The scene is set beneath a muddy gray sky threatening rain, morose environs just perfect for…well…a funeral.

Because that’s where we happen to be.

The shot pans down, down, down onto a seated assembly in front of a casket, an open grave, and a pulpit. Next to the casket is a propped up image of Jenny Myst, invoking her most characteristic expression of smug superiority intermixed with the vague snotty cadence of smelling shit smeared just under her nose. The seats are chock full of Samael’s Insignificants and Rollerwhores. And oddly enough, a very pallid and anxious looking Kristoffer Arroyo. But before we even have time to pontificate on his presence, the group is interrupted by a latecomer. Naturally, it’s Sean “X-Pac” Waltman, bringing the “heat” and wearing a Jenny Myst t-shirt. He’s carrying a tub of popcorn like he’s raring to watch the latest blockbuster and stepping over a gaggle of annoyed Insignificants to get to an unoccupied center seat.

Finally, the piece de resistance of the scene, Samael Dyson arrives from stage right wearing a tacky red and black sequined suit. He takes the pulpit like he owns it, gripping the sides and leaning imperiously into the microphone.

“You know, I thought long and hard….heh heh….about what I was going to say about Jenny Myst today. How do I even begin to encapsulate the very essence of this vapid, shameless, preening piece of sex meat into words.” Samael shrugs. “Well, kinda like that I guess.” Sam looks at the casket with disdain. “It’ll be admittedly hard to follow a trash talk maestro like Dickie Watson when it comes to the matter of YOU, but suffice it so say, “he was right”. About everything. The man cut you, Jenny. He bled you out like a stuck pig.” Sam leers suddenly. “And he still didn’t go far enough.”

He turns his attention back to his congregation of ne’er-do-wells. “He didn’t! He didn’t reach back far enough to give the topic of Jenny Myst the old rub and tug it rightfully deserved. And I can’t really blame him. I’m sure he had better things to do than watch Jenny Myst’s early career. But thankfully for us all, as an insatiably horny young man coming of age just as Jenny’s career was starting out in the XWF, I didn’t!

And I saw it all, Jenny. All of YOU. And I got off to it. Each and every episode of XWF programming you appeared on. And I have to say, early Jenny Myst tied those developing neurons together into the man you see before you. You formed my opinions on the fairer sex. And most importantly, who and what you WERE fully explains the complete dearth of personality that you are NOW.”

He pauses for dramatic effect.

“Jenny was a slut. Literally. A prostitute. A lady of the night. And later on, she was Chris Chaos’ living fleshlight. Early Jenny was a staggering work of pure red pilled involuntarily celibate male sex fantasy. The kind of docile, doe eyed fuck piece that gets MY engine’s revving! That clitoris took more of a pounding than the door of a mexican cantina with ICE agents swarming it. Or at least it would have if Chris Chaos could FIND the clitoris.” Sam snickers. “At any rate, that there is the Jenny that Jenny doesn’t want you to remember. Her at her weakest, her most vulnerable. The quintessential “Sex, Metal, Barbie” ribbed for YOUR pleasure.

But I remember Jenny. I remember.

And it explains a hell of a lot about why she is what she is now. That is, the deeply, deeply insecure fun house mirror of a woman we see today. Because Dickie Watson was right! Jenny is a void, and I’m not just talking about what’s between her legs. Her very personality is dictated by who she’s fighting that week. There’s no consistency, no HUMANITY. Just a scared little girl running from what she was so fast and so hard….heh heh….that she’s turned herself into a parody of what true strength really is.

Let me explain.”

BEFORE

Madison Dyson plunged headlong into the elevator, hitting the far wall for want of the ability to stop her forward momentum. Her breathing came fast and ragged, her body still feeling the destabilizing and exhausting impact of being drugged and chained up for months. She willed herself to the buttons and jammed her finger onto the one coded for the ground floor. The doors irised shut.

“Come on…come on!” She goaded the elevator to move faster. But alas it remained quite possibly, to her perception at least, the slowest elevator in the world. When the doors finally opened, Madison sucked in a fresh gasp of air and pushed herself into the lobby, where she encountered a number of Samael’s masked Insignificants dining. Madison gasped and stopped short as some of them noticed her.

Fuck me, it’s over. She thought. I can’t take them all, not like this.

But then, as soon as the desperation reared its head, it subsided, consumed instead by a mounting rage.

Fuck this!

Madison bolted into the lobby, putting every ounce of effort into running as fast as she could, carried on by her simmering anger.

Not again, I’m not gonna be chained again!

Her legs burned. Her lungs bucked. Tears welled up in her eyes, out of pain, out of a sheer drive to live. She screamed as she ran. “Help me! Someone help me!” But there would be no help from the hotel staff, as they were bought or perhaps even supernatully influenced by Samael. But maybe in the parking lot….someone with a phone….someone who could help!

Madison cleared the automatic doors. Sunshine waited just beyond.

Yes….I’m gonna make it! I’m free! I’m finally fucking free!!

But suddenly, she ran into a body just past the egress. A body that was stolid and muscular. She bounced off it, and they both stumbled, with Madison hitting the ground but the other recovering far more quickly. Madison looked up.

And hope died again.

It was Kristoffer Arroyo.

Kristoffer reached down and grabbed her by the arm, his grip firm and unrelenting. She tried to jerk out of his grasp, but she was too weak, too deteriorated to give it her all. But that didn’t stop her from raising a fist and raining down a flurry of haphazard blows on him. Blows that seemed to have little effect.

“No! No! NOOOOOOOO!” Madison wailed.

Kristoffer pulled her into a tight bearhug and dragged her back through the hotel doors.

NOW

Sam shot a glance at the coffin as he continued.

Did you ever notice how everything Jenny says and does has like this thin grimy veneer of desperation all over it?  Like how she herself admitted to losing a GM position because the shows were too “Jenny-centric” (because of fucking course they were). Or how when you so much as utter a verbal queef in her direction she just can’t help but mug for the camera like some vainglorious idiot and cut a ten minute promo, all the while acting like she just hit the trash talk jackpot and utterly oblivious to the fact that she’s acting like nothing less than some triggered pink-hair on an umbrage bender.

But you see folks, that’s just Jenny in a nut shell. A plastic facade of AI slop trash over a tender, warm meaty center of shame and self recrimation. A reactionary imbecile overcompensating for years of getting slapped around by Chris Chaos and never even catching a whiff of the Universal Championship.

And do you know what else Dickie Watson was right about? Just how goddamn LAZY this bitch is. Like she puts all these production values into these pieces of puffery but forgets to even craft an argument thats built to last. So why don’t we go ahead and completely dismantle all the pieces of low hanging fruit that you just know this vacuous cunt is going to be reaching for?

Sammy’s record sucks.

Yes, please Jenny, lets make this a back to back cavalcade of failure, shall we? Because this argument worked oh so well when you faced Dickie. Certainly gave you the cerebral edge you needed to completely get your shit pushed in JUST LIKE I SAID YOU WOULD.

Sammy barely has a record.

I’ve openly admitted to being green as grass and yet that hasn’t stopped me from standing toe to toe with industry veterans like Michael Graves and Kieran King. And even then the only reason I lost to Graves was because I literally bounced off a cliff the wrong way. Check this you painted hack, how many times in my short career have I been pinned or made to submit? I’ll cut your lazy ass some slack, the answer is NONE.

Sammy has mommy issues.

Add this to the list of things I’ve made no bones about and yet Jenny is going to latch onto it like she just found the prize at the bottom of a stale box of Kracker Jacks. Of course I have issues with my mother. Have you met the bitch? She’s quite possibly the biggest piece of human garbage this side of YOU. And she can get fucked for even attempting to white wash her history in conjunction with that tired walking science fiction trope Lux and that overly verbose hick step child Dolly Waters.

Hmmm…..somebody trying to white wash their history? Why does THAT sound so familiar?

Because you see Jenny, I don’t run headlong from my past like you do. I admit to the shit that grinds my gears because it’s less than the sum total of who I am. In short, I have NOTHING to hide. If anything, my hate for Madison Dyson gives me strength. It emboldens me! In point of fact, it’s going to fuel me to take a hot steaming dump on your legacy because you remind me so much of her!

Sammy is nothing more than callow shock value.

You seriously want to call ME devoid of personality? The woman who thinks “overconfident bitch” is a remotely interesting or insightful identity? The woman whose only “splash of color” is carrying two poorly animated imaginary friends around like she’s the world’s loneliest toddler longing for a shred of human interaction? The woman who counts literally being handed championships by every member of the Nickles family as some sort of valid accomplishment? The woman who glommed onto Game Girl’s shtick for want of having any sort of intriguing disposition of her own?

Uhhhhh, no bitch. You don’t get to play that card. You are a fucking personality CHASM. So call me addicted to shock value if you need to. At least it gets attention. At least it puts asses in seats! You think anyone at all is clamoring to see what Jenny Myst is going to do next? I mean, yeah, maybe if they’re a fucking insomniac! But these people know that if Samael Dyson is in the building, they’re gonna see some seriously fucked up shit!

So why don’t you shut the fuck up Jenny and take a swing at entertaining somebody other than yourself for once. Because I got news for you sweetheart, pouting for the camera and being petty and shitty as you dance around a sea of cheap AI animation is the complete antithesis of ratings gold. Christ, no wonder you lost that GM job! YOU’RE VIEWERSHIP POISON!

God DAMN this is easy!”

BEFORE

Kris dragged Madison into the elevator, chancing a reach to shut the doors. Meanwhile, Madison kept fighting fist tooth and nail against him.

“LET ME GO YOU FUCKING FUCKER! I’m not going back to him, I swear to God I’m not going back!!!”

Kris resecured his grip around Madison, and despite the intensity of the situation, spoke in a measured calm.

“I’m working with Lux.”

“Bull SHIT you are!”

“You can choose not to believe me if you wish, but I think if you look at this rationally you’ll see this is the last gasp of hope you have.”

Madison slowly stopped fighting, partly out of exhaustion and partly because Kris had a point, and that this was certainly not what she expected when he dragged her into the elevator.

“Thank you. Just please listen. As I said, I’m working with Lux to destroy Samael. But to do that I need to maintain my cover.”

“If you’re really working with Lux why didn’t you just let me go?” Madison inquired, trying to recapture her breaths.

“Because that lobby was full of Insignificants who would have seen me undercut Samael in doing so. I’m sorry Madison, this was really all just unfortunate timing. I wish I hadn’t been there when you were making your escape. But I was. And now we need to roll with it.”

Madison sagged in Kris’ grip. “You have no idea what’s its been like…..drugged….tortured….humiliated…..day in and day out….”

“You’re right. I can’t possibly know how you feel. But Madison I promise you you’ll get through this, and together we will kill Samael Dyson.”


NOW

Samael walks out from behind the podium, but takes the microphone with him. He steps to the casket, running his hand over its glossy sheen as he continues to verbally assassinate Jenny.

“Everyone hates you, Jenny. You are the apex example of the kind of “go away and get fucked” heat that everyone in that locker room dreads.”

“HELL YEAH, “ME HEAT”!” Sean Waltman calls out.

“Yes, Sean, YOU heat. But it doesn’t seem to bother Jenny! Because like she is with most things, she’s completely oblivious to what she’s actually earning. People don’t hate you because you’re good at playing the villain. No,no,no. That’s why YOU think THEY hate you. But you’re wrong. People hate you because you’re tiresome. Because you’re the kind of human being that sucks all the energy out of the room. Because you’re an abject imbecile who has to buy intel on her opponents rather than do the grunt work on her own. And all the while you have this mugging smirk on your face like you have all the answers. But bitch, you don’t even know the questions.

So people just want you and your insufferable miasma of completely unearned smugness to go away. Back to those Indy mud shows that you excel at because the talent pool there is the shallowest of shallow ends.

But you know what, Jenny? I’m going to spare them your presence too. I’m going to spare them from having to put up with you.

Because bitch, I AM GOING TO COMPLETELY FUCKING END YOU.”

BEFORE

Samael Dyson’s eyes flutter open as a trio of Insignificants fan him with bath towels.

“Oh master, you’re awake!” one of them coos lovingly.

Groggily, Samael sits up on the bed, taking a few moments to regain his bearings and his sense of the room. But when he does, even he can’t conceal his surprise at what he sees before him. Because at the foot of the bed, Kristoffer Arroyo has a handcuffed Madison Dyson in hand.

“You….you….you got her….” he stammers, surveying Madison.

“I did. It was a close call. She was almost out the door when she ran into me.”

“Kristoffer didn’t even hesitate, master! He sprang into action and dragged her into the elevator and back to you! He did such a good job.”

“Shut the fuck up!” Sam barks. The Insignificant backs off with an “eep” of surprise. He turns his attention to Kris. “What are you even doing back here?”

Kris pauses a moment before speaking. “I had a change of heart. Look, I know we both said a lot of things to each other. But the fact is I think we work better as a unit than individually. Especially with your career taking off as it is. I want to help you.”

“Yeah. My career.” Sam muses dreamily, casting a glance at the Xtreme Championship that was draped over a nearby chair. But then, Madison chortles out some derisive laughter.

“What career, Sam? That title you scammed off of Jenny fucking Myst? Or that loss to Graves in the tournament? You don’t have a career. You don’t have shit!”

Kris gave Madison a tug. “I would stop talking if I were you.”

Samael crawls across the bed to Madison and stares her right in the eyes. “You left me again.”

“You’re goddamn right I did you little puke! If I could abandon you a million times over I’d do it! Over and over again! UNTIL YOU FINALLY FUCKING KILL YOURSELF!” Madison reels her head back and hawks a loogie right in Sam’s face. It impacts off his cheek and slides down over his mouth. But he barely seems to notice.

“It’s time.” Samael speaks plainly. And something in him breaks.

The lunge towards Madison is nearly inhumanly fast, like a viper strike. Or like Samael manipulated time itself and edited out a whole second of movement. As far as Kris knew Samael wasn’t actually capable of that. But in that blink of an eye, that iota of a moment, he became aware of something else Samael WAS capable of.

Samael sunk his teeth deeply into Madison’s throat. Her scream almost immediately petered out into a choking sound. As soon as Kris realized what was happening, he instinctively tried to pull Madison away, which was precisely what he should not have done. Blood blossomed out of Madison’s throat, creating a blanket of crimson down the front of her shirt, and when Kris looked up, a large meaty chunk of Madison’s throat was hanging from Samael’s lips. Kris would never forget the look on the man’s face for as long as he lived afterwards. Like a cat bringing a prized kill to its master, a wild, wide grin had appeared on either side of the flesh in Samael’s mouth. Samael’s eyes were vacant and crazed, staring into an epoch of nothingness that Kris could never begin to understand.

When time reverted back to its normal pentameter Kris became acutely aware that Madison was dying. Gurgling and sputtering, she faltered in his grasp and Kris gently lowered her to the floor, removing his shirt and pressing it into the trench of a wound to try and staunch the bleeding.

“Jesus fucking Christ, WHY?!” Kris hollered as he pressed down on his makeshift bandages.

Samael slowly canted his head, still gone who the hell knows where. He flexed his jaw, allowing the meat in his mouth to slap onto the bed, and his voice came out quiet and measured.

“Why do you care so much?”

“Why do I….?!” Kris started, but realized there was no proper way to answer that query. No proper way that would allow him to safe face, to save his cover so that he could continue he and Lux’s plot to murk this awful bastard. So he withdrew into his thoughts, which by that point were nothing but angry recrimations. I did this. I killed Madison.

So enrapt was Kris in trying to save Madison’s life, that he failed to notice the subtle nod that Sam gave one of the Insignificants. Failed to notice that Insignificant scurry into the bathroom and return with the vial of drugs that had sedated Madison and a dirty needle. And indeed failed to notice that he himself was also in mortal danger until the needle was buried in his own neck. Kris hollered and pulled the needle out, decking the Insiginificant in the process. But the drugs were already burning a path through his veins, and consciousness was fleeting.

Samael stepped onto the floor, looking down at Kris from on high like a bird of prey. “More’s the pity, Kristoffer. I knew you had betrayed me. But thanks for the confirmation anyhow.”

Kristoffer tried to rise to attack Samael, but found that he was completely incapable of doing so. Instead, he slumped onto the floor next to Madison, and his final vision before the void claimed him was the light fading from Madison’s eyes.

NOW

“Yes, Jenny, completely fucking end you. Future tense. Because I have good news. Turns out this isn’t your funeral. Not yet anyway.”

Sam opens the casket, revealing Madison Dyson’s dead body therein. Nobody had even tried to clean her up, make her proper for burial. Instead, she was still covered in dried blood, her throat a ruination of ragged flesh. But most striking was her face, still frozen in a rictus of terror and pain.

“So now we come to the billion dollar question. Just why is Samael going to beat Jenny Myst.” Sam looks down at his mother’s body with a sneer. “Isn’t it obvious? Jenny, look at me.” He approaches the camera, squaring his face in the image. “If I’m willing to literally tear my own mother’s throat out with my teeth, what Godforsaken violence am I willing to perpetuate on you?

You see, you think you understand what violence is. You think you understand what it means to be “xtreme”, for as inspid a buzzword as THAT is. But you understand neither. I ascend violence to a form of art, Jenny, and your body? My canvas. Your flesh? My frame. Your blood? My medium. This isn’t just talk Jenny, it’s warning….it’s ACTION.

Jenny, you are going to be my finest work of art yet. And when I’m done?

I’m going to kill you.

Clutch Cassidy is in the ground.

My mother is going in the ground.

Kristoffer Arroyo is….actually, wait.”

Samael Arroyo abruptly wheels around, and now, from this angle, we see the source of Kris’ discontent. He’s slumped in his chair, posture betraying the fact that he too has been sedated beyond the ability to act. And Rollerwhore Violet has been pushing the barrel of a gun into his back the entire time.

“I almost forgot! Violet, KILL KRISTOFFER ARROYO!”

Without hesitation, Violet rises to her feet and reaims the gun at the back of Kris’ head. She pulls the trigger and the bullet is expelled, crashing through the back of Kris’ skull and cascading out his forehead. Kris spasms and falls out of his chair.

“Dump him.”

Violet and Elektra assemble on either side of Kris’ prostrate form, each taking an arm and dragging him to the open grave, where they uncermeniously dump him in it.

Sam turns his attention back to the camera, a vicious grin serrating his features. “Oooops! Looks like that’s three corpses on me! And Jenny, rest assured hunny, sweety…..CUPCAKE….you’re going to be my fourth. And you’re not going to have it easy like Kristoffer there. He earned a shred of mercy through years of dedication to my cause. But ultimately, he DID betray me. C’est la vie!

You’ve done nothing to earn such consideration. In fact, you’ve been an open pustule on the taint of the XWF for far too long. And I’m going to excise you once and for all.

I don’t need to outwrestle you, Jenny. I just need to be meaner than you, more vicious than you….more EVIL than you. And between the two of us, I don’t think there’s any doubt who fits that particular bill.

But don’t worry, you’re not going in the ground like Kristoffer and my mother, to be eaten and shat out by bugs and maggots. No! I’m going to preserve you and place your war torn body in my home. And every day I’m going to look at you. And I’m probably going to touch myself. And I’m going to say….

….there goes Jenny Myst. My MASTERPIECE!”

And with that, Samael devolves into a torrent of shrieking manic laughter as the shot abruptly cuts to….