…Three Hours Before…

The silence that fell over the entirety of the van had a weight to it. By head count there were twelve people packed in the back and two up front. You could feel as well as hear the van rolling over the cemented road as it headed towards its destination.

The moon light peered in through the windshield and rear windows of the utility van that appeared windowless otherwise. There was a difficulty to see the faces of those along for the ride even as the eyes adjusted to the darkness.

One of the people seated in the  back began to stir as if the quietness was pestering their sanity. “Are we there yet?” The light the night provided gave a glimpse at the man trying to break the ice of hush.

Jason Cashe.

His face momentarily exposed from under a black hoodie with the hood snuggled over his head. Everyone wore similar gear but that was kind of the point. To blend in with the shadows of night.

Nobody responded at first. There were barely any movements other than that in which the vehicle caused as it hit the bumps in the pavement.

Finally, a voice from the front filled the space with sound. “Just about there.. Is everyone ready?” The man spoke from the passenger side. His head turned but his gaze stayed forward, never seeing his face.

Nobody responded to him either.

The van slowed as it pulled over to the side of the road. After completely coming to a stop, the engine was turned off and you could feel the settling of small vibrations that had become normalized during the drive.

“Bout time..” Cashe said at normal volume. Standing from the bench, the back area was crowded.

Not hardly enough space to stand or move around freely but Cashe was up and wanted out. The interior light came on like a lightbulb idea had by the vehicle itself. The passenger got out and shut the door which cut the light and sent everything back into darkness. Moments later, the back double doors to the van opened up.

Everyone exited and came into better viewing as Cashe waited for his turn to escape from the sardine can. As he drops to the gravel on the side of the road, his eyes scan the area. Industrial mostly. Warehouses clustered as far as the eye could see but they were not here for the warehouses.

“Wh-what is the purpose of Operation Blac–” One of the initiatives begins to question. Cashe slaps the back of the man’s head.

“That we don't talk about Operation Blackout!” Cashe scolds the man.

“But you just said it!”

“You have your assignments. Once you are finished, you are on your own.” The passenger who seemed to be running the operation spoke sternly. “We’ve got a job to do, a change will come from what we do here tonight people!” He pauses momentarily to pull a ski mask down over his face to hide his identity. “Let's get to work!”

Everyone with backpacks on and dressed in all black, began to scatter off in various directions. Cashe remained along with the passenger who seemed to be in control.

“You did good..” Cashe comments now that the two were alone at the back of the van. “Just make sure the trackers are on and we get this done, yeah?”

Nodding, the passenger now behind a ski mask nodded. “If anyone has cold feet, someone will be there to complete the task.”

“Good.” Cashe pulls his own backpack up and flings the strap over his shoulder. “I have to get inside the power station..” He motions over his shoulder towards the direction he needed to go.

“Need help?” The masked man asked with an offer behind it.

“Who are you talking to!?”

Spinning around, Cashe found the driver approaching. Cashe recognized him but wasn't sure from where. He felt confusion forming but quickly assumed it was due to not remembering the passenger’s name.

“Ummm.. What's your name again?” Turning to his previous conversation, Cashe found nobody standing there. “Say huh?”

Laughter creeps up behind him as the driver pats Cashe to the back before stepping around to his front. “You’re spaced out, my doood!”

“Jay, I'm not even high..” Cashe looks fully confused.

Scratching the side of his head, he seemed sure he had been talking to someone else before the driver showed up. “You all set?”

“I think so..” Cashe didn't seem sure now. He glanced around to try and locate the passenger but found nobody but the two of them. “I got everything I need, I just need you to help with the entry.”

Extending his arm and open palm, the driver slaps hands with Cashe. “Oh I got that covered!” They clap up as the driver nods with a strong nod. “Let's get it, me and you!”




“War Games. One of those matches that seem to plague the business around the same time every year. It seems errryone and their cousins know a company holding a two ring, one cage themed bout.

It's essentially become Paint by Numbers and everyone ends up with the same picture at the end of the project.

XWF though?

It erases the numbers assigned and adds colors that you won't see in other places and that sets them apart from the crowd.

Multiple Teams. Elimination style that in some years have come down to a sole survivor or an effort won by those that can survive as a team. Not everyone will live to see the finish and some, like the Hixx and Blades of the world, aren't even allowed to participate.

It's truly dog eat dog..

So what dogs are loose on the block looking for a bone? What are the teams and who fills the depths of those rosters? Questions you have to ask heading into these types of events.

I know the details, everyone does and there is not enough time to say everyone's name but none of you bring fear like Candyman so individual call outs are less needed. I want to toss a net and catch all of you!. See, everyone not called victorious will be pawns that walk into this situation and end up the next highlight of someone else's reel. These matches are filled with those kinds of moments.

People like Graves or even Nickels, they get the nod because they have held flex on this roster for a number of years. Dickie Watson or Thunder Knuckles are the only two I can personally say I have had any history lessons with.

Baccus? Who fucking cares?

Am I supposed to focus on them though? Those I know or those I don't know better? Which is the right approach? Do I tell the tale of the one match Dickie and I have had in another promotion? I lost that match but I also wasn't feeling Elite at the time and now I am feeling like the itch you can't scratch or sooth found in your taint.

Who wins now?

I guess it depends on people, right?

TK and I have history, maybe more so than I have with anyone else in this match. From beating Bastards in OCW to losing to TK in my first XWF PPV, there was a respect built and potential for more that never got off the ground. Am I supposed to try and insult him because he's on another team? Tell him that Nickels isn't of equal value as an alcoholic beverage that isn't on tap anymore?

Maybe the history with people doesn't really matter in a match like this though..

So many moving parts..

So many victims in a game of victory..

End of the day, we are all in this to commit a crime. Of passion, of violence, of gain from pain and when it is all said and done.. You can climb the highest of mountains and find yourself tumbling down like Jack or Jill because you took one wrong step and found yourself broken from the fall.

The exciting part of matches like these isn't the opportunity to win but that the best talent in the world has their odds of success dwindled down with a chance of fuckery..

And I am all for some fuckery!

Let us Brawl for it all and see if the one who wins is someone expected or someone you don't see coming out on top at all! That is what makes these things a thrill ride!”




It was a bumpy ride. A crash that was only intended to open the front door ended up taking the entire front wall crumbling down around the Utility van.

“GET ON THE FUCKING FLOOR!”

Cashe, aggressive in his tone. A pistol in his hand, shoved in the direction of one of the Security Guards on duty. Doing as he was instructed, the guard laid face down on the ground.

“Hands behind your head!” A follow up demand from Cashe. The guard followed orders. “Good boy..” Cashe said softly as he leaned forward, pointed the gun to the back of the guard’s head and pulled the trigger twice.

The body flinched before groaning like a yawn and going limp with a sigh.

Finding the elevator, Cashe moved towards the doors and knew his part of the plan was going as expected.

Ding..

The elevator opened and the ‘DiOGee’ entered the metal box. The room was mirrored with a few advertising posters taped about. He quickly pushed the button to get to where he needed to be. The command center. The system shut down computers and shutting that shit down was about to go down.

“Well, THAT was fun, wasn't it?”

Cashe turned and found that he wasn't alone. In the reflection of the mirrors he found a trio. The passenger and the driver from before were looking back at him from the other side of the mirrored walls of the elevator.

“I am you, Him is I and we are Me.. Do you understand, Cashe?”

Both of the reflections spoke in unison and with the same voice. Cashe looked uneasy as he wondered if he inhaled some toxin recently. The voice in his head, the Jason to his Cashe was looking back at him through the mirrors that surrounded him.

The elevator finally stopped. Cashe shakes off the disoriented state of mind and gets back to the task at hand. He steps out of the elevator as the doors open and finds another security guard, this one with his weapon already drawn.

“Hands up, scumbag!”

He was as round as he was tall. Sweating when it wasn't even hot and slowly moving backwards, unsure of his own grip to the gun he was pointing.

“Okay.. Okay.. Let's not get hasty..” Cashe says as he goes to show caution and surrender to the security guard.




“War Games is just a Game of War but it is more of a button smasher than a tactical strategy game. People see the structure and get this sense of intimidation from the sheer size of it. Some feel imprisoned by it but those of us willing to participate are welcoming of those feelings.

There is a testament to one’s endurance. To their overall pain tolerance and we get to judge just how far someone will go WHILE being caged! Like animals often do but, must we become animals ourselves?

The answer is yes..

In this environment we strip away the sanity that makes us civilized..

If any of us were to begin with..

Not just anyone can compete in this setting and even less people can survive it on this stage. It is chaos and carnage and the very fear of GAWD can be found in the eyes of those who fall short.

The fallen, defeated, hope lost and it all can be found in the stare of those who end up suffering from their shortcomings.

If you hesitate against any of the names in this match during a regular bout, you end up with an L to your record but in here? Turning and finding yourself face to face with some of these names in a match of pure reckless abandonment? It might not just be a loss you take but a career that fails to continue. The rules of engagement are without restriction..

So I will fight..

I will bite..

I will kick and scratch, squeeze nuts and expect nurples to be purpled because this isn't a match of respect, it is one that requires the discipline of war and the preparation of death!

Basically, if you come for a battle then you’ve brought a knife to a gun fight and you're going to get swiss cheesed and left bleeding like a bloodletting…

I don't care if you're a former Uni Champion, in contention for it currently or are holding your 15th Extreme Title. I’m in this bitch to catch a body and I have a dark Pokemon mindset to stack them all until those left laying reach the ceiling of the cage! The plan, MY plan is simple and it is to have MY hand raised.. At the expense of those who have the hang lows to stand in front of me..

That goes for every ally, friend, honorary memberships and those I have never spoken too or had a match with before now! For every name with a syllable, I will aim like you're killable. Let's let the outcome come to light and see what transpired in the night!

I’m ready..

I’m excited!

Are you?”





There was a ringing in the air as Cashe stood with a finger in his ear, wiggling it around. “Ahhhh..” His head tilted, he was trying to knock his hearing back. The ringing continued.

Getting close to normal, he slowly shakes his head from side to side. His eyes staring down at the guard slumped against a wall. Blood gushing out of a hole in the front of his throat.

“I said NOT to get hasty.. Now look at you..”

The ringing continued. Not from a shootout but from a cell phone. Finally, Cashe pulls it out from his hoodie. The caller ID reads: Juddster.

“Shhh..” He whistles as he looks from the guard to the elevator. Like he was speaking to the other voices that were plaguing him earlier. His own. “I have to take this call, be quiet.”