<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - All Forums]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Thu, 29 Oct 2026 15:39:57 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[EXIT WOUNDS]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50612 Wed, 28 Oct 2026 15:11:28 -0700 Miss Furry]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50612 [Image: YrNXjcX.jpeg]

Location: Nashville, Tennessee.

Furry came to Nashville early to scout the location of her next title defense. The rules are simple enough. First person to leave the entertainment district with the Anarchy Championship wins.

She's recording a little something for her opponents while she walks.

And then some guy backs out of a bar without looking and walks right into her injured shoulder.

"OW! Hey! Watch where you're going!"

Furry waits for the pain to settle before turning her attention back to the camera. The black eye Charlie Nickles gave her is still there, but faded.

"Well, at least that one was an accident...

Last time you saw me, I was talking about breaking the record for the longest Anarchy Championship reign. I went through the curtain feeling pretty pleased with myself. Then Charlie Nickles sent me right back through it.

He kicked, stomped, and bounced me off the entrance stage. My championship was sitting right there. Didn't even touch it. He wasn't interested.

I was so busy looking ahead I wasn't watching my surroundings. Stupid. I'd rather not do that twice.

And now I've got two people who actually DO want my championship.

Deacon, you and Vita just went through that whole nightmare looking for the Anarchy Tag Championships. Survived Freddy Krueger, found the belts, and after all that, neither of you left with one.

Roger did.

Now you get another treasure hunt. Only this time, I'm the one with the claws, and I'm not gonna be standing there waiting for you to pick it up.

You and Vita knew those championships were a trap. You even said so! 'Obviously,' I believe was your exact word.

But when you finally reached the belts, what did you do? You reached for them anyway! Vita had to grab your wrist to stop you.

And I don't blame you for going down those stairs. You had to find the championships somehow.

But Deacon, there's a difference between walking into a trap because you have to and leaping right into one because you can't help yourself."

A guy in a cowboy hat has stopped beside her. He's holding a pink drink and looking at her championship.

"Is that real gold? Can I hold it?"

"I'd rather you didn't."

He touches it anyway.

Furry grabs his wrist, but he jerks away, spilling half his drink down the front of her shirt. The championship slips off her shoulder and hits the sidewalk.

"HEY! What the hell's wrong with you?"

"ME? You're the one who grabbed me!"

"You assaulted me!"

Now people are looking. Somebody's recording on their phone. The guy's getting louder, too.

Furry starts toward him, but stops when she notices a woman bending down to examine her championship.

"Oh! No, no, no. That's mine, thank you!"

She retrieves the belt. The cowboy is still running his mouth, telling everybody she's crazy.

Furry considers going back to straighten him out. Instead, she walks away.

"Wonderful. Twenty minutes in and I've already been assaulted by a strawberry margarita.

I could've spent the next ten arguing with that guy. Maybe even knocked him on his backside.

And while I was busy doing that, somebody else could've walked off with my championship.

You had Vita to stop you from making a dumb mistake. I've got nobody... and this time, neither do you."

A bachelorette party comes down the sidewalk in matching pink cowboy hats. One spots Furry.

"OH MY GOD! ARE YOU A CAT?"

"No... I'm a giraffe."

"OH MY GOD! I KNEW IT!"

They wander away, thrilled with themselves.

"Well. Good for them.

Speaking of people who think they've got everything figured out. Librarian!

I watched your match with Razor Blade. Listened to what you said about him, too. You knew how his story ended before you'd even read it.

Predictable.

Then he hit the Blade Rose, stuffed you in a body bag, and nearly zipped it shut.

Didn't see that chapter coming, huh?

Guess not, because Jamison had to knock a bookshelf over on Razor to save you. And after everything you said about Razor, it's a little embarrassing, to say the least.

Maybe let Jamison do the reading next time?

Bring him to Nashville, too. I'm expecting him. I'd be pretty silly to ignore the man who saved your only victory.

And now, after one match, you're getting a shot at my championship? That's pretty impressive!

For Jamison, I mean."

A crowd spills out of another bar. Furry moves before they surround her.

"Here's what worries me about you two. You can absolutely work together long enough to put me down. I don't like it, but pretending otherwise won't help.

What I don't believe is that you'll help each other all the way out of Nashville. One belt. The moment one of you takes it, the other has a new enemy to contend with.

Look at my match with Centurion. The ladder wound up on the floor, I wound up dangling from the strap like an idiot, and somehow I still got the championship down.

Wasn't exactly how I planned it, but hey, it worked.

And at Relentless, Apathy had her hands on it. I was one mistake from losing it. So I did something about it. Nearly broke both our necks, but it worked.

That's what I know how to do. I look for an opening. If it's there, I take it.

I don't know exactly what's gonna happen in Nashville. Neither do you. That's the Librarian's problem, isn't it? Thinking she already knows how everything's going to end.

Both of you needed someone to save you.

Me? I didn't get saved.

But Charlie DID knock some sense into me.

And as for that record I'm chasing?

Well, I think I've spent enough time worrying about how long I'll be champion.

I'd better concentrate on making sure I remain one."

Furry adjusts the championship on her good shoulder and continues down Broadway.

A few steps later, she glances behind her.

Nobody's following.

Good.

]]>

Location: Nashville, Tennessee.

]]> <![CDATA[Jaxen]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50611 Wed, 28 Oct 2026 12:06:46 -0700 Jaxen]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50611 Jaxen

[Image: gdHpLgb.png]

Wrestler's Real Name: Jaxen Braydyn Kayleb Franklin

Wrestler Age/Date of Birth: 18 year old

Height: 6ft1

Weight: 155lbs

Hometown: Palo Alto, California

Alignment (Face? Heel? Antihero?): Picking sides is for cringe boomers. (go away heat heel)

Pic Base: Nick Wayne

Backstory/Important Character Details:
Jaxen is an 18yo 'AI Tech Genius' who has spent the past few years making his fortune (and losing it in a cycle of earnings and spending) and fame on the internet as being voted both the smartest and dumbest teenager in the United States two years running. He's never watched a wrestling match in his life, he's never wrestled or fought a day in his life, an XWF show showed up on his insta feed and he figured that he can do this too. He has 'trained' by paying a couple of old-ass carnies in NFTs and Memecoins to teach him some moves (and moves only).

Strengths: Young and unbothered, surprisingly durable, completely delusional

Weaknesses: Easily Distracted, Skinny, Spot monkey, completely out of his depth

Entrance Theme Music (Provide YouTube link as well as name and version):

Ring Entrance (PLEASE write one out for use in match/show writing):

In-Ring Style (Technician? High Flyer?): Spot Monkey

Finishing Moves:
1. The Rug Pull (Presented by: Charmin Ultra Soft)
Description: Schoolboy rollup into a pin

2. Pump and Dump (Brought to you by: Snickers, the taste you feel!)
Description: Five Star Frog Splash off the top rope (or any other high place)

Signature Moves:
1. Aura Farming (From the official Aura partner, DraftKings.)
Description: Whenever he sees someone streaming to Insta he has to aura farm for the camera.

2. Skill Issue (From the creators of Pixels and Smosh: The Movie)
Description: Doing the Samoa Joe "Walkaway" counter (to shill something).

3. Vibe Reset (Pending FDA approval)
Description: During his most perilous moment, his 'Director of Nutrition' Gunther Black slips him an unmarked canister of "BOFA JUICE", drinking it causes him to instantly spring back to life with maximum energy for a short time until the complete energy crash. Disclaimer: BOFA Juice is pending FDA approval, consume at your own peril.

4. Ctrl+C, Ctrl+V (Brought to you by: RAID: Shadow Legends, use code JAXEN for 50.000 free silver!)
Description: Steals a random move of his opponent mid-match because he hasn't bothered to learn a full moveset.

5. Pin-Maxxing (Powered by: BOFA-Energy)
Description: Hits a random fortnite dance before rolling into a pin.

Common Moves: He doesn't have "Common moves" because learning a full moveset is cringe and boomer-pilled. He will do whatever comes to him in the spur of the moment. He is too young, too smart, and simply too busy to learn to 'work a match' or whatever those old carnies tried to tell him after he bought their moves.

Favorite Hardcore Attacks/Spots:

Additional Notes (What are some things that they would ALWAYS do? Or would NEVER do?):
- Never would fight fairly or even remotely competently
- Always goes out of his way to gloat, or shill his latest grift

Entourage:

Director of Nutrition: Gunther Black: A 54 year old overworked high school chemistry teacher in acute financial distress who is paid in shitcoin to brew Jaxen bespoke unregulated energy drinks.

Head of Security: Jean-Luc Michel: A 30-something former MMA fighter (1 win, 19 losses, 23 no-contests). 6ft5 and 255lbs of pure adulterated French horse meat with anvil shaped fists and a chin made of vegan butter. He's paid in 100% cutting edge 'supplements' to carry anything Jaxen doesn't want to carry. (Disclaimer: Any allegations of past or present steroid abuse are categorically false and a scheme invented by big-horsemeat to keep a honest fighter out of a honest job)]]> Jaxen

[Image: gdHpLgb.png]

Location: Graves Boneyard

A delivery driver stood outside, holding a padded envelope.

BzzZZzzzzt!

After a moment, Graves opened the door.

"Package for Micheal Graves?"

"I ain't order nothin'..."

"Sign here."

Graves studied the envelope while the driver waited with his scanner extended.

No name or return address.

"You hear it tickin'?"

"Uh? No..."

Graves shook it beside his ear.

"Sir, I need a signature."

Graves signed with his finger.

"Don't sell that."

The driver was already walking away.

Graves tore open the envelope. Inside was a VHS tape and a folded piece of paper.

He turned the tape over.

A white sticker on the front read:

FOR MICHEAL.

He unfolded the paper. An address was printed under a short handwritten message.

It's been long enough.

Sean

"Well, look who remembered he's got a brother."

Twenty minutes later, Graves knelt in front of an old TV/VCR combo.

"Hope this fuckin' thing still works."

He pushed the tape into the slot, but the machine spat it back out.

So he pushed it in harder.

"Eat it!"

The VCR reluctantly accepted its meal as static rolled across the television, followed by Sean Graves sitting in a leather chair with a drink in hand.

Micheal leaned closer, watching as Sean looked past the camera.

"Is it recording?"

Several seconds passed before somebody answered.

"The recording is presently recording, sir."

Sean smiled as his attention turned to the lens.

"Micheal. Look at you. Universal Champion. Hall of Legends. A daughter who'll admit you're her father in front of people."

Sean raised his glass.

"Hell of a year, brother."

"Been enjoyin' the part where you weren't in it."

"I watched the induction. The whole thing. Figured if you could wait that long to get in, I could sit through the speech."

He chuckled into his drink.

"Got there before you."

"I'm fucking with you. You earned it. Took the scenic route, but you got there."

"And you took the scenic route around an apology."

"Found the camera while clearing out some old shit. Thought it'd be fun. Like cutting promos back in the day.

Besides, you would've hung up on me."

"Could still mail this back up your ass."

"I hear you're coming out this way for a show. Come over. Have a drink."

"Got somethin' else in mind."

"Look, I know. Last time we saw each other, things got a little out of hand."

"YOU SLIT MY FUCKIN' THROAT!"

Sean took another sip.

"Then come say your piece..."

A thin line of something dark ran from Sean's nose.

He wiped it with his thumb, looked at it, then reached out of frame.

The picture jumped.

Sean was sitting back again. His glass was once again full.

"Address is in the envelope.

Come see your brother."

He looked past the camera and nodded.

The television screen turned blue.

Graves waited.

"Motherfucker didn't even apologize."

He rubbed the old scar beneath his jaw as he

stood and headed into the kitchen.

He opened the cutlery drawer and took out a carving knife, only to put it back and select a larger one.

He then wrapped it in a dish towel and stuffed it into his bag.

"Have a drink. Catch up. Slit your fuckin' throat.

See how much of a hurry you're in to put it behind us when you're lookin' at it from my end."

A few days later...

Graves hadn't passed another car in twenty minutes. His headlights stretched down an empty road, trees crowding both sides.

A narrow turnoff led him deeper into the woods. Branches scraped the car as his tires crunched over dirt and stone.

Graves pulled up outside the mansion and checked the address.

Then he looked at the house.

"Asshole can build this house, but not install a driveway?"

He killed the engine, grabbed his bag, and climbed the steps to his brother's front door.

A thin man in a black suit stood inside the doorway. His white gloves stained at the finger tips.

"Mr. Graves."

"Yeah. The other one. The one who has to knock. Where's my brother?"

The man stepped aside.

"Ah, you have arrived just in time for your arrival."

Graves stopped halfway through the doorway, getting a good look at the man's gaunt cheeks and sunken eyes.

"You alright?"

"It is a bug, sir. I have survived it upto this moment."

Graves looked him over again.

"Yeah? Well, keep fightin' it, pal... you look half past dead already."

Graves stepped into the entrance hall.

The butler reached for his bag.

"Allow me to relieve you."

"How about you buy me dinner first?"

"The relief I offered was luggage related, sir."

Graves pulled his bag in close.

"Yeah? Well, that stays with me."

The butler's hand remained extended as a door opened across the hall.

"Micheal! Holy shit. You actually came."

Sean approached with his arms spread. Micheal tightened his grip on the bag.

His brother stopped in front of him.

Same height. Same age.

Sean looked him up and down.

"What the fuck happened to you?"

"Traffic."

"Your face, asshole. We used to look identical."

"Ain't like I carry a picture of you around so the doctor knows where to put everything."

Sean laughed and patted his brother's stomach.

Micheal caught his wrist.

For a moment, neither would let go.

Then Sean's grin widened.

"Look at us. Five minutes together and you're already working a wristlock. Come on. Have a drink."

"We gotta talk first."

"We can do both. Big night. My brother finally comes to visit, and he's the Universal Champion. Hall of Legends, too. Fuck, I should've had a cake made."

"Already brought somethin' to cut it with."

Sean glanced down at the bag.

Then he slowly pulled his wrist free.

"Still can't take you anywhere."

He turned toward the study. Graves followed, leaving the butler standing beside the door with his hand still out.

"Your comfort is our most comfortable concern."

"Get that guy a fuckin' chair."

Inside the study, Sean poured two drinks. Micheal sat his bag beside a chair.

A framed photo sat on the desk of Sean holding a championship above his head.

Graves flipped it facedown.

"I saw that."

Sean offered him a glass.

"So. This Raccoon City thing. You're really doing it?"

"That's why I'm out here."

Sean lowered his glass.

"You know, for weeks it's been weird shit out this way.

Missing hikers. Attacks in the woods. Cannibal stories all around Arklay.

Then news starts coming out of Raccoon City.

Roads blocked. Phones dead. People biting each other. Dead people getting back up. Cops barricading themselves inside their station.

And... I've heard there's something big wandering around out there."

"Something big?"

"Couldn't tell ya. Nobody agrees on what the fuck they saw. You know how rumors go.

Could all be bullshit...

Regardless, you're volunteering to go find out."

"Gotta date."

Sean laughed under his breath.

"Of course you do.

Christ, Micheal. Normal people hear stories like that and start looking for somewhere else to be."

"You worried about me now?"

"Don't flatter yourself.

I'm wondering how much thought you've actually put into walking into a city where half the population is supposedly trying to eat the other half."

"I know what I'm goin' there for."

"Which is?"

"Charlie Nickles."

Sean shook his head.

"Of course THAT'S the reason."

"Don't ask if you're just gonna get offended."

"You know? I thought maybe you'd say something about getting out alive.

Winning.

Draft position.

Anything that doesn't involve chasing one asshole through a city full of bigger problems."

"Charlie's my only problem."

Sean took another drink.

"So everybody else is looking for the way out and you're going deeper in because Charlie Nickles pissed you off."

"Charlie put his hands on Emily. That shit didn't happen by accident. Didn't happen because she was standin' in his way either.

He beat the shit outta her because HE wanted ME to hear about it."

"And you did."

"Now I make him wish I hadn't."

"Which means he got exactly what he wanted."

Micheal considered that for a second.

"What are you gettin' at?"

Sean exhaled through his nose.

"You're really willing to give up a match over Charlie Nickles?"

"Didn't say I'm givin' it up.

Once Charlie's handled, I'll still get out."

Something knocked against the wall behind Sean.

Sean didn't flinch.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

Another thump, from upstairs this time.

"That."

"It's an old house, Micheal. It makes noises."

"Bullshit."

Sean took another drink.

"Why'd you really ask me here?"

"I told you. It's been too long."

"Twenty fuckin' years."

"Exactly."

"Last time I saw you, you slit my throat. Left me for dead to run off with the Black Hand Circle Jerk. Now suddenly you're invitin' me out for drinks because we're gettin' old?"

"People change, Micheal. You should know that better than anyone."

Micheal reached down and unzipped the bag.

"Micheal—"

He crossed the room before Sean could finish and pressed the blade against his throat.

"Who the fuck are you?"

"Your brother!"

"I know my brother. All of them. Try again."

Micheal pressed harder. A thin red line began to run under the blade.

"Me?"

Two arms wrapped around Micheal from behind.

The butler!

Graves didn't hesitate in driving the knife straight through the man's temple.

He went limp and Graves ripped the blade free as his corpse collapsed onto the carpet.

"Comfort that, motherfucker!"

The study door SLAMMED.

Micheal turned to find that Sean was gone.

"THE FUCK YOU ARE!"

He started for the door when something behind him began to snap, crackle, and POP!

Micheal slowly looked back.

The butler's elbows SNAPPED in the wrong direction. His spine CRACKLED until his chest lifted from the floor. Then four new limbs POPPED from his abdomen, making him look like some human insect hybrid.

Graves took a step back.

"Oh, what the fuck... SOMEBODY GET THE RAID!"

The butler's body bubbled and grew while his jaw opened so far that the skin tore at the corners as the lower half of his face split downward.

Then a slick black tail unfolded from inside him and slammed into a desk hard enough to split it in half.

The thing that had been the butler let out a death-squeal.

"Okay, yeah... fuck that."

He ran as the creature SCREAMED behind him.

Micheal blasted through the study door as the enormous monster crashed through the wall on his heels.

"SEAN! WHEN I FIND YOUR ASS, I'M KILLIN' YOU TWICE!"

Graves didn't make it far before something wrapped around his ankle and sent him flying through the air and crashing through a wall. Micheal rolled to his back and caught a glimpse of the creature towering over him.

"Wait—"

Its massive limb came down and everything went black.

Micheal's eyes snapped open.

Restraints held him down on a medical table.

Micheal struggled against them.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

A man sat several feet away.

Late fifties. Expensive gray suit. Silver hair.

"Still remarkably quick to regain consciousness."

"Lemme loose and I'll show ya how quick I can put you to sleep."

The man finally looked at him.

"Director Elias Voss. DWR."

Micheal stopped pulling.

"DWR..."

"So you do remember us."

"I remember enough."

"We remember everything."

Voss walked toward the table.

"You were never supposed to survive outside the program this long, Micheal."

"Been disappointin' people my whole life."

"Quite the opposite."

Voss tapped the tablet.

Medical scans filled the screen.

"Your healing has slowed. Your endurance has declined.

And you weren't our only subject."

"The fuck's that supposed to mean?"

"Others were more obedient.

They became what they were designed to become.

Weapons."

"I ain't your fuckin' weapon."

"No. You were impossible to control. The conditioning never took.

Our successful subjects are deteriorating rapidly.

But you lasted decades longer than any of them."

"So you wanna know why?"

"Precisely."

"And Sean? Was that my brother?"

"Would it change anything if I said yes?"

"Yeah. I'd only kill him once."

"Perhaps you should ask him yourself."

"Where is he?"

"We'll have plenty of time for family matters later."

Two technicians entered pushing a cart covered with syringes, vials and surgical tools.

"Oh good. Arts and crafts."

"Blood. Tissue. Bone marrow. We need to understand why your deterioration has progressed differently."

One technician pressed a needle into his arm.

Micheal shifted his weight onto the thumb of his other hand.

"Whatever made you resistant to our conditioning may also be responsible for your longevity."

"So bein' fucked in the head saved my life?"

"In simplified terms."

*POP*

"Finally. A medical opinion I can get behind!"

Micheal slipped his hand out of the restraints.

The technician barely had time to look up.

Micheal grabbed him by the back of the head and SMASHED his face into the metal cart.

Voss stumbled backward.

"SECURITY!"

"Little late for that!"

The second technician reached for an alarm.

Micheal grabbed a surgical tray and cracked it across his face.

He snatched a scalpel and cut through the restraint across his chest and other wrist.

Alarms erupted throughout the facility.

Micheal sat up and looked at Voss.

"Don't run."

Voss ran.

Micheal sliced through the restraints around his ankles and dropped from the table and stepped into the corridor.

A pair of security guards rounded the corner.

The first guard charged.

Micheal sidestepped him and drove his face into the wall.

The second caught a boot to the knee before Graves grabbed him by the back of the vest and launched him into the first guard.

Graves kept moving until a sign on the wall caught his attention.

HUMAN DEVELOPMENT ARCHIVES.

Another arrow pointed toward the EXIT in the opposite direction.

He considered heading to the archives for a moment.

Maybe he could find something on what they did to him.

Why this deterioration was happening.

How long he had...

But Charlie waited at the EXIT. So he chose the exit.

A voice crackled over the speakers.

"You don't want answers?"

Voss.

Micheal kept moving.

"Don't you want to know what we did to you? What you are?"

"Already know what I am."

"Do you?"

A steel door was lowering ahead.

Micheal broke into a full-sprint and dove under it as it crashed down behind him.

"Yeah."

Micheal turned the corner to find Sean standing at the end of the hallway.

Micheal stopped and the two brothers stared at each other.

There was black leaking from Sean's nose again.

He wiped it away with his sleeve.

"You look like shit."

"Been a rough visit."

"You gonna kill me now?"

Micheal started toward him, but Sean didn't flee.

Micheal grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed Sean against the wall, putting the scalpel to his neck.

"Tell me who you are."

"Sean Graves."

"Bullshit."

"Maybe."

Micheal pushed the blade tighter.

"You remember mom?"

"Yeah."

"Dad?"

"Yeah."

"The orphanage?"

"You used to crawl into my bed when it thundered."

"Fuck you. You crawled into mine."

"That's not how I remember it."

For a moment, they were eight years old again.

But then suddenly—they weren't.

Micheal stared into his brother's eyes.

Or something wearing them.

"I don't think I'll be killin' you today."

"No?"

"No... Mostly because I ain't sure who I'd be killin' or what you might turn into if I did."

The blade lowered.

Sean looked surprised.

"Twenty years of wanting revenge and you're walking away?"

"Don't try 'n make it sound healthy."

Micheal released him.

"Maybe you're Sean. Maybe you're some shit they grew in a fuckin' tank and filled up with his memories.

But I came here wanting to kill my brother.

Not whatever the hell you are."

"Well, don't let them say you haven't matured."

"Keep talkin'. I can still relapse."

Sean laughed exactly like Sean and that somehow made all this worse.

"What about Charlie? You can walk away from a twenty year grudge with blood, but you're going into Raccoon City looking for HIM?"

"You sound jealous. Our shit happened twenty years ago. Charlie put his hands on Emily NOW."

"No, I get that.

What I don't get is how DWR spent years trying to make you do what they wanted and couldn't...

But let Charlie Nickles hit your daughter once and suddenly he's got you marching exactly where he wants you."

"Charlie ain't controllin' shit."

"That's not the point, Micheal. DWR couldn't make you do what they wanted. They couldn't control you, then Charlie comes along and does it with one fucking attack."

"Fuck you."

"Tell me I'm wrong.

You were ready to walk into that city, forget everybody else in the match, and hunt him down because that's exactly what he knew you'd do."

"I didn't say forget everybody else."

"You said you didn't give a shit about getting out first."

"Winner gets to choose his draft position.

Couldn't care less."

"And that's why people keep gettin' your ass."

"Excuse me?"

"Oh, don't fuckin' 'excuse me' me.

You know what I'm talkin' about.

Somebody pisses you off and—BOOM—that's it. Whatever the fuck you were doing before?

Fuck it.

Now it's all about them.

Gotta hit 'em. Gotta prove somethin'. Gotta make sure they know Micheal Graves ain't the guy to fuck with.

Meanwhile somebody else is actually winning the goddamn match."

"So what? I see Charlie, I'm supposed to just let him walk?"

"I didn't say that. Break his fucking jaw if you get the chance.

Just don't hand him the match while you're doing it."

"I ain't handin' him shit. If anything, I'm beating his ass while somebody else takes it!"

"You really think you're only fighting for a draft order?"

"Uh... yeah?"

"Alright, genius.

What about the people you're supposed to Captain?

You think they don't notice this shit?

Their Captain gets one chance to walk into Raccoon City and make everybody else chase HIM...

And instead he's off somewhere chasin' Charlie because Charlie knew exactly which nerve to hit."

"Don't call me genius like that."

"Then stop acting like a dummy!

You've had good Captains.

You've had shitty ones.

Don't sit there and tell me it felt the same."

"I fought hard either way."

"Yeah, because you're you.

But you know damn well there's a difference between showin' up because you're supposed to... and showin' up thinkin' the asshole beside you might actually know what he's doing."

"Oh, so now I gotta inspire people?"

"You're the Captain, it kinda comes with the job."

"Fuck."

"And this whole not caring about draft position thing?

Do you want scraps, or do you want warriors?"

"...warriors, duh."

"Then earn the advantage!

Walk into Raccoon City with Judd Hollow, Johnny Bacchus, Charlie Nickles and whatever the hell else is waiting in there...

And come out first, then when you point at somebody and tell them they're fighting for Micheal Graves, they know their Captain already did his fucking job."

"Okay—FUCK!

I get it.

Still knockin' Charlie's fuckin' teeth out if I see him."

"Nobody said you couldn't. I'm just saying Charlie isn't the match."

"No... he ain't."

"You've got a city full of problems to escape and Judd Hollow recently proved he knows how to escape. Found the keys to that room, then put Oz face-first through that cage and walked right out."

"Yeah, I'm aware of our Xtreme Champ, fought him once already."

"Beat him too."

"Yeah, and I'd love to say I had him figured out.

I looked at Judd and thought...

Fuckin' lamb.

Big one, sure, but still a lamb.

Then the bell rang and I found out I missed about every fuckin' clue there was."

"You still won."

"Barely."

"Barely counts."

"Yeah, yeah. Fuck you.

Ain't makin' that mistake twice.

One thing I did get right? Judd likes to hurt.

Raccoon City's supposed to be full of shit that wants to kill us.

So maybe I just need to give Judd somethin' more interesting to hurt.

Something big, mean, and hard to kill.

Shit! That sounds like me...

Eh?

I'll figure somethin' out.

Always do."

"And Johnny Bacchus, are you familiar?"

"I know enough to know that he's a different kinda problem.

I've seen that motherfucker put somebody through a table so hard he knocked his own ass out... still kept the belt because he happened to land on top of 'em and stay there long enough for someone to count to three.

That's an A-plus in survivin'!

But ain't no time for nappin'.

At some point, he's gotta get his ass up and find his way out before I do."

"Those are the guys trying to beat you, and Charlie's just the guy hoping you'll beat yourself."

"No, you made your point. I ain't watchin' Judd or Bacchus hit that exit because Charlie got me runnin' in circles."

"Good, you've spent your whole career bitching about people calling you impulsive, unreliable, easy to bait.

Stop giving 'em the evidence."

"Two-time Universal Champion. Hall of Legends. War Games Captain.

Think I changed a few minds."

"How long did that take?"

"Long fuckin' time."

"How long would it take to lose it?"

"..."

"Exactly."

"Know what the funny part is? Charlie's gonna be expectin' me."

"Of course he is."

"Nah, I mean expectin' me to start tearin' through that city screamin' his fuckin' name."

"You were just ready to do exactly that..."

"Yeah?

So let him think I still am.

Let him spend the whole night lookin' over his shoulder waitin' for Micheal Graves.

And if we do happen to cross paths, he finds out he was right to keep lookin'."

"That's restraint?"

"For me? That's practically fuckin' enlightenment."

"...Fair."

Micheal stepped through the exit. A ladder led up to a hatch.

"Micheal, you know they'll come looking for you again."

"Fuck 'em. They know where I live."

Micheal climbed.

Sean remained alone in the corridor.

Black goo ran from his nose again.

This time, he didn't wipe it away.

Shortly later...

An old country song played quietly through Micheal's speakers.

The mansion shrank in the rearview as Micheal drove, not knowing whether he just spared his brother...

Or if his brother was even alive.

The old country song played quietly through the speakers.

Then—

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

The music cut out.

"We interrupt this regularly scheduled programming for an emergency bulletin affecting Raccoon City and the surrounding Arklay County area."

"Ah, shit."

"Residents are advised to remain indoors. Several major routes into and out of Raccoon City have been clo—"

Static.

"—individuals displaying extreme aggression, confusion, or symptoms of serious illness."

"That's awfully fuckin' specific."

"If you encounter an injured individual who appears unresponsive, do not attempt to—"

Suddenly the signal broke apart and a different voice cut through that was less composed.

"—repeat, do NOT approach them. Several police checkpoints are no longer responding. There are unconfirmed reports of attacks near Raccoon General Hospital and the Raccoon Police Department—"

More static.

"Anyone still within city limits should shelter in place. Do not attempt to leave through blocked roadways. Do not stop for stranded motorists. Do not—"

The transmission died.

A few seconds later, the country song returned.

His headlights stretched across the empty highway—"Well... guess we're gonna find out first hand how much of it's bullshit..."—until they caught a road sign.

]]>

Location: Graves Boneyard

A delivery driver stood outside, holding a padded envelope.

BzzZZzzzzt!

FOR MICHEAL.

He unfolded the paper. An address was printed under a short handwritten message.

It's been long enough.

Sean

A few days later...

Graves hadn't passed another car in twenty minutes. His headlights stretched down an empty road, trees crowding both sides.

A narrow turnoff led him deeper into the woods. Branches scraped the car as his tires crunched over dirt and stone.

Graves pulled up outside the mansion and checked the address.

Then he looked at the house.

"Asshole can build this house, but not install a driveway?"

Restraints held him down on a medical table.

Micheal struggled against them.

"Oh, you gotta be fuckin' kiddin' me."

A man sat several feet away.

Late fifties. Expensive gray suit. Silver hair.

*POP*

HUMAN DEVELOPMENT ARCHIVES.

Shortly later...

An old country song played quietly through Micheal's speakers.

BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP!

]]> <![CDATA[WAR GAMES CAPTAINS AND UPDATE]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50609 Mon, 26 Oct 2026 14:34:59 -0700 ELO]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50609
Full disclosure, if you've noticed a dip in updates about War Games it's because a) we extended a little longer to see what turnout was going to be and B) pretty much all staff have been hit with outside stuff at various points over the last few months and it's all extending a little longer than expected. We're still here and we're still excited for WAAAAAARRRRR GAAAAAMMMEEEEES.

Now... I thought this was somewhere already but I don't think it actually is!

Your War Games captains are:

Micheal Graves
Judd Hollow
Charlie Nickles
Johnny Bacchus

Micheal Graves
Judd Hollow
Charlie Nickles
Johnny Bacchus

The poster should be up shortly. Gang Wars is the theme, so plenty for everyone to play with.

We'll be running teams of 4. A lot of you have received messages from me over the past couple of days as I consolidate the list of who is in the draft pool and who is available as a reserve.

Draft order will be decided by the elimination order in Spooky Savage's gauntlet. Captains will have their draft orders to me by the time Warfare hits, and we'll put the teams together as soon as the show drops with the card to follow not long after. It won't be a huge card, because the focus is on making this event's matches as great as possible.

For the draft themselves, the captains will be sworn to secrecy but will be told the mystery competitors so that they can draft fairly. The rest of you will find out when the teams are announced.

I think that's it. We're figuring out one other piece of the puzzle that we'll announce as soon as practicable. Any questions, let me know.]]> <![CDATA[Hates and Likes on the Anarchy Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50608 Sun, 25 Oct 2026 06:03:00 -0700 Mr. Oz]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50608
I've made this issue known months back, as Summer was starting to heat up. So around June-ish? I'm too lazy to check my messages. The point stands that it's been several months and not even an update as to why it can't be changed back.

I've also made it known that the likes/dislikes helps guide me to know if a story I'm starting or continuing, deserves to have it pushed through or I should start a new story if it's DIW. Like the current one. The Butcher of Chicago/Savior of Chicago. If I knew if people liked it, I'd know that there's something there and build upon it.

So, please. I'm not asking for ya'll to just fix it immediately. It's a selfish ask, but this has gone on for months w/ no one talking to us about it outside telling us that only a certain handful of accounts can do it.

All I'm asking for, is an update once a month or once a couple months. Keep up updated known site problems, please. Instead of us walking into problems blind but you knew of, y'know? A little transparency. That's all I'm asking for. If you can't tell us what you're doing to rectify situations, then that's fine, but tell us you're working on it or not working on it. It would be highly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Ghost Tank(Fuck you, Vinnie <3)]]>
I've made this issue known months back, as Summer was starting to heat up. So around June-ish? I'm too lazy to check my messages. The point stands that it's been several months and not even an update as to why it can't be changed back.

I've also made it known that the likes/dislikes helps guide me to know if a story I'm starting or continuing, deserves to have it pushed through or I should start a new story if it's DIW. Like the current one. The Butcher of Chicago/Savior of Chicago. If I knew if people liked it, I'd know that there's something there and build upon it.

So, please. I'm not asking for ya'll to just fix it immediately. It's a selfish ask, but this has gone on for months w/ no one talking to us about it outside telling us that only a certain handful of accounts can do it.

All I'm asking for, is an update once a month or once a couple months. Keep up updated known site problems, please. Instead of us walking into problems blind but you knew of, y'know? A little transparency. That's all I'm asking for. If you can't tell us what you're doing to rectify situations, then that's fine, but tell us you're working on it or not working on it. It would be highly appreciated.

Sincerely,

Ghost Tank(Fuck you, Vinnie <3)]]> <![CDATA[Taking suggestions for the name of ELO ratings]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50607 Sun, 25 Oct 2026 04:25:42 -0700 ELO]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50607
We changed the name of ELO ratings to ELON ratings for the gag of the Trillionaires but now that's done with, I'm pretty keen for a better name than just 'ELO'.

Either post below or send me some suggestions!]]>
We changed the name of ELO ratings to ELON ratings for the gag of the Trillionaires but now that's done with, I'm pretty keen for a better name than just 'ELO'.

Either post below or send me some suggestions!]]> <![CDATA[NIGHTMARE ON ANARCHY]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50606 Sat, 24 Oct 2026 14:20:01 -0700 'Big' Dick Lichter]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50606

XWF Anarchy

10 - 22 - 2026

LIVE FROM ELM STREET!

SPRINGWOOD, OHIO

"MAIN EVENT" EDGECRUSHER
- vs -
"MAIN EVENT" JAY FETU

Special Main Event!

The winner earns exclusive rights to the moniker "Main Event"!

THE LIBRARIAN
- vs -
RAZOR BLADE

Body Bag Match!

Set inside Springwood High School, the only way to win is by incapacitating your opponent and zipping them into a body bag!

MERCY
- vs -
VITA VALENTEEN

Boiler Room Brawl!

The only way to win this grudge match is by escaping Freddy Krueger's boiler room!

TOMMY WISH
- vs -
SUMMER PAGE ©

BATH-TUB OF HORROR MATCH!

The two competitors are trapped inside a giant bathtub. It will slowly fill with water. The first person to DROWN their opponent will walk away with the Revolution Championship! But beware...Freddy Krueger may just be waiting for you both!

MICHEAL GRAVES ©
- vs -
MR. OZ

Cockroach Motel Match!

The only way to win this non-title match is by locking your opponent inside a room in the cockroach motel!

JUPITER-SIZED JUNGLE JAMBOREE ©
- vs -
THE WOKE MIND VIRUS
- vs -
VITA VALENTEEN & DEACON ST. JOHN
- vs -
LIAM ROBERTS & SAVANNAH KNIGHTLEY
- vs -
MARISOL VILARO & A CLOWN OF HER CHOOSING

One, Two, Freddy's Coming for Your....ANARCHY TAG-TEAM TITLES!

Five teams enter the nightmare. Two championship belts await at the end. Only one team escapes with the gold. Whoever finds the gold AND escapes the nightmare wins!

Each team gets 1 roleplay with a 2,000 word limit!

TODD: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to NIGHTMARE on Anarchy! We are broadcasting tonight from the abandoned streets of Springwood, the infamous home of Freddy Krueger!

BAMA T: Todd, I gotta tell you, I don't like this place. I don't like these houses, I don't like this fog, I don't like that creepy guy painted on the wall over there. And I sure as hell don't like that the production truck is parked three blocks away because somebody was afraid to drive it down this street!

TODD: Well, BAMA, the entire card tonight is built around the spirit of Halloween, and we've got some enormous matches in store. Five tag teams will collide in our main event with the Anarchy Tag Team Championships on the line! Five teams, two champions, and absolute chaos in the main event slot!

BAMA T: Five teams?! That's ten people, Todd! That's a whole lot of elbows, knees, and people yelling at the referee! Somebody's gonna get launched into next Tuesday!

TODD: And that's not all! Summer Page will be in action tonight, defending her Revolution Championship against the freakish Tommy Wish! And in one of the biggest matches of the evening, Universal Champion Michael Graves has returned home to Anarchy! He's going toe to toe against Mr. Oz, one of the biggest stars in Anarchy history, both physically and metaphorically!

BAMA T: We've got a spectacular night of action ahead of us, and we're kicking things off with a special Main Event battle for the most prestigious nickname in professional wrestling: the Main Event moniker![/

The ring had been assembled in the middle of a random street in abandoned Springwood. Broken streetlights flickered overhead. Fog rolled between abandoned cars. The houses surrounding the street sat dark and silent, their windows resembling black, empty eyes. Someone had spray-painted a crude image of Freddy Krueger on the side of a nearby building.

In the middle of it all sat a wrestling ring.

“Main Event” Jay Fetu stood inside the ring, stretching his arms and looking around at the surroundings. He seemed perfectly comfortable. Across the street, “Main Event” Edgecrusher arrived alongside Solomon Kline, carrying a clipboard and wearing a pair of sunglasses despite the fact that the sun had already set on this town many years ago.

Edgecrusher stopped when he saw the ring.

MEEC: Solomon.

Kline: Yes?

MEEC: Why is the ring in the middle of a street?

Kline: It's an abandoned town.

MEEC: I know that. Why is the ring in the middle of the STREET?

Kline: I assume it's for the match.

Edgecrusher nodded slowly, impressed by the logic.

MEEC: Good. Good thinking. That's why you're my assistant.

He took three steps forward, then stopped again.

MEEC: Solomon.

Kline: Yes?

MEEC: Is that Freddy Krueger?

Kline followed his gaze toward the spray-painted wall.

Kline: That's graffiti.

MEEC: That's what he wants you to think.

TODD: Edgecrusher has arrived at ringside, and I don't think he's particularly impressed with the surroundings.

BAMA T: He's dressed for a wrestling match, Todd. He's got the sunglasses, he's got the confidence, he's got the clipboard guy following him around. He's ready for anything!

Jay Fetu leaned over the ropes.

Jay: You coming, Edgecrusher?

Edgecrusher straightened his jacket and pointed at Jay.

MEEC: Relax, Jay. A true Main Eventer arrives when he's ready. You can't rush greatness.

He took one step toward the ring. Somewhere in the distance, a metal door slammed.

Edgecrusher jumped nearly a foot into the air.

MEEC: JESUS CHRIST!

Kline: It was a door.

MEEC: I KNOW WHAT A DOOR SOUNDS LIKE, SOLOMON!

Jay started laughing.

Jay: Come on, uce! You scared of a little spooky street?

MEEC: I'm not scared. I'm assessing the environment.

He slowly turned in a circle, examining the abandoned buildings.

MEEC: Very poor neighborhood. Terrible lighting. No security. No concession stand. Who sanctioned this?

Kline: You did.

MEEC: I did not authorize the street to be this creepy.

TODD: BAMA, I think we may have a problem. Edgecrusher hasn't entered the ring, and the referee is already looking impatient.

BAMA T: Todd, I have seen this man do some questionable things in the name of maintaining his Main Event status. I've seen him dress like Jay Fetu. I've seen him try to tag his manager into a singles match. But I have NEVER seen him look this uncomfortable!

The referee, already standing beside the ring, checked his watch.

Ref: Edgecrusher, we need you in the ring.

MEEC: I'm getting there.

He took one step.

A nearby streetlight flickered out.

Edgecrusher immediately turned around.

MEEC: Nope.

Kline: What?

MEEC: Absolutely not.

Jay climbed onto the second rope and cupped his hands around his mouth.

Jay: HE'S CHICKEN! HE'S CHICKEN! HE'S CHICKEN! YEET!

Edgecrusher spun around.

MEEC: I AM NOT A CHICKEN!

A loud scraping sound came from somewhere behind the houses.

Edgecrusher froze.

Kline looked toward the noise.

Kline: Probably a trash can.

MEEC: PROBABLY?!

Edgecrusher backed away from the ring.

TODD: The referee is beginning the count! Edgecrusher could lose this match without throwing a single punch!

BAMA T: And if he does, Jay Fetu gets to keep calling himself the Main Event! That's gotta hurt! Imagine spending all that time talking about how great you are, only to lose because a streetlight went out!

That’s when the referee finally grew tired of Edgecrusher’s antics, and called for the bell to start the match!

"MAIN EVENT" EDGECRUSHER
- vs -
"MAIN EVENT" JAY FETU

Special Main Event!

The winner earns exclusive rights to the moniker "Main Event"!

...ONE!

Edgecrusher pointed at the referee.

MEEC: You cannot count me out. I haven't even entered the ring.

...TWO!

Ref: That's why I'm counting.

...THREE!

Edgecrusher turned to Kline.

MEEC: Record this. This is a conspiracy against the Main Event!

Kline: You're standing in the middle of the road refusing to wrestle.

MEEC: Exactly! They're trying to make me look bad!

...FOUR!

Jay leaned over the ropes.

Jay: Get in here, uce! I'll even let you hit me first!

MEEC: That's a trap. That's exactly what a man says when he's working with Freddy Krueger.

Kline: I don't think Jay is working with Freddy Krueger.

MEEC: That's what makes him dangerous, Solomon. He's unpredictable.

...FIVE!

Edgecrusher began walking away.

Kline hurried after him.

Kline: Where are you going?

MEEC: To find a well-lit establishment with normal walls and absolutely no dream demons.

Kline: What about the match?

MEEC: Solomon, listen carefully. A true Main Eventer knows when to fight, when to negotiate, and when to leave a haunted town before the credits roll!

...SIX!

Jay climbed onto the turnbuckles and spread his arms.

Jay: THAT'S RIGHT, UCE! RUN AWAY! I'M THE ONLY MAIN EVENT NOW! YEET!

TODD: Jay Fetu is loving every second of this! Edgecrusher is practically halfway down the street!

BAMA T: Practically? Todd, he's gone! He's already looking for the nearest Uber! Somebody check his phone, I bet he's searching for the closest town that doesn't have a horror movie franchise!

...SEVEN!

Edgecrusher stopped in the street and pointed back toward the ring.

MEEC: THIS IS A STRATEGIC WITHDRAWAL! I'M PRESERVING MY MAIN EVENT STATUS!

Kline: You might lose the match.

MEEC: You might lose your job if you keep asking questions!

...EIGHT!

Jay cupped his hands around his mouth.

Jay: DON'T FORGET TO YEET YOURSELF OUT OF HERE!

Edgecrusher turned around and broke into a run.

...NINE!

He disappeared around the corner with Solomon Kline jogging desperately behind him, still clutching the clipboard.

...TEN!

DING! DING! DING!

Winner and STILL “Main Event”- Jay Fetu

The referee raised Jay Fetu's hand.

TODD: IT'S OVER! Jay Fetu wins! Edgecrusher never even made it to the ring! Jay Fetu retains the Main Event moniker!

BAMA T: WHAT A PERFORMANCE! JAY DIDN'T HAVE TO THROW A SINGLE PUNCH! EDGECRUSHER GOT BEAT BY A BUILDING, A STREETLIGHT, AND SOME GRAFFITI!

Jay climbed onto the turnbuckles and celebrated as the crowd cheered.

Jay: THAT'S RIGHT! STILL THE MAIN EVENT! SOMEBODY GET ME A TOMATO SO I CAN THROW IT AT THAT COWARD!

The referee shrugged and started packing up his things.

From somewhere down the street, Edgecrusher's voice echoed back.

MEEC: I HEARD THAT! AND FOR THE RECORD, I WOULD HAVE WON!

Jay cupped his hands around his mouth.

Jay: YOU DIDN'T EVEN GET IN THE RING, UCE!

A distant car alarm suddenly began blaring.

MEEC: AAAAAAAAAH!

The screaming faded into the distance.

TODD: Well, BAMA, if this is how the evening begins, I can hardly imagine what's going to happen when five tag teams get into that ring later tonight!

BAMA T: I'm telling you right now, Todd. If that car alarm was Freddy Krueger, Edgecrusher is already three towns away. And after the night we've got planned, I might just join him!

Jay Fetu raises both arms in victory as the camera pans across the abandoned street, the flickering lights, and the terrifying Freddy Krueger graffiti.

"Christine" by Enzo Margaglio plays and the crowd gives a mixed reaction to the Librarian as she heads towards the Springwood High School with her Chronicler, Jamison, trailing behind her with his book open jotting down things. The Librarian often halts to SHH some fans who are a little too loud before moving along. On her way towards the high school entrance, she tags hands with some who appear to be more reserved and quiet, and when she happens upon the commentating crew she hands them self-help books to aid them in commentating better with more uses of flowery words. She eventually finds her way inside the high school. Jamison joins her, jotting more stuff down to document the crowd, her, and the match to come.

TODD: Tonight is The Librarian’s XWF debut, and I gotta say, I can’t imagine a creepier match to debut in!

BAMA T: You’re telling me, Todd! She has to go into a haunted high school and have a BODY BAG match against someone whose nickname is literally NIGHTMARE! This is why a lot of wrestlers don’t even get a second match in the XWF, Todd- because their first match kills them!

The lights goes out and hear a voice saying Wrestling has one royal family and when Kingdom hit's fireworks burst open and Razor Blade comes out wearing a American nightmare outfit and left his arms in the mid air and fist pumps in a fake air and he saw a kid wearing a Blake shirt and he takes off his American nightmare belt off his waist in hands it to the XWF fan and walks into the high school and raises both arms in the air and more fireworks burst once again and he gets inside of the high school and takes off his American nightmare jacket and prepares for a fight.

TODD: Razor Blade is here for some NIGHTMAREISH action! He had a hard fought match against El Landerson on last year’s halloween edition of Anarchy, and he’s back for some more spooktacular frights this year!

BAMA T: Razor Blade has become an XWF Anarchy mainstay, Todd! He’s basically become one with the floorboards by this point! The Librarian is in for a tough debut match, that’s for sure!

THE LIBRARIAN
- vs -
RAZOR BLADE

Body Bag Match!

Set inside Springwood High School, the only way to win is by incapacitating your opponent and zipping them into a body bag!

The match started in the locker banks area of Springwood High School. Body bags hung from the ceiling as Razor charged at Vesarria.

Vessaria side stepped Razor and palmed him in the face causing him to stumble. She charged forward and dropkicked him into the lockers causing them to rattle and him to stumble.

She rushed forward again, but Razor ducked and lifted her over his head. He rushed backward and smacked her into the lockers before dropping her down to the floor.

Jamison watched on in the background. He took note and continued to wait for the most opportune moment...

Razor reached down and lifted Vessaria to standing position in which she immediately raked him in the eyes and smashed his head against a locker before dragging him by the shoulder out into the hallway area.

Vessaria began to fire shot after shot at Razor as they made their way through the highschool. First one shot and then another— followed by another. After several, Razor blocked one off and drove a knee into The Librarian’s stomach.

Razor delivered a neckbreaker and reached upward after coming to standing position, pulling a body bag from the chain that was hanging above head. He unzipped it, but Jamison chucked a old soccer trophy at his back from the trophy case nearby.

Razor turned around, being distracted…

Vessaria used that moment to stand and poke Razor in the eyes, which caused him to stumble.

The Librarian grabbed him and tossed him into the room down the hallway. The door burst open and he fell forward, toppling over an old film projector.

Razor hit the carpeted floor of the auditorium as the projector fell beside him…

Vessaria followed him in and as he went to stand she picked up the projector and launched it in his direction...

Razor ducked at the last possible second and tackled her, sending them both tumbling down the rows of seats to the auditorium floor below.

Razor was the first to his feet and immediately pulled Vessaria up with him...

He whipped her across the open floor, but Vessaria held her grip and reversed it, sending Razor toward the stage instead.

Razor stopped himself just short of it and turned around…

Upon turning around, Razor got caught with a flying forearm to the chin. This caused him to stumble against the stage while The Librarian rushed forward again.

Vessaria tried for a second forearm, but this time Razor caught her and launched her over his shoulders. He fell backward, dropping her to the ground with a back body drop.

Vessaria hit the floor hard but quickly rolled back to her feet…

Razor charged— but his rush was countered into a Japanese Arm Drag.

He flipped over and rolled to his feet, only to get caught with another Japanese Arm Drag. Vessaria held the move this time and instantly went for a Fujiwara Armbar.

Razor would have none of it and powered through…

Vessaria tried to keep the momentum as she continued to stay aggressive, but that was halted as she got kicked in the stomach.

Razor locked her around the neck and lifted her quickly sending her flipping backward with a snap suplex.

Razor now looked to keep momentum in his corner as he lifted Vessaria to her feet. He hooked her around the head, attempting a neckbreaker, but Vessaria twisted free and caught him with a kick to the knee.

Razor hobbled, and got hit with another kick. This kick landed flush to the ankle…

He hopped around, trying to stay on his feet but Vessaria grabbed a textbook off of the dusty podium and smacked him across the cheek with it.

Vessaria looked over toward one of the auditorium seats and grabbed a body bag. She felt confident and began to unzip it as Jamison still looked on in the back of the auditorium with approval.

Vessaria spread the body bag across the auditorium floor and grabbed Razor by the ankle, dragging him toward it.

She managed to get one of his legs inside, but Razor started to fight it off…

Vessaria stomped him in the chest and tried to force the other leg inside, but Razor kicked her away.

Vessaria stumbled backward but quickly came forward again. Catching a counter, Razor hopped up and caught her around the waist. He used his strength to lift her off the floor and dropped her on her back with a scoop slam.

The impact gave Razor enough time to regain his composure…

Vessaria wasn’t far behind him, but Razor met her with a dropkick that sent her stumbling toward one of the auditorium’s side doors.

Razor charged forward and Vessaria tried to sidestep him, but he grabbed her before she could get away and threw her through the door and back into the hallway.

Vessaria hit the floor and rolled into the lockers on the opposite side.

Razor followed her out and grabbed her as she tried to stand…

Vessaria had him scouted with a well timed elbow. She followed it with another, before grabbing. Razor by the back of the head and smashing his face against the lockers.

Razor stumbled away, allowing Vessaria to charge and catch him with a running kneelift. Razor dropped to one knee as The Librarian grabbed him and tried for a bulldog, but Razor shoved her away before she could connect.

The Librarian hit the lockers and staggered back around. Razor caught her with a clothesline that sent her hard to the floor.

Jamison came through the auditorium door several seconds later, still carrying his book. Razor noticed him and stared in his direction, causing Jamison to immediately back away.

Vessaria took advantage and grabbed Razor from behind, trying to pull him into a sleeper hold. Razor fought her hands and stumbled back, smashing her hard into the lockers until she released him.

He turned around and threw a shot, but Vessaria ducked underneath it and caught him with a palm strike to the nose.

Razor stumbled backward as Vessaria followed with another shot and then another, forcing him farther down the hallway in a staggered state.

The shots continued, until Razor finally blocked one and grabbed her arm. He pulled Vessaria toward him and caught her with a knee to the stomach before grabbing her around the waist and throwing her into a classroom door.

The door flew open and Vessaria stumbled through it…

Razor followed her inside and quickly realized they had entered one of Springwood High School’s old science labs.

Dusty tables filled the room while beakers, test tubes and other equipment remained scattered across the countertops.

Vessaria grabbed the edge of one of the lab tables to steady herself as Razor came through the doorway behind her.

Vessaria looked over her shoulder and smiled while grabbing the first thing she could reach…

As Razor grabbed at her, she smashed a glass flask over his head.

He yelled in pain and backed up to avoid and more damage. Vessaria stayed aggressive as she dropped the broken flask following after him.

Vessaria grabbed the back of Razor’ neck and leaned him forward, kneeing him. Afterward she locked her hands around his waist and sent him flying with a German Suplex.

Razor hit the wash station hard, knocking several beakers and test tubes onto the floor…

Vessaria stalked him and grabbed him by the head. She pulled him to his feet, but Razor drove an elbow into her stomach before she could capitalize.

He followed his comeback with another, before grabbing Vessaria. He spun Vessaria and wrapped his arm over her driving her backward with a Russian Legsweep onto the floor.

Razor was the first to stand…

He grabbed Vessaria and pulled her up with him, before whipping her toward one of the lab tables. Vessaria hit the edge hard and Razor rushed forward, but she moved at the last second.

Razor crashed stomach-first into the table…

Vessaria grabbed his arm and pulled him back, but Razor raked her in the eyes before lifting her into the air and tossing her across the table.

The Librarian rolled off and fell to the floor…

Razor took a moment to recover before grabbing her again. He pulled Vessaria up and attempted a bulldog, but she shoved him forward.

Razor stopped himself against the wall…

Vessaria charged forward but Razor moved and Vess crashed into the wall, stumbling backward. Razor reached forward and caught her with a snap powerslam onto the floor.

Jamison now entered the science lab, just as Razor stood back up…

He glanced toward Vessaria and then toward Razor before slowly moving his hand toward the book underneath his arm.

Razor pointed at him, and Jamison snarled…

Razor’s warning was enough to make him think twice. Razor turned his attention back toward

Vessaria, but the distraction had already done its job.

Vessaria got back to her feet and caught Razor with a dropkick that sent him stumbling backward through the doorway and into the hallway.

Vessaria followed him out and went for another dropkick, but Razor swatted her legs away and caused her to crash onto the floor.

He reached down and pulled The Librarian up by the hair, only for Vessaria to drive a strike into his nose. Razor stumbled back into the lockers and Vessaria rushed him, connecting with a running kneelift that caused his legs to buckle underneath him.

She grabbed Razor by the head and jumped forward drilling Razor to the floorwith a bulldog.
Razor rolled around in pain. Vessaria stood up and pulled Razor to a standing position, smashing him into an old water fountain.

Razor bounced off the fountain and stumbled down the hallway…

Vessaria stayed on him, grabbing him by the shoulder and firing an elbow strike across his face. She went for another, but Razor blocked it and answered with a shot of his own.

They began to exchange blows back and forth, staggering each other further down the hallway, until Razor finally gained the advantage.

He drove a knee into Vessaria’s stomach and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her and throwing her through a set of double doors.

Vessaria crashed onto the floor and slid several feet as Razor followed her through the entry.

They had entered the library…

How convenient…

Rows of dusty bookshelves filled the room with several tables scattered throughout the center. Vessaria looked around and smiled. Razor had unknowingly brought The Librarian directly into
her element.

Razor reached down and grabbed her, but Vessaria raked him across the eyes and shoved him away. Razor stumbled into one of the bookshelves, knocking several books onto the floor.
Vessaria charged forward and jumped at him, but Razor caught her in midair. He carried her several steps before throwing her across one of the study tables with an inverted suplex slam.
Vessaria rolled across the floor in pain as Razor reached out and grabbed one of the hanging body bags from the bookshelf.

Razor pulled the body bag down and tossed it across the floor before turning his attention back toward Vessaria.

The Librarian was already starting to get up, using one of the nearby tables to pull herself to her feet. Razor rushed forward and caught her with a kick to the stomach before grabbing her underneath the head and flipping her over with the Blade Rose!

Vessaria crashed onto the library floor and remained motionless as Razor dropped beside her, exhausted from the fight.

After taking a moment to recover, Razor crawled toward the body bag and pulled it open…
He grabbed Vessaria by the ankles and dragged her toward it, managing to get both of her legs inside before pulling the bag up around her waist.

Jamison watched nervously from the other side of the library as Razor continued working the bag around Vessaria’s body. With only her shoulders and head remaining exposed, Razor reached down for the zipper.

Jamison had seen enough…

He rushed behind one of the bookshelves and pushed against it with everything he had…

Razor heard the shelf tip and turned around, but it was too late. The bookshelf came crashing down on top of him, burying Razor underneath it as books scattered across the library floor.

Jamison immediately rushed over to Vessaria and helped pull her out of the body bag…

Razor seemed lifeless underneath the bookshelf. The Librarian began looking through the books and looked a bit aggravated that Jamison had knocked them over.

Still, she and Jamison worked together to pull a groggy Razor out from under the bookshelf...
Once they stood him up, Vessaria grabbed him around the head before driving him into the library floor with Out of Print!

Vessaria pulled herself up and reached toward the body bag. Jamison grabbed Razor's ankle and pulled him closer to her.

Vessaria forced both of Razor’s legs inside before pulling the bag around his waist and working it farther up his body.

Razor started to regain stability and immediately began fighting against The Librarian...

One of his arms slipped free and he grabbed Vessaria by the wrist, but she drilled him with a barrage of stomps to chest.

Razor began to lose his grip as Vessaria pulled it off her and shoved it back inside the body bag.

She pulled it over his shoulders and then reached for the zipper.

The few lights inside the library that worked suddenly flickered…

The walls around the library began to peel and the ground began shifting…

Vessaria stopped and looked toward the ceiling as a lightbulb blew...

Jamison slowly lowered his book and looked around the room, knowing exactly what was about to happen...

The sirens began to sound throughout Springwood High School and the town outside…

Vessaria and Jamison looked at each other as the sirens grew louder…

The sound of metal twisting and becoming distorted echoed the room…

Razor was still struggling inside the body bag and Vessaria immediately grabbed the zipper, pulling it upward as quickly as she could.

DING!! DING!! DING!!

Winner- The Librarian

After the bell sounded, Vessaria and Jamison looked at one another. They both wanted nothing more than to get the hell to safety.

TODD: The Librarian did it! With the help of Jamison, she just stuffed Razor Blade into that bodybag! She walks out of her XWF debut victorious!

BAMA T: This match was never fair, Todd! Razor got screwed!

TODD: Because of Jamison?

BAMA T: No, Todd! Because she’s THE LIBRARIAN! This high school had a library! She had home court advantage the whole way through!

Vessaria looked down at the moving body bag that Razor struggled to get out of, but were easily distracted as the heard the scrapping and dragging of the Great Knife.

Jamison and Vessaria began to scurry off…

Todd: “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to what might be the most unsettling match we’ve ever had on Anarchy. Two weeks ago, Mercy defeated Vita Valenteen in an X-Treme Rules match, forcing her unconscious with the Mort Noire. Vita never tapped out, but she didn’t escape, either. And tonight, there are no pinfalls, no submissions, no disqualifications to save either woman. The only way out is to find the door.”

Bama: “Todd, I’m gonna level with you. If somebody told me I had to go into Freddy Krueger’s boiler room to settle a grudge, I’d be happy to let the grudge win. Mercy and Vita, though? These two have been thinkin’ about each other so much they probably got each other’s faces on their Christmas cards.”

Todd: “And judging by their words in the lead-up to this match, they’ve been thinking about that last encounter in very specific ways.”

Bama: “Mercy wants to prove Vita’s a monster. Vita wants to prove she can beat a monster without turnin’ into one. Sounds real philosophical. I’m more concerned about the razor blades, the steam pipes, and the fact that I’m pretty sure this building’s insurance policy says we’re not allowed to be here.”

The camera cuts away from the commentary desk.

A heavy metal door sits at the end of a narrow, dimly lit corridor. Rust streaks the walls. A red emergency bulb flickers overhead, painting everything in intermittent flashes of crimson. Behind the door, machinery groans and hisses. Steam escapes through the frame in thin, ghostly ribbons.

The door opens.

Vita Valenteen stands on the other side, her expression unusually serious. She wears her familiar gear, but she has something else with her: a battered baseball bat, gripped in both hands.

She looks down at it.

She steps inside.

The door slams behind her.

Vita turns at the sound. She tests the handle once. Locked.

A voice drifts out of the steam.

CHHHHHH CHHHHH CHHHHHHH AHHHH AHHH AHHH

TODD: Isn’t that sound from Friday the 13th?

BAMA: Shuddup, Tood.

Vita turns back.

Mercy stands at the far end of the room, beneath a bank of hanging chains. Her black suit blends into the shadows, leaving her scarred mouth and pale face illuminated by the red light. She smiles, the old wound stretching wider than it should.

Vita lifts the bat a few inches.

Mercy tilts her head.

Vita’s grip tightens.

Mercy’s smile disappears.

MERCY
- vs -
VITA VALENTEEN

Boiler Room Brawl!

The only way to win this grudge match is by escaping Freddy Krueger's boiler room!

The bell doesn't ring. There is no referee to signal the start. No official to separate them. No count to give either woman time to recover.

Mercy simply charges.

Vita swings.

The bat whistles through the air, but Mercy has watched the tape, too. She drops low, the bat sailing over her head, and crashes into Vita’s midsection with a running shoulder tackle. Vita folds around the impact. The bat clatters away across the concrete.

Mercy grabs a fistful of Vita’s hair and drives her backward into a steel support beam.

CLANG!

Vita’s head snaps forward. Mercy catches her by the jaw, forcing her to look up.

Vita answers with a sharp knee to the stomach.

Mercy grunts. Vita twists free and throws a quick forearm into Mercy’s face, then another. She follows with a knife-edge chop that echoes through the boiler room.

CRACK!

Mercy barely flinches.

Bama: “Well, that’s not good. Vita’s throwin’ everything she’s got, and Mercy looks like she’s waitin’ for her coffee to finish brewin’!”

Todd: “Vita knows she can’t let Mercy dictate the pace. In their previous match, Mercy repeatedly turned exchanges into opportunities to inflict damage. Vita’s going to have to keep moving.”

Vita tries. She ducks a wild swing, darts behind Mercy, and lands a Russian legsweep that finally puts the larger woman on the floor. Vita rolls through, gets to her feet, and immediately reaches for the bat.

Mercy grabs her ankle.

Vita kicks free before Mercy can pull her down, snatches the bat, and spins around.

Mercy scrambles upright.

Vita swings at her legs.

Mercy jumps just enough to avoid the worst of the blow, but the bat catches her shin on the way through. Mercy stumbles against a pipe, and Vita uses the opening to drive the end of the bat into Mercy’s stomach.

Mercy doubles over.

Vita raises the bat again.

For a split second, her expression changes.

Todd: So much emotion in Vita’s eyes! She can’t afford to hesitate! Hesitation cost her dearly last time these two met!

Mercy sees the pause.

She lunges forward, grabbing the bat with both hands. Vita tries to wrench it back, but Mercy yanks hard and drives her forehead into Vita’s face.

Vita staggers.

Mercy tears the bat away and flings it down the room. It slides beneath a maze of pipes, disappearing into darkness.

Vita wipes blood from her lip.

Mercy grabs her by the throat.

Vita responds with a low kick to the knee, a quick elbow to the ribs, and a springboard-assisted arm drag off the side of a metal cabinet. Mercy hits the floor on her back. Vita lands awkwardly beside her, but immediately scrambles away rather than trying to capitalize with a pin that would mean nothing.

Mercy rises with a low, delighted laugh.

Vita backs toward a narrow passage between two banks of pipes.

She lunges again.

Vita bolts down the passage.

The chase begins.

Mercy is faster than her size suggests. She catches Vita at the passage’s end, wraps both arms around her waist, and hurls her into a wire-mesh partition.

The partition rattles violently. Vita bounces off it, and Mercy immediately grabs her by the shoulders, hauling her upright.

SIDEWALK SLAM!

Vita hits the concrete hard enough to knock the air from her lungs.

Mercy drops beside her and catches her wrist. She brings it toward her mouth.

Todd: “Oh, no! We saw this two weeks ago! Mercy is going after the hand!”

Mercy opens her mouth.

Vita yanks her hand away and drives her boot into Mercy’s face.

Bama: That was almost muscle memory from Vita! She doesn’t wanna get into another biting brawl with Mercy!

Mercy falls backward, but Vita is already rolling to her feet. She rushes forward with a basement dropkick that catches Mercy square in the chest, knocking her against the partition.

Vita doesn't stop there. She grabs a hanging chain, loops it around Mercy’s arm, and pulls hard, using the chain to drag Mercy away from the partition and off balance.

Mercy stumbles.

Vita drives a knee into her ribs, then a second. She twists, trying to wrench Mercy's arm behind her back.

For a moment, the smaller woman has the larger one trapped.

Then Mercy smiles.

She steps into Vita's space and drives a brutal headbutt into her forehead.

Vita's knees buckle.

Mercy tears the chain free and flings it aside. She catches Vita around the waist and lifts her.

THE FADED!

The Bernard Bomb sends Vita crashing onto a metal grate.

Vita writhes, clutching her back. Mercy stands over her, breathing heavily, but her eyes are fixed on Vita's face.

She crouches beside Vita.

Vita tries to crawl away.

Mercy catches her by the ankle and drags her back.

Vita kicks with her free leg, catching Mercy in the jaw. Mercy releases her, and Vita scrambles beneath a low pipe, narrowly avoiding Mercy’s grasping hand.

She emerges on the other side and finds herself beside a rusted workbench.

Something glints on its surface.

A metal glove. Five long, curved blades extending from its fingers.

Vita stares.

Mercy sees what she has found.

For the first time tonight, she looks genuinely delighted.

She dives for the glove.

Vita reaches for it, too, but Mercy's longer arms get there first. She snatches the glove off the bench and slides it onto her right hand. The blades catch the red light.

Mercy flexes her fingers.

SHINK. SHINK. SHINK.

Bama: “Well, that’s just wonderful! We got a baseball bat, we got chains, and now the lady with the mouth like a zipper has a hand full of knives!”

Todd: “Those are not knives, Bama. They're blades attached to a glove, and I really don't think the distinction makes this situation any better!”

Bama: Todd, I’m going to google the difference between a blade and a knife, and if you’re not correct, I’m NEVER going to let you hear the end of this.

…

Bama: So, a blade is just a knife without a handle? Feh. Semantics.

Mercy draws the blades slowly across the workbench. Sparks spit from the metal.

Vita's eyes dart toward the passage behind her. She calculates the distance, the obstacles, the angles. Her expression is frightened, but it isn't frozen.

Mercy lunges.

Vita ducks beneath the first swipe. The blades carve a line through the fabric of her shoulder. She cries out and twists away from the second slash, which strikes the wall with a shriek of metal.

Mercy follows her, slashing wildly.

Vita slips around a boiler, forcing Mercy to navigate the narrow gap. The glove catches on a pipe. Mercy yanks it free, tearing a strip of rusted insulation loose.

Vita kicks a loose metal bucket into Mercy's shins.

Mercy stumbles, and Vita darts past her.

Mercy turns and slashes again.

Vita drops flat. The blades pass inches above her face.

She rolls between Mercy's legs, comes up behind her, and delivers a sharp kick to the back of the knee. Mercy drops to one knee. Vita catches her by the head and drives her face into the boiler casing.

CLANG!

Mercy staggers, but doesn't fall.

Vita grabs a dangling chain and swings it around Mercy's gloved wrist. She yanks, pulling Mercy's arm away from her body, then drives a running knee into Mercy's ribs.

The blades scrape against the floor.

Vita twists the chain around a pipe and pulls, pinning Mercy's arm for a precious moment.

Mercy bares her teeth.

Mercy pulls!

The pipe groans. A bracket tears loose from the wall, and the chain snaps free.

Vita barely has time to duck before Mercy swings the glove again. One blade catches her across the side, slicing through her gear and opening a shallow wound.

Vita hisses through her teeth.

Mercy pauses to admire the blood.

Vita presses a hand to her side.

She advances, blades spread.

Vita backs away, eyes fixed on the glove.

Mercy slashes.

Vita slips aside, catches Mercy's wrist with both hands, and drives her elbow into Mercy's arm. The glove drops, clattering onto the floor.

Vita immediately kicks it away.

Mercy looks down at her empty hand.

Vita doesn't wait for her to react. She hits a rope bounce off a thick insulated cable, springs forward, and catches Mercy with a running bulldog that drives the larger woman face-first into the concrete.

Vita lands beside her, gasping.

She could keep hitting her.

She could take the glove and turn it against Mercy.

Instead, she looks past Mercy, searching for a way out.

Todd: “That is an important distinction. Vita is fighting back, but she isn't getting distracted by the opportunity to hurt Mercy. She's looking for the exit.”

Bama: “And Mercy's lookin' for a way to make Vita forget that exit exists!”

Mercy rises behind Vita and wraps an arm around her throat.

Vita's face tightens.

TODD: Oh no! Vita knows this setup very well!

BAMA: Two weeks ago, Mercy had caught her in a choke and turned it into the hold that ultimately ended their match. Vita had escaped the Mort Noire once, then failed to escape it the second time!

TODD: Vita’s spent the days since replaying that sequence over and over! Will all that time watching the tape back prevent what feels inevitable?!?

Mercy drags her backward.

Vita drives her heel down onto Mercy's instep, elbows her in the ribs, and twists free before the grip can settle.

She turns and lands a black elbow across Mercy's jaw.

Then another.

Then a third.

Mercy stumbles back, and Vita follows with a high knee that catches her beneath the chin.

Vita seizes the opening and climbs onto a low platform beside the boiler. She turns, looking down at Mercy.

Mercy slowly straightens.

She leaps.

SUPER BULLDOG!

Vita drives Mercy down onto the metal grate. The impact sends a violent shudder through the platform.

Vita rolls away and gets to her feet.

Mercy pushes herself upright. Her scarred mouth stretches into a smile again.

She charges.

Vita sidesteps and catches Mercy with a swinging neckbreaker. Mercy hits the floor, and Vita scrambles over her, looking for the passage she came through.

She finds it.

She runs.

Mercy follows.

The boiler room seems to stretch around them. Pipes that should lead to the same corridor turn into dead ends. Steam blasts from valves at unexpected intervals, filling the air with white clouds. The red lights flicker, and every time they return, Mercy seems to be standing somewhere different.

Vita rounds a corner and finds the baseball bat lying beneath a bank of pipes.

She skids to a stop.

For a split second, she looks almost relieved.

Then Mercy's voice comes from behind her.

Vita snatches up the bat and spins around.

Mercy emerges from the steam, the Freddy glove back on her hand.

Mercy slashes.

Vita blocks with the bat.

CLANG!

The blades bite into the wood. Vita jerks the bat back, but one of the claws catches in it. Mercy pulls, trying to wrench the weapon away.

Vita refuses to let go.

They struggle over it, the bat wedged between them. Mercy uses her free hand to strike Vita across the face. Vita staggers, but she keeps both hands on the bat.

Mercy hits her again.

Vita's grip slips.

Mercy pulls the bat toward herself, raising the clawed glove for a final slash.

Vita lets go.

Mercy stumbles backward, suddenly off balance. Vita drives a kick into her stomach, then grabs the bat again before it can hit the floor.

She swings.

The bat catches Mercy across the ribs.

Mercy doubles over with a strangled gasp.

Vita raises it for another blow.

Mercy looks up at her.

Not at the bat.

At Vita.

Vita's arms tremble.

Vita's eyes narrow.

She looks at the bat. Then at Mercy.

She swings the bat into Mercy's forearm.

The impact knocks the claw glove loose. It flies across the room and disappears into a storm drain beneath the pipes.

Vita drops the bat, steps forward, and hits Mercy with a sharp forearm to the jaw. Mercy reels. Vita follows with a running high knee, then a springboard back elbow off the side of the boiler.

Mercy crashes against the wall.

Vita grabs her wrist and tries to pull her toward the corridor, but Mercy reverses the grip, twists Vita's arm, and throws her into a bank of metal cabinets.

The doors burst open. Tools and scraps of metal rain down around them.

Mercy stalks forward, wiping blood from her mouth.

Vita pushes herself up.

She takes a breath, then steps forward.

She throws herself at Mercy.

The two women collide in the center of the room, trading forearms, elbows, and kicks in a furious exchange.

Todd: Thus far, Mercy's size has given her the advantage; every clean strike she lands has sent Vita staggering!

Bama: But Vita ain’ backin’ down one lick! Mercy keeps waiting for that shell to crack, but Vita’s weatherin’ the storm!

Vita ducks a wild swing and hits a low kick to Mercy's knee. She follows with a Russian legsweep.

As they both land in a heap on the boiler room floor, Mercy shoves Vita away by the skull… before crawling to reach back to her feet…

Mercy: “Still thinking like a wrestler!”

Vita scrambles exhaustedly back up right to a vertical base…

Mercy grabs her by the throat and lifts her.

CHOKESLAM!

Vita crashes onto the concrete.

Mercy drops beside her and catches her around the waist, hauling her back up. She drives Vita into the wall, then lifts her again.

POWERBOMB!

The impact shakes the pipes overhead.

Vita lies motionless for a moment. Mercy kneels beside her, breathing heavily. Her fingers curl and uncurl, as though she can still feel the blades of the glove.

She grabs Vita's hair and pulls her upright.

Vita spits blood onto the floor.

Mercy slams her face-first into the wall.

Vita drops to her knees.

Mercy crouches behind her, threading an arm beneath Vita's chin and reaching for the other arm.

Todd: “Mercy is setting her up! We know this position. This is where she wants her!”

Bama: “Mercy’s about to go back-to-back! The Mort Noire is getting locked in!

Vita feels the first pull across her shoulders.

Mercy claws, pulling tighter, as she feels Valenteen falling into her clutches…

But Vita plants her feet, refusing to budge.

Mercy pulls with all her might, trying to break Vita’s stance and pull her to the floor.

But at just the right moment, Vita drives backward, smashing Mercy into the wall. The hold loosens. Vita turns and lands an elbow, then another, forcing Mercy to release her.

Vita staggers away, clutching her shoulder.

Mercy follows, her expression shifting from amusement to anger.

Mercy lunges.

Vita ducks, but Mercy catches her around the waist and hurls her onto the metal platform beside the boiler. Vita hits hard and rolls onto her side.

Mercy climbs up after her.

Vita tries to crawl away, but Mercy grabs her ankle and drags her back. She twists Vita onto her stomach, traps one arm behind her, and begins threading the other into position.

Vita kicks, struggles, and tries to twist free.

Mercy drives her knee between Vita's shoulder blades.

The hold tightens.

MORT NOIRE!

Todd: “MORT NOIRE! Mercy has it locked in! She's got Vita right where she wants her!”

Vita cries out.

Mercy's arms wrench Vita's shoulders backward. The pressure is immediate and horrible, forcing Vita's face toward the metal grating. Her legs kick against the platform. She reaches for the edge, fingertips scraping uselessly over the steel.

Mercy leans back, tightening the hold.

Vita gasps.

Vita tries to plant her feet. Mercy shifts her weight and pulls her back down.

Vita's fingers curl around the edge of the platform.

Vita's arm begins to tremble. Her vision blurs. The steam and red light smear together into something indistinct. The familiar panic rises in her chest.

She knows she is running out of strength.

Mercy presses her face close to Vita's ear.

Vita tries to answer, but all that comes out is a strained, breathless sound.

Vita's hand slips from the edge.

Todd: “Vita is in serious trouble here! Mercy has this hold cinched in, and there is no submission victory in this match. If Vita passes out, Mercy can simply leave her here and escape!”

Bama: “And look at Mercy! She ain't even thinkin' about that door anymore. She wants Vita to break first!”

Mercy shifts her grip, dragging Vita's arm farther back.

Vita's face contorts in agony. Her body begins to sag.

For one terrible moment, she looks as though she might go limp again.

Mercy smiles.

Vita's eyes flutter.

[Image: wireline.png]

Vita’s eyes open…

And she’s suddenly back in her bedroom.

A donation box of old clothes sits atop her bed…

She blinks confusedly, grasping at her throat…

Was that… all a dream?

*"HeehEeHeE...*

A sound comes from the back of the closet…

…Vita peers perplexedly into it, stepping forward carefully…

…

She grips the closet’s edges.

And looks ins-

SHINK!

IT’S MERCY IN A STRIPED FREDDY SWEATER WITH THE CLAW GLOVE!

*"AsHLeY joHNsOn... wHAt dO YoU wAnT?"*

Mercy tackles Vita onto the bed, her old stuff, fit for donations, scatters about in a heap!

Vita desperately clutches onto Mercy’s hand, holding it toward the sky away from her!

Mercy grins maniacally as she brings her weight down to break Mercy’s grip…

Vita’s eyes are fearful and Mercy loves it! She continues to try and outstrength Vita, driving the knife glove into Vita!

…When Vita gets a glint of determination in her eye…

Mercy’s eyes spark with a mixture of surprise… and delight…

Vita stops trying to hold her back…

And pulls her forward!

MERCY’S HAND DRAWS DOWNWARD FOR A KILLING BLOW!

…

…..

But Vita slips downward! All Mercy manages to pierce is a pillow!

Mercy tries to retract her hand for another claw!

But Vita grabs her arm!

Her!

Her lips part.

Two sharp fangs emerge.

Mercy sees them a fraction of a second too late.

Vita twists her head and bites down on Mercy's forearm.

*"AaAaaaai]AA[/i]AaAHHHHHH!”*

[Image: wireline.png]

Vita’s eyes snap open! She’s back in the match!

And her fangs are deep in the forearm of Mercy!

Todd: Bama, what the HELL was that just now?!?

Bama: Vinnie Lane’s drones can literally follow these wrestlers into their dreams! Very expensive but so, so worth it!!

The sound is raw, furious, almost disbelieving. Her grip breaks as she jerks her arm away from Vita's mouth. Blood runs between Vita's lips. She releases Mercy and rolls onto her back, coughing and gasping for air.

Mercy stumbles away, clutching her bitten arm. For once, there is no theatrical smile, no delighted monologue. She looks at Vita with genuine hatred.

She swings her wounded arm forward, trying to rake Vita's face with her free hand.

But Vita has already moved.

She rolls backward off the platform, lands on her feet, and runs toward the wall.

Mercy follows, furious, reaching for her.

Vita plants a foot against a metal brace and climbs. She catches a pipe, pulls herself higher, then scrambles up the side of the boiler room structure, using brackets and jutting supports as footholds.

Todd: “Vita's climbing! She's going up the wall!”

Bama: “I don't know if that's a plan or a vampire havin' a complete nervous breakdown, Todd, but it sure beats takin' a nap in that hold!”

Mercy reaches the base of the wall and looks up.

Vita clings to a horizontal pipe, crouched above her. Her hair hangs in her face. Her breathing is ragged. Her shoulder is bleeding, her body is battered, and her hands are shaking.

But her eyes are clear.

Mercy grabs for Vita's ankle.

Vita kicks free and swings her body outward, catching a higher support with both hands. She pulls herself onto a narrow ledge above the boiler. Mercy climbs after her, grabbing at her legs, determined not to let Vita escape her reach.

Vita scrambles across the ledge.

Mercy lunges.

Vita drops from the ledge, catches the edge of a metal railing with both hands, and swings herself forward.

For one impossible instant, she is suspended above Mercy.

Then she releases.

EAT DEFEAT!

Vita's springboard dropkick crashes into Mercy's face as she descends. Mercy's head snaps back, and she collapses onto the concrete, sprawling beneath the wall.

Vita hits the floor on her side and rolls, clutching her ribs.

Neither woman moves.

The boiler hisses.

Somewhere in the darkness, a pipe knocks against the wall.

Todd: “EAT DEFEAT! VITA CAUGHT HER! WHAT A COUNTER!”

Bama: “And Mercy is DOWN! Todd, I don't know how much more either of these women can take!”

Vita slowly gets to her hands and knees.

She looks at Mercy.

Before Vita turns toward the corridor.

The exit is visible now, a heavy door beneath a flickering green emergency sign.

Vita starts walking.

One step.

Then another.

She passes the discarded chain. The dented cabinet. The place where Mercy first caught her with the claw glove.

Her gait is unsteady, but she keeps moving.

Todd: “Vita is heading for the exit! She has an opportunity to win this match!”

Bama: “Don't look back, Vita! Don't you dare look back!”

Vita reaches the door.

She puts one hand against it, searching for the handle.

A hand closes around her ankle.

TODD: AHHHHH! JUMPSCARE BEFORE THE FINAL CREDITS!

Vita freezes.

Mercy lies behind her, one arm extended, her face bloodied, her expression twisted into a furious grin. She has dragged herself across the floor just far enough to catch Vita before she can leave.

She pulls.

Vita falls backward, striking the floor on her hip. Mercy crawls toward her, still clutching Vita's ankle, trying to drag her away from the door.

Vita twists, trying to free her leg.

Mercy hangs on.

Vita looks down at her.

Mercy tightens her grip and begins hauling herself forward.

Vita's expression hardens.

She plants her free foot.

Then she rises.

DOUBLE FOOT STOMP!

Both boots come crashing down across Mercy's face.

Mercy's hands fly open. Her grip releases Vita's ankle, and she collapses flat onto the concrete, unconscious.

Vita stumbles backward, breathing hard. She stares at Mercy for a long moment, waiting for the movement that doesn't come.

Then she turns.

She opens the door.

A wash of cold hallway light spills into the boiler room. Vita steps across the threshold, pauses, and looks back at the nightmare behind her.

She pulls the door shut.

SLAM!

Winner: Vita FREAKIN’ Valenteen!

Bama: “She did it! She survived the whole nightmare, Todd! The claws, the chains, the Mort Noire, the whole dang Freddy Krueger experience—and she walked out!”

Todd: “Two weeks ago, Mercy beat Vita by putting her to sleep in the Mort Noire. Tonight, she tried to do it again. Vita was on the verge of passing out, and she found a way to fight back. She didn't have to become what Mercy wanted her to be. She just had to make the choice that would let her win.”

The camera lingers on the closed boiler room door.

Behind it, the machinery continues to groan.

In the hallway, Vita leans against the wall, one hand pressed to her injured shoulder. She looks exhausted, battered, and more than a little shaken. She glances down at her bloodied fingers, then at the door.

Her fangs slowly retract.

Vita exhales.

She takes one unsteady step, then another, heading toward the light at the end of the corridor.

The camera cuts back to the door.

For a moment, nothing happens.

Then, from somewhere on the other side, comes the faint sound of metal scraping against metal.

It shows Tommy in the shadows in a corridor somewhere on the X-Tron in a mask of some sort, and he heads down to the entrance. Once the funky intro breaks into "PAIN MADE TO ORDER", Tommy comes out headbanging to the song and he walks down and gives people some high fives, and even flicking off some people in the process. He then steps into the bathtub, and takes the mask off and sits in the corner, as his theme stops playing and he sits there with no emotion as he awaits his victim.

S&M By Rhianna will play throughout the area as the crowd cheers while Summer walks down the aisle. Summer gets to the bathtub and walks in. Summer looks out at the crowd and raises her arms out to the crowd as the crowd cheers louder. Summer turns her attention to inside the tub where she motions to the referee so she can hand him her belt. Summer walks over to the closest corner and stands there confidently, waiting for the match to begin.

TODD: We are about to witness one of the most horrifying championship matches in XWF history! Tommy Wish challenges the reigning Revolution Champion, Summer Page, in the Bath-Tub of Horror! Both competitors are trapped inside this enormous bathtub, the water is rising, and the only way to win is to drown your opponent!

BAMA T: Todd, I got one question. WHO THOUGHT OF THIS?! We got a bathtub big enough to park a truck in, two people fighting for their lives, and Freddy Krueger supposedly lurking around somewhere! This ain't wrestling anymore, man. This is a lawsuit waiting to happen!

Tommy Wish immediately charges across the bathtub and tackles Summer Page into the curved wall. Water splashes over the rim as Summer's back smacks against the surface. Tommy grabs her by the hair and tries to force her head underwater, but Summer drives an elbow into his ribs and twists free.

She scrambles up, catches Tommy with a forearm to the face, and sends him stumbling backward through the shallow water.

Summer charges and drives her shoulder into his stomach. Both competitors crash into the side of the tub. Tommy swings wildly, catching Summer across the cheek. He follows with another punch, then grabs her around the waist and attempts to throw her beneath the water.

Summer fights like hell, clawing at his arms until she manages to slip behind him. She grabs his head and smashes his face against the side of the bathtub.

TODD: Summer Page is throwing everything she has at Tommy Wish! She knows the water is rising, and every second spent fighting gives them less room to breathe!

BAMA T: I DON'T KNOW ABOUT YOU, TODD, BUT I'M STAYING AWAY FROM BATHTUBS FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE AFTER THIS!

Tommy staggers away from the wall, holding his face. Summer grabs him by the wrist and whips him across the tub. Tommy slips on the wet surface, falls onto his back, and sends a tidal wave of water crashing toward the champion.

Summer lunges to cover him, trying to hold his shoulders and head beneath the water. Tommy immediately starts thrashing, kicking his legs and striking her in the stomach until she loses her grip. He shoves her away and rises to one knee, coughing.

He grabs Summer by the ankle and yanks her off balance.

Summer falls hard into the water. Tommy scrambles on top of her and presses both hands against her shoulders, attempting to submerge her head. Summer's arms flail for a moment before she catches Tommy beneath the chin and drives a sharp blow upward.

Tommy recoils.

Summer uses the opening to push him away and get to her feet. She grabs him by the head, delivers a knee to the stomach, and follows with a hard right hand that sends him sprawling into the middle of the tub.

The water is already climbing past their knees.

TODD: Summer is finding her rhythm now! Tommy tried to take control early, but the champion is fighting her way back into this thing!

BAMA T: She better keep fighting! That water is getting deeper by the second, and neither one of these people is gonna win a swimming competition tonight!

Tommy pulls himself upright using the rim of the bathtub. Summer advances, but he catches her with a sudden kick to the ribs. He follows with a punch to the stomach, then grabs her around the neck and tries to force her downward.

Summer digs her feet into the floor and resists. Tommy leans harder, using his weight to push her backward. Her shoulders strike the wall, and he starts forcing her head toward the rising water.

Summer manages to plant a knee into Tommy's stomach.

He doubles over.

She grabs the back of his head and drives it into the rim of the bathtub. Tommy stumbles away, stunned. Summer follows with a clothesline that sends him splashing onto his back.

She drops down and tries to push his head beneath the water.

Tommy grabs her wrist. He twists hard, rolls onto his side, and drags her down with him. The two competitors disappear beneath the churning water for a moment, arms and legs thrashing wildly.

Summer surfaces first, gasping for air. Tommy emerges beside her, coughing and blinking water from his eyes.

Both competitors cling to the sides of the bathtub, trying to catch their breath.

TODD: This is becoming a desperate struggle for survival! Neither competitor can afford to stay underwater for long, and the water level is rising rapidly!

BAMA T: I SEE PEOPLE IN THE BACK LOOKING AROUND FOR FREDDY KRUEGER! IF THAT MAN SHOWS UP, I'M LEAVING THE BUILDING!

Tommy suddenly lunges forward and catches Summer with a vicious headbutt. The champion reels backward, clutching her face. Tommy grabs her by the shoulders and drives her against the wall again, then starts hammering her with punches.

Summer tries to cover up, but Tommy keeps swinging. He lands a heavy right hand that leaves her slumped against the side of the tub.

Tommy grabs her by the hair and pulls her forward.

He attempts to force her head underwater, but Summer catches his wrist and bites down on the hand holding her hair.

Tommy yelps and immediately lets go.

Summer shoves him away and slaps him across the face. She follows with a knee to the gut, then grabs his head and plants him with a DDT into the water.

The impact sends a huge splash over the edge.

Summer rises, breathing heavily, and looks toward the audience. She raises her fist, drawing a roar from the crowd as Tommy lies on his back.

She grabs his legs and drags him toward the deeper center of the tub.

Tommy suddenly sits up and catches her with a punch to the jaw. Summer staggers backward. He scrambles up and tries to seize her around the neck, but she ducks underneath and drives him into the wall with a shoulder tackle.

Tommy collapses into the water.

Summer raises her boot and stomps down across his chest.

TODD: The champion is absolutely relentless! Summer Page knows exactly what is at stake, and she is doing everything possible to put Tommy Wish away!

BAMA T: I'LL SAY THIS, TODD, SUMMER PAGE IS BUILT FOR A NIGHTMARE! TOMMY WISH IS GONNA NEED A MIRACLE!

Tommy drags himself upright, coughing and sputtering. He wipes water from his eyes and stares at Summer.

Then his expression changes.

His eyes drift downward.

Summer notices him staring at her feet.

Tommy slowly lowers himself onto his knees.

TODD: Uh... Tommy? What are you doing?

Tommy reaches toward Summer's ankle.

Summer steps backward, confused and disgusted. Tommy follows, crawling through the rising water with a strange grin spreading across his face. He grabs her foot with both hands and pulls it toward him.

BAMA T: OH, NO. NO, NO, NO! TOMMY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! THIS IS A CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH, YOU ABSOLUTE WEIRDO!

Tommy ignores the shouting from the commentary desk. He begins trying to sniff Summer's foot, looking completely oblivious to the fact that the water is now approaching his waist. He pulls her ankle closer and attempts to lick her toes.

Summer stares down at him in utter disbelief.

She tries to yank her foot free.

Tommy clings tighter.

TODD: I CANNOT BELIEVE WHAT I'M WATCHING! TOMMY WISH HAS COMPLETELY LOST FOCUS! HE IS TRYING TO SNIFF AND LICK THE CHAMPION'S FEET WHILE THE BATHTUB FILLS WITH WATER!

BAMA T: YOU ARE ABOUT TO DROWN, BROTHER! YOU ARE ABOUT TO BECOME A HUMAN PRUNE! AND YOU'RE DOWN THERE WORRYING ABOUT HER TOES?! GET YOUR HEAD IN THE GAME!

Tommy finally manages to pull Summer's foot toward his face again.

That is the last mistake he makes.

Summer's expression hardens. She plants her free foot against Tommy's shoulder and kicks him backward, wrenching her ankle out of his grasp. Tommy splashes onto his back, still reaching toward her as though he cannot comprehend why his advances have been rejected.

Summer steps toward him.

Tommy tries to rise onto his knees again.

Summer grabs him by the back of the head, hauls him upright, and drives a brutal knee into his face. Tommy slumps forward, dazed, his hands hanging uselessly at his sides.

Summer turns him around and positions him in the center of the tub.

TODD: SUMMER PAGE HAS HAD ENOUGH! TOMMY WISH HAS GIVEN HER EVERY REASON TO END THIS MATCH!

BAMA T: END IT, SUMMER! END IT NOW!

Summer plants her boot behind Tommy's head, grabs him around the neck, and CURBSTOMPS HIS FACE STRAIGHT INTO THE BOTTOM OF THE BATHTUB!

Tommy's face smashes against the floor. The impact sends water exploding around them. He collapses flat, stunned, and Summer immediately grabs him by the back of the head.

She forces his face beneath the water.

Tommy begins struggling. His hands slap against the bathtub floor as he tries to push himself up, but Summer keeps him down. He kicks his legs and twists his body, desperate to escape the champion's grip.

The water rises over his shoulders.

Summer shifts her weight and drives his head down again.

Tommy's frantic movements begin to slow.

TODD: TOMMY IS UNDERWATER! SUMMER IS HOLDING HIM DOWN!

BAMA T: REFEREE, GET IN THERE! SOMEBODY DO SOMETHING! WE NEED MEDICAL PERSONNEL STANDING BY RIGHT NOW!

The referee leans over the edge, shouting at Summer to release him. She holds Tommy down for another moment, then finally lets go and scrambles backward toward the side of the bathtub.

Tommy floats face-down in the water.

He does not move.

The referee immediately signals for the bell and climbs into the tub, grabbing Tommy by the shoulder and rolling him onto his back. Tommy's face breaks the surface, but he remains completely unresponsive.

DING! DING! DING!

Winner and STILL Revolution Champion- Summer Page

TODD: THE BELL HAS RUNG! SUMMER PAGE RETAINS THE REVOLUTION CHAMPIONSHIP! SUMMER PAGE HAS SURVIVED THE BATH-TUB OF HORROR!

BAMA T: FORGET THE CELEBRATION! WE NEED PARAMEDICS IN THERE RIGHT NOW! GET THE MEDICAL TEAM OUT HERE! DRAIN THAT TUB! SOMEBODY CHECK ON TOMMY WISH!

Officials rush toward the bathtub as the referee desperately tries to keep Tommy's head above the water. Medical personnel climb into the tub and immediately begin attending to him. One official pulls Summer toward the ropes while another reaches for the emergency drain.

Summer sits against the side of the tub, exhausted and shaken. The crowd roars as the referee raises her arm, confirming the result.

TODD: Summer Page has done it! She has retained the Revolution Championship in one of the most disturbing matches we've ever witnessed here on Anarchy!

BAMA T: SUMMER'S STILL CHAMPION, BUT WE NEED TO KNOW THAT TOMMY WISH IS GONNA BE OKAY! THIS IS A NIGHTMARE, TODD! THIS IS EXACTLY WHAT THEY PROMISED US, AND I HATE EVERY SECOND OF IT!

The camera catches the medical team urgently working over Tommy as the bathtub drains. Summer Page clutches her Revolution Championship while officials clear the area and call for additional assistance.

The camera cuts to the Cockroach Motel..

The place is a monument to municipal neglect. The flickering neon sign outside has three functioning letters, spelling COC R A H, while something wet and unidentifiable drips from an air-conditioning unit onto a faded welcome mat. A shopping cart rests on its side beside a dumpster. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks, followed by a sound that might be another dog or might be a grown man having a terrible evening.

Inside, the hallway is narrow, the wallpaper is peeling, and the carpet has achieved a color that no manufacturer has ever willingly produced.

At the end of the corridor stands a room with a battered door and a rusted number six screwed into the wood.

Todd: "Welcome to the Cockroach Motel, everybody. Tonight, the rules are simple. There is no pinfall, no submission victory, no disqualification victory. To win, you have to get your opponent inside one of these motel rooms and lock the door."

Bama: "Todd, I have stayed in some questionable establishments in my time. I have slept in a truck stop bathroom because somebody stole my truck. I once spent three nights in a shed with a possum that I am fairly certain was plotting against me. But this place? This place looks like the possum would ask for a refund."

Todd: "The match is non-title, but there's no question that the Universal Champion, Micheal Graves, has a great deal at stake here. These two men were once allies in the Brotherhood of Bastards. That relationship has deteriorated badly since the group split."

Bama: "And now you've got the self-proclaimed God of the XWF against the man who looks at him and sees a bug. I don't know which one of these fellas is right, Todd, but I know this much: neither one of 'em is getting their security deposit back."

A church organ begins to play.

The hallway lights flicker.

And then a voice, amplified through speakers that sound like they're being fed through a meat grinder, booms across the motel grounds.

"MY CHILDREN!"

Mister Oz emerges from the far end of the corridor in his black-and-neon-green Ghost Tank gear. He spreads his arms wide, surveying the peeling wallpaper and the stained ceiling with the solemnity of a king surveying a conquered kingdom.

He actually smiles.

He raises one hand, and somewhere behind the camera, a small cluster of followers responds with enthusiastic applause.

Oz soaks it in.

TODD: "Mister Oz is certainly comfortable with an audience. He's built an entire following around the idea that he's something greater than an ordinary man."

BAMA: "He has a congregation, Todd. I have a congregation, too. It's three guys at the Waffle House who agree with me that the hash browns ought to be extra crispy. Difference is, my congregation doesn't think I can walk on water."

Oz turns toward the camera.

He pauses, looking at a cockroach scuttling across the wall.

He watches it for several seconds.

Then he crouches, extending one finger toward it.

The cockroach disappears into a crack.

Oz's smile vanishes.

He rises, turns toward the camera, and resumes his solemn expression.

He points toward Room Six.

He throws his arms wide.

…

The lights go out.

A distorted guitar riff erupts from the speakers, followed by the sound of a man laughing like he has just remembered the funniest thing anybody has ever done to a shopping cart.

The camera swings toward the entrance.

Micheal Graves walks into the hallway.

The Universal Championship is slung over his shoulder. His face is hidden behind his mask, and beneath the harsh motel lighting, the bruises and damage he's been carrying are difficult to miss. He looks tired. He looks sore. He looks like a man who has been sleeping badly and has developed a personal grudge against the concept of sleep itself.

He stops beside a vending machine.

Looks inside.

Shakes it.

A candy bar falls.

Graves retrieves it, examines the wrapper, and reads the expiration date.

He looks into the camera.

"Still good."

He pockets it.

Then he turns toward Oz.

He takes in the hallway, the carpeting, the peeling wallpaper, the rusted door hinges.

Oz stares at him.

Graves raises the championship slightly.

Oz's expression hardens.

Graves chuckles.

He looks at the camera again.

Oz's jaw tightens.

MICHEAL GRAVES ©
- vs -
MR. OZ

Cockroach Motel Match!

The only way to win this non-title match is by locking your opponent inside a room in the cockroach motel!

Oz's right hand shoots forward, fingers spread, and clamps around Graves's throat.

Graves's grin disappears as Oz drives him backward into the wall hard enough to rattle a framed picture of a beach hanging crookedly above a fire extinguisher. The picture falls. The glass shatters around them.

Oz roars in his face.

"YOU WILL SHOW ME RESPECT!"

Graves grabs Oz's wrist with both hands, but Oz is already lifting him. The Universal Champion's boots leave the carpet, his back grinding against the wallpaper as Oz holds him up by the throat.

Todd: "Mister Oz is wasting absolutely no time! Graves came in casual, like this was an off night, and Oz has taken that personally!"

Bama: "Todd, I believe Oz would take a compliment personally if it wasn't delivered with the appropriate amount of kneeling!"

Graves drives a knee into Oz's ribs.

Once.

Twice.

On the third, Oz grunts, and Graves manages to get his feet underneath him. He swings a heavy-handed slap across Oz's face.

SMACK!

Oz's head turns.

Graves follows with another.

SMACK!

Then a third with a loud SMAAAAAAACK!

Bama: “That last one sounded less like a wrestling strike and more like my daddy discovering his brother Chachee was using the family credit card to buy fireworks!”

Oz slowly looks back at him.

Graves nods.

"Yeah. That's the spot."

Oz headbutts him.

Graves crumples.

Todd: "GOOD LORD! A headbutt from Oz just stopped Graves dead in his tracks!"

Bama: "That's what happens when you slap a man who thinks he's God, Todd! You get struck by the wrath of heaven! Or, in this case, the wrath of a very large forehead!"

Oz seizes Graves by the back of the neck and hurls him down the corridor. Graves hits the carpet, rolls onto his shoulder, and crashes into a housekeeping cart.

The cart tips over.

Sheets, towels, cleaning supplies, and a small collection of toiletries spill across the floor.

…Oz stares down at Graves, cracking his knuckles, ready to break his body…

When Graves barrels forward and plants a boot between Oz's shoulder blades!

Oz face-plants into the cart.

The metal frame collapses beneath him.

Graves grabs the back of Oz's head and slams it against the wall.

Once.

Twice.

On the third attempt, Oz catches the wall with his hands and drives an elbow backward into Graves's jaw.

Graves staggers.

Oz spins, catches him around the waist, and launches him with a fallaway-style throw that sends the champion crashing onto the reception desk.

The desk buckles.

A bell rings.

Neither man acknowledges it.

Oz climbs onto the wreckage and grabs Graves by the mask, dragging him upright.

Graves spits blood onto the carpet.

Oz punches him.

Graves answers with a backfist.

Oz answers with a big boot.

Graves falls backward through the flimsy office door, which breaks off one hinge and drops him into the tiny reception area.

A sign behind the counter reads:

NO REFUNDS. NO EXCEPTIONS. NO EXCUSES.

Graves lies beneath it, blinking.

He points upward.

"Finally. A fuckin' business with a policy I respect."

Oz stomps down on his chest.

Graves coughs, rolling to his side as Oz reaches down to pull him up again. This time, Graves catches Oz's arm, twists his body, and drives a short back elbow into his jaw.

Oz stumbles against the counter.

Graves scrambles to his feet and catches him with a headbutt of his own.

For a second, both men sway.

Then Graves hits a second headbutt.

Oz drops to one knee.

Graves grabs him by the hair.

He drives Oz face-first into the counter.

Todd: "Graves is turning this into exactly the kind of fight he wanted! He's not trying to outwrestle Oz. He's trying to hurt him!"

Bama: "And he's got plenty of motivation to do it! That Charlie Nickles business has got him walking around like a man with a lit firecracker in his pocket and no idea which end is the fuse!"

Graves drags Oz across the counter and attempts to lift him for the Grave Digger.

But Oz is too heavy to move cleanly in the cramped space.

Graves strains, gets Oz halfway up, and nearly loses his grip.

Oz slips behind him.

A sharp knee to the back.

Then Oz hooks Graves around the waist, hoists him into a delayed vertical suplex, and holds him suspended.

One squat.

Two.

Three.

Oz lowers himself again.

Four.

Five.

He rises, roaring, and drops Graves backward across the counter with a thunderous vertical suplex.

The wood splits.

Graves's body bounces against the wreckage.

Oz staggers away, chest heaving, and throws both arms wide.

"BEHOLD!"

He points toward the broken counter.

"BEHOLD THE POWER OF YOUR GOD!"

A door opens behind him.

An elderly motel guest, wearing a bathrobe and clutching a cup of coffee, peers into the reception area.

…Oz and Graves glance at her.

Both sets look at the other like they don’t know what the hell the other is doing there…

The woman sighs.

"Knew I should have stayed at the Motel 6."

She shuts the door.

Graves laughs.

It's a short, ugly laugh, immediately interrupted when Oz grabs him by the throat and drags him off the counter.

Oz hurls him through the doorway and into the hallway.

Graves crashes onto the carpet.

Oz follows, steps over him, and points toward Room Six.

Graves rolls onto his back.

Oz kicks him in the ribs.

Graves curls around the impact.

Oz grabs him by both ankles and begins dragging him toward the room. Graves claws at the carpet, leaving his fingers scraping through the fibers, trying to catch a seam or a piece of exposed flooring.

He reaches a housekeeping cart.

His fingers close around the handle.

He yanks.

The cart rolls backward, striking Oz in the knees.

Oz stumbles.

Graves pulls himself toward the cart, grabs a metal ice bucket from the top shelf, and hurls it.

The bucket catches Oz squarely in the forehead.

Oz drops the champion's legs.

Graves rolls away, gasping.

He rises with the help of the wall and grabs the ice bucket again.

Oz pushes himself upright.

Graves swings.

Oz ducks.

The bucket dents against the wall.

Oz grabs Graves around the waist, drives him backward, and lifts him into the air. With a tremendous heave, he presses Graves overhead in a gorilla press.

Graves kicks wildly, striking Oz in the shoulder and face.

Oz adjusts his grip.

For one terrible second, he seems ready to throw Graves through the ceiling.

Instead, he turns toward the hallway and launches the champion into a linen closet.

Graves crashes through the open door and disappears beneath a pile of towels.

The closet door slams shut.

Oz stands over it, breathing heavily.

He raises his hands.

The closet door explodes outward.

A towel-covered Graves launches himself at Oz like a particularly angry laundry pile.

He tackles Oz into the opposite wall, and both men go down in a tangle of limbs and fabric.

Graves emerges first, ripping towels away from his mask.

He grabs Oz's head and begins delivering trapping headbutts.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Oz's hands flail, trying to get leverage.

Graves keeps driving his forehead into Oz's face until Oz finally manages to shove him off.

They separate.

Graves wipes his mouth.

Oz wipes his nose.

They stare at each other.

Then Graves laughs again.

Oz charges.

Graves charges.

They collide in the middle of the hallway with a double clothesline that drops both men flat on their backs.

For a moment, neither moves.

The camera pans across the hallway.

A cockroach emerges from beneath the fallen housekeeping cart.

It pauses beside Oz's outstretched hand.

Then it crawls over his fingers.

Todd is silent.

Bama is silent.

The camera follows the insect as it disappears beneath the carpet.

Todd: "I don't even know what to say."

Bama: "I do. That cockroach is the only creature in this building that might get through tonight without getting punched in the face. And that makes it evolutionarily superior to either of these goons!"

The first man to move is Oz.

He rolls onto his side, pushes himself up with one arm, and staggers toward Graves. His expression has changed. The preacher's smile is gone. The theatrical grandiosity has given way to something more primal.

He looks at Graves as though the man has personally insulted every belief he has ever held.

Graves is trying to stand, one hand pressed against his ribs.

Oz grabs him by the shoulder.

Graves swings a weak punch.

Oz catches it.

Oz drives a knee into Graves's stomach, then hooks his arms around the champion's waist and throws him with a hip toss.

Graves lands hard.

Oz follows with a knee drop across his chest.

Then another.

And another.

He rises, throws his head back, and bellows.

He grabs Graves by the mask and pulls him upright.

He slams Graves into the wall.

Graves's head bounces against the wallpaper.

For the first time tonight, he doesn't immediately respond with a joke.

Oz notices.

He leans closer.

"WHERE'S THAT MOUTH NOW?"

Graves looks up at him.

He spits in Oz's face.

Oz freezes.

Graves grins.

”Still here.”

"Just needed you to shut the fuck up long enough to hear it."

Graves drives his forehead into Oz's nose.

Oz staggers backward, releasing him.

Graves follows with a heavy backfist, then a heart punch that lands squarely against Oz's chest.

Oz doubles over.

Graves grabs him around the waist, turns, and lifts.

The Grave Digger!

Oz crashes down onto the carpet with the full force of the Death Valley Driver.

Graves lands beside him, immediately rolling onto his back and sucking air through clenched teeth.

[blue]Todd: "GRAVE DIGGER! Graves has just planted Mister Oz with the Death Valley Driver!"

Bama: "And listen to that crowd! This is the first time all night Graves has managed to get Oz down without needing half the building to help him!"

Graves rolls onto his stomach and crawls toward Oz.

Oz rolls onto his side, coughing.

Graves grabs him by the head.

He drags Oz upright.

A slap.

Another slap.

Graves swings a third time.

Oz catches his wrist.

The champion's eyes widen.

Oz rises, slowly, pulling Graves toward him.

His other hand closes around Graves's throat.

Graves tries to pry the fingers loose.

Oz lifts him.

Not all the way overhead this time. Not cleanly. He has taken too much punishment for that. But he manages to hoist Graves high enough to drive him down with a brutal gorilla press gutbuster, folding the champion across his raised knee.

Graves rolls away, gasping.

Oz drops to one knee, exhausted.

The two men stare at one another from opposite sides of the hallway.

Neither looks particularly divine.

Neither looks particularly human.

Both look like they have spent the evening being dragged behind a truck.

Oz slowly rises.

He extends his arms.

"LOOK UPON ME!"

Graves pushes himself upright against the wall.

Oz points at him.

"LOOK UPON YOUR GOD!"

Graves looks at the ceiling.

Then back at Oz.

Oz's expression becomes murderous.

He charges.

Graves sidesteps.

Oz crashes shoulder-first into the wall.

Graves grabs him from behind and attempts to drag him down into a sleeper hold.

Oz immediately starts fighting the hands, twisting his shoulders and throwing elbows backward.

The first elbow catches Graves in the ribs.

The second misses.

The third connects with his jaw.

Graves refuses to release the hold.

He clamps down harder, dragging Oz backward and sinking his weight into him.

Oz staggers, stumbling sideways into a doorframe.

Graves squeezes.

Oz's face reddens.

He claws at Graves's forearms.

Graves leans close to his ear.

"That's it, big man."

He tightens the hold.

"Go on. Take a nap."

Oz slams his head backward into Graves's face.

Graves's grip loosens.

Oz drives backward again, smashing Graves into the wall.

Again.

Again.

On the fourth impact, Graves finally releases the hold.

Oz turns, grabs him by the shoulders, and drives him into the door of Room Six.

The wood rattles.

Graves swings a desperate elbow.

Oz absorbs it, hooks him around the waist, and lifts him into a body slam.

The champion crashes onto the carpet.

Oz stands over him.

He looks toward Room Six.

Then back at Graves.

Oz begins dragging Graves toward the room.

He pulls Graves toward the doorway.

Graves kicks at him, but Oz maintains his grip.

The door swings open.

Oz drags Graves over the threshold.

For a split second, it appears that the Universal Champion is about to lose his own match.

Then Graves grabs the doorframe with both hands.

Oz pulls.

Graves holds on.

Oz pulls harder.

Graves's fingers slip.

One hand releases.

Then the other.

But as Oz hauls him farther into the room, Graves reaches up and catches Oz by the collar.

He yanks.

Oz stumbles forward, off balance.

Graves twists his body, plants a foot against Oz's hip, and kicks him backward out of the doorway.

Oz crashes into the opposite wall.

Graves scrambles out of the room.

Both men collapse in the hallway.

Oz slowly rises.

His face is red with rage.

Graves is waiting for him.

And the Dark Warrior hits him with a spear.

The impact drives Oz backward into the wall. The plaster cracks. Oz's body folds around the blow, and Graves stays attached, driving forward with every ounce of strength he has left.

They crash to the carpet.

Graves rolls off him and lies there, chest heaving.

Oz is motionless.

Graves turns his head.

He looks at the fallen man.

Then at the door.

Then back at Oz.

His breathing slows.

He gets to his knees.

And he starts laughing.

Not the theatrical laughter from his entrance. Not the mocking chuckle he's used all night.

This is a tired, breathless, almost disbelieving laugh.

Graves crawls toward Oz.

He grabs Oz by the wrist and begins dragging him toward Room Six.

Oz's fingers twitch.

Graves doesn't notice.

He gets Oz halfway to the door before the larger man suddenly rolls onto his back and kicks Graves square in the chest.

Graves tumbles backward.

Oz rises to one knee.

He looks at Graves.

Then he looks at the room.

And then he roars.

He surges forward with a shoulder tackle that knocks Graves off his feet.

Graves crashes into the wall, and Oz follows with a big boot that catches him in the chest.

Graves slumps against the plaster.

Oz grabs him by the mask.

He pulls Graves upright.

He drives a headbutt into Graves's face.

Graves spits a mouthful of blood onto Oz's shirt.

Oz stops, momentarily shocked.

Graves drives a knee into Oz's stomach.

Then another.

He hooks Oz's arm, pivots, and delivers a short inverted DDT that drops the larger man onto the carpet.

Graves falls beside him.

Neither moves.

The referee looks down at them, then toward the open door.

The audience begins to chant.

"ROACH! ROACH! ROACH! ROACH!"

TODD: I don’t know even know what the fuck is going on, Bama.

Graves pushes himself upright, grabs Oz by the hair, and begins hauling him toward the housekeeping cart.

Oz is still conscious. Barely. His eyes are open, his teeth clenched, and every few seconds he tries to throw a punch that doesn't quite connect.

Graves drags him past the broken reception desk.

Past the scattered towels.

Past the ice bucket.

Up to the open doorway of Room Six…

…

When Oz suddenly surges upright, throwing a wild clothesline that catches Graves across the chest.

Graves stumbles backward.

Oz grabs him around the waist and drives him into the wall with a shoulder tackle. The impact shakes a ceiling light loose, and it swings overhead, casting the hallway into an intermittent rhythm of illumination and shadow.

Oz grabs Graves by the throat.

He lifts him.

He throws Graves into the wall again.

Graves slumps forward.

Oz catches him and drags him toward Room Six.

This time, the champion has no immediate answer. His arms hang loosely at his sides, and his boots drag across the carpet as Oz hauls him toward the doorway.

Oz reaches the room and kicks the door open.

He pulls Graves inside.

The crowd erupts.

Todd: "OZ IS GETTING HIM INTO THE ROOM! THIS COULD BE IT!"

Bama: "THE GOD HAS GOT HIM! THE GOD HAS GOT HIM!"

Oz throws Graves onto the bed.

The mattress collapses.

A cloud of dust erupts from the frame.

Oz stands over Graves, breathing heavily, and spreads his arms.

"BEHOLD!"

He points at the champion.

"BEHOLD THE POWER OF YOUR—"

Graves sits up.

He has a pillow in his hands.

He swings it.

The pillow strikes Oz directly in the face.

Oz freezes.

Graves swings again.

Oz staggers backward.

Graves throws the pillow at him, rolls off the broken bed, and lunges forward with a double-leg takedown that sends Oz crashing onto the floor.

Both men scramble.

Graves gets to his knees first and hammers Oz with a series of heavy-handed slaps.

Oz covers his face.

Graves grabs him by the hair.

SUH-MACK! Graves delivers another open-hand chop across Oz’s face!

TODD: Graves might be the stiffest striker in XWF history!

BAMA: That slap could break a cinderblock!

Graves grabs Oz's wrist, pulls him upright, and drives him backward into the wall.

Oz swings a backfist.

Graves ducks.

Oz's fist smashes into the plaster.

Graves catches him around the waist and drives him into the doorframe.

Then he hits him with a back elbow.

Then a headbutt.

Then a short, vicious bulldog that sends Oz face-first into the carpet.

Graves rolls him over and tries to lift him.

Oz resists.

Graves tries again.

Oz throws an elbow.

Graves ducks and catches the arm, wrenching it behind Oz's back. He drags Oz to his feet and drives him into the wall one more time.

Then Graves hooks both arms around Oz's waist.

He lifts.

The Grave Digger!

Oz twists in midair, dropping his weight and catching Graves with a knee to the ribs before the Death Valley Driver can be completed.

Graves staggers.

Oz grabs him around the throat.

For one final moment, the two men stand face-to-face.

Oz is bleeding. Graves is bleeding. Both are trembling with exhaustion.

…Both slowly rise!

Oz charges first!

But Graves twists, steps behind Oz, and drives a brutal back elbow into his jaw.

Oz staggers.

Graves hits him with a backfist.

Oz drops to one knee.

Graves grabs him around the waist and finally manages to lift him.

The Grave Digger!

Oz crashes onto the floor.

Graves falls beside him.

For several seconds, neither man moves.

FIGHT FOREVER! FIGHT FOREVER! FIGHT FOREVER!

TODD: These fans want this fight to last to eternity!

BAMA: Damn shame, because checkout is at 10 AM. And I get the vibe this place doesn’t do late checkouts!

Graves slowly rises off the hotel floor first…

Graves drops to his knees beside Oz…

He grabs Oz's wrist and begins dragging him toward the doorway.

One inch.

Two inches.

A foot.

Oz's body scrapes across the carpet.

Graves's face contorts with effort.

He pauses to catch his breath.

Then he resumes.

Finally, Oz's body slides across the threshold and into the room.

Graves releases him.

He lies on his back in the doorway, staring up at the ceiling.

A long, exhausted silence follows.

Then Oz moves.

His fingers curl.

His shoulders twitch.

He begins to rise.

Graves turns his head.

Oz pushes himself onto one knee.

Graves rolls over, grabs the edge of the door, and uses it to haul himself upright.

Oz staggers to his feet.

Oz raises his hands.

Graves raises his.

They move toward one another.

Oz throws a punch.

Graves blocks it.

Graves throws a punch.

Oz blocks it.

Oz swings a backfist.

Graves ducks.

Graves drives a knee into Oz's stomach.

Oz answers with a headbutt.

Graves stumbles backward into the hallway.

Oz follows.

Graves catches him with a desperate shoulder tackle that sends both men crashing through the doorway again.

They hit the floor in a heap.

Graves rolls on top of Oz and begins throwing punches.

Oz covers up.

Graves keeps hitting him.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

Four.

Oz's face twists.

He shoves Graves off him.

He throws himself forward, grabbing Graves by the throat and driving him into the wall.

Graves struggles against the grip.

Oz lifts him.

Graves drives both thumbs into Oz's eyes.

Oz releases him with a howl.

Graves drops to the floor, rolls forward, and catches Oz's legs.

He yanks.

Oz falls backward, striking the floor hard.

Graves scrambles on top of him and locks in a sleeper hold.

Oz thrashes.

He claws at Graves's hands.

He tries to turn.

Graves tightens the hold and pulls him away from the doorway.

Oz reaches toward the threshold.

His fingers scrape against the carpet.

He is inches from the hallway.

Graves squeezes harder.

Oz's hand opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

Then, with a final surge of strength, Oz manages to get a foot underneath him and push himself upright.

Graves is still attached to his back.

Oz staggers to his feet, carrying the champion.

He slams backward into the wall.

Graves grunts but doesn't release the hold.

Oz does it again.

And again.

On the fourth impact, Graves's grip finally breaks.

Oz turns, swinging a wild clothesline.

Graves ducks.

He grabs Oz's wrist, pivots, and delivers a short, vicious pull of the arm that sends Oz stumbling into the room's bathroom doorway.

Oz catches himself against the sink.

Graves charges.

Oz turns.

Graves hits him with a spear.

Both men crash through the bathroom doorway.

The sink breaks.

Water sprays across the floor.

Oz falls onto his back, and Graves lands across him, clutching his ribs.

For a moment, the only sound is running water.

Then Graves slowly pushes himself upright.

Graves drags him out of the bathroom and across the floor.

Oz tries to fight back, but his movements are sluggish now. He reaches for the bedframe, catches it with one hand, and holds on.

Graves pulls.

The bedframe slides.

Oz pulls harder.

The bedframe collapses.

Graves falls backward.

Oz rolls onto his side.

They lie there for a moment, surrounded by broken furniture and shattered porcelain.

Graves turns his head.

Oz begins to laugh.

It's a horrible sound, rough and breathless, almost indistinguishable from a cough.

Graves looks at him.

He walks over to Oz.

Grabs him by the collar.

And hauls him to his feet.

Graves drives a knee into Oz's stomach.

Then another.

He hooks his arm around Oz's neck and drags him toward the bed.

Oz tries to resist.

Graves pulls harder.

Oz swings an elbow.

Graves ducks.

Oz swings again.

Graves catches the arm and twists, driving Oz forward into the wall.

Oz staggers.

Graves grabs him around the waist.

Lifts.

And delivers the Grave Digger a second time.

Oz crashes onto the floor.

Graves collapses beside him.

This time, Oz doesn't move.

Graves rolls onto his stomach and crawls toward the door.

He reaches the threshold.

Then he turns back.

He looks at Oz.

He looks at the broken room.

And finally, he looks at the lock.

Graves drags himself upright.

He staggers to the doorway, grabs the door with both hands, and pulls it wide open.

Then he turns around, walks back into the room, and grabs Oz by the wrist.

He drags him the final few feet across the carpet.

Oz's body slides over the threshold.

Graves pulls him entirely inside.

Then he stumbles back into the hallway.

He looks down at Oz.

For several seconds, he stands there, breathing heavily.

Then he reaches for the door.

Oz's eyes open.

He lunges forward, catching Graves by the wrist.

Graves yelps.

Oz drags himself toward the threshold, grabbing the doorframe with his free hand.

Graves tries to pull away.

Oz's fingers tighten.

The two men struggle at the doorway, each trying to drag the other across the threshold.

Oz gets one knee into the hallway.

Graves kicks him in the chest.

Oz falls backward.

Graves slams the door.

CLICK.

The lock engages.

For a moment, there is silence.

Then a tremendous crash comes from inside the room.

The door shakes.

Oz pounds against it.

Graves leans against the wall, eyes closed, barely able to stand.

Another crash.

Graves slides down the wall and sits on the carpet.

He looks at the camera.

He lifts one trembling hand and gives a lazy thumbs-up.

"Room service."

The referee checks the lock, then signals for the bell.

DING! DING! DING!

Winner: ‘Dark Warrior’ Micheal Graves

Todd: "HE DID IT! MICHEAL GRAVES HAS LOCKED MISTER OZ INSIDE ROOM SIX! THE DARK WARRIOR WINS THE COCKROACH MOTEL MATCH!"

Bama: "AND THE GOD HAS BEEN CHECKED INTO THE HOTEL, TODD! NO REFUNDS! NO EXCEPTIONS! NO EXCUSES!"

The crowd erupts.

Graves remains seated on the carpet, breathing heavily, his head resting against the wall.

He slowly rises, using the wall for support.

The Universal Championship lies a few feet away, abandoned in the hallway. Graves walks over to it, picks it up, and slings it over his shoulder.

Then he turns toward the door.

TODD: The final match of Nightmare on Anarchy was upon us! Five teams. Ten competitors. Two championship belts. One abandoned town with a history of nightmares, disappearances, and things that were better left sleeping.

BAMA T: The Anarchy Tag Team Championships have been taken somewhere into Springwood! Nobody knows precisely where! The competitors have been instructed to find the gold and escape the nightmare. The first team to locate the championships and successfully escape will win the match!

TODD: There’s just one problem, Bama…Freddy Krueger lives here!

The five teams were scattered across the abandoned town, each starting at a different location. They had no way to communicate with one another. They had no maps, no reliable directions, and no guarantee that the streets would take them where they wanted to go.

Somewhere in Springwood, two championship belts waited in the dark.

Somewhere in Springwood, Freddy Krueger was waiting too.

TODD: Ladies and gentlemen, this is our main event! Five teams are scattered across Springwood, and the only way to win the Anarchy Tag Team Championships is to find the gold and escape!

BAMA T: Todd, I have spent my entire career around professional wrestling. I have seen steel cages, barbed wire, exploding rings, and men voluntarily getting into ambulances. I have never seen anything as stupid as sending ten wrestlers into a town where a nightmare murderer lives!

TODD: The reigning champions, Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree, will be defending against The Woke Mind Virus, Vita Valenteen and Deacon St. John, Liam Roberts and Savannah Knightley, and Marisol Vilaro and Ironfist Clown!

BAMA T: And somewhere in this town, Freddy Krueger has two championship belts. I hope he likes wrestling because I have a feeling he's about to get a whole lot of it!

The cameras cut to five different locations.

At the abandoned Springwood High School, Liam Roberts and Savannah Knightley stood beneath a flickering fluorescent light, staring down a hallway lined with lockers.

At the Springwood Police Department, Centurion and Oleandyr searched through overturned desks and broken filing cabinets.

At the cemetery behind an old church, Vita Valenteen and Deacon St. John examined a set of fresh footprints in the dirt.

At the Springwood Carnival, Marisol Vilaro and Ironfist Clown stood beneath a broken carousel, surrounded by stuffed animals with inexplicably unsettling smiles.

And at the abandoned Springwood Zoo, Roger and Safari Stu stood in front of a sign reading:

DANGEROUS ANIMALS. DO NOT FEED.

Roger looked at the sign.

Roger: Stu, I have a question.

Safari Stu: Of course, Roger. An explorer must always be prepared to ask questions.

Roger: Do you think Freddy is an animal?

Safari Stu considered this.

Safari Stu: Technically, he is a human being who has suffered extensive burns and appears to possess supernatural abilities.

Roger nodded.

Roger: So he's a dangerous animal.

Safari Stu: That's a very simplistic interpretation.

Roger: Should we feed him?

Safari Stu: ABSOLUTELY NOT.

A loudspeaker crackled above them.

A distorted voice spoke from the darkness.

Freddy: Ready or not…

The zoo's gates slammed shut.

Freddy: Here I come, bitch!

The bell rang!

The nightmare begins!

Liam Roberts and Savannah Knightley had barely begun their search when the first bell rang.

The school bell.

It echoed through the empty hallways, reverberating from classroom to classroom. A series of doors opened by themselves, one after another, revealing dark rooms filled with abandoned desks.

Liam looked down the hallway.

Liam: I thought the match bell was the bell.

Savannah: Maybe it's a school bell.

Liam: I KNOW IT'S A SCHOOL BELL! WHY IS THERE A SCHOOL BELL?!

A loudspeaker crackled.

"Attention, students. Please report to the principal's office."

Savannah looked at Liam.

Savannah: We should go to the principal's office. Maybe there's a clue.

Liam stared at her.

Liam: You want to go to the principal's office in a haunted school?

Savannah: It is the only announcement we've had.

Liam: I'M NOT GETTING DETENTION IN A NIGHTMARE!

A classroom door creaked open beside them.

Inside, a television sat on the teacher's desk. Its screen flickered to life, displaying a grainy image of two championship belts sitting on a desk.

Liam and Savannah immediately rushed inside.

Savannah: THE BELTS!

Liam: WE FOUND THEM!

They reached the television.

Then the image changed.

The belts were now lying on the floor of a dark room. A gloved hand slowly reached into the frame and dragged them away.

The television went black.

A familiar laugh filled the classroom.

Savannah slowly turned toward the door.

Freddy Krueger stood in the hallway.

Liam looked at him.

Liam: That's a very convincing costume.

Freddy tilted his head.

Liam: Seriously, mate, the hat is a nice touch.

Freddy took a step forward.

Liam: I mean, the glove's a little much. You could probably get away with something less intimidating.

Savannah grabbed Liam's arm.

Savannah: STOP TALKING TO HIM!

Liam: I'M TRYING TO ESTABLISH A RAPPORT!

Freddy lunged through the doorway.

Liam and Savannah bolted.

They tore down the hallway, crashed through a set of double doors, and sprinted into the gymnasium. The basketball hoops swayed overhead despite the absence of wind. The floor was covered in scattered papers, broken chairs, and abandoned school uniforms.

Savannah pointed toward an emergency exit.

Savannah: THERE!

They rushed toward the door.

Liam pulled the handle.

Locked.

He tried again.

Liam: OPEN!

Savannah: IT'S LOCKED!

Liam: I KNOW IT'S LOCKED!

A scraping sound came from the other side of the gymnasium.

Freddy emerged from the bleachers.

Liam slowly released the door handle.

Liam: Savannah?

Savannah: What?

Liam: I think we're going to have to transfer schools.

Freddy sprinted.

Savannah screamed and ran left. Liam screamed and ran right. Freddy somehow appeared between them, sending both competitors crashing to the floor.

The camera cut away just as the gymnasium lights went out.

A basketball bounced once.

Twice.

Then the screen went black.

TODD: LIAM ROBERTS AND SAVANNAH KNIGHTLEY HAVE ALREADY ENCOUNTERED FREDDY KRUEGER! THEY ARE IN SERIOUS TROUBLE!

BAMA T: THEY WENT TO A HAUNTED SCHOOL, TODD! WHAT DID THEY EXPECT? A CAREER DAY?!

A moment later, the camera returned to the empty hallway.

A school locker slowly opened.

Inside, a hand reached out and pulled the door shut.

Liam and Savannah would not be seen again for the remainder of the match.

At the abandoned Springwood Police Department, Centurion was taking the situation considerably more seriously.

The veteran wrestler had spent years in the ring, weathering opponents who relied on brute force, underhanded tactics, and psychological warfare. He had learned to keep a clear head under pressure.

Tonight, he intended to apply those lessons.

Centurion crouched beside a desk and examined a stack of old reports.

Oleandyr searched a wall covered in photographs and missing-person posters.

Oleandyr: These reports all mention the same thing. People having nightmares before they disappear.

Centurion: Freddy's operating on familiar territory. We need to understand the environment before we move.

Oleandyr: There's something else.

Centurion joined her at the wall.

A photograph showed a young man standing beside a championship belt. His face had been scratched out.

Beneath the photograph was a handwritten note.

THE GOLD BELONGS TO THE ONE WHO WAKES.

Centurion studied it.

Centurion: That's our clue.

Oleandyr: Or a trap.

Centurion: Almost certainly a trap. We still need to follow it.

Oleandyr smiled.

Oleandyr: I like your optimism.

Centurion: It's not optimism. It's professional experience.

A telephone rang somewhere in the station.

Both wrestlers turned.

The sound came from an office at the end of the hall.

Centurion raised a finger to his lips, then moved toward the office. Oleandyr followed, keeping a few steps behind him.

The telephone rang again.

Centurion opened the door.

An old desk sat beneath a broken window. A black telephone rested on its surface.

The receiver lifted by itself.

Freddy's voice emerged from the speaker.

Freddy: Officer, I've got two suspects in the building.

Centurion grabbed the receiver.

Centurion: You have the wrong number.

He slammed it down.

The telephone immediately rang again.

Oleandyr shook her head.

Oleandyr: You know, that was probably the least effective way to deal with a supernatural murderer.

Centurion: I was hoping he'd respect the boundary.

The door slammed shut behind them.

The office lights flickered.

A shadow appeared against the wall, its long fingers stretching toward the ceiling.

Centurion turned just as Freddy emerged from the shadow itself.

The veteran reacted immediately, driving a sharp forearm into Freddy's jaw. Oleandyr followed with a kick to the ribs, then caught Freddy with a running knee that drove him back against the desk.

TODD: THE WOKE MIND VIRUS IS TAKING THE FIGHT TO FREDDY!

BAMA T: I DIDN’T KNOW THE LGBTQIA+ COMMUNITY HAD SUCH MASSIVE BALLS, TODD! I RESPECT IT!

Centurion seized Freddy by the wrist and twisted his arm, forcing the bladed glove away from them.

Centurion: MOVE!

Oleandyr darted past him, grabbed a chair, and smashed it across Freddy's back.

The chair broke apart.

Freddy barely moved.

He looked down at the splintered wood, then slowly raised his head.

Freddy: You two play rough…

Centurion shoved him through the office door.

Oleandyr followed with a clothesline that sent Freddy crashing into the hallway.

For the first time that night, Freddy actually stumbled.

TODD: CENTURION AND OLEANDYR ARE FIGHTING BACK! THEY'VE FOUND A WAY TO STAGGER FREDDY KRUEGER!

BAMA T: THAT'S WHAT EXPERIENCE AND TEAMWORK WILL DO FOR YOU, TODD! THEY'RE KEEPING THEIR HEADS, THEY'RE WORKING TOGETHER, AND THEY'RE NOT STANDING AROUND ASKING HIM ABOUT HIS HAT!

Centurion and Oleandyr pressed the advantage.

Centurion drove Freddy into a row of lockers, then hammered him with a series of heavy strikes. Oleandyr grabbed a metal baton from an abandoned security desk and swung it across Freddy's back.

Freddy dropped to one knee.

Oleandyr raised the baton again.

Freddy caught it.

His burned face slowly turned toward her.

Freddy: That's mine now, bitch!

He yanked the baton from her hands and snapped it in half.

Oleandyr stepped back.

Centurion charged.

Freddy sidestepped and sent the veteran crashing through a glass partition. Centurion landed among broken glass and overturned furniture, clutching his shoulder.

Oleandyr rushed to help him.

Oleandyr: Centurion!

Centurion pushed himself upright.

Centurion: I'm fine. Stay focused!

The hallway stretched.

The far wall began moving away from them, extending into an impossibly long corridor. Every door along the hall opened at once.

Inside each room stood another Freddy.

Dozens of burned faces watched them from the darkness.

Oleandyr stared.

Oleandyr: Centurion, tell me you see that.

Centurion: I see it.

Oleandyr: Great. I was hoping I was hallucinating.

The Freddys began laughing.

Then every copy disappeared except one.

The real Freddy stood behind Centurion.

Centurion turned too late.

Freddy's bladed glove slashed across the veteran's back. Centurion dropped to his knees, fighting to stay conscious as Freddy grabbed him by the collar and dragged him toward an open doorway.

Oleandyr charged, landing a desperate series of strikes against Freddy's head and shoulders.

Oleandyr: LET HIM GO!

She caught Freddy with a spinning kick that forced him to release Centurion.

For one glorious moment, she stood between her partner and the nightmare itself.

Centurion looked up at her.

Centurion: Get out of here!

Oleandyr: We're a team!

Centurion: And you're the one who can still win this! Find the belts!

Freddy rose behind him.

Centurion turned and threw himself at the monster, tackling him through the doorway.

The door slammed shut.

Oleandyr ran toward it and grabbed the handle.

It wouldn't move.

She pounded against the wood.

Oleandyr: CENTURION!

From the other side came the sound of a struggle.

Then a heavy impact.

Then silence.

A small piece of paper slid beneath the door.

Oleandyr picked it up.

It contained a single sentence.

EVERY HERO HAS A LAST NIGHT.

Oleandyr crumpled the paper in her fist.

Her eyes filled with fury.

Oleandyr: Fine.

She turned toward the darkness.

Oleandyr: I'll do it myself!

TODD: CENTURION HAS BEEN TAKEN OUT! OLEANDYR IS LEFT TO CONTINUE ALONE!

BAMA T: CENTURION JUST BOUGHT HIS PARTNER A CHANCE TO WIN THIS MATCH! THAT'S WHAT A TAG TEAM IS ABOUT! NOW OLEANDYR HAS TO MAKE IT COUNT!

Oleandyr took a deep breath, tightened her fists, and continued into the station's basement.

The door behind her slowly reopened.

The office was empty.

On the wall, written in fresh red paint, were the words:

NICE TRY.

At the Springwood Carnival, Marisol Vilaro and Ironfist Clown were having a very different experience.

Marisol was searching the abandoned prize booths for clues. Ironfist Clown was attempting to win a stuffed penguin from a carnival game.

He had already thrown three balls.

All three had missed.

HONK.

Marisol turned around.

Marisol: We are looking for the championships.

HONK.

Marisol: The championships. The gold. The reason we're here.

Ironfist Clown pointed at the penguin.

HONK.

Marisol: You cannot pin the penguin for the championships.

Ironfist Clown considered this, then slowly lowered his arm.

HONK.

Marisol resumed her search.

Behind them, the carousel began turning.

The horses rose and fell beneath a canopy of flickering lights. A warped calliope tune echoed through the carnival, growing louder with every rotation.

Marisol stopped.

Marisol: Tell me that's a recording.

Ironfist Clown turned toward the carousel.

HONK.

A painted clown sitting on one of the horses turned its head.

Its smile stretched from ear to ear.

Ironfist Clown stared at it.

The painted clown stared back.

Ironfist Clown slowly raised his enormous metal fist.

HONK.

Marisol grabbed his arm.

Marisol: NO. We are not fighting the carousel.

The painted clown began laughing.

Ironfist Clown's expression changed.

HONK.

Marisol: Oh, for the love of...

Freddy Krueger stepped out from behind the carousel!

He dragged his bladed glove along the ground, scattering sparks across the pavement.

Ironfist Clown moved in front of Marisol.

Freddy tilted his head.

Ironfist Clown raised his fist.

HONK.

Freddy stared at the clown's enormous metal hand.

Freddy: That's a big glove.

Ironfist Clown pointed at Freddy, then at his fist, then made a punching motion.

HONK. HONK.

TODD: IRONFIST CLOWN IS CHALLENGING FREDDY KRUEGER!

BAMA T: HE'S GOT A METAL FIST THE SIZE OF A MAILBOX, TODD! IF HE LANDS ONE CLEAN SHOT, FREDDY MIGHT NEED A NEW NIGHTMARE!

Ironfist Clown charged.

His metal fist connected with Freddy's chest, sending the nightmare killer crashing through the wooden wall of a ticket booth.

The booth collapsed.

Ironfist Clown threw both arms into the air.

HONK! HONK!

Marisol looked at him.

Marisol: Okay. That was actually pretty good.

Freddy emerged from the wreckage.

He brushed dust from his coat.

Freddy: My turn.

He vanished.

Ironfist Clown froze.

Marisol looked around.

Marisol: Where did he go?

A gloved hand appeared from beneath the carnival platform and seized Ironfist Clown by the ankle.

The clown was dragged off his feet.

He swung his massive fist wildly, smashing a row of lights and tearing a carousel horse from its pole.

HONK! HONK! HONK!

Freddy emerged behind him and drove him face-first into the platform.

Ironfist Clown rolled onto his back, trying to lift his enormous fist.

Freddy stomped down on the metal wrist.

The clown's eyes widened.

HONK.

Freddy struck him again.

The clown went limp.

His metal fist struck the pavement with a deafening CLANG.

Marisol stood frozen for a moment.

Then she charged.

She drove a forearm into Freddy's face, followed with a kick to the ribs, and caught him with a spinning backfist that sent him stumbling into the carousel.

Freddy snarled.

Marisol grabbed a wooden carnival mallet and swung it across his head.

The impact sent him staggering.

She swung again.

Freddy caught the mallet in his bladed glove and snapped the handle in half.

Marisol stared at the broken weapon.

Freddy smiled.

Marisol threw the remaining piece at his face and ran.

TODD: IRONFIST CLOWN HAS BEEN TAKEN OUT! MARISOL VILARO IS ALL ALONE!

BAMA T: THAT'S A TOUGH BREAK, TODD! BUT IRONFIST CLOWN DID SOME DAMAGE! HE HIT FREDDY SO HARD THAT I'M PRETTY SURE THE TICKET BOOTH IS NOW A PARKING LOT!

Marisol sprinted through the carnival, weaving between booths and broken rides.

Freddy followed at a leisurely pace.

She vaulted over a counter, grabbed a handful of darts from a game stall, and threw them at him.

Three struck his coat.

One hit his hat.

Freddy stopped.

He slowly removed the dart from the brim of his hat.

Freddy: You just ruined my hat, bitch!

Marisol smirked.

Marisol: You should see what I do to your face!

She charged again.

This time, she nearly caught him. She ducked beneath his glove, drove him into a wooden post, and landed a devastating knee to his jaw.

Freddy staggered backward.

Marisol seized a nearby chain and wrapped it around his wrist, pulling him into a spinning kick that sent him crashing into the side of the Ferris wheel.

The entire structure groaned.

Marisol took a step back, breathing heavily.

For the first time, Freddy looked genuinely annoyed.

Freddy: You are getting on my nerves!

Marisol: Good.

She yanked the chain.

Freddy stumbled forward.

Marisol struck him with a running knee.

He dropped to one knee.

Marisol grabbed his hat and threw it into a nearby dunk tank.

Freddy looked at the floating hat.

Then he looked at Marisol.

A long silence followed.

Marisol: Worth it.

Freddy rose.

The lights went out.

When they returned, the entire carnival had changed.

The rides were gone.

The booths were gone.

Marisol stood in the middle of a school hallway.

Freddy stood at the far end.

The walls were lined with lockers.

The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead.

Marisol slowly looked around.

Marisol: Oh, you've got to be kidding me!

Freddy raised his glove.

Marisol charged anyway.

She fought with everything she had, landing strikes and kicks that would have finished an ordinary opponent. She drove Freddy into a locker, sent him crashing through a classroom door, and followed him inside.

But every time she landed a blow, the room changed.

The classroom became a hospital.

The hospital became a bedroom.

The bedroom became a carnival.

Freddy was everywhere.

Finally, he caught her wrist and pulled her into a dark doorway.

Marisol planted her feet and fought to break free.

Marisol: I'M NOT DONE!

Freddy leaned close.

Freddy: Everybody says that.

The doorway slammed shut.

The carnival lights died.

Marisol Vilaro was gone.

Vita Valenteen and Deacon St. John had made considerably better progress.

The pair stood in the cemetery behind Springwood's abandoned church, studying the fresh footprints they had discovered earlier.

Vita crouched beside a patch of disturbed earth.

Vita: These are recent.

Deacon: How recent?

Vita: Recent enough that whoever made them wanted us to find them.

Deacon looked toward the church.

Its doors stood open.

A pale light glowed inside.

Deacon: Then that's where we're going.

Vita rose slowly.

Vita: You know, most people would consider entering an abandoned church in a haunted town to be a terrible idea.

Deacon: Most people don't have a vampire watching their back.

Vita smiled.

Vita: Careful. I might start liking you.

Deacon: That would be a terrible idea too.

They entered the church.

The pews were covered in dust. The stained-glass windows had been shattered, leaving jagged pieces of colored glass scattered across the floor. At the far end of the sanctuary stood an enormous wooden cross.

Beneath it sat a small wooden box.

Vita approached cautiously.

Inside the box lay a photograph of the Anarchy Tag Team Championships.

Beneath the photograph was a key.

Deacon picked it up.

Deacon: We're getting close.

Vita: Too close, perhaps.

A bell rang overhead.

Both looked up.

The church bell began ringing faster.

The cross at the far end of the sanctuary slowly turned upside down.

A voice whispered from the pulpit.

Freddy: Amen.

Deacon immediately raised his fists.

Freddy appeared behind the altar.

Vita's expression changed.

Vita: There you are.

Freddy smiled.

Freddy: The vampire and the gentleman. I was wondering when you'd show up.

Deacon stepped forward.

Deacon: We're taking the belts.

Freddy looked at Vita.

Freddy: And what does she want?

Vita smiled, revealing her fangs.

Vita: Dinner.

The fight began!

Deacon charged first, driving Freddy backward with a series of powerful strikes. Vita moved with supernatural speed, appearing at Freddy's flank and striking him before he could turn.

They worked together with frightening precision.

Deacon controlled the center of the room, forcing Freddy to defend against his heavier attacks. Vita attacked from the sides, darting in and out of range and using her speed to avoid the bladed glove.

Freddy slashed at her.

She vanished into a cloud of shadows.

He turned toward Deacon.

Deacon caught him with a clothesline that sent him crashing through a pew.

The wooden bench shattered.

TODD: VITA VALENTEEN AND DEACON ST. JOHN ARE WORKING BEAUTIFULLY TOGETHER! THEY'VE GOT FREDDY ON THE BACK FOOT!

BAMA T: THIS IS THE TEAM TO BEAT, TODD! I’VE BEEN TRYING TO TELL YOU THAT FROM THE BEGINNING!

TODD: NO YOU HAVEN’T!

Freddy rose from the wreckage.

But Vita was already behind him.

She seized his shoulders and sank her fangs into his neck.

Freddy screamed.

The sound rattled the stained-glass windows.

For a moment, Vita held him in place while Deacon delivered a devastating strike to his ribs. Freddy staggered away, clutching his neck.

Vita wiped her mouth.

Vita: You taste terrible!

Freddy stared at her.

Freddy: You have no idea what I’m going to put you through tonight, little girl!

Vita smiled.

Vita: I've lived through worse.

Freddy's expression changed.

The church lights went out.

A heavy silence settled over the sanctuary.

When the lights returned, the pews were filled with people.

Dozens of them.

Their faces were pale, their eyes closed, and their hands folded in their laps. They sat perfectly still, dressed in clothes from different decades.

Deacon looked around.

Deacon: Vita?

Vita studied the congregation.

Vita: They're dead.

One by one, the figures opened their eyes.

Every face was Vita's.

The vampire stared at the congregation, her expression tightening.

A little girl in the front pew stood up.

Girl: You left us.

Vita took a step back.

Girl: You left us all alone. You didn’t save us.

The church doors slammed shut.

Deacon moved toward Vita, but the floor stretched beneath his feet. The pews receded into the darkness, separating them by an impossible distance.

Deacon: VITA!

Vita lunged toward him.

Freddy appeared between them.

He caught Deacon with a vicious slash, then drove him into the altar. The wooden structure cracked beneath the impact.

Vita screamed and attacked.

She moved faster than ever, striking Freddy from every direction. She caught him with a spinning kick, drove him through a stained-glass window, and followed him into the cemetery.

Deacon struggled to his feet and joined her.

Together, they forced Freddy backward across the graveyard.

Deacon smashed a tombstone against Freddy's back.

Vita swept his legs out from under him.

Freddy crashed into the dirt.

For a moment, he lay still.

The two wrestlers exchanged a look.

Deacon: I think we've got him!

Vita looked down at Freddy.

Vita: Never say that in a horror movie…

Then the ground beneath them began to tremble.

Every grave in the cemetery opened.

Hands reached out of the earth.

Deacon backed away as the dead crawled from their graves, surrounding the pair.

Vita snarled and attacked the nearest figure, tearing through the illusion with a flurry of strikes.

Deacon fought beside her, knocking the creatures back one after another.

They were holding their own.

Then the cemetery split open.

A massive black staircase descended beneath the earth, leading into a darkness that seemed to have no bottom.

At the bottom of the stairs, two championship belts gleamed beneath a single spotlight.

The Anarchy Tag Team Championships!

Deacon stared.

Deacon: There they are.

Vita looked down the staircase.

Vita: It's a trap.

Deacon: Obviously.

Vita: We're still going down there, aren't we?

Deacon smiled.

Deacon: Obviously.

They descended.

The staircase stretched farther than it should have. The walls were covered in photographs of former Anarchy Tag Team Champions. Some smiled. Some screamed. Some had their eyes scratched out.

At the bottom, the two belts rested on a stone pedestal.

Deacon reached for them.

Vita caught his wrist.

Vita: Wait!

The air was unnaturally cold.

The pedestal stood in the middle of a small bedroom.

A child's bed.

A toy chest.

A night-light shaped like a crescent moon.

Vita stared at the room.

Vita: This isn't a cemetery.

Deacon turned toward her.

Deacon: What is it?

A voice answered from beneath the bed.

Freddy: Home.

The floorboards split apart.

Freddy erupted from beneath the bed, slashing at Deacon and sending him crashing into the wall. Vita attacked immediately, driving Freddy backward with a series of brutal strikes.

She seized his wrist and twisted until the bladed glove clattered to the floor.

Vita: You should have stayed buried!

Freddy smiled.

Freddy: I don't sleep alone.

The bedroom door opened.

Beyond it stood an endless hallway filled with sleeping figures: the countless souls Freddy had claimed.

She froze.

Freddy seized her by the throat.

Deacon tried to rise, but the walls folded inward, trapping him beneath a collapsing mass of wood and plaster.

Vita fought to break free.

Her fangs bared.

Her hands clawed at Freddy's wrist.

She nearly tore herself loose.

Nearly.

Freddy leaned toward her.

Freddy: Sweet dreams, bitch!

Then the room went black.

At the Springwood Zoo, Roger and Safari Stu had made almost no progress.

They had searched the reptile house, the bird enclosure, the gift shop, and a small administrative building that contained nothing except a broken vending machine and a framed photograph of a smiling zookeeper.

Roger had tried to purchase a bag of chips from the vending machine.

The machine had taken his money.

Roger was furious.

Roger: THIS IS THE WORST ZOO I'VE EVER BEEN TO!

Safari Stu: Roger, we are being hunted by a supernatural murderer. The vending machine is not our primary concern.

Roger: IT STOLE MY MONEY!

Safari Stu: The murderer is trying to kill us.

Roger: HE CAN'T HAVE MY MONEY TOO!

Safari Stu took a deep breath.

Safari Stu: We need to locate the championships. The clue must be somewhere nearby.

Roger pointed toward the reptile house.

Roger: What about in there?

Safari Stu: Too dangerous.

Roger pointed toward the bird enclosure.

Roger: What about in there?

Safari Stu: Too exposed.

Roger pointed toward the gift shop.

Roger: What about in there?

Safari Stu: Too obvious.

Roger looked at him.

Roger: Stu, I think you just don't want to go anywhere.

Safari Stu straightened his hat.

Safari Stu: I am an experienced explorer. I have faced countless dangers in my career!

A loud crash echoed from the reptile house.

Safari Stu flinched.

Roger flinched harder.

Roger: WHAT WAS THAT?!

Safari Stu: Probably a large animal.

Roger: WHAT KIND?!

Safari Stu: A large one!

They ran.

They sprinted through the zoo's central courtyard, passed a statue of a gorilla, and ducked into a small maintenance shed.

Safari Stu slammed the door behind them.

Roger collapsed against the wall, gasping for breath.

Roger: We're safe.

Safari Stu: For the moment.

A loudspeaker crackled overhead.

Freddy: Safari Stu.

Both champions froze.

Freddy: Roger.

Roger slowly looked at Safari Stu.

Roger: He knows both our names.

Safari Stu: Yes.

Roger: Does that mean we're famous?

Safari Stu: No, Roger. It means he's hunting us.

Roger looked toward the door.

Roger: I liked it better when I thought we were famous.

A metal scraping sound moved across the outside wall.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

The shed's single light flickered.

A shadow appeared beneath the door.

Then another.

Then a hand slid underneath the gap.

Roger screamed and jumped onto Safari Stu's back.

Safari Stu screamed and tried to shake him off.

Safari Stu: GET OFF ME!

Roger: HE'S GOT A HAND!

Safari Stu: I CAN SEE THE HAND!

Roger: IT'S A VERY BAD HAND!

The fingers curled around the bottom of the door.

The door began to open.

Safari Stu grabbed a shovel from the wall and raised it like a weapon.

Roger snatched a plastic bucket and placed it over his own head.

Safari Stu stared at him.

Safari Stu: What are you doing?

Roger: ARMOR!

The door swung open.

A house cat walked into the shed.

Both men screamed.

The cat looked at them with profound contempt.

Then it walked away.

Roger slowly removed the bucket.

Roger: Stu?

Safari Stu: Yes?

Roger: I think we need to get out of this zoo.

Safari Stu: For once, Roger, I completely agree.

They slipped out of the shed and hurried toward the zoo's main gate.

The gate stood wide open.

Beyond it stretched a dark street lined with abandoned cars.

Roger looked at the street.

Roger: Freedom.

Safari Stu peered into the darkness.

Safari Stu: Wait.

Roger: What?

Safari Stu pointed toward the ground.

A trail of muddy footprints led from the zoo gate into the street.

Beside them were three long scratches in the pavement.

Safari Stu crouched.

Safari Stu: These are Freddy's tracks.

Roger stared at the scratches.

Roger: He walks on the ground?

Safari Stu: Yes.

Roger: I thought he floated.

Safari Stu: Why would he float?

Roger: Because he's Freddy Krueger!

Safari Stu stood.

Safari Stu: Roger, listen to me. We need to think like predators. We need to anticipate his movements, track his habits, and use our environment to our advantage.

Roger nodded solemnly.

Roger: Understood.

Safari Stu: We are going to move quietly through the streets, keeping to the shadows.

Roger nodded again.

Safari Stu: And if we encounter Freddy, we will not panic.

Roger nodded a third time.

Safari Stu took a step into the street.

A distant laugh echoed through the darkness.

Roger screamed and sprinted in the opposite direction.

Safari Stu watched him go.

Safari Stu: ROGER!

Roger: I'M USING MY ENVIRONMENT!

Safari Stu: THAT IS NOT WHAT THAT MEANS!

Safari Stu chased after his partner.

TODD: THE JUNGLE JAMBOREE ARE HAVING A DIFFICULT TIME NAVIGATING SPRINGWOOD!

BAMA T: DIFFICULT TIME?! TODD, THEY'VE SPENT THE LAST TEN MINUTES LOSING FIGHTS TO HOUSE CATS, VENDING MACHINES, AND THEIR OWN IMAGINATIONS!

The camera followed Roger as he sprinted down the street.

He turned a corner.

Then another.

Then another.

He passed a boarded-up grocery store, an abandoned playground, and a battered yellow school bus.

Finally, he stopped to catch his breath.

Roger: Okay. Okay. I'm safe.

A television inside the school bus flickered to life.

Freddy appeared on the screen.

Freddy: Found you, bitch!

Roger screamed so loudly that a flock of birds erupted from the trees.

He ran again.

Somewhere behind him, Safari Stu was shouting his name.

Somewhere farther away, Freddy was laughing.

And somewhere in the town, the Anarchy Tag-Team Championships waited to be claimed.

The nightmare had begun to consume Springwood.

The abandoned streets twisted into impossible shapes. Buildings appeared where there had been empty lots. Streetlights flickered in patterns that seemed to spell out words. Every telephone rang at once, and every television displayed the same image of two championship belts sitting on a stone pedestal.

The belts were moving.

They appeared in the windows of abandoned houses, in the reflections of broken mirrors, and in the puddles that collected beneath the streetlights.

Every time a wrestler approached them, they disappeared.

Oleandyr emerged from the basement of the police station with a split lip and a determined expression.

Marisol Vilaro stumbled out of a dark alleyway, bruised and breathing heavily.

Neither knew where the others had been.

Neither knew how many competitors remained.

They found each other beneath a streetlight at the center of Springwood.

Oleandyr looked at Marisol.

Oleandyr: You look terrible.

Marisol: You should see the other guy.

Oleandyr: Freddy?

Marisol: Freddy.

Oleandyr nodded.

Oleandyr: Same.

For a moment, neither spoke.

Then a laugh echoed from the street behind them.

Freddy emerged from the fog.

Marisol sighed.

Marisol: Of course.

Oleandyr stepped forward.

Oleandyr: Together?

Marisol raised her fists.

Marisol: Together.

They attacked!

TODD: Marisol and Oleandyr are teaming up against Freddy now!

BAMA T: If Oleandyr can survive tonight, she might just be in line for a job at VILAROCORP now!

Oleandyr struck first, driving a kick into Freddy's midsection. Marisol followed with a forearm to the jaw, then grabbed Freddy by the collar and threw him against an abandoned car.

Oleandyr rushed in with a running knee.

Marisol swept his legs out from under him.

Freddy crashed onto the pavement.

The two wrestlers exchanged a quick look.

Marisol: We might actually do this.

Oleandyr: Don't say that.

Marisol: Why?

Oleandyr: Because every time somebody says that, he gets back up!

Freddy slowly rose behind them.

Marisol closed her eyes.

Marisol: I hate horror movies!

Freddy lunged.

The two women split apart, avoiding his glove by inches. Oleandyr caught his arm and twisted it behind his back while Marisol drove a series of strikes into his ribs.

For a few seconds, they had him.

Then the street began to stretch.

The cars pulled away from one another. The buildings rose higher and higher. The streetlights vanished into the clouds.

Marisol looked around.

Marisol: Oh, no…

Oleandyr tightened her grip on Freddy's arm.

Oleandyr: Keep fighting!

The pavement split beneath them.

A deep chasm opened in the center of the road, revealing an endless staircase descending into darkness.

Freddy twisted free.

He shoved Oleandyr toward the edge, then struck Marisol with the back of his hand.

Both women stumbled.

Marisol caught herself at the last second, grabbing the edge of the pavement.

Oleandyr reached for her.

Oleandyr: TAKE MY HAND!

Marisol grabbed her wrist.

For a moment, they held on.

Freddy stepped toward them.

His bladed glove scraped against the asphalt.

Marisol looked up at him.

Marisol: You know what your problem is?

Freddy tilted his head.

Marisol: You talk too much!

She swung herself upward and kicked him square in the chest!

Freddy staggered backward!

Oleandyr pulled Marisol to safety.

They scrambled to their feet and charged again.

But Freddy had already vanished.

The street went dark.

A moment later, a heavy impact echoed through the chasm.

Marisol and Oleandyr disappeared into the nightmare!

TODD: MARISOL VILARO AND OLEANDYR HAVE FOUGHT WITH EVERYTHING THEY HAVE! THEY CAME SO CLOSE!

BAMA T: THEY DIDN'T GIVE UP, TODD! THAT'S WHAT MATTERS! BUT THIS TOWN IS CHEATING! THE ROADS ARE MOVING, THE BUILDINGS ARE MOVING, AND I'M PRETTY SURE THE MOON HAS BEEN REPLACED BY A GIANT EYEBALL!

The camera tilted upward.

Above Springwood, the moon had become an enormous human eye.

It blinked.

The entire town shuddered.

Safari Stu had finally found something useful.

He stood inside an abandoned hardware store, studying a map of Springwood spread across the counter. The map was old and stained, but a red circle had been drawn around a building on the outskirts of town.

The Springwood Dream Center.

Safari Stu tapped the map.

Safari Stu: Roger, this is it.

No answer.

Safari Stu turned around.

Roger was gone.

Safari Stu closed his eyes.

Safari Stu: Of course.

He looked toward the door.

Outside, the streetlights flickered in the fog.

Safari Stu took the map, tucked it into his jacket, and headed out alone.

He moved cautiously through the streets, following the red circle toward the Dream Center. Along the way, he passed overturned cars, broken shop windows, and strange objects scattered across the pavement.

A wooden mallet.

A metal baton snapped in half.

A battered police badge.

A single carnival ticket.

He recognized them.

The others had been here.

He was too late to help them.

But he could still find the championships.

Safari Stu pressed forward.

At the end of the street stood the Dream Center.

Its front doors were open.

Inside, the building was filled with beds.

Hundreds of them.

Each bed contained a sleeping person.

Some wore wrestling gear.

Some wore ordinary clothes.

Some had faces Safari Stu recognized. Vita, Deacon, Savannah, Marisol, and more were all laying there dead asleep!

He stepped between the beds, searching for the championship belts.

At the far end of the room, he saw a familiar hat.

Freddy's hat.

It rested on a chair beside a bed.

Safari Stu stopped.

A voice spoke from behind him.

Freddy: Looking for something?

Safari Stu spun around.

Freddy stood in the doorway.

Safari Stu swallowed.

Safari Stu: I'm looking for the Anarchy Tag Team Championships…

Freddy smiled.

Freddy: Everybody in this town is.

Safari Stu slowly raised his fists.

Safari Stu: Well, I'm afraid you're going to have to stop me.

Freddy looked him up and down.

Freddy: You?

Safari Stu nodded.

Freddy began laughing.

Safari Stu charged.

The two collided in the center of the room. Safari Stu fought with the determination of a man who had finally found something he understood: a physical opponent he could hit.

He drove Freddy into a bedframe, then caught him with a running shoulder tackle that sent him crashing across the floor.

Safari Stu grabbed a pillow and swung it at Freddy's head.

Freddy caught it.

He stared at the pillow.

Safari Stu stared at Freddy.

Safari Stu: Improvised weapon.

Freddy slowly tore the pillow open.

Feathers filled the air.

Freddy smiled.

Freddy: That's adorable.

He struck.

Safari Stu was driven backward into a row of beds. He tried to recover, but Freddy caught him by the throat and lifted him off the ground.

Safari Stu kicked and struggled.

Freddy leaned close.

Freddy: You're going to sleep now!

Safari Stu's eyes widened.

He grabbed Freddy's wrist and twisted with all his strength.

For a moment, he broke free.

He landed on his feet and sprinted toward the exit.

Freddy followed.

Safari Stu burst into the street and ran blindly through the fog.

He turned left.

Then right.

Then left again.

The streets twisted around him, rearranging themselves as he ran.

He passed the same abandoned car three times.

He passed the same broken streetlight twice.

He passed a sign reading WELCOME TO SPRINGWOOD so many times that he eventually stopped looking at it.

Safari Stu stumbled into an alleyway and collapsed against a wall.

He gasped for breath.

Safari Stu: Roger...

No answer.

Safari Stu: Roger, where are you?!?!

A small voice spoke from the darkness.

Roger: Stu?

Safari Stu's head snapped up.

Safari Stu: ROGER!

He rushed toward the sound.

But the alleyway stretched endlessly before him.

Roger's voice faded into the distance.

Roger: Stu? I think I found something!

Safari Stu sprinted forward.

Safari Stu: WHAT DID YOU FIND?!

Roger: I DON'T KNOW! BUT IT'S SHINY!

Safari Stu ran harder.

Safari Stu: ROGER, WAIT FOR ME!

The alleyway twisted.

The walls rose.

The ground dropped away.

Safari Stu stumbled into darkness.

His voice echoed through the streets.

Then it was gone.

Roger had absolutely no idea where he was.

He had been running for what felt like hours. Every street led to another street. Every door opened into a different room. Every time he thought he had escaped, Freddy appeared somewhere behind him.

Eventually, Roger found himself standing outside a small house at the end of a quiet street.

The house looked ordinary.

It had a white picket fence, a small front garden, and a porch light that glowed warmly in the darkness.

A welcome mat sat in front of the door.

It read:

GO AWAY.

Roger stared at it.

Roger: That's a very rude welcome mat.

He knocked on the door.

Nobody answered.

He knocked again.

The door swung open by itself.

Inside, the house was warm and brightly lit. A television played quietly in the living room. A bowl of fruit sat on the kitchen counter. A pair of slippers rested beside the stairs.

Roger stepped inside.

Roger: Hello?

No answer.

He closed the door behind him.

For the first time all night, there was no screaming, no laughter, and no sound of blades scraping against the pavement.

Roger sighed with relief.

Roger: Finally. A normal house.

He wandered into the living room.

A television sat on a small table, displaying a wrestling program. The screen showed a replay of Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree winning the Anarchy Tag Team Championships.

Roger smiled.

Roger: Hey! That's us!

The television flickered.

The image changed.

Now it showed Roger standing in the same living room.

He was staring at the television.

Roger slowly looked behind himself.

Nothing.

He looked back at the screen.

The Roger on the television turned toward the camera.

Television Roger: Roger, don't go upstairs.

Roger stared.

Roger: Why?

Television Roger: Because he's up there.

Roger slowly looked toward the staircase.

A floorboard creaked.

Roger looked back at the television.

The screen went black.

Roger took one step backward.

Roger: I don't think I want to be here anymore.

A familiar laugh echoed from upstairs.

Roger turned toward the front door.

It had disappeared.

The wall where the door had been was covered in photographs of Freddy Krueger.

Roger screamed.

He ran toward the kitchen.

The back door was gone too.

He sprinted into the living room and grabbed a lamp.

Roger: I HAVE A WEAPON!

The lamp flickered.

The light went out.

A burned hand reached around the corner.

Roger threw the lamp and ran upstairs.

TODD: ROGER HAS FOUND HIMSELF INSIDE A HOUSE IN SPRINGWOOD! WE HAVE NO IDEA WHERE HE IS, AND HE APPEARS TO BE COMPLETELY ALONE!

BAMA T: ROGER HAS SPENT THIS ENTIRE MATCH RUNNING AWAY FROM FREDDY KRUEGER! IF HE WINS THESE CHAMPIONSHIPS, HE WILL BE THE MOST ACCIDENTALLY SUCCESSFUL WRESTLER IN TAG-TEAM HISTORY!

Roger reached the top of the stairs and stumbled into a bedroom.

A small bed sat against the wall.

A bedside table stood beside it.

And resting on the bed were two familiar objects.

The Anarchy Tag Team Championships!

Roger stopped breathing.

He approached slowly.

The gold gleamed beneath the bedside lamp.

The leather straps were intact.

The plates were polished.

The championship logos were unmistakable.

Roger reached out and touched one belt.

It was real.

He grabbed both championships and hugged them against his chest.

Roger: I FOUND THEM!

A floorboard creaked behind him.

Roger slowly turned.

Freddy stood in the doorway.

His hat was tilted over his burned face. His bladed glove hung at his side.

He looked at the championships.

Then at Roger.

Then back at the championships.

Freddy: Those belong to me now.

Roger clutched the belts tighter.

Roger: I don't think so.

Freddy stepped into the room.

Roger backed toward the bed.

Freddy: You don't even understand where you are.

Roger: I don't understand where I am most of the time!

Freddy took another step.

The bedroom door slammed shut.

The wallpaper began to peel away, revealing scorched brick beneath it. The bedside lamp flickered. The bed stretched into the darkness, growing longer and longer until its far end disappeared beyond the walls of the room.

Freddy raised his bladed glove.

Freddy: Nobody leaves Springwood alive. Nobody.

Roger stared at him.

For once, he had nothing funny to say.

Freddy lunged.

Roger squeezed his eyes shut and screamed.

Roger: I WANT TO GO HOME!

Silence.

No blades.

No laughter.

No footsteps.

Roger opened one eye.

He was lying in bed.

His own bed.

Morning sunlight streamed through the curtains.

His bedroom was quiet. His pillow was soft. His blankets were warm.

And lying across his chest were the Anarchy Tag Team Championships.

Roger stared at them.

He sat up.

He checked the room.

His wardrobe was there. His bedside table was there. His slippers were where he had left them.

Everything was normal.

Roger looked down at the championships again.

Roger: I WON!

He jumped out of bed, raised both belts above his head, and began dancing around the room.

Roger: I WON! I WON! I WON!

He spun in a circle.

He tripped over his slippers.

He fell onto the bed.

The belts landed on his stomach.

Roger looked at them.

Then he started laughing.

Roger: STU! WE DID IT!

No answer.

Roger paused.

He looked around the bedroom.

Roger: Stu?

Silence.

Roger frowned.

Then he shrugged, raised the championships again, and smiled.

Roger: He'll be so happy when he finds out.

The camera pulled back through the bedroom window, drifting away from the house and into the pale morning sky.

For one brief moment, everything looked peaceful.

Then the bedroom television flickered on.

A familiar face appeared on the screen.

Freddy Krueger.

He slowly raised one bladed finger to his lips.

Freddy: Shhh.

The television went black.

The camera returned to the center of Springwood.

The streets were empty.

The streetlights had stopped flickering. The fog had lifted. The abandoned cars sat motionless beneath the morning sky.

There was no sign of the other competitors.

No sign of Freddy.

No sign of the nightmare that had swallowed ten wrestlers and left only two championship belts behind.

A battered television sat on the pavement beside the abandoned ring.

Its screen flickered to life.

Roger appeared, sitting on his bed with both championships draped across his shoulders.

He was smiling broadly.

Roger: I would like to thank my partner, Safari Stu, for helping me win these championships.

He paused.

Roger: Wherever he is.

A long silence followed.

Roger: I would also like to thank the cat at the zoo. That cat was very brave.

Winner and STILL Anarchy Tag-Team Champions- Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree

The screen went black.

TODD: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THE RESULT IS OFFICIAL! JUPITER-SIZED JUNGLE JAMBOREE RETAIN THE ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS! ROGER FOUND THE GOLD AND ESCAPED THE NIGHTMARE!

BAMA T: TODD, I HAVE SO MANY QUESTIONS. WHERE IS SAFARI STU? WHAT HAPPENED TO VITA AND DEACON? DID ANYBODY ACTUALLY ESCAPE SPRINGWOOD? AND HOW DID ROGER WIN A NIGHTMARE MATCH BY GOING TO BED?!

TODD: I DON'T HAVE THOSE ANSWERS, BAMA T! ALL WE KNOW IS THAT ROGER HAS THE CHAMPIONSHIPS!

BAMA T: I'M NOT EVEN MAD! THAT MAN SPENT THE ENTIRE NIGHT SCREAMING AT HOUSE CATS AND HE'S WALKING AWAY WITH THE GOLD! I'VE SEEN PEOPLE WORK TWENTY YEARS FOR LESS!

The camera slowly panned across the abandoned street.

The ring stood empty.

The championship belts were gone.

Somewhere in the distance, a telephone began to ring.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

A voice whispered through the darkness.

Freddy: One, two…

A pause.

Freddy: I'll see you again soon, bitches!

The screen cut to black.

Special Thanks To All Of Our Match Writers

Peter Principle
‘Big’ Dick Lichter
Judd Hollow

And to everyone who RPed for the show! See you again next Halloween!

]]>

XWF Anarchy

10 - 22 - 2026

LIVE FROM ELM STREET!

SPRINGWOOD, OHIO

"MAIN EVENT" EDGECRUSHER
- vs -
"MAIN EVENT" JAY FETU

Special Main Event!

The winner earns exclusive rights to the moniker "Main Event"!

THE LIBRARIAN
- vs -
RAZOR BLADE

Body Bag Match!

Set inside Springwood High School, the only way to win is by incapacitating your opponent and zipping them into a body bag!

MERCY
- vs -
VITA VALENTEEN

Boiler Room Brawl!

The only way to win this grudge match is by escaping Freddy Krueger's boiler room!

MICHEAL GRAVES ©
- vs -
MR. OZ

Cockroach Motel Match!

The only way to win this non-title match is by locking your opponent inside a room in the cockroach motel!

"MAIN EVENT" EDGECRUSHER
- vs -
"MAIN EVENT" JAY FETU

Special Main Event!

The winner earns exclusive rights to the moniker "Main Event"!

Winner and STILL “Main Event”- Jay Fetu

THE LIBRARIAN
- vs -
RAZOR BLADE

Body Bag Match!

Set inside Springwood High School, the only way to win is by incapacitating your opponent and zipping them into a body bag!

Winner- The Librarian

MERCY
- vs -
VITA VALENTEEN

Boiler Room Brawl!

The only way to win this grudge match is by escaping Freddy Krueger's boiler room!

Winner: Vita FREAKIN’ Valenteen!

Winner and STILL Revolution Champion- Summer Page

MICHEAL GRAVES ©
- vs -
MR. OZ

Cockroach Motel Match!

The only way to win this non-title match is by locking your opponent inside a room in the cockroach motel!

NO REFUNDS. NO EXCEPTIONS. NO EXCUSES.

Winner: ‘Dark Warrior’ Micheal Graves

Winner and STILL Anarchy Tag-Team Champions- Jupiter-Sized Jungle Jamboree

Special Thanks To All Of Our Match Writers

Peter Principle
‘Big’ Dick Lichter
Judd Hollow

And to everyone who RPed for the show! See you again next Halloween!

]]> <![CDATA[James Evans]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50605 Thu, 22 Oct 2026 16:32:05 -0700 James Evans]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50605 James Evans

Wrestler's Real Name: James Henry Evans

Wrestler Age/Date of Birth: 04/20/1987

Height: Six foot 3 inches

Weight: Two hundred and thirty-five pounds

Hometown: New York City, New York

Alignment (Face? Heel? Antihero?): Anti-hero

Pic Base: Garrett Hedlund

Backstory/Important Character Details: James has transitioned from babyface to heel at various points in his career. He's a three-time World Champion and is highly decorated with other accolades. Whether face or heel, he's always had a rather violent nature and streak, not caring about the well-being of others. He's like the Punisher, willing to do what he must. A necessary evil.

Strengths: He has established himself as a legendary name in the wrestling business, having competed for sixteen years, accumulating the previously mentioned championships and other accomplishments. He is strong on the microphone. He was trained by other legends in the business, garnering skills where, if he chose to do so, he can be presented as an all-rounder.

Weaknesses: James can take things too far. Has a never say die attitude. He's had knee injuries in the past, so this can come into play.

Entrance Theme Music (Provide YouTube link as well as name and version): "Shot from a Cannon" by Chevelle
https://youtu.be/axs9jFNjkj8?si=m9ZIsn2pD5sRLIoU

Ring Entrance (PLEASE write one out for use in match/show writing):
The opening of “Shot from a Cannon" can be heard blaring through the PA system. The camera will pan through the curtain as the face of James Evans appears, igniting a mixed reaction from the crowd, as they shower him in cheers and jeers. The camera remains on James as he breaks through the curtain. The reaction only intensifies as James looks out at the crowd.

"Ten minutes in he's sweating
Should I have asked for more than fame?
Ignore that beast, he's smiling
It's not 'til next New Year's Eve"

James slowly makes his way to the ring, as images of him winning various championships and hitting various moves appear on the screen. He reaches the ring, staring at it.

"Wish I could get that list
Yes, I would burn that list
Down he goes"

James then makes his way up the ring steps, before turning and facing the crowd, who continue to react.

"Set him down to a real life failure
Held fast like the field mice, been there
Give a nod as if he knows, come round
Dead last with a drumroll when the dam blows"

He then goes to the corner and sits on the top turnbuckle, his back to the crowd, as the screen shows James lifting the SCW World title above his head, as his music comes to an end.

In-Ring Style (Technician? High Flyer?): Technician

10 or More Standard Moves: choke slam (if possible), Uranage slam, backbreaker variations, Garvin Stomp (will stomp on his opponent's limbs and head), strike variations (uppercuts, jabs, haymakers, etc), suplex variations, European uppercut(sometimes mid-air)

Trademark Move Name(s):
Wish You Hell: Orton's Punt Kick, Fall of Abel: Powerbomb off the top rope (sometimes into the barricade, or into the ring-will only use if possible)

Finishing Move Name(s):
Description(s):
Embrace the Onslaught: (James will press two fingers to his lips before pressing the fingers onto his opponent's forehead prior to hitting the move. He calls this Kiss of Disdain) Wade Barrett's Bullhammer elbow (Secondary) Mark of Ruin: Sean O'Haire's Widowmaker (will sometimes hit the move before transitioning in a Muta lock submission). (Will sometimes use these in a combo fashion)

Favorite Hardcore Attacks/Spots: Nothing would be considered his favorite. He will just whatever is necessary, not considering the well-being of others.

Additional Notes (What are some things that they would ALWAYS do? Or would NEVER do?): I guess murder someone.]]> James Evans

Right after Warfare went off air recently.

Media/Press room or whatever.

The backstage reporters nearly kill each other trying to get as close to the GREAT Korvayne as possible! Not even thirty minutes ago, men fought like hell to earn the right to call themselves champion alongside her. Only one man prevailed, and he had to damn near murder the others to do it.

That man is EDWARD THE GREAT! How apropos!

So it is no fucking wonder the media is swarming Korvayne like drones in Ukraine. Her SIMP gets to yeet some of them out of the way so the rest scatter to a safe and respectful distance, allowing her unmolested passage to the podium that stands erect like every man’s penis right now.

How could they not stand erect when the GREAT Korvayne is sexy as fuck and clad in fresh and fleek attire that’s not too conservative and not too slutty - it’s just right. With the cherry on top being, of course, the prestigious tag team title attuned to her wondrous waist.

“First things first…” And there it is. That iconic Korvayne smirk. Those pillowy lips peel into that snarky little grin we know all too well from the rich bitch. And with that peeling of the lips comes the peeling of some reporter's consciousness - the “Michael Jackson” effect, as some call it. One by one, reporters faint, unable to stand in the presence of the GREAT Korvayne and her ever-blossoming aura!

Kor rolls her eyes.

“Leave them. HEY! Don’t tend to them while I’m up here. All eyes on me.”

Staffers and medical techs are confused but obey.

“As I was saying before I was so rudely interrupted, first things first…. I can’t believe I’m gonna say this about Anarchy competitors, but respect to whatever their names are for shaving years off their lives to get a chance to tag with me. They showed up and showed out. If they showed that much effort in their Anarchy matches, they’d totally win a lot and be champions in that mudshow.”

She thinks about that for a moment, then shakes her head.

“Well, probably not. That would require me being on Anarchy and them wanting to impress me. That’s NOT gonna happen.”

She shrugs, then nods for the SIMP to come hither. He does, stopping three feet from her since he is not allowed to come any closer unless she says so. She extends a hand elegantly, and he deposits some rolled-up paper of some sort into it.

“But alas, there could only be one, and that one was indeed the strongest. That man is EDWARD THE GREAT!”

She pauses to let them applaud. They don’t applaud loudly enough. She glares at them encouragingly. They get the hint and give rousing applause.

“For the past week or so, I’ve been using my fantastic artistic abilities to create a poster for each of the would-be winners tonight. So, without further ado, I would like to officially introduce the OFFICIAL poster repping this new super kewl tag team led by yours truly.”

With tremendous showmanship, she only has to flick her wrist once, and the poster unfurls perfectly.

[Image: Stone-Age-Tag-Team-Champions2222.png]

[Image: Stone-Age-Tag-Team-Champions2222.png]

Right after Warfare went off air recently.

Cameras flash so fast and feverishly that the camera bulbs explode or whatever.

After posing with the poster for the greatest thirty seconds many reporters will have in their lives, she lies it down and beckons at an eager reporter.

“Korvayne! Oh my god! You pointed at me! Oh my god! Uh. Uh. Yes! Uh. Where is EDWARD? Shouldn’t he be out here celebrating with you?”

Korvayne shrugs.

“Fuck if I know. EDWINA may have hunted him down and is dragging him back home by the ear as we speak. Who knows?”

She looks at each door in the media press room.

“Let’s see if he’s around.”

Instead of yelling EDWARD’S name as one would sensibly do, she pounds her perky, cute boobs like King Kong and makes ridiculous caveman-ape hybrid noises.

End of scene unless EDWARD wants to show up and say some words to the world.]]> <![CDATA[How does Gauntlet Raccoon City work?]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50602 Wed, 21 Oct 2026 16:50:38 -0700 Atticus Gold]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50602
So in simplest terms, everyone who RPs is entered into a free-for-all, everyone is against everyone else including the zombies and other fucked up shit you'll see in Resident Evil. First person to escape earns first place, last person to escape is mauled to death by zombies or worse.

There will be 1 or 2 "NPC" RPs, this will basically act as the bar that you need to surpass to escape Raccoon City. Anyone who surpasses the bar will then be judged against one another to determine who placed first, second etc. I've decided to do it this way (1) because we need a pick order for the captains match (2) so people's hard work is rewarded properly, even though someone may not have taken first place they could still do well enough to not die at the hands of Nemesis.

Hope that makes sense.

I also fully encourage people to work together in their RPs, or in write-in spots for the match itself.

Any questions feel free to ask.

Thanks.]]>
So in simplest terms, everyone who RPs is entered into a free-for-all, everyone is against everyone else including the zombies and other fucked up shit you'll see in Resident Evil. First person to escape earns first place, last person to escape is mauled to death by zombies or worse.

There will be 1 or 2 "NPC" RPs, this will basically act as the bar that you need to surpass to escape Raccoon City. Anyone who surpasses the bar will then be judged against one another to determine who placed first, second etc. I've decided to do it this way (1) because we need a pick order for the captains match (2) so people's hard work is rewarded properly, even though someone may not have taken first place they could still do well enough to not die at the hands of Nemesis.

Hope that makes sense.

I also fully encourage people to work together in their RPs, or in write-in spots for the match itself.

Any questions feel free to ask.

Thanks.]]> <![CDATA[VILARO SERIOUS]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50601 Tue, 20 Oct 2026 21:15:09 -0700 Ennui Clown]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50601

JC: She did it! Summer Page is now a TWO-TIME Revolution Champion!

JR: And Mari lost the lucha de apuestas! That means…

…Mari cradles her leg as the official takes the belt from the timekeeper…

Summer moves to the center of the ring, smirking confidently…

…Mari stews furiously as the official meekly offers her the belt.

Mari snatches it from him!

She peers around viciously as the crowd buzzes, knowing what’s to come.

Summer guffaws as she places her hands on her hips…

Mari literally holds her nose…

As she clasps the belt around Summer’s waist!

JC: She did it! Mari put the belt around Summer’s waist!

JR: Knowing how bitter their rivalry is, that might have hurt even worse than the Perfect 10!

Mari immediately takes hand sanitizer from Nessa to wipe herself clean of that moment, already plotting as she retreats up the ramp!

”BAH!”

WHAM! A plastic pink Vilaro SHAKE-N-MOVE shaker cup COLLIDES with the screen, coating the image in vanilla white MARI-zipan protein shake.

”How dare they humiliate me like that… With a stipulation I NEVER AGREED TO!”

…The old Relentless contract sits on her magnificent mahogany desk with her signature just below the Luchas de Apuestas stipulation.

”FAKE NEWS! I THOUGHT THAT STIPULATION MEANT SUMMER WOULD PUT THE BELT ON MARI! I DIDN’T THINK IT APPLIED TO MARI PUTTING THE BELT ON HER!”

Mari punts the contract into the wall, where it falls into the paper shredder and gets turned into mulch.

Mari’s perfectly manicured fingernails dig into the pinstripe arms of her velour purple MARI-velous CEO brand Suit for Businesswomen.

”They all have Mari Derangement Syndrome! They’re all out to get Mari!” Mari fumes, staring daggers into the screen as Summer lifts the belt… what had been her belt… to the screaming masses.

”To make Mari a laughingstock!” Mari spins behind her! ”Could you ever imagine ANYONE laughing at MARI?!?”

…

Behind Mari is Butler Clown, wearing a pinstripe polka dot suit. He’s carrying a tray of hors d'oeuvres.

…

Wait, no, he’s carrying a tray of horse curves.

On the tray are pictures of horses wearing one-piece swimsuits designed to show off their curves.

The top image in the stack looks like a dog biting the horse’s swimsuit like the Coppertone sunscreen logo.

The horse looks FURIOUS.

”IS THAT SOME KIND OF JOKE?!? DO YOU THINK MARI IS A JOKE?!?”

Butler Clown raises his finger and opens his mouth like he’s going to say something.

…

He presses down on his nose.

It honks.

” SILENCIO!”

Marisol smacks the tray out of Butler Clown’s hands!

The horse pictures go flying in all directions!

“I am a SERIOUS CEO! A SERIOUS WOMAN! Behold my empire at work!”

She moves to the edge of the executive suite and throws the curtains open to view the factory floor.

…It is a fucking MADHOUSE.

The clowns on the assembly line are holding an assembly.

“As Principal Clown!” starts an old wizened clown. “I am proud to announce that this year’s valedictorian clown is… Access-to-the-School-Database Clown!”

The clowns clap their hands, which honk at absurdly loud volumes as AttSD Clown takes the stage.

“Thank you! And may I just say… `Mari'); DROP TABLE ACTION_FIGURES; –”

Suddenly, the table upon which a tower of Mari action figures sits disappears! Action figures go scattering everywhere!

Meanwhile, a clown working the assembly line grabs two pieces and jams them together to make Mari’s dumbbell tower product.

He tries to assemble more but the pieces come faster and faster! He starts heaving his chest.

“I didn’t realize putting together exercise stuff WAS exercise! *sigh* Maybe I’m Outta Shape Clown…”

The clown beside him taps him on the shoulder!

“No, THAT’s Outta Shape Clown!”

He points to a clown that has nine straight sides and somehow all of her angles add up to 672 degrees. Don’t try to picture her, she’s geometrically impossible.

Outta Shape Clown SLAPS both of them with a rubber glove.

“You try having three clown kids and see if YOUR angles still equal the number of your sides times one-hundred-eighty degrees!”

”WHAT IS THIS?!”

The clownfoolery suddenly stops at once!

Mari stomps down the staircase to her factory floor!

”All of you, FALL IN LINE!”

The clowns scramble to reach line formation…

One of them trips over shoelaces!

They all fall…

And wind up in a perfect vertical line formation!

”What is wrong with you clowns?!? All of these shenanigans! This buffoonery! No one told Mari clowns would be this… what is this word Mari is looking for…?”

…Cough Clown clowns.

“Funny?” Suggestion Clown suggests.

“BLEH!” Mari sneers furiously. “Dis-GUSTING word! Fun-KNEEE!?!” Mari says ‘funny’ like it’s a foreign word she’s never pronounced in her life.

“Mari is NOT Fun-KNEEE!!!! No one LAUGHS at Mari! Everyone MARVELS at Mari! Everyone WORSHIPS Mari! Everyone BASKS in the glory that Mari EXUDES!”

Mari points forcefully!

“ALL OF YOU! BOW TO MARI NOW!”

The Clowns scramble off the floor, rushing to bow!

Quickly Bows Clown bows quickly, drawing his head toward the ground.

Which naturally draws his backfoot into the air, catching Slapstick Clown under the jaw, who bowls over into Bowling Pins Clown 1 through 10, who all scatter down the floor!

“STEEEEE-RIKE!” Calls out Bowling Alley Announcer Clown.

“SILENCE!” Mari screams through the megaphone!

The clowns quickly stand and salute in terror.

“NO MORE JOKES! NO MORE Fun-KNEEE-NESS! You clowns are ambassadors of the Mari brand now! You are EXTENSIONS of Mari! And NO ONE LAUGHS AT MARI!”

…Mari snorts.

“YOUR TRAINING STARTS TODAY!”

A legion of clowns stands in the VilaroFit gym.

Mari drops a pair of dumbbells on the ground.

“YOUR CLOWN ARMS ARE NOW MARI’S ARMS. AND MARI’S ARMS SHOULD BE STRONG.”

Mari points down.

“LIFT THESE WEIGHTS.”

…The clowns turn away from the weights and huddle.

Collectively, they nod and shake hands, before selecting…

Forklift-Certified Clown!

FCC rolls his forklift forward and presses the button to set his forklift under the weights…

He Liiiiiiiiiii…

…

LIIIIIIIIIIIII…

…

FCC scratches his chin.

The forklift itself wipes his forehead clear of sweat.

FCC spits on his hands and rubs them together.

His forklift spits on its fork tines and rubs them together.

They LIIIIIIIIIIIIIIFT…

SO HARD THAT THE FLOOR COMES OFF THE GROUND!

…

But the weights remain exactly where they were.

WHISTLE!

“YOUR LUNGS BELONG TO MARI! YOU WILL RUN UNTIL THEY ARE HEALTHY LIKE MARI!”

The clowns run around a track. Mari rides in a saddle atop Two-Clowns-in-a-Two-Person-Horse-Costume Clown (which is actually three clowns dressed as two clowns in two person horse costume).

“RUN, YOU CLOWNS! YOU CAN’T LAUGH IF YOU CAN’T BREATHE!”

Quickness Clown actually manages a decent running technique, leading out in front of the pack.

By the racetrack’s lap line, Quick Snack Clown finishes a banana and throws the peel over his shoulder onto the track.

Quickness Clown SLIIIIIIIIIIIPS on the banana peel! Straight into Somersault Clown, who does a somersault into Surprised Leap Clown, who leaps onto Clown Horse, the horse who was raised by clowns!

Suddenly, Clown Horse and Two-Clowns-in-a-Two-Person-Horse-Costume Clown are running neck and neck along the track!

“Coming around the bend, it’s Clown Horse, followed by Two-Clowns-in-a-Two-Person-Horse-Costume Clown, followed by a “Long List of Other Clowns”, followed by “A Punchline”, followed by “Wait, No, The Bit is still Going”, followed by “Followed by”, followed by “The Follower of Followed By”, followed by “Follower of Followed By’s Twitter Followers”!”

Follower of Followed By is trailed by a group of clowns all locked on their phones tweeting behind him.

“Faster! Mari does not lose!”

Mari whips the backside of her Two-Clowns-in-a-Two-Person-Horse-Costume Clown with a riding crop!

“...MMMMMMMMMMM…” says the middle clown of the three clowns that make up Two-Clowns-in-a-Two-Person-Horse-Costume Clown.

Or, as he’ll be known after today, Just-Discovered-He-Has-The-Most-Specific-Fetish Clown.

Surprised Leap Clown and Mari are neck-and-neck!

“It’s gonna be a photo finish!” Horserace Announcer Clown calls out!

Family Photographer Clown sets up at the finish line with his camera and his little birdie…

“Actually, let’s get the whole family in the shot!”

All the clowns scramble to get to the finish line, setting up for a family photo at the finish line

AS THAT MOMENT MARI SCRAMBLES OVER THE CLOWN FAMILY PHOTO!

FLASH!

”Let Mari tell you something!”

Mari is standing back in her board room, sitting in her executive chair.

A clown is holding each of her hands, filing her cuticles down to perfection.

”Mari, with her army of cheap of labor, is about to take over the entire tag division on this sorry brand they call Anarchy!”

“Look at Mari’s competition and feel disgust and shame!”

Chooses-His-Words-Carefully Clown scratches his chin thoughtfully.

”I dunno… I mean, the other teams seem okay!”

Mari grabs CHWC Clown by his purple nose and pulls him toward her face.

”If you like JOKES! WHO HERE LIKES JOKES?!?”

…Appreciates-the-Classics Clown slowly starts to raise his hand.

”NO ONE! THAT’S WHO!”

Appreciates-the-Classics Clown slowly lowers his hand.

”Woke Mind Virus! You sorry fools! Fretting about your pronouns! Mari only uses ONE pronoun and that is MARI! And that goes for all of Mari’s minions! ALL PRONOUNS ARE MARI!”

…Politically Correct Clown’s eyes widen!

”Wait, so you… er, I mean… Wait…”

PC Clown takes a breath, closing his eyes to concentrate.

”So, MARI means that when MARI and all of MARI only use MARI, that includes every…Mari?”

”Now, you’re getting it!”

”Actually, MARI’s getting it!”

”NEVER CORRECT ME!” Mari punts PC Clown in the chest! He slides backwards into a gender-neutral bathroom!

”Then, Roger and Safari Stu! With all you hijinx! Mari SPITS on your hijinx!”

Spitoon Clown HAAAAAAACKS up and SPITS into a spitoon!

F’TAAANG!

”You two are jokes! And Mari DESPISES jokes! Laughter is a poison that distracts the public from the glory that is MARI!”

“All of your silly adventures through space and battling nincompoops! Mari is no nincompoop! Mari is the QUEEN of VilaroFit! Mari is destined to rule the tag division with an iron fist!”

Iron Fist Clown, the clown with an iron fist, tries to raise his fist in the air…

…But his fist is really heavy, as it is made of iron, so it drags down by the floor.

…Mari eyes Iron Fist Clown.

She turns toward Training Dummy Clown.

“You! Stand here!”

Training Dummy Clown stands in front of Mari.

Mari picks up Iron Fist’s Clown hand for him…

WHAM! She hits Training Dummy Clown with Iron Fist Clown’s Iron Fist!

His whole face gets knocked inside out as he goes flying like a burst balloon.

…Mari drops Iron Fist Clown’s iron fist, which falls back to the floor with a thud.

”You shall be my partner, fool.”

Iron Fist Clown tries to lift his thumb to give a thumbs up.

Unfortunately, his thumb is made of iron and he cannot lift it.

”Finally… Vita. Deacon St. John.”

”With all your silly little monster hijinx! Battling vampires! Leading ghost tours! Bigfoot roommates! FEH!”

“You chase after so-called monsters, when the one you should fear is MARI!”

“MARI is the GODDESS that tantalizes you in your dreams!”

“MARI is the DEMON that plagues your nightmares!”

Above her, Mari sees a golden championship belt…

Mari snaps her fingers.

In unison, the clowns make a human pyramid…

Mari walks up the backs of the clowns to ascend…

And within seconds she has the belt.

“And when Thursday comes and the final bell tolls, MARI will stand supreme over ALL!”

“MARI will be the NEW ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS!”

“And NO ONE WILL LAUGH AT MARI!”

As Mari lifts her belt to the camera.

The Clown Pyramid collapses like a house of cards.

With a whoopee cushion sound.]]>

October - 19 - 2026

WARFARE!

LIVE FROM SPECTRUM CENTER

[b]CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA[/b]

Deacon Saint John
- vs -
John Black
Singles Match

American Nightmare
Latoya Hixx and Razor Blade
- vs -
The Best Buddies
Solomon Kline and ‘Main Event’ Edgecrusher
Elimination Tables Match

[b]XWF Tag Team Championship

OPEN CALL! WELCOME TO ALL WHO RP FOR IT!

Korvayne on Olympus match

XWF Tag Team Champion Korvayne will sit high above the ring where she belongs above all of you. The first competitor to tag her shall earn a place at her side as XWF Tag Team Champion!

500/1000 Word Limit (check the poll)

[/b]

https://youtu.be/QS7TyJriSm0?si=JEObNGqV1cLRA_KS

A black screen. The arena in darkness. A few opening notes of music.
And a voice, concealed behind a vocoder.

Voice: Happy Halloween. How about a ghost story? Hearken! and observe how healthily — how calmly I can tell you the whole story.

We see the X-Tron come to life, and we see "John Black" name shot up with the .38 special, then we see on the walkway we see JB standing by the entrance with a towel on his neck. He does some shadowboxing to the camera, then he walks down giving some fans some daps in the process. He then stops by apron, and he throws his towel to the hard cam side. Then he rolls into the ring, and raises his fist in the air and saying "im the man!" as his theme slowly cuts, then he stands in the ring waiting for his opps.

JC: There he is! John Black! The man who’s called the XWF home for fourteen years!

JR: He’s an old man in a game that kills young men, Jacuinde! But he’s facing one of the youngest guns who came here to kill wrestling’s darlings! And he considers JB among those darlings!

JC: Somehow, Black hasn’t been put down yet! But it feels like St. John sees that a challenge that he’s more than willing to accept!

…

The arena lights dim.

A low, ominous instrumental begins to play as Deacon St. John steps onto the stage.

Deacon emerges in an expensive black jacket, a smug grin spread across his face. He surveys the audience as if the entire building is beneath him, then adjusts his cuffs. He doesn't look particularly excited to be here. He looks like a man who has already decided how the evening is going to end.

He begins walking toward the ring, pausing to glance at a fan holding a John Black sign.

Deacon smirks.

He points at the sign, then taps his own chest.

JC: “Deacon St. John! There's the confidence of a man who believes he's destined for something bigger.”

Joe: “Confidence is great. But you better be able to back it up. Deacon's been talking like he's already a main-event star. Tonight, he's got a guy across from him who's been punched in the face by this business for fourteen years and keeps coming back.”

Deacon climbs the steel steps and enters the ring. He walks to the center, spreads his arms, and turns slowly, inviting the boos.

He mouths something toward the camera.

You're welcome.

The crowd responds with louder jeers.

Deacon merely laughs.

Deacon Saint John
- vs -
John Black
Singles Match

Neither man moves immediately.

Deacon circles to his left, keeping his hands raised loosely in front of him. Black stands near the center of the ring, his fists hanging by his sides.

Deacon studies him and mutters something under his breath.

Black’s brow darkens, he advances.

Deacon backs away, grinning.

Black suddenly lunges.

Deacon ducks the first wild punch, circles behind him, and drives a sharp knee into the back of Black's thigh. Before Black can turn, Deacon catches him with a spinning short-arm elbow smash that clips him across the jaw.

Black stumbles sideways.

Deacon grabs him by the back of the head and slaps him across the cheek.

JC: “Oh! An insulting shot from Deacon St. John!”

JR: “He's trying to get under his skin. Look at him. He's not even rushing to capitalize. He's waiting to see how John reacts.”

Black slowly turns back toward him.

Deacon spreads his arms.

Black throws a right hand.

Deacon blocks it and answers with a knife-edge chop to the chest.

WHAP!

Another.

WHAP!

Black absorbs both, his chest reddening, but doesn't back down. Deacon delivers a third chop, then grabs Black's wrist and attempts an Irish whip.

Black reverses it.

Deacon hits the ropes, comes back, and tries a clothesline.

Black ducks underneath and rebounds off the opposite side. He catches Deacon with a dropkick that sends him stumbling backward into the corner.

Black follows with a series of stomps to the midsection, forcing Deacon down against the bottom turnbuckle.

The referee begins his count.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

Black backs away at four.

Deacon pulls himself upright, brushing his hair from his face.

Black charges.

Deacon moves out of the corner and catches him with a pump kick to the stomach. He grabs Black around the waist and drives him into the mat with a gutwrench powerbomb.

The impact shakes the ring.

Deacon doesn't go for the cover immediately. Instead, he stands over Black, looking down at him, shouting with a snarl.

JC: Deacon is doing everything he can to mock Black! He could be going for the cover right now!

JR: St. John doesn’t want a win that’s not a win with STYLE.

DSJ finally hooks the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Black kicks out.

Deacon sits back on his knees and shakes his head, as if shocked Black kicked out.

JC: “St. John showing Black some disrespect here!”

JR: “He’s putting on a show! And watch, he’s still taking it to Black right now!”

Deacon rises and pulls Black up by the wrist. He delivers a forearm to the side of the head, then another, before whipping him into the ropes.

Black returns and eats a spinning short-arm elbow smash.

Deacon hooks him for a DDT.

Black resists, planting his feet. He drives a couple of short punches into Deacon's ribs, then shoves him away.

Deacon responds with a flying knee.

Black drops to one knee, clutching his jaw.

Deacon laughs.

He pulls Black up and attempts a second gutwrench powerbomb.

…But this time, Black slips off Deacon's shoulders behind him.

Deacon spins.

Black drives a knee into his stomach, hooks the head, and plants him with a DDT.

Both men hit the canvas and the crowd roars!

JC: What a counter by Black there!

JR: Still some life in the old soldier yet!

Black rolls onto his side, breathing heavily. He pushes himself up with one hand, then stumbles toward Deacon and drops an elbow across his chest.

He covers.

ONE!

TWO!

Deacon kicks out.

Black remains on top of him for a moment, staring down at DSJ…

Then he grabs Deacon by the hair.

Black drives a forearm into Deacon's face.

Another forearm.

Deacon tries to cover up, but Black pulls him upright and fires a series of haymakers into the body, each one landing with a heavy thud.

Black backs him toward the ropes and whips him across the ring.

Deacon rebounds.

Black catches him with a scoop slam.

Deacon lands hard, and Black immediately climbs onto the second rope.

The crowd rises as Black steadies himself, his legs visibly stiff from the time away from regular competition.

He launches.

DIVING ELBOW DROP!

Black crashes across Deacon's chest.

He hooks the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Deacon kicks out.

Black sits up, frustrated, then looks out at the audience. The crowd cheers him on.

JC: For the first time all night, John Black seems to draw energy from something other than anger.

JR: He’s letting his engine run on bile, but Black runs better on the roar of the crowd!

He pulls Deacon up and attempts to whip him into the corner.

Deacon reverses.

Black crashes chest-first into the turnbuckles.

Deacon rushes in with a shotgun knee that catches Black high in the back. Black falls forward, and Deacon follows with a mudhole stomp to the shoulder blades.

The referee orders him to back off.

Deacon ignores the first warning and stomps again.

“ONE!”

“That's enough!” the referee shouts.

Deacon steps away with his hands raised innocently.

Black drags himself toward the ropes.

Deacon catches him by the ankle and pulls him back to the center of the ring.

He drops down, hooks Black's leg, and turns him over into a Boston crab.

Black's face twists with pain.

Deacon sits deep into the hold, wrenching back as Black reaches desperately toward the ropes.

JC: “Deacon has that Boston crab locked in! He's putting enormous pressure on the lower back!”

JR: “This is smart. You want to keep a guy from exploding with those punches? You damage his base. You make it harder for him to plant his feet and throw those big shots. And if John's back is compromised, that diving elbow becomes a lot harder to pull off, too.”

Black inches forward.

Deacon drags him back.

Black inches forward again.

Deacon leans farther back, laughing.

Black reaches out.

His fingertips brush the bottom rope.

Deacon pulls him back one final time.

Black grits his teeth and digs his forearms into the canvas. With a desperate surge, he twists his hips, rolls onto his back, and kicks Deacon away.

Deacon tumbles backward.

Black scrambles to his feet.

Deacon charges with a clothesline.

Black ducks, catches the arm, and drives a kick into Deacon's midsection. He hooks him and delivers a snap DDT.

Deacon bounces off the mat.

Black rolls him onto his back and drops a knee across his chest before pulling him up again.

He attempts a cradle piledriver.

Deacon senses the danger and begins hammering punches into Black's ribs. Black struggles to maintain his grip, but his back gives way just enough for Deacon to slip free.

Deacon lands behind him and delivers a sharp elbow to the back of the head.

Black stumbles forward.

Deacon spins him around and plants him with a sit-out powerbomb.

The referee drops.

ONE!

TWO!

Black kicks out!

Deacon stares at the official incredulously.

The referee holds up two fingers.

Deacon rises, throwing his arms wide in disbelief.

JC: Before that was play anger, but I think DSJ is actually get frustrated at how hard it is to put down John Black!

JR: He’s been around fourteen years, Jacuinde! In wrestling terms, that’s almost two back-to-back LeBron careers.

Black rolls onto his stomach and starts crawling toward the ropes.

Deacon follows, grabs him by the back of the neck, and drags him upright.

He delivers a slap to the cheek.

Another slap.

Black suddenly drives a fist into Deacon's stomach.

Deacon doubles over.

Black hits him again.

Then again.

Deacon stumbles backward, and Black grabs him by the throat with one hand, shoving him into the corner.

Black unleashes a flurry of body shots, hammering Deacon in the ribs until the referee rushes in to separate them.

“One! Two! Three! Four!”

Black backs up out of the corner…

DSJ takes one inhale, shaking off the flurry…

He suddenly charges, trying to catch Black off guard!

…

But Black catches him with a sudden flying lariat that turns Deacon inside out!

The crowd erupts.

Black drops to one knee, breathing hard, while Deacon lies flat on his back.
JC: “FLYING LARIAT! JOHN BLACK HAS TAKEN DEACON ST. JOHN OFF HIS FEET!”

JR: “That's what I'm talking about! But he's got to keep his head in the game now. Don't get so caught up in proving something to Deacon that you forget to finish the job!”

Black grabs Deacon by the wrist and pulls him upright.

He drives a knee into Deacon's stomach, hooks his head, and attempts to lift him for the Blacka Jacka.

Deacon senses the brainbuster coming and starts throwing punches into Black's ribs.

Black struggles to lift him.

Deacon drops his weight, lands behind Black, and shoves him forward into the ropes.

Black rebounds.

Deacon scoops Black off his feet into powerbomb position…

He lifts Black and launches him backward into the corner!

BUCKLE BOMB!

Black's spine collides with the turnbuckles.

He crumples to the canvas.

JC: Oooof, that move was hideous to look at! Like a murder attempt!

JR: No, that move was exquisite to experience, Jacuinde! Like a murder attempt!

Deacon backs away, watching his opponent with a satisfied expression as Black cradles his spine…

Deacon approaches Black and begins stomping on his back.

Black curls onto his side, trying to protect himself.

Deacon grabs him by the ankle and drags him toward the center of the ring.

He turns him over and applies a sleeper hold.

Black immediately reaches for Deacon's hands, trying to pry them apart.

Deacon sinks his weight behind him, keeping his legs wrapped around Black's waist.

Black struggles.

His hands begin to slow.

The referee drops to one knee and checks him.

“John! Can you continue?”

Black doesn't answer.

Deacon tightens the hold.

“That's it. Give it up. You can stop pretending now.”

Black's right hand falls to the mat.

The referee checks him again.

Black's fingers twitch.

He starts moving his legs, dragging himself forward an inch at a time.

Deacon shakes his head.

“Where the hell are you going?”

Black plants one boot beneath him.

Then the other.

He begins to stand, carrying Deacon's weight on his back.

The crowd rises.

Deacon's eyes widen.

Black staggers backward and drives himself into the corner.

Deacon's back slams against the turnbuckles.

He loosens his grip.

Black does it again.

And again.

On the third impact, Deacon releases the sleeper and falls into the corner.

The two both collapse to the mat as the crowd screams!

JC: What a fight it’s been!

JR: And it’s not over yet, Jacuinde!

Both men slowly rise!

Black throws a right hand.

Deacon answers with a forearm.

Black fires another.

Deacon hits him with a knee.

Black doubles over.

Deacon reaches for the Art Of The Deal.

Black blocks the setup with both hands, shoves Deacon backward, and catches him with a sharp dropkick to the chest.

Deacon stumbles into the ropes.

Black charges.

Deacon attempts to lift him for a pop-up powerbomb.

Black twists in midair, lands behind him, and catches Deacon around the waist.

Deacon reaches back, trying to break the grip.

Black drives a knee into the back of Deacon's leg, forcing him to drop to one knee.

Then Black pulls him upright.

He hooks the head.

The crowd rises as Black finally gets Deacon into position.

BLACKA JACKA!

The brainbuster lands cleanly in the center of the ring.

The impact sends Deacon sprawling.

Black collapses beside him, clutching his lower back.

The audience is on its feet.

JC: “BLACKA JACKA! JOHN BLACK HAS HIT THE BRAINBUSTER!”

JR: “That's it! That's the opening! But look at him! He can barely move! He's got to find a way to get across the ring!”

Black turns onto his stomach.

He begins crawling toward Deacon.

Every movement seems to cost him.

Deacon lies on his back, his arms spread out, staring blankly at the lights.

Black reaches him.

He rolls Deacon onto his back and hooks the leg.

ONE!

TWO!

Deacon kicks out!

The arena erupts in disbelief.

Black rolls off him and sits up, his mouth open as he struggles to breathe.

He stares at the referee.

Then at Deacon.

Then down at the mat.

For a moment, he looks completely lost.

The Blacka Jacka should have been enough.

It wasn't.

Deacon begins rolling toward the ropes.

Black sees him moving and grabs his ankle.

He pulls Deacon back to the center.

Deacon kicks wildly, catching Black in the ribs.

Black doubles over.

Deacon scrambles to his feet and stumbles toward the corner.

Black follows, throwing a punch that catches Deacon across the jaw.

Deacon responds with a desperate slap.

Black's expression hardens.

He grabs Deacon by the throat and shoves him against the turnbuckles.

The referee rushes in.

“John! Break it up!”

Black doesn't seem to hear him.

He throws a forearm.

Then another.

Deacon covers up, his grin finally gone.

The referee wedges himself between them and forces Black backward.

Black shoves the official's arms away.

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY WAY!”

The referee points at him, warning him that he's one step away from disqualification.

Black stares at the official.

Deacon, meanwhile, slowly pulls himself out of the corner.

He notices Black's attention is elsewhere.

Black returns to focusing on his opponent!

He charges the corner, looking for a stinger splash!

But Deacon forward-rolls and John eats turnbuckle!

JC: Ouch!

Black looks dazed as he turns around…

DSJ hooks the head and prepares for the Art Of The Deal.

Black tries to resist, but Deacon drives a knee into his stomach and forces him into position.

Deacon launches into the somersault.

THE ART OF THE DEAL!

The Unprettier connects.

Black crashes face-first into the canvas.

Deacon rolls him over and hooks both legs.

ONE!

TWO!

THREE!

DING! DING! DING!

Winner: Deacon St. John

The bell rings.

The crowd erupts in a mixture of cheers and boos as Deacon rolls away from Black, exhausted.

The referee raises Deacon's arm.

Jacuinde: “Deacon St. John gets the victory, but what a fight from John Black. He survived the Cover Charge, survived the Art Of The Deal attempt, and came within inches of putting Deacon away with the Blacka Jacka.”

Joe: “He came in here believing John Black was just an old guy who's accepted his place. But that dude can still fight. He can still hurt you. And when he gets his head together, he's dangerous.”

Jacuinde: “But Deacon got what he wanted in the end. He pushed John to the edge, provoked him into nearly losing control, and then capitalized when John was distracted.”

Joe: “That's the part that matters. John spent the whole match trying to prove he could still be the guy who fights back. Deacon spent the whole match trying to make him forget why he was fighting in the first place. And when it mattered most, Deacon was the one who kept his head.”

https://youtu.be/d1itZiNY5pY?si=oU1gRanuo-J4hVIV

Blackness once more. Darkness once more. A jaunty little tune from a bygone age.
And that voice once more.

Voice: “It is impossible to say how first the idea entered my brain; but once conceived, it haunted me day and night. Object there was none. Passion there was none. I loved the old man. He had never wronged me. He had never given me insult. For his gold I had no desire. I think it was his eye! yes, it was this! Whenever it fell upon me, my blood ran cold; and so by degrees — very gradually — I made up my mind to take the life of the old man, and thus rid myself of the eye forever.”

JC: Ladies and gentlemen, it is time for our elimination tables match! The rules are simple: put your opponent through a table, and they're eliminated! The last team with a surviving member wins!

JR: Look at the size difference in this one! Solomon Kline's got his hands full with Razor Blade and Latoya Hixx, and that's BEFORE we get to the fact that his partner is Edgecrusher!

JC: You say that like Edgecrusher is an additional obstacle for Solomon, instead of his partner.

JR: Yes, I am.

As Warfare comes back from commercial break, Razor Blade and Latoya Hixx are already waiting in the ring. Latoya cracks her knuckles while Razor Blade runs the ropes. The team of The American Storm appear ready for tonight’s bout!

…

The lights go out. Fire surrounds the stage. The X-Tron flickers to life. A heartbeat monitor flatlines. Beep.

“Antivist” by Bring Me The Horizon blasts throughout the arena. The X-Tron features key moments from his career, namely making people eat finishers and kendo sticks.

MIDDLE FINGERS UP, IF YOU DON’T GIVE A FUCK!

Solomon Kline appears on stage on his blue Harley Davidson motorcycle! Flames rise up all around him. He rides his bike down the ramp and the flames subside, replaced by snow-like pyro raining down from the ceiling. He rides his bike to the ring and goes around to each side, raising his middle fingers as the song lyrics denote and encouraging the crowd to join in and sing along with his gesture.

As he makes his way to the last side of the ring, he parks his bike with a kickstand and slides under the bottom rope.

IF YOU REALLY BELIEVE IN THE WORDS THAT YOU PREACH

GET OFF YOUR SCREENS AND ONTO THE STREETS! THERE WILL BE NO PEACEFUL REVOLUTION!

NO WAR WITHOUT BLOOD!

Solomon ascends the turnbuckle and looks around the room, taking in the cheers of the crowd before dropping down awaiting the start of the match.

JC: There he is! Solomon Kline! Former X-Treme champion! Son of Crimson Kline!

JR: Solomon is one of the toughest sons ‘a bitches in the XWF! He was called Psycho for a reason, he will fight anyone at any time!

JC: And he’s teaming nowadays with Edgecrusher!

JR: Which goes to show just how Psycho Solomon is. He’s willing to fight American Storm with a handicap!

Solomon Kline stands in his corner, staring across the ring at Razor Blade and Latoya Hixx. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders squared, and his eyes move between his two opponents like a man calculating the precise number of bones he's about to have broken.

Then he looks over his shoulder.

His corner is empty.

JC: Wait a minute. Where's Edgecrusher?

JR: Maybe he's already been eliminated!

JC: The match JUST started!

JR: Then he's setting a new personal record!

MEEC: Come on! Come on! I’m in a rush! My match is starting soon!

NCPP: Sir, this is a North Carolina Pulled Pork and YOU haven’t paid.

‘Main Event’ Edgecrusher is at the front of the line of the arena’s pulled pork food cart. The cashier taps her foot impatiently.

MEEC: I just need a plate of pulled pork! For energy! Come on, I’ll get you exposure! My pre-show was sponsored by Mountain Dew!

NCPP: Just reach into that fannypack around your waist and pay for the pulled pork with money!

A line cook sets down a plate of pulled pork and hits the bell.

YOINK! In a flash, Edgecrusher grabs the plate.

MEEC: Thanks!

NCPP: Hey!

Edgecrusher tries to run away with the pulled pork!

…

He gets about twenty-five feet down the way.

He runs out of breath.

He bends his knees, trying to catch his breath.

…

He brings himself down to lying prone on the floor.

…He uses the plate of pulled pork as a pillow.

Kline closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath, turns back toward the opposition, and motions for both of them to bring it.

Razor grins.

Latoya cracks her knuckles.

The bell rings.

American Storm
Latoya Hixx and Razor Blade
- vs -
The Best Buddies
Solomon Kline and ‘Main Event’ Edgecrusher
Elimination Tables Match

Both members of American Storm come at Kline together.

Kline meets Razor with a stiff forearm to the jaw, staggering the American Nightmare backward. He pivots just in time to catch Latoya charging in with a clothesline, ducks underneath it, and drives a kick into her abdomen. Before she can retaliate, Kline grabs her around the waist and tries to lift her!

He gets her about three inches off the ground.

Latoya looks down at him.

Kline looks up at her.

JC: Kline is trying to lift Hixx!

JR: HE'S TRYING TO DEADLIFT A DUMP TRUCK!

Latoya clubs him across the back and shoves him away. Razor returns with a running dropkick that catches Kline square in the chest, sending him stumbling into the corner.

Razor charges.

Kline gets a boot up!

Razor eats it, staggers backward, and Kline follows with a running clothesline that sends him tumbling through the ropes and onto the floor.

Kline doesn't have time to celebrate. Latoya barrels into him with a corner splash, crushing him against the turnbuckles. She grabs him by the throat and hurls him halfway across the ring with a release German suplex.

Kline lands hard.

Latoya flexes.

JR: YOU DON'T NEED A GAME PLAN WHEN YOUR GAME PLAN IS TO HIT SOMEBODY SO HARD THEY FORGET THEIR OWN NAME!

JC: I don't think that's an officially recognized wrestling strategy.

JR: LOOK AT THE RESULTS, JACUINDE!

Latoya steps through the ropes and begins dragging a table into the ring. Razor joins her, sliding another table beneath the bottom rope.

They unfold the first table and position it near the center of the ring.

Kline is already getting back to his feet.

Razor catches him from behind with a Russian legsweep, dropping him to the mat. Latoya follows with a knee drop across his chest, then hauls him up and delivers a fallaway slam that sends him skidding toward the corner.

Kline tries to pull himself upright using the ropes.

Razor catches him with a Disaster Kick!

Kline crumples.

Latoya points toward the table.

The two members of American Nightmare exchange a nod.

JR: This could be it! They're working together beautifully, and Kline is running out of places to go!

JC: THEY'RE GONNA SEND HIM THROUGH THAT TABLE AND THEN SOMEBODY NEEDS TO CHECK ON EDGECRUSHER. I SUSPECT HE'S EATEN HIS WAY THROUGH THE ENTIRE CATERING DEPARTMENT!

Latoya and Razor haul Kline up and position themselves on either side of him. They hook his arms and begin trying to lift him into a double back body drop, aiming to send him crashing backward through the table.

For one horrible second, Kline's boots leave the mat.

The table waits beneath him.

Razor and Latoya begin the lift.

And then Kline fights.

He kicks his legs wildly, twists his body, and somehow manages to slip free of their grip. As both opponents stumble forward, Kline catches Razor around the head with one arm and Latoya with the other.

DOUBLE DDT!

The entire arena erupts as both members of American Nightmare are driven face-first into the canvas!

JC: OH MY GOODNESS! HE GOT BOTH OF THEM!

JR: HOW?! HOW DID HE DO THAT?!

JC: Desperation, Joe!

JR: WELL, HE BETTER HAVE A LOT MORE OF IT!

Kline rolls onto his back, gasping for air. He lies there for several seconds, staring at the ceiling, as though contemplating whether the sweet release of unconsciousness might be preferable to continuing this contest.

Then Latoya starts moving.

Kline sits up.

He scrambles to his feet.

Razor is pulling himself toward the ropes. Kline intercepts him with a superkick that sends him tumbling back to the mat. Latoya gets upright and swings wildly, but Kline ducks beneath the blow and drives a series of forearms into her jaw.

One.

Two.

Three.

He backs her against the ropes, hits the opposite side, and comes charging forward with a spear!

Latoya catches him!

She staggers backward under the impact but remains standing, her arms wrapped around Kline's waist. She tries to hoist him for a slam.

Kline desperately elbows her in the side of the head.

Once.

Twice.

Latoya's grip loosens.

Kline slips free, grabs her around the head, and drives her down with a chokeslam!

No.

Not quite.

Latoya's sheer size prevents him from getting the full lift. Instead, she crashes down awkwardly onto her knees and hands, leaving her dazed and vulnerable.

Kline sees his opportunity.

He grabs her.

DUST TO DUST!

The vertebreaker connects!

Latoya is down, and for the first time in this match, Solomon Kline has the advantage.

He rolls away from her and crawls toward the nearest table. With a visible struggle, he drags it into position and unfolds its legs. He then grabs Latoya by the hair and shoulder, hauling the powerhouse to her feet.

JC: He's going for it! Kline is trying to eliminate Latoya Hixx!

JR: SOMEBODY GET EDGECRUSHER OUT HERE! I DON'T CARE IF HE'S GOT A MOUTHFUL OF BRISKET! HIS PARTNER NEEDS HIM!

Kline positions Latoya in front of the table and hooks her for another Dust to Dust.

He lifts.

Latoya struggles.

Kline's knees buckle under her weight.

But somehow, through sheer stubbornness and a refusal to let his own body acknowledge the existence of good judgment, he gets her up.

He drops backward…

…But behind him, Razor shoves the table out of the way!

Latoya hits the mat, but doesn’t go through the table!

JC: Kline hits the move! But Razor saves Latoya!

JR: How the Hell is Kline supposed to overcome the numbers game here?!?

Kline rolls onto his side, exhausted. He looks toward where he thinks should be the wreckage of the table…

But sees Razor setting the table back up…

Kline exhales exasperatedly…

Before forcing himself up and pointing at Razor, and motioning for him to come on.

Razor obliges.

Razor charges with a clothesline, but Kline ducks. Kline swings a forearm, but Razor blocks it and fires back with a knee to the abdomen. He grabs Kline around the waist and drives him backward with a snap powerslam.

Razor scrambles up and immediately begins setting up the second table.

He unfolds it near the center of the ring, then turns toward Kline, who's using the ropes to pull himself upright.

Razor rushes forward.

Kline catches him with a boot to the stomach.

He hooks Razor's head.

The crowd rises.

TODD: WAIT A SECOND! KLINE'S GOT HIM! IS HE GOING FOR DUST TO DUST?!

Kline starts to lift.

Razor fights desperately, hammering Kline's ribs with elbows. Kline staggers, but he refuses to release the hold.

Then—

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

A familiar entrance theme hits the arena speakers.

Kline freezes.

His head turns toward the entrance ramp.

JC: ‘Main Event’ Edgecrusher! Here’s here!

JR: I was hoping he’d died of pulled pork.

There he is.

'Main Event' Edgecrusher.

The veteran emerges onto the stage, grinning from ear to ear. His shirt has a fresh barbecue stain down the front, and he is licking the last traces of sauce from his fingers as though he's just finished the finest meal of his life.

He pauses to wave at the crowd.

Then he begins ambling down the ramp.

Kline releases Razor so abruptly that the American Nightmare nearly falls over.

Edgecrusher stops halfway down the ramp.

He looks at Kline.

He looks at his fingers.

He looks back at Kline.

"Pulled pork."

Kline stares at him.

"WHAT?!"

"North Carolina style! They had the vinegar sauce, the slaw, the little buns—"

"YOU'VE BEEN GONE FOR THE ENTIRE MATCH!"

Edgecrusher raises a finger.

"Technically, I haven't been gone. I've been right here."

He gestures vaguely toward the catering area.

Kline looks like he might actually murder his own partner.

"You LEFT ME IN A HANDICAP MATCH!"

Edgecrusher frowns.

"Well, I didn't want you to feel left out. Everybody was having a good time."

Kline turns away from him, shouting something that the cameras don't quite pick up.

DROPICK!

Latoya Hixx, who has somehow recovered enough to reach the apron, springs into action. She launches herself through the ropes and dropkicks Kline square in the back.

Kline stumbles forward.

Edgecrusher is still on his hands and knees, trying to get his bearings after sliding into the ring.

Razor sees him.

Latoya sees him.

They exchange a look.

A terrible, beautiful, synchronized look.

JC: OH NO.

JR: OH, YES!

Razor grabs Edgecrusher around the waist.

Latoya catches him from the side.

Together, they hoist the bewildered veteran off the mat.

Edgecrusher's eyes widen.

"Wait, wait, wait—"

DEATH DROP!

They hurl him backward through the waiting table in the center of the ring!

CRAAAAASH!

The table explodes beneath him.

The referee immediately signals the elimination.

Edgecrusher has been eliminated!

JC: EDGECRUSHER HAS BEEN ELIMINATED! EDGECRUSHER IS OUT!

JR: HE JUST GOT HERE!

JC: HE WAS HERE FOR ABOUT SEVEN SECONDS!

JR: AND HE SPENT SIX OF THEM ON THE FLOOR!

JC: And now the table is coated in barbecue sauce!

Razor and Latoya rise to their feet, breathing heavily but grinning. Latoya has recovered enough to stand tall, and Razor throws his arms wide, shouting toward the crowd.

…

When Kline catches Blade by the throat!

Latoya in shock lunges in from the opposite side.

Kline catches her by the throat, too.

For a moment, all three wrestlers stand frozen in the center of the ring.

Kline's arms are trembling. His legs are barely holding him upright. Razor is clawing at Kline's wrist, while Latoya tries to pry his hand loose.

Kline looks from one to the other.

His expression is pure, unfiltered fury.

He takes a step forward.

Another step.

He grits his teeth.

His knees bend.

Kline roars.

"...OFF!"

DOUBLE CHOKESLAM!

Kline lifts both opponents off their feet and drives them down through the same table in one thunderous motion!

KRAAAAAAASH!

The table shatters beneath Razor and Latoya.

The referee rushes over to check both members of American Nightmare. Neither moves.

He signals the eliminations.

Eliminated: Razor Blade and Latoya Hixx!

Winner: Solomon Kline (and Edgecrusher)! The Best Buddies!

JC: OH MY GOD! HE GOT THEM BOTH! HE GOT THEM BOTH THROUGH THE TABLE!

JR: THAT'S IT! THAT'S THE WHOLE MATCH! THAT MAN JUST CHOKESLAMMED TWO PEOPLE THROUGH ONE TABLE!

Kline remains standing in the middle of the wreckage, chest heaving, eyes blazing.

He looks down at Razor and Latoya.

Then he turns toward the broken table where Edgecrusher lies.

The veteran is stirring.

"Hey, buddy!" Edgecrusher calls weakly. "Did we win?"

Kline stares at him.

JC: An incredible performance from Solomon Kline tonight! He fought through the numbers game, eliminated Latoya Hixx, and then put both members of American Nightmare through one table!

JR: I'M TELLING YOU, TODD, THIS IS THE BEGINNING OF SOMETHING SPECIAL FOR THE BEST BUDDIES!

JC: You really think so?

JR: No. But, it might be something for Kline!

https://youtu.be/W3pBXe6qfeY?si=69SBwoBBLXUuQIGk

The void. The abyss. Shadows over the audience.
Our tale continues.

Voice: “If still you think me mad, you will think so no longer when I describe the wise precautions I took for the concealment of the body. The night waned, and I worked hastily, but in silence. First of all I dismembered the corpse. I cut off the head and the arms and the legs.

I then took up three planks from the flooring of the chamber, and deposited all between the scantlings. I then replaced the boards so cleverly, so cunningly, that no human eye — not even his — could have detected any thing wrong. There was nothing to wash out — no stain of any kind — no blood-spot whatever. I had been too wary for that. A tub had caught all.”

The arena is bathed in a deep red light that brings out the shadows in every nook and cranny as "Deep Set" by Greg Puciato starts to play. Kristoffer Arroyo steps through the entrance way, looking cool and confident behind is bright pink shades. He saunters down to the ring, taking his time and seeming to savor the moment before suddenly exploding into a slide into the ring. He then steps through the ropes onto the ring apron, where he wraps his legs around the middle rope and hangs himself upside down with his arms outstretched like an inverted cross. He smiles for the camera, revealing long sharpened incisors, before sitting up and rolling up and over the top rope and to the canvas. He then proceeds to get to a neutral corner and wait for the contest to begin.

JC: “Kristoffer Arroyo demanded that management begin taking him seriously: and so to prove how seriously they are taking him, they’ve booked him in a match against a clown!”

JR: “But not just ANY clown, Jacquinde! They’ve booked him in a match against The aptly named Television Champion, Television Clown! And after what Arroyo did to Deena Hixx clown last Warfare, I’m expecting bloodsports tonight.”

Television Clown's music hits.

Nothing happens.

[b]HONK![/b]

JR: "Oh not this trick again!"

Arroyo turns around to find Television Clown already standing behind him!

The bell rings. Television Clown steps forward and offers Arroyo a handshake, wiggling his fingers with an exaggerated grin. Arroyo stares at the extended hand, then kicks Clown directly in the stomach. Clown doubles over, and Arroyo grabs him by the back of the head and launches him across the ring. Clown bounces off the canvas and rolls toward the ropes, clutching his stomach.

Clown scrambles to his feet and reaches into his tights. He pulls out a cream pie and thrusts it toward Arroyo's face. Arroyo catches his wrist. The two men stare at each other. Arroyo looks at the pie, then back at Clown.

JC: He's actually brought a pie into the ring! What is this guy thinking?

JR: Dude, this is a grown man carrying baked goods in his pants to a professional wrestling match! What is the strategy here? Is he going to defend the championship with pastry?

Arroyo headbutts him. The pie explodes across Clown's face. Cream and crust scatter across the canvas. Arroyo grabs Clown by the hair, yanks him forward, and plants him with a running STO. Clown hits the mat hard, his arms flailing as he tries to cover his face. Arroyo mounts him and begins throwing punches.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five.

Clown desperately covers his head. Arroyo grabs both wrists and pins them against the canvas, driving another forearm into his jaw.

JC: Arroyo is unloading on the champion! This is a complete dismantling in the opening minute!

JR: There's a real difference between somebody who knows how to fight and somebody who's figured out how to entertain a crowd. Television Clown is an entertainer. Arroyo is trying to take his head off. Look at those punches! Poor clown doesn't even know where he is right now.

Arroyo pulls Clown upright and drives a knee into his stomach. He doubles him over, grabs the back of his neck, and smashes another knee into his face.

TEATRO GROTTESCO!

Clown collapses backward. Arroyo drops across his chest and hooks a leg.

JR: This TV title match could be over in record time!

1!

2!!

Clown kicks out!

JC: Not quite, Joe! But I think Arroyo’s already getting close!

Arroyo sits up and stares down at him. He grabs Clown by the throat and lifts him off the mat. Clown's legs kick wildly as Arroyo holds him suspended, his expression completely vacant. Arroyo suddenly drives him down with a chokeslam that shakes the ring.

JC: What impact! Television Clown has been thrown around like a rag doll!

JR: That's a big man getting slammed into the ground with bad intentions. And you can see Arroyo isn't even breathing hard. He's not trying to conserve energy. He's trying to hurt this guy as badly as he possibly can before that fifteen-minute clock runs out.

Arroyo kneels beside Clown. His lips curl back, revealing his fangs.

Clown's painted grin trembles.

Arroyo grabs him by the jaw and bites into his forehead!

Television Clown screams!

Arroyo releases him, allowing him to roll onto his side. Blood runs down through the white makeup, turning his face into a grotesque red mask. Arroyo catches him by the shoulder and bites him again, sinking his fangs into the side of his neck.

JC: Good God! The referee needs to do something about this!

The referee rushes over, shouting at Arroyo to release the champion. Arroyo slowly raises his head, blood dripping from his mouth, and looks at the official. The referee stops short. He glances at Clown, then at Arroyo, seemingly uncertain how to proceed.

JR: What do you want him to do, JC? He's dealing with a vampire! You can't exactly take the guy's teeth away. They're part of his body. The referee has to decide whether he's going to let this continue, and right now Arroyo looks like he wants to eat the entire roster.

Arroyo rises and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Clown crawls toward the ropes, leaving streaks of blood across the canvas. Arroyo follows at a leisurely pace, grabs him by the ankle, and drags him back to the center of the ring.

Clown rolls onto his back and throws a desperate kick. Arroyo catches the leg, twists it, and drops him with a dragon screw. Clown clutches his knee. Arroyo stomps it once, twice, three times. He grabs Clown's leg again and twists it until the champion rolls onto his stomach, screaming into the canvas.

Arroyo hauls Clown upright and whips him into the ropes. Clown rebounds, and Arroyo catches him around the waist, lifting him high before throwing him backward with a German suplex. Clown lands on his shoulders and rolls toward the corner.

Arroyo stalks after him.

Clown reaches into his tights again.

JC: No! Don't tell me he's got another one!

Clown produces a second cream pie and holds it out like a shield. Arroyo stops in front of him. Clown attempts a weak swing with the pie.

Arroyo stomps his hand.

The pie falls.

Arroyo grabs Clown by the throat and pulls him out of the corner. He drives him face-first into the turnbuckle, then repeats the motion twice more. Clown slumps against the ropes, his arms draped over the middle strand.

Arroyo steps back.

RUNNING CANNONBALL!

His entire body crashes into Clown, crushing him against the turnbuckles. Arroyo pulls him out of the corner and plants him with another running STO.

Arroyo hooks the leg!

JC: This has gotta be it right here!

JR: That clown had a good run, but it’s ending now!

1!

2!!

3- NO!

Arroyo releases the cover before the referee can finish signaling the fall!

He grabs the referee's wrist and pulls him away from Clown.

JC: What is he doing? That was three!

Arroyo shakes his head and points down at the champion.

JR: Oh, he doesn't want to win yet. Look at him! He had the match won, and he stopped the referee himself. This is personal. Arroyo HATES clowns! He wants to punish this clown!

Arroyo drags Clown upright, hooks both arms, and drives him into the canvas with another Romeo's Lament. Clown crumples. Arroyo rolls him onto his back and covers again.

1!

2!!

Arroyo lifts Clown's shoulder.

The referee throws his hands up in frustration. Arroyo grabs Clown by the face and slaps him repeatedly, each strike snapping his head from side to side. He then pulls Clown into a kneeling position and whispers something into his ear.

Clown shakes his head.

Arroyo bites into his neck again.

Clown thrashes and pounds the mat. Arroyo holds him in place until the referee threatens to intervene. Finally, Arroyo releases his grip and shoves Clown onto his back.

JC: We're approaching five minutes, and I don't think Television Clown has landed a single meaningful offensive move. He's been beaten from pillar to post!

JR: His offense is survival. That's all it is right now. He's trying to get away from the guy who's biting the hell out of him. And Arroyo is cutting off every escape route. That's what makes this so dangerous. He's not giving Clown a second to breathe!

Arroyo grabs Clown's wrist and drags him toward the center of the ring. He steps over the arm and twists it behind Clown's back, wrenching the shoulder. Clown screams and kicks at the canvas. Arroyo releases him and immediately stomps the shoulder.

He lifts Clown into a belly-to-belly suplex and launches him across the ring. Clown lands near the ropes, rolls onto his stomach, and tries to pull himself upright.

Arroyo charges.

DIVING FOOT STOMP!

Arroyo crashes down across Clown's upper body. Clown lies motionless for several seconds before weakly rolling onto his side.

Arroyo crouches beside him, grabs his cheeks, and forces his face upward.

"Smile."

Clown shakes his head.

Arroyo slaps him.

"Smile."

Another slap.

Clown tries to cover his face. Arroyo grabs his wrists, pulls them away, and sinks his fangs into his shoulder. Clown's scream echoes through the arena.

JR: This is disturbing, man. Arroyo is treating this like a feeding session! He's not even looking for a pin. He's looking for blood!

JC: Clown blood, specifically! This guy HATES clowns!

Arroyo releases Clown and rises. He wipes his mouth and looks at the crowd. He spreads his arms, inviting the reaction, then turns back toward the champion.

Clown crawls toward the ropes. Arroyo grabs him by the waist and lifts him into a Saito suplex. Clown crashes onto his shoulders and neck. Arroyo rolls through, pulls him upright, and hits a second German suplex.

Clown lands hard.

Arroyo holds the waist and delivers a third.

Clown bounces off the canvas, his body going limp before he rolls onto his stomach.

Arroyo releases him and stands over him.

JC: Six minutes gone, and this is becoming a massacre. Television Clown has been thrown around, bitten, stomped, and dropped on his head. Arroyo is showing no signs of slowing down!

JR: You have to wonder what the plan was here. Television Clown has the Television Championship, and that title means you're supposed to be able to wrestle. But there's no game plan for this. You can't pull a pie out of your tights and expect it to work against a guy who's willing to bite through your forehead!

Arroyo grabs Clown by the hair and drags him to his feet. Clown throws a weak punch into Arroyo's chest. Arroyo looks down at the spot where the punch landed.

He looks back at Clown.

Clown throws another punch.

Arroyo catches the wrist and twists it until Clown drops to his knees. Arroyo drives a knee into his face, then pulls him upright and hits another running STO.

Clown lands flat on his back.

Arroyo doesn't cover. He walks to the corner, climbs to the second rope, and waits for Clown to move. When Clown finally rolls onto his stomach, Arroyo launches himself into a diving foot stomp that catches him across the back.

Clown screams and rolls over.

Arroyo grabs his throat.

CHOKESLAM!

The impact rattles the ring. Arroyo stands over Clown and shakes his head, seemingly disappointed that the champion is still conscious.

JC: Arroyo is looking at him like he can't believe this guy is still moving!

JR: A clown’s body is remarkably resilient, JC. But there's a limit. And the problem for Clown is that Arroyo keeps finding ways to push him closer to that limit. He's not letting up. He's not giving him a chance to recover.

Arroyo pulls Clown upright and hooks both arms.

DOUBLE UNDERHOOK SIT-OUT DDT!

Then Arroyo grabs Clown's face and drags him into a seated position. He presses his forehead against Clown's and speaks quietly, his words inaudible to the crowd.

Then he bites him again.

Clown's hands flail against Arroyo's shoulders. The referee grabs Arroyo's arm and pulls him away. Arroyo finally releases his grip, rises, and shoves the official backward.

The referee stumbles but stays on his feet.

Arroyo turns back to Clown.

JC: Nine minutes have elapsed in this match, and the referee is barely in control!

JR: In control?! The referee hasn’t had control of this match since the bell rang!

Arroyo pulls Clown into the corner and props him against the bottom turnbuckle. He backs across the ring, lowers his shoulder, and charges.

RUNNING CANNONBALL!

Clown's body is crushed against the turnbuckles. Arroyo grabs him by the ankles and drags him into the center of the ring.

He lifts him.

SIT-OUT POWERBOMB!

Clown crashes down. Arroyo holds the legs and stacks him for the cover.

1!

2!!

Kristoffer lets him out again!

Then Arroyo grabs Clown by the hair and pulls him upright. Clown's legs wobble. His face is a mess of smeared paint and blood. He reaches toward the ropes, but Arroyo catches him around the waist and throws him backward with a belly-to-belly suplex.

Clown lands near the center of the ring.

Arroyo follows with a running knee to the face.

Clown drops.

Arroyo drags him upright and hooks both arms again.

ROMEO'S LAMENT!

Clown crashes down.

Arroyo covers.

One.

Two.

Arroyo lifts Clown's shoulder himself.

JC: Again! He had him! He had the champion beaten, and he's refusing to let the match end!

JR: He's obsessed. That's what this is. Arroyo could have walked out of here with the Television Championship several minutes ago. Instead, he's deliberately prolonging this because he wants to hurt that clown. That's a different kind of mindset. That's not somebody who's just trying to win. That's somebody who has decided every clown deserves to suffer!

Arroyo drags Clown to the ropes and pulls him upright. He hooks an arm around Clown's head and drives him face-first into the top turnbuckle. He repeats the motion, then throws him backward with a straight jacket German suplex.

Clown lands on his shoulders and rolls onto his side.

Arroyo grabs the clown nose from the canvas, holds it up, and stares at it. He places it on Clown's chest, then stomps it into the mat.

He grabs Clown's jaw.

Clown's eyes widen as Arroyo bares his fangs.

Arroyo bites into the side of his neck and holds him there until the referee begins shouting a warning. Blood spills down Clown's chest and onto the canvas. Arroyo finally releases him and rises, licking his lips.

JC: Five minutes remain. Five minutes for Television Clown to survive this. And right now, I don't know how he's going to do it!

JR: Look at Arroyo! He's covered in blood, he's breathing hard, and he's still smiling. This guy is enjoying himself. That's what makes him so dangerous. A lot of people get into a fight and lose their composure. Arroyo is completely comfortable doing this. He's operating in his element.

Clown rolls onto his stomach and tries to crawl toward the ropes. Arroyo steps on his back and grabs his head, forcing him to remain in place. He pulls Clown onto his knees and drives an elbow into his jaw.

Another elbow.

Another.

Arroyo releases him, lets him collapse, and steps away.

Clown tries to push himself up.

Arroyo charges.

SPEAR!

Clown folds around the impact. Arroyo rolls through, grabs him by the waist, and lifts him into a running powerbomb. Clown crashes onto the canvas, his body bouncing from the impact.

Arroyo pulls him upright again.

SECOND POWERBOMB!

Clown lands hard.

Arroyo stands over him, then grabs his wrist and drags him toward the center of the ring. He hooks both arms and lifts.

THIRD ROMEO'S LAMENT!

Clown's head and shoulders slam into the mat. Arroyo covers.

JC: Please, ‘Vamp’, just end it here! Let this bloodbath be over!

1!

2!!

Arroyo releases the cover.

The referee signals the fall, but Arroyo immediately grabs his wrist and pulls him away.

JC: HE DID IT AGAIN! He stopped another count! Arroyo is deliberately keeping this match alive!

JR: I've never seen anything like this. He has the match won time and time again, but he keeps refusing to let the referee finish the count. He's not thinking about the title anymore. He's thinking about Clown. He's thinking about making this guy pay for every joke, every cream pie, every stupid stunt. This is personal in a way that goes beyond wrestling!

Arroyo pulls Clown upright and slaps him across the face. Clown barely reacts. Arroyo slaps him again, then grabs him by the throat and lifts him into the air.

CHOKESLAM!

Clown crashes down.

Arroyo kneels beside him, staring at his face. He reaches down, wipes away some of the blood and paint, and looks at his fingers.

He shakes his head.

Arroyo grabs Clown by the jaw and bites him again.

Clown's body jerks.

The referee rushes over and grabs Arroyo's shoulder. Arroyo turns slowly, his mouth still against Clown's neck. The referee backs away, shaking his head in disbelief.

JC: The referee has to consider stopping this match. There's no way Television Clown can continue taking this kind of punishment!

JR: You can see the referee thinking about it. But Clown hasn't asked for the match to be stopped, and Arroyo keeps releasing him when the official gets close. It's a horrible situation. The referee is trying to enforce the rules while watching a guy get absolutely destroyed in front of him.

Arroyo finally releases Clown and drags him into the center of the ring. He stands over him and spreads his arms. The crowd roars as Arroyo looks around the arena.

He turns back to Clown.

Arroyo hauls Clown to his feet. Clown's knees buckle. Arroyo hooks him for another Romeo's Lament, but Clown suddenly slips free and stumbles toward the ropes.

The crowd rises.

Clown grabs the ropes and pulls himself upright. Arroyo turns toward him.

Clown reaches into his tights.

He pulls out a third cream pie.

JC: YOU HAVE GOT TO BE KIDDING ME!

Clown throws the pie.

Arroyo catches it directly in the face.

For the first time all match, Arroyo is left standing still.

The crowd erupts.

JR: THIS COULD BE THE TURNING POINT! I CAN SENSE THE MOMENTUM IN THE BUILDING SHIFTING WITH JUST TWO MINUTES LEFT IN THIS CHAMPIONSHIP MATCH!

Clown throws a wild punch!

It barely connects…..

Arroyo slowly wipes cream from his eyes.

He looks at his hand.

He looks at Clown.

Clown backs away slowly.

JR: Oh no…

Arroyo lunges.

Clown tries to escape, but Arroyo catches him around the waist and launches him across the ring with a belly-to-belly suplex. Clown lands hard and rolls toward the corner.

Arroyo charges.

RUNNING CANNONBALL!

Clown is crushed against the turnbuckles.

JC: One minute remaining! One minute, and Television Clown has been through hell tonight!

JR: It’s now or never for Arroyo: he has to quit playing with his food and win this match in the next 60 seconds!

Arroyo hooks both arms.

Clown's feet leave the canvas.

ROMEO'S LAMENT!

Clown crashes down.

Arroyo stands over him, breathing heavily. He raises one hand toward the referee, signaling that he is finally ready to end the match.

He grabs Clown's leg.

The referee drops into position.

Suddenly, Judd Hollow storms down the ramp!

JC: WAIT A MINUTE! THAT'S JUDD HOLLOW! THE X-TREME CHAMPION IS HERE!

Judd slides into the ring and blasts Arroyo with a clothesline! Arroyo spins across the canvas and crashes onto his back. Judd immediately mounts him and begins throwing punches.

JR: WHAT THE HELL IS JUDD HOLLOW DOING HERE?!

Arroyo shoves Judd away and scrambles to his feet. Judd charges and catches him with a ripcord lariat that sends him stumbling into the ropes. Arroyo rebounds with a running knee, catching Judd square in the face.

Judd staggers.

Arroyo grabs him by the throat.

CHOKESLAM!

Judd crashes down.

Arroyo drops onto him with a series of punches, driving his fists into Judd's face. Judd covers up, then shoves Arroyo off and rolls to his knees.

Arroyo charges.

Judd catches him around the waist and drives him into the corner. He delivers a series of heavy shoulder thrusts, each one forcing Arroyo farther back against the turnbuckles.

Judd grabs him by the throat.

CHOKE BOMB!

Arroyo crashes onto the canvas.

Judd stands over him, shouting something inaudible. Arroyo rolls onto his stomach, pushes himself up, and launches a kick into Judd's knee. Judd stumbles. Arroyo rises and cracks him with a spinning elbow.

Judd drops to one knee.

Arroyo grabs his head and pulls him upright.

TEATRO GROTTESCO!

The running knee catches Judd in the face.

Judd staggers backward into the ropes, barely remaining upright.

JC: Arroyo is fighting back! He has been beating Television Clown for fourteen minutes, and now he's trading blows with the X-Treme Champion!

JR: This is what makes Arroyo so dangerous. He's been in a fight for fourteen minutes, he's covered in blood, and he's still capable of exploding like that. Judd is a monster in his own right, but he has to be careful. Arroyo can end this with one clean shot.

Judd catches Arroyo with a forearm to the jaw. Arroyo answers with a knee to the ribs. Judd grabs him around the waist and attempts a German suplex, but Arroyo drives an elbow into his temple and breaks free.

Judd turns.

Arroyo grabs his wrist and pulls him forward.

RIPCORD LARIAT!

Judd ducks.

He catches Arroyo around the waist and throws him backward with a German suplex. Arroyo lands hard, rolls through, and springs back to his feet. Judd charges with a spear.

Arroyo sidesteps.

Judd crashes shoulder-first into the turnbuckles.

Arroyo grabs him from behind and delivers a Saito suplex. Judd lands on his shoulders and rolls toward the center of the ring.

Arroyo follows, grabs him by the throat, and lifts him into a chokeslam.

Judd twists in midair and lands behind him.

SIT-OUT TOMBSTONE!

Arroyo barely escapes, twisting free and shoving Judd into the ropes. Judd rebounds and catches Arroyo with a brutal spinning elbow that sends both men crashing to the canvas.

JC: Only thirty seconds remain! The clock is running out, and neither man is backing down!

Judd pulls himself up using the ropes. Arroyo rises across the ring, blood running down his face. The two men lock eyes.

They charge.

Judd throws a clothesline. Arroyo ducks and drives a knee into Judd's stomach. Judd responds with a headbutt that sends Arroyo stumbling backward.

Arroyo grabs Judd by the throat and attempts another chokeslam, but Judd drives a knee into his abdomen and breaks free. Judd grabs Arroyo around the waist and throws him backward with a German suplex.

Arroyo lands hard.

Judd rolls through and hauls him upright.

Judd drives Arroyo into the canvas with a devastating powerbomb, leaving him sprawled motionless near the center of the ring.

JC: JUDD HAS PUT ARROYO DOWN! ARROYO IS OUT!

Judd looks down at Arroyo, then turns toward Television Clown. The champion is still lying near the ropes, barely moving, his face covered in blood and cream.

Judd grabs Clown by the ankle and drags his lifeless body toward the center of the ring.

JR: What is he doing? Wait a second! He's bringing Clown over!

Judd hauls Clown up just enough to throw him forward.

TELEVISION CLOWN LANDS ACROSS ARROYO'S CHEST!

Judd shoves Clown into position and hooks his arm over Arroyo's body.

The referee drops to the canvas.

JC: ONLY TEN SECONDS REMAIN!

JR: TELEVISION CLOWNS ONLY NEEDS 3!

1!

2!!

3!!!

Winner and STILL TV Champion- Television Clown

JC: HE GOT HIM! TELEVISION CLOWN HAS PINNED KRISTOFFER ARROYO!

JR: OH MY GOD! JUDD JUST USED THE TELEVISION CHAMPION AS A WEAPON! He knocked Arroyo out, threw Clown on top of him, and the referee counted three! That's unbelievable!

The timekeeper confirms the fall just before the fifteen-minute limit expires. Judd rolls out of the ring and snatches up his X-Treme Championship, raising it high as the referee signals the result.

Television Clown lies sprawled across Arroyo, completely unaware of what has happened. Clown paramedics rush toward both men. The referee checks Clown, then turns to Arroyo, who remains motionless beneath the champion's body.

Judd stands at ringside, watching the scene unfold.

JC: Television Clown retains the XWF Television Championship! Kristoffer Arroyo had dominated this entire match, refused to finish his opponent, and was seconds away from victory when Judd Hollow arrived and changed everything!

JR: Arroyo got exactly what he deserved for playing with his food for fourteen minutes. He could have won this match a dozen times, but he wanted to keep hurting a defenseless clown. Judd came out here and took advantage of the situation. He put Arroyo down, used TV Clown's body to get the pin, and now he's walking away while both guys are laid out. That's ruthless. That's brilliant. And Arroyo is going to be absolutely furious when he wakes up!

Judd raises the X-Treme Championship one more time before backing up the ramp. In the ring, Television Clown is helped off Arroyo and begins to stir as the referee checks on the fallen vampire.

Arroyo lay motionless on the canvas, blood smeared across his face, while Television Clown and his championship are carried to the back on a stretcher by paramedic clowns!

[/b]

https://youtu.be/w4-7G2jnbew?si=qaZyotcpQCJmfqiR

Voice: “There entered three men, who introduced themselves, with perfect suavity, as officers of the police. I smiled, — for what had I to fear? I bade the gentlemen welcome. I bade them search — search well. In the enthusiasm of my confidence, I brought chairs into the room, and desired them here to rest from their fatigues, while I myself, in the wild audacity of my perfect triumph, placed my own seat upon the very spot beneath which reposed the corpse of the victim.

The officers were satisfied. My manner had convinced them. But, ere long, I felt myself getting pale and wished them gone. My head ached, and I fancied a ringing in my ears: but still they sat and still chatted. The ringing became more distinct: — it continued and became more distinct: I talked more freely to get rid of the feeling: but it continued and gained definitiveness — until, at length, I found that the noise was not within my ears.

No doubt I now grew very pale; — but I talked more fluently, and with a heightened voice. Yet the sound increased — and what could I do? It was a low, dull, quick sound — much such a sound as a watch makes when enveloped in cotton.”

The beating of a heart.
Darkness.
And it ends.

JC: We are all set for tonight’s main event to get underway! And boy oh boy do we have something special in store for all you fine folks watching at home. Tell em’ what we’ve got, Joe!

JR: We have a special, never-before-seen kind of Main Event, brought to you courtesy of the ART FOUNDATION! Tonight, we have four wrestlers in the ring, all waiting for their chance to serve the great Korvayne! And all they have to do…..is climb atop the platform above the ring, and touch her hand. The winner? Walks away with a tag-team championship and a really, really hot tag partner!

JC: But it’s easier said than done, Joe! Some of Anarchy’s FINEST wrestlers have gathered for the right to that belt. Roger, EDWARD, Liam Roberts, and Reggie Estrada have all thrown their hats in the ring for this special main event!

JR: It’s weird that no one from Warfare signed up for this match, right?

JC: A bit weird, but you gotta remember Joe: Korvayne is somewhat of a bitch. That could be why nobody from the same brand as her wants in on this!

JR: Truer words have never been said! Now let’s get to the action!

The bell rings.

Korvayne sits on an elevated platform connected to and built above the ring, watching the action unfold beneath her. Her luscious tush sits on a velvet seat as a tag championship belt sprawls across her shoulder. On a table besides her sits the prize for winning tonight’s main event contest.

Reggie Estrada immediately charges at EDWARD and catches him with a heavy right hand. EDWARD stumbles into the ropes, and Reggie follows with another shot to the jaw. Reggie grabs him by the back of the head and drives him into the turnbuckles, unloading with a series of body shots before pulling him back out and cracking him across the chest with a forearm.

Across the ring, Roger waves enthusiastically at Korvayne, who sits elevated above the ring with the XWF Tag Team Championship displayed beside her. He points up at her, gives an exaggerated thumbs-up, then turns around just in time to eat a Liam Roberts clothesline.

JR: Flirting with Korvayne is a time-honored tradition in the XWF, but there’s a time and a place for it! Roger just learned that the hard way!

JC: I’ve gotta say: I’ve never seen Liam Roberts this motivated before!

JR: Liam just got a huge singles win over Edgecrusher on Anarchy! This might be a brand new Liam Roberts that we are seeing this time around, Jacquinde!

Liam hits another clothesline. Roger staggers backward, arms windmilling, before Liam catches him with a dropkick that sends him sprawling. Liam covers him for absolutely no reason, hooking both legs and shouting for the referee to count. The referee barely gets into position before Roger kicks out at one and a half, then rolls away clutching his chest like he has suffered a career-ending injury.

Liam gets to his feet and pumps his fists. His first singles victory on Anarchy has clearly given him a new sense of confidence. He turns toward the other two competitors and charges in to help Reggie.

JC: Does Liam Roberts think…that he just eliminated Roger?

JR: I’m never quite sure what’s going through that dude’s head, but I gotta say, he does seem excited!

Reggie catches Liam coming and nearly takes his head off with a short-arm clothesline.

Liam hits the canvas hard. Reggie looks down at him, shakes his head, and turns back toward EDWARD. EDWARD catches him with a thumb to the eye, follows with a kick to the gut, and drives Reggie backward with a series of punches. Reggie answers with a brutal forearm that leaves EDWARD leaning against the ropes.

Roger crawls toward the corner, spots the action, and decides to make his move. He charges at both men with his arms spread wide. Reggie and EDWARD each step aside. Roger barrels between them and crashes shoulder-first into the turnbuckles.

JC: Big swing-and-a-miss for Roger there!

JR: That’s the reigning and two-time Anarchy tag-team champion Roger to you, Jacquinde!

JR….right.

Reggie grabs him by the waist and hurls him backward with a belly-to-back suplex. Roger lands hard, bouncing off the canvas and rolling onto his stomach. Reggie gives him a quick stomp between the shoulder blades before turning his attention back to EDWARD.

EDWARD tries to catch Reggie with a spinning back elbow. Reggie ducks underneath and catches him around the waist. He lifts EDWARD off the mat and drops him with a thunderous German suplex. EDWARD folds on impact, and Reggie immediately rolls through, hauling him back to his feet.

A second German suplex sends EDWARD across the ring.

Reggie stands over him, breathing heavily, then turns toward Korvayne and points up at the championship.

JC: Reggie has been around the XWF long enough to know what a moment like this could mean! A place beside Korvayne, the Tag Team Championship, and another opportunity to add something to a career built on surviving the worst this company can throw at him!

Reggie turns back to EDWARD and reaches down to pull him up.

But EDWARD suddenly explodes with a headbutt.

Reggie staggers. EDWARD grabs him by the wrist and whips him toward the ropes, then catches him coming back with a high knee to the chest. Reggie hits the canvas. EDWARD drops down and starts throwing punches, each one landing with enough force to make Reggie cover up.

Liam returns to the action and grabs EDWARD from behind. He tries to pull him away from Reggie, but EDWARD drives an elbow into his face. Liam stumbles backward, and EDWARD follows him with a boot to the stomach. He hooks Liam around the head and plants him with a DDT.

Liam rolls onto his back, dazed and confused.

EDWARD gets up, sees Roger trying to sneak past him, and catches the goofy competitor by the collar. Roger raises both hands and offers an apologetic grin. EDWARD responds with a forearm to the face, then whips Roger across the ring and catches him with a powerslam!

Roger lands hard!

EDWARD sits up as Roger rolls onto his side and gives the referee a little wave. EDWARD grabs him by the head and drags him upright, looking ready to finish the job. Roger suddenly slips free, ducks beneath EDWARD's arm, and races toward the elevated platform where Korvayne sits!

JR: Roger just said screw fighting, he’s ready to claim his spot next to Korvayne! You have to respect the wit and ring savvy of the Anarchy tag-team vet!

JC: Roger? Wit and savvy? Are we…are we talking about the same Roger?

JR: That’s Anarchy tag-team LEGEND Roger to you, Jacquinde!

Roger reaches up toward Korvayne.

Korvayne watches him approach with an expression of complete indifference.

Roger stretches as far as he can, fingertips reaching toward her. He is inches away from making contact when EDWARD grabs him by the back of his tights and yanks him down.

Roger lands flat on his back.

EDWARD kicks him in the ribs, then pulls him upright and sends him crashing into the corner. He unloads with a series of heavy punches, leaving Roger slumped against the turnbuckles. EDWARD backs away, charges, and crushes him with a running corner clothesline.

Roger drops to the mat.

EDWARD turns around and sees Liam struggling to his feet. Liam throws a desperate punch. EDWARD blocks it, answers with a forearm, and sends Liam stumbling backward. Liam tries another strike. EDWARD catches him with a boot to the midsection and drives him down with a vicious powerbomb.

Liam hits hard enough to roll onto his side and clutch his back.

EDWARD stands over both men, then looks toward Reggie.

Reggie is already getting up.

JC: Only EDWARD and Reggie Estrada are left standing! Whichever one of them can get to the top of the platform and tag Korvayne will be our new XWF Tag-Team Champion!

JR: EDWARD and Reggie Estrada are two former champions in their own right, and now, each of them looks to add another belt to their collection! But who will prevail?!

Estrada pulls himself upright using the ropes, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and steps toward EDWARD. The two men stare at one another across the ring. There is no more room for distractions. Liam and Roger are scattered around the canvas, battered and struggling to recover. Korvayne remains seated high above them, waiting for someone to prove worthy of reaching her.

Reggie throws the first punch.

EDWARD answers with one of his own.

The two trade shots in the center of the ring. Reggie lands a right hand that snaps EDWARD's head sideways. EDWARD responds with a forearm across the jaw. Reggie fires back with another punch, then a short headbutt that sends EDWARD staggering.

Reggie grabs him and drives him into the corner. He pounds EDWARD's ribs, catches him with a knee to the stomach, and pulls him out by the arm. A short-arm lariat takes EDWARD off his feet.

Reggie follows him down and begins hammering him with ground-and-pound strikes. EDWARD covers up, trying to create space, but Reggie keeps coming. He grabs EDWARD by the wrist and drags him back to his feet, then launches him across the ring with an overhead belly-to-belly suplex.

EDWARD lands near the ropes.

JR: Reggie Estrada has taken the upper-hand here! The former X-treme Champion and legendary Thug is about to steal another championship belt!

Reggie charges.

But EDWARD drops low, pulls the top rope down, and sends Reggie spilling over the ropes to the floor!

The crowd erupts as Reggie crashes onto the ringside mats.

EDWARD drops to one knee, sucking air into his lungs. He looks toward Korvayne, then turns back to the ring. He knows he cannot afford to let Reggie recover.

Liam is moving again. He crawls toward the ropes and begins pulling himself up. EDWARD catches him before he can stand, dragging him away from the ropes and delivering a sharp knee to the stomach. He hooks Liam's head and drives him down with another DDT!

Liam lies motionless for several seconds.

EDWARD grabs him by the wrist and drags him toward the corner beneath Korvayne's platform. He looks up at her, then back down at Liam, and delivers a final boot to the ribs before leaving him behind.

Roger has found his way to the opposite corner. He uses the ropes to pull himself upright, shakes his head rapidly, and spots EDWARD approaching. Roger raises his hands, trying to negotiate a truce.

EDWARD walks straight through the gesture and hits him with a heavy right hand.

Roger stumbles into the corner. EDWARD follows with a knee to the stomach, grabs him around the waist, and hoists him onto his shoulders. Roger flails his arms and legs, desperately trying to escape. EDWARD adjusts his grip and drives him down with a devastating sit-out powerbomb.

Roger bounces off the canvas and rolls onto his side.

EDWARD rises slowly. His eyes move toward Korvayne.

He starts toward the platform.

JC: EDWARD just cleared out all the competition! Everyone in the ring is down! This is his chance to win Korvayne’s hand!

JR: But wait- REGGIE’S GETTING UP!

Reggie slides back into the ring.

EDWARD turns just as Reggie barrels into him with a shoulder tackle. Both men crash to the mat. Reggie gets to his knees first and starts swinging. EDWARD fights back, and the two trade punches from their knees before Reggie catches EDWARD with a brutal elbow to the temple.

Reggie pulls EDWARD up and drives him into the ropes. He whips him across the ring and catches him with a spinebuster that shakes the canvas.

Reggie stays on top of him, hammering him with punches. EDWARD tries to roll away. Reggie grabs his ankle and drags him back into the center of the ring.

He hauls EDWARD upright.

EDWARD suddenly catches Reggie with a knee to the stomach, then another. He grabs Reggie by the head and snaps him down with a DDT. Both men lie on the mat, exhausted, their chests heaving.

JC: This is still anyone’s match!

JR: Nobody wants to quit, not when there’s ½ of championship gold on the line!

The crowd begins to rise as the two Anarchy veterans slowly struggle back to their feet in Warfare’s main event.

Reggie swings first. EDWARD ducks and drives a forearm into his back. Reggie turns and catches him with a headbutt. EDWARD stumbles into the ropes. Reggie follows with a running clothesline that sends both men spilling through the ropes and crashing to the floor.

They land hard at ringside.

Reggie is first to his feet. He grabs EDWARD and smashes his face against the edge of the apron. EDWARD drops to one knee. Reggie follows with a knee to the chest, then rolls him back into the ring.

Reggie climbs onto the apron and starts to enter.

EDWARD scrambles across the canvas and grabs Reggie's boot. Reggie kicks him away, but EDWARD catches the leg again and yanks hard. Reggie loses his balance and falls awkwardly onto the middle rope, his throat and chest slamming across it.

EDWARD gets to his feet and hammers Reggie with a forearm. He grabs him by the head and pulls him back into the ring.

Reggie throws a wild punch. EDWARD ducks beneath it, catches him around the waist, and lifts him high.

A thunderous powerbomb drives Reggie into the canvas.

EDWARD drops beside him, struggling to catch his breath. He looks toward Korvayne. She sits above the ring, watching the two men with calm, regal detachment.

EDWARD knows he has a chance.

He pulls himself up using the ropes and turns toward the corner beneath her platform.

Reggie reaches out and catches his ankle.

EDWARD stumbles. Reggie clings to his leg and drags himself upright, refusing to let the opportunity slip away. He pulls EDWARD back toward the center of the ring and cracks him with a forearm across the jaw.

EDWARD staggers.

Reggie follows with a second forearm, then a third. EDWARD is rocked backward, barely staying upright. Reggie grabs him around the waist and attempts another suplex, but EDWARD blocks the lift by widening his stance.

Reggie tries again.

EDWARD drives an elbow into his back, then clubs him across the shoulders. He catches Reggie with a sudden knee to the face and shoves him away.

Reggie rebounds off the ropes.

EDWARD catches him with a massive lariat.

Reggie hits the canvas hard, and EDWARD drops beside him. For a moment, both men lie still.

JR: He damn near took Reggie’s head off with that clothesline! That’s pure caveman strength right there!

JC: Reggie Estrada just got knocked into next week! I’m not sure he’s getting up after that one!

EDWARD rolls onto his stomach and begins crawling toward the corner. Reggie rolls onto his back, blinking up at the lights.

Liam has managed to reach the ropes. He pulls himself upright, takes one unsteady step toward the corner, and starts to move toward Korvayne.

EDWARD spots him.

He lunges across the ring and catches Liam by the ankle before he can get any closer. Liam falls forward, grabbing the bottom rope. EDWARD drags him backward, hauls him up, and plants him with a final brutal slam.

Liam collapses.

JR: EDWARD makes another one bite the dust!

EDWARD turns toward Roger, who is barely moving near the opposite turnbuckles. Roger makes one last desperate attempt to crawl toward the platform. EDWARD intercepts him with a boot to the stomach and throws him aside.

The path is finally clear.

EDWARD staggers toward Korvayne's platform.

JR: EDWARD has this match won! He’s the last one standing! He’s going to get to touch Korvayne’s hand! He’s going to become a tag-team champion!

JC: Not so fast, Joe- it looks like he still has company!

Reggie suddenly surges from behind and grabs him around the waist.

The crowd roars.

JR: It’s Reggie Estrada again! He just won’t quit!

JC: Thugs never quit, Joe!

Reggie pulls EDWARD away from the platform and tries to lift him for one last suplex. EDWARD fights the grip, throwing elbows backward into Reggie's face. Reggie refuses to release him. He tightens his arms around EDWARD's waist and begins lifting.

EDWARD slips free at the last possible second, lands behind Reggie, and spins him around.

Reggie swings.

EDWARD ducks.

He drives a crushing forearm into Reggie's jaw, then grabs him around the head and plants him with a sudden, devastating DDT!

Reggie hits the canvas and rolls onto his back.

EDWARD drops to one knee, gasping. He looks at Reggie, then at Korvayne, then forces himself upright.

Reggie tries to rise one more time. He reaches for the ropes, gets one knee beneath him, and begins pushing himself up.

EDWARD turns back and catches him with one final strike that sends Reggie sprawling across the canvas.

JR: Estrada finally goes down!

JC: EDWARD needs to make a sprint for Korvayne right here! This match is just too chaotic! There’s too many wrestlers in that ring for anyone to get a better chance than this!

EDWARD stumbles toward the platform beneath Korvayne's elevated seat atop the ring. He reaches up, stretches his arm as high as he can, and catches her hand.

JC: EDWARD TAGS KORVAYNE!

The bell rings!

Winner and NEW XWF Tag-Team Champion- EDWARD

EDWARD drops to his knees, exhausted. Reggie lies several feet away, barely conscious. Liam is sprawled near the ropes, and Roger has ended up flat on his back in the opposite corner, one arm raised weakly toward the ceiling.

Korvayne rises from her seat above the ring, the XWF Tag Team Championship held high. She looks down at EDWARD, who remains kneeling beneath her atop the platform, breathing heavily after surviving the fight of his life. Almost like a cat, she simply knocks the spare belt off its table and onto EDWARD’s lap.

JR: EDWARD has been away from the XWF for a long time! He returned looking for another chance, another championship, and a place beside Korvayne on Olympus. He got exactly what he came for!

JC: EDWARD WINS! Korvayne retains the XWF Tag Team Championship, and EDWARD becomes her new championship partner. What an incredible story!

[/b]

https://youtu.be/fHRLoVmPeLU?si=Z7dhD63-BPC6In2p

Darkness. A flicker. An owl sits upon a branch.
Darkness. Once more.

Voice: “I talked more quickly — more vehemently; but the noise steadily increased. I arose and argued about trifles, in a high key and with violent gesticulations; but the noise steadily increased. Why would they not be gone? I paced the floor to and fro with heavy strides, as if excited to fury by the observations of the men — but the noise steadily increased. Oh God! what could I do? I foamed — I raved — I swore! I swung the chair upon which I had been sitting, and grated it upon the boards, but the noise arose over all and continually increased. It grew louder — louder — louder! And still the men chatted pleasantly, and smiled. Was it possible they heard not? Almighty God! — no, no! They heard! — they suspected! — they knew! — they were making a mockery of my horror! — this I thought, and this I think. But anything was better than this agony! Anything was more tolerable than this derision! I could bear those hypocritical smiles no longer! I felt that I must scream or die! — and now — again! — hark! louder! louder! louder! louder! —”

The screen flickers. Two tattooed hands on an open book. A Tarot tucked in as a bookmark: The World.

Voice: “Villains!” I shrieked, “dissemble no more! I admit the deed! — tear up the planks!”

A letter sitting on the reading table beside the book. A focus on its contents: “You have been selected to be Captain for XWF’s upcoming War Games”.

Voice: “Here, here! —”

A grin. And a familiar face revealed.

Jonathan Bacchus: “It is the beating of his hideous heart.”

SPECIAL THANKS TO OUR MATCHWRITERS

PETER PRINCIPAL
‘BIG’ DICK LICHTER

AND TO OUR WONDERFUL SEGMENT WRITERS

JOHNNY
AND
BACCHUS

AND OF COURSE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO RPED! SEE YOU NEXT TIME!

]]>

October - 19 - 2026

WARFARE!

LIVE FROM SPECTRUM CENTER

[b]CHARLOTTE, NORTH CAROLINA[/b]

Deacon Saint John
- vs -
John Black
Singles Match

American Nightmare
Latoya Hixx and Razor Blade
- vs -
The Best Buddies
Solomon Kline and ‘Main Event’ Edgecrusher
Elimination Tables Match

[/b]

Deacon Saint John
- vs -
John Black
Singles Match

Winner: Deacon St. John

Kline closes his eyes for a moment. He takes a deep breath, turns back toward the opposition, and motions for both of them to bring it.

Razor grins.

Latoya cracks her knuckles.

The bell rings.

American Storm
Latoya Hixx and Razor Blade
- vs -
The Best Buddies
Solomon Kline and ‘Main Event’ Edgecrusher
Elimination Tables Match

Edgecrusher has been eliminated!

Eliminated: Razor Blade and Latoya Hixx!

Winner: Solomon Kline (and Edgecrusher)! The Best Buddies!

Television Clown's music hits.

Nothing happens.

[b]HONK![/b]

JR: "Oh not this trick again!"

Arroyo turns around to find Television Clown already standing behind him!

Winner and STILL TV Champion- Television Clown

Winner and NEW XWF Tag-Team Champion- EDWARD

SPECIAL THANKS TO OUR MATCHWRITERS

PETER PRINCIPAL
‘BIG’ DICK LICHTER

AND TO OUR WONDERFUL SEGMENT WRITERS

JOHNNY
AND
BACCHUS

AND OF COURSE THANK YOU TO EVERYONE WHO RPED! SEE YOU NEXT TIME!

]]> <![CDATA[Same Girl/New Ending]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50595 Mon, 19 Oct 2026 14:56:08 -0700 Vita Frickin Valenteen]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50595
Some people clean when they're stressed.

Vita Valenteen was no different.

Except it was 3:00 AM, and she was doing it with a wine glass full of rat blood.

A donation box sat beside her as she dug through the back of her closet.

"People say I'm weird."

She sipped.

"People are judgy."

Vita pulled a Vita's V-neck out of the closet and something black tumbled out behind it.

The Atomic Bat cowl.

Suddenly, Mercy's voice echoed in her head.

*"LiTeRaL cArToOn."*

"Yeah, okay..."

Vita slipped it on and checked the mirror.

"Fair enough."

Off again, and for a second, it hovered over the donation box, but then she tossed it to the top shelf instead.

A few seconds later Vita spread an armful of old dresses across her bed.

"Oh, God."

Black. Green. Red. Expensive!!

Sarah Lacklan.

Vita held one of the dresses against herself and checked the mirror.

"Okay, Sar... maybe you had a point..."

And then she heard Sarah's voice again.

*"Ashley Johnson... what do you want?"*

Vita took another sip.

"You know what really sucks, Mercy?

I watched that match back. A lot.

The first time you caught me in Mort Noire, I got out.

The second time?

Lights out.

And everybody keeps telling me I didn't tap like that's supposed to make me feel better.

Honestly?

Tapping would've been less embarrassing. At least then I would've made a choice. Instead, you put me to sleep with a wrestling hold I knew was coming.

So yeah...

Congratulations. You learned."

Vita raised the glass toward nobody in particular.

"Before that match, I thought your biggest problem was that you cared more about hurting me than beating me.

Then you stopped trying to carve me into a monster and locked in Mort Noire with the intention of finishing the job.

Good.

You fixed your mistake.

Now I fix mine."

Her eyes moved toward the dress she was holding.

"You told me I needed to accept what I really am.

Okay... but I'm not a monster.

There's not some horrible thing hiding underneath all this.

It's just me.

And I'm a wrestler.

One who's known what I wanted since I was seventeen years old and stupid enough to run away from home for this.

I want to be the best.

Why do you think I asked for this rematch? You didn't just beat me... you caught me with something I knew was coming, and then choked me out on live TV.

That kinda thing gets stuck in my head.

Kinda like how the first time Sarah beat me, she did so by outswimming a speed boat.

And Sarah beat me enough times that most people probably would've taken the hint.

I didn't.

Every time she beat me, I walked away knowing a little more than I did before.

So I kept going back and making her do it again.

Until eventually..."

Until War Games 2023.

One!

Two!!

Three!!!

ELIMINATED: SARAH LACKLAN

The lights flickered and laughter boomed from inside of the closet.

"What the HECK was THAT!?"

Vita stared into the closet. It was deeper now. Way deeper. Behind her clothes was a narrow corridor of rusted pipes.

Vita slowly leaned forward.

"Well, that definitely wasn't there five minutes ago."

Vita looked down at the wine glass in her hand.

The blood curdled.

"Nope!!"

She set it down.

Then from inside the closet, Mercy's voice called out.

*"AsHLeY joHNsOn... wHAt dO YoU wAnT?"*

She stepped into the closet as the bedroom vanished behind her.

Pipes steamed.

The distant laughing echoed.

Vita kept walking until suddenly!

Until War Games 2023.

One!

Two!!

Three!!!

ELIMINATED: SARAH LACKLAN

Mercy was standing directly in front of her!

"Okay.

Cute place!

Very murder-basement chic!!"

*"yOu kEeP jOkInG wHeN yOu'rE sCaReD."*

"And you do the spooky voice every time you wanna sound deep."

Mercy was suddenly closer.

*"yOu wErE hElPlEsS."*

"Only for a few seconds..."

*"lOnG eNoUgH."*

"Obviously.

You won.

I'm not arguing with you about that.

You adjusted. That's literally why I'm standing here giving you credit!"

*"yOu hElD bACk aNd yOu fAiLeD."*

"TOTALLY!

Once.

Sarah made a whole hobby out of beating me before I finally got her.

So what makes you think YOU get one win and suddenly I'm done learning?"

Mercy's grin widened.

*"bEcAuSe yOu'lL sToP. yOu aLwAyS sToP."*

"See, THAT'S where you're wrong."

Steam hissed between them.

"I don’t like hurting people. That part’s true. What you got wrong is thinking that means I’ll hesitate when the person in front of me already decided the only way this ends is with me unconscious. Last time I gave you that window. I’m not handing it to you again."

*"iT's wHaT yOu dO."*

"No, it's what I did."

Mercy disappeared.

Vita turned.

Nothing.

Then Mercy slammed into her from behind.

Vita crashed chest first onto the floor as Mercy hooked both arms and folded them behind her.

MORT NOIRE!

*"sAmE gIrL."*

Vita kicked against the floor.

*"sAmE hOlD."*

Mercy pulled back harder.

*"sAmE eNdInG."*

A valve beside them screamed as steam burst from the pipe.

*"yOu kNoW hOw tHiS eNdS."*

"Uh, yeah? That's kinda the point."

Vita planted a foot and threw herself sideways, dragging Mercy with her toward the scalding pipes.

*"wHaT aRe yOu dOiNg!?"*

"Something different!"

Vita drove her into the pipe.

Mercy's grip loosened and Vita recoiled at the smell of burnt flesh.

*"sQuEaMiSh."*

"Maybe!"

Vita reached for the burning hot pipe.

"But not stupid enough to lose the same way twice!!"

Vita grabbed the pipe. Skin sizzled as the boiler room vanished.

Vita shot upright on the bedroom floor.

She grabbed her burnt hand.

No burn at all.

Vita stared toward the now normal closet.

Then reached down and pulled Sarah's dress back out of the donation box.

She folded it and placed it beside the Atomic Bat cowl.

"Those stay...

But hesitating against killers?

Yeah, that one's getting donated..."

Her eyes drifted toward the baseball bat standing inside the closet.

"Next time I get my chance?

I'm TOTALLY taking it!!"]]> <![CDATA[Werk, werk, werk! (Kill, kill, kill!)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50598 Mon, 19 Oct 2026 14:10:23 -0700 Mercy]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50598
“Hello everyone! I’m Bob The Drag Queen!”

“And I’m the reanimated head of Joan Rivers in a multilimbed octo-bot!”

It’s what it says on the cover, believe it or not.

“And we’re here to pay a special Halloween homage to the greats of the fashion world!”

“I tell you Bob I’d die alllllll over again for Belenciaga!”

“Me too Joan. I mean, for the first time, because I’ve never died before. Anyway, without further ado, let’s get to the FAAAAAAAASHION!”

The shot returns to the runway where a model sashays out wearing what looks to be a sexy mummy outfit.

“First up we have Valeria sporting this spooky number from Alexander McQueen!”

“The undead have never looked more stylish, Bob. God save the (Mc)Queen!”

“Oh wait, what’s this?”

Naturally, it’s MERCY! She careens out from the back, stepping onto the runway with authority and wielding a butcher knife! She wastes no time attacking Valeria, plunging the blade into her abdomen! Valeria screams like she’s dying, because she, uh, is.

“Oh wow Bob! You’ve got to admire the pageantry on display here!”

Valeria drops to the floor of the runway, bleeding out everywhere. “HELP! SHE’S KLLING ME!”

“Give this girl an Academy Award! She can ACT!”

“I’m not acting! I’m literally *coughs up blood* dying!”

Mercy continues stabbing Valeria, sending blood spatter into the front row of the spectators. At first, they don’t seem to know what to make of it, but then one of them rises to his feet and gives a standing ovation! The other spectators quickly follow suit, applauding the gruesome display.

“I love it, Bob. You know, I think it’s symbolic! All fashion trends die out eventually, and here we’re seeing it happen LITERALLY.”

“Wow Joan, that’s deep!”

Valeria finally dies and Mercy rises just as another model is sent down the runway and into the meat grinder. This time it’s a sexy vampire who smiles nervously at Mercy, also assuming it’s all part of the show. Mercy leaps on her and starts stabbing and she too dies in a shower of gore!

“Oh my!”

“I don’t know who she is but I love her style! The leathers! Those boots! Damn grrrrlllll, werk, werk, werk!”

Mercy leaps down from the runway and starts cutting a path through the audience. They still think it’s all part of the show and applaud like imbeciles as they’re literally being cut down. Finally, Mercy makes her way to Bob and Joan! Mercy punches the jar containing Joan’s head, rips the head out and dumps it onto the floor, where she proceeds to stomp on it, causing Joan’s eyes to pop out of her skull and brain matter to ooze out of the empty sockets!

“Joan, I didn’t know you were part of the show!”

Mercy runs the knife across Bob’s throat, opening him up. Bob falls off the stage, landing on the back of his neck with a sickening crack! This naturally draws even more applause from the crowd!

“ThAt’S riGht yOU fUCkinG SLUTS! I wAs BoRN on thIs RUNway!”

Mercy faces the camera, tilting her masked head in an eerie way and flicking the blood off the butcher knife.

“MY, mY My….looKs liKe we HaVE ourSElVeS a REpeAT! And IsN’t thIs jUSt sO typiCAL? BiG bad MERCY wAs neVER suPPosed to BEAt CuTE, INNocent liTTle VITA VALENTEEN. BuT IT haPPened! And nOw We nEEd tO run It BAcK to GivE VITA a chANCe To reCoUP her LOss!

SICKENING!

PATHETIC!

iF it waSN’T clEar XWF hAd a FAVORITe befOre It is NoW! BecAuSE SATAN FORBID I bE abLe to BEAT VITA anD moVe on to STRoNGER moRE inteReSting gAme! Oh no! VITA MUST BE AVENGED!”

Mercy scoffs.

“tHaTs fIne thouGH. I’LL enjoY tAking this RevOLTIng, MEWLING, liTTle vaMpiRe NYmph doWn A pEg AgAin. I MeAn, iT was OH sO enJOyAbLe thE fiRst Time.

But Don”t GET mE wRong. I’M no FOOL. i KNOw thIs iS gOIng tO be the ToughER mAtCH of ThE TWo. AfTER aLL, ViTA hAs SomETHING to ProVE nOw. ShE’LL fiGHT hArdER thIs tIME. ShE hAS to.

I’LL BE READY.

BuT hEre’S my quESTion, my PorcelAin skiNNed littLe PrecIOuS! HoW Far Are you wIlliNg to Go to Avoid the UTTer humiliATion of LOSing to Me AGAin? To WHAt DEPTHS OF THE SOUL are You wIllIng to PLuNGE?

ViTA….

…..CuPcAke….

…..sWEEthEART….

…ARE YOU FINALLY READY TO EMBRACE YOUR MONSTROUS SIDE?

Oh I saW glINts of it hEre anD thEre in Our FirSt matCH. And to bE honEST, iT EXCITED me! BuT iN thE eND, You WERE onLY wIllinG to gO so FaR. YoU StoPPed sHort of BEiNG a BEaSt AnD loSt likE a LiTTle Girl.

MOrE’S thE piTy.

Heh…hEreS thE rUB baBy GiRL. YoU’Re goNNa nEED to bLeeD mE ouT to Win THIS tIME. I won’T Stop OthERWISE! You’RE GOnnA nEED to Let thoSE fANGS frEE and mAKE mE SUFFER! You”rE gOING to NeeD to CONfROnt thAt WhAt yOU moSt FEAR: the ToXic dArKNESS iN youR souL.

ANd bECAuSE oF thAT, iN thE END, I wIn nO mAttEr HOw thIS tURNS ouT!”

Mercy laughs, a rasping choking thing.

"EiTHER You SURReNder tO youR bAseST urGES to WiN A wRESTliNG maTCH, or You ReaMAIN A duMB, nAiVE InnoCENT CHild aNd loSE aGAIN!

HOUSE WINS EITHER WAY!

bEcAUSE eVEN iF I lEAVE ThIS HAllOwEEn behINd hAVING just lEFt an INdelible mARk oN yoUR sOUL…eVeN iF i REvEAL To All THe Merry LiTTLE boYS and GirlS wHo CHaNt Your NaME whAt A TRuE BEAST yOU aRE…..WeLL, thAT’S AS GooD aS a VIctoRY in mY bOOk.

EVOLVE OR DIE, VITA.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE!"

[Image: happy-halloween-words-written-blood-text...837721.jpg]

[Image: happy-halloween-words-written-blood-text...837721.jpg]

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“Hello everyone! I’m Bob The Drag Queen!”

“And I’m the reanimated head of Joan Rivers in a multilimbed octo-bot!”

It’s what it says on the cover, believe it or not.

“And we’re here to pay a special Halloween homage to the greats of the fashion world!”

“I tell you Bob I’d die alllllll over again for Belenciaga!”

“Me too Joan. I mean, for the first time, because I’ve never died before. Anyway, without further ado, let’s get to the FAAAAAAAASHION!”

The shot returns to the runway where a model sashays out wearing what looks to be a sexy mummy outfit.

“First up we have Valeria sporting this spooky number from Alexander McQueen!”

“The undead have never looked more stylish, Bob. God save the (Mc)Queen!”

“Oh wait, what’s this?”

Naturally, it’s MERCY! She careens out from the back, stepping onto the runway with authority and wielding a butcher knife! She wastes no time attacking Valeria, plunging the blade into her abdomen! Valeria screams like she’s dying, because she, uh, is.

“Oh wow Bob! You’ve got to admire the pageantry on display here!”

Valeria drops to the floor of the runway, bleeding out everywhere. “HELP! SHE’S KLLING ME!”

“Give this girl an Academy Award! She can ACT!”

“I’m not acting! I’m literally *coughs up blood* dying!”

Mercy continues stabbing Valeria, sending blood spatter into the front row of the spectators. At first, they don’t seem to know what to make of it, but then one of them rises to his feet and gives a standing ovation! The other spectators quickly follow suit, applauding the gruesome display.

“I love it, Bob. You know, I think it’s symbolic! All fashion trends die out eventually, and here we’re seeing it happen LITERALLY.”

“Wow Joan, that’s deep!”

Valeria finally dies and Mercy rises just as another model is sent down the runway and into the meat grinder. This time it’s a sexy vampire who smiles nervously at Mercy, also assuming it’s all part of the show. Mercy leaps on her and starts stabbing and she too dies in a shower of gore!

“Oh my!”

“I don’t know who she is but I love her style! The leathers! Those boots! Damn grrrrlllll, werk, werk, werk!”

Mercy leaps down from the runway and starts cutting a path through the audience. They still think it’s all part of the show and applaud like imbeciles as they’re literally being cut down. Finally, Mercy makes her way to Bob and Joan! Mercy punches the jar containing Joan’s head, rips the head out and dumps it onto the floor, where she proceeds to stomp on it, causing Joan’s eyes to pop out of her skull and brain matter to ooze out of the empty sockets!

“Joan, I didn’t know you were part of the show!”

Mercy runs the knife across Bob’s throat, opening him up. Bob falls off the stage, landing on the back of his neck with a sickening crack! This naturally draws even more applause from the crowd!

“ThAt’S riGht yOU fUCkinG SLUTS! I wAs BoRN on thIs RUNway!”

Mercy faces the camera, tilting her masked head in an eerie way and flicking the blood off the butcher knife.

“MY, mY My….looKs liKe we HaVE ourSElVeS a REpeAT! And IsN’t thIs jUSt sO typiCAL? BiG bad MERCY wAs neVER suPPosed to BEAt CuTE, INNocent liTTle VITA VALENTEEN. BuT IT haPPened! And nOw We nEEd tO run It BAcK to GivE VITA a chANCe To reCoUP her LOss!

SICKENING!

PATHETIC!

iF it waSN’T clEar XWF hAd a FAVORITe befOre It is NoW! BecAuSE SATAN FORBID I bE abLe to BEAT VITA anD moVe on to STRoNGER moRE inteReSting gAme! Oh no! VITA MUST BE AVENGED!”

Mercy scoffs.

“tHaTs fIne thouGH. I’LL enjoY tAking this RevOLTIng, MEWLING, liTTle vaMpiRe NYmph doWn A pEg AgAin. I MeAn, iT was OH sO enJOyAbLe thE fiRst Time.

But Don”t GET mE wRong. I’M no FOOL. i KNOw thIs iS gOIng tO be the ToughER mAtCH of ThE TWo. AfTER aLL, ViTA hAs SomETHING to ProVE nOw. ShE’LL fiGHT hArdER thIs tIME. ShE hAS to.

I’LL BE READY.

BuT hEre’S my quESTion, my PorcelAin skiNNed littLe PrecIOuS! HoW Far Are you wIlliNg to Go to Avoid the UTTer humiliATion of LOSing to Me AGAin? To WHAt DEPTHS OF THE SOUL are You wIllIng to PLuNGE?

ViTA….

…..CuPcAke….

…..sWEEthEART….

…ARE YOU FINALLY READY TO EMBRACE YOUR MONSTROUS SIDE?

Oh I saW glINts of it hEre anD thEre in Our FirSt matCH. And to bE honEST, iT EXCITED me! BuT iN thE eND, You WERE onLY wIllinG to gO so FaR. YoU StoPPed sHort of BEiNG a BEaSt AnD loSt likE a LiTTle Girl.

MOrE’S thE piTy.

Heh…hEreS thE rUB baBy GiRL. YoU’Re goNNa nEED to bLeeD mE ouT to Win THIS tIME. I won’T Stop OthERWISE! You’RE GOnnA nEED to Let thoSE fANGS frEE and mAKE mE SUFFER! You”rE gOING to NeeD to CONfROnt thAt WhAt yOU moSt FEAR: the ToXic dArKNESS iN youR souL.

ANd bECAuSE oF thAT, iN thE END, I wIn nO mAttEr HOw thIS tURNS ouT!”

Mercy laughs, a rasping choking thing.

"EiTHER You SURReNder tO youR bAseST urGES to WiN A wRESTliNG maTCH, or You ReaMAIN A duMB, nAiVE InnoCENT CHild aNd loSE aGAIN!

HOUSE WINS EITHER WAY!

bEcAUSE eVEN iF I lEAVE ThIS HAllOwEEn behINd hAVING just lEFt an INdelible mARk oN yoUR sOUL…eVeN iF i REvEAL To All THe Merry LiTTLE boYS and GirlS wHo CHaNt Your NaME whAt A TRuE BEAST yOU aRE…..WeLL, thAT’S AS GooD aS a VIctoRY in mY bOOk.

EVOLVE OR DIE, VITA.

MAKE YOUR CHOICE!"

[Image: happy-halloween-words-written-blood-text...837721.jpg]

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