<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Warfare RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Wed, 22 Jul 2026 15:27:47 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[The Lines We Draw]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50230 Sat, 27 Jun 2026 21:14:19 -0700 RemiStorm]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50230 The photograph had become a distraction

Not in the ring. That was one of the only places her mind was free. The moment the bell rang, everything else disappeared. The championship. Training. The mystery. All of it faded into the background until there was nothing left except the match in front of her.

Outside the ring, though? That was a different story. For days the photograph had been sitting on her kitchen table. For days she'd found herself staring at it. The hooded man had handed her the package weeks ago. First she’d seen the footage, then the photograph. A tiny blonde toddler standing inside a wrestling ring and a man she couldn't identify no matter how many times she looked at his face,

Now that she was back from Warfare, she couldn't stop focusing on the corner of the image. The letters… or what remained of them. The scratches were faint. Time had worn them down until only fragments remained visible near the edge of the ring apron. Two letters. Not enough to do anything except frustrate her. Nothing made sense, no matter how deep she searched.

She picked the photograph up again and tilted it so the light hit the faint scratches that mocked her. A clue she couldn't quite reach. For days she'd convinced herself she was one breakthrough away from an answer. Instead she somehow felt further away than when she'd started. "Come on," she muttered, the words escaping in frustration before she could stop them.

Who was the man?

Why had he been standing beside her?

Why had somebody gone through the trouble of hiding the photograph for all these years?

Why had the hooded man given it to her now?

Every answer seemed to create three more questions.

With an irritated sigh, she dropped the photograph back onto the table and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes drifted toward the Television Championship resting nearby. The gold caught the light. Another responsibility. Immediately her thoughts shifted.

The draw between her, Rowan and Betsy.

She hated it.

Not because she hadn't kept the belt.

She had.

The championship was still hers. The problem was how close it had been. She could still replay the final moments in her head. The scramble. The urgency as she dived onto Rowan. The realization that everything she'd worked for had nearly slipped away.

The worst part of it all, was knowing the reason was herself.

Because she knew exactly where some of those openings had come from.

She cared.

Too much.

Rowan and Betsy weren't just opponents. They were friends. People she respected and liked. And somewhere in the back of her mind she'd given them room she shouldn't have. Hesitated when she shouldn't have. Pulled back when she should have pushed forward. The realization sat heavily in her chest.

She'd retained.

But she'd learned something she didn't particularly enjoy learning: Friendship had no place in the ring.

Not if she wanted to stay champion.

Not if she wanted to keep climbing.

Eventually she pushed herself away from the table. The photograph wasn't giving her answers.

Maybe training would.

LATER

The familiar sounds of the gym greeted her the moment she stepped through the doors.

The sharp impact of bodies hitting mats, the rhythmic squeak of shoes against canvas, the metallic rattle of weights.

Immediately she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. She glanced around, spying Iris already there and stretching out. The two women eventually settled into a light sparring session beneath the bright overhead lights..

Iris slipped around a lazy strike before smirking. "You look annoyed."

Remi rolled her eyes. "Thanks.”

"I'm serious."

"I know."

Iris laughed. The two circled while measuring each other. "Still thinking about your last match?"

Remi’s expression immediately shifted. "A little."

Iris snorted. "A little?"

"Okay. A lot."

That earned a grin. For a moment neither woman spoke, the sounds of training filled the silence, then Remi finally sighed. "I gave them too much room."

"Your friends?"

"My challengers."

"Same thing."

"Not in the ring."

The answer came quickly, almost instinctively. Even Remi seemed surprised by how fast it came out of her mouth. Iris raised an eyebrow. Remi shook her head. "I hesitated." She hated admitting that out loud. "I cared too much about hurting them." The words sounded ridiculous the moment they left her mouth. But they were true. "I gave them opportunities I shouldn't have."

Iris nodded slowly. "And?"

"And it almost cost me everything."

Silence settled between them again.

"I need to get better.” Remi pushes away from the ropes and shook her head. “I can’t keep thinking like that. I worked too hard for this to start giving things away because I don’t want to hurt somebody’s feelings or make them have a bad day.”

Iris smiled as the two women circled again, moving to light holds. “Good. You’ve got Korvayne next week to prove that new mindset.”

“Korvayne is… I can’t explain. She’s not my friend but she’s… something. I don’t know what made me run out there… Charlie had the chair and… I don’t know.” Remi twists, slipping out of her friend’s grasp. “Right now though, she’s standing between me and something I want.” She strikes fast, trapping Iris in a choke.

Iris smiled. "There's the champion."

Remi laughed softly. Then the smile faded as she released the hold.

Iris noticed immediately. "You've got something else on your mind."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Remi looked away for a long moment before slowly giving in. What could it hurt? “It doesn’t have to do with my matches. The ring is actually the only place I can block it out actually." Without another word, Remi reached into her gym bag to pull out the photograph to hand over to Iris who studied it. Confusion crossed her face.

"You?"

Remi nodded.

"The wrestler?"

"No idea." Remi pointed toward the faded corner and partial letters. "He doesn't mean anything to me," she admitted. "But these are driving me insane."

Iris frowned. "Letters?"

"Do they mean anything to you?"

For a moment nothing happened. Iris stared, silent. Remi felt her hopes sinking. Another dead end. Then there was a tiny shift in Iris’ expression. A flicker of recognition. Remi's heart immediately skipped. "What?"

Iris didn't answer right away then almost whispered three words. "Wait. I think..."

Remi's pulse quickened.

Iris slowly lifted her eyes from the photograph. "I know those."

And just like that, for the first time since the hooded man had placed the package into her hands, Remi finally had something to go on.

[Image: divider.gif]

“Korvayne, the thing that fascinates me about you is that every time I hear you talk, you act like the biggest star in XWF.

Then the bell rings.

That's the problem, isn't it?

Because if I listened to you and only you, I'd think you were carrying this company on your back. I'd think every opportunity that came your way was beneath you. I'd think championships were inevitable and everyone else was just trying to catch up. Then I look at what's actually happened.

You lost the Television Championship.

You got thrown out of Leap of Faith.

You lost to the vampire.

Three matches. Three opportunities. Three times the story ended the same way. Not with your hand raised. Not with everyone talking about how right the hype was.

With you losing.

And before you start twisting that into something it isn't, understand this… I'm not saying you're talentless. 'm not saying you're washed up or finished or any of the other nonsense people throw around when they're trying to score easy points. I'm saying there's a difference between believing you're entitled to something and actually earning it.

You keep telling everyone who you are. I keep showing them.

That's the difference.

You tell people how good you are. I go out and prove it.

You tell people what you deserve. I work for it.

You tell people what Korvayne is supposed to be. I walk out every show and show people exactly who Remi Storm is.

And lately, those two things have been moving in opposite directions.

The more you talk, the more I find myself looking at the results and wondering where the disconnect is. Because this company keeps getting introduced to the legend of Korvayne according to Korvayne.

The reality has been a lot less impressive.

One loss happens.

Everybody loses.

Two losses happen.

Bad stretches exist.

Three losses in a row?

Now we're not talking about bad luck anymore. We're talking about a pattern. Patterns don't care about what you were six months ago or a year ago or what everyone says you're capable of being. Patterns are about what keeps happening. And what keeps happening, Korvayne, is that every time an opportunity appears in front of you, it slips through your fingers.

Meanwhile I've been moving in the opposite direction.

I beat Bobby Bourbon for this championship.

I walked into a title defense against Rowan Vance and Betsy Granger and I walked out still carrying the gold.

Was it close?

Absolutely.

Closer than I wanted it to be. Closer than I'm comfortable with. But when the pressure was highest and the championship was hanging in the balance, I found a way. That's what champions do. They find a way.

You know what's funny, though?

The last time our paths crossed, I wasn't standing across the ring from you. I wasn't preparing to defend my championship against you. I wasn't looking at you as a challenger.
I was pulling you out of the line of fire.

Think about that for a second.

The woman you're coming after for the Television Championship is the same woman who had to come save you when things went sideways with The Bastards.

Part of me genuinely believes you're capable of more than what we've been seeing. Part of me still sees the wrestler people keep talking about. Part of me still sees flashes of the woman who built that reputation in the first place. But flashes aren't enough. Potential isn't enough. Talk isn't enough.

At some point you have to prove it.

At some point all the speeches and all the self-belief and all the bravado have to become something real.

Because championships aren't won by acting like you deserve them. They're won when the bell rings, and lately that's been your problem. The moment the talking stops, the results start. The moment your reputation has to carry weight, it buckles. The moment it's time to justify all that confidence, somebody finds a way to stop you.

So tell me, Korvayne, what exactly am I supposed to buy into?

The reputation?

The hype?

The version of you that exists in your own head?

Because the version I've been watching keeps coming up short.

And maybe that's harsh and not what you want to hear. But somebody needs to say it. Because right now, I don't see a woman charging toward a championship. I see a woman desperately trying to convince everyone she's still who she says she is.

You keep telling everyone how good you are and not backing it up.

I keep showing them. Every time.

And if you want this championship, if you want to take the Television Title from my shoulder, then you're going to have to do something you haven't done in a very long time.

You're going to have to stop telling everyone how great you are and finally prove it.”

[Image: divider.gif]

Three days later, Remi found herself standing in front of a building that looked nearly abandoned. The faded sign hanging above the door creaked softly in the afternoon breeze. Time and weather had stripped most of the paint away, leaving behind only fragments of what it had once been. A few dusty trucks sat parked nearby. The gravel lot was uneven and overgrown around the edges. Nothing about the place suggested that it was even still in business.

And yet this was where her leads had pointed.

TWF.

Three simple letters that had consumed her since Iris figured it out.

Tri-State Wrestling Federation. A promotion that had existed decades ago before quietly disappearing with zero fanfare. Just… poof! Gone.

The deeper Remi had dug, the stranger it all got. Incomplete record, missing articles, contradictions. The only thing that remained consistent was one name, a man who had been there through it all. A wrestler named often enough she had dug deeper. Which was why Remi now found herself walking toward a building she wasn't entirely sure belonged to him, but was worth a shot. The screen door groaned as she pushed it open. Inside, the air smelled faintly of oil, old wood, and dust. A radio played quietly somewhere in the back. For a moment she thought the place was empty, then she caught faint motion.

An older man stood bent over a workbench near the rear wall. Gray streaked through dark hair. He glanced up briefly when the door closed behind her, then returned to what he was doing. "Can I help you?" The question was polite yet dismissive at the same time.

“Maybe.” The man didn’t even look up or bother to respond. “I’m looking for some answers…”

"No."

Remi blinked. "You don't even know what I'm asking."

"Don't need to."

Now she frowned. The man continued working, completely uninterested. For several seconds she simply stared at him. "That's kind of rude."

"Been called worse."

The response almost made her laugh.

Almost.

Instead she shook her head. "I'm looking into an old wrestling promotion."

Nothing.

No reaction.

Not even a pause.

"TWF."

That got one. Tiny. Almost invisible. The man's hand stopped moving for half a second. Then continued. "I don't know anything about it."

"You were listed on the roster."

"Internet lies."

Remi rolled her eyes.

"I found newspaper articles."

"Those lie too."

Now she was definitely getting annoyed. The conversation felt like trying to wrestle a brick wall. For a moment she considered leaving. Then remembered the photograph, the hooded man, the mystery that had followed her for weeks.

No.

She'd come too far for that.

“So do you apparently.”

The man sighed heavily. "Kid."

Remi immediately frowned. Kid? "I'm twenty-five.."

"Kid." The man wiped his hands on an old rag. "TWF is dead and some things are supposed to stay dead."

Remi felt something beneath the dismissiveness, and it almost seemed like regret. "Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

The older man looked away, his jaw tightening. "I said leave it alone."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

Remi laughed softly, earning an unamused look. "That doesn't really work on me."

"No?"

"No."

The older man stared at her then looked away again, silent. Remi felt her frustrations boiling over. She began a rant about what she had gone through just to find him, pacing as she did. Her hands moved in the air while she talked, cocking out her hip as she spun around to march the other way. The same unconscious habits she'd had for years. The same movements she'd never thought twice about.

The man looked at her now, frozen. The change happened so quickly that Remi nearly missed it. One moment he was looking toward the window. The next he was staring directly at her. The words died in her throat. "What?"

He didn’t answer, he just remained there, looking like he’d seen a ghost, the color draining from his face. Remi's stomach tightened.

The expression on his face wasn't recognition, it was something she couldn’t place. Shock? Disbelief? Grief?

The silence stretched becoming uncomfortable. Then the older man took a slow step backward, never blinking, eyes never leaving her. "My God..." Barely more than a whisper, the words escaped him before he seemed to realize he'd spoken them He rubbed a hand across his face, almost like he was processing what was standing in front of him. Finally he shook his head once.

And when he spoke again, his voice sounded distant. Like he wasn't talking to her anymore. Like he was talking to a ghost.

"You look just like him."

[Image: divider.gif]

“Maybe people looking at my last match think that was a crack in my foundation. Some people see a draw and convince themselves the champion is vulnerable.

Maybe you're one of them.

Maybe you're looking at what happened with Rowan and Betsy and telling yourself that if they came that close, then your opportunity must be right around the corner.

Maybe you're looking at that match and seeing hope.

You’d be wrong.

While people might be busy deciding what it meant for my future, I was already studying what it said about my present. I retained the Television Championship. And I hated how close it was. I hated knowing how quickly things could have gone differently. I hated knowing I had to scramble to keep what I'd worked so hard to earn.

Most people would have celebrated.

Most people would have shrugged and said a win is a win.

The first thing I did wasn't celebrate. The first thing I did was start looking for weaknesses.I started replaying the match in my head.

Every mistake.

Every hesitation.

Every opening.

Every moment I could have been better. Because if there's one thing I've learned since walking into XWF, it's that I never want to become comfortable. I never want to become the person who thinks holding a championship means they've figured everything out.

Because I haven't.

I still have levels I haven't reached yet.

And honestly, Korvayne? That's terrible news for you. Because you're not getting the version of me that thinks she's on fire. You're getting the version of me that just spent a week picking herself apart. You're getting the version of me that's angry she wasn't better. You're getting the version of me that went right back to work.

And while I've been busy figuring out how to improve, I've found myself thinking about you. Because you know what might be the most frustrating thing about all of this?

I was one of the people who bought into your hype.

I was one of the people who looked at Korvayne and thought she was going to be a serious problem for everyone on the roster.

I watched you come into XWF hard and fast. You made noise. You got attention.You made sure everybody knew your name. You walked in carrying yourself like somebody destined for the top. You were winning.

And for a while? I believed it.

For a while it looked like all that confidence was leading somewhere. For a while it looked like all those promises were about to become reality. Then here comes Bourbon and you face-planted. That was the start.

One stumble. Then another.

Until suddenly all that momentum you'd spent months building was gone.

And here's the part I can't figure out.

How somebody can accomplish so little while carrying themselves like they've accomplished so much.

When you first got here, that confidence made sense. You were making waves. You were turning heads. You looked like somebody who was about to become one of the biggest names in the XWF.

That swagger fit the moment.

But  then the results disappeared and the ego stayed.

Actually, scratch that… The ego got bigger.

You tripped over your own two feet and went belly up, and somehow you became even more convinced of your own greatness. Every setback comes with an excuse. Every missed opportunity comes with a speech. Every loss gets dressed up as something other than what it was.

You keep acting like you're untouchable. Like you're above criticism. Like everybody else is supposed to keep treating you like a threat because of what you might become someday.

Eventually people stop caring about what you could be and start looking at what you are. And what you are right now is somebody living off promises that never seem to cash in.

You have people around you constantly telling you how great you are. People hyping you up. People feeding your ego. People reinforcing every excuse. Telling you exactly what you want to hear. You hand pick them for that very reason.

And somehow that's still not enough.

Because every time reality catches up to you, there's another reason everybody should keep believing. You spend so much time trying to be adored. Trying to be admired.Trying to be treated like a star.

But here's the thing, Korvayne.

Being a pretty face gets attention, but talent keeps it.

And eventually people stop caring how good you look when they're constantly watching you come up short. A pretty face doesn't mean much when you're on your back staring at arena lights.

And that's what annoys me.

Not because I think you're untalented. Not because I think you're hopeless.

But because I know you're capable of more than this.

I've seen it.

Everybody has.

You had an opportunity against Bourbon to prove exactly who you claim to be. An opportunity to show everybody that Korvayne was exactly as good as Korvayne says she is. And instead? You folded when the going got rocky.

All that fire towards Charlie because he wronged you, going after him like an avenging angel, refusing to give up on your revenge… where was it for Bobby?

And for somebody who talks a big game, you've spent an awful lot of time proving you're terrified of the ugly parts of this business. Getting hurt. Getting dirty. You run from it. It makes me wonder why you even get in the ring.

This isn't a beauty pageant. This isn't social media. This isn't a popularity contest.

This is professional wrestling. This is where talent matters. This is where results matter. This is where championships matter.

All of that? That’s not even what bothers me the most. Not the posturing, not the ego the size of Jupiter, not even the weird revulsiion to all of humankind.

It's that I genuinely think you're better than this. I think you're too talented for this. Too gifted for this. I've watched flashes of the wrestler I thought you were going to become. I've watched moments where Korvayne looked like somebody everyone should be worried about.

But they're flashes.

Not consistency.

Just flashes.

You beat Gorgo and it felt like the beginning of something. Like everything was finally about to click. Like Korvayne had finally arrived.

And then… Nothing.

One big moment. One big pop. And then you… fizzled.

You need to light that fire back up.

Unfortunately, you're stepping into this match at exactly the wrong time to do that. Because the draw didn't make me weaker. It didn't make me vulnerable.

It sharpened me. It forced me to look at myself honestly. It forced me to find every flaw. And fix it.

So when I beat you, Korvayne, it won't be because you lack talent.

It'll be because talent without accountability doesn't win championships. Speeches don't win championships. Ego doesn't win championships.

Results do.

And maybe another loss won't change anything. Maybe you'll walk away with another excuse. Maybe you'll find somebody else to blame.

Or maybe, for the first time, you'll look in the mirror and realize that the biggest thing standing between Korvayne and the wrestler she keeps telling everybody she is…

…has been Korvayne all along.

Maybe I can do that for you. Maybe. The one this for certain in all of this is… The storm isn't coming anymore, Korvayne.

You're standing in it.”
]]> The photograph had become a distraction

Not in the ring. That was one of the only places her mind was free. The moment the bell rang, everything else disappeared. The championship. Training. The mystery. All of it faded into the background until there was nothing left except the match in front of her.

Outside the ring, though? That was a different story. For days the photograph had been sitting on her kitchen table. For days she'd found herself staring at it. The hooded man had handed her the package weeks ago. First she’d seen the footage, then the photograph. A tiny blonde toddler standing inside a wrestling ring and a man she couldn't identify no matter how many times she looked at his face,

Now that she was back from Warfare, she couldn't stop focusing on the corner of the image. The letters… or what remained of them. The scratches were faint. Time had worn them down until only fragments remained visible near the edge of the ring apron. Two letters. Not enough to do anything except frustrate her. Nothing made sense, no matter how deep she searched.

She picked the photograph up again and tilted it so the light hit the faint scratches that mocked her. A clue she couldn't quite reach. For days she'd convinced herself she was one breakthrough away from an answer. Instead she somehow felt further away than when she'd started. "Come on," she muttered, the words escaping in frustration before she could stop them.

Who was the man?

Why had he been standing beside her?

Why had somebody gone through the trouble of hiding the photograph for all these years?

Why had the hooded man given it to her now?

Every answer seemed to create three more questions.

With an irritated sigh, she dropped the photograph back onto the table and leaned back in her chair. Her eyes drifted toward the Television Championship resting nearby. The gold caught the light. Another responsibility. Immediately her thoughts shifted.

The draw between her, Rowan and Betsy.

She hated it.

Not because she hadn't kept the belt.

She had.

The championship was still hers. The problem was how close it had been. She could still replay the final moments in her head. The scramble. The urgency as she dived onto Rowan. The realization that everything she'd worked for had nearly slipped away.

The worst part of it all, was knowing the reason was herself.

Because she knew exactly where some of those openings had come from.

She cared.

Too much.

Rowan and Betsy weren't just opponents. They were friends. People she respected and liked. And somewhere in the back of her mind she'd given them room she shouldn't have. Hesitated when she shouldn't have. Pulled back when she should have pushed forward. The realization sat heavily in her chest.

She'd retained.

But she'd learned something she didn't particularly enjoy learning: Friendship had no place in the ring.

Not if she wanted to stay champion.

Not if she wanted to keep climbing.

Eventually she pushed herself away from the table. The photograph wasn't giving her answers.

Maybe training would.

LATER

The familiar sounds of the gym greeted her the moment she stepped through the doors.

The sharp impact of bodies hitting mats, the rhythmic squeak of shoes against canvas, the metallic rattle of weights.

Immediately she felt some of the tension leave her shoulders. She glanced around, spying Iris already there and stretching out. The two women eventually settled into a light sparring session beneath the bright overhead lights..

Iris slipped around a lazy strike before smirking. "You look annoyed."

Remi rolled her eyes. "Thanks.”

"I'm serious."

"I know."

Iris laughed. The two circled while measuring each other. "Still thinking about your last match?"

Remi’s expression immediately shifted. "A little."

Iris snorted. "A little?"

"Okay. A lot."

That earned a grin. For a moment neither woman spoke, the sounds of training filled the silence, then Remi finally sighed. "I gave them too much room."

"Your friends?"

"My challengers."

"Same thing."

"Not in the ring."

The answer came quickly, almost instinctively. Even Remi seemed surprised by how fast it came out of her mouth. Iris raised an eyebrow. Remi shook her head. "I hesitated." She hated admitting that out loud. "I cared too much about hurting them." The words sounded ridiculous the moment they left her mouth. But they were true. "I gave them opportunities I shouldn't have."

Iris nodded slowly. "And?"

"And it almost cost me everything."

Silence settled between them again.

"I need to get better.” Remi pushes away from the ropes and shook her head. “I can’t keep thinking like that. I worked too hard for this to start giving things away because I don’t want to hurt somebody’s feelings or make them have a bad day.”

Iris smiled as the two women circled again, moving to light holds. “Good. You’ve got Korvayne next week to prove that new mindset.”

“Korvayne is… I can’t explain. She’s not my friend but she’s… something. I don’t know what made me run out there… Charlie had the chair and… I don’t know.” Remi twists, slipping out of her friend’s grasp. “Right now though, she’s standing between me and something I want.” She strikes fast, trapping Iris in a choke.

Iris smiled. "There's the champion."

Remi laughed softly. Then the smile faded as she released the hold.

Iris noticed immediately. "You've got something else on your mind."

"I'm fine."

"No you're not."

Remi looked away for a long moment before slowly giving in. What could it hurt? “It doesn’t have to do with my matches. The ring is actually the only place I can block it out actually." Without another word, Remi reached into her gym bag to pull out the photograph to hand over to Iris who studied it. Confusion crossed her face.

"You?"

Remi nodded.

"The wrestler?"

"No idea." Remi pointed toward the faded corner and partial letters. "He doesn't mean anything to me," she admitted. "But these are driving me insane."

Iris frowned. "Letters?"

"Do they mean anything to you?"

For a moment nothing happened. Iris stared, silent. Remi felt her hopes sinking. Another dead end. Then there was a tiny shift in Iris’ expression. A flicker of recognition. Remi's heart immediately skipped. "What?"

Iris didn't answer right away then almost whispered three words. "Wait. I think..."

Remi's pulse quickened.

Iris slowly lifted her eyes from the photograph. "I know those."

And just like that, for the first time since the hooded man had placed the package into her hands, Remi finally had something to go on.

[Image: divider.gif]

“Korvayne, the thing that fascinates me about you is that every time I hear you talk, you act like the biggest star in XWF.

Then the bell rings.

That's the problem, isn't it?

Because if I listened to you and only you, I'd think you were carrying this company on your back. I'd think every opportunity that came your way was beneath you. I'd think championships were inevitable and everyone else was just trying to catch up. Then I look at what's actually happened.

You lost the Television Championship.

You got thrown out of Leap of Faith.

You lost to the vampire.

Three matches. Three opportunities. Three times the story ended the same way. Not with your hand raised. Not with everyone talking about how right the hype was.

With you losing.

And before you start twisting that into something it isn't, understand this… I'm not saying you're talentless. 'm not saying you're washed up or finished or any of the other nonsense people throw around when they're trying to score easy points. I'm saying there's a difference between believing you're entitled to something and actually earning it.

You keep telling everyone who you are. I keep showing them.

That's the difference.

You tell people how good you are. I go out and prove it.

You tell people what you deserve. I work for it.

You tell people what Korvayne is supposed to be. I walk out every show and show people exactly who Remi Storm is.

And lately, those two things have been moving in opposite directions.

The more you talk, the more I find myself looking at the results and wondering where the disconnect is. Because this company keeps getting introduced to the legend of Korvayne according to Korvayne.

The reality has been a lot less impressive.

One loss happens.

Everybody loses.

Two losses happen.

Bad stretches exist.

Three losses in a row?

Now we're not talking about bad luck anymore. We're talking about a pattern. Patterns don't care about what you were six months ago or a year ago or what everyone says you're capable of being. Patterns are about what keeps happening. And what keeps happening, Korvayne, is that every time an opportunity appears in front of you, it slips through your fingers.

Meanwhile I've been moving in the opposite direction.

I beat Bobby Bourbon for this championship.

I walked into a title defense against Rowan Vance and Betsy Granger and I walked out still carrying the gold.

Was it close?

Absolutely.

Closer than I wanted it to be. Closer than I'm comfortable with. But when the pressure was highest and the championship was hanging in the balance, I found a way. That's what champions do. They find a way.

You know what's funny, though?

The last time our paths crossed, I wasn't standing across the ring from you. I wasn't preparing to defend my championship against you. I wasn't looking at you as a challenger.
I was pulling you out of the line of fire.

Think about that for a second.

The woman you're coming after for the Television Championship is the same woman who had to come save you when things went sideways with The Bastards.

Part of me genuinely believes you're capable of more than what we've been seeing. Part of me still sees the wrestler people keep talking about. Part of me still sees flashes of the woman who built that reputation in the first place. But flashes aren't enough. Potential isn't enough. Talk isn't enough.

At some point you have to prove it.

At some point all the speeches and all the self-belief and all the bravado have to become something real.

Because championships aren't won by acting like you deserve them. They're won when the bell rings, and lately that's been your problem. The moment the talking stops, the results start. The moment your reputation has to carry weight, it buckles. The moment it's time to justify all that confidence, somebody finds a way to stop you.

So tell me, Korvayne, what exactly am I supposed to buy into?

The reputation?

The hype?

The version of you that exists in your own head?

Because the version I've been watching keeps coming up short.

And maybe that's harsh and not what you want to hear. But somebody needs to say it. Because right now, I don't see a woman charging toward a championship. I see a woman desperately trying to convince everyone she's still who she says she is.

You keep telling everyone how good you are and not backing it up.

I keep showing them. Every time.

And if you want this championship, if you want to take the Television Title from my shoulder, then you're going to have to do something you haven't done in a very long time.

You're going to have to stop telling everyone how great you are and finally prove it.”

[Image: divider.gif]

Three days later, Remi found herself standing in front of a building that looked nearly abandoned. The faded sign hanging above the door creaked softly in the afternoon breeze. Time and weather had stripped most of the paint away, leaving behind only fragments of what it had once been. A few dusty trucks sat parked nearby. The gravel lot was uneven and overgrown around the edges. Nothing about the place suggested that it was even still in business.

And yet this was where her leads had pointed.

TWF.

Three simple letters that had consumed her since Iris figured it out.

Tri-State Wrestling Federation. A promotion that had existed decades ago before quietly disappearing with zero fanfare. Just… poof! Gone.

The deeper Remi had dug, the stranger it all got. Incomplete record, missing articles, contradictions. The only thing that remained consistent was one name, a man who had been there through it all. A wrestler named often enough she had dug deeper. Which was why Remi now found herself walking toward a building she wasn't entirely sure belonged to him, but was worth a shot. The screen door groaned as she pushed it open. Inside, the air smelled faintly of oil, old wood, and dust. A radio played quietly somewhere in the back. For a moment she thought the place was empty, then she caught faint motion.

An older man stood bent over a workbench near the rear wall. Gray streaked through dark hair. He glanced up briefly when the door closed behind her, then returned to what he was doing. "Can I help you?" The question was polite yet dismissive at the same time.

“Maybe.” The man didn’t even look up or bother to respond. “I’m looking for some answers…”

"No."

Remi blinked. "You don't even know what I'm asking."

"Don't need to."

Now she frowned. The man continued working, completely uninterested. For several seconds she simply stared at him. "That's kind of rude."

"Been called worse."

The response almost made her laugh.

Almost.

Instead she shook her head. "I'm looking into an old wrestling promotion."

Nothing.

No reaction.

Not even a pause.

"TWF."

That got one. Tiny. Almost invisible. The man's hand stopped moving for half a second. Then continued. "I don't know anything about it."

"You were listed on the roster."

"Internet lies."

Remi rolled her eyes.

"I found newspaper articles."

"Those lie too."

Now she was definitely getting annoyed. The conversation felt like trying to wrestle a brick wall. For a moment she considered leaving. Then remembered the photograph, the hooded man, the mystery that had followed her for weeks.

No.

She'd come too far for that.

“So do you apparently.”

The man sighed heavily. "Kid."

Remi immediately frowned. Kid? "I'm twenty-five.."

"Kid." The man wiped his hands on an old rag. "TWF is dead and some things are supposed to stay dead."

Remi felt something beneath the dismissiveness, and it almost seemed like regret. "Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.

The older man looked away, his jaw tightening. "I said leave it alone."

"Why?"

"Because I told you to."

Remi laughed softly, earning an unamused look. "That doesn't really work on me."

"No?"

"No."

The older man stared at her then looked away again, silent. Remi felt her frustrations boiling over. She began a rant about what she had gone through just to find him, pacing as she did. Her hands moved in the air while she talked, cocking out her hip as she spun around to march the other way. The same unconscious habits she'd had for years. The same movements she'd never thought twice about.

The man looked at her now, frozen. The change happened so quickly that Remi nearly missed it. One moment he was looking toward the window. The next he was staring directly at her. The words died in her throat. "What?"

He didn’t answer, he just remained there, looking like he’d seen a ghost, the color draining from his face. Remi's stomach tightened.

The expression on his face wasn't recognition, it was something she couldn’t place. Shock? Disbelief? Grief?

The silence stretched becoming uncomfortable. Then the older man took a slow step backward, never blinking, eyes never leaving her. "My God..." Barely more than a whisper, the words escaped him before he seemed to realize he'd spoken them He rubbed a hand across his face, almost like he was processing what was standing in front of him. Finally he shook his head once.

And when he spoke again, his voice sounded distant. Like he wasn't talking to her anymore. Like he was talking to a ghost.

"You look just like him."

[Image: divider.gif]

“Maybe people looking at my last match think that was a crack in my foundation. Some people see a draw and convince themselves the champion is vulnerable.

Maybe you're one of them.

Maybe you're looking at what happened with Rowan and Betsy and telling yourself that if they came that close, then your opportunity must be right around the corner.

Maybe you're looking at that match and seeing hope.

You’d be wrong.

While people might be busy deciding what it meant for my future, I was already studying what it said about my present. I retained the Television Championship. And I hated how close it was. I hated knowing how quickly things could have gone differently. I hated knowing I had to scramble to keep what I'd worked so hard to earn.

Most people would have celebrated.

Most people would have shrugged and said a win is a win.

The first thing I did wasn't celebrate. The first thing I did was start looking for weaknesses.I started replaying the match in my head.

Every mistake.

Every hesitation.

Every opening.

Every moment I could have been better. Because if there's one thing I've learned since walking into XWF, it's that I never want to become comfortable. I never want to become the person who thinks holding a championship means they've figured everything out.

Because I haven't.

I still have levels I haven't reached yet.

And honestly, Korvayne? That's terrible news for you. Because you're not getting the version of me that thinks she's on fire. You're getting the version of me that just spent a week picking herself apart. You're getting the version of me that's angry she wasn't better. You're getting the version of me that went right back to work.

And while I've been busy figuring out how to improve, I've found myself thinking about you. Because you know what might be the most frustrating thing about all of this?

I was one of the people who bought into your hype.

I was one of the people who looked at Korvayne and thought she was going to be a serious problem for everyone on the roster.

I watched you come into XWF hard and fast. You made noise. You got attention.You made sure everybody knew your name. You walked in carrying yourself like somebody destined for the top. You were winning.

And for a while? I believed it.

For a while it looked like all that confidence was leading somewhere. For a while it looked like all those promises were about to become reality. Then here comes Bourbon and you face-planted. That was the start.

One stumble. Then another.

Until suddenly all that momentum you'd spent months building was gone.

And here's the part I can't figure out.

How somebody can accomplish so little while carrying themselves like they've accomplished so much.

When you first got here, that confidence made sense. You were making waves. You were turning heads. You looked like somebody who was about to become one of the biggest names in the XWF.

That swagger fit the moment.

But  then the results disappeared and the ego stayed.

Actually, scratch that… The ego got bigger.

You tripped over your own two feet and went belly up, and somehow you became even more convinced of your own greatness. Every setback comes with an excuse. Every missed opportunity comes with a speech. Every loss gets dressed up as something other than what it was.

You keep acting like you're untouchable. Like you're above criticism. Like everybody else is supposed to keep treating you like a threat because of what you might become someday.

Eventually people stop caring about what you could be and start looking at what you are. And what you are right now is somebody living off promises that never seem to cash in.

You have people around you constantly telling you how great you are. People hyping you up. People feeding your ego. People reinforcing every excuse. Telling you exactly what you want to hear. You hand pick them for that very reason.

And somehow that's still not enough.

Because every time reality catches up to you, there's another reason everybody should keep believing. You spend so much time trying to be adored. Trying to be admired.Trying to be treated like a star.

But here's the thing, Korvayne.

Being a pretty face gets attention, but talent keeps it.

And eventually people stop caring how good you look when they're constantly watching you come up short. A pretty face doesn't mean much when you're on your back staring at arena lights.

And that's what annoys me.

Not because I think you're untalented. Not because I think you're hopeless.

But because I know you're capable of more than this.

I've seen it.

Everybody has.

You had an opportunity against Bourbon to prove exactly who you claim to be. An opportunity to show everybody that Korvayne was exactly as good as Korvayne says she is. And instead? You folded when the going got rocky.

All that fire towards Charlie because he wronged you, going after him like an avenging angel, refusing to give up on your revenge… where was it for Bobby?

And for somebody who talks a big game, you've spent an awful lot of time proving you're terrified of the ugly parts of this business. Getting hurt. Getting dirty. You run from it. It makes me wonder why you even get in the ring.

This isn't a beauty pageant. This isn't social media. This isn't a popularity contest.

This is professional wrestling. This is where talent matters. This is where results matter. This is where championships matter.

All of that? That’s not even what bothers me the most. Not the posturing, not the ego the size of Jupiter, not even the weird revulsiion to all of humankind.

It's that I genuinely think you're better than this. I think you're too talented for this. Too gifted for this. I've watched flashes of the wrestler I thought you were going to become. I've watched moments where Korvayne looked like somebody everyone should be worried about.

But they're flashes.

Not consistency.

Just flashes.

You beat Gorgo and it felt like the beginning of something. Like everything was finally about to click. Like Korvayne had finally arrived.

And then… Nothing.

One big moment. One big pop. And then you… fizzled.

You need to light that fire back up.

Unfortunately, you're stepping into this match at exactly the wrong time to do that. Because the draw didn't make me weaker. It didn't make me vulnerable.

It sharpened me. It forced me to look at myself honestly. It forced me to find every flaw. And fix it.

So when I beat you, Korvayne, it won't be because you lack talent.

It'll be because talent without accountability doesn't win championships. Speeches don't win championships. Ego doesn't win championships.

Results do.

And maybe another loss won't change anything. Maybe you'll walk away with another excuse. Maybe you'll find somebody else to blame.

Or maybe, for the first time, you'll look in the mirror and realize that the biggest thing standing between Korvayne and the wrestler she keeps telling everybody she is…

…has been Korvayne all along.

Maybe I can do that for you. Maybe. The one this for certain in all of this is… The storm isn't coming anymore, Korvayne.

You're standing in it.”
]]> <![CDATA[HeroPorn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50229 Sat, 27 Jun 2026 20:33:49 -0700 JuliaC]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50229



Hero-Porn
3,998 in Word Counter  ~ 14.4% and 4.4% Zero.GPT score
]]>



Hero-Porn
3,998 in Word Counter  ~ 14.4% and 4.4% Zero.GPT score
]]> <![CDATA[Partly Clowny with a Twenty Percent Chance of Honk]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50228 Sat, 27 Jun 2026 18:41:07 -0700 Ennui Clown]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50228
However, as picturesque as the home’s exterior is…

Tumult!

Turbulent, tumultuous turmoil, tantamount to toneless ‘tastrophe!

”¿Por qué, mi hermana?” La Payasa de Fuerza flexes her biceps with tears of betrayal streaming down past her sunglasses-covered eyes. ”¿Por qué te acostarías con mi prometido?”

La Payasa Loca sneers insidiously with a mad look in her eye! ”Porque, mi dulce hermana… yo estoy LOCA! JAJAJAJAJAJAJA!”

She cackles with fiendish glee as her very strong clown sister weeps flexingly.

“Nuestra familia está rota!” El Payaso de Razor, the clown that always carries a razor, buries his face in his hands, accidentally shaving his cheek as he shudders… ”Gracias a Dios que lucha libre tiene más de una familia real.”

”¡Espere un minuto!” Murmurs El Payaso de Doctor de Thugónomicos, stroking his chin. ”¿Estámos todos en la familia misma? Sólo dos de nosotros tiene el nombre final mismo… Y dos de nosotros tiene un diferente nombre final enteramente!”

”And I speak English!” Adds Landerson Clown!

La Payasa de Fuerza summons the strength (not physical, but emotional) to take a step forward toward her betrothed at the edge of the room (or cuarto)… ”Mi amor… ¿cómo? ¿Cómo pudiste traicionarme así? ¿Y con mi hermana loca?!”

”Listen to me! My name is HANK PETERSON! I’m not Normal Man Clown! I’m not from this planet at all! I asked the Clown Police to take me to Earth and… I think they thought it would be funny to bring me here! I don’t know what any of you are saying! I only took two years of spanish back in middle school!”

“¿Qué dijo?”

”No sé. Yo sólo hablo español y mandarín.”

Normal Man Clown squeezes his temples despondently in his hands, before pointing at Landerson Clown! ”Y-you! YOU said you speak English! Can you help me?”

…Landerson Clown blinks one eye at a time, mouth agape, a trail of drool dripping off his bottom lip….

”...Hello?”

”Landerson Clown!”

”Mi amor…” La Payasa de Fuerza takes another step forward, until she’s big red round nose to normal-shaped, fleshy nose with Normal Man Clown… Her gloved hands brush affectionately against his, searching to rekindle the connection they once shared. ”Por favor… Dime la verdad.”

She takes off her sunglasses… her eyes are wet, cheeks tear-stained… but her pupils are wide, accepting and full of hope…

There are also two black circles around her eyes from the gag sunglasses.

”Haaaaaa, classic.” Says Loves-the-Classics Clown in a tone that would indicate he appreciates this classic.

”Nosotros no podemos hablar el mismo idioma, pero nosotros compartimos un alma…”

Normal Man Clown staggers backwards to retreat but his back hits the wall!

La Payasa de Fuerza reaches out and squeezes Normal Man Clown’s hands, accepting every part of him.

Her hands squeak as they squeeze.

His do not.

He looks her deeply in the eyes…

”...Um… c’mon, Hank… uh…” Normal Man Clown stammers…

…

”Uh… ¿Dónde está la biblioteca?”

…Suddenly, it’s so quiet in the room (or cuarto) you could hear a pin drop…

”Él sabe sobre de nuestra operación en la biblioteca! Él sabe sobre nuestra revolución! Nuestra esquema a robar todos los títulos de los payasos!”


”Él no puede salir de este lugar…” Razor Clown retrieves his razor from his pocket, wielding it like a switch blade.
”No con vida.”

El Payaso de Razor, La Payasa Loca, El Payaso de Doctor de Thugónomicos all advance, surrounding Normal Man Clown and La Payasa de Fuerza… there’s no room (or cuarto) to run!

”Um…” Normal Man Clown stammers, terrified… ”Yo necesito comprar un camisa por el verano!”

His words do nothing to halt their advance!

”¡¿CUÁNTO CUESTA?!”

And that concludes the exciting season finale of Normal Man Clown


“Ugh… I hate cliffhangers.” Moans Hates-Cliffhangers Clown.

“Still better than that shitty action movie where Sylvester Stallone plays a mountain ranger!” Chides Hates-Cliffhanger Clown.

Coming Up Next… THE CLOWN ACTION ONE, ACTION FUN NEWS TEAM!


”With Anchorman Clown!”

A wizened clown with a set of spectacles and a barely noticeable, but not UN-noticeable combover smiles at the news desk, straightening his notes.

”A bit of bad news tonight: A man died somewhere for some reason.”

…

”Is… is that the whole story?”

Anchorman Clown turns his notes over… Nothing on the back.

”Yep. This is bad news. Someone should get fired over this.”

”Retired-Athlete Clown on sports!”

A sturdy-looking clown, broad shoulders, with a slight gut from years out of the game and a shoulder that still looks like it’d hit like a family-sized sedan bobbles a football between his hands.

”Tonight, the Jazz Clowns absolutely decimated the Magic Clowns, 93-84!”

”Quite a game, eh, Retired-Athlete Clown?!”

”...Game? No, I’m covering the ongoing clown war between jazz enthusiast clowns and magic-using clowns. 93 casualties on one side, 84 on the other.!”

”The EYE IN THE SKY on traffic!”

There’s a giant eye in the sky.

…

No, I want to be very clear.

It’s not a clown. There’s a giant hyper-realistic eye in the sky of Clown City.

(which is a planet).

It never blinks.

It witnesses all.

Your temptations.

Your sins.

And the likelihood of traffic congestion on your Monday morning commute.

Nothing escapes the Eye in the Sky.

…

”Chopper Dave Clown on real-time traffic updates!”



Chopper Dave Clown is not in a helicopter, but instead dressed in a snow-white karate gi in the studio, standing in front of a stack of boards.

”Any updates, Chopper Dave Clown?”

In one fell swoop, he chops the boards in half.

”Nope.”

…

”And last, but not least…”

…

……

Anchorman Clown looks up from his news desk.

”Meteorologist Clown, that’s your cue.”

…

The Weather green screen is completely unoccupied.

…

”Has anyone seen Meteorologist Clown?”

I HAVE.

I HAVE WITNESSED HIM COUNTLESS TIMES.

FROM THE DAY OF HIS BIRTH, I HATH WITNESSED I-.

”Has anybody BESIDES All-Seeing Eye seen Meteorologist Clown today?”

Anchorman Clown rotates toward the sports desk.

”What about you, Retired-Athlete Clown? Did you see him?”

”Was he in sports highlights? Or the ongoing war between Jazz clowns and Magic clowns? Cuz if not? I didn’t see him.”

Anchorman Clown turns upward to the ceiling.

”Well, what about you, Bodyless Narrator Clown? Did you see him?”

”Well, as a bodyless narrator, I don’t have eyes, but I perceived he seemed a little tired so he took a nap just before the broadcast.”

”That lazybones clown! Where was he napping?”

”Oh, in the middle of Chopper Dave Clown’s stack of….”

…

”Boards….”

Anchorman Clown’s eyes widen as he looks toward Chopper Dave who is doing very standard karate class kicks around the set…

The stack of boards he chopped in half…

Polkadot and rainbow liquid is seeping from it…

”OH GOD CLOWN!”

HOLY SHIT, EVEN I DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING!

…Anchorman Clown holds up his notes.

”Wait… IS THIS THE NEWS I WAS COVERING? WHY WOULD YOU WRITE IT LIKE THAT?!?!”


LATER THAT DAY


”Send in the next Applicant Clown.”

Anchorman Clown rubs the bags under his eyes, which honk as he rubs them…

An eager young Applicant Clown enters the room…

”Take a seat.”

The Applicant Clown walks toward the chair and picks it up.

”Excellent.” Anchorman Clown jots down in his notepad. ”How are you at following directions?”

”I followed North for a few months once, we were in a… very passionate, very physical relationship… but, we started arguing then it filed a restraining order.”

”And then what happened?”

”From there, things went south.”

Anchorman Clown jots down more notes.

”Strengths?”

Applicant Clown waves his hand politely. ”None for me, thanks.”

Anchorman Clown shrugs before taking a plate of strengths and putting them aside.

”Weaknesses?”

”Weakness is pain leaving the body.”

”...Wait, I think that’s the other way around.”

”Ah, you’re right, of course. Body is weakness leaving the pain..”

”That’s correct. And, separately, what are your weaknesses?”

”Sometimes, pain leaves my body and gets on other people.”

Anchorman Clown strokes his chin, before looking to his left. ”What do you think, Nods-Approvingly Clown?”

Nods-Approvingly Clown nods approvingly.

Anchorman Clown purses his lips, impressed, before looking to his right. ”And what about you, Shakes-Head-Skeptically Clown?”

Shakes-Head-Skeptically Clown is in a full neck-brace. He eyes from Anchorman Clown to Applicant Clown, before exhaling…

Applicant Clown looks hopefully between the three clowns… ”Is that good?”

”Here, read this.” Anchorman Clown hands him a page.

Applicant Clown takes the page and eyes it carefully.

”Um… wait. I can’t read this. The page is blank.”

Anchorman Clown’s eyes squint (as his eyebrows furrow, they honk). ”That page isn’t blank! Gimme that!”

Anchorman Clown rips the page out of Applicant Clown’s hand and holds it up to his face…

[Image: Chat-GPT-Image-Jun-27-2026-05-02-05-PM.png]

”Ah. Excellent.” Anchorman makes a few more notes. ”What would you do with a million dollars?”

”Is that the salary for this job?”

”Haha… ahhhh….”

…

”HAHAHAHAHAHA.”

…

”No. No, it is not.”

”Oh.”

”And could you tell about a recent position you were in?”

”Sure. Recently, I was in this position…”

Applicant Clown stands, placing his hands on the side of an imaginary thing in front of him, gripping tightly, thrusting forward wildly, his hands his tongue dangling out of his mouth…

Anchorman Clown’s eyes narrow in surprise. ”Mmm. And why did you leave that position?”

”I ran out of quarters and there were other people in line for the pinball machine.”

Anchorman Clown lets out a sigh of relief. ”Oh, of course… you were in that position because you were…”

”Having sex with the pinball machine.”

”Of course.” Anchorman straightens his notes. ”Well, I guess that’s it. Do you have any questions for me?”

”Oh, yes, um… can I see the notes you’ve written there?”

”Ah, yes, of course.”

Anchorman Clown hands over his notes to Applicant Clown. Applicant Clown quickly scratches out the notes and writes ‘HIRE HIM’.

He hands the notes back. Anchorman Clown checks his notes.

”Hmm. Well, according to my notes, I should hire you..”

Applicant Clown’s eyes widen with hope…

”There’s just one final test before you can be Meteorologist Clown.”

“Can you cover… THE BIG ONE?”

”...The Big One?”

”A monstrous cold front from the north is about to collide with a sweltering warm front from the south.”

Anchorman Clown holds up a golf ball.

”See this golf ball?”

”We’re talking rain, sleet, snow, hail the size of golf balls…”

Anchorman Clown tosses away the golf ball…

“Golf balls the size of miniature schnauzers, miniature schnauzers the size of teacup pigs, and a teacup pig the size of a scale model of Clown Texas.”

”A teacup pig the size of Clown Texas?!?”

”A scale model of Clown Texas.”

”Oh. Okay, how big is the scale?”

”Actual size.”

Applicant Clown’s tie spins in shock!

”My Clown God! That’s an extinction level event! And you want me… report on it?”

”No. The Storm is Coming. I want you to COVER it.”

”...I’m confused.”

”Meteorologist Clown was the single lynchpin keeping Clown City from collapsing due to weather-related disaster! He would keep at bay the thousands of natural extinction level events that would destroy all of Clown City on an almost hourly basis.”
”...But… but how? How would stave off The Storm?”

”By breaking its storm’s self-esteem.”


And now for a hearty session of TALK by the TRASH


The newly-titled Meteorologist Clown stands in front of a green-screen of…

[Image: Jade_Cargill_RR24_%281%29.jpg]

”Now for today’s forecast! Today, we’re looking at a 100% chance of The Storm getting her bitch ass taken to Clown Poundtown!”

”(which is a moon that orbits the planet of Clown City)!”

Meteorologist Clown wields a little pointer he uses to gesture toward The Storm’s rippling biceps.

”Now, observable patterns would indicate that The Storm is likely to pick us up several times over the course of the day… however, knowing The Storm, she’ll likely keep repeating the same event over and over, because learning a second move is beyond her mental capacity. Pokémon can learn four moves *and* say their own name, The Storm knows two and if you try to teach her the XWF backstage interviewer team aren’t all named ‘Steve Sayors’, her head will actually explode.”

[Image: wwe-announcers-polished.jpg?impolicy=Med...1200&h=800]

Pictured above, according to Latoya Hixx: Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors

Meteorologist Clown draws an arrow across The Storm’s face.

”Now, tomorrow, get ready for a sweeping RIGHT HAND across the Storm’s stupid face, followed by…”

Meteorologist Clown draws multiple arrows down across her scalp.

”A wig snatch that’ll leave that fake bitch scratching her bare-ass scalp, wondering why the Hell she ever came up with the bright idea of coming after belts owned by the Clowns.”

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRhZ_NNpubyjRTlgiO8Skk...MQ51-0Bw&s]

”All in all, The Storm tomorrow is looking a lot less like a storm at all and a lot more like a puddle. Get ready for a light drizzle and a nice rainbow, which will be perfect given that it’s Pride Month on Earth and someone should give Latoya Hixx’s mother something to proud of cuz it sure as shit ain’t her middling-ass, disappointing-ass daughter.”

“ZERO percent chance of a title in her XWF career.”

“ZERO percent chance of ever having an accomplishment to her name.”

“ZERO percent chance of winning our match tomorrow.”

“Get ready, Storm. Cuz I’m gonna rain fists down on you, before hitting you with…”

Meteorologist Clown raises his left fist.

”Thunder.”

Then, the right fist.

”And lightning.”]]>
However, as picturesque as the home’s exterior is…

Tumult!

Turbulent, tumultuous turmoil, tantamount to toneless ‘tastrophe!

”¿Por qué, mi hermana?” La Payasa de Fuerza flexes her biceps with tears of betrayal streaming down past her sunglasses-covered eyes. ”¿Por qué te acostarías con mi prometido?”

La Payasa Loca sneers insidiously with a mad look in her eye! ”Porque, mi dulce hermana… yo estoy LOCA! JAJAJAJAJAJAJA!”

She cackles with fiendish glee as her very strong clown sister weeps flexingly.

“Nuestra familia está rota!” El Payaso de Razor, the clown that always carries a razor, buries his face in his hands, accidentally shaving his cheek as he shudders… ”Gracias a Dios que lucha libre tiene más de una familia real.”

”¡Espere un minuto!” Murmurs El Payaso de Doctor de Thugónomicos, stroking his chin. ”¿Estámos todos en la familia misma? Sólo dos de nosotros tiene el nombre final mismo… Y dos de nosotros tiene un diferente nombre final enteramente!”

”And I speak English!” Adds Landerson Clown!

La Payasa de Fuerza summons the strength (not physical, but emotional) to take a step forward toward her betrothed at the edge of the room (or cuarto)… ”Mi amor… ¿cómo? ¿Cómo pudiste traicionarme así? ¿Y con mi hermana loca?!”

”Listen to me! My name is HANK PETERSON! I’m not Normal Man Clown! I’m not from this planet at all! I asked the Clown Police to take me to Earth and… I think they thought it would be funny to bring me here! I don’t know what any of you are saying! I only took two years of spanish back in middle school!”

“¿Qué dijo?”

”No sé. Yo sólo hablo español y mandarín.”

Normal Man Clown squeezes his temples despondently in his hands, before pointing at Landerson Clown! ”Y-you! YOU said you speak English! Can you help me?”

…Landerson Clown blinks one eye at a time, mouth agape, a trail of drool dripping off his bottom lip….

”...Hello?”

”Landerson Clown!”

”Mi amor…” La Payasa de Fuerza takes another step forward, until she’s big red round nose to normal-shaped, fleshy nose with Normal Man Clown… Her gloved hands brush affectionately against his, searching to rekindle the connection they once shared. ”Por favor… Dime la verdad.”

She takes off her sunglasses… her eyes are wet, cheeks tear-stained… but her pupils are wide, accepting and full of hope…

There are also two black circles around her eyes from the gag sunglasses.

”Haaaaaa, classic.” Says Loves-the-Classics Clown in a tone that would indicate he appreciates this classic.

”Nosotros no podemos hablar el mismo idioma, pero nosotros compartimos un alma…”

Normal Man Clown staggers backwards to retreat but his back hits the wall!

La Payasa de Fuerza reaches out and squeezes Normal Man Clown’s hands, accepting every part of him.

Her hands squeak as they squeeze.

His do not.

He looks her deeply in the eyes…

”...Um… c’mon, Hank… uh…” Normal Man Clown stammers…

…

”Uh… ¿Dónde está la biblioteca?”

…Suddenly, it’s so quiet in the room (or cuarto) you could hear a pin drop…

”Él sabe sobre de nuestra operación en la biblioteca! Él sabe sobre nuestra revolución! Nuestra esquema a robar todos los títulos de los payasos!”


”Él no puede salir de este lugar…” Razor Clown retrieves his razor from his pocket, wielding it like a switch blade.
”No con vida.”

El Payaso de Razor, La Payasa Loca, El Payaso de Doctor de Thugónomicos all advance, surrounding Normal Man Clown and La Payasa de Fuerza… there’s no room (or cuarto) to run!

”Um…” Normal Man Clown stammers, terrified… ”Yo necesito comprar un camisa por el verano!”

His words do nothing to halt their advance!

”¡¿CUÁNTO CUESTA?!”

And that concludes the exciting season finale of Normal Man Clown


“Ugh… I hate cliffhangers.” Moans Hates-Cliffhangers Clown.

“Still better than that shitty action movie where Sylvester Stallone plays a mountain ranger!” Chides Hates-Cliffhanger Clown.

Coming Up Next… THE CLOWN ACTION ONE, ACTION FUN NEWS TEAM!


”With Anchorman Clown!”

A wizened clown with a set of spectacles and a barely noticeable, but not UN-noticeable combover smiles at the news desk, straightening his notes.

”A bit of bad news tonight: A man died somewhere for some reason.”

…

”Is… is that the whole story?”

Anchorman Clown turns his notes over… Nothing on the back.

”Yep. This is bad news. Someone should get fired over this.”

”Retired-Athlete Clown on sports!”

A sturdy-looking clown, broad shoulders, with a slight gut from years out of the game and a shoulder that still looks like it’d hit like a family-sized sedan bobbles a football between his hands.

”Tonight, the Jazz Clowns absolutely decimated the Magic Clowns, 93-84!”

”Quite a game, eh, Retired-Athlete Clown?!”

”...Game? No, I’m covering the ongoing clown war between jazz enthusiast clowns and magic-using clowns. 93 casualties on one side, 84 on the other.!”

”The EYE IN THE SKY on traffic!”

There’s a giant eye in the sky.

…

No, I want to be very clear.

It’s not a clown. There’s a giant hyper-realistic eye in the sky of Clown City.

(which is a planet).

It never blinks.

It witnesses all.

Your temptations.

Your sins.

And the likelihood of traffic congestion on your Monday morning commute.

Nothing escapes the Eye in the Sky.

…

”Chopper Dave Clown on real-time traffic updates!”



Chopper Dave Clown is not in a helicopter, but instead dressed in a snow-white karate gi in the studio, standing in front of a stack of boards.

”Any updates, Chopper Dave Clown?”

In one fell swoop, he chops the boards in half.

”Nope.”

…

”And last, but not least…”

…

……

Anchorman Clown looks up from his news desk.

”Meteorologist Clown, that’s your cue.”

…

The Weather green screen is completely unoccupied.

…

”Has anyone seen Meteorologist Clown?”

I HAVE.

I HAVE WITNESSED HIM COUNTLESS TIMES.

FROM THE DAY OF HIS BIRTH, I HATH WITNESSED I-.

”Has anybody BESIDES All-Seeing Eye seen Meteorologist Clown today?”

Anchorman Clown rotates toward the sports desk.

”What about you, Retired-Athlete Clown? Did you see him?”

”Was he in sports highlights? Or the ongoing war between Jazz clowns and Magic clowns? Cuz if not? I didn’t see him.”

Anchorman Clown turns upward to the ceiling.

”Well, what about you, Bodyless Narrator Clown? Did you see him?”

”Well, as a bodyless narrator, I don’t have eyes, but I perceived he seemed a little tired so he took a nap just before the broadcast.”

”That lazybones clown! Where was he napping?”

”Oh, in the middle of Chopper Dave Clown’s stack of….”

…

”Boards….”

Anchorman Clown’s eyes widen as he looks toward Chopper Dave who is doing very standard karate class kicks around the set…

The stack of boards he chopped in half…

Polkadot and rainbow liquid is seeping from it…

”OH GOD CLOWN!”

HOLY SHIT, EVEN I DIDN’T SEE THAT COMING!

…Anchorman Clown holds up his notes.

”Wait… IS THIS THE NEWS I WAS COVERING? WHY WOULD YOU WRITE IT LIKE THAT?!?!”


LATER THAT DAY


”Send in the next Applicant Clown.”

Anchorman Clown rubs the bags under his eyes, which honk as he rubs them…

An eager young Applicant Clown enters the room…

”Take a seat.”

The Applicant Clown walks toward the chair and picks it up.

”Excellent.” Anchorman Clown jots down in his notepad. ”How are you at following directions?”

”I followed North for a few months once, we were in a… very passionate, very physical relationship… but, we started arguing then it filed a restraining order.”

”And then what happened?”

”From there, things went south.”

Anchorman Clown jots down more notes.

”Strengths?”

Applicant Clown waves his hand politely. ”None for me, thanks.”

Anchorman Clown shrugs before taking a plate of strengths and putting them aside.

”Weaknesses?”

”Weakness is pain leaving the body.”

”...Wait, I think that’s the other way around.”

”Ah, you’re right, of course. Body is weakness leaving the pain..”

”That’s correct. And, separately, what are your weaknesses?”

”Sometimes, pain leaves my body and gets on other people.”

Anchorman Clown strokes his chin, before looking to his left. ”What do you think, Nods-Approvingly Clown?”

Nods-Approvingly Clown nods approvingly.

Anchorman Clown purses his lips, impressed, before looking to his right. ”And what about you, Shakes-Head-Skeptically Clown?”

Shakes-Head-Skeptically Clown is in a full neck-brace. He eyes from Anchorman Clown to Applicant Clown, before exhaling…

Applicant Clown looks hopefully between the three clowns… ”Is that good?”

”Here, read this.” Anchorman Clown hands him a page.

Applicant Clown takes the page and eyes it carefully.

”Um… wait. I can’t read this. The page is blank.”

Anchorman Clown’s eyes squint (as his eyebrows furrow, they honk). ”That page isn’t blank! Gimme that!”

Anchorman Clown rips the page out of Applicant Clown’s hand and holds it up to his face…

[Image: Chat-GPT-Image-Jun-27-2026-05-02-05-PM.png]

”Ah. Excellent.” Anchorman makes a few more notes. ”What would you do with a million dollars?”

”Is that the salary for this job?”

”Haha… ahhhh….”

…

”HAHAHAHAHAHA.”

…

”No. No, it is not.”

”Oh.”

”And could you tell about a recent position you were in?”

”Sure. Recently, I was in this position…”

Applicant Clown stands, placing his hands on the side of an imaginary thing in front of him, gripping tightly, thrusting forward wildly, his hands his tongue dangling out of his mouth…

Anchorman Clown’s eyes narrow in surprise. ”Mmm. And why did you leave that position?”

”I ran out of quarters and there were other people in line for the pinball machine.”

Anchorman Clown lets out a sigh of relief. ”Oh, of course… you were in that position because you were…”

”Having sex with the pinball machine.”

”Of course.” Anchorman straightens his notes. ”Well, I guess that’s it. Do you have any questions for me?”

”Oh, yes, um… can I see the notes you’ve written there?”

”Ah, yes, of course.”

Anchorman Clown hands over his notes to Applicant Clown. Applicant Clown quickly scratches out the notes and writes ‘HIRE HIM’.

He hands the notes back. Anchorman Clown checks his notes.

”Hmm. Well, according to my notes, I should hire you..”

Applicant Clown’s eyes widen with hope…

”There’s just one final test before you can be Meteorologist Clown.”

“Can you cover… THE BIG ONE?”

”...The Big One?”

”A monstrous cold front from the north is about to collide with a sweltering warm front from the south.”

Anchorman Clown holds up a golf ball.

”See this golf ball?”

”We’re talking rain, sleet, snow, hail the size of golf balls…”

Anchorman Clown tosses away the golf ball…

“Golf balls the size of miniature schnauzers, miniature schnauzers the size of teacup pigs, and a teacup pig the size of a scale model of Clown Texas.”

”A teacup pig the size of Clown Texas?!?”

”A scale model of Clown Texas.”

”Oh. Okay, how big is the scale?”

”Actual size.”

Applicant Clown’s tie spins in shock!

”My Clown God! That’s an extinction level event! And you want me… report on it?”

”No. The Storm is Coming. I want you to COVER it.”

”...I’m confused.”

”Meteorologist Clown was the single lynchpin keeping Clown City from collapsing due to weather-related disaster! He would keep at bay the thousands of natural extinction level events that would destroy all of Clown City on an almost hourly basis.”
”...But… but how? How would stave off The Storm?”

”By breaking its storm’s self-esteem.”


And now for a hearty session of TALK by the TRASH


The newly-titled Meteorologist Clown stands in front of a green-screen of…

[Image: Jade_Cargill_RR24_%281%29.jpg]

”Now for today’s forecast! Today, we’re looking at a 100% chance of The Storm getting her bitch ass taken to Clown Poundtown!”

”(which is a moon that orbits the planet of Clown City)!”

Meteorologist Clown wields a little pointer he uses to gesture toward The Storm’s rippling biceps.

”Now, observable patterns would indicate that The Storm is likely to pick us up several times over the course of the day… however, knowing The Storm, she’ll likely keep repeating the same event over and over, because learning a second move is beyond her mental capacity. Pokémon can learn four moves *and* say their own name, The Storm knows two and if you try to teach her the XWF backstage interviewer team aren’t all named ‘Steve Sayors’, her head will actually explode.”

[Image: wwe-announcers-polished.jpg?impolicy=Med...1200&h=800]

Pictured above, according to Latoya Hixx: Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors, Steve Sayors

Meteorologist Clown draws an arrow across The Storm’s face.

”Now, tomorrow, get ready for a sweeping RIGHT HAND across the Storm’s stupid face, followed by…”

Meteorologist Clown draws multiple arrows down across her scalp.

”A wig snatch that’ll leave that fake bitch scratching her bare-ass scalp, wondering why the Hell she ever came up with the bright idea of coming after belts owned by the Clowns.”

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRhZ_NNpubyjRTlgiO8Skk...MQ51-0Bw&s]

”All in all, The Storm tomorrow is looking a lot less like a storm at all and a lot more like a puddle. Get ready for a light drizzle and a nice rainbow, which will be perfect given that it’s Pride Month on Earth and someone should give Latoya Hixx’s mother something to proud of cuz it sure as shit ain’t her middling-ass, disappointing-ass daughter.”

“ZERO percent chance of a title in her XWF career.”

“ZERO percent chance of ever having an accomplishment to her name.”

“ZERO percent chance of winning our match tomorrow.”

“Get ready, Storm. Cuz I’m gonna rain fists down on you, before hitting you with…”

Meteorologist Clown raises his left fist.

”Thunder.”

Then, the right fist.

”And lightning.”]]> <![CDATA[Whoever Wants Some of The Storm better be ready]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50226 Fri, 26 Jun 2026 22:18:36 -0700 Latoya Hixx]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50226 Warfare returns from break as Latoya Hixx stood in the center, flanked by herself and a
trembling The Storm Section'' at Ringside was louder than ever, mocking the XWF Fans.
Storm| Latoya Hixx: Cut the music! Cut the damn music! Warfare, I know ya'll ain't use to this
kinda opulence, but... Look at the greatness in this ring. You are looking at a woman who has single-
handledly redefined this tag division. I mean, I
am The Woman for Warfare, and I've ended careers of some of the greats. Hell, I sent El Rompecabezas and now Meteorologist Clown. packing. I the
Woman of Warfare. I have one of the hottest covers of Playboy... and look at what I've built-- The Storm. I didn't just bring in Meteorologist Clown because he's badder than
Meteorologist Clown;  I brought him in because he actually knows how to run a division without crying. I
made stars! I can pick anyone from this
Storm Goddess Section and replace someone in a heartbeat. Do you see all of these men?
The camera pans around as The Storm Goddess Section as ringside began flaunting their looks, and the crowd cheers.
Storm| Latoya Hixx: Damn right, and it's all because ME! I am The Storm. I am Sogul. I am THAT
BITCH. Meteorologist Clown. is mad because I did win there Handy cap match there, they
Obsolete. He's mad because he'll never be as beautiful as I or as dominant as I.
You are wrothless, Meteorologist Clown! The reason I saved your butts was that Meteorologist Clown and El Rompecabezas
was doubled teaming you both, and I heard that Meteorologist Clown. Swinging dumb ain't even put up a fight
on Warfare. Well doesn't matter. If Meteorologist Clown were a man enough, he'd come out here and fight
for his spot, but instead?  Let's see which one of us, Meteorologist Clown and I, will be the next XWF
Tag team Champions... Ladies, you may enter MY Ring.
Hixx lowers her mic and exits out of the Warfare ring before next week's Show of XWF begins on Monday
]]> Warfare returns from break as Latoya Hixx stood in the center, flanked by herself and a
trembling The Storm Section'' at Ringside was louder than ever, mocking the XWF Fans.
Storm| Latoya Hixx: Cut the music! Cut the damn music! Warfare, I know ya'll ain't use to this
kinda opulence, but... Look at the greatness in this ring. You are looking at a woman who has single-
handledly redefined this tag division. I mean, I
am The Woman for Warfare, and I've ended careers of some of the greats. Hell, I sent El Rompecabezas and now Meteorologist Clown. packing. I the
Woman of Warfare. I have one of the hottest covers of Playboy... and look at what I've built-- The Storm. I didn't just bring in Meteorologist Clown because he's badder than
Meteorologist Clown;  I brought him in because he actually knows how to run a division without crying. I
made stars! I can pick anyone from this
Storm Goddess Section and replace someone in a heartbeat. Do you see all of these men?
The camera pans around as The Storm Goddess Section as ringside began flaunting their looks, and the crowd cheers.
Storm| Latoya Hixx: Damn right, and it's all because ME! I am The Storm. I am Sogul. I am THAT
BITCH. Meteorologist Clown. is mad because I did win there Handy cap match there, they
Obsolete. He's mad because he'll never be as beautiful as I or as dominant as I.
You are wrothless, Meteorologist Clown! The reason I saved your butts was that Meteorologist Clown and El Rompecabezas
was doubled teaming you both, and I heard that Meteorologist Clown. Swinging dumb ain't even put up a fight
on Warfare. Well doesn't matter. If Meteorologist Clown were a man enough, he'd come out here and fight
for his spot, but instead?  Let's see which one of us, Meteorologist Clown and I, will be the next XWF
Tag team Champions... Ladies, you may enter MY Ring.
Hixx lowers her mic and exits out of the Warfare ring before next week's Show of XWF begins on Monday
]]> <![CDATA[YEETDOWN]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50223 Thu, 25 Jun 2026 13:33:12 -0700 Jay Fetu]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50223 The next scene opens on Jay Fetu and John Blade, two former Warfare members of the tag team
known as ThugYeet, and both have very important matches here next week.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Yo Anarchy tag team Championship.
[Image: Screenshot-2025-11-21-2-42-27-PM.png]
Main Event| Jay Fetu: A shot at either the Anarchy tag titles or the tag team Championship, once
Rollerwhore Violet and Rollerwhore Elektra. loses then you and I will survive next Monday, Uce.
He says with full conviction for both of them.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: John and I were Rivals together for months. Never really separated, until we
get a chance to do my own thang, but never really been in a tag team match before. That's different.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Yo, it's very simple, but the things that we need to do are beat some sense into Rollerwhore Elektra and Rollerwhore Violet. If we're gonna be the next Anarchy tag team Champions at Bad Medicine, then we gotta get through Rollerwhore Violet and Rollerwhore
Elektra in a Tornado tag match on Warfare.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Damn right we do, Uce. You told us no matter what happens around here, I've got your back, and you've got my back up full support.
As much as he can.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade:  I know, homie, and I appreciate that, but when you and I team up for the first time in XWF, you and I will defeat those Anarchy tag Champs at Warfare, and once we do that, you and I will headline to Bad Medicine in a challenge for the Rollerwhores Anarchy tag team titles on XWF.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Couldn't be any more ready, Uce. It needs to happen next week because if it
doesn't... considering what's on the line in our match, we're gon' have one long line ahead of me until we can try again. I can't wait.
The conversation was interrupted when they heard a sudden voice. They both turned around to see
that person walking into the room.
[Image: Screenshot-2025-11-27-12-51-49-PM.png]
Main Event| Jay Fetu: What do you mean when you said that, Uce?
Jay nodded. at John was sort of right. The two guys are teaming; they were willing to do whatever
it takes to win. even if it meant bending a few rules. Fetu and Blade knew he needed to do that.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: But just remember, Jay. I always got your back, and just because we fought in the LOF Battle Royal doesn't mean we could go our separate ways right after we snatch those Anarchy tag titles from Rollerwhore Violet and Rollerwhore Elektra next Monday in our Tornado tag on Warfare at XWF.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Got it.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Alright then, so I'll be seeing you out there on Warfare, okay.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: YEET Uce.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Word Life?
Blade shook Jay's hand and told him that he'll see him on Monday's Warfare, and Fetu sat back down. When John walked out of his locker room, and thinking over what John said as he went back to himself and added his Yeet Sleeves on his left arm, Yeet Sunglasses, Yeet shirt, Yeet socks, and Yeet shoes to get ready for his huge Tornado tag when he teams up with John to take on Rollerwhores Elektra and Rollerwhores Violet. As the scene slowly faded on him.
]]> The next scene opens on Jay Fetu and John Blade, two former Warfare members of the tag team
known as ThugYeet, and both have very important matches here next week.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Yo Anarchy tag team Championship.
[Image: Screenshot-2025-11-21-2-42-27-PM.png]
Main Event| Jay Fetu: A shot at either the Anarchy tag titles or the tag team Championship, once
Rollerwhore Violet and Rollerwhore Elektra. loses then you and I will survive next Monday, Uce.
He says with full conviction for both of them.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: John and I were Rivals together for months. Never really separated, until we
get a chance to do my own thang, but never really been in a tag team match before. That's different.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Yo, it's very simple, but the things that we need to do are beat some sense into Rollerwhore Elektra and Rollerwhore Violet. If we're gonna be the next Anarchy tag team Champions at Bad Medicine, then we gotta get through Rollerwhore Violet and Rollerwhore
Elektra in a Tornado tag match on Warfare.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Damn right we do, Uce. You told us no matter what happens around here, I've got your back, and you've got my back up full support.
As much as he can.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade:  I know, homie, and I appreciate that, but when you and I team up for the first time in XWF, you and I will defeat those Anarchy tag Champs at Warfare, and once we do that, you and I will headline to Bad Medicine in a challenge for the Rollerwhores Anarchy tag team titles on XWF.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Couldn't be any more ready, Uce. It needs to happen next week because if it
doesn't... considering what's on the line in our match, we're gon' have one long line ahead of me until we can try again. I can't wait.
The conversation was interrupted when they heard a sudden voice. They both turned around to see
that person walking into the room.
[Image: Screenshot-2025-11-27-12-51-49-PM.png]
Main Event| Jay Fetu: What do you mean when you said that, Uce?
Jay nodded. at John was sort of right. The two guys are teaming; they were willing to do whatever
it takes to win. even if it meant bending a few rules. Fetu and Blade knew he needed to do that.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: But just remember, Jay. I always got your back, and just because we fought in the LOF Battle Royal doesn't mean we could go our separate ways right after we snatch those Anarchy tag titles from Rollerwhore Violet and Rollerwhore Elektra next Monday in our Tornado tag on Warfare at XWF.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: Got it.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Alright then, so I'll be seeing you out there on Warfare, okay.
Main Event| Jay Fetu: YEET Uce.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Word Life?
Blade shook Jay's hand and told him that he'll see him on Monday's Warfare, and Fetu sat back down. When John walked out of his locker room, and thinking over what John said as he went back to himself and added his Yeet Sleeves on his left arm, Yeet Sunglasses, Yeet shirt, Yeet socks, and Yeet shoes to get ready for his huge Tornado tag when he teams up with John to take on Rollerwhores Elektra and Rollerwhores Violet. As the scene slowly faded on him.
]]> <![CDATA[I. The Prologue/Family Affairs & Aristocrats]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50222 Wed, 24 Jun 2026 19:36:35 -0700 Judd Hollow]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50222 Click Here Or Die A Painful Death…]]> Click Here Or Die A Painful Death…]]> <![CDATA[The Rollerwhores Pride Spectacular!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50221 Wed, 24 Jun 2026 15:21:03 -0700 Samael Dyson]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50221 Enter: Anytown, USA.

A brilliantly colored PRIDE PARADE rolls down Main Street. Main Street where, you might ask? Why, anywhere of course! It could even be your home town! The place doesn’t matter. No. What matters is the community, the acceptance, the love. Families intermingle with queer couples on the sidelines of the parade, happily waving rainbow flags and other paraphernalia as the giddy floats honk and wave and roll lackadaisically along to the sound of thumping upbeat music and candy clattering to the curb and into the hands of waiting kiddies.

But, of course, one parade float isn’t quite like the others. It’s covered by a massive tarp. It draws curious glances from the onlookers, but ultimately only passing acknowledgement. There’s so much else to see, after all!

Before long however, a voice sounds out from beneath the tarp.

“Good afternoon, America! And welcome to Pride!”

The crowd cheers in response.

“Excuse me, I meant to say, WELCOME TO REAL PRIDE!!”

Confused glances, shrugging shoulders ensue.

And quite suddenly, the tarp over the float falls away. And what’s beneath is Sodom and Gomorrah rolled into one.

The float is made up of an archway of four throbbing paper mache cocks, each one splurting a torrent of ejaculate that joins up at the tippy top of the float. But beneath the quartet of johnsons is where the real action is! Because there lies a tangle of humanity engaged in every manner of sex act you can possibly imagine.

PIA

PIV

Scissoring

Fisting

Docking

Fucking and rutting, baby!

And the Rollerwhores, Violet and Elektra, are in the thick of it. Bare ass naked except for their eerie gas masks, they intermingle with the throng of sweaty nude bodies engaged in all kinds of wet, frenetic perversion!

And at the fore, naturally, is Samael Dyson, himself wearing nothing but his birthday suit and balls deep in an Asian ladyboy. He thrusts in and out magnificently as he holds a mic to his mouth and jeers….

“YEAH, WELCOME TO THE PARADE ASSHOLES!”

Horrified parents cover their children’s eyes. Gasps and angry verbiage assault the pornographic display, and yet, hypocritically, few people actually depart, as most people’s eyes are positively GLUED to the shameless spectacle unfolding before them!

Samael, without a hint of strain because such is the XTreme champion’s top notch conditioning, continues to plug away at the twink as he proceeds to barking into the microphone.

“Behold the true nature of PRIDE! Oh, save me your recriminations you solipsistic dolts! For too long you normies have latched into PRIDE like parasites, turning this into a safe, bland, commercialized outing for whitebread families and soulless corporate backers! But no more! Because we remember what PRIDE used to be! Dangerous, subversive, queer, sexually charged and wantonly hedonistic!”

Samael gets up off the twink and stands up, his glistening rock hard member bobbing in rhythm to the techno beats still playing throughout the parade. “Open the sluices! Lets give these normies a taste!”

With no hesitation, the stark nude Rollerwhores extricate themselves from the teeming fuck pile and take hold of large fire hoses on either side of the parade float. The hoses are attached to tanks just below the float, tanks collecting the um…..”run off”....from the orgy above. The Rollerwhores point the hoses into the audience and let it rip, dousing entire families with brutal sex sweat and sundry other fluids. The people scream and some finally start to run away as Sam laughs uproariously.

“Heh, hey, hey, hey…..why’s it smell like SEX in here?” He laughs. The float continues to roll along, spraying the crowd with its high capacity slurry of bodily discharges. Samael continues despite the chaos. “Oh that’s right you hypocrites, run! Run when confronted with your basest urges! Run when confronted with what PRIDE really should be about!”

Suddenly, the parade grinds to a halt and we see the floats behind Samael's start to peel off to either side of the street to allow in a series of police squad cars. Samael’s features sink into a deep frown. “Ah, the fascists are right on time!” He turns to the orgy goers. “Alright, time to fight for your right to fuck! THE COPS ARE HERE!”

With that, all intercourse stops and the nude revelers start to tear into the paper mache dicks that make up the float, dislodging caches of firearms! The orgy porgies start arming themselves and Samael drops down to the street, flanked by his now armed Rollerwhores, and runs to the front of the truck cab of the parade float for cover! He is, of course, still carrying the microphone.

“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS NOW” the cops bark as they too take up defensive positions behind the doors of their squad cars. Naturally, the first shots come from Samael’s side of the fracas, blowing out windows on the squad cars. By this point, even the dumbest parade goers have run, leaving the streets deserted except for the other rapidly retreating parade floats.

Samael, hunkered down in front of the float, peeks his head around to let off a couple shots from the handgun he’s procured from, well, perhaps best not to think about that! The Rollerwhores, each holding a shotgun, also let off batteries of blasts at the police.

“Now this is what PRIDE is upposed to be about! Armed resistance! Smut! CHAOS! Not the enshittfied, pussy-fied version of what its become! And because I’m a promotional genius, I’m gonna tie this clusterfuck directly into the Rollerwhores match with Thing 1 and Thing 2! And make no mistake, this is gonna be a SHOOT, BRUTHA!” A bullet whizzes past over his head. “No pun intended! FUCK!”

Samael proceeds to cut a promo, buck naked and in the middle of a shootout with police. And you said there’s nothing new left under the sun!

“You see plebians, there’s a lot in common between Pride events in America and the XWF. Namely that they’ve both been watered down into oblivion, made into shades of shades of their former selves. It’s clear what has caused this to happen to Pride, but what about the XWF? Well, I’ve got a list.”

Jay Fetu
John Blade
Razor Blade
Deena Hixx
Latoya Hixx
El Landerson

Those six names over the course of the last year plus have turned the XWF into a diarrhea slurry of mediocrity. The XWF used to be a place where people LIKE THAT would never have even survived, much less found themselves in multi-year contracts. In fact, under previous administrations, people LIKE THAT wouldn’t have even been permitted to JOIN the XWF. And for good reason. Why?

BECAUSE THEY MAKE THE XWF LOOK LIKE DOG SHIT!!!

The XWF fans, not to mention its industry peers, look to the XWF to be the cornerstone of the sport. But how the hell can it claim to be the cornerstone when six whole roster members went to school for “life skills” rather than English and mathematics?

I mean, I know I’m gonna get cancelled for this shit (like I haven’t been already), but let’s call a spade a spade here. Those six? They’re….welllllll….they’re not quite like us, are they? I mean, from their mush mouthed nonsensical promos to their utter incompetence in the ring, well, its clear that one of these things just isn’t quite like the other.

You know what, let’s just call it even clearer.

They’re windowlickers.

Okay?

They’re windowlickers.

There, I said it! Ohhhh boo hoo hoo! I can hear you bitchmade whiners from here! “Just because they have the survival instincts of a brain damaged squirrel on the highway and can’t count past 20 for want of more fingers and toes doesn’t mean they don’t belong in the XWF!” But that’s EXACTLY what I’m saying! They don’t belong here! They’re just too STUPID. In fact, they’re so STUPID they honest to God think they’re our peers. They think that their next big title break is juuuuuuust around the corner. And they have no fucking clue how completely outclassed they are in the XWF because they have all the insight of an Easy Bake Oven sans power cord. The elevators not only don’t go to the top floor, they’re bottomed out in the basement!

And the NERVE they have, the unmittigated GALL to go around backstage following failure after failure and demand near constant title shots! “HUUURRRR DUUUURRRRR LATOYA WANT TAG TITLE SHOT BECAUSE REASONS.” No bitch, you haven’t earned SHIT! You deserve NOTHING!

GOD!”

Elektra starts frantically tapping Sam on the shoulder, and at first he looks annoyed, but when he sees what she’s gesturing to his expression changes considerably, because just above them is a fully armed SWAT helicopter!

Suddenly, a dramatic WHOOSH sound can be heard from the back of the parade float, and a surface to air missile takes flight and slams into the helicopter, decimating it in a brilliant explosion! Sam peeks his head around the cab of the float and sees the Asian twink he was pounding before holding a rocket launcher.

“Hell yeah Dong Pham!”

And then Dong Pham takes a high caliber round to the skull and drops dead.

“FUCKERS!” Sam curses. He gestures to the Rollerwhores. “Keep shooting!” And then he returns his attention to the camera.

“Hey Jay Fatu….errr…..FETU. Heh heh. My bad! Answer a question for me, Jay. Who’s “Uce”? Because I’m pretty sure you can’t answer that question without violating a number of copyright laws you pit sniffing imbecile!

You know, the XWF used to have a policy about this shit, cribbing other people’s gimmicks. I guess that doesn’t apply to people who are inordinately interested in fire trucks. But to me, that’s no excuse. So here’s my grand message to you, XWF management.

GROW SOME FUCKING BALLS AND FIRE THESE USELESS WASTES OF SPACE!

But you fucking won’t, will you? Nah, you’re too afraid of the blowback on X. Plus the middling mid carders like Oz and Solomon Kline need SOMEONE to prop up their fragile egos after they eat a string of losses. But what’s a win against the John Blade’s of the world really worth? Nothing! And that’s exactly the problem. The wins mean NOTHING. It’s why every other promotion did away with enhancement talent back in the 90’s. What’s the use of a foregone conclusion?

And guys, ask yourselves this. I’m sure you and the other social justice warriors on Elon’s pet project are getting ready to bitch me out for speaking truth to power about all these extra chromosomes. But who here is really the bigger asshole? Me, for being honest? Or alllll of you for using these morons? Because let’s face facts, you’re USING them. Using them to pad your cards. Using them for free wins to keep your mid carders happy. Using them and stringing them along  by allowing them to think they’re even remotely in our league. Yeah guys, who’s really doing them dirty?

Because what these dipshits need is HONESTY. Not someone pretending to cheer in their corners and throwing them a random “of the month award” for the LOL’s all the while KNOWING they’ll never win a big time match or win a championship. 

So Jay? John? And all you other fart huffers? Here’s the brutal truth.

YOU SUCK.

YOU’LL NEVER BE ON OUR LEVEL.

NOBODY UNDERSTANDS WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT IN YOUR STUPID ASS PROMOS.

YOU NEED TO GO AWAY AND DO SOMETHING MORE YOUR SPEED LIKE COLLECT POKEMON CARDS.

Facing you guys is the ultimate waste of time. You’re quintessential piss breaks. And that wouldn’t be so bad if your stench of failure didn’t impact your opponents. Because after all, those fans aren’t going to take a leak JUST during your match, it’s my girls match too! Those tanking ratings, thought they are your fault, aren’t just making YOU look bad! And nobody’s career is going to get a jump from facing you guys either.

In short, John Blade, Jay Fetu (Jesus Christ, FETU) and all the rest are just big wide awake nothings. Giant holes in the fabric of the XWF. And unlike the holes you all saw earlier, you’re not even fun to fuck!

But whatever, I guess a meanginless dubya is better than none at all. Right girls?!”

The Rollerwhores take a moment from their shootout to nod in unison at Samael. Suddenly, they’re interrupted by the sound of squealing tires as a police squad car screeches around to their vantage point at the front of the float. Samael and the girls whirl on the new presence, looking decidedly concerned. But they all breathe a sigh of relief when they see The Ubermensch step out of the squad car, covered in blood and wearing a police officers cap. He motions for them to get in the car and Sam and the Rollerwhores waste no time scrambling inside. With his master safely ensconced, the Ubermensch peals away from the ruination of the Pride Parade, taking out some lingering bystanders in the process.

The shot rises up, further and further above the parade and we see the true scope of the carnage. Dead bodies everywhere. Police squad cars ablaze. Paramedics frantically tending to the wounded on the side lines. And one lone pilfered squad car tearing ass down the thruway away from the mess.

And with that, there’s just one thing left to say….

[Image: Pride-Month.jpg]
]]> Enter: Anytown, USA.

A brilliantly colored PRIDE PARADE rolls down Main Street. Main Street where, you might ask? Why, anywhere of course! It could even be your home town! The place doesn’t matter. No. What matters is the community, the acceptance, the love. Families intermingle with queer couples on the sidelines of the parade, happily waving rainbow flags and other paraphernalia as the giddy floats honk and wave and roll lackadaisically along to the sound of thumping upbeat music and candy clattering to the curb and into the hands of waiting kiddies.

But, of course, one parade float isn’t quite like the others. It’s covered by a massive tarp. It draws curious glances from the onlookers, but ultimately only passing acknowledgement. There’s so much else to see, after all!

Before long however, a voice sounds out from beneath the tarp.

“Good afternoon, America! And welcome to Pride!”

The crowd cheers in response.

“Excuse me, I meant to say, WELCOME TO REAL PRIDE!!”

Confused glances, shrugging shoulders ensue.

And quite suddenly, the tarp over the float falls away. And what’s beneath is Sodom and Gomorrah rolled into one.

The float is made up of an archway of four throbbing paper mache cocks, each one splurting a torrent of ejaculate that joins up at the tippy top of the float. But beneath the quartet of johnsons is where the real action is! Because there lies a tangle of humanity engaged in every manner of sex act you can possibly imagine.

PIA

PIV

Scissoring

Fisting

Docking

Fucking and rutting, baby!

And the Rollerwhores, Violet and Elektra, are in the thick of it. Bare ass naked except for their eerie gas masks, they intermingle with the throng of sweaty nude bodies engaged in all kinds of wet, frenetic perversion!

And at the fore, naturally, is Samael Dyson, himself wearing nothing but his birthday suit and balls deep in an Asian ladyboy. He thrusts in and out magnificently as he holds a mic to his mouth and jeers….

“YEAH, WELCOME TO THE PARADE ASSHOLES!”

Horrified parents cover their children’s eyes. Gasps and angry verbiage assault the pornographic display, and yet, hypocritically, few people actually depart, as most people’s eyes are positively GLUED to the shameless spectacle unfolding before them!

Samael, without a hint of strain because such is the XTreme champion’s top notch conditioning, continues to plug away at the twink as he proceeds to barking into the microphone.

“Behold the true nature of PRIDE! Oh, save me your recriminations you solipsistic dolts! For too long you normies have latched into PRIDE like parasites, turning this into a safe, bland, commercialized outing for whitebread families and soulless corporate backers! But no more! Because we remember what PRIDE used to be! Dangerous, subversive, queer, sexually charged and wantonly hedonistic!”

Samael gets up off the twink and stands up, his glistening rock hard member bobbing in rhythm to the techno beats still playing throughout the parade. “Open the sluices! Lets give these normies a taste!”

With no hesitation, the stark nude Rollerwhores extricate themselves from the teeming fuck pile and take hold of large fire hoses on either side of the parade float. The hoses are attached to tanks just below the float, tanks collecting the um…..”run off”....from the orgy above. The Rollerwhores point the hoses into the audience and let it rip, dousing entire families with brutal sex sweat and sundry other fluids. The people scream and some finally start to run away as Sam laughs uproariously.

“Heh, hey, hey, hey…..why’s it smell like SEX in here?” He laughs. The float continues to roll along, spraying the crowd with its high capacity slurry of bodily discharges. Samael continues despite the chaos. “Oh that’s right you hypocrites, run! Run when confronted with your basest urges! Run when confronted with what PRIDE really should be about!”

Suddenly, the parade grinds to a halt and we see the floats behind Samael's start to peel off to either side of the street to allow in a series of police squad cars. Samael’s features sink into a deep frown. “Ah, the fascists are right on time!” He turns to the orgy goers. “Alright, time to fight for your right to fuck! THE COPS ARE HERE!”

With that, all intercourse stops and the nude revelers start to tear into the paper mache dicks that make up the float, dislodging caches of firearms! The orgy porgies start arming themselves and Samael drops down to the street, flanked by his now armed Rollerwhores, and runs to the front of the truck cab of the parade float for cover! He is, of course, still carrying the microphone.

“PUT DOWN YOUR WEAPONS NOW” the cops bark as they too take up defensive positions behind the doors of their squad cars. Naturally, the first shots come from Samael’s side of the fracas, blowing out windows on the squad cars. By this point, even the dumbest parade goers have run, leaving the streets deserted except for the other rapidly retreating parade floats.

Samael, hunkered down in front of the float, peeks his head around to let off a couple shots from the handgun he’s procured from, well, perhaps best not to think about that! The Rollerwhores, each holding a shotgun, also let off batteries of blasts at the police.

“Now this is what PRIDE is upposed to be about! Armed resistance! Smut! CHAOS! Not the enshittfied, pussy-fied version of what its become! And because I’m a promotional genius, I’m gonna tie this clusterfuck directly into the Rollerwhores match with Thing 1 and Thing 2! And make no mistake, this is gonna be a SHOOT, BRUTHA!” A bullet whizzes past over his head. “No pun intended! FUCK!”

Samael proceeds to cut a promo, buck naked and in the middle of a shootout with police. And you said there’s nothing new left under the sun!

“You see plebians, there’s a lot in common between Pride events in America and the XWF. Namely that they’ve both been watered down into oblivion, made into shades of shades of their former selves. It’s clear what has caused this to happen to Pride, but what about the XWF? Well, I’ve got a list.”

Jay Fetu
John Blade
Razor Blade
Deena Hixx
Latoya Hixx
El Landerson

Those six names over the course of the last year plus have turned the XWF into a diarrhea slurry of mediocrity. The XWF used to be a place where people LIKE THAT would never have even survived, much less found themselves in multi-year contracts. In fact, under previous administrations, people LIKE THAT wouldn’t have even been permitted to JOIN the XWF. And for good reason. Why?

BECAUSE THEY MAKE THE XWF LOOK LIKE DOG SHIT!!!

The XWF fans, not to mention its industry peers, look to the XWF to be the cornerstone of the sport. But how the hell can it claim to be the cornerstone when six whole roster members went to school for “life skills” rather than English and mathematics?

I mean, I know I’m gonna get cancelled for this shit (like I haven’t been already), but let’s call a spade a spade here. Those six? They’re….welllllll….they’re not quite like us, are they? I mean, from their mush mouthed nonsensical promos to their utter incompetence in the ring, well, its clear that one of these things just isn’t quite like the other.

You know what, let’s just call it even clearer.

They’re windowlickers.

Okay?

They’re windowlickers.

There, I said it! Ohhhh boo hoo hoo! I can hear you bitchmade whiners from here! “Just because they have the survival instincts of a brain damaged squirrel on the highway and can’t count past 20 for want of more fingers and toes doesn’t mean they don’t belong in the XWF!” But that’s EXACTLY what I’m saying! They don’t belong here! They’re just too STUPID. In fact, they’re so STUPID they honest to God think they’re our peers. They think that their next big title break is juuuuuuust around the corner. And they have no fucking clue how completely outclassed they are in the XWF because they have all the insight of an Easy Bake Oven sans power cord. The elevators not only don’t go to the top floor, they’re bottomed out in the basement!

And the NERVE they have, the unmittigated GALL to go around backstage following failure after failure and demand near constant title shots! “HUUURRRR DUUUURRRRR LATOYA WANT TAG TITLE SHOT BECAUSE REASONS.” No bitch, you haven’t earned SHIT! You deserve NOTHING!

GOD!”

Elektra starts frantically tapping Sam on the shoulder, and at first he looks annoyed, but when he sees what she’s gesturing to his expression changes considerably, because just above them is a fully armed SWAT helicopter!

Suddenly, a dramatic WHOOSH sound can be heard from the back of the parade float, and a surface to air missile takes flight and slams into the helicopter, decimating it in a brilliant explosion! Sam peeks his head around the cab of the float and sees the Asian twink he was pounding before holding a rocket launcher.

“Hell yeah Dong Pham!”

And then Dong Pham takes a high caliber round to the skull and drops dead.

“FUCKERS!” Sam curses. He gestures to the Rollerwhores. “Keep shooting!” And then he returns his attention to the camera.

“Hey Jay Fatu….errr…..FETU. Heh heh. My bad! Answer a question for me, Jay. Who’s “Uce”? Because I’m pretty sure you can’t answer that question without violating a number of copyright laws you pit sniffing imbecile!

You know, the XWF used to have a policy about this shit, cribbing other people’s gimmicks. I guess that doesn’t apply to people who are inordinately interested in fire trucks. But to me, that’s no excuse. So here’s my grand message to you, XWF management.

GROW SOME FUCKING BALLS AND FIRE THESE USELESS WASTES OF SPACE!

But you fucking won’t, will you? Nah, you’re too afraid of the blowback on X. Plus the middling mid carders like Oz and Solomon Kline need SOMEONE to prop up their fragile egos after they eat a string of losses. But what’s a win against the John Blade’s of the world really worth? Nothing! And that’s exactly the problem. The wins mean NOTHING. It’s why every other promotion did away with enhancement talent back in the 90’s. What’s the use of a foregone conclusion?

And guys, ask yourselves this. I’m sure you and the other social justice warriors on Elon’s pet project are getting ready to bitch me out for speaking truth to power about all these extra chromosomes. But who here is really the bigger asshole? Me, for being honest? Or alllll of you for using these morons? Because let’s face facts, you’re USING them. Using them to pad your cards. Using them for free wins to keep your mid carders happy. Using them and stringing them along  by allowing them to think they’re even remotely in our league. Yeah guys, who’s really doing them dirty?

Because what these dipshits need is HONESTY. Not someone pretending to cheer in their corners and throwing them a random “of the month award” for the LOL’s all the while KNOWING they’ll never win a big time match or win a championship. 

So Jay? John? And all you other fart huffers? Here’s the brutal truth.

YOU SUCK.

YOU’LL NEVER BE ON OUR LEVEL.

NOBODY UNDERSTANDS WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT IN YOUR STUPID ASS PROMOS.

YOU NEED TO GO AWAY AND DO SOMETHING MORE YOUR SPEED LIKE COLLECT POKEMON CARDS.

Facing you guys is the ultimate waste of time. You’re quintessential piss breaks. And that wouldn’t be so bad if your stench of failure didn’t impact your opponents. Because after all, those fans aren’t going to take a leak JUST during your match, it’s my girls match too! Those tanking ratings, thought they are your fault, aren’t just making YOU look bad! And nobody’s career is going to get a jump from facing you guys either.

In short, John Blade, Jay Fetu (Jesus Christ, FETU) and all the rest are just big wide awake nothings. Giant holes in the fabric of the XWF. And unlike the holes you all saw earlier, you’re not even fun to fuck!

But whatever, I guess a meanginless dubya is better than none at all. Right girls?!”

The Rollerwhores take a moment from their shootout to nod in unison at Samael. Suddenly, they’re interrupted by the sound of squealing tires as a police squad car screeches around to their vantage point at the front of the float. Samael and the girls whirl on the new presence, looking decidedly concerned. But they all breathe a sigh of relief when they see The Ubermensch step out of the squad car, covered in blood and wearing a police officers cap. He motions for them to get in the car and Sam and the Rollerwhores waste no time scrambling inside. With his master safely ensconced, the Ubermensch peals away from the ruination of the Pride Parade, taking out some lingering bystanders in the process.

The shot rises up, further and further above the parade and we see the true scope of the carnage. Dead bodies everywhere. Police squad cars ablaze. Paramedics frantically tending to the wounded on the side lines. And one lone pilfered squad car tearing ass down the thruway away from the mess.

And with that, there’s just one thing left to say….

[Image: Pride-Month.jpg]
]]> <![CDATA[AVGN EP. XXX: Re-Cycle]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50217 Mon, 22 Jun 2026 18:45:16 -0700 (Gravy_Xtreme_5000)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50217




















Location: A cluttered basement.


[Image: NERD1.jpg]

"Wrestling games…"

He tosses the cart like trash.

"You'd think wrestling would be easy to turn into a video game. Two people beat the shit out of each other until one stops moving. That's practically every fighting game already."

Another cartridge gets thrown over his shoulder.

"But no! Half of them control like you're trying to wrestle under water with a fucking refrigerator strapped to your back and the other half have controls so complicated, every move feels like you're performing a fatality."

He reaches beneath a stack of instruction manuals and pulls out a gray Game Boy cartridge.

There's no artwork. No publisher. Just a strip of masking tape with "RE-CYCLE" written across it in black marker.

The Nerd flips it over curiously.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a good one! A wrestling game like no other!"

The Nerd spins around.

Micheal Graves stands there, arms spread and cape wide.

"Jesus Christ! Who the fuck are you?!"

"Micheal Graves. Often imitated, never duplicated, pro bone-crusher. Nice to meet you."

"How did you get in my basement?"

Graves looks around and quickly changes the subject.

"You collect a lotta shit."

"Shit? These are shitty games, not shit! Some of this stuff is incredibly rare!"

"So you collect rare shit?"

"You're goddamned right!"

He looks back at the cartridge.

"Okay. So, what the hell is Re-Cycle?"

Graves pulls out a folding chair from beneath his cape.

He unfolds it, and sits backward with his arms crossed over the backrest.

"Old wrestling game."

"A wrestling game? On the Game Boy? You just know it's gonna be shit!"

"Biggest game of 94."

The Nerd double-takes the cart.

"This looks like a prototype."

"Nah, it's a collector's edition."

Not a hint of a joke anywhere on his face.

"Okay, whatever. So what do you do in this game?"

"Run. Jump. Wrestle. And other stuff..."

"Sounds pretty basic."

"It's Game Boy, so yeah, it's basic, but this wrestling game is anything but standard."

The Nerd turns the cartridge over again.

"You said it's a wrestling game like no other, so what makes it so special?"

"You can't beat it."

"Because it's too difficult?"

"Nope. It's easy to pick up and play."

"Hmm... Let me guess. it's glitched? Like WWF No Mercy, where the game is always erasing your saves when playing the story mode."

Graves thinks about it.

"Kinda."

"So, what happens?"

"Just play it and find out. It's a blast. Promise!"

The Nerd slides the cartridge into the Game Boy and flips the power switch.

The Nintendo logo drops onto the screen.

[Image: cqdj8958gnq71.gif]

BING!

"Oh, good. It boots. We're already doing better than half the shit people send me to play!"

The screen flashes green.

A tiny pixelated Game Girl drops from the top of the screen and lands in front of a recycling symbol.

The title appears.


RE-CYCLE WRESTLING

BREAK THE CYCLE!

This time for sure!


"This time for sure?"

"Real confident game."

"It sounds like something you'd write on a condom wrapper after the first one broke."

"Writing is for pussies!"

The title music begins.


"Jesus Christ! It sounds like a smoke detector trying to play anime music!"

"Gets better."

"When?"

"Ain't tellin'. Play."

The Nerd presses start with a huff.

The screen fades into a locker room.

Game Girl stands alone in front of a mirror.


I have failed before...

I have lost focus...

I have walked away...

But this time will be different!


"Oh, great. The game starts with an apology."

"More of a warning."

The text continues.


I will break the cycle!

I will prove that I belong!

I will finally fight for myself!


"Finally? This is the first screen!"

"Game's got history."

"I don't! Why am I getting dropped into season eight of somebody else's emotional crisis?"

A giant arrow appears above the locker room door.


OBJECTIVE: REACH THE WRESTLING RING


"Okay! There we go. Reach the ring. Nice and simple."

The Nerd moves Game Girl toward the door.

Before she reaches it, a small farmer runs onto the screen.


GAME GIRL! MY CROPS ARE DYING!

NEW OBJECTIVE: SAVE THE FARM


"What? No! Fuck your crops! I'm going to wrestle!"

He tries to walk past the farmer.

Game Girl turns around on her own.

"I'm not doing that! The game's doing it for me!"

"She likes helpin' people."

"Then why give me the controller?!"

The screen shifts to a field.

The Nerd is forced to water rows of dead crops one square at a time.

"This is a wrestling game?"

"Eventually."

"I'm watering fucking corn in a wrestling game! What were they thinking!?"

"Character development."

"It's agriculture ass-work!"

After the final crop is watered, the farmer jumps up and down.


YOU SAVED MY FARM!

I BELIEVE IN YOU, GAME GIRL!


A meter appears beneath Game Girl's health bar.


FRIENDSHIP +1


"Friendship meter?"

"Oh yeah, that's very important!"

"Why do I need friendship in a wrestling game!?"

"Motivation!"

"She needs a farmer's approval to go wrestle?"

"Yup."

The Nerd finally guides Game Girl back toward the arena.

Three steps later, a wizard appears.


GAME GIRL! THE KINGDOM HAS LOST ALL PURPOSE!


"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

A dialogue box appears.


WILL YOU HELP?

> YES

ALSO YES


"Those are the same choice!"

"She made up her mind for you."

"Then stop asking me! Am I playing this game, or is it playing me!?"

The Nerd presses B.

Nothing happens.

"The cancel button doesn't cancel!? This is worse than Rambo for the NES where if you don't agree to the mission, Troutman just keeps asking!"

"Even the game knows there ain't no canceling what's comin'..."

The Nerd begrudgingly selects YES.

Game Girl is transported into a gray castle filled with unmoving villagers.

"Now what?"

A message scrolls across the bottom of the screen.


THE WORLD IS SAFE...

BUT NOBODY KNOWS WHAT TO DO NOW.

FIND THEM A NEW PURPOSE!


"What kind of objective is that?! How do I give an entire kingdom purpose on a Game Boy?!"

"Beats the hell outta me, just do what she does and leave."

The Nerd spends several minutes wandering around the castle, speaking to villagers who all repeat the same line.


WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?


"I don't know! Nothing! You're safe! Go get a fucking hobby!"

He enters the throne room where a witch sits alone.


YOU HAVE DONE ENOUGH, GAME GIRL.

GO LIVE YOUR LIFE.

LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER COME BACK.


"Finally! Someone in this game has common sense!"

Game Girl shakes her head.


BUT I CAN FIX THIS!


"No! You already fixed it! That's why nothing's happening!"

"Peace makes her nervous."

"Then what the hell was she fighting for?"

"Somethin' to fight for."

The Nerd slowly looks away from the screen.

"That doesn't make any fucking sense."

"Makes enough to her, I guess."

Game Girl suddenly teleports out of the castle and appears outside the wrestling arena.

"Oh, thank God."

The arena doors open.

Game Girl walks toward the ring.

A wrestler waits inside of it.

"Here we go! Actual wrestling!"

The bell rings.

The Nerd taps the buttons.

Game Girl throws a punch.

Then stops.


WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR?

> MY FRIENDS

MY TEAM

THE WORLD

MYSELF


"Why am I taking a personality quiz in the middle of a match?"

"Pick myself."

"That's what I was gonna pick!"

The Nerd selects MYSELF.

The screen freezes.


[Image: ezgif-6e26deb24568ec0f.gif]


"What?!"

"Told ya... glitches."

"The game gave me the option!"

"She gives herself that option too."

"Then why doesn't it work?!"

"Never has."

The opponent punches Game Girl in the face while the menu is still open.

"Hey! He can hit me during the fucking dialogue box?!"

The Nerd quickly selects MY FRIENDS.

The friendship meter fills.

Game Girl begins glowing.


COME BACK MODE ACTIVATED!


"Come back from what? The match just started!"

"She likes gettin' ahead of it."

Game Girl springs across the ring and unloads a flurry of attacks.

For the first time, the game actually looks good.

"Holy shit! She's kicking his ass!"

Game Girl knocks her opponent over the top rope.

The victory music plays.



YOU ALMOST WON!


"Almost? He's on the floor!"

The opponent reaches up, grabs Game Girl, and pulls her over the top rope.


SECOND PLACE!

THE CYCLE CONTINUES...


"WHAT THE FUCK?! I did everything right!"

"Best run she's had in years."

"She beat the guy!"

"Almost."

"The game fucking cheated!"

"Nah. You got her close though."

"Close doesn't mean shit!"

Graves deadpans the camera.

"Exactly."

Then back to the Nerd.

"Go to the next stage."

The Nerd presses start.


STAGE 2

KILL GAME BOY

Save the village!


"Save the village?"

He looks at Graves.

"Didn't she already save the village before the game started?"

"Yup."

"Then why am I saving it again?"

"Game needs to give you somethin' to do."

"I just want to wrestle! Let me wrestle!"

"You and me both, Nerd."

The screen shifts to the same gray village from before.

The villagers stand in the same places.


GAME BOY HAS RETURNED!

THE CYCLE CONTINUES!


"Returned? I haven't even met him yet!"

"She has."

"Oh, okay, but fuck me as the player, right?"

"The instruction manual has all the lore in it."

"Oh, so now you want me to read. Before I wrestle a match. In a wrestling game? FUUUUCK!"

"Game's got history."

Graves reaches beneath his cape and shoves an instruction manual into the Nerd's chest.

There's no cover. Just several loose pages held together by a single rusted staple.

"Oh, okay. Well, maybe this'll explain what the fuck is going on."

The Nerd opens it to the first page.

"Long before the events of Re-Cycle Wrestling, Game Girl fought Game Boy across seven kingdoms, three multiverses, two continuity reboots, and a Tiger Electronics game that may or may not still be canon."

He looks up.

"May or may not be canon? Are you kidding me!?"

He tears the pages in half.

"This isn't a backstory for a wrestler in a wrestling game! It's a fucking cursed continuity-fetish puzzle box nestled deep within a roadkill skunk's ASS!"

He shreds the rest and throws the pieces over his shoulder, behind the couch.

"Fuck it. I understand less now than I did before. I just want to punch something!"

"That's the spirit, Nerd! Keep playin'!"

The Nerd turns back to the game as Game Boy appears at the top of the screen beside a giant RESET button.


YOU WILL NEVER BREAK THE CYCLE!


"Alright, fine. Kill Game Boy on the Game Boy. Save the village... Again."

The Nerd runs Game Girl through the stage and reaches the boss.

Game Boy swings a sword.

The blade tears through Game Girl's chest.

"Jesus Christ!"

Her arm breaks at the elbow.

Game Girl drives the jagged stump straight through Game Boy's face.

"HOLY SHIT!"

Game Boy drops dead.


GAME BOY DEFEATED!

THE VILLAGE IS SAVED!
AGAIN!


"That was pretty fucking awesome!"

"Yup."

"So what did I actually accomplish?"

"Not much..."

The Game Boy chimes.


RETURN TO THE RING:

DEFEAT MICHEAL GRAVES


"Oh, hey! It's you!"

"Sure is."

A pixelated Graves stands in the center of the ring, cape stretched across the screen.

"Why is your cape taking up the whole screen?"

"Because I'm larger than life."

"Yeah? Your character looks like Dracula fucked a Mortal Kombat ninja in the dumpster behind a 7-Eleven."

"Just play the game, Nerd."

The bell rings.

The Nerd rushes Graves and unloads everything he has.

Punches. Kicks. A dropkick. A glowing one-armed uppercut that knocks Graves across the ring.

"Holy shit! She's destroying you!"

"Sure is. You play good."

Graves gets back up.

Game Girl knocks him down again.

He gets back up.

Nerd has her stab Graves in the face like Game Boy.

"HA! Fuck you!"

He gets back up.

"What the fuck!? Wait! Does this asshole even have a health bar?"

The Nerd pauses the game.

"No! He doesn't! Everybody else had one, why don't you?!"

"Never needed one."

"How am I supposed to know if I'm winning?"

"Ha, don't worry. You ain't."

The Nerd unpauses.

Graves grabs Game Girl and throws her halfway across the ring.

"Jesus!"

Her health bar drops by half.

"One move takes half of my health?!"

"Pro Bone-crusher, remember?"

The Nerd rolls away and fills the friendship meter with a rapid series of helpful side quest mini-games.

"Yeah. YEAH! WATER THAT CORN! URRRR! GIVE THAT VILLAGER PURPOSE! YEAH! OFFER EMOTIONAL SUPPORT TO GRANDPA WRESTLER! FUCK YEAH!"


FRIENDSHIP FULL!

COME BACK MODE READY!


"Okay! Comeback mode! Now we're talking!"

The Nerd presses both buttons.

The action stops.

Game Girl stands beneath a spotlight.


I HAVE BEEN KNOCKED DOWN BEFORE...


"Oh, not another fucking speech! JUST DO THE COMEBACK MOVE!"


I HAVE LOST...

I HAVE FAILED...

BUT I ALWAYS COME BACK STRONGER!


Video game Graves walks into the spotlight and punches her in the mouth.

"HE CAN HIT ME DURING THE COMEBACK?!"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it's a fucking cutscene, maybe?!"

"Yeah, I ain't watching all that."

The speech disappears and so does the friendship meter.

"You canceled the comeback!"

On screen, Game Girl slowly pushes herself up.

Graves is standing over her.

The Nerd mashes the buttons.

Game Girl catches Graves with a kick and launches into another long combo.

She knocks him down.

The victory music begins.


"There! I got you!"

Game Girl raises her arm in victory.


THE CYCLE IS BRO—


Graves sits up.

"Oh, come on!"

The victory music cuts off.

Graves gets to his feet and attacks Game Girl from behind.

"You can come back too?!"

"I always do."

"Then what makes you any different than her?!"

"What makes me different?

I don't need gettin' back up to mean something.

That's your mistake, Paige. Every time you fall, you turn it into a fuckin' origin story.

You were lost. You were hurt. You got distracted. You walked away. Then somebody reminds you how special you are, the music swells, she starts glowin', and back comes Game Girl.

New purpose. New promise.

Same girl.

Me? I ain't gonna lie and say every time I came back, I came back stronger. Sometimes I came back worse. Meaner. Dumber. More broken than I was when I left.

But I never came back pretendin' the damage made me better.

I know what I am.

I don't need no farmer to believe in me. I don't need no friends to give me purpose.

You're always something to somebody, but when it's just Paige standing there alone, you still don't know what she wants, or how to get it.

I know damn well what I'm fighting for.

It's to hurt whatever is standin' in front of me.

And right now, that'd be you.

You keep sayin' you're fighting for yourself now.

Nah.

You're just fighting for proof that you still matter.

I've disappeared too. I've walked away. I've been beaten, buried, forgotten, and dragged myself back into that ring more times than anybody can count.

But I don't pretend it's growth.

I don't put on a sad song and act like surviving myself makes me some hero.

You come back lookin' for proof that you've changed.

I come back 'cause I didn't.

I'm still the same rotten bastard I was before you learned how to turn all that pain into pretty lights.

Mmm... Look at you.

Focused.

Serious.

The best Game Girl anybody's seen in years.

Isaiah King still threw your ass on the floor.

Jenny Myst pinned you 1-2-3.

Yelena Gorgo made you bleed.

Every time you were... almost.

That's all your cycle really is.

Return.

Promise.

Almost.

Recycle.

You talk like the cycle is some monster that keeps happenin' to you.

But Game Boy's dead.

The village is safe.

The world stopped resetting.

And you're still runnin' in circles tryin' to figure out who you are and what you're really fighting for.

Maybe Game Boy wasn't the cycle.

Maybe you are.

You killed the big-bad and still couldn't sit with the ending, because a peace is the one place nobody needs Game Girl.

And if nobody needs Game Girl, then Paige has to figure out who the hell she is outside of it all, and you'd rather anything but stay and face those consequences.

Well, Paige, you finally found some consequences you can't walk away from.

Warfare.

No side quest to drag you somewhere else. No dying world to make you feel important. No friend to turn your fear into purpose.

Just a ring.

Me.

And every choice you made that brought you there.

You walked away when wrestling stopped givin' you what you needed. You came back when you needed it to make you feel whole again. You promised this time would be different, then stood on Mars and watched another man leave with your shit.

Now you're recycling that loss into yet another comeback.

But I ain't Isaiah King.

He left you with hope.

I'm gonna leave you with nothin' worth rebuilding.

You ain't no victim of a cycle.

You're a victim of Micheal Graves.

Because this time, when you hit the ground, I'll be there.

And when that energy lights up and the music begins to swell...

I'll be hitting you again.

And again.

And again.

Until I've beaten all of the comeback right outta you.

You wanted to know what makes me different, Nerd?

She came back to escape the consequences of her actions.

But I am those consequences personified.

And at Warfare, the consequences of every road that led her to me...

Will be Grave."

"You know what? This game fucking sucks!"

The Nerd jerks the cartridge out of the Game Boy.

"You spend the whole game saving people who were already saved, reading lore from games that don't exist, and fighting a boss you literally can't beat!"

He holds the cartridge between both hands.

"Well, I know how to break this cycle!"

He starts to bend it.

Graves catches him by the wrist.

"That's my job."

The Nerd looks at Graves. Then at the cartridge.

"Fine! You do the honors!"

The Nerd drops the game onto the floor.

Graves stomps down hard.


CRUNCH!


The cartridge cracks beneath his boot.

"There. Cycle's fuckin' broken!"

"Not yet it ain't."

Graves drops his tights around his ankles.

"Oh, no!"

Graves squats over the shattered cartridge.

"No, no, no! Don't you fucking—"

Graves grunts.

"OH, COME ON!"

A wet pile lands across what remains of RE-CYCLE.

Graves stands, pulls his tights back up, and admires his work.

[Image: hqdefault.jpg]

"Now the cycle's broken proper."

"You shit on my floor!"

"You collect rare shit, remember? Just sling it onto the shelf and forget about it like everyone else."


The Angry Video Game Nerd (AVGN) is created, written, and directed by James Rolfe.

AVGN
]]>




















Location: A cluttered basement.


[Image: NERD1.jpg]

"Wrestling games…"

He tosses the cart like trash.

"You'd think wrestling would be easy to turn into a video game. Two people beat the shit out of each other until one stops moving. That's practically every fighting game already."

Another cartridge gets thrown over his shoulder.

"But no! Half of them control like you're trying to wrestle under water with a fucking refrigerator strapped to your back and the other half have controls so complicated, every move feels like you're performing a fatality."

He reaches beneath a stack of instruction manuals and pulls out a gray Game Boy cartridge.

There's no artwork. No publisher. Just a strip of masking tape with "RE-CYCLE" written across it in black marker.

The Nerd flips it over curiously.

"What the hell is this?"

"It's a good one! A wrestling game like no other!"

The Nerd spins around.

Micheal Graves stands there, arms spread and cape wide.

"Jesus Christ! Who the fuck are you?!"

"Micheal Graves. Often imitated, never duplicated, pro bone-crusher. Nice to meet you."

"How did you get in my basement?"

Graves looks around and quickly changes the subject.

"You collect a lotta shit."

"Shit? These are shitty games, not shit! Some of this stuff is incredibly rare!"

"So you collect rare shit?"

"You're goddamned right!"

He looks back at the cartridge.

"Okay. So, what the hell is Re-Cycle?"

Graves pulls out a folding chair from beneath his cape.

He unfolds it, and sits backward with his arms crossed over the backrest.

"Old wrestling game."

"A wrestling game? On the Game Boy? You just know it's gonna be shit!"

"Biggest game of 94."

The Nerd double-takes the cart.

"This looks like a prototype."

"Nah, it's a collector's edition."

Not a hint of a joke anywhere on his face.

"Okay, whatever. So what do you do in this game?"

"Run. Jump. Wrestle. And other stuff..."

"Sounds pretty basic."

"It's Game Boy, so yeah, it's basic, but this wrestling game is anything but standard."

The Nerd turns the cartridge over again.

"You said it's a wrestling game like no other, so what makes it so special?"

"You can't beat it."

"Because it's too difficult?"

"Nope. It's easy to pick up and play."

"Hmm... Let me guess. it's glitched? Like WWF No Mercy, where the game is always erasing your saves when playing the story mode."

Graves thinks about it.

"Kinda."

"So, what happens?"

"Just play it and find out. It's a blast. Promise!"

The Nerd slides the cartridge into the Game Boy and flips the power switch.

The Nintendo logo drops onto the screen.

[Image: cqdj8958gnq71.gif]

BING!

"Oh, good. It boots. We're already doing better than half the shit people send me to play!"

The screen flashes green.

A tiny pixelated Game Girl drops from the top of the screen and lands in front of a recycling symbol.

The title appears.


RE-CYCLE WRESTLING

BREAK THE CYCLE!

This time for sure!


"This time for sure?"

"Real confident game."

"It sounds like something you'd write on a condom wrapper after the first one broke."

"Writing is for pussies!"

The title music begins.


"Jesus Christ! It sounds like a smoke detector trying to play anime music!"

"Gets better."

"When?"

"Ain't tellin'. Play."

The Nerd presses start with a huff.

The screen fades into a locker room.

Game Girl stands alone in front of a mirror.


I have failed before...

I have lost focus...

I have walked away...

But this time will be different!


"Oh, great. The game starts with an apology."

"More of a warning."

The text continues.


I will break the cycle!

I will prove that I belong!

I will finally fight for myself!


"Finally? This is the first screen!"

"Game's got history."

"I don't! Why am I getting dropped into season eight of somebody else's emotional crisis?"

A giant arrow appears above the locker room door.


OBJECTIVE: REACH THE WRESTLING RING


"Okay! There we go. Reach the ring. Nice and simple."

The Nerd moves Game Girl toward the door.

Before she reaches it, a small farmer runs onto the screen.


GAME GIRL! MY CROPS ARE DYING!

NEW OBJECTIVE: SAVE THE FARM


"What? No! Fuck your crops! I'm going to wrestle!"

He tries to walk past the farmer.

Game Girl turns around on her own.

"I'm not doing that! The game's doing it for me!"

"She likes helpin' people."

"Then why give me the controller?!"

The screen shifts to a field.

The Nerd is forced to water rows of dead crops one square at a time.

"This is a wrestling game?"

"Eventually."

"I'm watering fucking corn in a wrestling game! What were they thinking!?"

"Character development."

"It's agriculture ass-work!"

After the final crop is watered, the farmer jumps up and down.


YOU SAVED MY FARM!

I BELIEVE IN YOU, GAME GIRL!


A meter appears beneath Game Girl's health bar.


FRIENDSHIP +1


"Friendship meter?"

"Oh yeah, that's very important!"

"Why do I need friendship in a wrestling game!?"

"Motivation!"

"She needs a farmer's approval to go wrestle?"

"Yup."

The Nerd finally guides Game Girl back toward the arena.

Three steps later, a wizard appears.


GAME GIRL! THE KINGDOM HAS LOST ALL PURPOSE!


"Oh, go fuck yourself!"

A dialogue box appears.


WILL YOU HELP?

> YES

ALSO YES


"Those are the same choice!"

"She made up her mind for you."

"Then stop asking me! Am I playing this game, or is it playing me!?"

The Nerd presses B.

Nothing happens.

"The cancel button doesn't cancel!? This is worse than Rambo for the NES where if you don't agree to the mission, Troutman just keeps asking!"

"Even the game knows there ain't no canceling what's comin'..."

The Nerd begrudgingly selects YES.

Game Girl is transported into a gray castle filled with unmoving villagers.

"Now what?"

A message scrolls across the bottom of the screen.


THE WORLD IS SAFE...

BUT NOBODY KNOWS WHAT TO DO NOW.

FIND THEM A NEW PURPOSE!


"What kind of objective is that?! How do I give an entire kingdom purpose on a Game Boy?!"

"Beats the hell outta me, just do what she does and leave."

The Nerd spends several minutes wandering around the castle, speaking to villagers who all repeat the same line.


WHAT HAPPENS NEXT?


"I don't know! Nothing! You're safe! Go get a fucking hobby!"

He enters the throne room where a witch sits alone.


YOU HAVE DONE ENOUGH, GAME GIRL.

GO LIVE YOUR LIFE.

LEAVE THIS PLACE AND NEVER COME BACK.


"Finally! Someone in this game has common sense!"

Game Girl shakes her head.


BUT I CAN FIX THIS!


"No! You already fixed it! That's why nothing's happening!"

"Peace makes her nervous."

"Then what the hell was she fighting for?"

"Somethin' to fight for."

The Nerd slowly looks away from the screen.

"That doesn't make any fucking sense."

"Makes enough to her, I guess."

Game Girl suddenly teleports out of the castle and appears outside the wrestling arena.

"Oh, thank God."

The arena doors open.

Game Girl walks toward the ring.

A wrestler waits inside of it.

"Here we go! Actual wrestling!"

The bell rings.

The Nerd taps the buttons.

Game Girl throws a punch.

Then stops.


WHAT ARE YOU FIGHTING FOR?

> MY FRIENDS

MY TEAM

THE WORLD

MYSELF


"Why am I taking a personality quiz in the middle of a match?"

"Pick myself."

"That's what I was gonna pick!"

The Nerd selects MYSELF.

The screen freezes.


[Image: ezgif-6e26deb24568ec0f.gif]


"What?!"

"Told ya... glitches."

"The game gave me the option!"

"She gives herself that option too."

"Then why doesn't it work?!"

"Never has."

The opponent punches Game Girl in the face while the menu is still open.

"Hey! He can hit me during the fucking dialogue box?!"

The Nerd quickly selects MY FRIENDS.

The friendship meter fills.

Game Girl begins glowing.


COME BACK MODE ACTIVATED!


"Come back from what? The match just started!"

"She likes gettin' ahead of it."

Game Girl springs across the ring and unloads a flurry of attacks.

For the first time, the game actually looks good.

"Holy shit! She's kicking his ass!"

Game Girl knocks her opponent over the top rope.

The victory music plays.



YOU ALMOST WON!


"Almost? He's on the floor!"

The opponent reaches up, grabs Game Girl, and pulls her over the top rope.


SECOND PLACE!

THE CYCLE CONTINUES...


"WHAT THE FUCK?! I did everything right!"

"Best run she's had in years."

"She beat the guy!"

"Almost."

"The game fucking cheated!"

"Nah. You got her close though."

"Close doesn't mean shit!"

Graves deadpans the camera.

"Exactly."

Then back to the Nerd.

"Go to the next stage."

The Nerd presses start.


STAGE 2

KILL GAME BOY

Save the village!


"Save the village?"

He looks at Graves.

"Didn't she already save the village before the game started?"

"Yup."

"Then why am I saving it again?"

"Game needs to give you somethin' to do."

"I just want to wrestle! Let me wrestle!"

"You and me both, Nerd."

The screen shifts to the same gray village from before.

The villagers stand in the same places.


GAME BOY HAS RETURNED!

THE CYCLE CONTINUES!


"Returned? I haven't even met him yet!"

"She has."

"Oh, okay, but fuck me as the player, right?"

"The instruction manual has all the lore in it."

"Oh, so now you want me to read. Before I wrestle a match. In a wrestling game? FUUUUCK!"

"Game's got history."

Graves reaches beneath his cape and shoves an instruction manual into the Nerd's chest.

There's no cover. Just several loose pages held together by a single rusted staple.

"Oh, okay. Well, maybe this'll explain what the fuck is going on."

The Nerd opens it to the first page.

"Long before the events of Re-Cycle Wrestling, Game Girl fought Game Boy across seven kingdoms, three multiverses, two continuity reboots, and a Tiger Electronics game that may or may not still be canon."

He looks up.

"May or may not be canon? Are you kidding me!?"

He tears the pages in half.

"This isn't a backstory for a wrestler in a wrestling game! It's a fucking cursed continuity-fetish puzzle box nestled deep within a roadkill skunk's ASS!"

He shreds the rest and throws the pieces over his shoulder, behind the couch.

"Fuck it. I understand less now than I did before. I just want to punch something!"

"That's the spirit, Nerd! Keep playin'!"

The Nerd turns back to the game as Game Boy appears at the top of the screen beside a giant RESET button.


YOU WILL NEVER BREAK THE CYCLE!


"Alright, fine. Kill Game Boy on the Game Boy. Save the village... Again."

The Nerd runs Game Girl through the stage and reaches the boss.

Game Boy swings a sword.

The blade tears through Game Girl's chest.

"Jesus Christ!"

Her arm breaks at the elbow.

Game Girl drives the jagged stump straight through Game Boy's face.

"HOLY SHIT!"

Game Boy drops dead.


GAME BOY DEFEATED!

THE VILLAGE IS SAVED!
AGAIN!


"That was pretty fucking awesome!"

"Yup."

"So what did I actually accomplish?"

"Not much..."

The Game Boy chimes.


RETURN TO THE RING:

DEFEAT MICHEAL GRAVES


"Oh, hey! It's you!"

"Sure is."

A pixelated Graves stands in the center of the ring, cape stretched across the screen.

"Why is your cape taking up the whole screen?"

"Because I'm larger than life."

"Yeah? Your character looks like Dracula fucked a Mortal Kombat ninja in the dumpster behind a 7-Eleven."

"Just play the game, Nerd."

The bell rings.

The Nerd rushes Graves and unloads everything he has.

Punches. Kicks. A dropkick. A glowing one-armed uppercut that knocks Graves across the ring.

"Holy shit! She's destroying you!"

"Sure is. You play good."

Graves gets back up.

Game Girl knocks him down again.

He gets back up.

Nerd has her stab Graves in the face like Game Boy.

"HA! Fuck you!"

He gets back up.

"What the fuck!? Wait! Does this asshole even have a health bar?"

The Nerd pauses the game.

"No! He doesn't! Everybody else had one, why don't you?!"

"Never needed one."

"How am I supposed to know if I'm winning?"

"Ha, don't worry. You ain't."

The Nerd unpauses.

Graves grabs Game Girl and throws her halfway across the ring.

"Jesus!"

Her health bar drops by half.

"One move takes half of my health?!"

"Pro Bone-crusher, remember?"

The Nerd rolls away and fills the friendship meter with a rapid series of helpful side quest mini-games.

"Yeah. YEAH! WATER THAT CORN! URRRR! GIVE THAT VILLAGER PURPOSE! YEAH! OFFER EMOTIONAL SUPPORT TO GRANDPA WRESTLER! FUCK YEAH!"


FRIENDSHIP FULL!

COME BACK MODE READY!


"Okay! Comeback mode! Now we're talking!"

The Nerd presses both buttons.

The action stops.

Game Girl stands beneath a spotlight.


I HAVE BEEN KNOCKED DOWN BEFORE...


"Oh, not another fucking speech! JUST DO THE COMEBACK MOVE!"


I HAVE LOST...

I HAVE FAILED...

BUT I ALWAYS COME BACK STRONGER!


Video game Graves walks into the spotlight and punches her in the mouth.

"HE CAN HIT ME DURING THE COMEBACK?!"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Because it's a fucking cutscene, maybe?!"

"Yeah, I ain't watching all that."

The speech disappears and so does the friendship meter.

"You canceled the comeback!"

On screen, Game Girl slowly pushes herself up.

Graves is standing over her.

The Nerd mashes the buttons.

Game Girl catches Graves with a kick and launches into another long combo.

She knocks him down.

The victory music begins.


"There! I got you!"

Game Girl raises her arm in victory.


THE CYCLE IS BRO—


Graves sits up.

"Oh, come on!"

The victory music cuts off.

Graves gets to his feet and attacks Game Girl from behind.

"You can come back too?!"

"I always do."

"Then what makes you any different than her?!"

"What makes me different?

I don't need gettin' back up to mean something.

That's your mistake, Paige. Every time you fall, you turn it into a fuckin' origin story.

You were lost. You were hurt. You got distracted. You walked away. Then somebody reminds you how special you are, the music swells, she starts glowin', and back comes Game Girl.

New purpose. New promise.

Same girl.

Me? I ain't gonna lie and say every time I came back, I came back stronger. Sometimes I came back worse. Meaner. Dumber. More broken than I was when I left.

But I never came back pretendin' the damage made me better.

I know what I am.

I don't need no farmer to believe in me. I don't need no friends to give me purpose.

You're always something to somebody, but when it's just Paige standing there alone, you still don't know what she wants, or how to get it.

I know damn well what I'm fighting for.

It's to hurt whatever is standin' in front of me.

And right now, that'd be you.

You keep sayin' you're fighting for yourself now.

Nah.

You're just fighting for proof that you still matter.

I've disappeared too. I've walked away. I've been beaten, buried, forgotten, and dragged myself back into that ring more times than anybody can count.

But I don't pretend it's growth.

I don't put on a sad song and act like surviving myself makes me some hero.

You come back lookin' for proof that you've changed.

I come back 'cause I didn't.

I'm still the same rotten bastard I was before you learned how to turn all that pain into pretty lights.

Mmm... Look at you.

Focused.

Serious.

The best Game Girl anybody's seen in years.

Isaiah King still threw your ass on the floor.

Jenny Myst pinned you 1-2-3.

Yelena Gorgo made you bleed.

Every time you were... almost.

That's all your cycle really is.

Return.

Promise.

Almost.

Recycle.

You talk like the cycle is some monster that keeps happenin' to you.

But Game Boy's dead.

The village is safe.

The world stopped resetting.

And you're still runnin' in circles tryin' to figure out who you are and what you're really fighting for.

Maybe Game Boy wasn't the cycle.

Maybe you are.

You killed the big-bad and still couldn't sit with the ending, because a peace is the one place nobody needs Game Girl.

And if nobody needs Game Girl, then Paige has to figure out who the hell she is outside of it all, and you'd rather anything but stay and face those consequences.

Well, Paige, you finally found some consequences you can't walk away from.

Warfare.

No side quest to drag you somewhere else. No dying world to make you feel important. No friend to turn your fear into purpose.

Just a ring.

Me.

And every choice you made that brought you there.

You walked away when wrestling stopped givin' you what you needed. You came back when you needed it to make you feel whole again. You promised this time would be different, then stood on Mars and watched another man leave with your shit.

Now you're recycling that loss into yet another comeback.

But I ain't Isaiah King.

He left you with hope.

I'm gonna leave you with nothin' worth rebuilding.

You ain't no victim of a cycle.

You're a victim of Micheal Graves.

Because this time, when you hit the ground, I'll be there.

And when that energy lights up and the music begins to swell...

I'll be hitting you again.

And again.

And again.

Until I've beaten all of the comeback right outta you.

You wanted to know what makes me different, Nerd?

She came back to escape the consequences of her actions.

But I am those consequences personified.

And at Warfare, the consequences of every road that led her to me...

Will be Grave."

"You know what? This game fucking sucks!"

The Nerd jerks the cartridge out of the Game Boy.

"You spend the whole game saving people who were already saved, reading lore from games that don't exist, and fighting a boss you literally can't beat!"

He holds the cartridge between both hands.

"Well, I know how to break this cycle!"

He starts to bend it.

Graves catches him by the wrist.

"That's my job."

The Nerd looks at Graves. Then at the cartridge.

"Fine! You do the honors!"

The Nerd drops the game onto the floor.

Graves stomps down hard.


CRUNCH!


The cartridge cracks beneath his boot.

"There. Cycle's fuckin' broken!"

"Not yet it ain't."

Graves drops his tights around his ankles.

"Oh, no!"

Graves squats over the shattered cartridge.

"No, no, no! Don't you fucking—"

Graves grunts.

"OH, COME ON!"

A wet pile lands across what remains of RE-CYCLE.

Graves stands, pulls his tights back up, and admires his work.

[Image: hqdefault.jpg]

"Now the cycle's broken proper."

"You shit on my floor!"

"You collect rare shit, remember? Just sling it onto the shelf and forget about it like everyone else."


The Angry Video Game Nerd (AVGN) is created, written, and directed by James Rolfe.

AVGN
]]> <![CDATA[Rupture in a Moment]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50189 Sun, 14 Jun 2026 18:34:00 -0700 HeavensToBetsy]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50189 Lets Bond, Guys! ]]> Lets Bond, Guys! ]]> <![CDATA[Break In The Pattern]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50188 Sun, 14 Jun 2026 18:31:58 -0700 RemiStorm]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50188 The photograph had been sitting on Remi’s desk since she found it. Every time she passed it, her eyes found their way back to it. At first she had been convinced the answer would reveal itself if she simply looked hard enough. Then she had started researching. Old event posters. Archived websites. Records. Anything she could get her hands on. Most of it led nowhere.

That morning, with a half finished notebook filled with observations spread across her desk, she found herself staring at it once again. Her eyes drifted over it over the image for what had to be the thousandth time. Then stopped.

She frowned.

Slowly, she picked it up as her pulse quickened. How had she missed that. The image was old and faded, worn from handling, but now that she was looking at it from a different angle, something near the bottom of the ring apron caught her attention. Writing, almost impossible to make out.Remi grabbed her phone and switched on the flashlight, angling the beam across the glossy surface. Not much, just a few letters, cut off by the edge but enough to know it was there. Her heart began racing.

For the first time since the hooded man had handed her the package, she felt like she might be standing on the edge of a real answer. She examined it again, every detail as her thumb ran over the ever so slight indentations. She reached for her pen and started jotting down possibilities.

A flicker of movement outside caught her eye.

She paused and looked out the window. At first she thought it was just a reflection, then she saw it again. The air beyond the glass shimmered. The space itself seemed to ripple and distort. A familiar sound echoed faintly through the evening air. Her eyes widened. “No way…”

The shimmering intensified, and a blue light flashed. And suddenly a purple phone box materialized in her yard with all the subtlety of a train wreck.

Remi stared, the photograph forgotten in her hand.

Outside, the purple time ship known as Excellence sat proudly on the grass as though it belonged there. For along moment Remi remained frozen. One mystery in one hand, a time-travelling phone booth in the backyard. Eventually she laughed. She set the picture back down. The clue would still be there later. Excellence wouldn’t.

And if she had learned anything, it was that when Betsy arrived with Excellence, normal plans were about to become completely irrelevant.

Shaking her head, she pushed to her feet and headed towards the door.

The mystery could wait.

This couldn’t.

She opened the door and waved at Betsy, who was standing by her machine grinning.

[Image: divider.gif]

Life was always full of ups and downs.

The low of her life outside the ring being in shambles, overpowered by the high of winning the Television title against Bobby Bourbon, and now the arguable low of having to defend said title… against her two closest friends in the company.

Remi looks across the circle at Betsy, lustrous hair floating as she dipped down atop her steed. She rose again, then dropped as the carousel spun, unfiltered joy all over her face. Remi can’t help but smile herself, her thighs gripping the ornate saddle of her own ride.

“You know Bets, I think the easiest thing I could do right now is talk about friendship. I could tell everyone how much I care about you, how much respect I have for you, and how difficult it is knowing that when this match begins, one of the people standing between me and keeping the Television Championship is someone I genuinely love having in my life.

And every single one of those things would be true.

But thats not the only truth. Truths don’t stop when things become uncomfortable, or when the person standing across from you is your friend. It doesn’t stop because you’d rather say something nicer. And the truth, Betsy, is that I’ve spent months watching you and asking myself the same question over and over again.

It’s not whether you’re talented, tough or capable. I’ve never questioned any of those things.

The question I’ve been asking myself is why somebody with all of those gifts keeps finding herself back where she started.

See, I knew who you were before I ever got to the XWF. I knew the reputation and accomplishments. I saw the respect people have for you. And when I finally got the opportunity to come into the XWF and see for myself, I understood why.

You’re easy to root for and believe in. You’re the kind of person who makes people want to see you succeed. When I look at you I see somebody who should have been holding more championships. Somebody who fought through setbacks that would have broken other people.

But somewhere along the way talent and potential stopped being the question. The question became consistency.

I’ve been paying attention to you for far longer than you ever became aware of me. The last nine months or so, I’ve watched the same cycle play out over and over again.

You’ll build momentum, then something happens. I’m not sure what, but you take a step back. You lose ground. You have to rebuild and fight your way back, and then the momentum returns again. But before long, we’re right back at the beginning. You came back with an opportunity to remind everyone exactly who Betsy was. There have been moments you did exactly that. And then you trip. Not because you’re incapable. On your best day, you’re terrifying. On your best day you could beat almost anybody. Your best day could absolutely leave this match with my belt.

But is that the Betsy who is going to show up?

The best Betsy?

Championships aren’t built on best days. It’s when you can be that person over and over again. Reliability. Knowing exactly who is going to show up every time the lights come on and your music hits. If we’re being honest Bets, that’s been your biggest battle since coming back. Not your opponents, by all accounts you could have eaten them all alive.

It’s yourself.

Everytime it seems like you’ve finally grabbed ahold of something, it slips away again. You rise and fall just like this carousel. You had a chance at the Universal and fumbled. You were the Revolution Champion, and now you’re not. You were one of the final competitors in the Leap of Faith match, and that’s something to be proud of. It is. But it was another missed opportunity in a long line of them. Bad days happen, but the frequency begs the question: why? What is going on with you? What is running through your mind? What is taking the Impossible Traveler off her game? Why all the losses?

What’s taking your focus off your game?

And that makes this difficult Betsy. Because under any other circumstances, I’d be rooting for you. I’d be the one trying to help you find yourself. The one pointing out the things you’re doing right where all you can see are the things that went wrong. That’s what friends do. I want you to find the success that’s been slipping through your fingers. I want you to become that shooting star I know you deserve to be.

Just not at my expense.

I’m sorry if that sounds selfish but this championship means too much to me to pretend otherwise. I’m holding it and I’m defending it, and I’m not ready to let that go. I’m bringing my all to this match, and I’m taking it very seriously. Because if your best version shows up, I know exactly whats waiting for me. The only thing I can do is make sure the best version of me shows up too, like I have been doing. Hope that when we are all standing in that ring giving everything we have, that I’m the one left standing in the end.

I fully believe you’re going to be sprinting towards this opportunity before you figured out why the last one slipped away. You had the gold, and then you lost it… and before the dust completely settled, another championship was suddenly hanging right in front of you. You’re going to be out looking to make an example out of me, to prove that you’ve still got it. But you know what I think Bets? I think you’re starving, and starving people don’t always make smart decisions. They grab for the first thing they see. You’re hoping this is going to be your next high, looking at the belt like your redemption to your loss against Summer Page.

I look at this championship and see something I fought for. Something I earned and worked for. A dream that became reality for me.

Maybe thats the difference between us. Not talent, not heart, and not even ability. Maybe the difference is that I’ve already figured out what drives me. I know what i’m fighting for. I know exactly what I’m willing to sacrifice to keep this championship

I might be a rookie and new to XWF, but you’re playing with someone who already knows what version is showing up when the bell rings. And that’s a dangerous thing for anybody standing across from me… and unfortunately Bets… thats you this week.

If I have my way, you won’t be finding me your ladder rung back up. I hate to do this to you Bets, but I’m going to have to leave you scrambling in the dirt, wondering where you went wrong this time. Another loss along your path.

I’m not going to be the back you step on to try and return to the top.”

The carousel slowed gradually, the cheerful music softening as the painted animals rose and fell one final time before settling into place. Remi remained seated on her pink pegasus for a moment longer, one hand resting against the polished gold pole as her words lingered in the air. Chocolate orbs drifted across the ride once more.

Betsy was sliding from atop the deep purple dragon, its fierce and snarling facade a deep contrast to its grinning rider. But Remi knew that very same nature lurked beneath the surface of her friend.

Then her gaze shifted beyond her, where Rowan was seated several rows back astride a silver wolf. The choice suited him perfectly. The wolf’s expression looked almost stoic, and Rowan wasn’t much different. At least on the surface. His posture was relaxed, his face carrying the same thoughtful expression he seemed to wear most of the time. But his eyes were different. They sparkled with amusement.

The ride came to a complete stop and around them, children immediately began scrambling toward the exits while parents gathered strollers and souvenirs. The atmosphere shifted from gentle movement to excited chaos in seconds. Remi swung one leg over the side of the pegasus and hopped lightly onto the platform below. The three of them naturally gravitated back together near the carousel exit. Betsy was stretching her arms overhead and Rowan had his hands tucked comfortably into his pockets as they turned as one and started sauntering away. “So,” Remi said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s next?”

“Rollercoaster.” Betsy answered as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask.

Rowan glanced at her with a smile. “You didn’t even think about that.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since before we got here.”

“I’m pretty fond of the gravity wheel.”

Remi nods approvingly. “Well for the record, I was thinking bumper cars.”

“Bumper cars?”

“I’ll have you know that controlled vehicular chaos is a highly respected art form.” That earned a chuckle from Rowan. “But,” Remi continued, raising both hands in surrender. “I picked the carousel. We can do what you two want first.”

“A rollercoaster is the correct answer.”

Rowan folded his arms thoughtfully. “I like rollercoasters.”

Betsy looked victorious. “See?”

“I didn’t say it was better than the gravity wheel.”

“Too late. You already agreed with me.”

Rowan sighed, but grinned.

Remi’s own smile widened. “Sounds like we got a winner.”

As the discussion continued, she found herself watching her friends. Betsy attacked decisions the same way she attacked opportunities. Passionately, without hesitation. If something excited her she went for it. Rowan approached everything differently. He listened and considered, measured it, then offered his thoughts. Despite herself, Remi found her brain cataloging those differences. Observation had become a second nature long ago. She liked understanding what made people tick. That same curiosity had led to her spending time with Cashe before their match… turning a championship dream into a reality. It had served her well in every match since. And very well might in this instance as well.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she fell into step beside them and followed the flow of the crowd deeper into the park. The day was still young with plenty of things to do, memories to make. And whether they realized it or not, every single moment was teaching her something.

Remi had always been a very good student.

[Image: divider.gif]

Rowan had been missing for nearly thirty minutes.

The girls had come out of the restroom to no sign of him. They had checked gift shops, food stands, nearby rides, and everywhere they thought he might be.

Nothing.

Eventually, after exhausting every single reasonable possibility, Betsy shrugs. “Maybe ge got abducted by aliens.”

Remi snorts. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

Remi considers that. Given she had just teleported via Excellence and recently found that vampires and other supernaturals existed, maybe it wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibilities. “.........Fair.” She goes to speak more and catches the change in Betsy’s expression. It had gone from joking to serious concern. Remi tries to shake off the unease that slides along her spine. What could have a woman like Betsy looking like that? A second later, her friend’s features transform back after one last glance at the sky. With no better options available, they eventually join the line for one of the larger rollercoasters in the park. Naturally, the universe decided to make things more complicated as soon as they got to the front.

The attendant pointed towards an empty seat. “We need one rider.”

Betsy looked at Remi.

Remi looked at Betsy.

Betsy stepped forward, calling over her shoulder. “Good luck!” Before Remi could protest, her friend was escorted onto the departing train.

A few minutes later, Remi found herself climbing into the next one alone..The safety bar locked into place with a heavy click. The train lurched forward and slowly began climbing. As the first hill stretched endlessly toward the sky, Remi found herself thinking about Rowan and musing outloud.

“Rowan, with you there’s a level of understanding that comes from standing across the ring fromone another and finding out exactly what kind of person is looking back at you. Before we ever became friends and spent time together outside wrestling, we did the thing that matters the most in this business.

We fought.

And when you fight somebody, you learn things about them. You learn who they are when things get difficult and the pressure starts building. You learn who they are when the easy answers stop working. That’s why I’ve always respected you, and even more so after our match. You’re methodical. Patient. You pay attention. The funny thing is, I don’t think enough people realize how dangerous that is. Everybody notices the people who walk into a room and make sure the entire world knows they’re there. People like you don’t operate that way. You watch and listen, build a picture before making your move.

In a lot of ways I recognize that quality. I’ve built a lot of my success the same way. By noticing details and understanding things other people overlook. That’s why I studied you before our match. I knew I had to. I wasn’t stepping in with somebody reckless. I was going in with somebody capable of adapting who would challenge me.

And thats exactly what happened.

You pushed me. You made me work for every second of that victory. But we got in there together and I found a way to win. I know how dangerous you are. I also know what it takes to beat you. I stood in the fire with you once and walked out the other side.

Some people would look at the result and think the story was over.

I didn’t.

One match doesn’t guarantee the next one.

I’m not complacent or comfortable, and I’m certainly not about to underestimate you. If anything it does the opposite because I know what I’m dealing with.

I’ve watched the way you responded and carried yourself forward. You took a setback and kept going. After our match you earned a victory, and then took a tumble in the Leap of Faith match. After our match, I beat Jordan Penn and his six cronies and then Bourbon to get the TV title. Then our roads crossed once again, and this championship represents something different to each of us.

For you, it’s something you’re trying to win.

For me, it’s something I’m trying to protect.

Two very different mindsets. I’m not hoping I’ll be a champion.

I am one.

And I’m coming in determined to stay one.

It changes how you prepare and how you think. How you approach every challenge in front of you. Make no mistake Rowan, I see you as a challenge. A serious one. I’d actually be disappointed if you hadn’t been studying me looking for weaknesses. That’s what competitors do. Problem is, I’ve been doing the exact same thing.

Now I’m walking into this match with something neither of us had the last time we faced each other: Purpose. The kind that comes from achieving a dream and knowing exactly whats at stake. The kind that makes you willing to fight a little bit harder, dig a little deeper, and refuse to let go when everything starts hurting.

I respect you far too much to underestimate you, but I’m not afraid of you. I’ve already survived you once, and since then, I’ve only become more focused, more experienced, and more determined to hold onto everything I’ve worked for.

Since the day i arrived I’ve done nothing but climb. Not without challenges but every obstacle has pushed me forward. Every step has brought me closer to the woman I wanted to become. Meanwhile, you stumbled in our match, fought to regain your footing, and then lose momentum again. I know you always find a way to get up, that’s admirable. But Rowan, there’s a difference between recovering lost ground and taking new ground and right now, we ‘re standing on opposite sides of that line.

You’re searching for your next breakthrough and I’m living mine.

I think you’ll find your footing again, I genuinely do… just not with me. I worked too hard for everything I have to become somebody else’s redemption story. I worked too hard to get this championship to watch my reign become the moment somebody else gets their confidence back.

Maybe that sounds harsh but champions don’t stay champions by apologizing for wanting to keep what they earned.

Last time you made me fight for every inch. You forced me to be better. And honestly? I expect this time to be even harder. But understand something, the tougher you become the tougher I’m willing to become. And when the bell rings, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure history repeats itself.

Because I’m fighting for my future.

I know you’ll find your footing again Rowan.

But it isn’t happening here. Because if you’re looking for solid ground, you’re looking in the wrong place. The moment you step into the ring with me, the ground starts shaking.

I love you both dearly, and I’d do anything for you…

Except roll over.”

By that time, the coaster had reached the top and she spent a moment, hanging there, looking into nothing.

Then the drop came.

The world vanished into wind, speed and screaming. A sharp turn sideways. “OOF!” Her ribs collided with the metal side. The coaster climbed another hill. Remi groaned dramatically as it peaks and drops again, heading for another curve. Remi braces herself as the train banked sharply, ready for the assault on her side. But instead of colliding with hard metal again…

She slams against something warm and yielding.

“OOF!”

Her eyes snap to the side.

Rowan sat beside her.

His eyes met hers, just as confused. And then he smiles. She gapes at him. Neither say anything, there was no time as the coaster drops again and they both screamed.

The wind tore through their hair as the train dove down the tracks. Without thinking, Remi grabs the first thing she could reach, which happened to be Rowan’s arm, setting him off laughing. At some point, she starts laughing too.

By the time the coaster finally rolled back into the station, both of them were breathless.

“Woohoo!” She releases her grip on his arm.

“Wow! That was fun, even though I only got to do half of it!”

“Yeah, how the hell did you…” Remi shoves hair out of her face and turns to find the seat next to her completely empty. “..........annnnnnnnnd he’s gone.”

A minute later she stumbled off the ride and spotted Betsy waiting near the exit, she rushes towards Remi.

“Did you see that?!” at the same time as “How did Rowan get on there with you?!”

They stared at each other. Then stared at the coaster. Then slowly looked up towards the sky.

Another mystery.


[Image: divider.gif]


Later, Remi sat alone on the ferris wheel with her thoughts, taking in the colorful lights as they twinkled to life in the impending darkness. The craziness of her life, traveling through a time vortex, vampires, possible aliens poofing her friend. What else was waiting for her?

“When you’re chasing a championship, all you can see is the top. You look at the mountain and convince yourself that if you just work a little harder, sacrifice a little more, everything will finally make sense. The dream feels different when it’s still out of reach. But when you’re holding a championship?

All you can see is how far you can fall.

The realization that everybody is looking at what you have and imagining it belongs to them. Friends. Rivals. Strangers. It doesn’t matter. The moment you become champion, you stop being the hunter and become the hunter.

And the funny thing is… I love it.

Every damn second of it.

Because this isn’t just for me. It’s for the little girl who fell in love with wrestling. The one who watched champions and dreamed about what it might feel that proved all the work was worth it. I found out when I won the Prestige off Cashe. I was willing to fight a friend to get it.

Now I have Television title… and I’m going to be fighting my friends to keep it.

Not because I love them any less… but because I love this too.

I know that sometimes I’m not the strongest or most athletic in the ring. I’ve never pretended otherwise.

What I am is dangerous.

The kind of dangerous that watches, listens, learns and remembers. Even when the people I’m studying are people I care about.

Especially them.

The view is beautiful from up here.

And I’m not ready to come down.”]]> The photograph had been sitting on Remi’s desk since she found it. Every time she passed it, her eyes found their way back to it. At first she had been convinced the answer would reveal itself if she simply looked hard enough. Then she had started researching. Old event posters. Archived websites. Records. Anything she could get her hands on. Most of it led nowhere.

That morning, with a half finished notebook filled with observations spread across her desk, she found herself staring at it once again. Her eyes drifted over it over the image for what had to be the thousandth time. Then stopped.

She frowned.

Slowly, she picked it up as her pulse quickened. How had she missed that. The image was old and faded, worn from handling, but now that she was looking at it from a different angle, something near the bottom of the ring apron caught her attention. Writing, almost impossible to make out.Remi grabbed her phone and switched on the flashlight, angling the beam across the glossy surface. Not much, just a few letters, cut off by the edge but enough to know it was there. Her heart began racing.

For the first time since the hooded man had handed her the package, she felt like she might be standing on the edge of a real answer. She examined it again, every detail as her thumb ran over the ever so slight indentations. She reached for her pen and started jotting down possibilities.

A flicker of movement outside caught her eye.

She paused and looked out the window. At first she thought it was just a reflection, then she saw it again. The air beyond the glass shimmered. The space itself seemed to ripple and distort. A familiar sound echoed faintly through the evening air. Her eyes widened. “No way…”

The shimmering intensified, and a blue light flashed. And suddenly a purple phone box materialized in her yard with all the subtlety of a train wreck.

Remi stared, the photograph forgotten in her hand.

Outside, the purple time ship known as Excellence sat proudly on the grass as though it belonged there. For along moment Remi remained frozen. One mystery in one hand, a time-travelling phone booth in the backyard. Eventually she laughed. She set the picture back down. The clue would still be there later. Excellence wouldn’t.

And if she had learned anything, it was that when Betsy arrived with Excellence, normal plans were about to become completely irrelevant.

Shaking her head, she pushed to her feet and headed towards the door.

The mystery could wait.

This couldn’t.

She opened the door and waved at Betsy, who was standing by her machine grinning.

[Image: divider.gif]

Life was always full of ups and downs.

The low of her life outside the ring being in shambles, overpowered by the high of winning the Television title against Bobby Bourbon, and now the arguable low of having to defend said title… against her two closest friends in the company.

Remi looks across the circle at Betsy, lustrous hair floating as she dipped down atop her steed. She rose again, then dropped as the carousel spun, unfiltered joy all over her face. Remi can’t help but smile herself, her thighs gripping the ornate saddle of her own ride.

“You know Bets, I think the easiest thing I could do right now is talk about friendship. I could tell everyone how much I care about you, how much respect I have for you, and how difficult it is knowing that when this match begins, one of the people standing between me and keeping the Television Championship is someone I genuinely love having in my life.

And every single one of those things would be true.

But thats not the only truth. Truths don’t stop when things become uncomfortable, or when the person standing across from you is your friend. It doesn’t stop because you’d rather say something nicer. And the truth, Betsy, is that I’ve spent months watching you and asking myself the same question over and over again.

It’s not whether you’re talented, tough or capable. I’ve never questioned any of those things.

The question I’ve been asking myself is why somebody with all of those gifts keeps finding herself back where she started.

See, I knew who you were before I ever got to the XWF. I knew the reputation and accomplishments. I saw the respect people have for you. And when I finally got the opportunity to come into the XWF and see for myself, I understood why.

You’re easy to root for and believe in. You’re the kind of person who makes people want to see you succeed. When I look at you I see somebody who should have been holding more championships. Somebody who fought through setbacks that would have broken other people.

But somewhere along the way talent and potential stopped being the question. The question became consistency.

I’ve been paying attention to you for far longer than you ever became aware of me. The last nine months or so, I’ve watched the same cycle play out over and over again.

You’ll build momentum, then something happens. I’m not sure what, but you take a step back. You lose ground. You have to rebuild and fight your way back, and then the momentum returns again. But before long, we’re right back at the beginning. You came back with an opportunity to remind everyone exactly who Betsy was. There have been moments you did exactly that. And then you trip. Not because you’re incapable. On your best day, you’re terrifying. On your best day you could beat almost anybody. Your best day could absolutely leave this match with my belt.

But is that the Betsy who is going to show up?

The best Betsy?

Championships aren’t built on best days. It’s when you can be that person over and over again. Reliability. Knowing exactly who is going to show up every time the lights come on and your music hits. If we’re being honest Bets, that’s been your biggest battle since coming back. Not your opponents, by all accounts you could have eaten them all alive.

It’s yourself.

Everytime it seems like you’ve finally grabbed ahold of something, it slips away again. You rise and fall just like this carousel. You had a chance at the Universal and fumbled. You were the Revolution Champion, and now you’re not. You were one of the final competitors in the Leap of Faith match, and that’s something to be proud of. It is. But it was another missed opportunity in a long line of them. Bad days happen, but the frequency begs the question: why? What is going on with you? What is running through your mind? What is taking the Impossible Traveler off her game? Why all the losses?

What’s taking your focus off your game?

And that makes this difficult Betsy. Because under any other circumstances, I’d be rooting for you. I’d be the one trying to help you find yourself. The one pointing out the things you’re doing right where all you can see are the things that went wrong. That’s what friends do. I want you to find the success that’s been slipping through your fingers. I want you to become that shooting star I know you deserve to be.

Just not at my expense.

I’m sorry if that sounds selfish but this championship means too much to me to pretend otherwise. I’m holding it and I’m defending it, and I’m not ready to let that go. I’m bringing my all to this match, and I’m taking it very seriously. Because if your best version shows up, I know exactly whats waiting for me. The only thing I can do is make sure the best version of me shows up too, like I have been doing. Hope that when we are all standing in that ring giving everything we have, that I’m the one left standing in the end.

I fully believe you’re going to be sprinting towards this opportunity before you figured out why the last one slipped away. You had the gold, and then you lost it… and before the dust completely settled, another championship was suddenly hanging right in front of you. You’re going to be out looking to make an example out of me, to prove that you’ve still got it. But you know what I think Bets? I think you’re starving, and starving people don’t always make smart decisions. They grab for the first thing they see. You’re hoping this is going to be your next high, looking at the belt like your redemption to your loss against Summer Page.

I look at this championship and see something I fought for. Something I earned and worked for. A dream that became reality for me.

Maybe thats the difference between us. Not talent, not heart, and not even ability. Maybe the difference is that I’ve already figured out what drives me. I know what i’m fighting for. I know exactly what I’m willing to sacrifice to keep this championship

I might be a rookie and new to XWF, but you’re playing with someone who already knows what version is showing up when the bell rings. And that’s a dangerous thing for anybody standing across from me… and unfortunately Bets… thats you this week.

If I have my way, you won’t be finding me your ladder rung back up. I hate to do this to you Bets, but I’m going to have to leave you scrambling in the dirt, wondering where you went wrong this time. Another loss along your path.

I’m not going to be the back you step on to try and return to the top.”

The carousel slowed gradually, the cheerful music softening as the painted animals rose and fell one final time before settling into place. Remi remained seated on her pink pegasus for a moment longer, one hand resting against the polished gold pole as her words lingered in the air. Chocolate orbs drifted across the ride once more.

Betsy was sliding from atop the deep purple dragon, its fierce and snarling facade a deep contrast to its grinning rider. But Remi knew that very same nature lurked beneath the surface of her friend.

Then her gaze shifted beyond her, where Rowan was seated several rows back astride a silver wolf. The choice suited him perfectly. The wolf’s expression looked almost stoic, and Rowan wasn’t much different. At least on the surface. His posture was relaxed, his face carrying the same thoughtful expression he seemed to wear most of the time. But his eyes were different. They sparkled with amusement.

The ride came to a complete stop and around them, children immediately began scrambling toward the exits while parents gathered strollers and souvenirs. The atmosphere shifted from gentle movement to excited chaos in seconds. Remi swung one leg over the side of the pegasus and hopped lightly onto the platform below. The three of them naturally gravitated back together near the carousel exit. Betsy was stretching her arms overhead and Rowan had his hands tucked comfortably into his pockets as they turned as one and started sauntering away. “So,” Remi said, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What’s next?”

“Rollercoaster.” Betsy answered as if she’d been waiting for someone to ask.

Rowan glanced at her with a smile. “You didn’t even think about that.”

“I’ve been thinking about it since before we got here.”

“I’m pretty fond of the gravity wheel.”

Remi nods approvingly. “Well for the record, I was thinking bumper cars.”

“Bumper cars?”

“I’ll have you know that controlled vehicular chaos is a highly respected art form.” That earned a chuckle from Rowan. “But,” Remi continued, raising both hands in surrender. “I picked the carousel. We can do what you two want first.”

“A rollercoaster is the correct answer.”

Rowan folded his arms thoughtfully. “I like rollercoasters.”

Betsy looked victorious. “See?”

“I didn’t say it was better than the gravity wheel.”

“Too late. You already agreed with me.”

Rowan sighed, but grinned.

Remi’s own smile widened. “Sounds like we got a winner.”

As the discussion continued, she found herself watching her friends. Betsy attacked decisions the same way she attacked opportunities. Passionately, without hesitation. If something excited her she went for it. Rowan approached everything differently. He listened and considered, measured it, then offered his thoughts. Despite herself, Remi found her brain cataloging those differences. Observation had become a second nature long ago. She liked understanding what made people tick. That same curiosity had led to her spending time with Cashe before their match… turning a championship dream into a reality. It had served her well in every match since. And very well might in this instance as well.

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth as she fell into step beside them and followed the flow of the crowd deeper into the park. The day was still young with plenty of things to do, memories to make. And whether they realized it or not, every single moment was teaching her something.

Remi had always been a very good student.

[Image: divider.gif]

Rowan had been missing for nearly thirty minutes.

The girls had come out of the restroom to no sign of him. They had checked gift shops, food stands, nearby rides, and everywhere they thought he might be.

Nothing.

Eventually, after exhausting every single reasonable possibility, Betsy shrugs. “Maybe ge got abducted by aliens.”

Remi snorts. “That’s ridiculous.”

“Is it?”

Remi considers that. Given she had just teleported via Excellence and recently found that vampires and other supernaturals existed, maybe it wasn’t so far out of the realm of possibilities. “.........Fair.” She goes to speak more and catches the change in Betsy’s expression. It had gone from joking to serious concern. Remi tries to shake off the unease that slides along her spine. What could have a woman like Betsy looking like that? A second later, her friend’s features transform back after one last glance at the sky. With no better options available, they eventually join the line for one of the larger rollercoasters in the park. Naturally, the universe decided to make things more complicated as soon as they got to the front.

The attendant pointed towards an empty seat. “We need one rider.”

Betsy looked at Remi.

Remi looked at Betsy.

Betsy stepped forward, calling over her shoulder. “Good luck!” Before Remi could protest, her friend was escorted onto the departing train.

A few minutes later, Remi found herself climbing into the next one alone..The safety bar locked into place with a heavy click. The train lurched forward and slowly began climbing. As the first hill stretched endlessly toward the sky, Remi found herself thinking about Rowan and musing outloud.

“Rowan, with you there’s a level of understanding that comes from standing across the ring fromone another and finding out exactly what kind of person is looking back at you. Before we ever became friends and spent time together outside wrestling, we did the thing that matters the most in this business.

We fought.

And when you fight somebody, you learn things about them. You learn who they are when things get difficult and the pressure starts building. You learn who they are when the easy answers stop working. That’s why I’ve always respected you, and even more so after our match. You’re methodical. Patient. You pay attention. The funny thing is, I don’t think enough people realize how dangerous that is. Everybody notices the people who walk into a room and make sure the entire world knows they’re there. People like you don’t operate that way. You watch and listen, build a picture before making your move.

In a lot of ways I recognize that quality. I’ve built a lot of my success the same way. By noticing details and understanding things other people overlook. That’s why I studied you before our match. I knew I had to. I wasn’t stepping in with somebody reckless. I was going in with somebody capable of adapting who would challenge me.

And thats exactly what happened.

You pushed me. You made me work for every second of that victory. But we got in there together and I found a way to win. I know how dangerous you are. I also know what it takes to beat you. I stood in the fire with you once and walked out the other side.

Some people would look at the result and think the story was over.

I didn’t.

One match doesn’t guarantee the next one.

I’m not complacent or comfortable, and I’m certainly not about to underestimate you. If anything it does the opposite because I know what I’m dealing with.

I’ve watched the way you responded and carried yourself forward. You took a setback and kept going. After our match you earned a victory, and then took a tumble in the Leap of Faith match. After our match, I beat Jordan Penn and his six cronies and then Bourbon to get the TV title. Then our roads crossed once again, and this championship represents something different to each of us.

For you, it’s something you’re trying to win.

For me, it’s something I’m trying to protect.

Two very different mindsets. I’m not hoping I’ll be a champion.

I am one.

And I’m coming in determined to stay one.

It changes how you prepare and how you think. How you approach every challenge in front of you. Make no mistake Rowan, I see you as a challenge. A serious one. I’d actually be disappointed if you hadn’t been studying me looking for weaknesses. That’s what competitors do. Problem is, I’ve been doing the exact same thing.

Now I’m walking into this match with something neither of us had the last time we faced each other: Purpose. The kind that comes from achieving a dream and knowing exactly whats at stake. The kind that makes you willing to fight a little bit harder, dig a little deeper, and refuse to let go when everything starts hurting.

I respect you far too much to underestimate you, but I’m not afraid of you. I’ve already survived you once, and since then, I’ve only become more focused, more experienced, and more determined to hold onto everything I’ve worked for.

Since the day i arrived I’ve done nothing but climb. Not without challenges but every obstacle has pushed me forward. Every step has brought me closer to the woman I wanted to become. Meanwhile, you stumbled in our match, fought to regain your footing, and then lose momentum again. I know you always find a way to get up, that’s admirable. But Rowan, there’s a difference between recovering lost ground and taking new ground and right now, we ‘re standing on opposite sides of that line.

You’re searching for your next breakthrough and I’m living mine.

I think you’ll find your footing again, I genuinely do… just not with me. I worked too hard for everything I have to become somebody else’s redemption story. I worked too hard to get this championship to watch my reign become the moment somebody else gets their confidence back.

Maybe that sounds harsh but champions don’t stay champions by apologizing for wanting to keep what they earned.

Last time you made me fight for every inch. You forced me to be better. And honestly? I expect this time to be even harder. But understand something, the tougher you become the tougher I’m willing to become. And when the bell rings, I’m prepared to do whatever it takes to make sure history repeats itself.

Because I’m fighting for my future.

I know you’ll find your footing again Rowan.

But it isn’t happening here. Because if you’re looking for solid ground, you’re looking in the wrong place. The moment you step into the ring with me, the ground starts shaking.

I love you both dearly, and I’d do anything for you…

Except roll over.”

By that time, the coaster had reached the top and she spent a moment, hanging there, looking into nothing.

Then the drop came.

The world vanished into wind, speed and screaming. A sharp turn sideways. “OOF!” Her ribs collided with the metal side. The coaster climbed another hill. Remi groaned dramatically as it peaks and drops again, heading for another curve. Remi braces herself as the train banked sharply, ready for the assault on her side. But instead of colliding with hard metal again…

She slams against something warm and yielding.

“OOF!”

Her eyes snap to the side.

Rowan sat beside her.

His eyes met hers, just as confused. And then he smiles. She gapes at him. Neither say anything, there was no time as the coaster drops again and they both screamed.

The wind tore through their hair as the train dove down the tracks. Without thinking, Remi grabs the first thing she could reach, which happened to be Rowan’s arm, setting him off laughing. At some point, she starts laughing too.

By the time the coaster finally rolled back into the station, both of them were breathless.

“Woohoo!” She releases her grip on his arm.

“Wow! That was fun, even though I only got to do half of it!”

“Yeah, how the hell did you…” Remi shoves hair out of her face and turns to find the seat next to her completely empty. “..........annnnnnnnnd he’s gone.”

A minute later she stumbled off the ride and spotted Betsy waiting near the exit, she rushes towards Remi.

“Did you see that?!” at the same time as “How did Rowan get on there with you?!”

They stared at each other. Then stared at the coaster. Then slowly looked up towards the sky.

Another mystery.


[Image: divider.gif]


Later, Remi sat alone on the ferris wheel with her thoughts, taking in the colorful lights as they twinkled to life in the impending darkness. The craziness of her life, traveling through a time vortex, vampires, possible aliens poofing her friend. What else was waiting for her?

“When you’re chasing a championship, all you can see is the top. You look at the mountain and convince yourself that if you just work a little harder, sacrifice a little more, everything will finally make sense. The dream feels different when it’s still out of reach. But when you’re holding a championship?

All you can see is how far you can fall.

The realization that everybody is looking at what you have and imagining it belongs to them. Friends. Rivals. Strangers. It doesn’t matter. The moment you become champion, you stop being the hunter and become the hunter.

And the funny thing is… I love it.

Every damn second of it.

Because this isn’t just for me. It’s for the little girl who fell in love with wrestling. The one who watched champions and dreamed about what it might feel that proved all the work was worth it. I found out when I won the Prestige off Cashe. I was willing to fight a friend to get it.

Now I have Television title… and I’m going to be fighting my friends to keep it.

Not because I love them any less… but because I love this too.

I know that sometimes I’m not the strongest or most athletic in the ring. I’ve never pretended otherwise.

What I am is dangerous.

The kind of dangerous that watches, listens, learns and remembers. Even when the people I’m studying are people I care about.

Especially them.

The view is beautiful from up here.

And I’m not ready to come down.”]]> <![CDATA[300 years and you're still shit, Krissy.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50186 Sun, 14 Jun 2026 17:54:06 -0700 JuliaC]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50186 LoF

Anger…

Frustration…

Annoyance…

Depression…

Such emotions were held by the losers in the Leap of Faith battle royal. So many planned, plotted, schemed, and had a leg up with stablemates they hoped to benefit from. They had it all figured out - until they didn’t.

Yet there was one loser among them who wore a smile, for she’d snatched something more glorious than a trashy briefcase with a title shot.

She’d snatched Charlie’s SOUL!

That woman was, naturally, the GREAT Korvayne!

Sacrificing herself to take out Charlie filled her with more joy than winning the Television Championship and pinning Isaiah King. 

But driving his fat head into the ramp with Malibu’s Most Wanted afterward?

That…

Was…

ORGASMIC!

No. 

That was a soul-drenching KORGASM for her!

She knew his Bastards wouldn’t be far away, so she collected Lionel and her Simp, then hauled ass out of Studio 11, aka “Mars.” Her reckless, breathless laugh mingled with theirs as they piled into the limo and sped away.

Charlie had fired the first shot last month, but Korvayne escalated it with a nuclear response. And now? The mother of all wars was officially ON! Somewhere out there, Pete Hegseth was having a Korgasm of his own.

Hours later, their celebration was still raging. Korvayne stood through the sunroof, howling at the moon, arms outstretched to soak in the moment. Lionel stood with her, blowing a trumpet victoriously. Where he got it was anyone’s guess.

If her Simp weren’t so rotund, he would’ve joined them, but he considered himself exactly where he was meant to be, lounging across the seat where Korvayne’s beautiful buns were inches from his face. Those beady eyes were utterly fascinated by the way her cheeks jiggled as the limo wove through the midnight clubbing district.

“Korvayne, it-”

She cut off Lionel by snapping her fingers.

“Call me Julia. You’ve earned the right to say my name.”

He palmed his chest with a gasp. A reverent nod came, so proud.

“A lovely name for a lovely lady! It’s been an honor thus far!”

She grinned. “And many more honors will come in this great war against the Bastards! You hear that, Simp?”

Korvayne stomped her Simp.

“You may call me Julia, too. You’ve earned it!”

He clutched her succulent calf and let his hand linger for a microsecond, disguising it as his body recoiling from the kick.

“YAAAAS MY KW-K-KW-KWEEN! JULLLLLIIIIIIIIIIA!”

Tissues came out. He wept tears of delight.

She rolled her eyes and made the driver speed up. The demons lurking at the bottom of the liquor bottles in those clubs were calling to her, like a siren luring a sailor toward the rocks.

Not good.

Her attention turned to the city sliding past.

Then she caught a glimpse of the wire mesh between two buildings. Something about it hit home. A memory. She shut her lids to prevent it from escaping.

Ah, there it was.

Seven years ago, give or take.

A chain-link fence rattled as Julia vaulted it, her sneakers hitting the pavement hard enough to sting. A stolen backpack landed beside her. She scooped it up and slung it over her shoulder without breaking stride.

Footsteps and shouting made her tense. She bolted, shoulder-checking someone out of her way, anger flaring the second they grabbed at her. Her legs carried her far and fast, those juke-moves making pursuers miss like Barry Sanders used to make tacklers miss.

“HAAAA, as fast as fast can be, you’ll never catch me,” she taunted as they gave up the chase.

Julia darted through more alleys and smiled a mile wide as her eyes clocked the three coolest chicks in the world waiting for her in a black Bentley Continental GTC Convertible. She cleared the trunk in a single bound, dropkicking a backrest as she landed.

Abby was behind the wheel and peeled out. Regina and Tessa celebrated while sifting through the backpack’s contents, fishing out reams of paperwork.

“Oh, resumes. Dope cover letters, too. Oh well, no jobs for you, sir.” Tessa tossed the stack of papers into the wind, not giving a single solitary fuck about the man who might’ve scored a job with them. 

Julia watched the parchments fly away, and with them the hopes of that unknown man. A twinge of remorse surfaced, but she pushed it aside. Weakness can’t be shown around them. Julia had worked too hard, risked too much to be part of their clique. To be seen with them. To be heard among them. To be cool. To someday be rich and eccentric.

To be feared, respected, and adulated.

To never again be the girl people overlooked.

To dictate who could speak to her, who could touch her, who could even meet her gaze.

To be somebody.

Somebody other than the poor ass nobody she’d been all her life.

Being poor as fuck in Malibu is worse than being poor anywhere else, like Arkansas, for example. In southern states, being poor is expected. Malibu, though? It’s unacceptable. Too rich a city for the poor.

Had it not been for Julia’s artsy school murals catching Abby’s attention, and a right-place, right-time encounter with the police where she kept her mouth shut, she wouldn’t be one step closer to officially joining their clique and forever shedding her squalid origins!

“And THAT…” Regina cackled, wagging a fancy clipboard. “Was task number seven. Three more to go and you’re in like sin, Jules.” 

They tossed the remaining backpack items out of the car. It was never about the backpack or its contents. It was about the list. The tests. The willingness to do what others wouldn’t. Every task completed brought Julia closer to becoming somebody.

“Girls,” Abby butted in, glancing at Julia through the rear-view. “Nobody’s made it past five tasks. I think Julia’s earned something extra. XWF’s coming to the coast. Soooo..  road trip next week? We got the VIP package. Ringside. Meet and greet. The works. Tessa’s gonna finally meet her crush.”

“I’m down! Totally!” Julia hoped she’d said the ‘totally’ part correctly to sound like them. She eyed Tessa’s Robert Main bandanna that she always wore. It went well with the Apex shirts she rocked.

“I hope Jay’s there too!” Julia squealed.

Regina and Tessa laughed. Not the friendly kind, the condescending kind.

“She’s a TRUE BELIEVER. Jay Omega’s a dork.” Regina mocked.

“There’s only one OMEGA, and it’s my baby right here…” Tessa tapped her Robert Main bandana. 

The only one who didn’t give her shit was Abby, who tossed Julia a subtle wink through the rear-view. A hint that she, too, adored Jay. Julia grinned but noticed something odd. Abby’s face shifted, like a digital TV distortion, and she suddenly looked like Remi Storm.

“Remi?”

Korvayne snapped awake with Remi’s name still on her lips. Flashing red and blue lights bathed her. She sat up but sank into a bed of colored plastic balls.

“The fuck?” Her mind was muddled. She looked around. It was dark outside, but she gathered that she was in a McDonald’s playhouse. A cop stood at the edge of the playpen, shaking his head.

“Alright, ma’am, let’s go.” The officer held out a hand as she swam up, still confused. She swatted it away and ambled next to him while he flipped through his notebook.

“You said a name. Remi? Who’s she?”

“My frie..wait.. No. What?” She shook her head. “A co-worker.”

“She didn’t join you tonight?”

Kor’s brain started filling in the blanks. Her Simp complained that the location wasn’t open 24/7. Then there was the broken McDonald’s window. She and Lionel were playing silly games in the playpen, going up and down slides, gladiatorial duels with pool noodles, declaring themselves monarchs of Ball Pit Kingdom, seeing who could burrow through the plastic balls the fastest, and ridiculous diving competitions into the pit with scores awarded for style and dramatic flair.

“No, Remi wasn’t here.”

“Well, you all made one hell of a mess.” The policeman pointed at different areas, her eyes blooming with embarrassment as she followed his fingers.

There were scraps of food everywhere. Streaks of condiment were caked on their faces. The kitchen looked like a tornado had hit it. She remembered her Simp firing up grills and churning out lots of Big Macs, fries, and milkshakes.

Korvayne smacked her lips. “OH MY GOD!” The realization hit her. “I ATE THAT SHIT!” She rammed a finger down her throat to puke up the McTrash, but nothing regurgitated.

“Enough of that,” the cop yanked her straight and sat her at a table, then gestured at the others. “All of you, over here. Now.” The Simp and Lionel joined her, but to Kor’s befuddlement, two more people sat with them.

“Who are these guys?”

“Milady, that’s Hank. Our limo driver.”

Hank waved and tipped his hat.

She bitchfaced him.

They all looked at the last remaining person sitting with them. The guy was crusty-looking and older than Scoops if one could believe such a thing. He wore a faded Army jacket and smelled awful. The man slurped the rest of a milkshake and smiled.

“Name’s Doug. I’m homeless. Saw a party and food being flung around. Had to pop in.” He patted his belly and flicked a thumbs-up.

Korvayne disregarded him immediately and chatted up the cop.

“What’s the play, donut Dan?”

He jabbed his pen into the pad. “Lucky for you rabble-rousers, the jail’s overcrowded, so I’m not arresting you, but you’ll get a court summons to answer for this. The manager’s pushing for criminal and civil penalties. Lawyer up.”

“Pfft,” Korvayne fished out a card with XWF’s legal info on it. “Tell him to contact them and they’ll pay the civil stuff or whatever. I’d pay it myself, but this is kinda their fault for not being open 24/7 like McDonald’s used to be.”

The policeman took it and sent them on their way.

As they approached the limo, Korvayne saw Doug pushing his rickety shopping cart.

“Hey, homeless guy.” She didn’t suffer herself remembering his name. “You really served?”

He tapped a patch on his Army jacket and saluted.

“101st. Rakasans. Fort Campbell.”

“Ever kill anyone?”

“Only those who needed it.”

“GGs. Get in.”

She motioned to the passenger seat. There was no way she’d let his smelly ass in the back with them. Doug didn’t need to be told twice and hopped in.

That deliciously villainous smile overtook her face. She’d recruited another soldier to throw at grenades meant for her. What a gullible old fool.

________________________________________________________


The camera feed streamed into the Museum of Contemporary Art Cleveland where a gathering of art enthusiasts sat, yearning to see more from another talented artist.

“HERE YE! HERE YE! HERE YE!”

Everyone’s favorite thespian arrived, looking resplendent in his lush attire, including the gold cloak with Korvayne airbrushed across it. He drew his Hattori Hanzo sword and sliced the air dramatically before sheathing it.

“Silence ye tongues and set thine eyes agaze and mouths agape for the Artist of Atrocities hath another masterful disasterpiece to whet your artistic palates! She titled this piece of artistic grandeur, ‘Talking Shit.’ For this experimental piece, we shall bring forth essential items.”

He swooped his cloak theatrically. Chadsworth and the Simp produced a mic stand with a microphone attached and a large-screen TV, which they hooked special cords into. They gave the thumbs up and retreated to block the exits.

Once more, Lionel boasted grandly, “And now, the GREAT Korvayne!”

Generous applause met her as she strutted onto the stage, straight up aura farming. She was dressed not in clothes nor undergarments, but in body paint themed in patriotic Red, White, and Blue to celebrate the season of the greatest country on Earth.

Men whistled. Hollered. Hooted.

Lionel waved them off.

“Gentlemen, guard your loins! The GREAT Korvayne shall now commence the artistic performance. During this disasterpiece, she will not speak her verbal marinade, yet this is still a promo against her opponent, Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo. She’s told me that Kristoffer is SHIT and therefore she will only speak to him through means befitting his status. So, BEHOLD…

TALKING SHIT!”

Korvayne held a bottle of sickly green liquid that seemed to have already been drunk from, and in one swift gulp, she downed the rest. She trashed it and grabbed her tummy in pain.

Then, she turned away from them and bent at the waist, palming her knees to steady herself. Everyone lurched forward in their seats, even the women. They couldn’t believe it. Korvayne’s spectacular glutes were facing them in all their faptastic painted glory.

She angled her iconic booty cheeks so that the tiny orifice could have its say into the microphone.

Then the toot-palooza began.

- Brrrrrrt.. PAAH -

The fart registered.

Subtitles sprang onto the screen, translating the toot into text and attributing its message to Kristoffer and viewers, just as they would for the rest of the vignette.

“Let me dumb this down to your digestive level.”

- Trrt -

A wet-sounding chirp.

“You’re SHIT, Kris.”

- Bip -

High-pitched and brief.

“300 years you’ve been around.”

- Shhhhhbbrrrrttt -

Drawn out fart-a-roonie.

“And the peak you’ve reached is being a revolving bitch for people. A pet. A trumpet. Portent. A supernatural bag carrier. Alexandria. Dyson. The list goes on.

You’ve dropped the ball on Matty how many times now? Left him stranded in a flat while you went off being Dyson’s lapdog in XWF.

That’s your peak.

That’s what 300 years gets you.

An epic failure as a friend, a ward keeper, a partner, a servant, a protector. And in the end, needing Matty’s super-duper blood to heal you because you were too much of a bitchpire to pull the trigger on Sam when you had the chance. Madison died on your watch. Matty will too.

MLK. JFK. Einstein. Helen fucking Keller. They had a fraction of the life span you’ve had, and nowhere near the wealth and connections, but they peaked higher, accomplished more, and did it with detractors and handicaps trying to keep them down. Others, too, but I can’t list them all.”

- Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Faaaah -

Bubbling and damp.

“3oo years, been bare-knuckle fighting long before wrestling allegedly, and you still can’t take a blow to the face. It took one headbutt from Frances to take you out, to bloody and terrify you on Anarchy several months ago.

LOL.

You were outfought, outfoxed, outsmarted, and outwilled by a man who’s one cigarette away from lung cancer. 

That’s some grade-A bitch shit.

You couldn’t even address Sarah Wolf by yourself in a shoot; you had to bring in  Sam, who looks like the human version of a Capri Sun after someone drank it, to do the heavy lifting for you.

More bitch SHIT from you.”

- BWAAAAAAAAP -

Like a tuba blast.

“Dickie was either right about you being smoke and mirrors with your blood and death schtick, or you’re the wimpiest vampire ever because in the vampire world, where Dracula’s the apex, you’re the Count Chocula. A cereal box caricature. Throw some pink shades on him, and I’d swear it was you on the box.

- Twt.. twt…twt..twt…BBBBLRRTTT -

Tiny squeaks into a tootie-rootie combo.

“300 years, Krissy, and the best shtick you could enter XWF with was a copy-pasted template from any x-rated vampire fanfic writing site. A supernatural bitchboy to a meanie purple-haired noodle.

And the hilarious thing about it all? Now that you’ve left Sam, nothing’s changed. You’re still a bitchboy, only it’s Graves now, and this week you’re pulling extra bitchboy duties for the Trillionaires because, let’s face it, this match is my punishment for exposing their Mars fakery. #sorrynotsorry

Did you REALLY think beating Dickie would put you into Universal Title contention? 

No, you 300-year-old fool, you’re here to serve the needs and wants of management, and you’re clearly the MVP in servitude. 

And even more hilarious than that? You’re still Samael Lite. You’re still doing your predictable garbo every vignette. Trying to discredit opponents wins. Short-selling their championships. It's as predictable as a John Blade match.”

- Blllrrrpp.. Skkkkrrrttttt… KABLOOIE -

Feels like something broke… or exploded. People fainted. Others tried fleeing.

“So expound on your predictable stuff. Air how foolish I was for picking Charlie as my partner, even though it was him or my Simp.

Tell me how I have a death wish.

Regale me about how many of my types you’ve seen in 300 years, how I’m a wannabe, a fake, or a cookie-cutter.

Flash those pretty fangs about how ignorant I was for passing up the briefcase to take out Charlie.

Eviscerate me about the tragedy I caused. 

Accuse me of being like Samael with how I treat people. Or maybe now that you’ve ‘seen the light’ you’ll claim we’re similar because we’re trying to rid XWF of a greater evil.

Mock the silly nicknames given to me.

Do it with all your favorite words from the pocket Thesaurus you stole from Sam.

Above all else, do that thing where you blissfully neglect mentioning how you won the Anarchy title off a washed competitor coming off the couch on short notice to replace the ACTUAL Anarchy Champion, and how you needed a team effort to do it.

Or how you can’t win First Blood matches to save your life, which is hella ironic.

Or my personal favorite… how you lost the title to a man who was best known for someone else wearing his mask and doing a better job of it than he ever did, then won tag titles with him from rollerwhores who’d won them off security guards.

LOL.

So much for your ‘now that I’m on my own,’ arc, huh? You just can’t help latching onto people who have some power. That’s what 300 years of bitch-hood gets you.

Sure, though.

Tear me down. Abuse me. Have fun. I’ll be the first to admit that I deserve it.

And I’ll be the first to admit that none of it means a thing in this, because newsflash, loser, it still led you to me, or me to you.”

- Fwssshhhhhhh… Prrrrrppp… BRWWWWAAARRP -

The inevitable happened. Some ‘Kristoffer’ spilled out.

Runny. Smelly. Shitty.

Those who hadn’t fainted earlier stampeded the doors but were repelled by Korvayne’s crew.

The attendees clawed at their throats, grabbed their noses, and passed out.

Korvayne toweled herself and removed the nose plugs. Her entourage followed suit and gave her applause despite the embarrassingly premature ending.

______________________________________________


[Image: gaul.jpg]


- Law office of Gaul Soodman - 

“They’ll drop the charges for your, uh…  raid of Studio 11, if you agree to attend XWF fan access events. Those events are in your XWF contract already, but you’ve no-showed them all. They’ve been fining you for it and garnishing your X-Bucks, but it appears you haven’t noticed.”

“Because I’m rich as fuuuuuuck.”

“Clearly. You’ve retained me. Best money you’ll spend. Anyway…  the McDonald's fiasco was easy. Guilty plea. Community service. Super simple.”

“Community service? I’m already doing that on TV every Warfare.”

Gaul slid the documents to her anyway.

“Whatevs.” She shrugged and signed them.

“Perfect. Your community service will be the Big Sister program. Every city you’re booked to wrestle in, they’ll pair you with a kid.”

For the first time all meeting, genuine terror crossed her face.

“It’s not that bad, Julia. They’ll assign you a little orphan boy or girl, and you’ll take them on a field trip somewhere. Museum. Theater. Three hours, tops. Very easy.”

“But I don’t give a shit about those kids.”

“Too bad. So sad. You signed.” He checked his watch. “Time’s up. Got another client.”

She flipped shit over and stormed out.

… and 24 hours later, she found herself at the Cleveland XWF fan access event, in the middle of a heated exchange with a Kristoffer fan dressed in vamp regalia with pink glasses and all.

“Fuck you… Vamp Glazer. Put respect on my name.” She poked him, and counted off her accomplishments.

“I won March’s promo-of-the-month as a write-in, I wasn’t even on the fucking ballot.”

She shoved fingers too close to his face. He hissed, fangs bared. 

“I countered Isisiah’s Royal Inquisition and pinned him 1-2-3!”

Everyone watching the confrontation groaned at that controversial fact.

“I did what nobody’s done. Made Yelena tap like a bitch and took her title! And unlike your idol, I won that title alone, on the A-show, two things your tramp-vamp hasn’t done. So run and tell him to come see me when he’s done all of that.”

The Vamp maniac sneered but had a retort aimed between her eyes... “And you LOST it to Bobby!”

Korvayne SEETHED.

“OOOOOOOOH OK. Let’s talk about that! Bobtard could’ve picked anyone to make his big return statement on, and he chose ME! He knew it’d have the biggest impact, and he needed it because most had forgotten him. Remi knows! She said it!”

The Vamp fan snarled, “AND YA STILL LOST!”

“FUCKER!” Her face blazed red. “It took First Blood and an impromptu cage. He wasn’t winning otherwise!”

Krissy’s glazer was unfazed and sashayed his hips slowly, seductively. “Romeo’s Lament. Prepare your pristine lips for his KISS… of IMMORTALITY!” He flicked his tongue.

“I don’t need immortality, you creepazoid,” Korvayne fumed. “My name will live forever on the lips of the last person alive!

And I don’t have supernatural powers or a 300-year head start on combat experience. He needs that because he’s SHIT without it.

Me, though? All I need is my wonderful athletic ability, super-cute indomitable willpower, and the perseverance of a Summer Page.

And if dregs like Frances can beat him, so can I. So, HA HA! TAKE THAT!”

The Arroyo fanboy backed off with a throat-slit gesture. “We shall see.”

It should’ve ended there.

But Korvayne felt something stir within. She saw the cell phones recording and knew it’d circulate.

“WE’LL SEE?” She spun him into a front face lock. He fought it, but he was no Kristoffer.

Her eyes flicked between the different phones, poised to speak to Arroyo properly instead of farting subtitles.

“Seeing this, Krissy? Got one of your boys.”

People tried to free him, but Chadsworth, the Simp, and their new guy, Doug, shoved them back.

“I’m not Dickie. I won’t show up tired, fractured, annoyed, or with my priorities split between promotions. I’m arriving super motivated, because you’re not the only one who needs to keep winning. I do too.

Winning keeps me on a collision course with Charlie.

Besides, you’ve had centuries to do right. Too late to start now. Want Dyson that badly? Catch him during defenses and pummel him until management’s forced to book it

DUH.

Unless there’s a convenient reason you can’t.

LOL.

But what do I know? I’m just a rookie.”

She torqued harder.

“Oh, and perhaps the most important thing you should know about me, Krissy. I’m totally not Samael. He thought killing Madison was shocking, but it was trash taking out the trash. Nothing of value was lost.

This fan, though? He’s innocent. Young. Dressed like you. Moved like you. He lives for you. Probably worked overtime at some goth shop to buy a ticket to see you.

You’re dealing with me now, though… not Sam or Dickie or some heroporn bitch. You're dangerous as fuck but so am I. And I can literally afford not to give a fuck.

And I think for this little disasterpiece, I’ll call it Matty McDeath. How apropos, huh? HAAAA!”

She SPIKED him with the same Malibu Most Wanted that destroyed Charlie Nickles, a specialized DDT that Raven and Jake never intended to be used like this.

Onlookers screamed. Someone yelled about this being a ‘bridge too far,’ and she guffawed…

“Crossed it!”

Korvayne grabbed the discarded pink shades, slipped them on purely to taunt him, then rolled out like a boss with her Art Foundation following in lockstep.]]> LoF

Anger…

Frustration…

Annoyance…

Depression…

Such emotions were held by the losers in the Leap of Faith battle royal. So many planned, plotted, schemed, and had a leg up with stablemates they hoped to benefit from. They had it all figured out - until they didn’t.

Yet there was one loser among them who wore a smile, for she’d snatched something more glorious than a trashy briefcase with a title shot.

She’d snatched Charlie’s SOUL!

That woman was, naturally, the GREAT Korvayne!

Sacrificing herself to take out Charlie filled her with more joy than winning the Television Championship and pinning Isaiah King. 

But driving his fat head into the ramp with Malibu’s Most Wanted afterward?

That…

Was…

ORGASMIC!

No. 

That was a soul-drenching KORGASM for her!

She knew his Bastards wouldn’t be far away, so she collected Lionel and her Simp, then hauled ass out of Studio 11, aka “Mars.” Her reckless, breathless laugh mingled with theirs as they piled into the limo and sped away.

Charlie had fired the first shot last month, but Korvayne escalated it with a nuclear response. And now? The mother of all wars was officially ON! Somewhere out there, Pete Hegseth was having a Korgasm of his own.

Hours later, their celebration was still raging. Korvayne stood through the sunroof, howling at the moon, arms outstretched to soak in the moment. Lionel stood with her, blowing a trumpet victoriously. Where he got it was anyone’s guess.

If her Simp weren’t so rotund, he would’ve joined them, but he considered himself exactly where he was meant to be, lounging across the seat where Korvayne’s beautiful buns were inches from his face. Those beady eyes were utterly fascinated by the way her cheeks jiggled as the limo wove through the midnight clubbing district.

“Korvayne, it-”

She cut off Lionel by snapping her fingers.

“Call me Julia. You’ve earned the right to say my name.”

He palmed his chest with a gasp. A reverent nod came, so proud.

“A lovely name for a lovely lady! It’s been an honor thus far!”

She grinned. “And many more honors will come in this great war against the Bastards! You hear that, Simp?”

Korvayne stomped her Simp.

“You may call me Julia, too. You’ve earned it!”

He clutched her succulent calf and let his hand linger for a microsecond, disguising it as his body recoiling from the kick.

“YAAAAS MY KW-K-KW-KWEEN! JULLLLLIIIIIIIIIIA!”

Tissues came out. He wept tears of delight.

She rolled her eyes and made the driver speed up. The demons lurking at the bottom of the liquor bottles in those clubs were calling to her, like a siren luring a sailor toward the rocks.

Not good.

Her attention turned to the city sliding past.

Then she caught a glimpse of the wire mesh between two buildings. Something about it hit home. A memory. She shut her lids to prevent it from escaping.

Ah, there it was.

Seven years ago, give or take.

A chain-link fence rattled as Julia vaulted it, her sneakers hitting the pavement hard enough to sting. A stolen backpack landed beside her. She scooped it up and slung it over her shoulder without breaking stride.

Footsteps and shouting made her tense. She bolted, shoulder-checking someone out of her way, anger flaring the second they grabbed at her. Her legs carried her far and fast, those juke-moves making pursuers miss like Barry Sanders used to make tacklers miss.

“HAAAA, as fast as fast can be, you’ll never catch me,” she taunted as they gave up the chase.

Julia darted through more alleys and smiled a mile wide as her eyes clocked the three coolest chicks in the world waiting for her in a black Bentley Continental GTC Convertible. She cleared the trunk in a single bound, dropkicking a backrest as she landed.

Abby was behind the wheel and peeled out. Regina and Tessa celebrated while sifting through the backpack’s contents, fishing out reams of paperwork.

“Oh, resumes. Dope cover letters, too. Oh well, no jobs for you, sir.” Tessa tossed the stack of papers into the wind, not giving a single solitary fuck about the man who might’ve scored a job with them. 

Julia watched the parchments fly away, and with them the hopes of that unknown man. A twinge of remorse surfaced, but she pushed it aside. Weakness can’t be shown around them. Julia had worked too hard, risked too much to be part of their clique. To be seen with them. To be heard among them. To be cool. To someday be rich and eccentric.

To be feared, respected, and adulated.

To never again be the girl people overlooked.

To dictate who could speak to her, who could touch her, who could even meet her gaze.

To be somebody.

Somebody other than the poor ass nobody she’d been all her life.

Being poor as fuck in Malibu is worse than being poor anywhere else, like Arkansas, for example. In southern states, being poor is expected. Malibu, though? It’s unacceptable. Too rich a city for the poor.

Had it not been for Julia’s artsy school murals catching Abby’s attention, and a right-place, right-time encounter with the police where she kept her mouth shut, she wouldn’t be one step closer to officially joining their clique and forever shedding her squalid origins!

“And THAT…” Regina cackled, wagging a fancy clipboard. “Was task number seven. Three more to go and you’re in like sin, Jules.” 

They tossed the remaining backpack items out of the car. It was never about the backpack or its contents. It was about the list. The tests. The willingness to do what others wouldn’t. Every task completed brought Julia closer to becoming somebody.

“Girls,” Abby butted in, glancing at Julia through the rear-view. “Nobody’s made it past five tasks. I think Julia’s earned something extra. XWF’s coming to the coast. Soooo..  road trip next week? We got the VIP package. Ringside. Meet and greet. The works. Tessa’s gonna finally meet her crush.”

“I’m down! Totally!” Julia hoped she’d said the ‘totally’ part correctly to sound like them. She eyed Tessa’s Robert Main bandanna that she always wore. It went well with the Apex shirts she rocked.

“I hope Jay’s there too!” Julia squealed.

Regina and Tessa laughed. Not the friendly kind, the condescending kind.

“She’s a TRUE BELIEVER. Jay Omega’s a dork.” Regina mocked.

“There’s only one OMEGA, and it’s my baby right here…” Tessa tapped her Robert Main bandana. 

The only one who didn’t give her shit was Abby, who tossed Julia a subtle wink through the rear-view. A hint that she, too, adored Jay. Julia grinned but noticed something odd. Abby’s face shifted, like a digital TV distortion, and she suddenly looked like Remi Storm.

“Remi?”

Korvayne snapped awake with Remi’s name still on her lips. Flashing red and blue lights bathed her. She sat up but sank into a bed of colored plastic balls.

“The fuck?” Her mind was muddled. She looked around. It was dark outside, but she gathered that she was in a McDonald’s playhouse. A cop stood at the edge of the playpen, shaking his head.

“Alright, ma’am, let’s go.” The officer held out a hand as she swam up, still confused. She swatted it away and ambled next to him while he flipped through his notebook.

“You said a name. Remi? Who’s she?”

“My frie..wait.. No. What?” She shook her head. “A co-worker.”

“She didn’t join you tonight?”

Kor’s brain started filling in the blanks. Her Simp complained that the location wasn’t open 24/7. Then there was the broken McDonald’s window. She and Lionel were playing silly games in the playpen, going up and down slides, gladiatorial duels with pool noodles, declaring themselves monarchs of Ball Pit Kingdom, seeing who could burrow through the plastic balls the fastest, and ridiculous diving competitions into the pit with scores awarded for style and dramatic flair.

“No, Remi wasn’t here.”

“Well, you all made one hell of a mess.” The policeman pointed at different areas, her eyes blooming with embarrassment as she followed his fingers.

There were scraps of food everywhere. Streaks of condiment were caked on their faces. The kitchen looked like a tornado had hit it. She remembered her Simp firing up grills and churning out lots of Big Macs, fries, and milkshakes.

Korvayne smacked her lips. “OH MY GOD!” The realization hit her. “I ATE THAT SHIT!” She rammed a finger down her throat to puke up the McTrash, but nothing regurgitated.

“Enough of that,” the cop yanked her straight and sat her at a table, then gestured at the others. “All of you, over here. Now.” The Simp and Lionel joined her, but to Kor’s befuddlement, two more people sat with them.

“Who are these guys?”

“Milady, that’s Hank. Our limo driver.”

Hank waved and tipped his hat.

She bitchfaced him.

They all looked at the last remaining person sitting with them. The guy was crusty-looking and older than Scoops if one could believe such a thing. He wore a faded Army jacket and smelled awful. The man slurped the rest of a milkshake and smiled.

“Name’s Doug. I’m homeless. Saw a party and food being flung around. Had to pop in.” He patted his belly and flicked a thumbs-up.

Korvayne disregarded him immediately and chatted up the cop.

“What’s the play, donut Dan?”

He jabbed his pen into the pad. “Lucky for you rabble-rousers, the jail’s overcrowded, so I’m not arresting you, but you’ll get a court summons to answer for this. The manager’s pushing for criminal and civil penalties. Lawyer up.”

“Pfft,” Korvayne fished out a card with XWF’s legal info on it. “Tell him to contact them and they’ll pay the civil stuff or whatever. I’d pay it myself, but this is kinda their fault for not being open 24/7 like McDonald’s used to be.”

The policeman took it and sent them on their way.

As they approached the limo, Korvayne saw Doug pushing his rickety shopping cart.

“Hey, homeless guy.” She didn’t suffer herself remembering his name. “You really served?”

He tapped a patch on his Army jacket and saluted.

“101st. Rakasans. Fort Campbell.”

“Ever kill anyone?”

“Only those who needed it.”

“GGs. Get in.”

She motioned to the passenger seat. There was no way she’d let his smelly ass in the back with them. Doug didn’t need to be told twice and hopped in.

That deliciously villainous smile overtook her face. She’d recruited another soldier to throw at grenades meant for her. What a gullible old fool.

________________________________________________________


The camera feed streamed into the Museum of Contemporary Art Cleveland where a gathering of art enthusiasts sat, yearning to see more from another talented artist.

“HERE YE! HERE YE! HERE YE!”

Everyone’s favorite thespian arrived, looking resplendent in his lush attire, including the gold cloak with Korvayne airbrushed across it. He drew his Hattori Hanzo sword and sliced the air dramatically before sheathing it.

“Silence ye tongues and set thine eyes agaze and mouths agape for the Artist of Atrocities hath another masterful disasterpiece to whet your artistic palates! She titled this piece of artistic grandeur, ‘Talking Shit.’ For this experimental piece, we shall bring forth essential items.”

He swooped his cloak theatrically. Chadsworth and the Simp produced a mic stand with a microphone attached and a large-screen TV, which they hooked special cords into. They gave the thumbs up and retreated to block the exits.

Once more, Lionel boasted grandly, “And now, the GREAT Korvayne!”

Generous applause met her as she strutted onto the stage, straight up aura farming. She was dressed not in clothes nor undergarments, but in body paint themed in patriotic Red, White, and Blue to celebrate the season of the greatest country on Earth.

Men whistled. Hollered. Hooted.

Lionel waved them off.

“Gentlemen, guard your loins! The GREAT Korvayne shall now commence the artistic performance. During this disasterpiece, she will not speak her verbal marinade, yet this is still a promo against her opponent, Kristoffer ‘Vamp’ Arroyo. She’s told me that Kristoffer is SHIT and therefore she will only speak to him through means befitting his status. So, BEHOLD…

TALKING SHIT!”

Korvayne held a bottle of sickly green liquid that seemed to have already been drunk from, and in one swift gulp, she downed the rest. She trashed it and grabbed her tummy in pain.

Then, she turned away from them and bent at the waist, palming her knees to steady herself. Everyone lurched forward in their seats, even the women. They couldn’t believe it. Korvayne’s spectacular glutes were facing them in all their faptastic painted glory.

She angled her iconic booty cheeks so that the tiny orifice could have its say into the microphone.

Then the toot-palooza began.

- Brrrrrrt.. PAAH -

The fart registered.

Subtitles sprang onto the screen, translating the toot into text and attributing its message to Kristoffer and viewers, just as they would for the rest of the vignette.

“Let me dumb this down to your digestive level.”

- Trrt -

A wet-sounding chirp.

“You’re SHIT, Kris.”

- Bip -

High-pitched and brief.

“300 years you’ve been around.”

- Shhhhhbbrrrrttt -

Drawn out fart-a-roonie.

“And the peak you’ve reached is being a revolving bitch for people. A pet. A trumpet. Portent. A supernatural bag carrier. Alexandria. Dyson. The list goes on.

You’ve dropped the ball on Matty how many times now? Left him stranded in a flat while you went off being Dyson’s lapdog in XWF.

That’s your peak.

That’s what 300 years gets you.

An epic failure as a friend, a ward keeper, a partner, a servant, a protector. And in the end, needing Matty’s super-duper blood to heal you because you were too much of a bitchpire to pull the trigger on Sam when you had the chance. Madison died on your watch. Matty will too.

MLK. JFK. Einstein. Helen fucking Keller. They had a fraction of the life span you’ve had, and nowhere near the wealth and connections, but they peaked higher, accomplished more, and did it with detractors and handicaps trying to keep them down. Others, too, but I can’t list them all.”

- Fuh-Fuh-Fuh-Faaaah -

Bubbling and damp.

“3oo years, been bare-knuckle fighting long before wrestling allegedly, and you still can’t take a blow to the face. It took one headbutt from Frances to take you out, to bloody and terrify you on Anarchy several months ago.

LOL.

You were outfought, outfoxed, outsmarted, and outwilled by a man who’s one cigarette away from lung cancer. 

That’s some grade-A bitch shit.

You couldn’t even address Sarah Wolf by yourself in a shoot; you had to bring in  Sam, who looks like the human version of a Capri Sun after someone drank it, to do the heavy lifting for you.

More bitch SHIT from you.”

- BWAAAAAAAAP -

Like a tuba blast.

“Dickie was either right about you being smoke and mirrors with your blood and death schtick, or you’re the wimpiest vampire ever because in the vampire world, where Dracula’s the apex, you’re the Count Chocula. A cereal box caricature. Throw some pink shades on him, and I’d swear it was you on the box.

- Twt.. twt…twt..twt…BBBBLRRTTT -

Tiny squeaks into a tootie-rootie combo.

“300 years, Krissy, and the best shtick you could enter XWF with was a copy-pasted template from any x-rated vampire fanfic writing site. A supernatural bitchboy to a meanie purple-haired noodle.

And the hilarious thing about it all? Now that you’ve left Sam, nothing’s changed. You’re still a bitchboy, only it’s Graves now, and this week you’re pulling extra bitchboy duties for the Trillionaires because, let’s face it, this match is my punishment for exposing their Mars fakery. #sorrynotsorry

Did you REALLY think beating Dickie would put you into Universal Title contention? 

No, you 300-year-old fool, you’re here to serve the needs and wants of management, and you’re clearly the MVP in servitude. 

And even more hilarious than that? You’re still Samael Lite. You’re still doing your predictable garbo every vignette. Trying to discredit opponents wins. Short-selling their championships. It's as predictable as a John Blade match.”

- Blllrrrpp.. Skkkkrrrttttt… KABLOOIE -

Feels like something broke… or exploded. People fainted. Others tried fleeing.

“So expound on your predictable stuff. Air how foolish I was for picking Charlie as my partner, even though it was him or my Simp.

Tell me how I have a death wish.

Regale me about how many of my types you’ve seen in 300 years, how I’m a wannabe, a fake, or a cookie-cutter.

Flash those pretty fangs about how ignorant I was for passing up the briefcase to take out Charlie.

Eviscerate me about the tragedy I caused. 

Accuse me of being like Samael with how I treat people. Or maybe now that you’ve ‘seen the light’ you’ll claim we’re similar because we’re trying to rid XWF of a greater evil.

Mock the silly nicknames given to me.

Do it with all your favorite words from the pocket Thesaurus you stole from Sam.

Above all else, do that thing where you blissfully neglect mentioning how you won the Anarchy title off a washed competitor coming off the couch on short notice to replace the ACTUAL Anarchy Champion, and how you needed a team effort to do it.

Or how you can’t win First Blood matches to save your life, which is hella ironic.

Or my personal favorite… how you lost the title to a man who was best known for someone else wearing his mask and doing a better job of it than he ever did, then won tag titles with him from rollerwhores who’d won them off security guards.

LOL.

So much for your ‘now that I’m on my own,’ arc, huh? You just can’t help latching onto people who have some power. That’s what 300 years of bitch-hood gets you.

Sure, though.

Tear me down. Abuse me. Have fun. I’ll be the first to admit that I deserve it.

And I’ll be the first to admit that none of it means a thing in this, because newsflash, loser, it still led you to me, or me to you.”

- Fwssshhhhhhh… Prrrrrppp… BRWWWWAAARRP -

The inevitable happened. Some ‘Kristoffer’ spilled out.

Runny. Smelly. Shitty.

Those who hadn’t fainted earlier stampeded the doors but were repelled by Korvayne’s crew.

The attendees clawed at their throats, grabbed their noses, and passed out.

Korvayne toweled herself and removed the nose plugs. Her entourage followed suit and gave her applause despite the embarrassingly premature ending.

______________________________________________


[Image: gaul.jpg]


- Law office of Gaul Soodman - 

“They’ll drop the charges for your, uh…  raid of Studio 11, if you agree to attend XWF fan access events. Those events are in your XWF contract already, but you’ve no-showed them all. They’ve been fining you for it and garnishing your X-Bucks, but it appears you haven’t noticed.”

“Because I’m rich as fuuuuuuck.”

“Clearly. You’ve retained me. Best money you’ll spend. Anyway…  the McDonald's fiasco was easy. Guilty plea. Community service. Super simple.”

“Community service? I’m already doing that on TV every Warfare.”

Gaul slid the documents to her anyway.

“Whatevs.” She shrugged and signed them.

“Perfect. Your community service will be the Big Sister program. Every city you’re booked to wrestle in, they’ll pair you with a kid.”

For the first time all meeting, genuine terror crossed her face.

“It’s not that bad, Julia. They’ll assign you a little orphan boy or girl, and you’ll take them on a field trip somewhere. Museum. Theater. Three hours, tops. Very easy.”

“But I don’t give a shit about those kids.”

“Too bad. So sad. You signed.” He checked his watch. “Time’s up. Got another client.”

She flipped shit over and stormed out.

… and 24 hours later, she found herself at the Cleveland XWF fan access event, in the middle of a heated exchange with a Kristoffer fan dressed in vamp regalia with pink glasses and all.

“Fuck you… Vamp Glazer. Put respect on my name.” She poked him, and counted off her accomplishments.

“I won March’s promo-of-the-month as a write-in, I wasn’t even on the fucking ballot.”

She shoved fingers too close to his face. He hissed, fangs bared. 

“I countered Isisiah’s Royal Inquisition and pinned him 1-2-3!”

Everyone watching the confrontation groaned at that controversial fact.

“I did what nobody’s done. Made Yelena tap like a bitch and took her title! And unlike your idol, I won that title alone, on the A-show, two things your tramp-vamp hasn’t done. So run and tell him to come see me when he’s done all of that.”

The Vamp maniac sneered but had a retort aimed between her eyes... “And you LOST it to Bobby!”

Korvayne SEETHED.

“OOOOOOOOH OK. Let’s talk about that! Bobtard could’ve picked anyone to make his big return statement on, and he chose ME! He knew it’d have the biggest impact, and he needed it because most had forgotten him. Remi knows! She said it!”

The Vamp fan snarled, “AND YA STILL LOST!”

“FUCKER!” Her face blazed red. “It took First Blood and an impromptu cage. He wasn’t winning otherwise!”

Krissy’s glazer was unfazed and sashayed his hips slowly, seductively. “Romeo’s Lament. Prepare your pristine lips for his KISS… of IMMORTALITY!” He flicked his tongue.

“I don’t need immortality, you creepazoid,” Korvayne fumed. “My name will live forever on the lips of the last person alive!

And I don’t have supernatural powers or a 300-year head start on combat experience. He needs that because he’s SHIT without it.

Me, though? All I need is my wonderful athletic ability, super-cute indomitable willpower, and the perseverance of a Summer Page.

And if dregs like Frances can beat him, so can I. So, HA HA! TAKE THAT!”

The Arroyo fanboy backed off with a throat-slit gesture. “We shall see.”

It should’ve ended there.

But Korvayne felt something stir within. She saw the cell phones recording and knew it’d circulate.

“WE’LL SEE?” She spun him into a front face lock. He fought it, but he was no Kristoffer.

Her eyes flicked between the different phones, poised to speak to Arroyo properly instead of farting subtitles.

“Seeing this, Krissy? Got one of your boys.”

People tried to free him, but Chadsworth, the Simp, and their new guy, Doug, shoved them back.

“I’m not Dickie. I won’t show up tired, fractured, annoyed, or with my priorities split between promotions. I’m arriving super motivated, because you’re not the only one who needs to keep winning. I do too.

Winning keeps me on a collision course with Charlie.

Besides, you’ve had centuries to do right. Too late to start now. Want Dyson that badly? Catch him during defenses and pummel him until management’s forced to book it

DUH.

Unless there’s a convenient reason you can’t.

LOL.

But what do I know? I’m just a rookie.”

She torqued harder.

“Oh, and perhaps the most important thing you should know about me, Krissy. I’m totally not Samael. He thought killing Madison was shocking, but it was trash taking out the trash. Nothing of value was lost.

This fan, though? He’s innocent. Young. Dressed like you. Moved like you. He lives for you. Probably worked overtime at some goth shop to buy a ticket to see you.

You’re dealing with me now, though… not Sam or Dickie or some heroporn bitch. You're dangerous as fuck but so am I. And I can literally afford not to give a fuck.

And I think for this little disasterpiece, I’ll call it Matty McDeath. How apropos, huh? HAAAA!”

She SPIKED him with the same Malibu Most Wanted that destroyed Charlie Nickles, a specialized DDT that Raven and Jake never intended to be used like this.

Onlookers screamed. Someone yelled about this being a ‘bridge too far,’ and she guffawed…

“Crossed it!”

Korvayne grabbed the discarded pink shades, slipped them on purely to taunt him, then rolled out like a boss with her Art Foundation following in lockstep.]]> <![CDATA[A fracture in Time (RV Tapes | 012)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50185 Sun, 14 Jun 2026 16:29:04 -0700 Rowan Vance]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50185 RV Tapes | 012…]]> RV Tapes | 012…]]> <![CDATA[The Boy]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50183 Sun, 14 Jun 2026 06:47:16 -0700 Kristoffer "Vamp" Arroyo]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50183 Mexico

1976

The boy was haunting. Skeletal. A waif clinging to life for the sanctity of the innumerable machines he’s tethered too. It’s plain to see the contours of his ravaged form even through the blankets. But his face bore the cancer’s insidiousness worst of all. Gaunt, with eyes sunken into graying sockets. A living death mask. All vitality but a wisp smothered by the onslaught of rapidly replicating cells devouring his body. And then there were the smells, the tang of antiseptic with an undercurrent of stale urine. He tried not to be moved by the pathetic sight, but couldn’t help himself.

Kris (though that wasn't his name at the time) chanced a look through the window into the hallway. Alexandria (that wasn’t her name at the time either) spoke with the boy’s parents furtively. The mother sobbed into a handkerchief and nodded her head, as her husband wound a protective arm around her shoulders. Alexandria stole back into the boy’s room, stepping around to the opposite side of the bed where she too looked upon the fragile child there.

“They want to try.” Alexandria spoke without looking up at Kris.

“Do they understand?” Kris spoke stolidly.

“They understand as well as they’re able.”

“Do they UNDERSTAND?” Kris repeated, placing a forceful cadence on the final word.

It was at that point that Alex met his gaze with a touch of ire. “Don’t lecture me on understanding. Don’t forget who created who.” She sighed, softening a bit. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you know as well as I do that true understanding only comes in time….with….with….”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Kris had relented too. “It’s probably best if they don’t watch.”

“Wait.”

Kris stopped, considering Alex expectantly.

“He’s going to be your thrall. Your responsibility. We need to care for this one. He’s so young.”

“I’m ready.”

(But I wasn’t.)

“I can do this.”

(But I couldn’t.)

“You’re sure?”

Kris nodded, returning his attention to the boy again. Matteo’s tainted blood was already singing to him. Making his senses glow.

“I’ll go back to them. Make sure they steer clear of the room for now.” Alexandria departed the room, returning to the parents just outside. Kris remained at the bedside, the sound of blood in Matteo’s body awakening him.

He bent low, fangs protruding, and began to drink from the child.

TWO WEEKS LATER…

“I killed them, Albert! They’re dead!” Matteo’s voice was shrill as it punctuated Kris’ ear through the phone line.

“Wait….slow down….”

“They’re dead! They’re fucking dead and I did it! Why did you do this to me?!” the boy wailed between hitching sobs.

“Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there in a little bit, okay? Just….just…..”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I have to hang up. I’ll be there in…”

“No, you won’t.”

The words stung. Not just how decisively correct they were, but because they were laden with so many of Kris’ sins. Kris had been neglecting the boy, shirking his responsibilities for want of pursuing another pretty fuck piece. Matty would learn. Kris had reasoned. We still have time before he needs to feed. Kris had bargained. I did it on MY own. Kris lied to himself.

And now the boy’s parents were rapidly cooling corpses in front of the television, the glow illuminating their blood in ever more garish hues.

Kris had come. But not because he wanted to. Because Alex had been irate. Had threatened to cut off all her support to Kris.

And now HIS problem, the byproduct of his laziness, immaturity, and lust was staring him in the face in the form of two dead parents still leaking vital fluids as Matteo cowered in the corner, weeping softly through fingers wound around his mouth.

“Matteo….Matty….” Kris spoke softly, as though an octave higher might shatter the child ever further. The boy didn’t reply at first, and when he did, it was barely discernible through the tears.

“I….I don’t….what do we do?”

“We need to clean this up.”

“Don’t talk about them like they’re trash that needs to get picked up! They’re PEOPLE!” Matty spat back in a rage.

Kris threw his hands up placatingly. “Okay. Okay. They’re people. But still, we can’t….”

“Fuck you, Albert!” Kris could see now that the boy was riding a wave of grief stricken rage that was unlikely to cool on its own. “You were supposed to be there for me! You were supposed to teach me what to do! I’ve tried calling you for two weeks!” He looked at his parents and then looked away again abruptly, squeezing tears through his closing eyelids. “I was so hungry. I couldn’t help it.”

“It’ll be okay….” Kris interjected lamely.

“It’ll never be okay again!” Matteo shrieked. “I’m going to be like this forever! Killing people! I….I…..” His breathing quickened, starting to hyperventilate. “I can’t breathe!”

Moving quickly to snag a chair from the nearby kitchenette, Kris placed it down near Matteo. “You need to sit, regain control.” Matteo did as he was bidden, surprisingly. “Breathe slowly. In and out.”

Kris watched Matteo as his breaths slowly returned, going from ragged and hyperbolic to easy and natural over the ensuing minutes.

“What do we do?” Matty inquired again, suddenly weary.

“We have to move the bod-...your parents.” Kris looked at them then, understanding the magnitude of the task ahead of him. Alexandria had refused to help, forcing Kris to confront the problem that was of his own making on his own. “It’s going to be hard. But if you…if WE…get caught they won’t understand what we are.”

“No.” Matty looked up at Kris, eyes reddened and bloodshot. “I mean what do we do forever?”

What do we do forever?

Now wasn’t that the quintessential question.

New York City
Now

“You’re fucking done.” Lux’s tone was like iron striking iron, merciless and effective.

“Don’t tell me I’m done! He KILLED me for fuck’s sakes! You don’t get to tell me I’m done!” Kris bit back, looking up and down the alley behind his apartment complex to ensure they were still well enough alone.

“I waited for you. I waited for you because you asked me to. But you didn’t get the job done at Leap of Faith. He’s still Xtreme champion. I waited for NOTHING, Kris. And who knows how many more people he’s hurt in the interim.”

“It’s not like I was counting on him having that massive German freakshow at ringside. It’s not like I didn’t try!” But the excuse sounded weak and petulant, even to Kris. He had begged Lux to let him strip Samael of everything he had in the XWF before she acted on him. And she was right. He HAD failed. But that didn’t mean he had no right to stay in the fight.

“While that man still lives and breathes he’s a threat to you AND Matty.”

Kris winced. She was right once more. He had selfishly jeopardized Matty to act out some petty revenge. Correction, he had jeopardized Matty AGAIN. And that was unacceptable.

“You’re right. We need to handle this NOW. For Matty’s sake.” Kris paused. “Speaking of Matty, he might be able to help us.”

“You want to bring him into this?!” Lux retorted incredulously.

“No! Not like that! Not directly. Matty’s an Archon. A…a special kind of vampire. He has certain abilities that I don’t have. And I think he might be able to track Samael.”

“So is this you scrounging for a justification to not cut you out of this?”

“No offense Lux, but I’m in this whether you want me to be or not.”

Lux sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Tell me more about what Matty can do.” 

A LITTLE LATER...

Matty sat cross legged on the couch and Kris beside him. Lux had pulled up another seat so that she too could sit in close proximity to the others.

“Matty, do you really think you can do this?” Lux asked.

“I mean, probably.” He wasn’t completely confident, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. “But it’s not like you guys don’t know where he’s going to be. When he gets booked at the next XWF show can’t you just nab him then?”

“I’ve tried, Matty. Twice. Both times he was expecting me, and too well protected for me to get at him. I need to hit him when he’s not expecting it. When he’s alone.” Lux paused. “Can you give me that information? Can you track Samael like that?”

“I….” he started, before looking askance at Kris.

“Just do your best.” Kris spoke reassuringly.

Matty sighed. “I’ll try. But it’s hard.”

“Why don’t we start with this: Matty, how did you discover you had this ability?”

“In dreams. I started seeing random people. Like, each dream would be focused on a specific person. All people I didn’t know. And at first I thought they were just stupid dreams, you know? Stuff my brain made up. But then one time I saw a guy in a bodega buying beer. He took out his ID and I saw it, his name, his address, everything. So I Googled him, and it turned out he was a real person! Some guy from Indiana.” Matty’s voice grew enthusiastic. “So the next night I tried to focus on just this guy, to see if I could repeat it. It took me a couple nights but I eventually did it, had a whole dream about this same guy again.”

“So you have to be asleep to do it?”

“That’s the best part. Not anymore! I started trying to focus on the dream people when I was awake, and last week I finally did it. I finally started to be able to focus on individual people and see where they were. What they were doing. I tried it on Kris. I tried it on Michael Graves (and really wish I hadn’t)....”

“The less said about that, the better.”

“But it’s still hard. Sometimes it gets overwhelming. There’s, well, a lot of people out there. Obviously. Heh. And it seems like it's easier for me to find people I know than people I don’t.”

Lux sat back in her chair, musing. “Is there any danger to you in doing this, Matty?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think they know I’m doing it.”

“Well, are you willing to give it a shot?”

Matty nodded. “Yeah. I wanna help.”

****

“Here guys, I’ll save you the trouble of watching the latest Korvayne promo.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

There, I just stopped you from basting your eyes and ears with 20 minutes worth of unmitigated bilge.

Seriously though, the bitch only has one gear and its full throttle, around the corner and firmly up her own ass levels of self absorption the likes of which we haven’t seen since Madison Dyson was a heel and Kieran King royally decreed that his shit didn’t stink. By turns utterly moronic and blithely banal, Korvayne is a living plague on the artistry that is the XWF promo. Which is ironic considering she thinks of herself as an artist, a claim that would be laughable if it wasn’t so unerringly pathetic.

But you know, it's not even the ego that bothers me so much about Korvayne. It’s how she tries to mandate you fawning all over her without earning it. I mean, what has Korvayne DONE? I’ll grant her, on the surface of things beating a powerhouse like Yelena Gorgo SEEMS like a big deal. Until you remember that Yelena Gorgo is also the kind of “woefully soft in the middle” cream puff who bitched out on the XWF TWICE and can’t stop getting butthurt over people being mean to her on social media. Yelena Gorgo is all branding and production values and middling talent, so it’s really no surprise Korvayne got one over on her.

And then what did she do with that Television title immediately after she won it? Dumped it off on Bobby Bourbon. And more on that later, folks!

Then of course there is the Leap of Faith match. Now, it honestly was a pretty big fucking deal that someone as new as Korvayne even got into the match. But then of course, what did she do with it? She threw away the opportunity of a lifetime on getting even with that derelict Charlie Nickles. And if that isn’t just so quintessentially Korvayne I don’t know what is; the small mindedness of it all, the notion that she doesn’t even need to do much of anything at all to “earn” your slavish devotion. It’s all there in glorious technicolor!

And maybe it’s just because the man is on my mind so much, but I can’t help but notice the parallels between Korvayne and Samael Dyson. Check it, they’re both such sucking voids of confidence that they both need the nonstop battery of fawning flattery that comes with their Insignificants and Simp respectively. Just imagine the unquenchable, ineffable HOLE that must exist in someone to require such a steady stream of worship. And the worst part? They think that makes them Gods on Earth. But it doesn’t. All it is a symptom of virulent narcissistic personality disorder writ large, combined with an insecurity so utterly profound I’m not sure we have adequate vocabulary to describe it.

In short Korvayne, you’re not fooling anyone. You’re a perfectly mediocre woman playing the Emperor with no clothes. And if I wasn’t gay before I’m sure the sight of your pasty angular ass would have made me gay now.

Oh, but that’s not all!


****

Matty sat in silence, eyes dipped shut, with the lights dimmed all around him. He seemed to be at peace, despite what he was about to do.

“Alright, Matty, just try to focus on Samael Dyson.”

“I knew there would be a downside to this.” Matty grinned slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

The boy took in a deep breath and expelled it. Lux leaned in expectantly in her seat, eagerness written on her features. Kris looked on too, though his expression was of a more concerned mien.

Matty’s features tightened, suddenly looking strained. His back stood erect and his head ticced perceptibly.

“Are you okay in there, bud?”

“Yeah, it’s just really hard to lock on to one person in a sea of….well…..everyone. But…” He didn’t finish his thought, choosing instead to direct his resolve inward.

Lux and Kris watched Matty intently for a series of minutes until finally he spoke again.

“I think I’m getting close. I feel….I feel….” Matty’s lips tugged down into a deep frown. “Jesus, it feels really bad. It feels like anger, and sickness, and bitterness and….and…..it’s just all bad Kris, it’s all so bad!”

Kris shot Lux a concerned look before retraining his gaze on Matty. “You can stop whenever you want.”

“No, I want to do this. I want to help.” the boy returned solidly.

Another minute passed. A bead of sweat worried its way down Matty’s forehead, and finally he spoke again. “I’ve got him.”

“It worked?” Lux asked, unable to restrain a touch of incredulousness.

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, squirming and wincing. “I can see around him…he’s….his thoughts are muddled. He’s high as shit. It’s tough for me to make sense of where he is. But….” Suddenly, Matty’s eyes snapped wide open. “Oh God, what is that?!”

“What, Matty?”

“There’s something….something with him. Something alive…sort of….and strong….and….oh no….oh no! IT SEES ME!”

Kris stood up abruptly. “Matty stop! Pull away!”

Matty replied between gritted teeth as his body tensed even further. “I’m trying! I CAN’T!”

Just then, Matty’s head threw back, and he unleashed a scream. Kris went to Matty, shaking his shoulder. Matty’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Jesus Kris, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” He gave Matty another shake. “Matty! Come on buddy, snap out of it!”

And that was when Matty rose up off the couch and hung suspended in the air. Kris stumbled back in shock as his ward beheld him with the backmost whites of his eyes. Lux also snapped to her feet, instinctively going to draw a weapon and cursing when she realized she was unarmed.

“SAMAEL DYSON IS UNDER MY PROTECTION. YOU WILL NOT INTERVENE.”

The voice that issued forth wasn’t even remotely close to Matty’s. It had an echoed cadence, booming and authoritative. And if you listened carefully enough, hidden in the pockets between words, were a gaggle of other voices bleating what sounded like nonsense.

Kris looked to Lux, face ashen. Lux took the fore and spoke for both of them. “Who are we speaking with?”

“I AM THE ONE WHO INHABITS THE IMPOSSIBLE ANGLES. I AM NOT OF THE STARS BUT BEHIND THEM. I AM ALL THAT EVER WAS.”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“SILENCE YOUR IMPETUOUS MOUTH!”

Lux grimaced, not used to being cowed but understanding that prudence was needed here. “The boy you’re inhabiting. It wasn’t his fault. We asked him to look in on Samael.”

“WHY?”

“Because Samael hurt me. And hurt one of Lux’s friends. Amongst many others. Because he’s dangerous.” Kris spoke.

“THE MORTAL KNOWN AS SAMAEL DYSON IS NECESSARY. YOU WILL INTERVENE NO LONGER.”

“What if I put a bullet between his eyes?” Prudence had its limits.

“Lux!”

“No, Kris. I’ve dealt with assholes like this my entire life. They built a future of ruin. One that I’ve been fighting my entire life to stop.” Lux stood up straight. “You don’t frighten me, demon.”

Suddenly, a gout of blood sprayed through Matty’s lips. He gasped and his chest hitched as though struck.

“Lux, this thing has Matty!” Kris shouted.

But Lux tuned him out. “Answer me. Which one of the faceless horrors I’ve been fighting my whole life are you?”

“I HAVE NO NEED OF A NAME. I AM BEYOND TIME.”

“Yeah? Then why do you need a broken child like Samael Dyson to enact your plans? It’s always the same. Always some trumped up wannabe God who just so happens to need a human to do its dirty work for all its supposed vaunted power.” Lux sneered.

Matty spat up more blood, his head knocking backwards.

“Stop Lux, stop it now!” Kris turned to Matty and the thing inhabiting him. “We’ll lay off Samael, okay? We’ll stop. Just please….please don’t hurt him anymore!” 

“I CAN BREAK THIS ONE. I CAN SHOW YOU I AM NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH.”

Kris sunk to his knees. “If you’re going to break anyone, take me! Please, God, please don’t do this!”

The beast stopped speaking, and then, Matty dropped back down onto the couch. His eyes rolled forward again, and he began coughing and wheezing. Kris joined him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Matty?!”

“Yeah….it’s me.” Matty let out another battery of coughs. “What the hell was that?”

“Whatever it was, it’s bound to Samael Dyson.” Lux sat back down, looking exhausted. “And it makes this so, so much worse….”

But Kris’ mind wasn’t on that at all. Because all he could consider was how he just put Matty in danger once again. Decades in, so it goes.

****

“No, no, no. That’s not all.

Because we haven’t even touched your dalliance with Bobby Bourbon, have we?

“Oh oh, but I’m the victim!” I can hear you plaintively moan from here. And you know what, you were. Congrats on your victimhood. Congrats on getting roughed up by that sweaty no account manlet whose time has waaaaay passed him by.

But also, congrats on how you leapt on that whole shabang to expose your belly to the world.

I mean, how the hell do we go from you arrogantly ordering the trillionaires to declare you the Television Champion on the official XWF website….

[Image: tvkor22.png]

….to rolling the fuck over for Bobby Bourbon and dropping aforementioned title literally days later? HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?

Well, it happens when you’re an abject coward, Korvayne. It happens when you realize that somebody (Bobby Bourbon of all people) has your number and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

It happens when you throw in the fucking towel before the opening bell has even rung, as evidenced by that halfassed promo you cut in the days leading up to Warfare. Because suddenly this bitch who literally couldn’t shut her mouth if her life depended on it was making vague allusions to cutting shoots without actually, ya know, CUTTING SHOOTS. And it’s not like she didn’t have the material! It’s not like Bobby didn’t just hand her her ass in a Gucci bag. It’s not like she didn’t have a wellspring of anger and resentment to draw on! Oh…oh….except it wasn’t anger and resentment was it? My bad.

It was just pants pissing borderline catatonic levels of TERROR.

How tragic.

And you know what? It says a lot about your gumption, Korvayne. Because if somebody had humiliated me like that, I would have fought back fist, tooth and nail to right that wrong. Just like I’m fighting back against Samael Dyson now. But you and me? We’re worlds apart on that. Because you didn’t have the SPINE to stand up for yourself against Bobby. You just wanted him off of you, right? You just wanted him to leave you alone. So you kowtowed to the bully like a total subserviant, metaphorically (or maybe even literally, who knows) voiding your bowels and trying to appear as submissive as possible. I’m struggling to think of a weaker display I’ve witnessed since coming to the XWF and all I can recall is Isaiah King accepting a tag team championship handout from SEB after getting his ass beat. At least Isaiah has that body going for him though. Heh.

So in the end, what are we left with?

We’re left with a loud mouthed, chronically insecure, attention whoring, praise craving, generic mean girl who is incapable of so much as standing up for herself against Bobby Bourbon, yet will blow a 24/7 briefcase opportunity on getting back at Charlie Nickles. Way to pick your spot, girly. 

Now lets talk the facts of the matter. I’m 10 and 3, Korvayne. I’ve been pinned ONCE. I’ve beaten TWO former Universal Champions in Dickie Watson and Charlie Nickles. Your major accomplishments are beating consummate crybaby and failed cultist Yelena Gorgo and getting your shit pushed in by Bobby Bourbon. Tell a betting man why they should roll the dice on you over me?

You can’t, can you?

It’s fine. Most people can’t.

But suffice it to say, this train doesn’t stop at your station. My aims here are more than just putting a stop to Samael Dyson. I intend to build a career here in the XWF, build a LEGACY that guarantees a future for myself and Matty. And considering I don’t age, I intend to be doing this for a very long time. You are but an anthill on this path, a footnote in this story.

This Warfare, your immense ego only gets you so far. In fact, it gets you staring up at the lights as my hand is raised in victory YET AGAIN. Eleven wins. A future secured against mediocrity.

It’s okay though, Korvayne. I hear John Blade and company are getting sick of feasting on their own. The undercard is looking for a powerful personality who’s all bluster and no bite. I’m sure you’ll fit right in. 

As for the rest of the XWF? The vampire king is putting you on notice. Bryce, you have more than just your wayward lover with a shiny new briefcase to worry about.

Kristoffer Arroyo is here. And he is FOREVER.]]> Mexico

1976

The boy was haunting. Skeletal. A waif clinging to life for the sanctity of the innumerable machines he’s tethered too. It’s plain to see the contours of his ravaged form even through the blankets. But his face bore the cancer’s insidiousness worst of all. Gaunt, with eyes sunken into graying sockets. A living death mask. All vitality but a wisp smothered by the onslaught of rapidly replicating cells devouring his body. And then there were the smells, the tang of antiseptic with an undercurrent of stale urine. He tried not to be moved by the pathetic sight, but couldn’t help himself.

Kris (though that wasn't his name at the time) chanced a look through the window into the hallway. Alexandria (that wasn’t her name at the time either) spoke with the boy’s parents furtively. The mother sobbed into a handkerchief and nodded her head, as her husband wound a protective arm around her shoulders. Alexandria stole back into the boy’s room, stepping around to the opposite side of the bed where she too looked upon the fragile child there.

“They want to try.” Alexandria spoke without looking up at Kris.

“Do they understand?” Kris spoke stolidly.

“They understand as well as they’re able.”

“Do they UNDERSTAND?” Kris repeated, placing a forceful cadence on the final word.

It was at that point that Alex met his gaze with a touch of ire. “Don’t lecture me on understanding. Don’t forget who created who.” She sighed, softening a bit. “I’m sorry. It’s just that you know as well as I do that true understanding only comes in time….with….with….”

“You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Kris had relented too. “It’s probably best if they don’t watch.”

“Wait.”

Kris stopped, considering Alex expectantly.

“He’s going to be your thrall. Your responsibility. We need to care for this one. He’s so young.”

“I’m ready.”

(But I wasn’t.)

“I can do this.”

(But I couldn’t.)

“You’re sure?”

Kris nodded, returning his attention to the boy again. Matteo’s tainted blood was already singing to him. Making his senses glow.

“I’ll go back to them. Make sure they steer clear of the room for now.” Alexandria departed the room, returning to the parents just outside. Kris remained at the bedside, the sound of blood in Matteo’s body awakening him.

He bent low, fangs protruding, and began to drink from the child.

TWO WEEKS LATER…

“I killed them, Albert! They’re dead!” Matteo’s voice was shrill as it punctuated Kris’ ear through the phone line.

“Wait….slow down….”

“They’re dead! They’re fucking dead and I did it! Why did you do this to me?!” the boy wailed between hitching sobs.

“Don’t touch anything. I’ll be there in a little bit, okay? Just….just…..”

“Don’t leave me.”

“I have to hang up. I’ll be there in…”

“No, you won’t.”

The words stung. Not just how decisively correct they were, but because they were laden with so many of Kris’ sins. Kris had been neglecting the boy, shirking his responsibilities for want of pursuing another pretty fuck piece. Matty would learn. Kris had reasoned. We still have time before he needs to feed. Kris had bargained. I did it on MY own. Kris lied to himself.

And now the boy’s parents were rapidly cooling corpses in front of the television, the glow illuminating their blood in ever more garish hues.

Kris had come. But not because he wanted to. Because Alex had been irate. Had threatened to cut off all her support to Kris.

And now HIS problem, the byproduct of his laziness, immaturity, and lust was staring him in the face in the form of two dead parents still leaking vital fluids as Matteo cowered in the corner, weeping softly through fingers wound around his mouth.

“Matteo….Matty….” Kris spoke softly, as though an octave higher might shatter the child ever further. The boy didn’t reply at first, and when he did, it was barely discernible through the tears.

“I….I don’t….what do we do?”

“We need to clean this up.”

“Don’t talk about them like they’re trash that needs to get picked up! They’re PEOPLE!” Matty spat back in a rage.

Kris threw his hands up placatingly. “Okay. Okay. They’re people. But still, we can’t….”

“Fuck you, Albert!” Kris could see now that the boy was riding a wave of grief stricken rage that was unlikely to cool on its own. “You were supposed to be there for me! You were supposed to teach me what to do! I’ve tried calling you for two weeks!” He looked at his parents and then looked away again abruptly, squeezing tears through his closing eyelids. “I was so hungry. I couldn’t help it.”

“It’ll be okay….” Kris interjected lamely.

“It’ll never be okay again!” Matteo shrieked. “I’m going to be like this forever! Killing people! I….I…..” His breathing quickened, starting to hyperventilate. “I can’t breathe!”

Moving quickly to snag a chair from the nearby kitchenette, Kris placed it down near Matteo. “You need to sit, regain control.” Matteo did as he was bidden, surprisingly. “Breathe slowly. In and out.”

Kris watched Matteo as his breaths slowly returned, going from ragged and hyperbolic to easy and natural over the ensuing minutes.

“What do we do?” Matty inquired again, suddenly weary.

“We have to move the bod-...your parents.” Kris looked at them then, understanding the magnitude of the task ahead of him. Alexandria had refused to help, forcing Kris to confront the problem that was of his own making on his own. “It’s going to be hard. But if you…if WE…get caught they won’t understand what we are.”

“No.” Matty looked up at Kris, eyes reddened and bloodshot. “I mean what do we do forever?”

What do we do forever?

Now wasn’t that the quintessential question.

New York City
Now

“You’re fucking done.” Lux’s tone was like iron striking iron, merciless and effective.

“Don’t tell me I’m done! He KILLED me for fuck’s sakes! You don’t get to tell me I’m done!” Kris bit back, looking up and down the alley behind his apartment complex to ensure they were still well enough alone.

“I waited for you. I waited for you because you asked me to. But you didn’t get the job done at Leap of Faith. He’s still Xtreme champion. I waited for NOTHING, Kris. And who knows how many more people he’s hurt in the interim.”

“It’s not like I was counting on him having that massive German freakshow at ringside. It’s not like I didn’t try!” But the excuse sounded weak and petulant, even to Kris. He had begged Lux to let him strip Samael of everything he had in the XWF before she acted on him. And she was right. He HAD failed. But that didn’t mean he had no right to stay in the fight.

“While that man still lives and breathes he’s a threat to you AND Matty.”

Kris winced. She was right once more. He had selfishly jeopardized Matty to act out some petty revenge. Correction, he had jeopardized Matty AGAIN. And that was unacceptable.

“You’re right. We need to handle this NOW. For Matty’s sake.” Kris paused. “Speaking of Matty, he might be able to help us.”

“You want to bring him into this?!” Lux retorted incredulously.

“No! Not like that! Not directly. Matty’s an Archon. A…a special kind of vampire. He has certain abilities that I don’t have. And I think he might be able to track Samael.”

“So is this you scrounging for a justification to not cut you out of this?”

“No offense Lux, but I’m in this whether you want me to be or not.”

Lux sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Tell me more about what Matty can do.” 

A LITTLE LATER...

Matty sat cross legged on the couch and Kris beside him. Lux had pulled up another seat so that she too could sit in close proximity to the others.

“Matty, do you really think you can do this?” Lux asked.

“I mean, probably.” He wasn’t completely confident, shrugging his shoulders as he spoke. “But it’s not like you guys don’t know where he’s going to be. When he gets booked at the next XWF show can’t you just nab him then?”

“I’ve tried, Matty. Twice. Both times he was expecting me, and too well protected for me to get at him. I need to hit him when he’s not expecting it. When he’s alone.” Lux paused. “Can you give me that information? Can you track Samael like that?”

“I….” he started, before looking askance at Kris.

“Just do your best.” Kris spoke reassuringly.

Matty sighed. “I’ll try. But it’s hard.”

“Why don’t we start with this: Matty, how did you discover you had this ability?”

“In dreams. I started seeing random people. Like, each dream would be focused on a specific person. All people I didn’t know. And at first I thought they were just stupid dreams, you know? Stuff my brain made up. But then one time I saw a guy in a bodega buying beer. He took out his ID and I saw it, his name, his address, everything. So I Googled him, and it turned out he was a real person! Some guy from Indiana.” Matty’s voice grew enthusiastic. “So the next night I tried to focus on just this guy, to see if I could repeat it. It took me a couple nights but I eventually did it, had a whole dream about this same guy again.”

“So you have to be asleep to do it?”

“That’s the best part. Not anymore! I started trying to focus on the dream people when I was awake, and last week I finally did it. I finally started to be able to focus on individual people and see where they were. What they were doing. I tried it on Kris. I tried it on Michael Graves (and really wish I hadn’t)....”

“The less said about that, the better.”

“But it’s still hard. Sometimes it gets overwhelming. There’s, well, a lot of people out there. Obviously. Heh. And it seems like it's easier for me to find people I know than people I don’t.”

Lux sat back in her chair, musing. “Is there any danger to you in doing this, Matty?”

“I don’t think so. I don’t think they know I’m doing it.”

“Well, are you willing to give it a shot?”

Matty nodded. “Yeah. I wanna help.”

****

“Here guys, I’ll save you the trouble of watching the latest Korvayne promo.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

EGO.

There, I just stopped you from basting your eyes and ears with 20 minutes worth of unmitigated bilge.

Seriously though, the bitch only has one gear and its full throttle, around the corner and firmly up her own ass levels of self absorption the likes of which we haven’t seen since Madison Dyson was a heel and Kieran King royally decreed that his shit didn’t stink. By turns utterly moronic and blithely banal, Korvayne is a living plague on the artistry that is the XWF promo. Which is ironic considering she thinks of herself as an artist, a claim that would be laughable if it wasn’t so unerringly pathetic.

But you know, it's not even the ego that bothers me so much about Korvayne. It’s how she tries to mandate you fawning all over her without earning it. I mean, what has Korvayne DONE? I’ll grant her, on the surface of things beating a powerhouse like Yelena Gorgo SEEMS like a big deal. Until you remember that Yelena Gorgo is also the kind of “woefully soft in the middle” cream puff who bitched out on the XWF TWICE and can’t stop getting butthurt over people being mean to her on social media. Yelena Gorgo is all branding and production values and middling talent, so it’s really no surprise Korvayne got one over on her.

And then what did she do with that Television title immediately after she won it? Dumped it off on Bobby Bourbon. And more on that later, folks!

Then of course there is the Leap of Faith match. Now, it honestly was a pretty big fucking deal that someone as new as Korvayne even got into the match. But then of course, what did she do with it? She threw away the opportunity of a lifetime on getting even with that derelict Charlie Nickles. And if that isn’t just so quintessentially Korvayne I don’t know what is; the small mindedness of it all, the notion that she doesn’t even need to do much of anything at all to “earn” your slavish devotion. It’s all there in glorious technicolor!

And maybe it’s just because the man is on my mind so much, but I can’t help but notice the parallels between Korvayne and Samael Dyson. Check it, they’re both such sucking voids of confidence that they both need the nonstop battery of fawning flattery that comes with their Insignificants and Simp respectively. Just imagine the unquenchable, ineffable HOLE that must exist in someone to require such a steady stream of worship. And the worst part? They think that makes them Gods on Earth. But it doesn’t. All it is a symptom of virulent narcissistic personality disorder writ large, combined with an insecurity so utterly profound I’m not sure we have adequate vocabulary to describe it.

In short Korvayne, you’re not fooling anyone. You’re a perfectly mediocre woman playing the Emperor with no clothes. And if I wasn’t gay before I’m sure the sight of your pasty angular ass would have made me gay now.

Oh, but that’s not all!


****

Matty sat in silence, eyes dipped shut, with the lights dimmed all around him. He seemed to be at peace, despite what he was about to do.

“Alright, Matty, just try to focus on Samael Dyson.”

“I knew there would be a downside to this.” Matty grinned slightly. “I’ll do my best.”

The boy took in a deep breath and expelled it. Lux leaned in expectantly in her seat, eagerness written on her features. Kris looked on too, though his expression was of a more concerned mien.

Matty’s features tightened, suddenly looking strained. His back stood erect and his head ticced perceptibly.

“Are you okay in there, bud?”

“Yeah, it’s just really hard to lock on to one person in a sea of….well…..everyone. But…” He didn’t finish his thought, choosing instead to direct his resolve inward.

Lux and Kris watched Matty intently for a series of minutes until finally he spoke again.

“I think I’m getting close. I feel….I feel….” Matty’s lips tugged down into a deep frown. “Jesus, it feels really bad. It feels like anger, and sickness, and bitterness and….and…..it’s just all bad Kris, it’s all so bad!”

Kris shot Lux a concerned look before retraining his gaze on Matty. “You can stop whenever you want.”

“No, I want to do this. I want to help.” the boy returned solidly.

Another minute passed. A bead of sweat worried its way down Matty’s forehead, and finally he spoke again. “I’ve got him.”

“It worked?” Lux asked, unable to restrain a touch of incredulousness.

The boy shifted uncomfortably in his seat, squirming and wincing. “I can see around him…he’s….his thoughts are muddled. He’s high as shit. It’s tough for me to make sense of where he is. But….” Suddenly, Matty’s eyes snapped wide open. “Oh God, what is that?!”

“What, Matty?”

“There’s something….something with him. Something alive…sort of….and strong….and….oh no….oh no! IT SEES ME!”

Kris stood up abruptly. “Matty stop! Pull away!”

Matty replied between gritted teeth as his body tensed even further. “I’m trying! I CAN’T!”

Just then, Matty’s head threw back, and he unleashed a scream. Kris went to Matty, shaking his shoulder. Matty’s eyes rolled back in his head.

“Jesus Kris, what’s going on?”

“I don’t know!” He gave Matty another shake. “Matty! Come on buddy, snap out of it!”

And that was when Matty rose up off the couch and hung suspended in the air. Kris stumbled back in shock as his ward beheld him with the backmost whites of his eyes. Lux also snapped to her feet, instinctively going to draw a weapon and cursing when she realized she was unarmed.

“SAMAEL DYSON IS UNDER MY PROTECTION. YOU WILL NOT INTERVENE.”

The voice that issued forth wasn’t even remotely close to Matty’s. It had an echoed cadence, booming and authoritative. And if you listened carefully enough, hidden in the pockets between words, were a gaggle of other voices bleating what sounded like nonsense.

Kris looked to Lux, face ashen. Lux took the fore and spoke for both of them. “Who are we speaking with?”

“I AM THE ONE WHO INHABITS THE IMPOSSIBLE ANGLES. I AM NOT OF THE STARS BUT BEHIND THEM. I AM ALL THAT EVER WAS.”

“That doesn’t really narrow it down.”

“SILENCE YOUR IMPETUOUS MOUTH!”

Lux grimaced, not used to being cowed but understanding that prudence was needed here. “The boy you’re inhabiting. It wasn’t his fault. We asked him to look in on Samael.”

“WHY?”

“Because Samael hurt me. And hurt one of Lux’s friends. Amongst many others. Because he’s dangerous.” Kris spoke.

“THE MORTAL KNOWN AS SAMAEL DYSON IS NECESSARY. YOU WILL INTERVENE NO LONGER.”

“What if I put a bullet between his eyes?” Prudence had its limits.

“Lux!”

“No, Kris. I’ve dealt with assholes like this my entire life. They built a future of ruin. One that I’ve been fighting my entire life to stop.” Lux stood up straight. “You don’t frighten me, demon.”

Suddenly, a gout of blood sprayed through Matty’s lips. He gasped and his chest hitched as though struck.

“Lux, this thing has Matty!” Kris shouted.

But Lux tuned him out. “Answer me. Which one of the faceless horrors I’ve been fighting my whole life are you?”

“I HAVE NO NEED OF A NAME. I AM BEYOND TIME.”

“Yeah? Then why do you need a broken child like Samael Dyson to enact your plans? It’s always the same. Always some trumped up wannabe God who just so happens to need a human to do its dirty work for all its supposed vaunted power.” Lux sneered.

Matty spat up more blood, his head knocking backwards.

“Stop Lux, stop it now!” Kris turned to Matty and the thing inhabiting him. “We’ll lay off Samael, okay? We’ll stop. Just please….please don’t hurt him anymore!” 

“I CAN BREAK THIS ONE. I CAN SHOW YOU I AM NOT TO BE TRIFLED WITH.”

Kris sunk to his knees. “If you’re going to break anyone, take me! Please, God, please don’t do this!”

The beast stopped speaking, and then, Matty dropped back down onto the couch. His eyes rolled forward again, and he began coughing and wheezing. Kris joined him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Matty?!”

“Yeah….it’s me.” Matty let out another battery of coughs. “What the hell was that?”

“Whatever it was, it’s bound to Samael Dyson.” Lux sat back down, looking exhausted. “And it makes this so, so much worse….”

But Kris’ mind wasn’t on that at all. Because all he could consider was how he just put Matty in danger once again. Decades in, so it goes.

****

“No, no, no. That’s not all.

Because we haven’t even touched your dalliance with Bobby Bourbon, have we?

“Oh oh, but I’m the victim!” I can hear you plaintively moan from here. And you know what, you were. Congrats on your victimhood. Congrats on getting roughed up by that sweaty no account manlet whose time has waaaaay passed him by.

But also, congrats on how you leapt on that whole shabang to expose your belly to the world.

I mean, how the hell do we go from you arrogantly ordering the trillionaires to declare you the Television Champion on the official XWF website….

[Image: tvkor22.png]

….to rolling the fuck over for Bobby Bourbon and dropping aforementioned title literally days later? HOW DOES THAT HAPPEN?

Well, it happens when you’re an abject coward, Korvayne. It happens when you realize that somebody (Bobby Bourbon of all people) has your number and there is not a goddamn thing you can do about it.

It happens when you throw in the fucking towel before the opening bell has even rung, as evidenced by that halfassed promo you cut in the days leading up to Warfare. Because suddenly this bitch who literally couldn’t shut her mouth if her life depended on it was making vague allusions to cutting shoots without actually, ya know, CUTTING SHOOTS. And it’s not like she didn’t have the material! It’s not like Bobby didn’t just hand her her ass in a Gucci bag. It’s not like she didn’t have a wellspring of anger and resentment to draw on! Oh…oh….except it wasn’t anger and resentment was it? My bad.

It was just pants pissing borderline catatonic levels of TERROR.

How tragic.

And you know what? It says a lot about your gumption, Korvayne. Because if somebody had humiliated me like that, I would have fought back fist, tooth and nail to right that wrong. Just like I’m fighting back against Samael Dyson now. But you and me? We’re worlds apart on that. Because you didn’t have the SPINE to stand up for yourself against Bobby. You just wanted him off of you, right? You just wanted him to leave you alone. So you kowtowed to the bully like a total subserviant, metaphorically (or maybe even literally, who knows) voiding your bowels and trying to appear as submissive as possible. I’m struggling to think of a weaker display I’ve witnessed since coming to the XWF and all I can recall is Isaiah King accepting a tag team championship handout from SEB after getting his ass beat. At least Isaiah has that body going for him though. Heh.

So in the end, what are we left with?

We’re left with a loud mouthed, chronically insecure, attention whoring, praise craving, generic mean girl who is incapable of so much as standing up for herself against Bobby Bourbon, yet will blow a 24/7 briefcase opportunity on getting back at Charlie Nickles. Way to pick your spot, girly. 

Now lets talk the facts of the matter. I’m 10 and 3, Korvayne. I’ve been pinned ONCE. I’ve beaten TWO former Universal Champions in Dickie Watson and Charlie Nickles. Your major accomplishments are beating consummate crybaby and failed cultist Yelena Gorgo and getting your shit pushed in by Bobby Bourbon. Tell a betting man why they should roll the dice on you over me?

You can’t, can you?

It’s fine. Most people can’t.

But suffice it to say, this train doesn’t stop at your station. My aims here are more than just putting a stop to Samael Dyson. I intend to build a career here in the XWF, build a LEGACY that guarantees a future for myself and Matty. And considering I don’t age, I intend to be doing this for a very long time. You are but an anthill on this path, a footnote in this story.

This Warfare, your immense ego only gets you so far. In fact, it gets you staring up at the lights as my hand is raised in victory YET AGAIN. Eleven wins. A future secured against mediocrity.

It’s okay though, Korvayne. I hear John Blade and company are getting sick of feasting on their own. The undercard is looking for a powerful personality who’s all bluster and no bite. I’m sure you’ll fit right in. 

As for the rest of the XWF? The vampire king is putting you on notice. Bryce, you have more than just your wayward lover with a shiny new briefcase to worry about.

Kristoffer Arroyo is here. And he is FOREVER.]]> <![CDATA[No Man's Land]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50182 Sat, 13 Jun 2026 17:43:32 -0700 johnathan]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50182 As warfare continued to unfold, the members of the XWF Universe filled
In the third, the Rocket  Mortgage Fieldhouse Arena was literally sitting on the edge of their seats with
anticipation, excited for more actions to unfold right before their very eyes.
Soon enough, they were put right out of their Match two...
.. Was heard! Not a single member of The XWF Universe remained seated as ''  The Time is now'  rang through the arena, prompting the crowd to rise to their
feet, cheering at the top of their lungs. Confusion soon set in, though, as John
Blade was nowhere to be seen, despite his music still playing.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Yo! Over here!
John's voice suddenly rang through the arena, and cameras were quick to find
him. The XWF Universe burst into a bout of louder cheers, as there was John,
amongst them, sitting in a seat in the middle of a section of fans.
Surgeon of Thug|John Blade: Cleveland, Ohio! Make Some Noise!
The XWF Universe continued to roar as John nodded his approval at them, giving
Those surrounding him gave a high five.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: last month at Leap of Faith! I did not win the LOF Qualifier battle royal match, and here we are! And June? in I take back what's rightfully
Mine, and that's me bouncing back in a triple threat Elimination match, that's all this! XWF Universe! Because if anyone has any rights around here, it's The Main Event Jay Fetu of you! So lemme break it down for ya!
John nodded at the XWF Universe as they continued to cheer, as he sat himself down
back in his seat.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: The XWF has been around for decades now, we know that's true.
But what's keeping it together? The XWF Universe; Razor Blae of you!
Where would we be if we didn't have the support of our loyal fans?
Not at Warfare; that would never be a part of our plans!
Plans that only come to life because our XWF Universe shows up!
And yet here you are, trying to take from them, instead of filling their matches!
With that is not obligated to pour into yours, that's for sure.
But look around this Arena here Monday; you can't keep them out of our XWF
door!
A door that opened many opportunities, which is why you should stay wary!
If they turn their back on us? Damn boy! There'd be no Main Event, Jay Fetu!
man, where's your head at?! Do you even have the tiniest drop of class?
Clearly not, if you're sucking up to! gross though,  who wants to suck an
old a**?!
True as they come, this XWF Universe stands by us and has our backs!
thinking you can make this all from them? man, that's where your brain lacks!
Samuel Hurst, you ain't what you used to be! It's the whacky old man show!
You're not out for this anymore! Just ask Monday night Warfare Monday and
XWF June fifteenth!
You've done your part, and the XWF  is still something we can fix!
Especially now, before we have this three-way elimination match, add his so-called era to the mix!
That's all we need; triple threat Elimination match! The hell is that supposed to be?!
A bunch of crap, is what! But it's not gonna happen, because you won't get
through me!
We've been in the ring together before, Razor Blade, and you know what I can do.
And after you hit me with your finisher? There's no telling what I'm
gonna put you through!
myself is off limits, man. You went way too far.
All I did was give your friend an Death Valley Drop, I didn't hit him with a damn car!
So, a Car wasn't nice, and I'm not done making you pay!
You're not cut out to be in control of this XWF Universe, no matter what you have to
say!
You'd be nothing without these people; they pay to keep you here and give you
exposure!
Without them, there'd be no Main Event, Jay Fetu! No! It'd be Warfare!
But you want to take their Spot? Keep dreaming, man,  The XWF is their ball!
And June? Together, will hit you with that ball and watch you fall!
We're the best for June, I got the best support in my corner!
including Razor Blade, that man, nobody needs to adorn me!
I'm taking control of Warfare, for my family and me, for all of you!
Jay Fetu? Trust me, there's nothing that you can do!
We're an unstoppable force when you mess with my friends!
The XWF Universe is my heart, and so, I'll rip you apart!
Bring it on, Razor and Main Event Jey Fetu, this one will go down in history, it's worth the buck!
And if you think I'm coming up short? Well, I just don't give a F***!
John stood up and the XWF Universe stood with him, cheering as he posed for
them.
]]> As warfare continued to unfold, the members of the XWF Universe filled
In the third, the Rocket  Mortgage Fieldhouse Arena was literally sitting on the edge of their seats with
anticipation, excited for more actions to unfold right before their very eyes.
Soon enough, they were put right out of their Match two...
.. Was heard! Not a single member of The XWF Universe remained seated as ''  The Time is now'  rang through the arena, prompting the crowd to rise to their
feet, cheering at the top of their lungs. Confusion soon set in, though, as John
Blade was nowhere to be seen, despite his music still playing.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: Yo! Over here!
John's voice suddenly rang through the arena, and cameras were quick to find
him. The XWF Universe burst into a bout of louder cheers, as there was John,
amongst them, sitting in a seat in the middle of a section of fans.
Surgeon of Thug|John Blade: Cleveland, Ohio! Make Some Noise!
The XWF Universe continued to roar as John nodded his approval at them, giving
Those surrounding him gave a high five.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: last month at Leap of Faith! I did not win the LOF Qualifier battle royal match, and here we are! And June? in I take back what's rightfully
Mine, and that's me bouncing back in a triple threat Elimination match, that's all this! XWF Universe! Because if anyone has any rights around here, it's The Main Event Jay Fetu of you! So lemme break it down for ya!
John nodded at the XWF Universe as they continued to cheer, as he sat himself down
back in his seat.
Surgeon of Thug| John Blade: The XWF has been around for decades now, we know that's true.
But what's keeping it together? The XWF Universe; Razor Blae of you!
Where would we be if we didn't have the support of our loyal fans?
Not at Warfare; that would never be a part of our plans!
Plans that only come to life because our XWF Universe shows up!
And yet here you are, trying to take from them, instead of filling their matches!
With that is not obligated to pour into yours, that's for sure.
But look around this Arena here Monday; you can't keep them out of our XWF
door!
A door that opened many opportunities, which is why you should stay wary!
If they turn their back on us? Damn boy! There'd be no Main Event, Jay Fetu!
man, where's your head at?! Do you even have the tiniest drop of class?
Clearly not, if you're sucking up to! gross though,  who wants to suck an
old a**?!
True as they come, this XWF Universe stands by us and has our backs!
thinking you can make this all from them? man, that's where your brain lacks!
Samuel Hurst, you ain't what you used to be! It's the whacky old man show!
You're not out for this anymore! Just ask Monday night Warfare Monday and
XWF June fifteenth!
You've done your part, and the XWF  is still something we can fix!
Especially now, before we have this three-way elimination match, add his so-called era to the mix!
That's all we need; triple threat Elimination match! The hell is that supposed to be?!
A bunch of crap, is what! But it's not gonna happen, because you won't get
through me!
We've been in the ring together before, Razor Blade, and you know what I can do.
And after you hit me with your finisher? There's no telling what I'm
gonna put you through!
myself is off limits, man. You went way too far.
All I did was give your friend an Death Valley Drop, I didn't hit him with a damn car!
So, a Car wasn't nice, and I'm not done making you pay!
You're not cut out to be in control of this XWF Universe, no matter what you have to
say!
You'd be nothing without these people; they pay to keep you here and give you
exposure!
Without them, there'd be no Main Event, Jay Fetu! No! It'd be Warfare!
But you want to take their Spot? Keep dreaming, man,  The XWF is their ball!
And June? Together, will hit you with that ball and watch you fall!
We're the best for June, I got the best support in my corner!
including Razor Blade, that man, nobody needs to adorn me!
I'm taking control of Warfare, for my family and me, for all of you!
Jay Fetu? Trust me, there's nothing that you can do!
We're an unstoppable force when you mess with my friends!
The XWF Universe is my heart, and so, I'll rip you apart!
Bring it on, Razor and Main Event Jey Fetu, this one will go down in history, it's worth the buck!
And if you think I'm coming up short? Well, I just don't give a F***!
John stood up and the XWF Universe stood with him, cheering as he posed for
them.
]]> <![CDATA[Storm Goddess Collects]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50180 Sat, 13 Jun 2026 02:11:05 -0700 Deena Hixx]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=50180


Just then, we hear '' light it up'' as we see Deena Hixx skip her way onto the stage. The crowd cheers
loudly as El Rompecabezas looks at the ramp. Deena waves as she speaks.
[Image: AJ_Lee_2026-348x215.jpg]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: Did we interrupt you, El Rompecabezas? We're Sorry.
The Hixxes laughed a little, as El Rompecabezas shook his head.
[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSII7XwiruC-oUWZ2YYgFz...DoMNHsHA&s]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: We were back there listening to you whine about our match, and how much hate we don't like, but we saw your match last month at Leap of Faith, which it was
pretty good by the way, but here's my question, though, why do you want to pick a fight with Deena and me? I mean, we haven't done anything to you, El Rompecabezas. cause if it's a fight you're looking for, then a fight you will get on Monday's Warfare at XWF.
The crowd went '' ooh after what El Rompecabezas said. The Hixxes rolled their eyes as she got a 
serious look on her face.
[Image: G0Xfj8FWsAE_u5h.jpg]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: So let me get this straight.... you came out here to not only whine about losing, your match at Leap of Faith, but you're asking for a future title shot when you just
lost your match at LOF and now you really want to step foot inside of this ring with two Hixx Sisters uh uh i don't think so, sweetie cause the last time I checked, me and my sis were in the LOF
Qualifier over the top rope battle royal, and you wanna know who won that battle royal match at Leap of Faith, it wasn't me, of course, and it sure as hell wasn't my friend John or Jay Fetu. It was The Storm herself, lovely sisterhood, Latoya Hixx.
as Was Deena going crazier than what she was?
Deena motions with her hands to calm the situation a little.
[Image: sddefault.jpg]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx:  El Rompecabezas was a little feisty on Monday. We heard you got hit with
a bag of nickels, but we think it messed with your brain a little
bit, cause this Monday you sound a little loony right now.
Deena laughs out loud.
[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcTzuL9k_5FQEOdCfoycu_0...PZJ5MKOQ&s]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: You think you're the best at what cost after that brutal loss you just
had a lazy month at Leap of Faith, and now all of a sudden you want a two-on-one match with me and
Deena this Monday on Warfare.
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: and once you step foot in between those ropes, you will be facing not one but two women, and they are The Storm and Geek Goddess Deena Hixx. and can't wait to
humiliate you when you take on us in a two on one handy cap match on Monday in Cleveland, Ohio, at Warfare.
Deena gets a serious look on her face as she drops the mic and stares at her sister, Latoya Hixx. and she whispers to her behalf, Deena, inside of the ring, saying that Storm Goddess is. coming. to Cleveland, Ohio
in heads back to her locker room, and when Deena exits out of the ring once her music starts playing, she skips her way up the ramp and stage and follows her sis to their locker room to prepare
for there are two on one handy cap match on Monday at Warfare on XWF.
]]>


Just then, we hear '' light it up'' as we see Deena Hixx skip her way onto the stage. The crowd cheers
loudly as El Rompecabezas looks at the ramp. Deena waves as she speaks.
[Image: AJ_Lee_2026-348x215.jpg]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: Did we interrupt you, El Rompecabezas? We're Sorry.
The Hixxes laughed a little, as El Rompecabezas shook his head.
[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcSII7XwiruC-oUWZ2YYgFz...DoMNHsHA&s]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: We were back there listening to you whine about our match, and how much hate we don't like, but we saw your match last month at Leap of Faith, which it was
pretty good by the way, but here's my question, though, why do you want to pick a fight with Deena and me? I mean, we haven't done anything to you, El Rompecabezas. cause if it's a fight you're looking for, then a fight you will get on Monday's Warfare at XWF.
The crowd went '' ooh after what El Rompecabezas said. The Hixxes rolled their eyes as she got a 
serious look on her face.
[Image: G0Xfj8FWsAE_u5h.jpg]
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: So let me get this straight.... you came out here to not only whine about losing, your match at Leap of Faith, but you're asking for a future title shot when you just
lost your match at LOF and now you really want to step foot inside of this ring with two Hixx Sisters uh uh i don't think so, sweetie cause the last time I checked, me and my sis were in the LOF
Qualifier over the top rope battle royal, and you wanna know who won that battle royal match at Leap of Faith, it wasn't me, of course, and it sure as hell wasn't my friend John or Jay Fetu. It was The Storm herself, lovely sisterhood, Latoya Hixx.
as Was Deena going crazier than what she was?
Deena motions with her hands to calm the situation a little.
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Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx:  El Rompecabezas was a little feisty on Monday. We heard you got hit with
a bag of nickels, but we think it messed with your brain a little
bit, cause this Monday you sound a little loony right now.
Deena laughs out loud.
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Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: You think you're the best at what cost after that brutal loss you just
had a lazy month at Leap of Faith, and now all of a sudden you want a two-on-one match with me and
Deena this Monday on Warfare.
Geek Goddess| Deena Hixx: and once you step foot in between those ropes, you will be facing not one but two women, and they are The Storm and Geek Goddess Deena Hixx. and can't wait to
humiliate you when you take on us in a two on one handy cap match on Monday in Cleveland, Ohio, at Warfare.
Deena gets a serious look on her face as she drops the mic and stares at her sister, Latoya Hixx. and she whispers to her behalf, Deena, inside of the ring, saying that Storm Goddess is. coming. to Cleveland, Ohio
in heads back to her locker room, and when Deena exits out of the ring once her music starts playing, she skips her way up the ramp and stage and follows her sis to their locker room to prepare
for there are two on one handy cap match on Monday at Warfare on XWF.
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