shoulder. He takes in his surroundings, the pale light of the moon shining down over the broken streets and buildings. A sigh escapes Califa as he looks across the street. Something grabs his attention, as a lithe figure dashes into an alleyway. Califa quickly makes his way across to the entrance of the alley, dropping his bag to the side as he slowly walks down the alley. He looks over his shoulder briefly before reaching the end of the alley. He looks around, not seeing anything other then rats scurrying around and trash cans filled to the brim. As Califa looks to his right, silver eyes flash open behind him as the silver haired woman from before slowly rises up, her hood pulled over her head. She stares directly at Califa before speaking.

???: What do you want Califa?

Califa suddenly twists around, and sees the woman standing in front of him. He crosses his arms in front of him, his chin pressed to his chest.

Califa: I want answers. Why do you torment me so?

The woman stares up at him before spreading her arms out in front of her. A laugh escapes her, echoing throughout the alley.

???: I am here to make sure we win the war El Califa.

Califa: The war against who? I defeated Drake Callahan.

???: You don't get it do you?! You're more then just a luchador. You've been chosen.

Califa unfurls his arms, his hands curling into fists as he takes a step forward, his breathing becoming a bit heavy as anger courses through his veins.

Califa: Basta de acertijos! El Califa quiere respuestas! (Enough with the riddles! El Califa wants answers!) Who are you and what do you want with me?

???: You are my chosen warrior! You are the catalyst, the dragon that will bring a rebirth!

Califa takes another step forward, now right in front of the silver haired woman. He stares down at her, his hands shaking in rage.

Califa: El Califa is no one's pawn! He refuses to be played like a fool!

The woman stands up straight, gritting her teeth suddenly as her eyes light up an even brighter silver. A speck of red seems to bleed through the silver. The woman's hands twist and contort, taking the shape of claws as her form begins to change. Her height suddenly increases, now suddenly towering over El Califa. Califa takes a step back, now having to look up at the woman. The woman's hood falls back, her hair spreading out as she suddenly lashes out, grabbing El Califa by the wrist as a demonic snarl escapes her. Califa strugges, but yells out in pain as the woman's claws dig deep into his wrists, blood seeping down his arm as he dangles helplessly in the air.

Aria: Califa!

Aria suddenly runs down the alley, as Califa goes limp from the loss of blood. Aria stares up at the demonic woman, her violet eyes going wide at the sight. The demon stares down at her and drops Califa, now towering over Aria. Aria folds her hands in front of her and begins chanting.

Aria: Am alunga demonul te. Fugiți de acest loc, la o dată!

The demonic woman hisses towards Aria, Aria's chanting seeming to have no effect. Her height returns to normal but she grabs Aria, dragging her towards the other end of the alley. Aria struggles against the hold as El Califa slowly comes to.

Aria: Califa! Help!

Califa tries to push himself up with his one good arm when suddenly the entire area goes completely dark.

Califa: Aria!

Califa suddenly sits up, now in his hotel room as his breathing is heavy yet haggard. He looks around frantically in the hotel room, unsure of his surroundings.

Califa: Just a dream....another dream to torment El Califa.

He suddenly looks down and he grasps his right hand. He yells out in pain as he pulls his left hand away, blood dripping from his fingers. He holds his arm up, blood dripping badly from large deep cuts on his wrist and forearm. Califa let's out one last scream of pain as the scene remains focused on his arm before the scene fades to black as the sound of dripping blood can be heard in the background.

 

[Richard Blonoff]

They say you die twice, one time when you stop breathing, and a second time when somebody says your name for the last time. In a business with fans as fickle as wrestling, just being away to nurse an injury or visit a sick relative is the equivalent of your career ceasing to breath. Maybe that is why I cared so much for gaining revenge for James. I have been in this company a little over a year, and my entire career has been tied to him. From the night he beat me in our debuts on Aftershock, to the day we made history with our second tag team title win, we were inseparable. Even after the attack, I set off in a quest for revenge in his name. Our career paths, our personal lives, even our personalities were drastically different, but we became partners, friends, brothers. I had only spoken to him sparingly since the attack. I was afraid, ashamed. I had failed in my quest to gain revenge. Failed to avenge my best friend.

As I walked backstage after assaulting Mason Westhoff in the steel cage, a couple of agents stopped to give me a congratulations.

"Good job on getting back at Westhoff."

"Yeah, way to put him in his place."

I stopped walking and turned my attention to them. I took a few moments to gather my thoughts before I finally spoke.

"I lost and Mystique got away again, what are you talking about?"

The first agent spoke up again timidly. "Yeah, but you really put a beating on Westhoff, and they had to cheat to win. That isn't fair."

I shook my head at them. "You don't get it, this isn't some simple match between John Doe and Joe Blow opening a house show. This is a war. A war I'm on the losing side of. I had a chance to get my hands on the man who has made my life a living hell the last few weeks, in a steel cage no less, and I blew it! That makes me nothing more than a goddamn failure!"

My anger gets the best of me and I grab a chair leaning against the wall, throwing it down the hall. The clanging of metal on concrete causes more people backstage to turn their attention to me.

"None of you get it. Every week I come back here after a loss and you pat me on the shoulder with a 'You'll get 'em next time' 'Keep your head up' or some other played out bullshit. I promised to avenge my best friend, and I failed and keep failing. I can't even win a match, let alone avenge someone. If I can't do that, why the hell am I here?"

I stormed out, not caring about potential ramifications I would face for leaving a show early. I got in my car and drove. I had no real direction, I just drove. As luck would have it I came upon a liquor store after driving for about forty five minutes. I entered and grabbed as much alcohol as I could carry. I placed it on the cashier's counter and reached into my back pocket for my wallet. Realizing I was still in my ring gear I told the cashier I would be right back. I went out to car and found my wallet in my back. I also had a text message from Big Dave. I checked it, fully expecting to be in trouble.

Mikey, who gave you permission to leave the show early? You can expect a fine when you get your next paycheck.​

I set my wallet on the roof of my car and sent him a quick message back.

Pain ain't cheap​

I grabbed my wallet and went back inside. As I was paying I asked the clerk if he knew of any local motels. As he scribbled the address of the closest one he asked if I was Mikey Stormrage. I nodded that I indeed was, though I was in no mood to deal with fans right now. He asked for an autograph and as he handed me a pen I stopped to think for a moment.

"You don't want my autograph, the way I'm going it won't be worth much. Besides, the way I feel, I don't want there to be any proof left that I was ever in this business."

I put the alcohol into the backseat and entered the address of the motel into my GPS. As I drove my phone kept ringing, a mix of text messages and angry voicemails from Dave, Vance Bateman and Chuck Myles. As I sat in silence the lines of the highway were hypnotizing. I seemed lost in space until my GPS alerted me that I had arrived at my destination. I surveyed the scene and decided that even though the run down rest stop had seen better days, it would suffice to help kill the pain. I rented a room under a false name, paying in cash. I was given my key and the man behind the counter mentioned that I looked familiar.

"I guess I just have one of those faces." I mentioned as I walked out.

I walked up the stairs and unlocked my room and surveyed the scene. The bed had new sheets, but I doubted they were clean. The bathroom had stains on the floor and walls, and the television still had rabbit ears, one of them bent at an odd angle. The dresser was missing drawers and one of the end tables was propped up with a large chunk of folded over cardboard. I used the three legged end table to prop the door open and went to my car to get my bag and my alcohol. I immediately began drinking as soon as I got to my room. The entire time my phone was ringing, all of the general managers were calling, as well as some of my fellow wrestlers. I knew I was in trouble but I didn't care. In my mind I was a failure and I deserved whatever punishment I had coming. I couldn't avenge my best friend, I couldn't win a match, I didn't deserve to be a wrestler.

After what I can only guess was a few hours, I went to turn on the TV. After flipping through each channel, getting nothing but white noise, I gave up. When I went to turn off the TV the button broke off, leaving me stuck with the white noise in the background. I had finished off an entire bottle of hard liquor and was starting to open a second when another voicemail came through. It was an angrier version of the text messages I had been receiving, but it was enough to send me over the edge. I took my phone and hurdled it at the wall. The Otter Box case did its job and kept the phone safe, so I threw it again. I picked up the lamp by the bed and smashed it into the mirror on the bathroom wall.The end table that still had all four legs was thrown out the window. I kept it up and after about fifteen minutes of playing rock star in in my hotel room my eyes felt heavy. The television, which had survived my wrath was still stuck between channels and the white noise drowned out the strangeness around me while I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke a few hours later, my head buzzing. The television was stilling humming, so my foot served as a permanent off switch. I found my phone, still protected. I made a mental note to buy stock into the company that made Otter Boxes, and checked the location of the next show. Las Vegas. I took in the condition of the room and went to my bag. I took out five one hundred dollar bills and placed them on the dresser. I started to scribble out a note.

Sorry about the damage. I have left $500 to pay what it will cover, I will include an address at which I can be reached to bill me for any remaining damages. At this point in my life money means nothing to me, and pain isn't cheap. This room just happened to be where I was when my anger got the best of me. My sincerest apologies.​

-Michael Brown
"Mikey Stormrage"​

I gathered my personal effects and threw my bag and remaining vodka and tequila in my car. I punched Las Vegas into my GPS, shut off my phone, and set off, still hungover.

I had failed in my latest attempt at revenge, but the anger inside me was about to reach a boiling point. I knew I would have to deal with it soon, but for the time being I would be more than happy to let my anger flow. I loathed Westhoff and Mystique, but at the same time I was fearful of them. As I made my way to Vegas I knew I was no Raoul Duke, but I still headed in search of my own American Dream, one based on revenge and using new found anger, my new found power.

 

[JGlass]

“Hey, does something seem different to you?” Saboteur asked Saxton as the two sat in some sort of recording studio.

“Whatchu talkin’ ‘bout sucka?”

“I’m not sure, I just feel like… something has changed. I can’t really explain what it is. Is my font still orange?”

“Come on man! We ain’t got time for your crazy fourth wall mumbo jumbo right now! We need to focus on getting those title belts that are rightfully ours after that unjive ref counted the wrong man for the pin at All or Nothing… but more importantly we need to be ready for this radio interview. I hear these guys ask some pretty tough hitting questions.”

On the other side of the table from Saxton and Saboteur sit two male radio hosts dressed very casually in t-shirts and sunglasses. These two journalists are known as…

“And welcome back to Randy… ‘Do I make you RANDY baby? Yeah!’ and Ralph… ‘DUDE! I’m gonna ralph! *Puking noise*', the number one morning talk radio show host in Las Vegas among high school dropouts and hung over community college students. I am your host Rockin’ Randy along side Ralph the Mouph, and we are joined here today by two of the hottest competitors in WZCW, Saxton and Saboteur and boy, are we excited to talk to you guys.”

“Pleasure’s all ours, suckas.” Saxton replies to Randy.

“Now Ralph, I understand you’re a big wrestling fan, so big that you actually have tickets to see Saxton and Saboteur live this weekend at the Roulette events. Why don’t you explain to our listeners how the Roulette round works.”

“Well Randy, most of the time the wrestlers know exactly who they’ll be fighting weeks in advance, but during the Roulette round all matches are determined live by roulette wheels. Literally anything can happen this week! Saxton could be challenging former rival Alex Bowen in a mayhem match, Saboteur could be challenging Rush for the EurAsian title, or Saxton and Saboteur could see themselves in a Kingdom Come rematch!”

“Wow, so these are truly unpredictable times for the former tag team champs, as well as the rest of WZCW. Tell me guys, what would be your ideal match this week?”

Saboteur leans towards his microphone and starts to yell into it, “Well Randy, I think Saxton and I can agree on…”

Randy and Ralph grab their headsets with cringes on their face as their ears are blasted by Saboteur’s voice.
“Whoa there Saboteur, you’re not in front of an arena full of screaming fans, you don’t have to yell!”

Saboteur seems unrepentant, but humors Randy by lowering his voice, “Well what I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted was that Saxton and I are in agreement that the best match possible would be a rematch for the WZCW Tag Team Champions which were awarded to Le Gentleman Masqué and The Beard after they illegally pinned me at last week’s pay per view.”

“And Saxton, you agree with Saboteur?”

“Hell yes sucka! My boy Saboteur and I look better in gold then either of those jive turkeys, and we’ll prove it once we get those titles back around our waists!”

“Interesting, interesting, so now to more pressing questions, what’s the groupie situation like backstage? Inquiring minds want to know!”

Saboteur and Saxton give the radio hosts an unamused glare.

“I mean, come on, you must have ladies lining up just to get 5 minutes with you.”

“All I need is 2 and a half, Randy.”

Ralph hits a button which plays a short clips of crude sex noises followed by a farting noise.

“Ohhhh no! Our guests jut got Ralphed all over! Sorry boys, we’ll make sure you get Randy and Ralph commemorative towels on the way out to dry yourselves off.”

“Look sucka, I did not drag my perfectly chiseled ass out of bed at 5 AM to answer questions about backstage groupies. What Saxton does with the ladies is between him, the fine young thing, and one time Krypto when I didn’t realize he was hiding under the couch, and that’s it! Now get to the real questions before I karate chop your soundboard of fart noises in half!”

Randy and Ralph both take a deep gulp, intimidated by the 270 pound black Adonis. Randy nervously tosses the wrestling duo another question.

“Well, er… in the spirit of randomized competition, we were hoping that maybe you guys had some random stories about your adventures that you would like to tell us. But only if you want to! No pressure or anything! No need to karate chop our faces off or anything Mr. Saxton and Saboteur sir!”

The two heroes think over the request for a few moments. The duo has seen more than their fair share of adventure over the course of their tag team partnership, but which one of their stories is truly the most random?

Saboteur breaks the silence, “I have a random story for you, but it’s so spectacularly random that it can only be told through the art of flashback!”

-----​

All is quiet on the 37th floor of Saxton/Saboteur Tower, the floor that happens to be the recreation floor. Saboteur and Saxton find themselves enjoying some off, both doing things they enjoy. Saboteur is checking the newspaper for TV listings, looking to see if any of his favorite classic sitcoms are going to have a marathon (he’s in luck, there’s a 24-hour Golden Girls marathon on channel 20). Saxton is reading a comic book, specifically Action Saxton #75, the issue where Saxton finds himself partnered in a three legged race with his arch-nemesis, El Habanero.

Saxton and Saboteur aren’t alone in their relaxation. They are joined by their current mentee, Krypto. While the (at the time) tag team champions are enjoying some downtime, Krypto is hard at work.

“The cow says: MOO!” Krypto’s Fisher Price Spin-n-Say says informatively. Krypto jots something notes down in a little notebook before giving the toy another spin. “The pig says: OINK OINK!”

All in all it seems like today is going to be a nice quiet day for the trio. Then again, one would be foolhardy to think that the peace at Saxton/Saboteur Tower could ever last for more than a few minutes.

The door to the rec room swings open as a large man with very tan skin walks in. He is in a very fancy suit, but his long braided hair doesn’t seem to match this level of professionalism.

“Sucka, I think you in the wrong room,” Saxton says, obviously annoyed that this stranger interrupted his reading.

“I am afraid not,” replies the stranger, “I assume you are the man they call Action Saxton, and this is your business partner, Saboteur?”

“Business and tag team partner. We’re also going to be partners in the Wyoming County Fair Pie Eating Contest, but that’s not official yet. But why am I telling you this? Who are you supposed to be anyway?” Saboteur’s enthusiasm is marked with hostility.

“My name is Big-Wolf Giovanni, and I’m from the Wyoming Indian Mafia.”

“That’s a real thing?”

“No, there is no such thing as the Wyoming Indian Mafia. The Indian Mafia is just a conspiracy theory cooked up by the white man to further deprive my people of their land… but off the record yeah, we’re pretty real.”

“Look, we happy to have an Indian brotha in our rec room and all, but we was kind of in the middle of some stuff, so why don’t you tell us what you’re doing here and then let me get back to my very important comic book reading.”

“Your alien friend has racked up quite a debt at the Wyoming Indian Casino on the roulette table. He owes the casino $100,000.”

“So?” Saboteur answers defiantly, “Why are you talking to us about it? It’s Krypto’s debt, why don’t you just break his legs or something and be done with it?”

“Because he put up this building as collateral: Krypto Tower.”

“Actually, it’s Saxton Tower.”

“No, it’s Saboteur Tower."

“Saxton Tower!”

“Saboteur Tower!”

“If you don’t come up with $100,000 by this weekend, it’s going to become Wyoming Indian Mafia Tower! I must go back to the casino now and lead many foolish white people on a “spiritual journey,” but I expect you to have our money by this weekend. Good day.”

Big-Wolf Giovanni shows himself the door and leaves Saxton and Saboteur to solve this money issue. The two start this process immediately as Saxton picks Krypto up and violently shakes him.

“$100,000?! How the Grape Fanta did you rack up that much debt?”

“I had a system! Always bet on the number that falls on the spin before!”

“Are you crazy, sucka? Do you know the statistical probability of the same number being called twice in a row on a standard roulette table?! 1,443 to 1!"

Saxton drops Krypto and begins to shake his head, “Well, I guess what’s done is done, I guess we just have to pay off the debt. Right now my assets are a little tied up in my new self-financed 3D blockbuster, Action Saxton 3D-More Man than you can Handle. You got $100,000?”

Saboteur shrugs, “None of my cash is liquid right now. I’m heavily invested in developing markets. I’m especially focused on Brazil right now.”

“That’s a smart play, they have the World Cup and the Olympics coming up, so there’s going to be a lot of money going into… wait a second, we can’t be getting distracted talking about economics, we gotta come up with a scheme to get $100,000 by this weekend!”

Saboteur and Saxton take a moment to scheme, but it is Saboteur who quickly devises a plan.

“I’ve got it!” Saboteur snaps right before he grabs the newspaper he had just been reading, “There’s a golf tournament going on at Wyoming County Country Club with a grand prize of $100,000! All we have to do is enter the tournament and win to get the money we need!”

“That’s a nice idea and all, but neither of knows how to play golf. Sure, I’m a boss on the basketball court, a freak at football, and you wouldn’t to know it to look at me, but I’m a badass bowler, but golf? Ain’t no brotha ever done golf right except Tiger, and I’m pretty sure he made up that stuff about being half black. I haven't seen him at any of the secret Super Influential Black People meetings.”

“That’s true, we don’t know how to play golf… but we do know how to cheat. I’ll be the golfer, you’ll mess up my opponent’s shots, and Krypto will help get my ball into the hole.”

“Are you sure you want to put Krypto in charge of making sure you win? He’s still a little green around our ways of adventure scheming.”

“He’s a little green in general, look at him! But still, we’ll never make him into a good sidekick if we don’t push him.”

“Alright brotha, if you say so.”

Saxton and Saboteur turn to Krypto, whom seems to have been eagerly waiting for the duo to finish their conversation.

“Here’s the deal you little green pest,” Saboteur opens. “We’ve bent over backwards to help you these past few weeks and you’ve done nothing but give us headaches!”

“Yes master! I know that I am very lucky to be allowed to carry your rock collection around and that you had to suffer through the ice cream cake I bought for you!”

“Well now’s your chance to prove your worth to us! I’m going to enter a golf competition and you’re going to help me cheat to win.”

“But… isn’t cheating,” Krypto takes a big, alien gulp, “wrong?”

“It’s only wrong if the people don’t love you. For instance, the fans love it when I kick my opponent in the nads, but if my opponent kicked me in the nads it would be wrong, got it?”

“I do not.”

Saxton rolls his eyes. “Look Jolly Green, if you were going to have a morality crisis maybe you should have had it before you put up Saxton Tower as collateral at the Wyoming Indian Mafia Casino.”

“Saboteur Tower.”

“Whatever. The point is, you need to do what we tell you to, or we’re going to leave you in a dumpster like day old doughnuts, ya dig?”

“Oh I would love to live in a dumpster with day old doughnuts! Will they have chocolate frosting?”

“Look Saxton, he’s not getting it. Let’s just get to the golf tournament and do what we always do and hope for the best.”

-----​

Saboteur and Krypto are standing at the front gate of the illustrious Wyoming County Country Club. Saboteur is wearing a plaid version of his normal spandex garb as well as a golf beret with a fluffy ball on the top. Krypto is playing the role of his caddy as he is clumsily carrying his golf clubs.

“I thought you didn’t golf, master. Where did you get these clubs?”

“Let’s just say there’s a pro-shop manager somewhere that is tied up in a back room that I stole a bag of golf clubs from. Now let’s discuss how we get in the country club. Neither of us are members, so we’re going to have to pull a fast one on the security guards at the front gate.”

“What about Saxton?”

“He’s doing the awesome thing and parachuting in from a helicopter. He figures there’s no way they’d let a black guy into the country club any other way.”

“So how are you and I going to get into the country club?”

“Don’t worry, I brought a trench coat…”

The security guard at the front gate is in for a bit of a surprise when an unusually tall man in a large trench coat approaches him with a golf club in hand. He has interestingly unsteady legs and a face cloaked in a mask.

“Hello sirs! I am Mr. Golf, and I am here for the golf tournament! I’m quite good at golf you know!”

“Have they let us in yet Mr. Golf? Should I walk forward now?”

The security guard shoots Saboteur a puzzled look.

“Sorry chap, it seems my stomach is talking again! Don’t worry, I took some Pepto Bismol and should be able to hold off puking for the full 23 rounds of golf! So I’ll just be going through now…”

Krypto starts to walk forward but the security guards step in his way. It seems that Saboteur and Krypto are going to have to find another way into the club.

“Okay time for plan B.” Saboteur initiates plan B by whacking the security guard over the head with his golf club, knocking him out cold.

“Run Krypto! Run!”

Krypto starts to run, but doesn’t take into account how tall Saboteur stands perched upon his shoulders. Krypto makes it past the threshold of the gate when Saboteur’s head slams into the metal bar knocking him clean off Krypto’s shoulders… but Krypto keeps running.

“Wait, come back! You’re supposed to help me cheat to win!” Saboteur cries after Krypto, but it is too late. Despite the fact that he is completely covered by the trench coat, Krypto keeps on running, leaving Saboteur to pick up his golf clubs and make his way to the tournament.

“Damn alien, I told Saxton we couldn’t trust him!”

----​

“I’m here to sign in for the golf tournament.”

Saboteur stands at the score table, attempting to steal some unfortunate soul’s place in the tournament.

“And who might you be, sir?” asks one of the tournament scorekeepers.

“You know who I am,” Saboteur attempts to goad the scorekeeper into giving him a name to steal.

“I’m sorry sir, I really don’t,” the scorekeeper dryly replies.

“Well, I’m shocked! Insulted! Horrified! I’ve been a member of this club for decades, and my family has given this club quite a few generous gifts for many generations!”

“Oh, you must be Mr. Macy! My apologize sir, I didn’t recognize you under such a… um, colorful costume.”

“Yes, Mr. Macy is who I am! Yessir, Mr. Macy is me.”

“I’m surprised you showed up Mr. Macy, we were afraid nobody would show up after they got wind that Klaus Von Hammer was entering the tournament.”

The scorekeeper points behind Saboteur, directing his attention to a man that easily dwarfs Saboteur in size. The massive German stands at 7 feet tall and has a set of shoulders that could support the German version of the Leaning Tower of Pisa.

“That’s a golfer?”

“Indeed sir, and a very skilled one at that. You wouldn’t know it to look at him, but he has a very soft touch on the green, and as you could imagine getting the ball there is no problem for him. I hate to say it sir, but you have no chance of winning whatsoever.”

“Oh don’t you worry Mr. Guy, I have a few tricks up my sleeve,” Saboteur says with a dubious grin.

In the distance a lumpy trench coat is blindly running around before falling into a sand trap.

----​

The tournament is underway as Saboteur waits for his shot at the first hole as Klaus Von Hammer poses for his audience. After giving time for an ample amount of pictures to be taken, Klaus lines up to take his first shot.

“You should not have come here today, puny man. I will beat you in golf, and then I will make you cry like little baby girl.”

Klaus takes a thunderous swing and drives the golf ball high and far. He takes a second to admire his work before seeing his ball land right on the green.

“Let’s see you follow that shot up, Mr. Macy,” Klaus cackles manically as he steps aside to allow Saboteur to take his shot.

“Alright Saboteur, you gotta grip it… then rip it.” Saboteur wildly swings at the golf ball but whiffs, getting nothing but a chunk of grass right next to the ball. Klaus and his entourage of snarky Germans laugh at Saboteur’s clumsiness, but this does little to discourage the masked hero.

“Stupid German, I’ll teach you to laugh at me!” Saboteur swings the his golf club with all his might and drives the ball much further than he ever expected to. In fact, it surpasses even Klaus Von Hammer’s shot! It goes so far past Von Hammer’s shot that the ball lands in a water hazard placed beyond the first hole’s green. Von Hammer and his crew howl with laughter.

“Oh Mr. Macy, I am so happy that there was a word in German to express my feeling of pleasure at the expense of your misfortune…”

Before Klaus can finish Saboteur’s lesson in German language, his eye catches something. It seems a large black man is falling from the Sky towards the end of the 1st hole.

----​

“Damn! This parachute ain’t workin’! I knew I shouldn’t have trusted that commercial for discounted extreme sports merchandise!”

Saxton it descending at a rapid rate and the ground is fast approaching.

“Looks like I’m going to have to rely on that pond to break my fall, and there’s only one way to enter a pond when you’re skydiving from a helicopter… CANNONBALLLLLLLLLLL!”

Saxton curls into a ball and hits the water creating the most spectacular splash the world has ever seen, shattering several world records including highest splash, most voluminous splash, and most water displaced from a splash. However, the water wasn’t the only thing Action Saxton knocked out of the pond. A golf ball that was hit by a certain Mr. Macy comes flying out of the pond along with a few thousand gallons of water, and it miraculously falls into the hole.

----​

“Impossible!” cries Klaus Von Hammer, “There must be a rule against this tomfoolery!”

“Sorry Kraut Von Hummer, it looks like I just got a hole in one!” Saboteur smugly makes his way to the green, and it’s game on.

----​

The trench coat covered Krypto has been running in random directions for about an hour now with no real idea of when or where he should stop. This decision is about to be made for Krypto though when he crashes into the brick wall of the clubhouse. He scurries out from underneath the trench coat, dazed and confused from the collision.

“Excuse me little boy, but I don’t think you’re supposed to be out here by yourself,” says an unfamiliar but friendly female voice. “Are you lost?”

Krypto sees a nicely dressed young lady standing above him with a large grin on her face.

“Yes, I am lost. I was supposed to help my master win his golf game, but then we had to run away and I got stuck in that trap and now I am lost. Do you know how to get back to Krypto Tower from here?”

“Oh well aren’t you just the most adorable little thing in the world! That’s a cute alien costume you have on too!”

“It is not a costume. My name is Krypto, you see, and I am from the planet…”

“Say little fella, how would you like some ice cream?”

Krypto’s eyes grow wide and a drop of drool forms on his bottom lip.

“I… I… Ice cream?”

The young woman takes an eager Krypto by the hand and leads him into the clubhouse.

----​

Saboteur’s first shot may have been a thing of beauty, but he hasn’t had much luck since. On the second hole he hacked a ball into the woods and wound up taking a double bogey. And the 5th hole he spent four strokes trying to get out of four separate sand traps. On the 14th hole he wound up hitting the ball backwards onto the 13th hole.

Fortunately for him, Klaus Von Hammer wasn’t fairing much better thanks to Saxton’s expert cheating skills. On the 4th hole Saxton used his signature “Action Saxton Ninja Stars” to slice Von Hammer’s ball in half, costing him two strokes. At the 8th hole Action Saxton ripped his shirt off causing the female spectators to whistle and woo, costing Von Hammer his concentration and forcing him into hitting his ball deep into the rough. Von Hammer had a chance to ice the game with a birdy on the 17th, but Saxton took a deep breath and blew as hard as he could, causing Von Hammer’s putt to circle around the hole, but not fall in.

The two golfers had moved onto the 18th and final hole for the tournament.

“Alright gentlemen,” the scorekeeper started. “The score is Saboteur’s 244 strokes to Von Hammer’s 246.”

“Dag, I could have sworn I was winning!”

“You are sir. You have 244 strokes, Mr. Von Hammer has 246.”

“Exactly! He’s two points ahead of me! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he’s cheating!”

“Look at this idiot: he doesn’t even know the rules of golf! This tournament is a sham and a travesty to the greatest sport in the world that doesn’t involve any sort of difficult physical activity whatsoever!”

“Well Mr. Von Hammer, you have a chance to put this ugly chapter behind you on this last hole. I wish the both of you luck.”

Saboteur is the first to tee off at this hole and he hits a deep drive that once again falls into the nearby woods.

Von Hammer takes his first swing and knocks the ball onto the green with ease, a near perfect shot.

“Hmmm, where’s that Action Saxton? He’s supposed to make sure Von Hammer doesn’t get the ball anywhere close to the hole!”

Unfortunately for Saboteur, Action Saxton was busy hatching his own plan talking to the lovely Mrs. Von Hammer.

“The name’s Action Saxton, baby, but you can just call me Action Saxton.”

Von Hammer strolls to his ball on the green and sinks an easy putt for the birdy. The stroke count is now 248 to Saboteur’s 245. Saboteur needs to get the ball in the hole in two shots if he wants to win, and with his ball stranded in the woods the chances seem pretty bleak.

Saboteur steps up to his ball and takes a deep breath. With a mighty swing of his club the ball goes bouncing off of trees every which way, at first retreating deeper into the forest but then popping back out. The ball makes it’s way in the air towards the golf course when it is grabbed by the talons of a red tailed hawk that carries the ball towards the green, only to drop it a good 40 feet away from the hole.

“It seems your luck may have run out, Mr. Saboteur. Even I, Klaus Von Hammer, greatest golfer in all the world, would have trouble with that putt!”

Indeed, it is no simple putt Saboteur faces. The hole is slightly uphill from where Saboteur’s ball rests and there is a fierce wind blowing in from the west. This putt would be difficult for many professional golfers, but for a complete amateur like Saboteur this putt is near impossible.

The masked hero bravely steps up to putt and puts every ounce of focus he has into the putt. He gives the ball a healthy tap and it rolls towards the hole. It starts to slow at 15 yards, and it slows even more at 10. It’s on line with the hole, but does it have enough momentum to go in? It slows more and more with each inch until it finally comes to a stop just an inch short of the hole. Saboteur is deflated with this development as Von Hammer grins a big, evil German smile.

----​

Krypto is sitting on a patio outside the club house at his own table that is now covered in empty dishes with spots of melted ice cream all over them. His face is a mess with splotches of chocolate, strawberry, and vanilla ice cream covering his lips and cheeks and formerly hot fudge dripping down his chin. Atop his head sits a neat pile of whipped cream topped off with a cherry.

“My, you had quite the appetite for such a little guy! Do you want any more?” the nice lady asks.

“Hmmm, I’m going to have to make room for it. One sec.” With that warning, Krytpo stands up on his chair and belches a thunderous burp that shakes the foundation of the clubhouse and sends the other patrons grabbing onto their hats so they aren’t blown clean off their heads. Furniture is flipped over simply off of the shear sonic magnitude of Krypto’s eructation.

----​

“It seems that Germany has once again proven its superiority to America. We have better cars, better house music, and better golfers!” Von Hammer laughs hardily at his victory, but a troubling sound rumbles through the air.

“Is that thunder?” asks the scorekeeper?

The ground starts to shake and shift and all the members of the golf course grab attempt to steady themselves on the shaking ground. The two golfers and most of their fans manage to keep their balance, but Saboteur’s ball starts to shake and shift. It starts to roll away from the hole but then towards it! But then away again! But then back towards it! It keeps rolling forward… ant it’s in the hole! The audience celebrates as a crowd of happy golfers storm the course and lift Saboteur up in the air. The scorekeeper hands Saboteur a giant trophy as he’s hoisted in the air by his fans while Klaus Van Hammer breaks his golf clubs over his stick. The day is saved! Saboteur has won the golf tournament!

----​

“And that’s how Saxton and I won the $100,000 golf tournament to pay off the Wyoming Indian Mafia without any help from Krypto whatsoever. The end.”

“Oh, you’re awake now.”

“What the… who the heck are you?”

Saboteur finds himself sitting across not from Randy and Ralph, but the afternoon DJ Kiki Kimono.

“I’m Kiki, and you’ve been in the studio in a catatonic state for the past 6 hours! We were going to move you but your friend Action Saxton said that this sort of thing happens all the time.”

“Well then, I’m glad I was able to share my awesome and hilarious golf story with you. Good day Miss Komodo.”

“But you haven’t said anything for hours…”

But Saboteur doesn’t care. He had been waiting for an excuse to tell that story for a while and he was happy he finally got the chance. It seems like the Roulette Rounds are the perfect opportunity for Saboteur to fully embrace his whacky side.

 

[BK Styles]

It’s midnight. The room is pitch black, save for the shine of the moon through the window. X steps into the half of his apartment, and slumps behind the door after he closes it. He takes a look at the knuckles on his right hand; bloodied and bruised. He slowly reaches into his jacket pocket, and pulls it out. His enemy for so many years. His nemesis. Yet at one time, his one true confidant. He pulls the top off the bottle, and it fizzles slowly inside the glass. He rests his head against the hard, wood door, knowing the decision that lay ahead of him.

Five Days Ago...


It’s the night of All or Nothing. The show has not long finished, and the buzz of people slowly exiting the arena can be heard in the distant background. Big Dave is walking through the dimly lit backstage area, no jacket and his tie loosened. As he draws nearer to his office, a WZCW backstage worker approaches him, looking a little panicky.

Worker: Mr. Dave, sir?

Dave: What is it?

Worker: There…there’s a wrestler in your office. He seems pretty pissed off, and started throwing stuff around.

Big Dave lets out an annoyed sigh.

Dave: Thanks Carl. I’ll handle it.

Dave passes the worker and heads round the corner towards his office. As he opens it, a lamp barely misses his head. He looks inside to see Triple X lifting the desk up and overturning it, knocking papers, pens, and Dave’s laptop all over the floor. X is still in his ring gear, and is limping slightly, though the adrenaline from the nights events is clearly lessening the injury.

X: What the fuck was that, Dave???

Dave: X, calm down-

X: Calm down??? You want me to calm down??

Dave: Xander, I know you’re frustrated, but come on-

X: No, you’ve got no idea. Not a single fucking clue.

X then picks up the laptop and smashes it against the wall.

Dave: Good job my files are backed up.

X walks straight up to Big Dave, staring him in the eyes, almost nose-to-nose.

X: I want Steven Holmes. On Meltdown. I don’t care what you do, just make it happen.

Dave: I can’t do that, Xander.

X: Then give me his bastard of a brother, then. Or both in a handicap match. I don’t care! Just give me SOMETHING!

Dave: You know I can’t do that either...

X turns back away. He reaches down to feel his bad leg, then sinks into Dave’s chair. Meltdowns General Manager takes the opportunity to finally enter his office. The framed posters of past events that would usually be in the wall have been ripped off, and smashed and ripped. The filing cabinet in the corner has huge dents in it, and one of the drawers has been ripped out completely, with it’s contents now littering the floor. There’s even a small hole in the adjacent wall, a small smudge of blood at the bottom matching the drip that falls from X’s right hand.

Dave: The next Meltdown is the start of the roulette rounds. I know you didn’t compete in them last year, but you know how they work. Everyone is in a random draw and could end up against anyone. Now, what kind of a General Manager would I be if I allowed one exception o the rule? As much as I’d like to see you kick Holmes’ face in, and trust me here mate, I would, I can’t make the match.

X sits there for a moment in silence.

Dave: Look, I know how much you wanted the number one contendership…

X looks up at the ceiling, laughing a little at Dave’s comment.

X: This isn’t about the title.

Dave stares at X for a moment, before picking up the other chair, currently on its side from one of X’s outbursts, and sits down.

X: Don’t get me wrong. I want to be champion. No question. And losing the shot at Showtime is…gut-wrenching. But tonight was about proving who the better man was; Triple X, or Steven Holmes. And that son of a…he couldn’t muster a single ounce of honour to face me one-on-one. He had to get his god-damn brother involved, and now I’ll never know if I could have beaten him.

X looks back at Dave, almost despondent.

X: And If I can’t beat him, how the hell can I win the World Title.

Dave: By earning it, unlike Holmes. He takes shortcuts, and sneaks his way into winning things. That’s his style. You’ve earned everything you’ve accomplished here, and you’ll keep doing so, I know it. And you and Holmes, well, I can’t say for sure, but I’d put money on your paths crossing again. I mean, you may get the luck of the draw on Meltdown Madness. You may get drawn against Showtime, win the World Title and face Holmes at Lethal Lottery. You may even win the Lottery and face him at Kingdom Come, should he beat Showtime. Or it might just happen on another show.

X slowly raises himself up, his leg now clearly troubling him.

X: Or nothing changes, and I don’t get another chance.

Dave stands up too, and grabs X by the arm as he’s about to leave.

Dave: Then you go grab yourself another chance.

The two stare at each other for a moment before Dave lets go. X remains there a moment longer, before hobbling past him and hrough the door. As he leaves, he shouts back:

X: Sorry about your office.



Twelve Hours Ago…


It’s late morning in X’s apartment. He sits on the floor, covered in sweat, in his workout room; his eyes bloodshot and wide open. He sits there, again thinking over and over about the loss at All or Nothing.

I can beat him. Dammit, I know I can.

He looks down at his leg. It’s taped up as a precaution. No lasting damage, just a doctors warning to go easy on it for a few days.

I just need one shot.

X picks his phone up. It’s been on silent all day, and the screen reads ’18 Missed Calls’.

Then I can prove to everyone that I’m ready.

He puts pressure on his bad leg. As soon as he does, he feels a sharp pain rise up. The morning workout really hasn’t done it any favours.

Who am I kidding? I’m only trying to prove it to myself.

He backs up a few steps and sinks into a chair. He picks up a bottle of water and takes a sip, then looks to the TV on the adjacent wall; the picture pause don it is Steven Holmes waking up the ramp, an evil smile on his face.

Keep smiling, asshole.

* KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!!! *

X snaps out of his stare at the huge knocking at the door. He pushes himself back up from the seat, as the knocking continues.

X: Okay, okay! Geez, chill out, will ya?

X reaches the door and opens it. A very stressed out Red is leaning on the door frame, struggling for breath.

X: Red, what the hell-

Red: Xander, you’ve got to come, now!

X: I don’t-

Red: It’s Frank. He’s in hospital.

X stands there for a moment, almost bewildered by Red’s words. He stares blindly at his friend for a few seconds, before snapping out of it.

X: Which hospital?

Red: St Josephs.

X: Come on.

X picks up his leather jacket and slams the door behind him. The two run down the stairs, and jump into X’s car, speeding off in the direction of the hospital.

X: What happened?

Red: Not sure. Your mom rang me. She said she’d been trying your mobile for ages.

X: Yeah, dammit, it was on silent.

Red: Well, they’re not sure what happened yet. He was pretty badly beaten up though. Broken ribs, fractured cheekbone, a nasty cut on the head, and they reckon a concussion to go with it.

X: Shit.

Red: She said he was unconscious when he arrived, but that could change at any time.

X: How the hell…

Red: WATCH OUT!

X looks up at the sound of Red’s voice being raised, and manages to swerve just in time to avoid ramming the back of a saloon car directly ahead. X manages to control the swerve, and overtakes the car in question.

X: That was close.

Red: Yeah, you’re bloody telling me!

Red takes a good look at X, noticing his sore eyes and his overall demeanor.

Red: You okay?

X: What?

Red: Simple enough question, mate.

X: Do you fuckin’ think I’m okay?

Red: No, I mean…

X sighs, and puts a hand to his forehead.

Red: Bad dreams again?

X: No.

Red: So, you’ve stopped having them?

X: Not exactly.

Red: What do you mean?

X: Well, it’s difficult to have them if you don’t go to sleep.

Red: You’re kidding.

X: Any better ideas?

Red: Yeah, see a shrink!

X: Oh come on, Dave…

Red: I’m serious; if they’re affecting you that much, you need to see someone to sort it out. You can’t afford to go on like this, you look like a zombie.

X: I’m fine.

Red: Bollocks you are.

X: Look, can we just focus on the matter at hand here?

Red shoots him a disapproving look, before staring out of the window.

Red: Fine.



Half an Hour Later…


The elevator opens as both X and Red burst out. X goes to ask about Frank before spotting his Mothersitting in a chair adjacent to it. She stands and throws her arms around her son, her face damp from recent tears.

X: How is he?

Rachel: I don’t know. They said they’d let me know as soon as they could.

X: Any ideas on what happened?

Rachel: Not until they’ve spoken to him.

Red: Who the hell would do something like this?

Rachel: Frank’s always been a dear friend. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to-

X: Oh, I can.

Rachel turns to her son, initially in curiosity, before a look of horror descends on her face.

Rachel: No, he wouldn’t.

X: Why not? He blames him for about as much as he blames me. If he can’t take it out on me, who else better?

Rachel: No, I can’t believe it.

Red: Sorry, am I missing something painfully bloody obvious here?

X: I hope to god it isn’t. Or I swear to god-

Red: Isn’t who???

Before X can answer, the Doctor emerges from a private room. The three approach him, as he greets them with a warm yet understated smile.

Doc: Mrs Knight, Frank’s going to be fine.

The three of them sigh, an incredible wave of relief washing over them. X’s expression changes very little though.

X: Has he said anything about what happened?

Doc: Not yet, no. The second he does, we’ll let you know.

Red: Thank god…

Rachel: Xander, honey?

Red turns back to look at X, who’s face has slowly begun to fill with pure rage.

Red: Err…what’s the matter, buddy?

X: Stay here with mom, and text me if there’s any change.

Rachel: Xander, don’t you dare-

Before she can stop him, however, X has already sprinted down the hall, and entered the elevator. As it closes, and he sees his mom and Red disappear behind the door, his thoughts turn to one man. The one responsible.



Nine Hours Ago…


X pushes open the doors and looks around. A bar, on the edge of the city. There’s only a handful of people in , all of whom are the exact kind of person X despises; lowlife, disgusting drunks who waste their entire lives on drinking themselves into an early death. But X immediately spots the one he’s after.

Alan: Bartender! Another bottle, sir! (he places the money on the counter)

X: You’ve had enough.

X sits on the stool next to his father, who gives him a look, and a snort of laughter.

Alan: And to what do I owe the pleasure?

X: I’m gonna ask you a question, and you’re gonna answer it. Honestly.

Alan: Really? I am, am I?

X: Yes.

Alan: Or what? (he stands up) You gonna punch me? You gonna put me in hospital?

X: Like you did Frank?

Alan smirks

Alan: I don’t get it. Why…what’s he done for you? I mean, he encouraged you. He encouraged your ‘wrestling’, and encouraged you to hurt yourself on a regular basis. And yet, I’m the bad guy? All I wanted was for him to feel your pain. For him to…know what he encouraged! And yet, I’m the bad guy for wanting you to be safe? (The bartender places a bottle by where he’s sitting.) Well, I’ll drink to that, you no good brat!

X sits there for a moment, then launches out of his chair and grabs his father by the arm, twisting him into a hammerlock. X pulls his dad away from the bar and drags him outside.

He pulls Alan right into the parking lot, before letting go of the arm and unleashing a flurry of knees to his dads chest. As he does so, his dad hits his son in the bad leg, causing him to crumple to the ground. As his dad tires to mount him, however, X wraps is legs around his waist and turns him over, and punches him in the face. Again. And again. And again. He keeps on hitting him in a blind fury, again and again, before reaching behind him and finding the bottle his dad brought out with him. He lifts it up into the air and takes one long look at his dad; blood is streaming from his nose, and his eye has begun to swell up.

Alan: …like father like son, eh?

X looks deep into his fathers eyes, before lowering the bottle, dropping it into his jacket pocket. He goes to get up, but unleashes another right hand into the face of his father, before finally making it to his feet.

X: You ever do anything like that again, I swear you’ll wish I’d never been born.

Alan: …way…ahead of you…

X doesn’t even turn around; he simply walks towards his car, jumps in, and drives away, leaving his father to lie in a pool of his own blood.

…X stares at the bottle. The same bottle his dad had ordered earlier that day. The same one he wanted to swing at his fathers prone skull, with the intention to shatter it, braking both glass and bone with one swift impact. X had given little thought to what lasting damage that strike could have done; only how much better it would have made him feel. And that thought scared him more than anything.

He lifts the bottle close to his face. He can smell the familiar aroma of beer flowing out of the bottle, tempting him. Calling him. Asking him to give it another chance. X opens his mouth slightly, and puts the bottle to his lips. He goes to tip it, but stops. The thought of Frank, the guy who helped him kick the drugs kick the alcohol, lying in a hospital bed. He thinks of his dad; battered, bruised, bloodied, drinking himself into an alcohol-induced coma somewhere. And he thinks of his mom, and the heartbreak of her son falling down the wrong path again.

He moves the bottle away and holds it in front of him. Tears of frustration begin to roll down his cheek, as he gets a firm grip on the bottle/ he lets out a primal roar, and throws it to the other side of the room, smashing into what seems like a million shards of glass on the floor. He stares at the wall, breathing heavily, for a few moments, before returning the gaze down to his bloodied knuckles, and the knowledge of what he’d done that they held within their wounds.

 

[Showtime]

Scene opens in a backstage locker room. Showtime David Cougar is seen walking around in sweat pants with a white towel around the back of his neck. He is on his cell phone talking loud enough for the camera to pick up on it.

Cougar: Yeah it’s been a pretty hectic, wild week, I must say. You know the usual; women, liquor, winning matches and having my face up on billboards and on commercials..... What..... how could you not like that commercial??? Oh... pfft... of course you would immediately think that about me. Lots of kids do that sort of thing with a dog and peanut butter, I’m not weird. No... you’re weird. I’ve done crazier shit than that now and I know all about your wild misbehaviours. Like how you used to go to the bars and...

As Showtime begins that sentence his assistant Allen Lewicki walks into the room. Immediately Showtime’s voice lowers so Allen can barely hear what he is saying.

So yeah... um... I mailed over the things we talked about that you needed. Should be there in a few days. Your welcome... it’s nothing really, nothing at all.

Showtime shoots a glance over at Allen to see what he is doing. Allen has his back to Showtime as he lays out some papers.

So I guess I will hear from you later then. I gotta get going... no... no don’t... I don’t need to speak... I’m really busy right now.

Showtime shoots another glance towards Allen. Allen notices it this time and quietly leaves the room. Showtime thinks Allen is gone, but he is standing right outside the room with the door open a crack.

Okay... let me say a few things.... hello? Hey... it’s great to hear from you... Oh yeah... that sounds like your having a pretty good time there. I’m going to come by for a visit really soon. Yeah... I promise. We’re going to have lots of fun. Okay... I gotta get going now. Uh huh....okay I’ll call you later.... I love you.

Showtime hangs up the phone and Allen bursts through the door.

Lewicki: Well... well. Never thought I’d hear Showtime say those words to anyone but himself.

Showtime looks towards Allen and shakes his head.

I don’t know what you’re talking about.

I heard you say it. So where’d you meet the lucky girl. Or should I say unlucky?

It’s not what you think Allen, and I’m sorry but I’d like to keep this pretty personal right now if you don’t mind.

Allen laughs and looks at Showtime. The only time he’d ever seen him more serious was when he put his career on the line against Drake Callahan for the WZCW Title. Allen nods his head.

Of course Show... you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to, and I’ll keep this conversation just between us.

Thank you... now if you don’t mind a little more privacy, I need to get ready for an interview with Leon.

Alright Show... I’ll have you sign these papers when you get back.

Allen grabs the papers off the best and quietly leaves. Showtime slides his phone into his jacket pocket and pulls down his sweat pants as the scene fades.

----------

Scene reopens backstage at a WZCW live event. Showtime David Cougar is seen with the WZCW Title draped over his shoulder. To his left is Leon Kensworth holding a mic. Leon turns to the camera and speaks.

Kensworth: Ladies and Gentleman, my guest right now is the man who successfully defended the WZCW World Heavyweight Championship at All or Nothing, Showtime David Cougar.

The live audience can be heard cheering loudly, causing Showtime to smile a little. He adjusts the belt on his shoulder as Leon turns towards him to start the interview.

Showtime, tell us where your victory over long time rival John Constantine ranks among your list of accomplishments?

Showtime: Well Leon, first and foremost, it feels amazing to be here tonight in front of all these fans and all my viewers watching at home still WZCW Champion. With their support I was able to survive the longest match I've ever competed in my career. Last month's Iron Man match was a battle for the ages. In one corner you had John Constantine, with years of pent up frustration built inside him, and behind him he had The Empire waiting to strike like a couple of hungry vultures, and in the other corner you had the Two-time Champion, the biggest show on the roster, the master of the spotlight, Showtime David Cougar, in the biggest fight of both their careers. The recipe called for disaster, and make no mistake I am very fortunate to be standing here in one piece, let alone still champion, but like any good champion, like any proud fighter, like any star given a difficult role, I dug deep, stood my ground, and played my parts right that got me to the big dance in the first place. I'd be lying if I said I didn't receive a little help out there, courtesy of a former Showtime Wanna Be turned future Hall of Famer, Austin Reynolds, but when the opportunities came for John to take the lead I refused to let my shoulders stay down on the mat, and late in the match when I had John locked in the Commercial Break I refused to wain and I refused to let go and give up hope. I held on in arguably the toughest match in my career and that is why I am still the best in WZCW and still your World Heavyweight Champion. Last months win at All or Nothing ranks among one of the best in my career and I look forward to see what the next season holds in store for the Star of WZCW.

And coming up this week during the roulette rounds it could be anyone who has a chance to step into the ring with you, in any kind of match, with the strong possibility that the WZCW Title will have to be defended. How are you going to prepare for whatever challenge lies in front of you?

Leon as usual you hit the hammer right on the head. The possibilities of who I could face and in what type of match are almost endless. I could even be put in a Lethal Lottery qualifying match. I mean how awesome would Kingdom Come if I won the Lethal Lottery match. Showtime defends the WZCW Title against Showtime. It screams huge ratings... am I right?

Well... I suppose that would depend on the...

Okay... I see the possibility is too much for you to handle, let’s stick with the idea that I could be defending my title this week, and you're right it could be against anyone in any kind of match. I mean... I could compete at Meltdown Madness against Grand Mystique and Mason Westhoff in a Bible on a Poll match, or maybe I won't have a match until Ascension Anarchy where I compete in a 6 man Battle Royal against Sandy Deserts, Chris K.O., Drake Callahan, El Califa Dragon, and Mickey Stormrage. Hell let’s throw in the number one contender Steven Holmes in there as well, might be the best chance he has to beat me for this title. I mean, how do you pick a winner in that match?

Umm... well...

I’ll tell you how Leon, you don’t pick a winner, you pick the best, and until someone is able to knock me from the top of the ratings nobody on this current roster will be able to beat me. Not Holmes, not Smith, not Rush, nobody, but that’s the uncertainty about the roulette rounds; we could see me compete against anyone, a brand new face, or a returning wrestler. Last year Callahan, Phoenix, and Wasabi Toyota all made their returns during the roulette rounds and there is no telling who could return this year. Imagine this for the Aftershock Insanity main event, Showtime David Cougar vs Ty Burna. Doesn’t matter that it will be for the millionth time, it would be the biggest match ever in WZCW and while Chris K.O. and others preach that Ty Burna is dead and no more, I’m telling you this now Leon, Ty Burna is closer to returning than ever before. It’s like he’s back in power here.

Scary thought... worse than if a MLP fanboy were in charge of WZCW. Speaking of returning wrestlers, is there anyone not on the roster that you would most like to face during the roulette rounds?

Hunter S. Kravinoff.

Ahhh... Showtime, you shouldn’t say that name around here. Hunter has a lot of heat on him for how he left. I wouldn’t want your push to get stalled because you mentioned him.

Leon... I think have a bit of an in with management here.

Showtime winks at the camera.

Besides... I have never gotten the chance to step into the ring with this animal, save for one Lethal Lottery match. This man humbled Big Dave, one of my toughest opponents. Never would I say that my career is incomplete here in WZCW, but there is definitely one opponent I want to face before I hang up these boots and this belt for good. Hunter if you are listening on your coconut radio or watching on your tiger skinned TV, I hope that you hear the challenge I’m throwing out to you.

And who on the roster would you like to face?

Triple X. I’m not going to say that I had a preference on who I was going to face at Lethal Lottery. I was prepared and looking forward to the challenge that both Holmes and Triple X would’ve brought, but there’s something about Triple X that has really caught my eye these last few months. He’s got a lot of heart and drive and determination and I still think 2013 is going to be a pretty big year for him. I want a piece of that before he finally grabs hold of that brass ring, because there may be no stopping his momentum after that.

Speaking of Steven Holmes, regardless of what does happen during the roulette rounds, he will compete for the WZCW Title at Lethal Lottery and should you remain champion this will be your second time defending the belt against him, first time in a one on one match. How do you think you stack up against Holmes this time? Does Holmes have momentum now that he has defeated one of WZCW’s best and most popular wrestlers?

Holmes I have talked about a number of times already since Apocalypse. I don’t take Holmes very lightly. I think it is a travesty that he was not nominated for wrestler of the year 2012. I don’t think he would’ve won, I hear some guy who’s been World Champion since Apocalypse won that award and rightfully so, but Holmes is in a league few in WZCW are at. He’s in my league. I know that’s stroking his big fat ego, that’s what he likes to hear, but I’m not here to pull punches with you Leon. Holmes has wanted this for years, and knowing Holmes, he is loving the fact that this time it’s just him verse me for the title. When he was competing at Unscripted alongside Titus and Drake Callahan, you could see his heart just wasn’t in it. He didn’t want to share what he felt was rightfully his. That’s why I took Holmes lightly then, but I’m not planning on making that decision again this time. We’ve all seen what Holmes has done to get what he wants in the past two months. The bounty that he placed on Triple X’s head. I know that Holmes will stop at nothing to beat me and win this title. The difference is that I’m prepared for Holmes’ games. Nobody on the roster is better at tricking the competition, nobody is better at manipulating the flow of the match, I wrote the book on bending the rules. Holmes thinks he’s the master at deception, fact is though that Holmes doesn’t have anything on me. I’m bullet proof, I’m aware of my flaws and what I have to do to overcome them. I’m prepared to beat Holmes straight up and by the book and I know on my best night that I can... but if Holmes insists on continuing to change the rules then I will play his game and do exactly what I do best, and that is win at all costs.

The interview comes to a halt as Showtime’s phone starts to ring. Showtime reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls his cell out and answers it. Showtime doesn’t say anything as he listens to the speaker on the other line. He blinks twice and then swallows.

Okay... Goodbye.

He hangs up the phone right after and looks down at the number called.

Who was that Showtime?

Ahhh... just an old friend. I think we’re done here Leon. You got everything you need?

Yea I think we do Showtime. You have yourself a great match.

Showtime nods his head and walks away, still staring at the number on his phone. Leon watches him leave as the scene ends.