<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - March Madness 2020 RP Board]]>

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - March Madness 2020 RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Mon, 04 May 2026 13:45:55 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Only One Chance]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36046 Sat, 28 Mar 2020 23:59:20 -0700 Ned Kaye]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36046

OOC: Gonna format later. Pretty devoted to making sure most of this story I had planned out gets out there, win or lose. I hope at the very least y’all enjoy this one RP I can really pour my thoughts and ideas into. Thanks for reading and please stay safe.(Also, realizing that I will ikely only get so far, so I’ll probably post the rest and get DQ’d, lol, or post the rest as a CD. because I really do want to tell this story the way I wanted, match be damned.)

EDIT: I accidentally posted this in the wrong forum, oof. I'll ask a mod to move it in the morning.

Chapter I: Only One Chance

March 16th, 2020

In the stagnant air of The Notorious Gym, Dewey Main looked through a suitcase, his hands pulling a decorative flask from within. There was a variety of etchings engraved upon it, accented with a deep, reflective black. The metal felt cold to the touch as he bounced it in his hand slightly, checking for any liquids within. The flask felt empty in his palm, reminding of him of the rather dire state of the gym he stood in. The kid had told him about how busy this place could get, but it seemed to Dewey as if those days had passed long before they truly had. With a shrug, he reached into his bag, looking for something to fill his flask. Glancing upward, he saw Ethan sitting in a chair, his things collected in a case sat before him. He and the younger man hadn't really gotten along. While Ned was occasionally irritable at Dewey pushing and ranting, Ethan was downright rebellious. But that sense was nowhere to be seen in Ethan's face, his skin still bruised and scarred. It was just the nameless expression you see from those who experience a true horror and live to tell it. Despite their differences, Dewey felt for him. He didn't ask to be in this war, but he had sure gotten the worst of it more than Ned ever could.

"You holding up, kid?"

Ethan nodded vacantly, his expression unchanged.

"I'll have plenty o' time to talk your ear off while we're holed up in the car. Maybe you'll even learn something, heh!"

The boy didn't respond immediately, choosing instead to focus on nothing in particular.

"How bad is it out there?"

Dewey chuckled to himself, trying to be more jovial in his tone.

"Now, how the hell am I supposed to know that? I'm not your phone, son."

Twisting his head to face Main, Ethan stared at him again, his humorless demeanor piercing the older man's attempts. Allowing his tone to become more serious, Dewey replied.

"It's getting worse.”

Dewey looked down, feeling glass against his hand. Lifting the object out of the mess of clothes revealed it was a bottle of Maker’s Mark, a brand the Mains were well acquainted with.

“That’ll do,” he muttered under his breath. Ethan stood, walking upstairs, leaving the self-qualified personal trainer alone.

In his office, Ned placed a picture of himself, younger with his fiance, Lilian. He can remember the little details he took for granted when he was travelling around in his car, trying to make it from show to show. Even the smaller arenas being sold out were enough for him. It wasn’t about the money or the glory. Seeing people out there cheer him on made it all worth it. But everything going on made that practically impossible. He had tried to record a few promos, but found himself without the voice that had gotten him to the XWF in the first place. With a single event, the normality of his existence was thrown out and brought in was the world that the Shane Carvers of society thrived on. The world that burnt for the amusement of The Engineer and his ilk. And even with his XWF career on the line, he found that he stood in the shadow of something far more cataclysmic than just a wrestling match.

Just a wrestling match, Ned thought. Wouldn’t that be calming?

A single knock emanated from his office door, causing Ned to call out.

“It’s open.”

Ethan gently cracked the door open, giving his best friend a small wave. As Ned stared into his eyes, there was a deadness in them. As if something was stripped away from him.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

Ned couldn’t help but feel something deep within him twist at the sight of his friend like this. It felt like poison being injected into the farthest reaches of his very being. Ethan never had to be there at Savage. He could’ve been with his parents or anywhere else. But he was devoted to being there for Ned and that fact wasn’t lost on Ned for a moment.

“James is almost here.”

“Yeah, he texted me, too. I’ve been attempting to get my things in order before we set off. You need help packing?”

“No.”

Kaye gave a slight nod, returning to the task of packing.

“Ned.”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t…. Don’t take this guy lightly,” Ethan spoke quietly. “He’s not normal. He’s not…-”

“Human?”

“Yeah…”

“I know,” Ned responded, closing his suitcase. He approached his friend, placing an arm around him.

“I’m not gonna let that happen to you again.”

“I’ll be okay. ...Just make sure you’re alright. It’s your match we’re talking about.”

“But you’re my friend. You always come first. Universal Title be damned.”

The two approach the office door and walk back downstairs. Seeing Dewey fully prepped and ready to go, certainly more solemn than he was typically. Opening the door somewhat unexpectedly is the impeccable James Raven.

“Well, not sure how much I agree with getting a truck, but we’re stocked and ready to go. So, who’s ready to go to Vegas?”

He’s met with a silent room at his remark.

“Don’t get too excited, fellas.”

As everyone heads towards the door, James stops Ned, placing a socially distanced hand in front of him.

“Not too fast, hot shot. We got business to discuss.”

“Huh?”

“If you want to be champion, you have to be ready to promote the fed. I mean, have you seen the numbers since Engy got that thing? That whole coalition is completely uninterested in appealing to anyone. So, we need to start ensuring you have some pull.”

“Meaning..?”

“I got you an interview.”

“An interview? What show?”

Chapter 2: Questions

March 17th, 2020

“Hey! What’s going on everybody? For First We Feast, I’m Sean Evans and you’re watching Hot Ones. It’s the show with hot questions and even hotter wings. And today I’m joined by Ned Kaye. You know him from putting boots to faces on XWF Television and an interesting venture into assisting his local community. How do you feel about taking the gauntlet today?”

“I’m feeling like I might need to rethink my choice of manager,” Ned responds with a chuckle.

Cutting a bit ahead, the footage shows Ned and Sean both holding the first chicken wing. With an introduction of the branded sauce, they both take a sizable bite.

“That’s actually a damn good sauce,” Ned remarks.

Sean sits back slightly, his head shaking with a pleasantly shocked expression. “Thank you, Ned!”

“Now, you’ve decided to always attempt to go big with your choice of opponents despite difficulty in actually securing wins against them. Why exactly is that?”

“Part of it is about faith of a sort. And another part of it is feeling like I have something to prove. Y’know, as much as I attempt to not dwell on it much, I absolutely feel the pressure when it comes to the people I share time with. Big D is a multiple time champion. All of APEX Prophecy is just amazing performer after amazing performer, so when you’re in that position, of course you’re going to take challenges people don’t expect you to live up to. I also know that I’m capable of a lot more than some will give me credit for. It’s just a matter of that faith in yourself being able to push you taking on any challenge. Now, I already proved that I can pin The Engineer, so it’s just a matter of putting it into effect.”

The clip cuts ahead to Ned, seven wings in, handling the heat poorly as hunches over. His glass of milk is empty as Evans smiles, doing his best to continue with the interview.

“I can’t believe they made something that bad! I really thought everybody was exaggerating about Da Bomb…”

“Trust me, man, I know. I tried to get it off, but I had like three producers explain to me why torturing people was profitable.”

“Christ.”

“Now, we’re all aware you’ve faced some pretty big struggles on the way to where you are. What do you think was the biggest obstacle placed in front of you?”

Ned thinks for a moment, thinking his answer through carefully.

“Losing my Dad and Lili. It’s one of those things that grounds you. It reminds you that you could go at any point. I relied on them for a lot of stuff, especially Dad. These are the people who reminded me at whatever point I was that my dreams and desires mattered. Even where I am now, I get treated like a joke often. Like an afterthought. I mean, my match with The Engineer is essentially him doing absolutely everything in his power to tell the world that I’m completely unimportant. I mean, this guy had the audacity to use my friend as a human shield so he could start a riot at one of our shows. You think the people controlling him, y’know, Shane and Madison, you think they give one single damn about the XWF staying alive as a company? Shane had an entire reign of ownership accented by his lack of a fuck to give about what people wanted to see!’

“I mean, some of these people really forget what happened when Shane was involved back in the day. This guy put on the most vile, disgusting programming in the business because he found the chaotic element amusing. That’s the guy we’re dealing with. A man who put layer after layer of corruption under him so he could sit back and watch a bunch of scat matches and controversy.”

“Well, you should probably save that anger for when you’re fighting Shane.”

“Aren’t I fighting him? Do you honestly believe that this Engineer is anything more than an approximation of humanity based on the qualities Shane thinks are relevant doused in some of the most flimsy Dexter Bright nostalgia possible. Shane and his creation don’t care about anything but continuing that chain of entropy that Dyson helped propel Dexter into. Not to say Dexter wasn’t a piece of work himself, but he certainly didn’t strap his back to outrage politics for a simple pat on the back and a platform. Besides, Dyson is the only person in their troupe with any sort of ideals or beliefs and those pretty much boil down to preferring a destroyed planet than one with black people.”

“You’ve been pretty frustrated with their antics, haven’t you?” Sean laughs somewhat as Ned nods with a matter of fact face.

Chapter 3: Trial

March 22nd, 2020

Dewey looks over Ned’s stance as they stand out in front of a snowy mountain, on one of its many plateaus. Kaye looks exhausted as he does best to meet his trainer’s specifications.

“Too sloppy, kid. Do the routine again.”

Ned shakes his head, doing his best to perform an acrobatic display and stand before Dewey again in an improved variant of his previous grappling stance. Unfortunately for Ned, the entire attempt falls apart quickly as he botches an initial roll.

“Goddammit, kid! We don’t have enough time for you to be screwing up like this!” Dewey takes a swig from his flask.

“Look, Dewey, I just need some rest. I feel like I’ve been pushing myself to the brink lately and with everything going on, I just can’t get into the mindset I was prepping myself for. Please, cut me a little slack.”

“Slack doesn’t win belts.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure my corpse doesn’t either. Can I please have a minute?”

Main shrugs, waving a dismissive hand towards Ned.

“Fine.”

Feeling depleted, Ned walks off to a different part of the mountain, lugging a small bag with him. With a heavy sigh, Ned pulls out a video camera and begins recording.

“You know, it’s times like this that I wish Steve Jason was still cutting promos. I know he’d be able to summarize all of this concisely and say something that could be looked back on. Hell, just someone willing to take that chance and attempt to look at the world in that way would be a welcome change of pace. But it seems like we abandoned that long ago in favor of encouraging The Engineers of the world. You know, I wonder all the time about where I’d be if I kept that vendetta to Robert Main that Dexter Bright so generously shared with me. I ask myself what that hate led to. What paths I’d take given the right push in a particularly long fall from grace. But if you look at what happened to Lux and Corey and The Engineer’s own son, then you know precisely where that path leads. And the really sad thing is that it all came from a place of concern. Lux had the best interest in keeping this world alive because she believed in the good of it. Yet, she surrounded herself in an environment that invited evil into her living room. And now Lux is nowhere to be seen. Lost somewhere in-between the devilish creation of Shane’s depravity and the void itself.”

“Was she punished for loving someone? For caring about humanity? No. Lux was an example that even the brightest star can lose its light in the right circumstances. Rather, that’s what Shane would have you believe. And I’m sure our New Engineer would revel in that presumption, but the truth is far simpler. I’ve been saying this for a while, but it’s easy to forget. Engy, you may look like us and even sound like us a little... “

“But you’re not human. Not properly human at least. You’re just what Shane desperately wants, no, needs humanity to be. Because if the sum of humanity is the completely morally bankrupt slate of cells and base instincts you represent, then maybe, just maybe he isn’t as bad as he was made out to be. But seeing The Engineer revel in what it means to be human is so funny to me, because he assumes all of humanity is some entitled brat living easy off of Daddy’s money. He doesn’t know struggle. He was given that championship the day Lux died because he inhabited the same body, but he didn’t earn it. Hell, he didn’t even try to be worthy. He doesn’t know what it means to love or to fight for something you care about because even his passion for chaos is approximate. It’s a cheap imitation designed by someone who barely knows what it means to be a human being based on shock jock programming practices. But of the course Engy will proclaim what we are collectively despite not being us in the slightest. Of course he will think he devoted his life to this cause, ignoring the blatant fact that even his loyalty was manufactured. Planted rather than chosen. That’s why The Engineer strives to be this dark bringer of death. Because behind all that is a powerless nothing wanting desperately to have the qualities he believes are indicative of what he’s supposed to be, but never can be. You have that belt, but you didn’t win it. You have that body, but it isn’t yours. You have motives, but you’ll never know the feeling of creating your own beliefs. That’s why I have this covered, Engy. Because behind all the gravitas, I’m what you could only ever aspire to be, Universal Championship or not.”]]>

Chapter I: Only One Chance

March 16th, 2020

Chapter 2: Questions

March 17th, 2020

Chapter 3: Trial

March 22nd, 2020

She was not a good person. In this moment of reflection, alone in the darkness of her room, Atara reflected on her own selfishness, on what this match might cost Fuzz. Not just their pairing at March Madness, but as a couple. He had chose her, it was always her. In his own words there was no question. Her and only her, no one else. Guilt had struck her fast and hard, just as fast and sudden as this relationship had manifested between them. From out of no where and almost as unexplainable it hit. Guilt lead her phone to her face, it selected his photo and guilt had nearly persuaded her to begin the message. Just as her fingers had begun their labor the birth of her apology was abruptly halted.

A powerful motivator is guilt. Almost machiavellian in the way it tugs and manipulates the strings of a heart. In someone as impulsive and as lead by desire as Atara that organ, this metaphorical domain of emotion, reigned supreme in the perpetual war of heart and mind. On occasion however, the preferred tool of Odysseus would ply it's trade and silence the beating drum. Tonight a small window was exposed and conscience had it's say.

Through that technological godsend in her hands, Atara could see Shawn's face and with his face she could hear his voice. In her mind played not the words of some Romeo come to fetch her from her balcony but those of a tyrant king desireth of only the lasting of his legacy.

"Nepotism at it's finest..."

Nepotism. Of all the things to say, of all things to emphasize, he made clear his bias before regaling the world with her worth and he only gave a passing moment to do that.

"I picked you because your MY favorite. Let me make up my transgressions and atone by letting you fight me, but physically, we're I stand a better chance. If I win, I can say I gave you the shot. If I lose I can say I gave you the shot. I made you. ME. ME. ME. I'm retiring, I don't have to be berated from now til kingdom on how Atty only won the Xtreme Championship because she fucked the champion. I offered. I'm saving face, forgive me, but first let me ignore you and talk about Has Been one through infinity for the entirety of four promos.

Sell you, tell people why you're deserving? Not my cup of tea sweetie. ME! ME! ME!"

Just as manipulative as the heart, the mind to can play games. From his mouth to her mind, that was the translation Atara recieved. Guilt no longer lingered having tucked tale and ran from the feiry demon of ire that looked from out her eyes to the phone below. With quiet contempt she shut the device off and sat it on her windows ledge. Back up to the sky went her gaze, back into the face of her lunar Guardian, a face that had looked down on Atara with its mellow glow minutes ago now matched it's charge's disposition.

Blood Red was Selene's stare. In synch, moon and mortal, a thought was unknowingly shared. "It's not even Nepotism. It's cronyism."

Slightly irrelevant, it still pissed her off and she hadn't even gotten to the part where he didn't exclude her from statements devoted to the entirety roster, he couldn't even exclude Noah. Hadn't even thought back on those merciless mundane and uninteresting Twitter arguments either.They only mattered when Fuzz's ego needed stroked.

She moved away from the window, out of sight of her skyward companion and moved into the darkness of her room towards the other source of light. To the candle and incense burning for the mini idol of laughter loving Aphrodite.

[Image: images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcTXOtzwjyDvsPFb9syQL...Vli8TxBrWU]

Stood infront of her vanity, a simple affair of a black desk with rectangular mirror attached, Atara fixed sight and thought on her make shift shrine. Unchanged since high school, her replica sat comfortably beside the plastic storage and drawers where countless cosmetics where stored. As Atara usually does, she took little time in placing her reality into myth recalling how the goddess and had handled Helios after he had revealed her affair with Aries. She pondered retribution and all the reasons why she shouldn't show up for March Madness and the longer she thought the more her anger rose and the more willed her statue to some how respond. To answer and give advice Like the moon, it seemed her emotions where in sync with the world around her.

Brighter and brighter the candle flame became and its smoke combined with that of incense became a thick puff resembling the exhale of smokers chest. Atara wasn't concerned, she utterly mesmerized. Right before her she saw the shape manifesting....

Instantaneously, with no thought she exclaimed his name with a whisper. "The Engineer!"

As soon as she said it Atara's visage disappeared from the smoke and the candle died completely. She stood in pitch black and silence, only the creeping light of moon allowed Atara to see her reflection in the mirror at her front. She had her answer. The X-treme title was her path back to the Engineer. Would give her time and opportunity to prepare. Those months of polish she needed.

The pitter patter of rain was heard outside. A sudden downpour rattling her roof. Odd considering how the sky had just been clear and with the rain came the unnerving racket that was her doorbell...

"Who the hell.." Before the question could be asked a voice had answered. Shawn's voice. Starting for her bedroom door panicked, hearing the pain in his shouting, Atara was stopped just before she could past the threshold by another voice. A female voice seemingly from now where...

"Fuck Hope..."

Atara spun, torn between which voice to heed. Her room was empty. Empty but no longer dark. On her desk an open box glowed.

Too Be Cont....]]> [Image: GaXQKlU.jpg]

Too Be Cont....]]> <![CDATA[El Rey.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36529 Sat, 28 Mar 2020 23:11:28 -0700 Hanari Carnes]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36529 http://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36438

Continued from
Simplemente no puedo esperar para ser rey PART 2:

The dark house lights up as 4 gunshots can be head.

Pan In........

Hanari walks outside the front door, covered in blood. Tomás was a step or two behind.

They looked at each other without saying a word before heading back up the trail towards the impossible.

PART 3 (Conclusion):

Bugs.

God, he hated bugs. He should have been used to bugs by now, growing up where he did, but being used to them didn't make him hate them any less.

Swatting away bugs left and right he could feel the sweat sticking his shirt to his skin. His legs felt like they had been lit with a million fires. His feet were saying no more, and they felt pins and needles stabbing through them........it was like they weren't even there.

Tomás wasn't fairing much better. Hanari could hear his labored breaths behind him.

Hanari pushed on, something inside him was driving him forward. Something deep within in that was willing him forward. Tomás was ready to fall down.

The summit was still a good ways away. This was going to be the most trying test of endurance Hanari had ever gone through. To escape the madness, escape the turmoil, escape life itself as he knew it......and to sit on top of the throne as the one to exalted leader........

He looked back at Tomás. He was several yards behind, and drawing further. Hanari could not afford to lose any momentum. His canteen was nearly empty, there wasn't a rain cloud in the sky.

Tomás was not going to survive this trek.

The following Dialogue is in Spanish, this is the translation:

"Tomás, come on, you're a soldier....a lion, like me, push through it."

Tomás can barely breath, his breath comes out in ragged gasps.

"Just...lets stop. Wait. Sleep here.....I can't".

Hanari bends down to one knee, putting a hand on the back of his bent over friend. His shirt feels like it is going to come apart, like the fabric itself is withering way in the 100 degree heat and the sweat.

Hanari pulled his sack around his shoulder, unzipping it and pulling out a poster of Che Guevara.....on it, written with what looked like a sharpie or some sort of bold ink, it read, “HASTA LA VICTORIA SIEMPRE” .

He handed it to his friend.

"Do you know what this says?"

Tomás was sitting up now, still breathing heavy but not as bad. He shifted position to see it easier, the dirt and pebbles shifting and crunching beneath him.

"To victory always."

Hanari put the poster back into the bag, spinning it around to his back. The straps made a hiss noise.

"Look at all we've been through. Look at what we've done. We started the revolution that is going to change this place...........now here we are at the gates of the promise land and you want to quit?"

He has a touch of venom in his voice, though he wasn't sure where the anger was coming from.

Tomás knew exactly where his was.

"Promise land? Hanari we are sitting in a fucking jungle, in 100 degree heat, no food, no water left....on some crazy hike to reach a mountain top nobody has been to in a century..........this entire crazy thing is your twisted fantasy!"

The heat was making him delirious. It had been a day and a half since he'd eaten. His water was warm, what was left of it anyway, and he had been using it sparingly. His chest felt as though it weighed a thousand pounds.

Hanari felt his fists ball up. His eyes began to water.

"If you can't hack it......maybe you should go to La Pelona. It is two meters lower. Easier to get two, a nice neat pathway, not a lot of rocks. The tourists go there, the fat lazy American's and the British snobs. I may even wave to you from the top. But damnit.......if you can live with second place, fine....but I can't. I am going to Pico Duarte, even if it kills me."

Tomás's eyes went wide. He stood up, his shirt outlining his figure in a wet heap.

"I didn't come this far, just to come this far." He had shifted from "we", to "he".

Tomás nodded, a pit forming in his stomach. Hanari could see the weariness in his eyes. He may have to cut the fat. Too many kings can ruin an army.....

There is only room for one.

Without saying a word, Hanari turned back and pushed his exhausted legs forward, the gravel and dirty crunching under his boots. He didn't care if Tomás was behind him or not anymore. He was going to reach his goal.

*******

He didn't know how long he walked for. He didn't even know of this was real or a dream. His body was depleated, his brain was beginning to wander.....his eyes felt dry in their sockets. The bugs had ravished his arms and legs, once he had lost the energy to expend on swatting them, and he was pretty sure the wound on the back of his calf was a snake bite.

He didn't even feel it at the time.

His leg trembled as it took that final step. It was going to give out if it took one more, his bone would surely crush to dust, his ligaments would tear away from the joints..........

His leg shook like a Parkinson's victim as it gave out under him. He fell, face down, his chin and jaw connecting with the dirt and rock below him.

When he looked up, he saw it. The most beautiful sight he had ever seen.

Pico Duarte.

The stone plaque sat atop the highest cliff in the Carribean. He had to almost drag his body to it. Standing up, shaking with the last of his strength he looked out over the sweeping hills of the Cordillera Central range. It was all green. He could see the smoke from San Juan in the distance. The people raged below him, they would burn their nation to the ground. While they brought themselves down, Hanari would bring himself up. No longer did he care who he had to go through, who he had to hurt.

His head shot to the edge of cliff behind him.

"Tomás?"

Nothing. Just silence tearing through the abyss like a freight train with missing brakes.

"Tomás?!!"

Hanari turned back to the plaque on the mountain. He hobbled over. At this point his vision was blurred. He swung his bag around again and unzipped it. Taking out the Che Guevara poster, and setting it next to him with a rock to weight it down.........he pulled out a Dominican Flag. He had gotten his hands on a n adjustable flag pole through one of the stores they had looted. He didn't both to tell Tomás, he didn't need to know.

Slamming it into the crevice between two of the rocks the plaque was made of, he made sure it was steady .

Slow and steady wins the race.

Fuck that. Tear that shit up and leave no prisoners.

He put the flag onto the rings attached to the pole.

Looking out over the landscape before him he threw his arms up in the air. He roared with breath he didn't think he had left. He took in the high altitude air and roared again, this time with his creed.

"Larga vida al rey!"

He had done it. He had silenced the haters, the doubters, the nay-sayers. He had earned the right to be king......and he would make them pay for their insubordination.

He had made it....but there was still work to be done. He had reached the peak, now he must return to spread his message to all.

As he turned away from the setting sun, he gave one more quick over the shoulder glance.

"Success Is The Best Revenge."

"Mastermind....

It es no secret that chu no like me, mang. Chu hate me, as a matter of fact. Just de name Hanari Carnes sends a shiver up chor spine and makes chu cringe, doesn't it? Why es that? Es it because the only thing that made chor pathetic career was chor little 129 day streak and a piece of gold? Was it because a man with a losing record actually felt like he meant something, like he wasn't a total and complete failure? Or was it because I took dat little shrivel of happiness chu had away? Was it because the only validation chu had in ya miserable life was taken away with a simple arm bar?

Chor arm was the first one I broke, if chu recall?

Snap. Pop.

Since then, chu has been on dis crusade to "Master People's Minds". A new quest, a new "streak" if chu will.....something to fill de vid because I mastered not just chor mind but chor soul. I took chor pride from chu and I made it hard for chu to look in mirrors. Everytime chu looked at the scar from the surgery it took to repair chor arm chu think of me. Every single day, ese, not a moment goes by where chu don't have at least one thought in da back of ya mind.......about getting chor revenge. Not a single moment goes by in de day of Hanari Carnes that I think about Mastermind. Whose mastered whose mind now?

I own you.

But every single promo against me since....well, both times since I've beaten chu twice......has been about how beating Mastermind es NOT an accomplishment. Why do chu think dey say dat? They say it because chu es a legend? Dey say it because chu es an all time great? No. Dey say it because chu es a stepping stone.

I consider it an accomplishment because of where I was at de time. I use my win(s) over chu to show that Hanari was destined to be great as soon as stepped foot in the XWF. Beating chu den was a big deal to me. Beating chu now......well, its just boring.

Just like ya promos, just like ya ring attire, just like entire career. Boring. Just like the country chu come from. Boring. Santo Domingo is alive! The tourist capital of de Caribbean. All chor country is known for is earthquakes and being really far away from everything. Oh, and some teenage puta with a man's voice....

Do de have tranny's in New Zealand?

Everything chu do, chu do because if me, holmes. Chu have been plotting, planning, scheming to get revenge on Hanari Carnes in front of de world, on de biggest stage, in Las Vegas! Perro, write dat thought down, bottle it, and put it on ya mantle because dat es de only way it es going to be real.

Assuming chu do get by Engy's invisaline, I will be wating for ya. Chu and me, Hanari vs Massamind...........and chu better believe holmes with all ya heart, chu better believe I'll break that arm again.

Madison,

Oh, Madison.

I knew it was only a matter of time before I would get to face the gimmick known as Madison Dyson. I have seen a lot of tough talkers in me day, but dis puta takes de cake. I have never seen someone who means so little talk so much. Someone who rode the coattails of perhaps de best to eva do dis, who takes credit for all of the "accomplishments" she's had when if it weren't for her piggy back participant....she'd be a damn server at some run down diner by now.

I remember watching XWF back home on de grainy TV sets, watching chu walk a quirky little man to the ring on a harness. I saw de whips, de chains, de leather......I saw the creepy vingnette's in dingy doctors offices.....I saw that quirky little troll win the Universal Title a couple times.....all while chu soaked in de glory of his entertaining persona. Chu mattered because HE was de value.

Now look at ya.

All off on a racially charged tangent, grasping at straws to catch people's attention. To matter again. You've always been witty, coming up with sick burns and cleverly crafted insults to leave chor opponents speechless. I believe chu once called Jenny Myst a "window licking real doll"?

*Hanari laughs to himself.*

Brillante!

But that right der, Madison, es all chu will ever be. A gimmick, a sharp-tongued muchacha whose only real success came when chu had de world convinced Engy was mentally

. Chu had de world in ya palm! What has chu become? Yelling insults like the drunk lady at a hick bar. Making fun of everyone in ya path, cuz nobody es as good as the almighty Madison Dyson, right?

Wrong.

Look what chu have become, mamagüevos. Chu es like de cougar at de bar now. Always hanging on to the cool one, being in de center of attention. Chu es hoping to get lucky, hoping one of these studs will find chu relevant and interesante enough to make chu feel young again. Meanwhile de guys keep chu around to buy them shots, then when the times comes go to the bathroom and order an Uber and leave ya there to take care of de bill. Chu es just unlovable. You know this and that's why chor so lonely.

Picking up what I es putting down?

Chu can talk til ya blue in ya botox lifted face but at de end of de day, concha, chu es nothing more than an afterthought. Hanari can give chu dat glory chu so desperately seek.........

Chu can be de first woman to have her arm broken by Hanari Carnes. On Pay Per View no less! In front of thousands of people Hanari Carnes will make chu famous again! What a treat! Jessalyn tapped.......sure, but chu.....oh I will take great pleasure in making chu scream, mamacita.

And no in the way chu want, yeeeo!

But all jokes aside, dis es my time. These fools, frauds and fakes have shown dey ass, expose demselves, and showed dat dey are incapable of change. Hanari es here to change de game. Chu can be as racist as chu want, sexist, facist, red, blue purple, it don't matter............when de smoke clears, and the matter is done.......there can only be one king.

That king es going to be me.

I didn't have someone to ride piggy back style, Maddy. I didn't have someone to pick me up when I was down. I didn't have de Misfits to run around an cause trouble.......

I did dis myself.

Everybody pities de weak. Jealousy chu have to earn. I have earned dis and I will continue to prove night in and night out dat Hanari Carnes ES de next big thing and Madison Dyson's time es jolly well over. I hope chu enjoyed ya three years here, because they will be gone as quickly as a Peter Gilmour erection."

“HASTA LA VICTORIA SIEMPRE”

"UNTIL VICTORY ALWAYS"

Viva la Republic!
Viva la Dominicano!
Viva la Hanari Carnes!

Your Next King of XWF

]]> http://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36438

Continued from
Simplemente no puedo esperar para ser rey PART 2:

The dark house lights up as 4 gunshots can be head.

Pan In........

Hanari walks outside the front door, covered in blood. Tomás was a step or two behind.

They looked at each other without saying a word before heading back up the trail towards the impossible.

PART 3 (Conclusion):

*******

"Success Is The Best Revenge."

“HASTA LA VICTORIA SIEMPRE”

"UNTIL VICTORY ALWAYS"

Viva la Republic!
Viva la Dominicano!
Viva la Hanari Carnes!

Your Next King of XWF

]]> <![CDATA[That day Donovan took a trip to a trailer park in Ohio]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36534 Sat, 28 Mar 2020 22:48:22 -0700 The Brothers Blackwater]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36534

Every eye is on me as I pull the Lambo, into a relatively large, trailer park. Faces up to the glass of their motor home's windows or peering out through the open cracks of doors. All watching, the dust kicking up in the wind from my tires, while I accelerate into the unpaved, dirt lot and come to an immediate halt, in front of a trailer that seems to be missing something, rather essential. For you see, this rustic domicile, doesn't appear to have a door. To embellish upon this further. There is in fact a door located on the premises that certainly must belong to the trailer, it's just not attached to the trailer by its hinges. Instead the door is propped up against the side of the dwelling, not doing much of anything to serve its standard, useful purpose. Anyone could simply walk on in and nothing would stop them; however, considering who this particular piece of property belongs to... I wouldn't recommend it.

Exiting my luxury sports vehicle, I button my jacket and shut the door. Oh yes and I make damn sure to lock it too, mid-stride as I head towards the entrance of my intended destination. My pace; relaxed yet confident, I saunter forward to the threshold of the door-less trailer and remove my sunglasses, allowing my eyes to adjust to the lighting alteration of the interior. What with the primary source of illumination coming solely from the opening, where a door should be in place and all the curtains being drawn, it makes for quite a noticeable change.

Inside there is a virtual crime scene, left from the remnants of take out food, most of which looks to have been obtained from a place called Little Caesars. From the shape of the box, I assume this is a place that supposedly makes pizzas but I hail from New York and currently, I'm standing in the middle of a trailer park located in Ohio. So without ever having consumed their product, I know that what they actually serve is cardboard boxes filled with nothing more than lies. But with the abundant supply of empty bottles and cans of cheap, domestic beer laying about, mirroring the rest of the debris, I'm certain taste isn't the number one, requirement or priority. No, this is bare, basic, primal hunger maintenance, at its finest.

To be truly honest though, growing up I suffered through similar circumstances or worse when it came to meals... and sometimes, I got nothing at all, pending my mother's wonderful brand of "parenting", so I shouldn't judge. It's just hard not to be a snob sometimes. Since acclimating to an existence of privilege and prestige, one that allows me to always claim the very best things in life and money isn't an option or something that I need to worry about. Ever. I never settle for anything less than superior quality, nor do I believe that I deserve anything below it. After all, I fought my way to top tier status and earned the right to claim it, might as well take full advantage, right?

Yeah, I know I'm right, no need to supply any validity.

Shaking my head, I gather my thoughts back on course and cast another glance around the interior of the trailer, my sight now fully accustom to the setting, I am able to observe that there doesn't seem to be anyone home.

This is a false observation.

From seemingly nowhere, Thunder Knuckles rolls out. That's right, in total seriousness and all joking aside, this man rolls out on the floor in front of me, equipped with two cans of Lysol and starts spraying them at me. I get hit with two powerful blasts of lemon cleaner but that's not the worst of it. Oh no, it's not. Not by a long shot. It doesn't matter that one of my favorite suits for this season is fucking ruined... thank you very much, Thunder Knuckles! His onslaught does not end there and the horror only ensues. When Thunder Knuckles leaps up into a standing position, whilst showering me in the disinfectant and that shit shoots me, straight in the eyes. Both of them! At the same time! Thunder Knuckles, literally blinds me with Lysol!

"What the actual fuck?!?! Why??? Why would you do that? What's wrong with you??? Have you gone completely mental?!?!"

I exclaim this as my left hand shoots up to my eyes, which are now tightly closed. The fire that scorches them is tremendous. A hellish torture that I was not prepared to endure. Then again, who would be ready for such an atrocity? This is why you should never approach a home with no door, cause you can't predict the kind of suffering that you will be subjected to when you arrive. Coughing and crying, this is made agonizingly apparent for me. Fuck me. Why did I decide to make this trip?

"Jimmy! Fetch the thermometer! Quickly, now! You have to make sure that he doesn't have a fever!"

Words I hear Thunder Knuckles declare... nay bark, like some kind of psychotic, drill instructor screaming at his cadets in basic training or a really agitated headmaster at an all boys academy, right before the tip of a thermometer pushes its way into my mouth. Oh holy shiza, what is happening? Taking a few calming breaths, I clench my right hand into a fist and curse the recent outbreak of disease and following pandemic, that has clearly brought on Thunder Knuckles hysteria. After a minute or two, the thermometer beeps, thankfully coinciding precisely with the decreased burning sensation in my eyes. I blink, remove the thermometer and stick it out for someone to take, waving it around to emphasize this wish. Rubbing away the streams of water that flushed the chemicals from my eyes, I watch through a semi-squint, while Jimmy grabs the thermometer. One glimpse of its reading and Jimmy sighs with relief.

"He doesn't have a fever."

"He doesn't?"

Thunder Knuckles sighs and runs a hand back through his mess of curls.

"Okay. Good. That's good. Donovan, you may introduce your presence, into my wickedly, awesome abode."

Oh but I am already entering as Thunder Knuckles conveys this invitation and I do not hesitate to punch him, square in the jaw. Hook him right in the gabber and he drops like a sack of so many potatoes, holding his face.

"Donovan! What the fuck dude?!?!"

Thunder Knuckles pops to his feet and immediately goes into a stance, like he was a character on the select screen of Mortal Kombat 2, bobbing and moving, side to side. The only thing lacking was the background music. Otherwise this was a spot on re-creation done in real life.

"I thought we were fucking cool now, but I guess I was wrong."

The sight of this absurdity, melts away my anger, tout de suite and I can't help myself from erupting with laughter. Thunder Knuckles quick and obvious confusion, coinciding with him furrowing those bushy as fuck eyebrows of his, merely increases my mirth and I have to take a breath to compose myself, in order to speak.

"I thought we were too and then, you fucking accost me with Lysol and nearly blind me."

What I say, mixed with the amendment in my attitude, somehow seems to relax Thunder Knuckles stature, which creates the impression that he's taking my words into consideration.

"Yeah, you're right, that was a dick move. Sorry, BDD. You can't be too careful these days though. Fuck. Call it even?"

Future Million X-Bux Man, reaches out his fist, for me to bump it with my own and I comply.

"Sure. Yeah, alright... we're even and for what it's worth, I apologize as well."

"So what brings you by casa del Thunder Knuckles?"

Thunder Knuckles, looks around, scratches at his mop of curls, snaps his fingers and falls back into a recliner that Jimmy perfectly pushes into place, thus preventing him from flopping onto the floor with a loud thud. Jimmy then rushes over and begins clearing boxes, bottles, cans and bags away to reveal a sofa. Along with a coffee table. Meanwhile, TK produces three cans of Natural Ice from somewhere near his small surrounding area, opens one, tosses another to Jimmy and politely lays the third on the now, empty but still far from clean, coffee table.

Obviously, this is an act of kindness and a common courtesy, meant for my behalf. I sit down on the sofa, instinctively unbuttoning my suit jacket and crack open the beer, promptly taking a swallow soon after. Ah, that's the flavor of piss that takes me back to being a homeless, teenager on the run. A time that occurred right after the neighbors called the authorities on my mother, who later deemed her insane and she was eventually institutionalized. Back when I was hiding who and what I was from the world and living in an abandon building.

Good times.

My 'fun' little flashback is quickly ended, when I realize that Thunder Knuckles is staring at me with undeniable amusement, practically exuding off him. It's funny to him that Mr. Fancy Pants, didn't turn up his nose or quibble about the brand or type of beverage that he provided and took a drink. Right from the can too, no less. Imagine that. Will wonders never cease? What he doesn't realize is that his reaction, entertains me even more. Smirking, I retrieve a small case from a pocket within my jacket and set it on the table, giving a tap to the top of its lid as I reach over with my free hand, pick up the beer and take another generous sip. Making sure to hold up my pinky as I do. Proper style.

"I came by to deliver this to you. A token of appreciation, given in good faith in accordance with our business arrangement and budding friendship."

Instant interest scoots Thunder Knuckles forward in his chair. Nodding towards the case, he asks.

"What's that? If it's drugs to help me win my match against Noah Jackson, I don't fuckin' need them. I'll gladly take 'em from you cause who the fuck doesn't accept free fucking drugs but I won't use them to influence the outcome of my fight. They can be for my celebration, honoring my success in becoming the motherfucking, grand, super ultra, X-Bux Champion, pending on what they are and their effects, following consumption. And even if I don't use them, ain't nothing fuckin' wrong with selling 'em for some extra side profit. No offense to you, this is by no means a spit in the face, it's purely about what I'm willing to ingest for the sole purpose of getting fucked up. Not to mention the hustle and the game of gaining that almighty green, whenever, however and wherever I fucking can."

"Understandable."

Momentary pause.

"Yet I strongly suspect, you won't want to sell what I've personally taken the liberty of bringing you. Of course that assessment is strictly based on my own beliefs, when I attempt to see things from your perspective. In hindsight, that's neither here nor there though, because we are two vastly different individuals. Still, one would assume, when given such a benefit as I have chosen to bestow upon you, you'd choose to use it as an advantage in your favor. Rather than squander it away or sell it for profit."

"I am so fucking lost it's not even funny. What exactly is in that case, Donovan?"

"What I brought you today is not drugs, per se. Not anything that you can get high from anyway and yet, they will fetch you more than a pretty penny, should you try to sell them. Especially nowadays, what with everything that's going on in the world, as of late. You see, I brought you restoration and repair, in the form of three vials. Should you get sick, from any virus, you would ingest a vial. Now this is not exclusively referring to Corona or the most recent flare-up of C-Diff 20. This is more of a broad spectrum type of thing. Which basically means... if you contract anything that could potentially diminish or harm you in any conceivable way, this is your cure. Derived from my own dna."

"Whoa."

Thunder Knuckles slams his beer and opens another can, summoned from the unknown realms that he claimed the previous one from. Wherever that unholy place exists.

"That's really..."

Guzzle of beer.

"Fucking bizarre. So this cure or whatever, you're saying it's made from you."

"In a way, yes. It's comprised from my dna. If you notice, I'm not wearing a face mask and that's due to the fact that I am not at all worried about catching Corona or any other sort of disease, for that matter. Being born with 'the gene of E' has instilled an enhancement in me, that can prevent or ward off any illness, long before it manifests or takes effect. Trust me. There's no way in hell, I would have slept with the amount of people that I chose to indulge my desires with in the past, if this wasn't a factor for me. With that being said, I can firmly attest that being gifted with my exceptional dna has also aided me within life in various other ways, wrestling and patrolling the streets as a member of the Elite. The latter being hands down, without a single, solitary shred of doubt, way more difficult and hazardous to one's health, over the former. No joke. I seriously wouldn't have survived... even a quarter of the shit that I experienced on those insanely fucked up adventures, without being blessed with it."

Another brief pause, long enough for me to fire up a cigarette and take a pull from it.

"Anyway, I wanted you to be safe and healthy, what with all the crap that's going on and if there were any way of positively insuring that without fail, this is it. What I'm trying to say is that this is my olive branch, so to speak. It's something my father would do for a friend but can't anymore."

Puff of smoke.

"Not since the 'incident' anyway. So yeah, I figured I'd take a page from the spaceman's book and follow his code or whatever. Feels like the right thing to do in this specific scenario."

Clearly consumed in concentration, Thunder Knuckles strokes his chin thoughtfully. The gears are definitely turning. But what will they manifest?

"In other words, those fucking vials will make me... Invincible! And I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Haha! No. No, not entirely. The contents of those vials will most assuredly cure what ails you and maybe mend a broken bone or two but you are still on all accounts, thoroughly human. Whereas, I'm a hybrid... half human/half alien and that factors in differently, when it involves the outcome of a situation. Meaning, I wouldn't consume a vial and purposefully try to do things to instantaneously kill myself, if I were you. Generally speaking, any avenues that would lead you immediately to death's doorstep, will still plant you firmly within its icy, cold embrace. For example, jumping in front of speeding locomotives, leaping from planes without a parachute, drinking any fast action poison, shooting yourself in the head point blank with a shotgun... you get the idea, right?"

"Ah. Gotcha."

That's when Thunder Knuckles, lays his beer down on the table, opens the case, snatches up a vial and runs to the door. Where he tosses the vial out like a live grenade, freshly relieved of its pin and yells.

"Take that Corona virus! Fuck you! You fuckin' god damn, motherfucking, pussy ass, bitch!"

Superhero style pose.

"Booyah! You're welcome world!"

With a satisfied smile overtaking his face, Thunder Knuckles sighs. That's when Jimmy closes the case and sticks it into his pocket. For safe keeping.

"Smart man. When should I let him know that did absolutely nothing, and he wasted a vial?"

"In a little while, let him enjoy his moment in the sun."

Quote:hunger for my loins young one fear the burn of my turn in your bed.

"Oh Docktor Trust. Is this what you picture, when you think of me? This is your inner most desire? It must be or else why would you ever, even utter a single word, in regards to such things. I suppose, I'm somewhat flattered. Fantasizing about me, in this sort of lewd, scandalous way but then again, there's another portion of me that finds your sordid, secret lust... simply hilarious. I wonder what poor Helen would think, if she knew you were thinking naughty thoughts about me... another man."

"Oh but we don't have to worry about that, now do we? Nah. We don't because I know your little secret. That's right. I had my brother Ezra look into it and if you didn't know already. When it comes to uncovering secrets and finding the truth, with the aid of a computer, he is just about one of the best and it turns out. There is no Helen. She doesn't exist."

"Oh no!"

"Eek!"

"Egads!"

"Gasp!"

"Shocked face."

"Which means. You made her up! Hahaha! How fucking pathetic can you get?"

"Or wait, I know... you didn't technically manifest her out of thin air, did you. Helen is your fleshlight, right? The one that hasn't been cleaned since the start of the 'war' and yet, you still use it. All fucking crusty, with mold growing in it and a foul smell, that's pretty close to raw sewage, on a hot summer day. That doesn't bother your 'king' though. Nah. No ways. He loves it and you love that he uses it too."

"Fuckin' gross."

"No wonder you ramble on like a man that went and lost every single one of his marbles. You caught syphilis from the 'king' and the virus finally reached the point of fucking with your mind and making you hallucinate. Aw... man that sucks. I'm still going to kick the shit out of you and make you tap but hey, now you'll be able to see a real doctor and he can give you some antibiotics and hopefully cure that dirty, diseased dick of yours. See? Silver lining! Yay!"]]>

Every eye is on me as I pull the Lambo, into a relatively large, trailer park. Faces up to the glass of their motor home's windows or peering out through the open cracks of doors. All watching, the dust kicking up in the wind from my tires, while I accelerate into the unpaved, dirt lot and come to an immediate halt, in front of a trailer that seems to be missing something, rather essential. For you see, this rustic domicile, doesn't appear to have a door. To embellish upon this further. There is in fact a door located on the premises that certainly must belong to the trailer, it's just not attached to the trailer by its hinges. Instead the door is propped up against the side of the dwelling, not doing much of anything to serve its standard, useful purpose. Anyone could simply walk on in and nothing would stop them; however, considering who this particular piece of property belongs to... I wouldn't recommend it.

Exiting my luxury sports vehicle, I button my jacket and shut the door. Oh yes and I make damn sure to lock it too, mid-stride as I head towards the entrance of my intended destination. My pace; relaxed yet confident, I saunter forward to the threshold of the door-less trailer and remove my sunglasses, allowing my eyes to adjust to the lighting alteration of the interior. What with the primary source of illumination coming solely from the opening, where a door should be in place and all the curtains being drawn, it makes for quite a noticeable change.

Inside there is a virtual crime scene, left from the remnants of take out food, most of which looks to have been obtained from a place called Little Caesars. From the shape of the box, I assume this is a place that supposedly makes pizzas but I hail from New York and currently, I'm standing in the middle of a trailer park located in Ohio. So without ever having consumed their product, I know that what they actually serve is cardboard boxes filled with nothing more than lies. But with the abundant supply of empty bottles and cans of cheap, domestic beer laying about, mirroring the rest of the debris, I'm certain taste isn't the number one, requirement or priority. No, this is bare, basic, primal hunger maintenance, at its finest.

To be truly honest though, growing up I suffered through similar circumstances or worse when it came to meals... and sometimes, I got nothing at all, pending my mother's wonderful brand of "parenting", so I shouldn't judge. It's just hard not to be a snob sometimes. Since acclimating to an existence of privilege and prestige, one that allows me to always claim the very best things in life and money isn't an option or something that I need to worry about. Ever. I never settle for anything less than superior quality, nor do I believe that I deserve anything below it. After all, I fought my way to top tier status and earned the right to claim it, might as well take full advantage, right?

Yeah, I know I'm right, no need to supply any validity.

Shaking my head, I gather my thoughts back on course and cast another glance around the interior of the trailer, my sight now fully accustom to the setting, I am able to observe that there doesn't seem to be anyone home.

This is a false observation.

From seemingly nowhere, Thunder Knuckles rolls out. That's right, in total seriousness and all joking aside, this man rolls out on the floor in front of me, equipped with two cans of Lysol and starts spraying them at me. I get hit with two powerful blasts of lemon cleaner but that's not the worst of it. Oh no, it's not. Not by a long shot. It doesn't matter that one of my favorite suits for this season is fucking ruined... thank you very much, Thunder Knuckles! His onslaught does not end there and the horror only ensues. When Thunder Knuckles leaps up into a standing position, whilst showering me in the disinfectant and that shit shoots me, straight in the eyes. Both of them! At the same time! Thunder Knuckles, literally blinds me with Lysol!

"What the actual fuck?!?! Why??? Why would you do that? What's wrong with you??? Have you gone completely mental?!?!"

I exclaim this as my left hand shoots up to my eyes, which are now tightly closed. The fire that scorches them is tremendous. A hellish torture that I was not prepared to endure. Then again, who would be ready for such an atrocity? This is why you should never approach a home with no door, cause you can't predict the kind of suffering that you will be subjected to when you arrive. Coughing and crying, this is made agonizingly apparent for me. Fuck me. Why did I decide to make this trip?

"Jimmy! Fetch the thermometer! Quickly, now! You have to make sure that he doesn't have a fever!"

Words I hear Thunder Knuckles declare... nay bark, like some kind of psychotic, drill instructor screaming at his cadets in basic training or a really agitated headmaster at an all boys academy, right before the tip of a thermometer pushes its way into my mouth. Oh holy shiza, what is happening? Taking a few calming breaths, I clench my right hand into a fist and curse the recent outbreak of disease and following pandemic, that has clearly brought on Thunder Knuckles hysteria. After a minute or two, the thermometer beeps, thankfully coinciding precisely with the decreased burning sensation in my eyes. I blink, remove the thermometer and stick it out for someone to take, waving it around to emphasize this wish. Rubbing away the streams of water that flushed the chemicals from my eyes, I watch through a semi-squint, while Jimmy grabs the thermometer. One glimpse of its reading and Jimmy sighs with relief.

"He doesn't have a fever."

"He doesn't?"

Thunder Knuckles sighs and runs a hand back through his mess of curls.

"Okay. Good. That's good. Donovan, you may introduce your presence, into my wickedly, awesome abode."

Oh but I am already entering as Thunder Knuckles conveys this invitation and I do not hesitate to punch him, square in the jaw. Hook him right in the gabber and he drops like a sack of so many potatoes, holding his face.

"Donovan! What the fuck dude?!?!"

Thunder Knuckles pops to his feet and immediately goes into a stance, like he was a character on the select screen of Mortal Kombat 2, bobbing and moving, side to side. The only thing lacking was the background music. Otherwise this was a spot on re-creation done in real life.

"I thought we were fucking cool now, but I guess I was wrong."

The sight of this absurdity, melts away my anger, tout de suite and I can't help myself from erupting with laughter. Thunder Knuckles quick and obvious confusion, coinciding with him furrowing those bushy as fuck eyebrows of his, merely increases my mirth and I have to take a breath to compose myself, in order to speak.

"I thought we were too and then, you fucking accost me with Lysol and nearly blind me."

What I say, mixed with the amendment in my attitude, somehow seems to relax Thunder Knuckles stature, which creates the impression that he's taking my words into consideration.

"Yeah, you're right, that was a dick move. Sorry, BDD. You can't be too careful these days though. Fuck. Call it even?"

Future Million X-Bux Man, reaches out his fist, for me to bump it with my own and I comply.

"Sure. Yeah, alright... we're even and for what it's worth, I apologize as well."

"So what brings you by casa del Thunder Knuckles?"

Thunder Knuckles, looks around, scratches at his mop of curls, snaps his fingers and falls back into a recliner that Jimmy perfectly pushes into place, thus preventing him from flopping onto the floor with a loud thud. Jimmy then rushes over and begins clearing boxes, bottles, cans and bags away to reveal a sofa. Along with a coffee table. Meanwhile, TK produces three cans of Natural Ice from somewhere near his small surrounding area, opens one, tosses another to Jimmy and politely lays the third on the now, empty but still far from clean, coffee table.

Obviously, this is an act of kindness and a common courtesy, meant for my behalf. I sit down on the sofa, instinctively unbuttoning my suit jacket and crack open the beer, promptly taking a swallow soon after. Ah, that's the flavor of piss that takes me back to being a homeless, teenager on the run. A time that occurred right after the neighbors called the authorities on my mother, who later deemed her insane and she was eventually institutionalized. Back when I was hiding who and what I was from the world and living in an abandon building.

Good times.

My 'fun' little flashback is quickly ended, when I realize that Thunder Knuckles is staring at me with undeniable amusement, practically exuding off him. It's funny to him that Mr. Fancy Pants, didn't turn up his nose or quibble about the brand or type of beverage that he provided and took a drink. Right from the can too, no less. Imagine that. Will wonders never cease? What he doesn't realize is that his reaction, entertains me even more. Smirking, I retrieve a small case from a pocket within my jacket and set it on the table, giving a tap to the top of its lid as I reach over with my free hand, pick up the beer and take another generous sip. Making sure to hold up my pinky as I do. Proper style.

"I came by to deliver this to you. A token of appreciation, given in good faith in accordance with our business arrangement and budding friendship."

Instant interest scoots Thunder Knuckles forward in his chair. Nodding towards the case, he asks.

"What's that? If it's drugs to help me win my match against Noah Jackson, I don't fuckin' need them. I'll gladly take 'em from you cause who the fuck doesn't accept free fucking drugs but I won't use them to influence the outcome of my fight. They can be for my celebration, honoring my success in becoming the motherfucking, grand, super ultra, X-Bux Champion, pending on what they are and their effects, following consumption. And even if I don't use them, ain't nothing fuckin' wrong with selling 'em for some extra side profit. No offense to you, this is by no means a spit in the face, it's purely about what I'm willing to ingest for the sole purpose of getting fucked up. Not to mention the hustle and the game of gaining that almighty green, whenever, however and wherever I fucking can."

"Understandable."

Momentary pause.

"Yet I strongly suspect, you won't want to sell what I've personally taken the liberty of bringing you. Of course that assessment is strictly based on my own beliefs, when I attempt to see things from your perspective. In hindsight, that's neither here nor there though, because we are two vastly different individuals. Still, one would assume, when given such a benefit as I have chosen to bestow upon you, you'd choose to use it as an advantage in your favor. Rather than squander it away or sell it for profit."

"I am so fucking lost it's not even funny. What exactly is in that case, Donovan?"

"What I brought you today is not drugs, per se. Not anything that you can get high from anyway and yet, they will fetch you more than a pretty penny, should you try to sell them. Especially nowadays, what with everything that's going on in the world, as of late. You see, I brought you restoration and repair, in the form of three vials. Should you get sick, from any virus, you would ingest a vial. Now this is not exclusively referring to Corona or the most recent flare-up of C-Diff 20. This is more of a broad spectrum type of thing. Which basically means... if you contract anything that could potentially diminish or harm you in any conceivable way, this is your cure. Derived from my own dna."

"Whoa."

Thunder Knuckles slams his beer and opens another can, summoned from the unknown realms that he claimed the previous one from. Wherever that unholy place exists.

"That's really..."

Guzzle of beer.

"Fucking bizarre. So this cure or whatever, you're saying it's made from you."

"In a way, yes. It's comprised from my dna. If you notice, I'm not wearing a face mask and that's due to the fact that I am not at all worried about catching Corona or any other sort of disease, for that matter. Being born with 'the gene of E' has instilled an enhancement in me, that can prevent or ward off any illness, long before it manifests or takes effect. Trust me. There's no way in hell, I would have slept with the amount of people that I chose to indulge my desires with in the past, if this wasn't a factor for me. With that being said, I can firmly attest that being gifted with my exceptional dna has also aided me within life in various other ways, wrestling and patrolling the streets as a member of the Elite. The latter being hands down, without a single, solitary shred of doubt, way more difficult and hazardous to one's health, over the former. No joke. I seriously wouldn't have survived... even a quarter of the shit that I experienced on those insanely fucked up adventures, without being blessed with it."

Another brief pause, long enough for me to fire up a cigarette and take a pull from it.

"Anyway, I wanted you to be safe and healthy, what with all the crap that's going on and if there were any way of positively insuring that without fail, this is it. What I'm trying to say is that this is my olive branch, so to speak. It's something my father would do for a friend but can't anymore."

Puff of smoke.

"Not since the 'incident' anyway. So yeah, I figured I'd take a page from the spaceman's book and follow his code or whatever. Feels like the right thing to do in this specific scenario."

Clearly consumed in concentration, Thunder Knuckles strokes his chin thoughtfully. The gears are definitely turning. But what will they manifest?

"In other words, those fucking vials will make me... Invincible! And I can do whatever the fuck I want."

"Haha! No. No, not entirely. The contents of those vials will most assuredly cure what ails you and maybe mend a broken bone or two but you are still on all accounts, thoroughly human. Whereas, I'm a hybrid... half human/half alien and that factors in differently, when it involves the outcome of a situation. Meaning, I wouldn't consume a vial and purposefully try to do things to instantaneously kill myself, if I were you. Generally speaking, any avenues that would lead you immediately to death's doorstep, will still plant you firmly within its icy, cold embrace. For example, jumping in front of speeding locomotives, leaping from planes without a parachute, drinking any fast action poison, shooting yourself in the head point blank with a shotgun... you get the idea, right?"

"Ah. Gotcha."

That's when Thunder Knuckles, lays his beer down on the table, opens the case, snatches up a vial and runs to the door. Where he tosses the vial out like a live grenade, freshly relieved of its pin and yells.

"Take that Corona virus! Fuck you! You fuckin' god damn, motherfucking, pussy ass, bitch!"

Superhero style pose.

"Booyah! You're welcome world!"

With a satisfied smile overtaking his face, Thunder Knuckles sighs. That's when Jimmy closes the case and sticks it into his pocket. For safe keeping.

"Smart man. When should I let him know that did absolutely nothing, and he wasted a vial?"

"In a little while, let him enjoy his moment in the sun."

Quote:hunger for my loins young one fear the burn of my turn in your bed.

I smiled at them, before turning towards the chalkboard and writing on it. "My name is Professor D and this is 'History of Madison Dyson & Mastermind........'" After scribbling my words on the board, I turned and saw Thunder Knuckles with his hand raised. "Yes, TK?"

"Are you telling me this isn't 'Beating Noah Jackson 101'?" he asked, an eyebrow raised with skepticism.

I frowned. "No........... that class is being taught a few rooms down the hall by Sarah Lacklan."

Thunder Knuckles' mouth gaped open, as he jolted up and grabbed his books. "I fuckin' knew it......." he boasted, making his way for the door. "I fucking KNEW you've never beaten Noah before!"

He kicked the door open and disappeared into the hallway, leaving me alone with Steve Sayors. Now I REALLY felt like Squidward, stuck with only one pupil, one of the most annoying people on the planet.

"Looks like it's just you and me, Steve," I sighed, pulling a white screen down from the ceiling and walking over to a projector. "Unless you're looking for 'Introduction to Interviews'?"

Sayors shook his head, not phased by my insult. "I'm very interested in this subject," he replied, his face beaming. "I know Big D has quite a history with both of them."

"Ah, someone who actually studies," I said, genuinely impressed before remembering Steve has no life. "Why am I surprised?"

Once again, he brushed what I said off and reached into a bag sitting at his feet. "By the way, I got you something........"

Steve pulled his arm out and, resting in the palm of his hand, was a shiny, dark red apple. He handed it to me with a smile, pleased by his deed. I hesitantly grabbed it and placed it on my desk, frowning. "Oh, great," I said with sarcasm. "Unwrapped food.......... it's not like there's a medical crisis going on or anything."

I picked up a transparency sheet off my desk and set it on the projector, before turning it on. An picture of a familiar XWF 'wrestler'(if you can even call her that) illuminated out of the lense onto the screen.

[Image: U9MKvvs.jpg]

"Madison Dyson," I began, examining the disturbing image. "Since she's the sorriest excuse of a competitor I've ever laid eyes upon, we'll begin with her. Now, class, what word would you say best describes Madison?"

Steve raised his hand but, rather than wait to be called on, blurted out an answer. "Hot?"

I closed my eyes in shame and shake my head. "The correct answer is coward."

"Coward?" Steve whispered before jotting down some notes.

"Madison Dyson is not only incapable of winning a single match on her own, she's afraid to try!" I informed, strolling back and forth with my hands behind my back. "Look at her, and I use this term loosely, 'match' with Thunder Knuckles a while back. I could understand someone as shitty as Kid Kool, with all of his X-Bux giveaways, needing to pay off TK for a victory, but seriously? Someone aiming to become Queen of XWF should carry themselves a LITTLE bit better than that! Lacklan may have been an annoying bitch, but as least she could back up her shit talk! Without Shane

and a crooked ref, Madison Dyson would be nothing more than one of those women who steps on guy's balls for a living. And while I'm sure theres good money to be made in that line of work, it's not the sort of things that'll make your momma proud. Then again, neither is cheating to win matches, but something tells me Dyson doesn't give a shit about any of that."

"For extra credit.......... what's another word to describe Madison Dyson?" I asked, hoping that Steve was capable of seeing the obvious answer.

"Nazi?"

"Well, you're not wrong," I admitted, realizing that was alot more obvious than what I was thinking. "She does hate herself some Jews; but I was thinking of something else. Your answer is close, though."

Steve thought long and hard, not wanting to look dumber than he already did(a difficult feat to accomplish). After a few moments, he threw his arms up in defeat.

"A hypocrite."

"A hypocrite?"

"A hypocrite." I repeated as casually as I did the first time. "You said it yourself, Dyson's a hardcore white supremacist. Her and Nazi go together as well as Martin Luther King and having a dream. The only problem is, Madison doesn't seem to hold her convictions true, hanging out with Richard Wang and all! It's no wonder she got the 'Rona, she probably bought him from the market it all started in! That's what she gets for being a hypocritical little bitch! What I don't understand is, why Wang? Why would Dyson be willing to shit all over everything she stands for? Did she feel like she had power over him, like he was her slave? Maybe his tiny penis reminds her of Engy and Shane, or his inability to get laid of Gilly. All I DO know is I'D never throw MY moral convictions away, like a piece of trash, as easily as Madison Dyson does! But what do you expect of someone who slaps a man when he's already down?"

"I haven't forgotten about that episode of Savage, the one where you and your boytoys revealed to the world that you were threatened by me!" I boomed, my lecture echoing through the mostly empty classroom. "History will forever recognize it as 'The Slap Heard 'Round the World'; and it'll always be remembered as the night where Big D ascended to a level never before seen in his ENTIRE career! If Madison Dyson is unfortunate enough to face me in the Finals, she's gonna learn that there are repercussions for her actions! When she smacked me across my face, she started a fire that's been raging out of control ever since; one that's eventually gonna burn her and everyone around her to the ground."

"If Madison Dyson manages to cheat her way to another victory, she's gonna regret ever crossing paths with me! It's not too often a match gets personal for me, but if I meet Madison Dyson in the ring Sunday night, I'm gonna try to kill her. Not just for myself, but EVERYONE she's ever been a disrespectful cunt to! Minorities who were called racial slurs merely for being born different, the Jews who died in the gas chambers at the orders of Hitler................notice, it wasn't actually by HIS hands? That's because Hitler was as much of a coward as Madison Dyson, it's probably why she looks up to him so much! Maybe she should follow in that pussy's footsteps and blow her fucking brains out, she'd be doing is all a favor! Not to mention, a bullet in the brain would make for alot less suffering than what I intend to put her through. It'd also save me the trouble of bashing her skull in and making a mess all over the arena for those poor janitors to clean up. If Madison knows what's good for her, she'll do her best Thunder Knuckles impression and lay down. Maybe I'll take it easy on her and only break ONE of her arms.......... who knows? Part of me feels like we'll never get to find out........."

"Are you saying you think Mastermind's gonna win?" Steve blurted out with curiosity.

"I didn't say that," I pointed out. "I said PART of me feels that way. If it comes down to a fair, one on one with no interference or questionable officiating, Mastermind would have it EASILY. Dyson doesn't have any wrestling ability, whatsoever, and it shows in the fact that all she's done is held the Federweight Championship! Sure, she's got a mouth on her, but all that's worth is a meaningless Title and some skinheads' nasty dicks! The fact she's made it this far is as shocking as Hanari Carnes' Cinderella Story, the dice just so happened to favor them for a few rolls. Now it's time for ME to roll a Hard 20 and slay the beasts that lay before me, whether it be Madison Dyson, or................"

[Image: 60O5Wsg.jpg]

"Mastermind..............lookin' pretty rough there," I spit out, changing the picture projecting onto the wall. "February's Star of the Month."

"That's pretty impressive," Steve interjected, ignoring the intentionally bad image I'd selected for my potential opponent.

"Not really," I responded, staring at Mastermind's floppy titties. They were like a train wreck that you couldn't look away from. "He literally only won it because he revealed himself as the Leader of a group nobody gives a shit about. Big whoop. Just because something's a surprise, doesn't necessarily mean it's good! If your dog shits in your shoe, you're gonna be surprised, but not very happy about it. That's what Mastermind is, dog shit. He knows his career is hanging on by a thread, and he had to pull of this Misfits charade to get five more minutes in the spotlight. Well, I hope he enjoyed what he could of it, because I'm about to shut them off!

"I still owe Mastermind for costing me my opportunity to become a Double Champion," I explained, remembering the anger I felt being tossed off that ladder, watching my chance to make history slip out of my grasp. "If ever there was a time for vengeance, it'd be right now! I hold a grudge against him that's bigger than anything I have against Dyson, or the Engineer. Not only did he cost me my picture perfect moment sitting atop the ladder with both belts raised high above my head; I've also had to watch you get opportunity after opportunity while I'm shoved aside like a pariah!"

"For someone who's such a loser, you manage to sneak your way into Title shot after Title shot!" I exclaimed, sickened by how often management rewards him for doing absolutely nothing. "I remember when you were going around attacking people because you wanted a Title shot, they offered to give you one as long as you stopped the assaults. And what ended up happening? Not only did the uncalled for beatings continue, BUT you were actually REWARDED for it! Universal Title shot, Anarchy Championship match, countless other mid-card belts in between; you must have compromising photos of Vinnie Lane and Theo Pryce, because I don't know how else someone with such a piss poor win/loss record can receive SOOOOOOO many Championship matches! And don't say you earned them, because the stats don't lie. Did you walk away with any of those belts you fought for? Hell no. Did you lose an Xtreme Title match that I ended up winning? Hell yeah!"

"Mastermind, the only reason I tapped out to you at War Games was because I knew staying in that match wasn't necessary for my survival, and I was right! My team STILL walked away with the victory, AND my body wasn't in nearly as rough shape as it would've been had I tried to fight my way out of the hold. This time things are different, tapping out is NOT an option! You can bend me, but I will not break! If anyone's giving up Sunday night, it's gonna be you! I have to play the role of executioner before I become King, and afterwards, I'm gonna make you a t-shirt, or moreso, a D-shirt. It'll show your head between a big 'D,' about to get chopped off, with the words 'The King Decrees: Death By D-llotine.' And then YOU will know the humiliation of having a shirt with a horribly written catchphrase draped over your broken body!"

"People STILL give me shit for sitting in the back while Sarah Lacklan won me a Title shot, but a victory at March Madness will be the perfect chance to step out of her shadow. By winning the very tournament she did a year back, I'll establish myself as an instant Main Eventer! I don't care if Mastermind shows up with Anthony the Asshole, Van Hammer, or any of his other gay ass buddies; I'll fight off ANYONE who stands in my way of becoming King, INCLUDING Madison Dyson and any other member of The

Express! Even if the whole world's against me, I will rise above them ALL and rule over the land with an iron fist. It doesn't matter WHO I'm standing across the ring from, whether it be Hanari Carnes, Madison Dyson, OR Mastermind......... the end result remains the same: Big D walks away with the crown! The rule of King D begins at March Madness and, once I take my place among the hierarchy of XWF, I'll lead us into a NEW era................the era of D. And that ain't no story, it's the Cold Big D Truth!"

I glanced at Steve Sayors, who seemed astounded at the lesson he just learned. He looked as though he wanted to give me a standing ovation, but didn't want to look stupid doing so. His enthusiasm made me smile. Even though it was only Steve, the fact that SOMEONE was gonna be able to walk away from today's seminar with a wider array of knowledge was a rewarding feeling. One goal down, one more to go.

When I played football back in high school, our coaches always told us to give it your all and make sure you leave everything on the field. As long as you try your best and work hard, the end result doesn't matter. If you gave it your all, you have nothing to regret. I DON'T feel that way about March Madness, if I give it my all and STILL wind up on the losing end, it'll break me! Leaving it all in the ring means absolutely nothing if I don't end up with the result I desire.

I didn't get here by being a chump, the fact that I've made it to this far shows I'm fully capable of making the final leap forward. If I can just execute, like I have in every other match up to this point, I'll be ruling over the XWF Kingdom in no time.

"Class dismissed."]]>
There was a lesson that desperately needed to be learned, and I was the only one capable of teaching it. Inside Room 420, there was a plethora of young minds who craved a higher learning; their brains primed and ready to soak up my information like a sponge absorbs water. On the other side of the door awaited unlimited potential; future doctors, lawyers, maybe even President of the United States, preparing for the first step of the rest of their lives. Knowing that I had the chance to mold these scholars into the type of leaders the world needed right now was an electric feeling. I couldn't wait any longer, the time to educate had come and I wasn't gonna let this opportunity go to waste. As long as at least one person walks away from today's seminar with a bit more knowledge than they had before, I'll consider it a success.

"Good morning, cl---ass............."

As I entered the room and greeted everyone, I was met with a disappointing sight: there was only two people behind desks, sitting approximately six feet apart in the front row. I felt like Squidward when he went to teach art at the rec center, although at least I managed to reel in more than one fish. While it WAS discouraging to have such a low turnout, the eagerness on my students' faces kept my spirits up.

[Image: C9eWeLe.jpg]

" Ugh.. My head. Where in the hell am I?"

Page eyeballed the situation not sure of his surroundings, he was laying on a concrete platform face down, head throbbing. He rolled over pulling his smartphone from his filthy jeans looking at the time. It was late as Page sat up taking another long look around. The place looked like a typical murder scene right before any crime. There was no-one around but him, and since he, not one for manslaughter outside the ring he suddenly felt Jane Doe.

" How in the hell am I in a subway station? Of all the places in the world here?" Page shouts out. " Main? Barker?"

Page leisurely gets to his feet dusting himself off when something catches his eye off in the distance. He stares off into the black tunnel, watching as the red lights blinked back at him, they became closer by the second announcing that at least he wasn't unaccompanied. The absolute quiet chilled him, nothing delightful happens in uninhabited parts of any city. Page held his hand out to feel for any movement of the night air that as the train pressed it along, but there is nothing. Nothing but the polluted air and a trashed concrete floor beneath his boots.

" I shouldn't be this close to the edge, but it's not like I can get a knock from behind right now."

Immediately the adrenaline flooded through Page's veins looking at the worn yellow cautionary lines warning that you were too close to the edge. He turns abruptly to stare at the empty platform behind him, as an uneasiness came over him. As a gentle blew through the subway station catching his attention. The burst of air was stale and surprisingly the litter remained just where it sat before. He detects a familiar scent of urine.

" This is a shit show. Where int he hell is everyone? Wait?"

Footsteps. Whoever was coming towards Page was either a large person or a heavily armed one. Whoever it was considered themselves untouchable just by way the way they were walking. Page tried to see what was coming from the tunnel but couldn't make anything out. So he sank into the shadows allowing their footsteps to echo off the walls of the subway station.

" I could never imagine doing this. But I'm going to sit back in the shadows, wait, assess the situation. I'm curious to see who walks so courageously."

A masked man emerged from the tunnel wearing a mask over his head and another one in his hand. As the man approached Page noticed something about the way he walked. It was familiar. It was Robert Main. Chris stepped from behind the shadows placing his hands on his hips.

" Robert? Robert is that you?

The masked man gawks before nodding.

" So, any idea what happened? I just woke up here after a terrible trip man. That Dark Side Of The Moon thing that's all on me."

Main looks at the mask in his hand.

"What did you see?"

Page has a confused look.

"I'm not sure I follow here man?"

Robert grinds his teeth before replying.

" WHAT DID YOU SEE?"

" Jesus Christ calm down. I saw myself only different?"

" Different? How?"

" All I can remember was towards the end I was wearing a mas...."

Robert raises his hand revealing a mask.

" That's the mask I was wearing. How? How did you get that? Robert what the hell is going on man. This shit is trippy as hell."

" I woke up with this thing in my hand. I was face down in the middle of a subway train."

The sparks flew in Page's brain, desperately trying to connect the dots and instead just causing a short circuit.

"Where did yours come from?"

Robert lowered his head briefly before speaking softly.

" A year ago in Florida, I was set to take on Chris Chaos defending the Universal Championship. Going in I wanted to do more than retain, I wanted to prove an extreme point. Chris, I wanted to make him pay for everything that he had ever done wrong. If it took ending his career or crippling him forever I was fine with that. Hatred consumed my soul, that's when Drew and I met a witch. She gave me this mask telling me that it would change who I was while wearing it. And it did just that. I faced Chaos nearly killing him. I didn't like who it made me, or what it pushed me to do. So after the match, I put this abomination in a box tossing it into the Gulf of Mexico."

" So, where in the hell did it come from?"

" I woke up wearing it, and this one where ever it's from. It's for you. So, whatever you saw in that bad trip, get ready to embrace it, become it. Life as you and I know it is about to change forever. There is something greater at play here Chris, you and I are about to go down a very dark road becoming the monsters we've kept locked away. If there is a silver lining to this entire situation.

A sadistic smirk crosses Robert's face.

" We're about to become the XWF Tag Team Champions."

Page reaches out grabbing the mask from Robert pulling it over his head.

" Ah... I like where this is going."

[Image: giphy.gif]

" I wish I knew where to start with the shitshow that is known as The Sick C*nts. Let's take a second and talk about the level of disappointment from Noah Jackson. The hottest thing since sliced bread all of a sudden went Helen Keller in the biggest match of his career. I've been told several times over my career that if there's no pressure there can't be diamonds. You two were the ones who propped yourselves up as the next big thing and sadly the idiots around this company took you, two clowns, at face value. Noah, you finally get the challenge you've been clamoring for. You get to leer down the barrel of a shotgun and you go missing. All this pressure got to him and he decided it was time to shut the fuck up and leave not only his dumb dick father but his second opponent hanging high and dry. To think that every single member on this roster rode your dicks for this long is astonishing. This is who you are Noah a no showing bitch. You can continue to hide for as long as you'd like but eventually, that bell will ring and you'll get smashed like my prom date. You always were the type of person that would die for exposure, but now that you have it. You lost all composure.

But let's switch gears lets talk about the guy who has had more than a few half-assed things to say. Fuzz seems to forget one significant thing, this match is a tag team match and not a singles affair. That statement isn't through rose colored glasses either folks. That's reality. Fuzz can call us predictable when he hit us with nothing but the same bullshit that we've heard day in and day out. Yes, I was the Universal Champion and yes, I took on any and all challengers that were willing to step forward and grace the squared circle with me. One by one they came after the brass ring, the top prize, the end all be all of this company. One by one I set them on their prissy asses showing the world I meant business. I have a straight forward question for you Fuzz, where were you? Did you step to the plate? Nope. You looked the other way hoping you didn't get my undivided attention. You did just what everyone else did, you sat up there in those cheap seats and critiqued the division from afar. You played armchair quarterback with the best of them. When push came to shove you buried your head in the sand.

Hell, at least Page had the balls to push me while you, on the other hand, had your dick in your hand. Fuzz you've always seemed to think you’re the center of attention around the XWF, news flash, your not. I for one am looking forward to your retirement if that’s even what’s going on here. I smell a work. But hey here's hoping. Let's get another past his prime relic out of here before he steals another second of the spotlight on lame C*nt jokes. You want to bash my reign that's all well and good, thanks for hitting me where it hurts grandpa. But next time try to come up with some original content, maybe a thought or two that hasn't already been spewed by the likes of The Engineer or every other opponent that I've faced over the past year. But hey at least when I do decide to ride into the sunset, I'll know I was a top-five of all time and I can say I was a Universal Champion. Regardless of how it was obtained or who it was obtained from."

"Preach!"

" You are the type who hates loud then turns around and follows on Twitter. You can ignore the fact that I have something great, they all have. They've tried to edge me out, telling me I wasn't built for this. This hater shit has gotten so underwhelming I've become bored. What don't you understand about all of this? I'm conditioned for all the abuse you can throw my way. The difference between you and I is I wrestle with a greater purpose. I'm the kind you are not used to and that simple fact makes you nervous. You seem to have forgotten me in you last piece of work as you attempted to retell ancient history between you and Page like anyone other than you gives two shits about something that happened ten fucking years ago; but hey, toot your horn when you can my friend. Because that seems to be the only thing you’re remotely halfway decent at because stepping up to game competition doesn’t seem to be in your wheelhouse, and while you will lose the Tag Titles blaming Noah’s lack of attention as the reason like you’ve already done. How fitting it is to have a scapegoat going into a match you know you're going to get clobbered in. Nothing like a crutch, at least I can say when I did lose I admitted defeat. Like always I hate to be the bearer of bad news but even if that punk bitch kid showed up and had the best night of his career finally reaching the potential he's been seeking. The bastard would still come up short and you'd still be leaving March Madness empty-handed. When it comes to teams you’ve had those feeble eyes locked on, you were clearly missing the best of the fucking best.

You can try and call us unsurprising for coming together as a unit. That’s perfectly fine, it's a shame that’s recycled smack talk Shane

peddled, but like everything that comes from that cock holster its rinse and repeat. If that statement carried a single ounce of weight four months ago when Soldier called it out; but nice job on showing your lack of creativity or originality."

"This shit is easier than taking candy from a baby."

" I mean I could spend countless hours calling out all your inconsistencies but I only have limited space and there’s a lot of bullshit flowing from those lips of yours. Fuzz, you are a walking contradiction, we don’t want you to think anything about us. We prefer you underestimate us, so when we stomp that ass into the canvas it will be even more satisfying. You choose this match and when you choose to that means you’re invested is us which negates your entire no fucks given mentality, don’t you think? What bothers you about this entire situation is deep down inside you know that when we win those straps that you've been holding hostage, and we take them from your worthless jackasses partner we will be the champions that you two couldn’t be. What you never could be. Cataclysm as champions the XWF stock immediately rises from the ashes the Engineer created. The Tag Team division becomes where that brass ring resides. Every single person on this roster will want to take part in because "Chronic" Chris Page and Robert "The Omega" Main are the money matches, we are the glass ceiling, we are the measuring stick for anyone that wants to compete here in the Xtreme Wrestling Federation.

They won’t ask for the misfortune that is our Universal Champion; oh no, they’re going to be asking for Page and Main. We will overshadow everything that is and ever was because that’s just who the hell we are. Good, bad or indifferent we are the Main Event while you and everyone else around us are merely supporting characters in a story Cataclysm is writing in blood. But don’t you worry grasshoppers, don’t you fret. Cataclysm is going to show you exactly where you fall in line within the pecking order of this division… Beneath us."

"Poor Noah huh."

" What’s a matter little guy? Cat got your tongue. I mean you would spout out some mad shit leading up to this encounter and then suddenly you’re as quiet as a fucking mouse. What gives? With everything going on in the world today you seem to be the only guy complacent with not muttering a single sentence. I can’t say that I’m shocked because when it comes to you and your pops you both have something in common more than genetics and that’s dominating lesser talents while professing to be godsends in Professional Wrestling. This proves beyond any shadow of a doubt that you’re a fucking two-bit chump that doesn’t belong in the same ring, let alone the same sentences of a Chris Page or a Robert Main. This was your one chance to shine and take center stage and yet you’ve done as much with this spotlight as you’ve done with those tag titles. Zilch, nada, jack shit. So allow us to step into your house walk right into your kitchen and open your fridge and take your last beer while giving you the middle finger in the process.

Because we all know you’re not going to say or do anything about it. Even if you did elect to show you have a set of nuts and bother to cut a promo it’s too late in the game because you’re no longer the hardest working man in the XWF… You’re just a nobody that’s time on top has officially run the fuck out. We want each and every one of you to take a good look at what happens to guys that love to sit on the sidelines and talk about what’s going on compared to guys that get in that ring and get the job done. We are undefeated as a Tag Team and our victories overshadow that Sick C*nts on so many different levels that it’s beyond entertaining. They beat up a couple of chicks to win the titles while we’ve beaten established teams like

and Slater for example. It doesn’t matter how you cut this cookie we are the team of 2020 that everyone should have their eyes on. We’ve declared open season for the Tag Team division here in the XWF and if there’s anyone that thinks for one fucking second that they can compare to what we bring to the table then, by all means, all you got to do is walk that aisle and sign the dotted line. We'll serve anybody; friends, enemies it doesn’t matter because the result is going to remain the same…"

"Cataclysm leaving with the “w”."

" Ladies and gentlemen make no mistake about it. This is a declaration of war brought to you by Cataclysm. We want the next team in line to go ahead and step to the forefront, make your intentions known, all the front office has to do is line you all up then we can move forward mowing you all down because that is the shit we do. You can try to your damnedest, you can channel your little engine that could by telling yourselves what you believe you’re going to do, you think whatever you'd like… But this isn’t children’s tale, it’s not fantasy land. You’ve got two mean mother fuckers itching to pummel anyone that stands before us and anyone that wants to test their skills against the only tag team that matters in the sport of Professional Wrestling."

"… But when you fail.

And you will fail."

" Don’t take it personally just take it as a life lesson that when compared to Cataclysm there’s just no comparison you just got your world completely fucked up. Don’t say I didn’t warn you and don’t say you didn’t have plenty of notice. If you step to us you can bet your asses are going to get dealt with. Welcome to the new age. Welcome to Cataclysm!!"]]> <![CDATA[Paradiso: Final Heaven]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36530 Sat, 28 Mar 2020 16:15:58 -0700 Corey Smith]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36530

A single dim light beats back the darkness in a room that amounts to a barren cement cube. There is one door, an aged affair with chipping olive green paint and a metal locking bar drawn down across it. The desolation's uniformity is broken by two figures, one of which is bound to a ramshackle office chair that's had the wheels removed. Malcolm, the bound figure, slowly rouses and blinks away the chemical fog that put him in this predicament. Realization comes in stages, first a sense of unusual discomfort, and then the spike of anxiety that comes with the sensation that your limbs are no longer yours to move. With a grunt of surprise, he rides the wave of a sudden adrenaline boost and starts to fight with his bindings. But he soon becomes aware of the other presence in the room, and stops.

[Image: tenor.gif?itemid=13506364]

Malcolm smiles nervously. Is this some weird new sex thing we're doing?

You need to shut up and listen to me. I don't have much time.

The Engineer's acolyte's expression flickers, and without another word further realization sets in. With a renewed focus, he fights with his bindings again.

Stop....stop and listen!

Fuck off, Corey! Malcolm flexes his legs, trying to make use of them but they too are bound, laden down with what seems like multiple pounds of duct tape affixing his ankles to the base of the chair.

Corey Smith takes a chance on drawing closer to Malcolm. You wouldn't listen to me otherwise, I'm sorry.

I won't listen to you regardless! He wrenches at his bindings one final time, but they're resolute. With a weary sigh and a fierce glower, he considers his lover's invader. How the hell did you take control again? But as soon as the words have parted his lips he gains insight into his own question. Corey's face is set in a barely restrained grimace, the hinges of his jaw working and pulsing with an internal tension, his eyes struggling to lock onto a single sight. A vein bulges in his forehead and his brow is dotted with beads of sweat. He's fighting.

I don't have long. I know you hate me. I know you feel like you have no reason to listen to me. But I swear to God Malcolm I am the only person in this pack of wolves you've surrounded yourself with that actually gives a shit about you.

Malcolm laughs mirthlessly. Is that right? He gives him the once over. You're fighting a losing fight right now. I'm just gonna wait it out.

Good. Yes! There's actual solace there. Just listen, okay? Corey searches within himself for where to go, looking torn. Then, with a deep breath, he dives in. I'm going to give you a reason to believe me. The left side of his face twitches spasmodically and he does his best to ignore it. I'm gonna lay myself bare. Okay? He's plaintive, vision brimming with sincerity. I'm there every time that monster makes love to you.

Malcolm curls a lip up in disgust. You're not winning me over.

You're fucking MY body! Corey explodes, and then with a look that suggests he surprised even himself, pulls himself back from the brink. You're BOTH using ME. He pats his chest with his palm. Do you understand that?

There it is, the barest hint of guilt worms its way onto Malcolm's features. But he says nothing.

But I'm not here to bitch about that. I'm here....his fists clench at his sides, and Malcolm sees the musculature in Corey's torso clench and unclench as The Engineer tries for another assault. Corey gasps and his posture wavers briefly. I'm here....I'm here....because I'm all fucked up over you.

What does that even mean?

I....he searches....I'm not into men. There's nothing wrong with that, but I'm not. And yet, I've been forced into this intimacy with you. Forced to be close to you in a way that I never would have chose. A vein in his neck throbs and he grimaces. And me....and The Engineer....sometimes it's hard to separate us. It gets all jumbled up, you know? Where he stops and where I start. There's...there's bleed through. And....he trails off, seeking the right turn of phrase again. I think, that closeness with you, even though it's something I wouldn't have wanted...even though it's not me.....I....He runs his hand through his hair in frustration. I should be pissed about it, right?! I SHOULD BE ANGRY ALL THE TIME! Right?!

Malcolm shifts uncomfortably, searching Corey but not knowing what he's looking for. I have no idea what the hell to tell you.

Corey grimaces again, his teeth grinding together as though he's trying to keep The Engineer INSIDE. He swallows it down and a thin film of moisture frosts over his right eye. I should be angry all the time....but it's like...it's like....I feel this bond with you sometimes. This kinship. We've shared something. And sometimes...sometimes it DISGUSTS me. It makes me feel dirty and used. It feels like RAPE.

Malcolm casts his gaze downward as the word “rape” claps like thunder.

But other times....he looks plaintive....pleading even....other times it feels like some approximation of affection. I care about you. I don't love you. I don't think I do. Fuck, if anything I should HATE you. And sometimes I do, but.... he shakes his head violently in confusion. Corey makes a sound that sounds like a combination of a sigh and a shuddering sob.

Why are you telling me all this? Malcolm's voice is quiet, and moreso, tremulous with...something. Sadness. Self recrimination. A maelstrom of disquieting feelings that comes with the realization that you have profoundly wronged someone. That you've DAMAGED someone. The wounds on his back ache with shame and a single question starts to fester in his mind's eye. What have I done?

Corey breathes in and out with some difficulty. I'm telling you this because I want you to understand how real I'm being with you. I want you to understand that in some weird, sick way I care about you for reasons I don't even understand. I need....he swallows..I need you to see that I'm not another wolf.

You think he's using me? His tone bespeaks an uncertainty as to whether that was a question or a statement.

You know he is. Malcolm stays silent, looking down at the floor. He told you himself. See, and that's the real pisser about The Engineer, isn't it? He's a real mother fucker but at least he's HONEST. It's kind of funny in a way. You're the one who's not being honest.

This gets Malcolm's attention. He looks dead at Corey and opens his mouth to speak....but then doesn't. Because he doesn't even have to ask what he means. He already knows.

You told him you wouldn't love him. But you do, don't you? You...Corey suddenly cries out and drops to one knee, his body wracked with the worst spasm yet. And once more, he pushes the virus back down. But, when he looks up, the capillaries in his right eye have exploded, turning it blood red. Fighting his way back to his feet, Corey endures. You can't help yourself. It's not in your nature. Because you're decent. You're not lost. You're not a broken toy, or a callous. You're not like him.

Looking deeply torn, Malcolm retreats inside himself, hanging his head. When he finally ventures out, his voice sounds defeated. What would you have me do?

Run. Corey replies with simple conviction. Just run. Don't be his back up plan. Don't give up your life for someone who doesn't care about you. Run.

Malcolm meets Corey's gaze, tearful and apologetic. I'm sorry I hurt you.

I know. And that's why you're different.

If I leave you'll still be stuck with him. He sniffs as a tear drops down his cheek and tickles his nose. You'll still be suffering.

But I'll keep fighting. Suddenly Corey barks out a cry of pain and doubles over, holding his stomach. He starts to make a dry gagging sound, his breaths coming in painful shuddering waves. You have to go now! Fighting fist tooth and nail against his own body, he pulls a box cutter out of his pocket and exposes the blade. On uncertain legs, he comes closer to Malcolm and drops to his knees to cut away the tape binding his legs. Once free, there is a moment exchanged where their eyes meet. A tense mutual scrutiny. But it passes quickly and Corey moves behind him to untie his hands. The young man backs away after Malcolm is freed, back bowed and one arm clutching his stomach. Go.

Steeling himself, Malcolm nods and turns to the door. His initial steps towards it are tentative, but gradually his confidence in his decision increases the closer he gets until he reaches the door and casts aside the locking bar with no hesitation. Stealing a look at Corey, he speaks one last time. Thank you.

Corey accepts his thanks wordlessly, and watches him depart. Then dropping against the wall and sliding down onto his haunches, he presses his teeth together as his body continues to revolt. His chest bucks as another barrier is broken down, but he knows he just has to give Malcolm enough time to get away, enough time to put some distance between himself and the monster. Another pained cry bounces around the room as the boy's torso arches. And then, The Engineer is there.

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He's a gore soaked atrocity, clutching a still beating heart in his hand and pressing his lips to it. With a wicked smile, he turns to look at Corey, his lips painted crimson. You taste good.

He's safe. Malcolm is safe. Corey pants.

Of course he's safe, Corey. He was never in any danger. You on the other hand. He proffers up the heart. Recognize this? It's yours.

Corey glowers at him from beneath pained lidded eyes but gives him no further satisfaction.

This was your final act of rebellion. I'm fully imbedded in every micrometer of your brain. I've metastasized Corey. You'll still be there, but you'll never be able to regain control again. You know that. He points a blood stained finger at Corey. But why now? Why not at March Madness when you could have embarrassed me on a national stage?

Because getting Malcolm to run hurts you worse.

But you did nothing of the sort. Malcolm will never leave me.

Corey smirks. You seem so sure. He coughs. And that's your blindspot. You have no faith in people to do the right thing. You think everyone is as sick and parasitic as you.

The Engineer rolls his eyes. Mmmm...yes, the “Ned Kaye Argument”. Cute. He sighs. Well, Corey, I'd say it's time we end this charade. You shot your shot. You missed.

Corey chuckles painfully. I don't think....

But before he can finish his thought, the virus brings Corey's heart to his lips one last time, but this time he distends his jaw wide and sinks his teeth into the flesh. A fresh gout of blood explodes down The Engineer's chin as he dines. Corey screams as his body is wracked with horrific spasms, body setting itself in a rigid arc of agony. By the time he's devoured the heart whole, Corey's body is slack. The Engineer's manifestation vanishes, and when Corey's eyes open once more time, he is no longer home.

Working out some of the lingering muscle aches, the Universal Champion stands up slowly. His hand dips into his pocket, trying to find his cell phone, but it's not there. Damn it. Tearing out of the room at a heightened clip, The Engineer steps out into the hall, looking for Malcolm. Malcolm! Malcolm! Seeing nothing, and with his confidence ebbing ever so slightly, he continues on. Not quite running, but certainly walking with a purpose, he gets his bearings until he finds an elevator.

The shot then changes to another locale within the building, The T-Mobile Center in Las Vegas, Nevada.

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The main hall of the arena is eerily quiet, like a calm before a storm. Which, in a manner of speaking given that March Madness is less than 24 hours away, is correct. Eventually, The Engineer steps into the shot. Alone. His eyes scan the court yard outside through the immense windows, but he looks resigned. And more than a bit unsettled. Malcolm is nowhere to be found.

The edges of his lips bury themselves in a deep frown as he heads for the door and departs.

Later...on the streets of Las Vegas.....

The Engineer brings his cell phone down and depresses the call button once more. He stares at the screen for a moment, and briefly catches a reflection of his own face. His finger tips find their way up to his blood stained eye, still damaged from Corey's war with him earlier. Then, replacing the phone in his pocket, he turns his attention to the barren streets of Las Vegas.

He finds peace there. What was once a city teeming with vitality, a fresh vein flush with healthy blood, was now the narrow damaged artery of an addict. That wellspring of healthy crimson replaced with but a narrow eddy of toxic sludge.

In the distance, the silence is broken by the plaintive peal of an ambulance. The sound breaks through The Engineer's tension, and a slow smile forms.

Bright lights...big city.... He takes note of a woman walking towards him, one of few out and about. She's wearing a mask over her face, and takes a wide berth around The Engineer. Not so much anymore.

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Later...on the streets of Las Vegas.....

The camera's view walks beside him as we navigate this hollowed out former spectacle of a city.

This....THIS...is all I ever wanted. Peace. Quiet. An end to ceaseless cluttering irrelevancies, an end to the noise pollution, the ignorance. Is this not wonderful? Do you not find some calm in this? He cants his head a bit, looking sardonic. Maybe it's just me.

So, Ned, here we are. Or maybe I should say, here we aren't. Because I can say for damned sure that we are sorely lacking a main event for March Madness. I mean, are you sick and hiding it from us? Or is your total dereliction of duty because your cowardice has finally won out?

You know, people like to go on and on about what a bad guy I am. But Corey Smith said it best earlier today. “I may be a motherfucker, but at least I'm honest about it.”

You, on the other hand, are a liar. He lets that sink in for a moment as he pauses at an intersection. But there is no traffic to speak of, and he proceeds unimpeded. And more than that, you're CRUEL. Which may seem like a pretty fancy proposition coming from me, but if you really stop and think about it, you are just so, so much worse than me.

He lets out a patronizing little laugh. Yes folks, that's right. Ned Kaye is WORSE for you than the actual virus. He points at himself. And do you know why? Because Ned Kaye is a PLACEBO. Ned Kaye is the thing that makes you feel good. Makes you feel like you're getting better! But in the end, he's just a sugar pill! There's nothing in there. And any curative properties he claims to have are really all in your head! Two weeks ago, Ned Kaye laid me out and gave this grand uplifting speech. He puffed you up and made you feel good. He made you feel like the light at the end of the tunnel was coming! He anointed himself in the blood of Christ and declared himself savior supreme!

What hogwash. What BULLSHIT. And now, two weeks later, you see it too. But you already swallowed the sugar pill thinking it would help, thinking those “warm fuzzies” in your belly meant the medicine was working. But it's not. The cancer is still rotting out your guts. You're still SICK and DYING. And where's your knight in shining armor? Where's your HERO?

He dances a little jig as he walks and starts singing the Bonnie Tyler classic “Holding Out For a Hero” as he goes.

I need a hero
I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night
He's gotta be strong
And he's gotta be fast
And he's gotta be fresh from the fight....

The champion laughs and an old man who's also wearing a mask and sitting on a bench looks at him strangely. Paying him no mind, he keeps moving.

You're a BASTARD, Ned. Injecting these people with all this false hope and BAILING on them. You sanctimonious PRICK. You should be ashamed of yourself. Or maybe....just maybe....I'm giving you too much credit. Maybe that little show you put on had nothing to do with the people and everything to do with you! Just another example of some shameless self promotion, a little hype building at the expense of a scared and worn down populace that just wants something to believe in. Yeah Ned....yeah...maybe you worked 'em. The Engineer purrs maliciously. I'm almost jealous.

And in a weird way, you're kind of ahead of the curve too when it comes to the XWF. The first one to acknowledge, even if implicitly, that there is no actual hope that ANYONE is going to defeat me. That's it's all just bluster and empty words. Because I keep seeing this talking point bandied about that the Universal Championship division is dead and buried. That's it's some worthless vestigial appendage of the XWF. And for the first time I'm starting to wonder if maybe they're correct. He makes an expression of mock surprise. I know, right?!

Yeah, maybe they ARE right. But not for the reasons they keep telling themselves. No! Because all I keep hearing is that the division is dead because of ME. But that's just a psychological defense mechanism working overtime to protect their fragile egos. Because the TRUTH is, this division is dead because of THEM. This division is dead because NONE of them are strong enough to stop me and they know it. So, to save face, they throw their shade at me and stay warm and snug in their hidey holes, content with ruling their petty fiefdoms while I bend the entirety of the XWF KINGDOM to my will. Read between the lines, folks! Do you honestly think that the guy who's willing to take on all comers is the problem? Or is it the pathetic, anemic mid card and doddering old men content to rest on their laurels while I lay waste to the company they supposedly care about?

I mean, Christ! This company relied on proverbial do nothing NED KAYE to punch the card against me. Ned Kaye! Who is on absolutely NO ONE'S radar as a viable challenge for me. And yet, that was the guy who stepped into the brink because nobody else was able to grow a pair long enough to fight me.

This is not a “ME” problem, XWF roster! This is a “YOU” problem. Because none of you are GOOD enough to beat me. And that's precisely what this is all about. YOU ALL FUCKING SUCK! Another sardonic laugh. But by all means, keep on feeding me the Ned Kaye's of the world. Keep on telling yourselves that the Universal Championship....the top prize in the company, for FUCK'S SAKES.... is “not worth it anymore” because that's what you NEED to believe so you get to go on pretending I wouldn't BREAK YOU DOWN like a BITCH if it came to it.

You want me to name names? He holds his fingers up as he counts them down.

Chris Page
Robert Main
Noah Jackson
Centurion
(Hmmmm....am I forgetting someone? Nahhhhh)

The final finger he's holding up is, naturally, the middle.

Any one of you could have stepped to me. But you didn't. You let Ned Kaye...Ned FUCKING Kaye, of all people, do your job for you. Because you're spineless callow fucks who aren't even fit to hold my shaft for me while I take a piss. Don't like what I'm saying? DO SOMETHING. It's what I've been saying all along.

The Engineer stops at another intersection, but doesn't cross. Instead, he turns to face the street.

Wow Ned, turns out you're such a nothing I had to go on a screed against four other guys just to sex this up. But what were we talking about? Ah yes....hope. Or lack thereof. I think we've conclusively proven that you aren't the cure for what ails the XWF. Hell, you've already given up. But I'm still going to do you a solid. You see Ned, you don't have to follow through on your vow to quit the XWF if you don't win my title. Noooooo.

You can come work for me.

Yes! My brand is always hiring for new talent in the field of “destroying hopes and dreams”. And boy oh boy, you've sure knocked that out of the park. You're a natural! And I think that whole “placebo” thing needs to stick. “The Placebo” Ned Kaye. I mean, it doesn't QUITE roll off the tongue, but it's not like anyone ever expects much out of you anyway so it'll suffice.

You got a job waiting for you. And not just the one at March Madness either. The Engineer flashes a cheeky smile. And I gotta admit, I LOVE the optics of it all. Rolling Mr. Sunshine and Rainbows into my debauched collective. Yeah.... he muses for a bit and stares off into the distance. Well, think it over. It's not like you really have anything else to chew on. See you on the other side of that “L”, Neddy boy.

And then, he catches sight of something off camera that makes his smile widen. He licks his lips, and his eyes take on a certain HUNGER.

You know what just occurred to me? It occurred to me that this is usually the part in the story where some last glimmer of redeeming promise rears it's head. Some light amidst the all encompassing darkness to add a touch of narrative tension. To make the reader or the viewer think that all is not truly lost. A moment that makes the villain reconsider the confidence of their position and thrusts the overarching emotional tenor of the tale into complete chaos, effectively resetting the playing field and making one feel as though the power imbalance between good and evil isn't quite so imbalanced.

He leers into the camera, preening and deviant.

But no. Fuck hope.

He points across the intersection and the camera follows his gesture. Malcolm is waiting on the other side of the intersection. The Engineer steps into the vacant street, and a bare moment later Malcolm does the same. Opening his arms, the virus meets Malcolm in the center of the intersection in an embrace. The Engineer's acolyte folds himself into him, drinking deep of his master as he returns home after a brief sojourn.

Fuck hope.

]]> <![CDATA[Chapter 3: Inner Demons]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36527 Fri, 27 Mar 2020 14:09:13 -0700 Chris Page]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36527

” Take a look at Main, the guy can drink ya under the table, but one toke he hits the floor like a sack of bricks.”

Barker watched as Page began staring off in the distance, an empty stare fell upon his face. Page resisted trying diligently shaking his head numerous times to no avail pessimistically fighting off a nauseous feeling deep inside his stomach.

” Chris? Chris, are you alright? You’re not looking very well.”

Page smiles falling to one knee. The furious fever came at a blistering speed, appropriating Chris of his brawn. He began to shudder like leaves on a brisk fall morning, be then became pasty, the transformation couldn't have been any more barbaric. The sickness exhibited no sign of fluctuating, there was not one solitary indicator this would lift into a gentler form, as the chills hit him like a sledgehammer on his back knocking the wind from his charred lungs. Each nanosecond that pasted the strain intensified. Page reached out to catch himself as his hands trembled with uncertain caution. For the first time in “Chronic” Chris Page’s life, he understood just how vulnerable he truly was.

” I’m… Oh, shit.”

Page faceplants the floor lying face down next to Robert, now with a one-way ticket to trip town.

” Well this was a horrible idea. These two are going to be the death of me. Dealing with Page all these years now Main. Ugh.”

Barker eyes his Rolex noting the time before unfolding a steel chair taking a seat. The only thing he can do is watch on as Cataclysm lay unconscious on the locker room floor. Adam shrugs.

” All I can do is wait.”

Our scene fades in as Chris Page is shown on a grassy hill. The lush green hill has but one large massive oak tree with branches so large and overhanging the shade it produces is enough for Chris as he’s stretched out on with his back against the trunk of the tree. Off in the distance, we see green and red gummy bears frolicking across a filled with lollypops as a Pina Colada seemingly floats down from the heavens above in oversized pineapple. Chris reaches out and grabs it with both hands before taking a long sip from a red straw before he spits it out and looks at the pineapple with disgust.

” Even in a trip my straw is FUCKING cardboard!”

Chris removes the straw and tosses it towards the ground only to see the ground open and eat the straw before burping. Chris takes a drink from the pineapple when suddenly his attention shifts towards the skies as what was once lit up suddenly goes pitch dark and the grassy hillside suddenly disappears, and Chris finds himself in a circle of fire. The immense heat coming off the flames is enough to cause beads of sweat to form on Chris’s brow before starting to trickle down the sides of his face.

” What the fuck!”

The flames shoot as high up as the eye can see and the intensity of the flames only increase with each passing second. Chris looks down at his hands to see blisters starting to form in his palms before turning them over and seeing more blisters popping up on the back of his hands before slowly making their way up to his arms. The pain takes over a portion of my brain as if dealing with it is energy expenditure enough, without the effort of new thoughts. Page screams.

” Ahhhhhhhhhh. Make it stop.”

The excruciating pain has a displeasing friendliness to it, chewing away at Chris’s moxie. The boldness that Page used as his armor was no longer there. The grit melted away as the searing torment continued. Nausea then reared its grotesque head, just enough to make Page clasp the ground to support himself and breath sluggishly. The tenacity Chris Page held vanished before his eyes, a man that once cherished the fact that he could whitewash suffering, continuing regardless, could no longer do so. It owns him, controlling his incapacitated mind, commandeering every thought, commanding his every action. Everything around his body throbs his internal organs boiling with every breath. Everything feels scolded to the bone. He’s in more misery than he could have ever imagined. For a millisecond he believed a bullet would be compassion.

” LET ME OUT OF HERE! MAKE IT STOP PLEASE!”

A mysterious voice answers Chris.

” I told you that you’d be mine.”

Page tries raising his head only to have a boot force his face to the charred Earth.

” Did I say you could move? Look at you, an inadequate disappointment. It’s no wonder you’ve never amounted to anything more than second best. You come off as this unsympathetic, hardheaded tough guy. Yet you camouflage yourself underneath all that bravado, it’s quite a sight to see. News flash, they don’t hand out championships for acts, by now one would have assumed you’d have figured that out.”

Page feels the boot removed from his head leering upward bewildered.

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" What's a matter chump? You look like you've seen a ghost."

Page clutches the ankle of his doppelganger trying to pull himself up.

" Look at the rebellious “Chronic” Chris Page. Let me help you up.”

Page’s evil twin takes possession of Chris’s throat lifting him off the ground. Page gasps for air trying effortlessly to break the hold to no avail.

" Now that I have your undivided attention you're going to make a choice. You can continue down this gutless path or you can grow a set and become a champion.”

As Page began to fade away, he took one final gasp opening his eyes now standing in the middle of a funeral parlor. He noticed he was now wearing a pinstriped suit. Everyone's heads were bowed yet there wasn’t a solitary sound. Page pondered for a second thinking maybe it was them showing respect or maybe there were all too intimidated to look at what was coming for each one of them. The coffin was darkly stained an elegant shade of cherry and perfectly polished. From a distance Page could see that it had a cushioned and eggshell lining. It felt inviting. He made is way forward as the silence dwelled with a heavy tone in the air around him. With each shaky step forward, he watched as the guest stayed still not moving a muscle. He stopped in front of the coffin seeing nothing more than a mask on a pillow. Chris feels the crowd behind him slowly shift raising their heads now pointing in the direction of the coffin.

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” What the hell is this?”

” For years I’ve been that little voice you hear, each time you’ve botched a defining moment in your career. All along I’ve been the one who has counselled you. I refuse to watch from the inside locked away like a stepchild and allow you to ruin what little time you have left in this business. Your time is running out and you know it. Each second you hesitate is another second that you could have been on the top where you belong. Now you make the choice to let the monster out of the cage or continue and be forgotten. I will build the legacy you’ve always yearned for, all you must do is let me take control. Dawn the mask Chris.”

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” Wait… What are they doing? That’s gasoline… No..”

” You know what’s next. Do it! Or pilfer away what little you have left.”

Page’s doppelganger snapped his fingers as a tiny spark ignited the gas. At first, the flame traveled along the floor, but soon was burning with a lioness roar, the blue flames giving a balanced heat. There was something calming about watching them as if years of homely memories condensed into that hypnotic moment.

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” You hesitated, now their burning flesh is on your hands.”

Page’s hands were shaking so badly, the only thing he could do is watch as his own pale hands, now covered in vermillion. The color burned into his mine as a sickness began to crawl inside of him as he reached into the coffin for the mask. Page pauses for a moment before dawning the mask.

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-_-_-_-_STATIC-_-_-_-_

Words from the Stoned One:

I’m so fucking ready to tie a bow on the façade that the Sick Cunts are worth any real-time or energy as we’re on the verge of March Madness and Nicole didn’t even bother to show enough fucking balls to cut a promo. Nicole is scared and she’s got every right to be because she’s walking into a situation where daddy isn’t going to be around to lend a helping hand. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again that you aren’t shit without Fuzz and the ONE show you needed to step to the plate and show you belong in the conversation… you shit the bed, and in the process just owned that you are everything I’ve said you are in the terms of being an overrated secondary talent that’s the main purpose is to make the REAL stars look good!

I’m kind of disappointed in you Nicole.

I was pulling for you to make me eat my words because the XWF is in serious need of a youth movement that you could have spearheaded.

… then you choked.

I guess you do share the same genes as Fuzz after all because you’re both pathetic fucking losers.

Speaking of Fuzz… speaking of that cocksucker I’m sure you’ve all heard the news that he’s “announced” his retirement from the game effective March Madness… and you’re a fool if you believe it. Fuzz and I go way the fuck back and the one thing he’s never done is walked out when on a fucking roll. Let’s call a spade a spade, one might say that 2019 Fuzz was the legit face that ran the place, he’s a double champion and a guaranteed briefcase in his camp and you seriously think he’s leaving it all on the table? Fuck no. Fuzz knows how to manipulate the game like a true master and will try to lead you down a false path over here while he’s working on his endgame over there. I have a very good idea at what I think is going on and I refuse to buy into your bullshit. What’s great for me is if this happens to be legit, you’ll be going out LOSING to the one man whose name you can’t KEEP out of your mouth… Chris Page. I find nothing but sheer humor that you refuse to take me seriously after all these years, but it’s not your job. It’s your job to downplay me and downplay the true level off fear and panic that flows through you just like it does with anyone else that see’s their name opposite mine on a fucking run sheet because you know that this isn’t going to be a walk in the park in any sense of the word.

I’m more than a handful to deal with on my own but when you factor Robert in the mix, we’ve just taken this threat to a completely different level. I’m not the one to sit here and continuously point the finger of just how fucked you and your daughter are when it comes to successfully defending those straps at March Madness because by now the reality has set in that your own flesh and blood failed you and your entire bloodline by being a pussy. So, let me tell you how this is going to play out regardless of your retirement plans are a work or they aren’t, okay. It ends with me finally slapping the shit out of you and your legacy for no other reason than because I can’t and you’re not capable of stopping me. I’m glad that The Sick Cunts want to think this is all fun and games because the real fun and games begin when that bell sounds, well fun and games for Cataclysm and more like a living nightmare for The Sick Cunts. We are going to dismantle you both and are going to be responsible for each of you leaving March Madness with zero belts.

There’s an age-old saying that has never been more relevant then it is right now.

He who laughs last will laugh the loudest.

The underestimation from the Sick Cunts to Cataclysm is just one of the reasons that you’re both about to fall; it’s second behind your lack of talent. I mean, I’ve wanted to shut some fuckers up in my day, but I’ve never wanted to shut up anyone more than I do Fuzz. He’s Shane

level annoying and is about to be exposed for selling himself on a legacy over the last year that equates to being the smartest kid with down syndrome when you look at who he’s been in the ring with. There’s a reason you’ve stood on the sidelines and pointed at the Main Event scene as opposed to stepping in and, I don’t know, doing something about to make things interesting. Nah, we can’t do that. The guy literally tried to slam me for being repetitive when he LITERALLY repeated his first round of petty insults, which let’s face it, I’ve heard better shit from Peter Gilmour that you threw at me sunshine! Your day of reckoning is going to come so both you and Nicole had better start thinking long and hard about what best excuse you’re going to be able to muster up for being exposed for the flash in the pan Tag Team Champions that you’re GOING to become.

While this is certainly all a formality, I’d like to take the opportunity to address the state of the XWF Tag Team Division.

It’s been far too long since the division had credible champions. 5’6 Mafia didn’t do shit with the straps.

The Sick Cunts haven’t done shit with the straps.

Robert and I refuse to be champions that aren’t defending their titles because proving you’re the best is defending them against any and all comers… not dodging them like the coronavirus.

This goes out to anyone within earshot because once we stake claim to those belts it’s an open fucking season and if you think you got what it takes to grace the ring with two legends like Main and myself then, by all means, all you got to do is put pen to goddamn paper and we can it a thang. We are not going to be anything less than the fucking best until a team that comes along and takes that right away from us, that team is NOT The Sick Cunts. We’ve laid the trail of breadcrumbs and you’ve followed them every step of the way, we’ve allowed you to think you controlled the narrative when we controlled it all along. This is a fight you desperately wanted to coward away from whilst trying to look hip and cool in the process but you’re about to find out that you’ve brought a couple a knife to a mother fucking gunfight. The only question that remains unanswered is just who are the next victims?

One might say it’s a little premature to claim victory… much like Babe Ruth stood at the plate and point out to the fence, he called his shot. We are calling ours.

Think this is a game?

Might I suggest you all pay very close attention to how we pick the meat from the bones of two so-called “top talents”.

We aren’t playing any games. We’re playing for blood, we’re playing for keeps and we’re playing to strip away the XWF World Tag Team Championships from the most undeserving cowards to ever grace the division. Yeah, they’ll openly get involved in beating a couple of bitches for some straps that weren’t relevant just to keep them not relevant and use them as a prop for their egos. Shit, I give Engineer shit for being relegated to the Robbie Bourbon’s of the world but at least the fucker is trying to make chicken salad out of chicken shit unlike either of the Sick Cunts.

We’re doing you all a favor.

You’re welcome.
]]> <![CDATA[Filling the Void]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36526 Fri, 27 Mar 2020 11:22:19 -0700 Big D]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36526 "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG D!!!!!!"

"X-Men Theme" by Powerglove began to play over the PA system, but there was no reaction whatsoever. As I stood behind the curtain, seconds away from making my entrance, all I could hear from the other side was dead silence. No cheers praising a man people potentially wanted to see succeed, nor any boos rejecting that man from those who got off to his suffering. There was nothing at all.

I entered the arena, shoving the curtain aside as I did so. When I stepped out onto the ramp, I was met with an eerie sight comparable to a barron wasteland. The building was completely empty, sans the ring announcer and one lone cameraman filming me from the ring apron. There were no asses in seats(and it WASN'T thanks to a standing ovation), no vendors selling food and drinks at a 500% profit margin............ there was no-one at all. If it wasn't for my theme blaring over the loudspeakers, you'd be able to hear a pin drop.

As I made my way down the aisle, I thought about the state of the world as of late, and how this had become the new normal. Stadiums around the globe showed no signs of life, abandoned by their patrons like an old ghost town. The irony is, with everyone shut up at home, their need for entertainment was at an all-time high; but considering most sports had been put on hold, that vacancy was a hard one to fill. Unless you're into the Kartrashians or have hours of pornography to catch up on.

But that's where XWF comes in. We're here, I'M here, to fill the void this awful virus has left in our lives. There's a good chunk of people who've been laid off for the time being, as they are considered 'non-essential' to the rest of the world. Hell, some folks might say the same thing about US. Well, that's where they're wrong! We're all in this together, from the janitorial staff to the CEOs. Nobody wants to live in fear, hiding in their houses like a hermit until it's safe to come out. They work their asses off 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and the LEAST we can do is thank them for their service. I don't care if you flip my burgers, or my mattresses at the hotel, if you want some God damn entertainment, I'm gonna give it to you!

XWF fans are not only loyal, but crazy. When I first arrived, I saw a fucking riot happen because two wrestlers sat in a rest hold for fifteen minutes! There's no way a ruthless bunch like that will let a little bit of Coronavirus stop them from seeing their favorite superstars up close and personal. How could we disappoint such a loyal fanbase? They've already been denied their paychecks AND freedom, how could we rob them of the last thing they hold dear? Coronavirus doesn't frighten me NEARLY as much as the prospect of letting the fans down, or losing at March Madness.................

I reached ringside and leaned over the barricade, grabbing one of the chairs from the front row before heading towards the time keeper's table. After a few steps, I realized there was no need for a microphone and turned my attention to the ring. I climbed onto the apron and through the ropes, before heading to the center and setting up the chair so it faced the solitary camera.

"Things are getting crazy out there," I began, plopping my down. "But not as crazy as Hanari Carnes becoming King of XWF."

Out of habit, I paused for a moment to allow the invisible audience members to make their voices heard. Although they could not be heard, I imagined they'd let Hanari know he's trash in their eyes, too.

"Carnes asked me, no, BEGGED me not to make fun of his stupid accent," I chuckled, shaking my head. "But Hanari doesn't have to worry about THAT. I'm not the President, I don't give a shit if he hopped the border in order to get his ass kicked, if anything, I should be flattered! I wouldn't have traveled all that way just to end up end up the losing end, but then again, I'm not Hanari Carnes!"

I leaned forward in my chair, pointing to the side of my temple. "Thank God, too, because I think he's suffered some sort of brain trauma! Probably too many blows to the head, Sarah & Kenzi must've REALLY knocked some screws loose; we certainly know it wasn't Jimson or TK! Regardless, there is something seriously wrong with him if he can't see the hypocrisy of his request. For someone who has such a problem with people repeating the same joke over and over about HIM, he didn't hesitate to do the same to ME. Not that I give a shit, at this point, I've become immune to it all. Anymore, I actually WANT my opponents to come up with something original, maybe I'd be able to get a good laugh out of it for a change. Instead, I end up with Hanari Carnes scouring the NWF archives for such stellar material like 'Douche' and 'Deuce'; as if I've NEVER been compared to shit before!"

I shrugged, unimpressed by my opponent's pathetic attempts to insult me. "What do you expect from someone who ripped his 'Low T' line straight from an XWF promo? I'll give him this: nobody's EVER referred to me as a Donkey before, but just because something IS original, doesn't necessarily mean it's good. I shouldn't be surprised, though, given Hanari's limited English, it was probably the best he could come up with! I'd suggest a round of applause for his hard work, BUUUUUUT.............."

I outstretched my arms, causing the cameraman to turn and reveal the empty seats to those watching at home. He did a full scan of the arena, before making his way back around to me.

"Honestly, it doesn't matter, even if there WERE fans here, I highly doubt any of them would be clapping for Hanari Carnes," I bellowed with a smirk. "If anything, they'd laugh at him!"

"Now, I'm sure Hanari's sitting at home wondering WHY the fans would be laughing at him; but a more appropriate question would be why WOULDN'T they?!" I asked, leaning back in my chair to the point where the front two legs weren't touching the ring. "Those of us with the willpower to make it through his Promo, without a translator, saw exactly how ignorant Hanari Carnes is. Considering my shaky past, he had a plethora of things to call me out for and what does he choose? My TV Title reign and inability to win big matches."

I leaned forward, putting my chair back into position, and looked into the camera. I clicked my tongue, which echoed throughout the building, before cocking my head to the side in an overexaggerated manner.

"Are you fucking kidding? The man who couldn't even hold the TV Title for a month wants to criticize ME for holding it LONGER?! Are you stupid, or was it just too short for you to remember? I honestly can't blame you for forgetting, I'd probably block it out of MY head, too. We certainly know the fans have!"

"And then there's my inability to win big matches................"

I paused for a moment, taking time to think about my history in the spotlight. Unfortunately, Hanari wasn't wrong, Big D's constant failure had almost become a staple of XWF. I'd work my way up the ladder to the point where I'd be one rung away from the top, only to lose my grasp and fall all the way back down to the bottom. But the thing Hanari doesn't realize is: that rung was greased up everytime I'd reach for it.

"You're right, I've lost just about every big match I've competed in since stepping foot in an XWF ring," I admitted, standing up and pacing side to side. "But you're a fucking fool if all you've done is glanced at the stat sheets! Like I told Thaddeus Duke before I ended his career, there's a lesson to be learned in a loss. Do yourself a favor, go back and WATCH all of my big matches, you'll discover a trend: I don't usually lose due to my own volition. That first match with Duke, you know, the one I came within inches of becoming a DOUBLE CHAMPION in? The ONLY reason I lost was because that glorified t-shirt salesman, Mastermind, stuck his nose where it didn't belong! And believe me, he'll get his just desserts if he's good enough to face me in the Finals! But seriously, Hanari, examine every match I've ever had and call me Big Deuce again! I'm the man who only lost to Centurion because the ref was looking at for my safety. I put on such a performance that Centurion, the man who made fun of my War Games team and dubbed my ceiling the TV Title, gave me props afterwards. The only reason Cuntfest even happened was because that prick, Noah Jackson, wanted to do his best Mastermind impression and help his daddy out because Fuzz couldn't get the job done himself!"

"You run your mouth about how you beat Apex that ONE time," I said with an eye roll before sitting back down. "And it makes you sound like Barney Green. He was World Champion once, you were the 5'2 Mafia's transitional Champions; we get it, you don't have very many accomplishments! A sham TV Title run and a victory over TWO members of Apex; oh wow, better break out the red carpet because we have a bonafide Legend on our hands!"

"You wanna know WHY I've never faced Drew Archyle or James Raven? Because it's never come up. I've wrestled Centurion, survived Hell in a Cell with Robert Main(and Donovan Blackwater, but that don't mean shit), AND had my head treated like a soccer ball by Lux! I'm not avoiding competition, Hanari, I'm EMBRACING IT!!!! When I first signed up for March Madness, I expected it to be one of the most exciting, competitive Tournament's in wrestling history. But, instead, what did we end up getting? A bunch of enhancement talent, me, Mastermind, and whatever the hell you wanna classify Madison Dyson as! Only a few names stuck out to me when I saw the list of participants and, guess what? Hanari Carnes wasn't one of them! When it's all said and done, no-one will even remember that you participated in March Madness........... just like your TV Title reign!"

Abruptly, I ran at my chair and flung my butt into the seat. The momentum caused me to tumble over backwards, still perfectly in the chair, just with the back against the ring. I laid there, staring up at the rafters, before looking up at the cameraman and motioning to him.

"Come on in," I requested. "I'm gonna finish the promo down here."

He looked a little surprised, but obliged by walking over and pointing his camera down at me.

"Hanari, you're correct in calling me your toughest opponent yet," I whispered, arms spread out as if I was gonna make a snow angel. "I'm as big as they come! If you wanna know what Big D stands for, I'll tell you out of pity so I don't have to watch you stumble over it like an illiterate child trying to read. It means BIG DAWG, because I'm about to make the entire XWF my bitch, starting with YOU! I'm gonna dominate you like the alpha I am and, after I'm finished, they'll be calling you Hanar-D, since your ass will be my property........"

I quickly sat up in my chair, catching the cameraman off guard. He backed up as I got to my feet and began to walk around the ring. I took in the atmosphere, a feeling of emptiness I'd never felt in an arena before.

"Much like this building, there's a void in XWF," I spoke, running my hand along the top rope. "The Main Event scene is lackluster, and the top stars refuse to fight for the top prize. Chris Page and Robert Main are fighting for belts below them, Fuzz is abandoning the company, and Sarah Lacklan would rather compete in the C-League. If this shit keeps up, XWF will suffer the same fate as NWF and I cannot allow that! The Engineer is a virus far worse than any form of Corona and somebody's gotta put him in his place! I'M that guy."

I turned and looked at the vacant seat in the center of the ring, pointing at it before continuing.

"Right now I sit on the average man's chair, but that all ends come March Madness. After I run through Hanari Carnes and the unlucky soul unfortunate enough to face ME in the Finals, I'll take my permanent place upon the Throne of XWF. If you watch Game of Thrones, you'll know that a KING is much more important than a CHAMPION(unless you're Tyrion)! The only thing that feels better than a belt around your waist is a crown upon your head, and that Crown will rest there for an entire year. While The Engineer struggles to hold onto his Title, I'LL be resting comfortably inside my castle, looking down on him like the peasant he is............. at least until it's time for the King to collect his taxes. Once that happens, Engy won't have an ounce of gold left to his name and XWF will be a much better place because of it. He better watch out, because there's about to be an uprising come Sunday and it's gonna turn the world upside down, moreso than it already is! I'm about to become royal-D and there's nothing anybody can do about it! And that ain't no story, it's the Cold Big D Truth!!!!"

As "X-Men Theme" by Powerglove began to play, I went to exit the ring bit stopped myself between the ropes. I looked at the random, empty chair I'd picked out of the crowd and came up with a good idea. I walked over, folded it back up, and took it with me as I slid out. With the events going on in the world, I decided to do something good in the midst of it.

The Coronavirus had done more than just created a void in entertainment, it was endangering the lives of those closest to us. That being said, this prop would go on to become one of the last I'd ever use in a promo before becoming King, and that meant there was some money to be made............ especially if I sign it. That money wouldn't go to me, however, as a true leader knows he's only as good as the people he rules. Therefore, all profits made from selling this item would go to benefit Coronavirus victims, as well as research for a cure.

Things looked bleak right now, for the world AND XWF, but they say it's always darkest before the dawn. We've overcome terrible times before, from 9/11 to Shane

's ownership, this is no different! As King of XWF, I will lead this generation into a new era that will surpass any ever seen before, I just have to get there. Hanari Carnes better be ready, because I'm not only gonna be fighting for myself, but my PEOPLE as well! God knows the world needs a strong leader right now and I'm prepared to give it to them.

The darkness ends come March Madness.]]> "Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome BIIIIIIIIIIIIIIG D!!!!!!"

"X-Men Theme" by Powerglove began to play over the PA system, but there was no reaction whatsoever. As I stood behind the curtain, seconds away from making my entrance, all I could hear from the other side was dead silence. No cheers praising a man people potentially wanted to see succeed, nor any boos rejecting that man from those who got off to his suffering. There was nothing at all.

I entered the arena, shoving the curtain aside as I did so. When I stepped out onto the ramp, I was met with an eerie sight comparable to a barron wasteland. The building was completely empty, sans the ring announcer and one lone cameraman filming me from the ring apron. There were no asses in seats(and it WASN'T thanks to a standing ovation), no vendors selling food and drinks at a 500% profit margin............ there was no-one at all. If it wasn't for my theme blaring over the loudspeakers, you'd be able to hear a pin drop.

As I made my way down the aisle, I thought about the state of the world as of late, and how this had become the new normal. Stadiums around the globe showed no signs of life, abandoned by their patrons like an old ghost town. The irony is, with everyone shut up at home, their need for entertainment was at an all-time high; but considering most sports had been put on hold, that vacancy was a hard one to fill. Unless you're into the Kartrashians or have hours of pornography to catch up on.

But that's where XWF comes in. We're here, I'M here, to fill the void this awful virus has left in our lives. There's a good chunk of people who've been laid off for the time being, as they are considered 'non-essential' to the rest of the world. Hell, some folks might say the same thing about US. Well, that's where they're wrong! We're all in this together, from the janitorial staff to the CEOs. Nobody wants to live in fear, hiding in their houses like a hermit until it's safe to come out. They work their asses off 8 hours a day, 5 days a week, and the LEAST we can do is thank them for their service. I don't care if you flip my burgers, or my mattresses at the hotel, if you want some God damn entertainment, I'm gonna give it to you!

XWF fans are not only loyal, but crazy. When I first arrived, I saw a fucking riot happen because two wrestlers sat in a rest hold for fifteen minutes! There's no way a ruthless bunch like that will let a little bit of Coronavirus stop them from seeing their favorite superstars up close and personal. How could we disappoint such a loyal fanbase? They've already been denied their paychecks AND freedom, how could we rob them of the last thing they hold dear? Coronavirus doesn't frighten me NEARLY as much as the prospect of letting the fans down, or losing at March Madness.................

I reached ringside and leaned over the barricade, grabbing one of the chairs from the front row before heading towards the time keeper's table. After a few steps, I realized there was no need for a microphone and turned my attention to the ring. I climbed onto the apron and through the ropes, before heading to the center and setting up the chair so it faced the solitary camera.

"Things are getting crazy out there," I began, plopping my down. "But not as crazy as Hanari Carnes becoming King of XWF."

Out of habit, I paused for a moment to allow the invisible audience members to make their voices heard. Although they could not be heard, I imagined they'd let Hanari know he's trash in their eyes, too.

"Carnes asked me, no, BEGGED me not to make fun of his stupid accent," I chuckled, shaking my head. "But Hanari doesn't have to worry about THAT. I'm not the President, I don't give a shit if he hopped the border in order to get his ass kicked, if anything, I should be flattered! I wouldn't have traveled all that way just to end up end up the losing end, but then again, I'm not Hanari Carnes!"

I leaned forward in my chair, pointing to the side of my temple. "Thank God, too, because I think he's suffered some sort of brain trauma! Probably too many blows to the head, Sarah & Kenzi must've REALLY knocked some screws loose; we certainly know it wasn't Jimson or TK! Regardless, there is something seriously wrong with him if he can't see the hypocrisy of his request. For someone who has such a problem with people repeating the same joke over and over about HIM, he didn't hesitate to do the same to ME. Not that I give a shit, at this point, I've become immune to it all. Anymore, I actually WANT my opponents to come up with something original, maybe I'd be able to get a good laugh out of it for a change. Instead, I end up with Hanari Carnes scouring the NWF archives for such stellar material like 'Douche' and 'Deuce'; as if I've NEVER been compared to shit before!"

I shrugged, unimpressed by my opponent's pathetic attempts to insult me. "What do you expect from someone who ripped his 'Low T' line straight from an XWF promo? I'll give him this: nobody's EVER referred to me as a Donkey before, but just because something IS original, doesn't necessarily mean it's good. I shouldn't be surprised, though, given Hanari's limited English, it was probably the best he could come up with! I'd suggest a round of applause for his hard work, BUUUUUUT.............."

I outstretched my arms, causing the cameraman to turn and reveal the empty seats to those watching at home. He did a full scan of the arena, before making his way back around to me.

"Honestly, it doesn't matter, even if there WERE fans here, I highly doubt any of them would be clapping for Hanari Carnes," I bellowed with a smirk. "If anything, they'd laugh at him!"

"Now, I'm sure Hanari's sitting at home wondering WHY the fans would be laughing at him; but a more appropriate question would be why WOULDN'T they?!" I asked, leaning back in my chair to the point where the front two legs weren't touching the ring. "Those of us with the willpower to make it through his Promo, without a translator, saw exactly how ignorant Hanari Carnes is. Considering my shaky past, he had a plethora of things to call me out for and what does he choose? My TV Title reign and inability to win big matches."

I leaned forward, putting my chair back into position, and looked into the camera. I clicked my tongue, which echoed throughout the building, before cocking my head to the side in an overexaggerated manner.

"Are you fucking kidding? The man who couldn't even hold the TV Title for a month wants to criticize ME for holding it LONGER?! Are you stupid, or was it just too short for you to remember? I honestly can't blame you for forgetting, I'd probably block it out of MY head, too. We certainly know the fans have!"

"And then there's my inability to win big matches................"

I paused for a moment, taking time to think about my history in the spotlight. Unfortunately, Hanari wasn't wrong, Big D's constant failure had almost become a staple of XWF. I'd work my way up the ladder to the point where I'd be one rung away from the top, only to lose my grasp and fall all the way back down to the bottom. But the thing Hanari doesn't realize is: that rung was greased up everytime I'd reach for it.

"You're right, I've lost just about every big match I've competed in since stepping foot in an XWF ring," I admitted, standing up and pacing side to side. "But you're a fucking fool if all you've done is glanced at the stat sheets! Like I told Thaddeus Duke before I ended his career, there's a lesson to be learned in a loss. Do yourself a favor, go back and WATCH all of my big matches, you'll discover a trend: I don't usually lose due to my own volition. That first match with Duke, you know, the one I came within inches of becoming a DOUBLE CHAMPION in? The ONLY reason I lost was because that glorified t-shirt salesman, Mastermind, stuck his nose where it didn't belong! And believe me, he'll get his just desserts if he's good enough to face me in the Finals! But seriously, Hanari, examine every match I've ever had and call me Big Deuce again! I'm the man who only lost to Centurion because the ref was looking at for my safety. I put on such a performance that Centurion, the man who made fun of my War Games team and dubbed my ceiling the TV Title, gave me props afterwards. The only reason Cuntfest even happened was because that prick, Noah Jackson, wanted to do his best Mastermind impression and help his daddy out because Fuzz couldn't get the job done himself!"

"You run your mouth about how you beat Apex that ONE time," I said with an eye roll before sitting back down. "And it makes you sound like Barney Green. He was World Champion once, you were the 5'2 Mafia's transitional Champions; we get it, you don't have very many accomplishments! A sham TV Title run and a victory over TWO members of Apex; oh wow, better break out the red carpet because we have a bonafide Legend on our hands!"

"You wanna know WHY I've never faced Drew Archyle or James Raven? Because it's never come up. I've wrestled Centurion, survived Hell in a Cell with Robert Main(and Donovan Blackwater, but that don't mean shit), AND had my head treated like a soccer ball by Lux! I'm not avoiding competition, Hanari, I'm EMBRACING IT!!!! When I first signed up for March Madness, I expected it to be one of the most exciting, competitive Tournament's in wrestling history. But, instead, what did we end up getting? A bunch of enhancement talent, me, Mastermind, and whatever the hell you wanna classify Madison Dyson as! Only a few names stuck out to me when I saw the list of participants and, guess what? Hanari Carnes wasn't one of them! When it's all said and done, no-one will even remember that you participated in March Madness........... just like your TV Title reign!"

Abruptly, I ran at my chair and flung my butt into the seat. The momentum caused me to tumble over backwards, still perfectly in the chair, just with the back against the ring. I laid there, staring up at the rafters, before looking up at the cameraman and motioning to him.

"Come on in," I requested. "I'm gonna finish the promo down here."

He looked a little surprised, but obliged by walking over and pointing his camera down at me.

"Hanari, you're correct in calling me your toughest opponent yet," I whispered, arms spread out as if I was gonna make a snow angel. "I'm as big as they come! If you wanna know what Big D stands for, I'll tell you out of pity so I don't have to watch you stumble over it like an illiterate child trying to read. It means BIG DAWG, because I'm about to make the entire XWF my bitch, starting with YOU! I'm gonna dominate you like the alpha I am and, after I'm finished, they'll be calling you Hanar-D, since your ass will be my property........"

I quickly sat up in my chair, catching the cameraman off guard. He backed up as I got to my feet and began to walk around the ring. I took in the atmosphere, a feeling of emptiness I'd never felt in an arena before.

"Much like this building, there's a void in XWF," I spoke, running my hand along the top rope. "The Main Event scene is lackluster, and the top stars refuse to fight for the top prize. Chris Page and Robert Main are fighting for belts below them, Fuzz is abandoning the company, and Sarah Lacklan would rather compete in the C-League. If this shit keeps up, XWF will suffer the same fate as NWF and I cannot allow that! The Engineer is a virus far worse than any form of Corona and somebody's gotta put him in his place! I'M that guy."

I turned and looked at the vacant seat in the center of the ring, pointing at it before continuing.

"Right now I sit on the average man's chair, but that all ends come March Madness. After I run through Hanari Carnes and the unlucky soul unfortunate enough to face ME in the Finals, I'll take my permanent place upon the Throne of XWF. If you watch Game of Thrones, you'll know that a KING is much more important than a CHAMPION(unless you're Tyrion)! The only thing that feels better than a belt around your waist is a crown upon your head, and that Crown will rest there for an entire year. While The Engineer struggles to hold onto his Title, I'LL be resting comfortably inside my castle, looking down on him like the peasant he is............. at least until it's time for the King to collect his taxes. Once that happens, Engy won't have an ounce of gold left to his name and XWF will be a much better place because of it. He better watch out, because there's about to be an uprising come Sunday and it's gonna turn the world upside down, moreso than it already is! I'm about to become royal-D and there's nothing anybody can do about it! And that ain't no story, it's the Cold Big D Truth!!!!"

As "X-Men Theme" by Powerglove began to play, I went to exit the ring bit stopped myself between the ropes. I looked at the random, empty chair I'd picked out of the crowd and came up with a good idea. I walked over, folded it back up, and took it with me as I slid out. With the events going on in the world, I decided to do something good in the midst of it.

The Coronavirus had done more than just created a void in entertainment, it was endangering the lives of those closest to us. That being said, this prop would go on to become one of the last I'd ever use in a promo before becoming King, and that meant there was some money to be made............ especially if I sign it. That money wouldn't go to me, however, as a true leader knows he's only as good as the people he rules. Therefore, all profits made from selling this item would go to benefit Coronavirus victims, as well as research for a cure.

Things looked bleak right now, for the world AND XWF, but they say it's always darkest before the dawn. We've overcome terrible times before, from 9/11 to Shane

BEHOLD!

[Image: images?q=tbn%3AANd9GcTmdBwN-OXHePlSvqmwC...g0dQP3SVCm]

The very Stairway to Heaven! It's steps shine with the glow of accumulated eons old stardust as it gently curves into a light so brilliant, so profound, you cannot help but feel it's beckoning call in the seat of your very soul. Yes, we are indeed approaching the Holy of Holies, the Seat of Heaven, the THRONE of the LORD our GOD!

Now surely any mere mortal would be in a sense of enrapt awe as they mount these stairs, but as Madison Dyson finally plants one foot at the top and stands straight in the face of the Gates of Heaven, she can but declare....

[Image: 7059029-pearly-gates-of-heaven-opening-t...ndscap.jpg]

[Image: 7059029-pearly-gates-of-heaven-opening-t...ndscap.jpg]

HOLY SHIT THAT WAS A LOT OF STAIRS! My underboobs are like a fuckin' marshland! She pants and gabs at her shirt, flapping it open and shut to fan herself.

HALT!

Madison startles, and looks up to see an angelic figure floating down from the clouds towards her.

[Image: angel-warrior-clipart-male-fairy-485847-9209746.jpg]

[Image: angel-warrior-clipart-male-fairy-485847-9209746.jpg]

Her jaw drops as he alights before her. God DAMN, speaking of a marshland....SPLOOSH! She clears her throat and does her best to look coy and sexy. Soooooo......ya'all anatomically correct orrrrr.....?

The angel crinkles his nose in mild disgust. Ms Dyson, a little decorum? You are about to meet the LORD.

Yeah, yeah....shoulda figured....Then, under her breath....a neuter.....

The angel doesn't seem to notice, or perhaps just doesn't care. This is an extremely rare opportunity you are being granted. You are only the second mortal who has been allowed to meet directly with His Eminence.

Wait, who was the first?

George Carlin. Turns out he was right about everything.

Huh! Ya don't say?!

At any rate, a word of caution. The Lord takes any form of his choosing. Sometimes it is great and terrible. Sometimes it is heart breakingly innocent. You may be shocked be what you see within.

Oh honey, I've partied in the back room at CBGB, not much shocks me. She eyes the angel's crotch lustily. So, you sure you're not....

Please enter. The angel cuts her off sternly, gesturing for the gate. Madison sighs and steps through the pearly entrance, and instantly she's surrounded by puffs of satiny white clouds and a brilliant warm light. She turns around to look for the gate, but it's already gone. Shrugging, she proceeds through the clouds until finally, a massive form can be seen in the distance, but so bright is the light that serves as its backdrop she can't make out anything but its size. Her heart catches in her throat, and her step becomes quite a bit more tentative as she approaches. Finally, she is able to see just what form the Lord has taken. Her eyes go wide and her body starts to tremble for the sight of it. And at first, she is stunned into pure silence, content to look upon the majesty before her.

BEHOLD! THE LIGHT! THE SALVATION! YOUR HEAVENLY FATHER AND KING OF KINGS!

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Such is the power of that face that even Madison's blackened three sizes too small heart breaks. SQUUUEEEEEEE! HOLY FUCK IT'S LIL BUB!

VERILY! I AM THE LIGHT AND THE LIFE! THE ALPHA AND THE OMEGA! THERE ARE NONE BEFORE ME!

God sits, and folds his adorable little pawsies together.

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She claps her hands excitedly. This is so much better than what I pictured. When that hunky angel out there started talking I thought you were gonna be like some gay ass Game of Thrones Dragon or something.

OH HEAVENS NO, NOT AFTER HOW THAT SHITSHOW ENDED!

I know, right?! Madison shakes her head. You know, I never thought we would have gotten along like this. I mean....she makes a “whoopsie” face....I kinda work for one of your sworn enemies and all.

God takes a moment to lick between his cute little toesies before responding. OH PLEASE DON'T MISTAKE ME, MADISON. I'M NOT A FAN OF YOUR BEHAVIOR!

Well, it's not like you've ever tried to stop me! Aren't you all powerful?

YES! BUT, YOU KNOW, FREE WILL AND ALL THAT. The Lord swishes his tail.

Look God, not to look a gift horse, but if you don't like me then why did you save me from eternal damnation?

God sighs, but it comes out sounding like an adorable purr. Madison coos in response. BECAUSE ODDLY ENOUGH, YOUR TERRIBLENESS CAN SERVE A GREATER GOOD IN THESE TRYING TIMES.

Are you talking about the Corona Virus?

I AM. THAT INSIDEOUS ILLNESS CONCOCTED BY YOUR NEW “EMPLOYER” AIWASS.

Madison shoots her hands up in a defensive posture. And for the record? Totally not my call!

HMMMMMMM. NEVERTHELESS, YOU CAN STILL BE OF SOME USE. He pauses to stretch endearingly. I NEED YOU TO LIVE SO THAT YOU MIGHT WIN MARCH MADNESS.

Okay, okay hold up. Madison looks puzzled. So you don't like me, but you rescue me from hell so I can become Queen of the XWF?

YEAAAHHHHH, I DON'T LIKE IT EITHER....

Ouch.

…..BUT IT'S IN SERVICE TO A HIGHER PURPOSE. HOLD ON A SEC, I GOTTA POOP.

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[Image: Lo-Res_Lil-BUB-next-to-box_Photo-credit-...C550&ssl=1]

God stands up majestically on those stubby adorbs little legs and walks over to a massive litter tray that Madison somehow had not noticed before.

Okay, so you're gonna have to break this down for me, because I'm a little lost and....

I'M POOPING! The Lord roars.

Madison flinches and looks apologetic. My bad! My bad! She averts her eyes awkwardly as God circles about in the litter box like 5 times looking for the right spot. Finally, he pops a squat and Madison covers her nose. But instead of some foul runs, rainbows and butterflies spill out of his feline starfish hole! Madison peeks back and looks kind of impressed. God then kicks his hind feet out, sending the cat litter scattering over the spot he did his business. But it also overshoots the litter tray and comes dangerously close to striking Madison. HEY!

OH, SORRY. IT WAS CLEAN, I SWEAR. God leaves the litter box and lays down, exposing his entire warm fuzzy wuzzy belly!

[Image: CBCcR35UcAAsTfj.jpg]

Madison swoons once more! Oh come on, that's not fair! You even turned into a kitten for a second!

I AM A GREAT AND AWESOME GOD! BUT LET'S GET BACK TO BUSINESS! YOU ARE OBJECTIVELY THE VILEST PERSON ON THE PLANET. BUT IRONICALLY, YOU ARE ALSO JUST WHAT HUMANITY NEEDS. MY PEOPLE ARE SCARED AND DESPERATE. THE CORONA VIRUS REPRESENTS ONE OF THE WORST CRISIS' IN THE HISTORY OF MODERN CIVILIZATION. BUT MY PEOPLE WILL PREVAIL. AND HERE'S WHAT YOU HAVE TO DO WITH IT: YOU ARE VERY HATEABLE. IT IS YOUR MOST DOMINANT FEATURE. AND FOR ALL YOUR MANY FAULTS, NO ONE CAN DENY YOU INSPIRE STRONG EMOTIONS IN OTHERS. DRAWING ATTENTION AND IRE IS AS NATURAL TO YOU AS BREATHING.

Mmmmm...true...true....

THE OTHER POTENTIAL TOURNAMENT FINALISTS HOWEVER, BIG D AND HANARI CARNES? WELL....THEY BOTH KINDA SUCK.

Fuck yeah they do!

INDEED. AND THE PROBLEM IS THAT NO ONE WILL CARE IF THEY WIN MARCH MADNESS. BIG D IS BORING AS SHIT AND IS THE KIND OF GUY YOU THROW A TITLE ON AS A STOP GAP WHEN THE PREVIOUS CHAMPION HAS TO MAKE A QUICK TRIP TO REHAB. AND HANARI CARNES HAS ALL THE ETHNIC AUTHENTICITY OF A CHEESY GORDITA CRUNCH.

Madison laughs hysterically. Holy shit! GOD CUTS TRASH TALK? WHO KNEW!

SO YEAH, NO ONE WILL GIVE A DAMN IF ONE OF THOSE TWO JABRONI'S WIN. YOU ON THE OTHER HAND? PEOPLE HATE YOU! AND IF YOU WIN PEOPLE WILL NOTICE! THEY WILL CARE! SEEING YOU WEEK AFTER WEEK WITH THAT CROWN ON WILL SEND THE ENTIRE HUMAN RACE INTO AN APOPLECTIC FURY. EVENTUALLY, THEY WILL BE UNITED IN THEIR HATRED OF YOU, AND ALL OF THEIR OTHER FEARS AND CONCERNS WILL MELT AWAY.

Madison looks stunned. Oh my You....I never thought of it that way before.....

YOU WILL MAKE THE HUMAN RACE WHOLE IN THIS, THEIR TIME OF GREAT NEED. THEY WILL JOIN TOGETHER IN DESPISING YOU. AND IT WILL GIVE THEM THE STRENGTH TO GO ON FIGHTING.

She almost looks moved to tears. Wow....holy shit....

YES. SO FOR THAT REASON, YOU WILL LIVE. ARE YOU READY TO RETURN TO YOUR LIFE?

She nods confidently. Yes. And then, a nervous look suddenly overtakes her. But wait! I just realized something. Won't this kind of put me at odds with Aiwass? I mean, this whole Corona Virus thing is HIS baby....

IF YOU REFUSE I WILL SEND YOU BACK TO HELL TO WATCH AN EON'S WORTH OF MASTERMIND PROMOS!

Madison smiles and shrugs. I'm sure he'll get over it! Let's kick this piggy!

God closes his eyes and when he reopens them, a blinding light pours forth that washes over Madison! Madison is overcome by the intensity of these rays, and she finds herself passing out quickly and....

BACK TO THE LIVING WORLD....

Madison's eyes pop open, and she gasps sweet life giving air. She is, naturally, in a hospital bed, and a doctor and standing nearby.

I'm alive! Am I cured of the Corona Virus?!

The doctor screws his face up in confusion. Actually Ms. Dyson, you were never dead. And you never had the Corona Virus.

Now it's Madison's turn to look confused. What?! But I went to Hell! And then I saw God! AND HE WAS LIL' BUB!

Uh huuuhhhhhhh. You were likely hallucinating. The fact is you had an allergic reaction to Goop Brand Vaginal Cream.

Madison recoils, and then snarls angrily. I am gonna sue the SHIT out of Gwyneth Paltrow!

We're going to keep you over night for observation. But tomorrow morning you should be free to go.

You got any Corona Virus masks for me to wear, just in case?

The doctor laughs uproariously on his way out the door, and shuts it behind him.

Dick. Madison turns her attention to the camera.

Fine! It was all an elaborate hallucination that, through the inexplicable power of XWF's broadcast system, you were all able to bear witness to. And even though it wasn't real, I am going to continue to choose to believe I am the Lord's chosen Corona Virus warrior because extreme self delusion is my God given right as an AMERICAN!

But speaking of delusion...check out these assholes Big D and Hanari Carnes. Heh heh...these rubes actually think they got a shot. Madison leans in towards the camera with a conspiratorial air. I got news for ya boys, the deck was stacked against you a while back. Because this show? MY show.

March Madness is mine! And lemme tell you why. It's because Cinderella stories aren't real. And the two of you? Yup, Cinderella stories.

Big D has been plying an earnest trade in the XWF since he first set foot here. Constantly playing the role of the plucky mid carder who tries so, so hard to impress! The down on his luck hard scrabble salt of the earth type who always seemed to get just a taste of sweet, sweet victory only to soon after get it ripped away by a combination of.....well, his own mediocrity and the type of smarts you would see in a kid who's mom drank clear through the third trimester.

And Hanari? Hooo hoooo hooooo! I bet you would all be pleased as fuckin' PUNCH to see a beaner go over ol' Madison Dyson! Unfortunately for all my haters, Mr. “Yo soy estereotipico” has a track record that's as consistent as an Oriental's driving record. And, much like Big D, he's never quite seemed to break through that mid-card ceiling either.

Now, you all might be thinking to yourselves, “Madison, who are you to judge?” And to that I say, take my fuckin' name out yo mouth and listen the hell up! Because just like I told Mastermind, if there is one thing I know how to do, it's pop the clutch when I need to. You judge me by solely my XWF record at your own peril. Because the fact of the matter is, I am a badass bitch who has stuck it out in this business, winning championships for over 10 years. When I DECIDE to win, I WIN. And I have decided to win this bitch BIGLY. Oh, and Big D, shut the fuck up about your title history in advance! Nobody cares about all the times you lifted a championship off some mongoloid in your little brother's backyard trampoline federation.

And that's the biggest difference between people like me and people like the Hanari's and Big D's of the world. You two have been operating at peak performance this whole time. You've been TRYING. And what we've seen is the absolute best you have to offer. Not me. I stepped on the gas back in December and I've been winning ever since. Before then, I didn't care. My focus was on representing the best of the best. Now? I want to BE the best of the best! I want to remind the world why my name was feared and respected across this blessed nation of ours! Remind the world why my name was once synonymous with GREATNESS. And some killer cans! Madison pushes up her titties.

And let's be honest with ourselves here, who would be the most INTERESTING March Madness winner anyway? I mean, you might not think that matters, but in a business that's just as much about entertainment and spectacle as it is about athleticism, it matters a hell of a lot! And between the three of us, nobody brings the spectacle like I do! You think people are chomping at the bit to see Big D doff that crown atop his oddly polygonal head only to go on to be the same goofy chode he's always been and then inevitably piss away whatever title opportunity he earns? Or Hanari, with his “minstrel show wetback” act going on to challenge The Engineer (because LOL at thinking he's not walking out with that belt), only to get his shit pushed in harder than a twink cam whore trying to ride an 18 incher?

Nobody wants that. NOBODY! But me on the other hand? Heh! The sky's the limit. Think about it....think about a Madison Dyson who's actually TRYING. Think about how hard I can rejuvenate one of the XWF's dying divisions. Maybe I'll go to Anarchy and turn that entertainment wasteland upside down. Can't be any worse than what SLACKLAND did to it. Or maybe....just maybe....I'll go show up that white knight with a grapefruit sized prostate Centurion and take the Hart championship (and that's if Tristan doesn't show him up first). Or maybe I'll take the Xtreme championship seriously this time and break my manicured foot off inside Atara Themis' twiggy ass after Fuzz INEVITABLY tops off their AGES of tedious Twitter drama by gallantly laying down for her and handing her a championship she did NOTHING to earn. Yeah you painted bint I went there!

But the point is this, any one of those scenarios is infinitely more entertaining than anything Hanari or Big D would do with this win. Hell people, compared to them I am a goddamn INSPIRATION. A breath of fresh air! Just like Lil' Bub said, I am what this country needs right now. An inflamer of feeling! A conduit of passion! Whether you people want to admit it or not, I get the tongues waggin' and the blood pumpin'! Hate me, love me, worship me, REVILE me....

Madison smiles wide.

….all that matters is that all EYES are on me.

Hanari? Big D? You fucking SPECKS. You insignificant WORMS! I've been a fixture in this company for almost three years. Watching. Waiting. Lending my knowledge and experience to others. But that's done. It's over. Mama's steppin' back in the spotlight. And there's not a goddamn thing either of you glorified card board cut out's can do about it.

This shit's MINE, bitches. Step off!

With a look of supreme confidence, Madison tosses the blankets off of herself...only to realize she's still in a hospital gown.

Now, to find some fuckin' pants.

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Interlude: In A Ruined Future....

A waif like female figure lays huddled on a barren cement floor in a bleak prison cell. Her head bears a series of jagged scars, the remainders of some terrible surgical affliction. Her attention is roused by the sound of the tiny slot in her door popping open. She lifts her head meekly, and we see that it is Corey Smith's mother. The woman who was sent back in time to destroy The Engineer. But here, now, in this future time, she is still alive and well, having not yet been sent on her mission by an unknown party.

Blackened merciless eyes stare through the slot, and a woman's voice speaks. The sound is like acid sizzling on steel. You want out?

Yes....please....

I got a job for you. You will comply or it's the knife again.

Corey's mother shudders and nods her head. The slot drops shut once more, and on the other side of the door another female form steps away from it.

The Black Queen, known in a former more human life as Madison Dyson, cackles obscenely as she stalks down the hall, her mind calculating treacheries and portents of greatness before she steps into the inky shadow and disappears....

OOC: Thanks, Brenda!]]>

BEHOLD!

BACK TO THE LIVING WORLD....

Interlude: In A Ruined Future....

The Revolution Begins

A black Nissan Maxima rolled down the dirt roads leading to the prison at the edge of Santo Domingo. All black, fully tinted windows. Even the rims were black. The white LED lights provided jagged illumination as the car rumbled over the horribly kept roads on this side of town. There was a slight drizzle in the air, and the palm trees danced gracefully in the warm tropical breeze.

The Maxima got within 100 yards of the prison. It was quiet. Eerily quiet. As the blacked out car pulled into the parking lot, the crunch sound stopped as the lot was the only thing within 3 miles that was actually paved.

The lights shut off, and the engine cuts. The jail has a big Dominican Flag blowing in the wind, atop a guard tower behind several feet of barbed wire.

The door opens, and Hanari's childhood friend Tomás steps out. Wearing just a beater and some gym shorts, his sandal clad feet, and a gold chain, Tomás looked like every other Dominican hoodlum coming to bail their friend out.

Reaching into the center console, however, he grabbed a revolver, cocked it, and stuck it in the waistband of his gym shorts before closing the center console latch. Walking towards the front doors of the massive facility, he found a sign that said Reserva (booking), and pulled open the steel door with a creak.

(The following dialogue---though this should be implied---is in Spanish. This is the translation):

Walking up the the plexi-glass window with smudges and fingerprints littering its exterior, Tomás smiled at the rather attractive middle aged women behind the desk--which was behind the glass. Pressing the microphone button, he greeted her.

"Hello, Miss....I am here to pick up my friend. He was arrested earlier tonight and I am here to bail him out."

The women's demeanor wasn't near as attractive as her looks.

"Name?" she almost spat the words out.

"Mine, or his?"

"His, yours does me no good, sir."

"Hanari Carnes."

The women's eyes fluttered a little. It was clear she was wearing fake eyelashes.

"You mean the revolutionist who broke curfew, the burn ban, resisted arrest and obstructed a police investigation?"

"Yes mam, same one."

She didn't look amused.

"Mr. Carnes is being held without bail until he can see a judge. It is the weekend, so that won't be until Monday."

Tomás reached into the left pocket of his worn out red gym shorts. Pulling out a wad, he flashed it n front of the woman.

Putting it down on the ledge, he slides it under the window.

"4200 Dominican Pesos" he said, "which is what I was told his bail would be".

"I am pretty sure you were just told that there was no bail until he could see a judge...and even then, he may just decide to have him dragged out back and shot. We have no need to revolutionaries here."

Tomás figured this would happen. Why would this woman lose her job and not make anything from it?

He reached into his right pocket. His fingertips grased the edge of the gun through the fabric of the worn of Champion shorts.

He grabbed another wad. This time, American dollars.

Everyone in the Dominican has a price.

"And I said, I have his bail money."

He showed her the bills. 4200 American Dollars.

"You said the bail was 4200, right? I have 4200 here. American."

The woman's eyes lit up. It would have been 77 US dollars to equal 4200 Dominican Pesos. The amount Tomás held in his hand was equivalent to 227, 304 Dominican Pesos.

"Keep it. Split it amongst who you need to split it amongst. But Hanari gets out, tonight."

The woman nodded, a tear running down her face. This kind of money would change her life. She called to someone on the walkie-talkie.

"Carnes. Cell 305. Bring him to the lobby."

The screech. Then the voice came back as "but, Carmen.....he has no...."

"American Dollars, Pedro, bring him."

She turned back towards Tomás and smiled.

"He'll be right out."

*INSIDE HIS CELL*

Hanari sat just as calm and as collected as he did by the fire. Chances were he wouldn't be getting out of here. They were killing revolutionaries left and right. The government wanted firm control over the citizens.

As looked up at the moon shining through the bars of his window he asked himself. "Do I want dangerous freedom, or peaceful slavery?" He knew the answer. He swallowed hard, ready to die for an idea he believed in rather than succumb to the ideas of others.

His head shot towards the cell doors as he heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Slow, methodical.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Step.

Accompanied by the jingling of keys. It was a symphony of misery, really.

The guard stopped at the door.

"You've got some rich friends, Carnes."

Hanari looked at him with blank eyes. "You can't put a price on revolution, screw."

"Yeah? Well he just did. You're free to go but I am sure we'll see you back here."

Hanari stood up and dusted off his shirt, fixed his hair in the rickety mirror.

"I am actually quite sure you won't," he said with a shit eating grin. "Have I told you I am going to climb Pico Duarte?"

"Too many times."

The guard grabbed him by the arm and ushered him out. When he got to the lobby he shouted, "Tomás!"

The two hugged, and the gun was exhanged in the swap.

They turned towards the door. "Okay, well thank you, we must be going now."

He still had the 4200 American in his hand.

"Ummm, excuse me?!" The woman yelled. "The payment, mister! You still have the payment."

They kept walking, Tomás put his hand o the door when he heard the gun behind him cock. The guard.

"Get back here now!"

Hanari turned towards her with a smirk on his face. "No."

They pushed open the door just as the first shot whizzed by his head and hit the wall.

When they got outside, there were probably 100 cars, all black, with every gun you could think of drawn. When the guard ran outside after them, he stopped dead in his tracks.

"Tomás, you brought the neighborhood."

"They heard what happened at the bonfire. They wanted to come."

The woman behind the glass had obviously sounded an alarm, as guards poured out of every orifice of the building.

The two men looked at each other, both nodded. Hanari pulled the gun out and began to fire.

The ensuing firefight was louder than any fireworks could ever be.

Bodies dropped on both sides. Blood stained the pavement. Families were torn apart, lives were ended......a revolution had begun.

When the black Maxima carrying Tomás and Hanari, which was riddled with holes and hobbled along the road on only 2 good tires, reached his Aunt Lucia's house, there was already a riot.

The people were on the street with signs and bats, cops in riot gear doing their best to beat them back--even using the tear gas.

The rushed into his aunts house and closed the door behind them, double-locking it.

His young neice was watching the Lion King. Hanari, who had been hit in the leg, hobbled into the room. He smiled at her, she smiled back, as they both turned their attention to the screen.

"Oh, I just can't wait to be king........."

Hanari closed his eyes, he saw Pico Duarte.

Hobbling outside he stepped right into the middle of the mob. Taking the 4200 American that was used to bail him out, out of his pocket, he threw it up in the air. People scrambled, diving on the pavement to pick up the most money many of them had ever seen.

He slumped against a tree, his leg burning like a thousand fires, as he watched his people--rioters and cops alike--stop what they were doing and grab the money. For only a moments time there would be peace......then........

Revolution.

It had begun.

Pico Duarte stared at him over the village, and he knew, right then and there, that he would die before he would fail to reach his goal.

“A revolution is not a bed of roses. A revolution is a struggle between the future and the past.”

"I think Big D can add Dumb to his list of D's, mang. Big Dumb. I even go out of me way to speak perfect clear English when I say.....don't be vanilla in ya promos. So what do you do? Chu know that chu es about as creative as a 2 by 4 slab of wood....so what do chu do?

Chu copy, almost word for word, what Thunder Twat said. Lets take a look, eh?

TheToughGuyWhoTappedOut Said:You beat two guys, who were burnt out from the road, to win the Tag Team Championships.

Ahh, now, what did chu say?

BigDanielTheDoucheBag Said:And let's not get big headed because you beat Apex's weakest members. You pinned a past his prime James Raven, a man who should worry more about being a road agent than an active competitor; and Drew Archyle's been nowhere to be seen for months now

Well, de reason he hasn't been seen is because Hanari snapped his arm in two. BUTTTTT, chu literally used de same attack as Thunder did to downplay the accomplishment.

Let me ask chu, chico......If Drew and James were so washed up, so worn out, were de "weakest" members of Apex....why you no take them out? It es easy to observe greatness from a distance, chico, but when et es time to get hot n heavy, that es a whole new level. One chu has failed to reach. I was able to do what nobody on dis roster was able to do. How many weeks were dey the champs? How many tried and failed before dey came across de Arm Collectors?

Oh, and did I mention, dat de same night Steve Justice and I WON de Tag Titles, chu LOST the titulo de television to Thaddeus Duke. Just anotha big match to add to the loss column, another smudge mark on da resume of Big "Daniel". I have been up front and honest, I have told chu all that I didn't get de job done in de matches I lost. I told chu all that I came up short, but I vowed to get better. Chu walk around like chu es untouchable holmes, and I proved, just like I proved to Thunder Cunt, that chu es more than touchable......chu es vulnerable.

Chu say all these names, throw them around like nothing, but let me ask chu mang....have YOU beaten any of them? CAN you? Just ask Tony Santos, mang, he will say that Hanari was one of de toughest matches he's had. Robert Main and I neva cross paths, but best believe if I didn't beat him I would have pushed him to de limit also. Ned Kaye? De same Ned Kaye that chu lost to also? Centurion? Daniel...chu es naming off the big dog names when chu pack a small dog bite. Chu stood no chance against dese men either....hell chu couldn't even beat Scully.

How much longer has chu been here den me? This is only me 19th match......look what I have done in less den 20 matches.....chu boast about everything that chu have done......

Holmes, we have held the same number of titles. Sure, my reigns have been short but I have adapted and overcome....chu have stayed de same. Like I said in my first promo.

We.Are.Not.The.Same.

I am going to go on to be El Rey of the XWF, and chu es going to continue to boast about sub-par accomplishments like chu mean anything to anyone. I even admitted that this was going to be a tougher test den de previous two rounds...way to pay attention mang.....but ese let me inform you......this has nothing to do with luck. Dis has everything to do with Hanari, flat out, straight up, being better than Daniel. Chu can downplay my accomplishments all chu want holmes, but in de end the results are de same. Chu sitting here, tears in ya eyes, holding ya ravished arm, while Hanari Carnes dances his way to glory.

I think chu es making de same mistake as everyone else who has crossed my path. Underestimation. Everyone wanna sleep on Hanari Carnes until they are locked into Viva la Republic. Everyone wanna sleep on Hanari Carnes until their career is in jepordy. Bad move.

Chu say dis is all or nothing for chu.....dat is a losing mentality. Dat es a quitter attitude. When I won de TV title, den lost it, I did no say it was all or nothing. I knew dat I could recover, because I am confident in myself. Same with de tag belts. De fact dat chu say chu "fall short and make up for it in a year or two" tells me that chu es no confident. Chu don't think chu can be something. Why chu think chu can be KING with dat mentality baffles me, ese. Once chu reach king chu has a target in ya back, everyone wnats a piece.....and chu basically ust told us all that chu don't think chu has what it takes.

Let me ask. Do chu prefer dangerous freedom, or peaceful slavery?

I prefer de first.

I have fought my entire life to get to where I am now, chico, and I am not going to let some out of shape frat boy in tennis shoes ruin it for me. Cinderella? Boy......dis ain't no blonde puta searching for de right shoe size. Look at whose left? A woman who has made her name being de Engineers mouthpiece, and a man whose career I effectively altered. If anything, chico, I am de favorite.

I don't even need to say that I es going to beat chu, holmes, because chu said it, once again, for yaself. Do you think before you speak?

BigDanielTheDoucheBag Said:By the end of 2020, I fully intend to be in the exact same position as Fuzz: at the top, preparing my final swan song. Hanari, nobody remembers who made it to the Final Four, hell, they don't even give a shit about the runner-up! If you're not first, you're LAST and I'll be damned if I end up a loser, again!

First off, Chico. Do not compare yaself to Fuzz. Chu aren't de Fuzzy One, and neva will be. Also, ya final swan song by de end of dis year? So chu already has a plan to quit? Chu already es giving up because chu know that being king es a responsibility far beyond ya capability. Once again, loser's mentality, ese. Hanari does no have a final swan song planned...chu es gonna have to kill me to stop me.

But the key words chu said was right at de end of dat lovely little display of loser-ness, and it was "again".

Chu be damned if chu end up a loser, again. De word again defines ya career. Chance after chance, loss after loss, big match after big match..........holmes, maybe chu hang it up. Maybe de wrestling world has passed chu by, dumped chu on de side of de road and left chu to die.

Chor not Jim Jimson, chor not Thunder Cunt, I know dis, but chu aren't the king chu claim to be. That es me. So bring ya A++++ game, ese, pull out de best performance of ya life......do what chu thought until dis point was not possible..........

Then......

Only Then.......

Will chu have a chance............

*a snarl forms on the corner of Hanari's mouth*

To tap put to Hanari Carnes.

Consider yaself lucky I am giving chu de option to tap. If chu impress me, I may not break your Radius and Ulna in half.

Hanari es a generous King.

Long Live De king......

Larga Vida al Rey"

Viva la Republic!
Viva la Dominicano!
Viva la Hanari Carnes!

Your Next King of XWF

]]>

The Revolution Begins

“A revolution is not a bed of roses. A revolution is a struggle between the future and the past.”

TheToughGuyWhoTappedOut Said:You beat two guys, who were burnt out from the road, to win the Tag Team Championships.

Ahh, now, what did chu say?

BigDanielTheDoucheBag Said:And let's not get big headed because you beat Apex's weakest members. You pinned a past his prime James Raven, a man who should worry more about being a road agent than an active competitor; and Drew Archyle's been nowhere to be seen for months now

BigDanielTheDoucheBag Said:By the end of 2020, I fully intend to be in the exact same position as Fuzz: at the top, preparing my final swan song. Hanari, nobody remembers who made it to the Final Four, hell, they don't even give a shit about the runner-up! If you're not first, you're LAST and I'll be damned if I end up a loser, again!

Viva la Republic!
Viva la Dominicano!
Viva la Hanari Carnes!

Your Next King of XWF

]]> <![CDATA[Can't Touch This]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36521 Wed, 25 Mar 2020 17:06:19 -0700 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=36521

---Thursday, March 12, 2020---

(It was supposed to be a celebration.

Scranton, Pennsylvania holds one of the biggest St. Patrick's Day celebrations in the country. This year appeared to be no different, especially with Centurion there to host a party. It was going to be insane - booze, women, an overall great time. That was until...)

Newscaster: Scranton mayor Paige Cognetti announced today that the parade and subsequent Parade Day celebrations have been cancelled due to concerns over the spread of the COVID-19 virus. Mayor Cognetti has urged people to avoid large crowds and to stay at home this weekend in order to prevent the spread of the novel Coronavirus.

(We open up inside a hotel room in Scranton, Pennsylvania. There, we see Centurion lying in bed, watching the news as the announcement of the cancellation of weekend activities takes place. Sitting next to him is Genevieve Tate.)

Centurion: Well...this sucks.

Genevieve: It's amazing how quickly things have progressed. A couple days ago, people were barely talking about this. Now, it seems like everyday, there's something new, something cancelled, there's a travel ban...

Centurion: The last time I've seen something like this - where the world shuts down - was during 9/11. And even then, it was it was a sharp stoppage, followed by the need of people to "get back to normal" as a way of showing the American spirit. This? This is...something completely new.

Genevieve: The world is more connected to each other now than it's ever been.

Athena: Mrow!

(The two can't get too philosophical as Centurion's cat jumps up on the bed, interrupting the conversation. Centurion rubs Athena's head before another thought comes to his mind that he immediately blurts out.)

Centurion: There's no sports! They even cancelled golf! The one sport you SHOULD be able to do in these conditions! What's next, the Spelling Bee?

Genevieve: Do you think XWF will cancel their shows? Is March Madness going to be cancelled?

Centurion: Pfft, hell no. The entire roster would have to be killed in order do that to happen. If we get banned from arenas, I'm sure Theo and the rest of them will just set up a ring somewhere in International Waters and dare COVID to shut them down. Besides, it's not like our fans are real anyway.

Genevieve: What?

Centurion: What?

Genevieve: Well, what did they do during 9/11, since you brought it up. Did they shut down then?

Centurion: Absolutely not. The attacks happened on a Tuesday, and we had to be at Anarchy on Thursday. And that's even after three of our roster members died in the attacks.

(Genevieve looks shocked at the absolutely real thing that happened in 2001, when three low level XWF wrestlers went missing and were declared dead in the wake of the September 11th attacks. Not only were these wrestlers killed, but it was hardly discussed outside of a two sentence announcement by Jon Brown, and the wrestlers themselves were so forgettable that Centurion can't even remember their names.)

Centurion: That's just the way it is. Now, I'm lucky enough to have a nice contract, so if I decided to skip an event, I won't be hurt by it. But back then? If they would have cancelled the show, I would have been pissed. I needed the money, much like a lot of people need the money now. So I can't sit here and say that the XWF is bad because they're working when others usually wouldn't. Our wrestlers and our staff is getting paid when others aren't.

Genevieve: I just wish we didn't have to decide between money and safety.

Centurion: Welcome to the world of capitalism, Dear. It's great if you're doing well, and it's shit when you're not.

(Centurion says these profound words as he pets Athena's head. Genevieve stretches and looks out the window as she continues to converse with Centurion.)

Genevieve: So, what do you want to do now? We have this place booked for a few extra nights.

Centurion: Yeah, but they're going to start shutting down the bars and...well, if you can't go drinking around here, you can't do anything. So I think we should probably just pack it up and head home.

(Centurion says this with a bit if a somber tone, but the words don't seem to affect Genevieve, who could take it or leave it. After getting her needed allowance of head pets, Athena jumps off the bed, causing Centurion to shrug his shoulders. Genevieve does some stretches in the room as Centurion changes the channel on the TV to find something "happier." The only sound in the room is the sound of the television for a few minutes. The silence is broken by the sound of Centurion's phone going off.)

??Tryna win the race, but you can't keep the pace
Look at me and tell me that I'm something you can't replace??

(Both Centurion and Genevieve turn to the phone with a confused look as neither recognize the song that's playing. Centurion answers the phone and puts it on speaker.)

Centurion: What the hell was that song?!

(On the other end of the phone is the culprit, though it shouldn't have been hard to figure out.)

Nellie: That's Daddie Juju! I wanted to make my ringtone personalized. You know, so you always know it's me when I call.

Centurion: Your name pops up on the screen...

Nellie: Yeah, and I know how you like to just ignore phone calls without even looking at who's calling. This way you won't ignore me.

Centurion: I can still ignore you.

Nellie: Yeah...but you WON'T.

(Centurion looks over at Genevieve and gives her a nod.)

Centurion: So how is everything there? You staying safe?

Nellie: People are FREAKING OUT here, Dad. They've closed all the schools. The governor isn't saying for how long, but we don't think the kids will be going back this year. Our school board meetings have been cancelled for the foreseeable future. There's a lot of unknowns right now.

Centurion: Yeah, they cancelled the Scranton Parade...

Nellie: Holy shit, are you serious?! We must be entering the first stage of the Apocalypse.

Centurion: RIGHT?! I've seen this parade run through a hailstorm. Of course, it's not going to stop the locals from getting drunk and being fools. This place will probably become ground zero for the virus after a weekend of Guinness and fighting.

Nellie: You act like that isn't exactly what going to happen in Wildwood, too. Anyway, I wasn't calling to talk about the virus. I got a really strange phone call today. Do you remember Tula Keali'i?

------Stay Six Feet Away From Me------

ALL HAIL THE TRISTAN SLATER!!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Slater has finally done it! After decades of others claiming they WOULD do it, Slater is the first person to pull off something truly spectacular!

See, I have been EXPOSED! Tristan Slater has tore down the walls around me and shown the world who I TRULY am! He has shown the entire XWF world - fans, staff, and roster alike - who the REAL Andy Cortinovis is! I have OFFICIALLY been exposed...

...as a manipulator.

Was that a bit anticlimactic? Yeah, it was for me, too.

I always laugh when folks who are considered masters of "mind games" try to get into my head by either a) bringing up shit that has been brought up a million times before, or b) try to say something that isn't an insult, despite being utterly convinced that it is. Slater's most recent attempts at getting in my head falls under both of those categories.

Do I manipulate situations? You're damn right I do. I work in professional wrestling. It's one of the keys to the job. If you're not willing to do a little manipulation, you will be left in the dust very quickly. I've been one of the best in the world for 19 years. I think it's safe to say I've picked up a few things along the way.

There are ways of being a manipulator that can either make you a cunning strategist, or just a prick. For example, I have learned how to control the narrative and to make people think they have to do something they really don't have to. Like? Well, like a wrestler willingly putting his career on the line in a match I was willing to take anyway.

The other manipulators are the ones that do it for greed. They're the ones that like to see people squirm. They're the ones who use people's emotions to cripple them. They're the ones...who get into the mind of a broken former champion and get them to do their bidding in order to avenge hard feelings from eight years ago.

Hi Shane

!

Basically what I'm saying, Tristan, is you know a lot about manipulation, not because you've done it so much, but because you've been the victim of it so many times. Hell, the situation you're in right now is all because of manipulation - you were manipulated by Chris Page to return to the company, you were manipulated by Shane

to join his parade of misfits, and you were manipulated by me to put your career on the line.

Oh, yeah, that's right, you think you did that "willingly". That's the thing about manipulation - the person on the receiving end rarely knows it's happening. Yes, in your mind, you think you did this as some sort of attempt to "psych yourself up." You say you wanted me at my best, and you know this will bring it out of me, and you also say having your back against the wall makes you a better fighter. All of these things are admirable, and I'll go as far as to say it could all be true. You MIGHT be a better fighter when the chips are down...but that's a handy excuse for what really happened.

What really happened was, for months, I have been calling your talent into question. It wasn't always loud and in front of millions of people, but rather, it was always thrown in somewhere. It was a subtle jab here and a small quip there. I did it over and over again, all while you were in a horrible blood feud with Chris Page. While you were attempting to kill a legend in the middle of the ring, another legend was consistently needling you, telling you that you were worthless, and that you're one of the worst wrestlers on the roster. Then what happened?

Well, you lost to Chris Page. Because of course you did. Because I've been around this business long enough to know Chris Page doesn't get taken off guard more than once, and if you were going to show up with

and his goons, Page was going to show up with the California National Guard. I can talk a lot of shit about Page, but I'll never say he's "unprepared".

So he beat you, after all the blood and sweat and emotion you put into trying to take him out. And still, you have me on the sidelines, telling you how you've lost it, calling you nothing more than a lackey. And that shit got to you. You KNEW you had to fight me. You KNEW you had to defend your name and your legacy or else you'll be remembered as a coward forever. But there was one problem.

You had just lost to a legend. If you went in, just one on one, with not only another legend, but one who currently holds gold and is on the best run of his career, well...let's just say there was a really good chance that things wouldn't end up much different. So you needed something extra to motivate you. Titles don't mean shit to you - not anymore, so that wouldn't work. No, you needed something to give you a kick in the ass. Something you didn't have when you fought Chris Page. You needed...your back against the wall.

Shane

can take credit for being the puppet master all he wants, but I was truly the one pulling the strings the entire time. I told you before - you were at the top of my list of people I wanted to face when I returned. I also told you that I wanted to eliminate you in order to prevent further embarrassment of you and the entire anti-

movement of the early 2010's. But I knew if I just walked out on stage and said "hey, Slater, I want to retire you", you would have laughed me off. You would have fought me, sure, because your pride wouldn't allow you to say no, but you would have had no reason to put your career on the line.

Besides, you would have found a way to get all of your friends involved in the match. The management would have made this a Fire Pit Of Hell match or some other stupid shit, because that's what they like to do, and all of Shane's horses and all of his men would have stuck their nose in our business to try and get you that win.

Now? I'm not worried about it now. Because this isn't about the title. You're not just proving something to me, and you're not just proving something to the fans - you're proving something to yourself. You want to prove how much of a bad mother fucker you are, and there's only one way you can do that.

By pinning me. Clean. In the middle of the ring.

Oh, you'll have Shane out there and there is likely to be some shenanigans, but it won't be the complete bullshit festival it would have been under any other circumstances. YOU want to be the one who shuts me up - not

, not Gilmour, not one of those weird Hired Gun fuckers - YOU. So you'll keep the dogs at bay.

And that's the moment you'll seal your fate.

You can't beat me without them, Tristan. You just can't. You had a shot with your army around you. Straight up, one on one - you have no chance.

You talk about this match - bring it back to the old school, elements of Japanese strong style, no gimmicks or bullshit - like it benefits you. I have news for you, Tristan - I may look pretty, but I'm a bad ass son of a bitch. I'd much rather hit someone with my fist than hit them with a chair. And if you knew anything about XWF history, you'd know how fucked you are.

And no, I'm not going to pull out the "look at all my wins!" thing, nor am I going to brag about being a legend. No, there's a very specific reason I mention my history.

If you look at my long list of accomplishments, one thing you will see is a shocking number of Canadian Title wins. New wrestlers have no idea what that is. They just assume it was another title that was thrown into the mix to keep people happy. But the Canadian Title had a very specific set of rules.

There were multiple referees. There were time limits. There were no weapons, or glass tubes, or any other bullshit. It was pure, old school wrestling...and I was the dominant player in that division. And I wish it was still around - this "every match has to be a gimmick" bullshit is really getting old.

I know you're a badass, Tristan. I'm not going to downplay your abilities. And I want you with your back against the wall. Because while you see yourself as the brave, fearless fighter looking to stand tall when the chips are down, I see a wounded animal backed into a corner. Oh, you'll throw all you have at me. You will come with me with everything you have in the tank. But it just won't be enough.

Don't take it personally, Tristan. Someone had to be your last. You should be happy that it's me. That's a lot better than going out on the losing end to some newbie who thinks he's hot shit, or some random roster member who only shows up every three months and does absolutely nothing the rest of the time. You get to go out looking at the lights against a legend. Not a lot of people can say that. So you should be thankful for this.

Oh, and since I know you're all sitting around somewhere watching this and jacking each other off, let me send a message to your little buddy, The Engineer.

I'm flattered that you consider me the next in line for your title. And trust me, there will be a time - and it will be soon - that I will not only be fighting for the Universal Title, but I'll be holding it. But get something through your head...

You don't get to call that shot. That's where you seem to fuck up all the time. You tried it with Fuzz, you tried it with Kenzi Grey-Lacklan, and now you're trying it with me. I understand, you think you get to dictate the next challenger to your throne, but here's something you need to remember.

I AM the fucking throne. You may have the belt, but I have the legacy.

But don't worry, Engy. In due time. But first, I need to put your little friend out to pasture, when I make Tristan Slater meet his...

FINAL FANTASY!!!]]>

---Thursday, March 12, 2020---

(It was supposed to be a celebration.

Scranton, Pennsylvania holds one of the biggest St. Patrick's Day celebrations in the country. This year appeared to be no different, especially with Centurion there to host a party. It was going to be insane - booze, women, an overall great time. That was until...)

Newscaster: Scranton mayor Paige Cognetti announced today that the parade and subsequent Parade Day celebrations have been cancelled due to concerns over the spread of the COVID-19 virus. Mayor Cognetti has urged people to avoid large crowds and to stay at home this weekend in order to prevent the spread of the novel Coronavirus.

(We open up inside a hotel room in Scranton, Pennsylvania. There, we see Centurion lying in bed, watching the news as the announcement of the cancellation of weekend activities takes place. Sitting next to him is Genevieve Tate.)

Centurion: Well...this sucks.

Genevieve: It's amazing how quickly things have progressed. A couple days ago, people were barely talking about this. Now, it seems like everyday, there's something new, something cancelled, there's a travel ban...

Centurion: The last time I've seen something like this - where the world shuts down - was during 9/11. And even then, it was it was a sharp stoppage, followed by the need of people to "get back to normal" as a way of showing the American spirit. This? This is...something completely new.

Genevieve: The world is more connected to each other now than it's ever been.

Athena: Mrow!

(The two can't get too philosophical as Centurion's cat jumps up on the bed, interrupting the conversation. Centurion rubs Athena's head before another thought comes to his mind that he immediately blurts out.)

Centurion: There's no sports! They even cancelled golf! The one sport you SHOULD be able to do in these conditions! What's next, the Spelling Bee?

Genevieve: Do you think XWF will cancel their shows? Is March Madness going to be cancelled?

Centurion: Pfft, hell no. The entire roster would have to be killed in order do that to happen. If we get banned from arenas, I'm sure Theo and the rest of them will just set up a ring somewhere in International Waters and dare COVID to shut them down. Besides, it's not like our fans are real anyway.

Genevieve: What?

Centurion: What?

Genevieve: Well, what did they do during 9/11, since you brought it up. Did they shut down then?

Centurion: Absolutely not. The attacks happened on a Tuesday, and we had to be at Anarchy on Thursday. And that's even after three of our roster members died in the attacks.

(Genevieve looks shocked at the absolutely real thing that happened in 2001, when three low level XWF wrestlers went missing and were declared dead in the wake of the September 11th attacks. Not only were these wrestlers killed, but it was hardly discussed outside of a two sentence announcement by Jon Brown, and the wrestlers themselves were so forgettable that Centurion can't even remember their names.)

Centurion: That's just the way it is. Now, I'm lucky enough to have a nice contract, so if I decided to skip an event, I won't be hurt by it. But back then? If they would have cancelled the show, I would have been pissed. I needed the money, much like a lot of people need the money now. So I can't sit here and say that the XWF is bad because they're working when others usually wouldn't. Our wrestlers and our staff is getting paid when others aren't.

Genevieve: I just wish we didn't have to decide between money and safety.

Centurion: Welcome to the world of capitalism, Dear. It's great if you're doing well, and it's shit when you're not.

(Centurion says these profound words as he pets Athena's head. Genevieve stretches and looks out the window as she continues to converse with Centurion.)

Genevieve: So, what do you want to do now? We have this place booked for a few extra nights.

Centurion: Yeah, but they're going to start shutting down the bars and...well, if you can't go drinking around here, you can't do anything. So I think we should probably just pack it up and head home.

(Centurion says this with a bit if a somber tone, but the words don't seem to affect Genevieve, who could take it or leave it. After getting her needed allowance of head pets, Athena jumps off the bed, causing Centurion to shrug his shoulders. Genevieve does some stretches in the room as Centurion changes the channel on the TV to find something "happier." The only sound in the room is the sound of the television for a few minutes. The silence is broken by the sound of Centurion's phone going off.)

??Tryna win the race, but you can't keep the pace
Look at me and tell me that I'm something you can't replace??

(Both Centurion and Genevieve turn to the phone with a confused look as neither recognize the song that's playing. Centurion answers the phone and puts it on speaker.)

Centurion: What the hell was that song?!

(On the other end of the phone is the culprit, though it shouldn't have been hard to figure out.)

Nellie: That's Daddie Juju! I wanted to make my ringtone personalized. You know, so you always know it's me when I call.

Centurion: Your name pops up on the screen...

Nellie: Yeah, and I know how you like to just ignore phone calls without even looking at who's calling. This way you won't ignore me.

Centurion: I can still ignore you.

Nellie: Yeah...but you WON'T.

(Centurion looks over at Genevieve and gives her a nod.)

Centurion: So how is everything there? You staying safe?

Nellie: People are FREAKING OUT here, Dad. They've closed all the schools. The governor isn't saying for how long, but we don't think the kids will be going back this year. Our school board meetings have been cancelled for the foreseeable future. There's a lot of unknowns right now.

Centurion: Yeah, they cancelled the Scranton Parade...

Nellie: Holy shit, are you serious?! We must be entering the first stage of the Apocalypse.

Centurion: RIGHT?! I've seen this parade run through a hailstorm. Of course, it's not going to stop the locals from getting drunk and being fools. This place will probably become ground zero for the virus after a weekend of Guinness and fighting.

Nellie: You act like that isn't exactly what going to happen in Wildwood, too. Anyway, I wasn't calling to talk about the virus. I got a really strange phone call today. Do you remember Tula Keali'i?

------Stay Six Feet Away From Me------

ALL HAIL THE TRISTAN SLATER!!

That's right, ladies and gentlemen, Slater has finally done it! After decades of others claiming they WOULD do it, Slater is the first person to pull off something truly spectacular!

See, I have been EXPOSED! Tristan Slater has tore down the walls around me and shown the world who I TRULY am! He has shown the entire XWF world - fans, staff, and roster alike - who the REAL Andy Cortinovis is! I have OFFICIALLY been exposed...

...as a manipulator.

Was that a bit anticlimactic? Yeah, it was for me, too.

I always laugh when folks who are considered masters of "mind games" try to get into my head by either a) bringing up shit that has been brought up a million times before, or b) try to say something that isn't an insult, despite being utterly convinced that it is. Slater's most recent attempts at getting in my head falls under both of those categories.

Do I manipulate situations? You're damn right I do. I work in professional wrestling. It's one of the keys to the job. If you're not willing to do a little manipulation, you will be left in the dust very quickly. I've been one of the best in the world for 19 years. I think it's safe to say I've picked up a few things along the way.

There are ways of being a manipulator that can either make you a cunning strategist, or just a prick. For example, I have learned how to control the narrative and to make people think they have to do something they really don't have to. Like? Well, like a wrestler willingly putting his career on the line in a match I was willing to take anyway.

The other manipulators are the ones that do it for greed. They're the ones that like to see people squirm. They're the ones who use people's emotions to cripple them. They're the ones...who get into the mind of a broken former champion and get them to do their bidding in order to avenge hard feelings from eight years ago.

Hi Shane

[Image: wonder-up-close.jpg?itok=cUNwr9V0]

As the shot closes in, you note that the name of the ship has been scribbled out and beneath it, crudely scrawled in black spray paint, is the ship's new name: the U.S.S. FUCK BOAT. Subtle!

We venture onto the ship, through the opulent halls, plethora of bars and indoor night clubs, and arrive at a majestic stair case.

[Image: msc-divina-msc-cruises-22719.jpg]

[Image: msc-divina-msc-cruises-22719.jpg]

The Engineer stands atop the stair case. He's wearing an ornate theater mask. Beside him stand some of his closest friends and allies, also wearing theater masks. Shane

(who is naturally dressed in a smoking jacket and tighty whities), Peter Gilmour, one of the Hired Guns (who is wearing a theater mask over his existing mask), and Tristan Slater. Malcolm, The Engineer's lover and host in waiting, is also there, standing beside him.

Stretching out below them are more people wearing masks. A nervous excitement is shot through the group. The Engineer extends his arms in dramatic fashion.

Welcome, my friends, and VOX AETERNA!

The crowd repeats the mantra, sounding eerily cult like in the uniformity of their response.

I have gathered you all here today to reward you for your faithful service to the cause of....nothing at all! And rest assured, you have all been pre-tested for the Corona Virus and nobody is a carrier.

Gilly looks concerned. Wait, I wasn't! Shane elbows him in the side gently and shakes his head “no”.

So feel free to eat, drink, fuck and be merry! Enjoy the fruits of your labors and enjoy everything this massive boat I bought for pennies on the dollar after the virus bankrupted it's parent company has to offer! Aaaaaaaaaand....BREAK! The Engineer claps his hands together, and the gathered throngs of his followers excitedly dart off. Some of them, who can no longer bear to withstand the ache in their loins, even decide to start rutting like animals on the carpeting here and now!

The Hired Gun looks at Shane. Wanna London Bridge a bitch with me?

It's like you're swimming around inside my head! Shane marvels, and they both head off to find a suitable candidate.

Tristan then considers Gilly. You up for some sexy chicken fighting in the pool?

Pfft, like you could lift me.

Tristan rolls his eyes. The girl would be on YOUR shoulders.

Oh. Gilly smirks. FUCK YEAH THEN!

And they're off to the races too! This leaves only Malcolm and The Engineer at the top of the stairs. The Engineer leans in to the side of Malcolm's head, his lips pursed an inch away from his ear. Pick which ones you want. His gaze goes to the masses below them, most of whom are already in the throes of ecstasy.

Malcolm considers them all for a moment, but seems to demur.

Is something wrong?

Malcolm takes a moment to reply, and when he does his voice is soft and a bit reticent.He takes off his mask. I was kind of hoping it could just be the two of us.

Oh.... The Engineer pulls his face back a bit as he removes his mask as well. Sure. Then, sliding a hand sensually over the front of Malcolm's chest, he steps behind him, beckoning him to follow. With a smile, Malcolm does, heading down the hall after him. Taking but a few seconds to catch up, he walks alongside the champion wearing an earnest mien.

So, I meant to ask you, any more issues with “you know who?”

Are we about business or pleasure right now?

Malcolm shrugs. I mean...it's important.

The Engineer relents a bit, but keeps a steady pace. Corey has been quiet as a church mouse since we last spoke. I dare say he's finally seen the big picture. The Engineer roiled inwardly, knowing this wasn't precisely the truth. Corey HAD been silent, but their last interaction was anything but benevolent.

I've been thinking a lot lately about you switching over to me. I think I'm ready.

Chewing his bottom lip a bit, his response is measured. What makes you say that?

I've been working out like a fiend. And I've been working with the techs at DRW non stop training my mind for the stress of hosting you. His voice caries a tenor that is earnest and sincere. I feel it in my fuckin' bones man, I'm ready!

The Engineer steps to an elevator and presses the up arrow. It issues a pleasant ding in reply. Malcolm, you're not ready. The response is impassive but not overtly cold. Nevertheless, Malcolm's expression drops.

Who told you that?

You understand everything physical between us would end, right? The mental connection would be all there is. He realizes he hasn't exactly answered Malcolm's question, but proffers the probe up regardless.

Yeah, of course I do.

And you realize....the elevator doors part.....that when it comes to matters of your autonomy, my word is God.

Yeah...yeah, we've been over this. Malcolm erects a brave front, but there is but the slightest glimmer of a stammer.

The Engineer steps into the elevator and Malcolm follows him in. The doors come together and they begin to rise.

Why don't you think I'm ready?

Why do you want this? The Engineer cuts in so quickly Malcolm is caught off guard. He takes another moment to formulate his reply.

Because I want to be part of the thing that makes all the pain go away.

But we're going to create an awful lot of pain.

Yeah. Temporarily. But in the end, it'll just be quiet. Peaceful. Malcolm's voice drops. It'll be nothing. Nothing can hurt when there's nothing left. His dulcet tones bear an edge of sadness cut with bitterness.

Licking his lips a bit, a thin smile starts to serrate his face. He stops to consider the upraised flesh of the scars on Malcolm's back that peek out from underneath his tank top, the parting gift of his father's brutal take on affection. Reaching up, he gently places his forefinger on the edge of the scar. Malcolm winces slightly, as he always did when the lesions were met with human contact. But he didn't intervene. He allowed the young man's hands to roam where they may. And roam they did. He traced the scar beneath the fabric of Malcolm's shirt, eventually splaying his fingers out to take in more of his muscular back. The Engineer pulls Malcolm into him, and their lips meet, open mouthed and hungry. The elevator doors part in front of the entrance to the cruise ship's magnificent penthouse suite.

[Image: 10-best-cruise-ship-suites_600x400_21.jpg]

[Image: 10-best-cruise-ship-suites_600x400_21.jpg]

Tearing into each other's clothes with frantic abandon as they make their way into the suite, they litter their path with discarded attire until they are clad in nothing but their underwear. Malcolm takes hold of The Engineer's face in both hands, pausing a moment to gently plant his forehead against his lovers' and whisper him a breathy oath. I want you so bad....

The Engineer kisses him again, and then takes hold of his hand and pulls him over to the couch. Malcolm slinks onto it on his hands and knees, and he bucks a bit as his underwear is pulled down feverishly. Then, wrapping his arms about Malcolm's stomach, The Engineer slides the whole of his torso onto the other's back, maximizing the intimacy of their contact as he enters him. Malcolm gasps a bit, and then gasps again as their bodies swallow each other up, flesh stitched to flesh in a wanton flurry of passionate energy. The Engineer bites down on the back of Malcolm's neck, creating a dizzying admixture of pleasure and pain that causes Malcolm's entire body to tense in exultation. He gasps again, and before he knows it the words spill forth from his lips wrecklessly.

I love you. The Engineer lifts himself up off of Malcolm's back quickly, expression descending from one of pleasure to disquiet. Malcolm, sensing his error, quickly seeks to recover. I'm sorry....I...I don't know where that came from....I...I....

Setting his teeth together in a tense rictus of swallowed anger, The Engineer removes his hands from Malcolm's body. Removes all of their flesh to flesh connection save for his sex. Malcolm's frame shudders in response to the sudden withdrawal of intimacy, and he suddenly feels cold and detached. Pardoxically thousands of miles away from the very man making love to him.

But still, The Engineer takes what he wants. Just like he always does.

Later

Staring out onto the open water at the churning wake left behind, the XWF champion taps his fingers on the rail with the kind of twitchy energy that comes from worry gone unspent. Breathing out a sigh, he's about to turn away when Peter Gilmour approaches him and thrusts a huge wobbly dildo in his face. The side of the sex toy has the words “Gilly's SUPER DICK” written out in a partially smeared silver marker.

...why?

Gilmour chuckles. I'm here to interview you for your big....**urp**....match at Mad Marchness! Gilly's clearly sauced but loving every minute of it.

The Engineer, looking like he's not quite feeling it, winces a bit. Right now?

YEAH RIGHT NOW! We need to put that noodle dicked bag of runny shits Ned Kaye in his place! Wielding the dildo like a microphone, he brings it even closer, causing it to undulate comically.

The champ softens a bit. Well, I've never been able to say no to a big black dick before.

That's the spirit. But also gross! He brings the dick microphone snapping back to his face, but the momentum of it causes the dildo to bounce off his nose. He barely seems to notice. First of **urp** all, why do you think Ned Kaye is being such a dickless little bitch about this match and not cutting any trash talk on you?

The Engineer makes a show of putting some VERY SERIOUS THOUGHT into this. Well, because I think Ned Kaye is a dickless little bitch all the time and this is just him being true to form. Look Pete, do you know what the 7 stages of grief are?

He wobbles a bit. Yeah, isn't the devil at the bottom?

Uhhhhh, no. You're thinking of the stages of HELL and there are actually nine. But the seven stages of grief are the psychological steps people take when they have to come to terms with a terrible loss. And I'm thinking we haven't heard hide nor hair from good ol' Ned because he's doing a speed run through the whole damn thing. Because you see, the final stage is acceptance. The moment in which one comes to terms with that which they have lost and they commits to adapting and moving on with their life. It is, in effect, a laying down of arms, a resolution to stop fighting the cold hard reality of the situation and embrace it, no matter how terrible it may be.

So what's that mean? His eyes briefly go wide like hes trying to keep the world still. He brings the dildo back over to Engy's face in a delayed reaction.

It means Ned has accepted his lot in life. He realizes there is no point in trying to disparage me or to try to convince the world that he can win because he's knows he cannot. Moreover, he has come to terms with the loss of his 24/7 briefcase and with the loss of his career. Ned promised the world that if he did not win the Universal Championship by March Madness that he was through. And he is coming to grips with the fact that his entire time in the XWF, the highs, the lows (mostly lows), the friendships he made....none of it matters anymore. The curtain is dropping. The band is playing him off the stage. And he has wasted the last year plus of his life in pursuit of a crushing, though predictable, loss to the best goddamn Universal Champion in XWF history.

Hey, what about my reign?!

Sorry. SECOND best.

Damn right! Anyway....oh shit, you better be careful that railing is moving! Gilly points at the railing.

That's just the Jose Cuervo talking. Next question?

He pops himself in the chin with the dildo by accident, and then thrusts it away again in annoyance. So if Ned Kaye is just gonna keep dumping a heaping load of shit in his bed, do ya think it would be a good plan to start thinkin' about your next fight?

That is an EXCELLENT question. And yes, yes I do! Gilly now pops the champ in the face with the dildo. He brushes it aside and keeps talking. And you know what, I WILL go on the record with who I want my next opponent to be. We're going to breeze right on past Ned Kaye and onwards towards the future. Because lord knows I need SOMETHING to fill the time. He prods the camera with an exasperated look.

So....who is it?!

Centurion.

Gilly grouses. Awwww...that old fart?!

Centurion is precisely what I wanted Ned to be. The white knight. The light beating back my shadow. The advantage Centurion has is that he actually gives a shit about winning matches. Hell, he gives a shit about...anything at all. Unlike Ned.

But why him?!

Now it's The Engineer's turn to look exasperated. I just told you! Ugh, look...Centurion is seen as an “elder statesman” or sorts...

Emphasis on elder.

That may be so, but he has amassed a great deal of credibility and a reputation for being a legit legend. Hell, look at that Hart title run of his. He's everything Ned isn't. He's the challenge that I want. The only question is....does he want it? The champ looks askance at the camera. That seems to be an issue of late.

Yeah...yeah.... Peter looks distracted, and seems like he's having ever more difficulty staying vertical. Last question! He pulls the dildo towards him again, and it bounces off his eye. Irate, he reels the dildo back and pitches it into the ocean!

Your super dick!

It's okay it was just a reptoid of the real thing! The Engineer looks like he's going to step in and correct him, but then decides against it. Last question: a certain dumb motherfucker was talkin' a lot of shit about you today. Did you see it?

The Engineer's face resets in a grim countenance. I did.

You got something to say to this jizz stain?!

I do!

And just to be clear, the jizz stain I'm talking about is....

Smoke_Blunts_Erryday69 at SquaredCircle.com!

Yeah! Wait....HUH?!

The Engineer reaches down and pulls out his phone. Tapping away at it, he pulls up a message board post from the aforementioned site from the aforementioned user. Can you believe this twit! He had the nerve to say I've never wrestled above a 3 star match! Three stars? Look you shit heel, I half ass a three star match, the sky's the limit from there. I bled and sweat four stars with Robbie Bourbon EASILY. What the fuck do you know reaching between your necrotic fat folds for the remains of yesterday's chicken tendies.....

Gilly looks confused. Soooo, there's nobody else you wanna respond to?

What? No. There is absolutely no one else worth responding to. Doing so would be an irreplaceable waste of seconds of my existence that would be better spent doing anything else at all. Like taking inventory of my pubic hairs.

...fuck....

Yeah. Another pointed look at the camera. Fuck.

And with that, Gilly throws himself at the railing to vomit copiously over the side of the ship.

My sentiments exactly. He clears his throat. Paste some hair on your balls if you have to Ned. But anyway you slice it, you should probably buck up and become a man real soon. I mean, you still won't win, but at least your exit from the XWF won't be as humiliating as it COULD be. Ta ta for now, darling. I'm waiting.....

He turns around to pat Gilly on the back as he wretches and the shot drops back for a panoramic view of the ship before the promo ends on Gilly's yamming adding a bit of extra flavor to the Atlantic.]]>

The Engineer stands atop the stair case. He's wearing an ornate theater mask. Beside him stand some of his closest friends and allies, also wearing theater masks. Shane

Later

New York, NY
6:38pm

There were a millions things running through my mind. All of which were the numerous ways things would go down. The beginnings are always easy, it’s the ending that’s difficult to see. When you put your faith in others, only to be disappointed, or to be the one disappointing.

The blacked out Lincoln Navigator pulled up and the window rolled down. There he was, my oldest friend in the world. Jason Damon. Again like Jordy wouldn’t know him by that name, you would know him as J-Diddy. Again like Jordy a former wrestler but a few run ins with the law led him to be unceremoniously released. He smiled as he greeted me. The platinum grill in his mouth reflecting in the lights a flurry of different colors.

“Well if it isn’t the superstar himself.... get in the fucking car man.” I walked over to the passenger side door and opened it up. Quickly I sit back, and before I could buckle up we were off down the road.

“So what brings you to my neck of the woods?” Jason asked as we were driving away from the airport.

“Just need to take care of some things before I call it a day, ya know?”

“I feel ya man.”

We were driving for about an hour or so, catching up as we pull up to the brownstone. It’s an older one, but it serves its purpose. I bought it over a decade ago, for Jason. When he got out of prison we needed to get him out of Chicago. Some small town wasn’t going to cut it for him, so we settled on New York. I got him a job training at a gym out in Red Hook.

As we walk into the house I am blasted in the face with the smell of, well for the lack of a better term, embalming fluid. If you don’t know what that signals, then consider yourself lucky.

The gorgeous home that I had purchased for him was in disarray. Trash all over the place, holes in the walls. The constant sounds of dogs barking in the basement echoed throughout the lower level.

“Make yourself right at home.... I mean after all it is yours.” Jason tossed his keys on the table next to the door. As I walked into the living room it’s barren. There was a tv, some semblance of a couch being held up by crates, and an absolutely filthy glass table.

“What’s up man? Where’s all the furniture I bought for you?” I pondered aloud. Jason comes around the corner and hands me a bottle of water.

“It got broken, and I didn’t want to bother you. So I improvised.”

“Well you know...” I point across the room. “You could’ve called.”

“Yeah I guess, but’s it’s all good. I got a few things in the works.” He smiled confidently. I’ve seen that smile before. He’s not doing anything that would be considered.... good.

“What you got brewing?”

He hesitated and didn’t say anything. Suddenly the door to the basement opened up and three large men all dressed in black walked into the living room. As soon as they saw me, I could sense the tension.

“Who da fuck is dis?” One of them said as he walked closer to me.

“This my fucking house.... I should ask you the same fucking thing...” As I took a step towards him, Jason quickly jumped between the two of us. Placing a hand on my chest and pushing me backwards.

“Yo, yo, yo, chill.... this is the dude... the dude I was tellin’ y’all about..” The man takes a step back and laughs.

“This is the cracker...”

“Man Fuck you...”

Jason nods and pats his hand on my chest.

“Relax bro, he’s cool.” Jason points to the basement. “That’s what we’ve been working on. Follow me.” I take a deep sigh, as we begin to walk towards the basement. I’m flanked by two of the three men and the other is behind me. Somethings not right, as Jason opened the door all I did was glance and saw what was basically a drug den.

“Nah, Fam not here. Get the fuck outta here with that man.” Jason stopped and turned around towards me.

“No I don’t think so. You see you left me high and dry.” The look in his eyes changed dramatically. He went from friend to foe in an instant. “I had to do what I had to do to survive.”

“First off, get out of my face. Secondly this was handed to you and this is the thanks I.....”

Before I could finish Jason punched me in the jaw, and I staggered backwards. Catching myself on the wall. Jason lunges towards me, but I quickly sidestep him. I grab him by the side of the head and jam it into the wall, cracking the drywall in the process. I rear back with my closed fist.

Before I could swing my arm was grabbed by one of the three. Which one? It didn’t matter. I knew that nothing good was going to come from this. I spun around and swung with my left hand. Connecting squarely on his eye. The other two quickly jumped on me and took me to the ground.

I covered up, as I was met by a flurry of kicks to the ribs and gut. I reached my hand out and grabbed the only thing I could. A bottle. As one of them pulled me up I swung. It shattered all over the floor as he started to bleed immediately and fell to the ground. The others stood there for a brief moment, as I rushed towards one of them. I took him to the ground and leveled him with a few elbows to the face. The blood from his face soaked into my shirt sleeve.

Jason grabbed me from behind and ran me right into the ground. My face bounced off the floor. I could feel the blood dripping down my face, I could taste it with every breath. Somehow I still managed to get him off of me. I staggered to my feet, and he did the same. There was just him and one other standing. I spit the pooling blood in my mouth towards the ground.

“Well come on then.” A crooked smile across my face.

Both men rush at me. A quick jumping knee takes down the thug in a crumpled heap. Jason throws a punch and connects. I swing wildly, and stagger him. I swing again. And then again. Then a quick boot to the gut. As he’s hunched over I raise my fist above my head.

“Consider yourself evicted...”

I swung down with every ounce of energy I had. The feeling of his flesh against my hand made a sickening splat as he fell to the ground.

I stood there for a moment, coughing blood, and catching my breath. I lean against the wall as I walk towards the front door. I open the door and stumble outside. Some of the neighbors are gathering around the stoop. Some are concerned, others just look scared.

“Call the cops. Four men alive but unconscious. Drug den in the basement.” I said repeatedly to everyone I passed. I walked down the street and it wasn’t long before I heard sirens. I flagged down a taxi. Even in my shoddy state I was able to flag one down.

“Take me here.” I handed the driver my phone and promptly passed out in the backseat. As the pattering of rain against the hood of the car reverberates throughout.

We slowly pulled up to the destination. I toss the driver a wad of cash and slump out of the car. I hobble towards the door of the red brick townhouse in Astoria. I pull out my phone and check it one more time. Nothing. As I approach the door my hand hangs over the door bell.

“Don’t miss your moment...”

I let out a deep breath and push the buzzer. I wait for a few moments. I don’t see or hear anything. I push the buzzer again, this time a see a few lights flicker on. I can hear on the other side of the door footsteps approaching. Then nothing. The door didn’t open. No words were said.

“I know you don’t owe me anything, but please... just listen.”

My head falls up against the door as I begin to stare at the ground. A small pool of blood begins to drip from my lip onto the concrete and just as quickly is washed away by the rain.

“I know that I fucked up. Right from the jump I should’ve told you that is was always you. The decision never changed, it never faltered. Unfortunately for me, it took till now to realize it. I know that it’s only been a few days that you’ve been gone...” I slide down the door on my back and sit on the stoop.

“I miss you. I miss it all. I’ve been cold since you’ve left. You’re gone, Noah’s gone, everyone else is gone... And like I told you. I’m right here.”

I pull myself up from the ground. And turn towards the door. The blood beginning to clot and dry on my clothes and face.

“I need you a whole hell of a lot more than you need me...”

I take one more deep breath, and cough as the taste of iron fills my mouth.

“Atty.... I need you...”

The FINAL Afterthought

This moment right here. This is what I’ve been waiting for. It’s taken me 21 long years to get to this point, and my foot is already out of the fucking door. I’m relieved, I’m happy, and I’m content. I always wanted to go out on my own terms. So many times I was put aside just to fade away quietly into the night.

I never planned on coming back, but we all know that story. Yet something happened when I did. I realized that I’m still really good, like ridiculously good. I know I wouldn’t have spent two decades doing this if I wasn’t at least a little bit confident that I was good at it. Yet something keeps gnawing at me. I’m not sure if I’m good. Maybe it’s the rest of the XWF that has come down.

There was once a time where there was a line of quality opponents for the Universal title. You actually had to fight for a shot. Yet today... not so much. I mean we were all about to to Engy/Robbie 2: This time it’s lazy booking. We all know that not a single human on the planet wanted to see that once, but twice? The XWF is grasping at straws and they keep pulling Robbie.

So the last time I had the open court I talked about a few people, soooooo Let’s do that again.

Big D, the man who thinks he deserves to be somewhere he doesn’t belong... well I can see how you could think that. I mean with the quality of people getting shots it’s amazing. Az, Robbie, whoever was in the chamber not named Atty... because you know... she tried to give you her spot in a fair trade. You weren’t content with that, and finally something got through to you, no more hand outs. Earn it. You’re on your way, but just watch Page. He will turn on you faster than you could imagine.

Moving Right Along.

The Spooky Group. Well where shall I start?

Peter. I don’t like you. I never have. I never will. You are the most over glorified moron this place has ever seen. That’s saying something because I was around for Chad, Dante Anglias, and Mung. I don’t understand what people see in you. You’re arrogant for no reason. You bitch moan and complain when things don’t go slightly your way. You bastardize the English language. I just don’t get it. If I never have to see you again, my life would be complete.

Then there is Shane. Hiya buddy. The only guy to write anything about me in the Hall of Legends. I’m glad it’s you that has that distinction. It must feel real good to know that you were the only person to remember me, when you know, you banished all of the old guard to make yourself feel all powerful. And much like Icarus you flew too high and your wings melted. The flood gates were opened, and now everyone knows you for what you really are... someone who just doesn’t get it anymore. Oh well... there was hope for you and I at one point. That day is long gone.

And Finally rounding out this quartet, Engy and Maddy. The two leading the charge. Maddy in the Tournament, and Engy holding the “Top” Title here. So let’s begin with everyone’s favorite Nazi.

Maddy. I find it funny that you think anyone could possibly agree with you on any level of anything. Sure there are a few baron washed bigots out there, but it’s not much to hang your hat on. Then there’s the fact that for some reason, much like Peter, some people like you. I don’t see it. I wish that both you and Peter would Thelma and Louise right off of a cliff together. Just make sure that Engy is in the trunk.

Now let’s get it out of the way right now.

Fuck You.

Out of everyone here. I can honestly say I hate you the most. From the fact that you think you’re funny, when you’re not. From the way you think you’re above everyone else, you’re not. Let me be perfectly concise when I say this...

There’s a reason why I turned you down TWICE. Yeah, you’re people asked me for Cunt Fest, and March Madness There was a huge reason for it as well. Fuck the X-Treme title, or the Tag Team titles, or the excuses of me being TOO BUSY. None of that was the reason why I said no. The reason I said no, was to show you where you stand in my book. If you couldn’t entice me with a title shot, what does that say?

It says I have absolutely no respect for you, your friends, or even your friends of friends. If you’re left playing with your own dick by yourself then mission accomplished. Everyone can point out the weak opponents that you’ve faced, and be honest with yourself.... you hate it right? Being told your reign means nothing. Knowing that everyone turned you down and you were left hoping and praying for a cash in that never happened.

And won’t happen.

I don’t want to give to the chance to even think for a moment that I give a single fuck about you, or the XWF anymore. April 2nd I start with Defiance wrestling. You can take this briefcase and shove it up Shane’s gaping asshole. If you even think for one single moment I was ever going to cash in, think again.

All it was, and still is until April 2nd, is a bargaining chip. I can and have used it to make you irrelevant as a champion. You SHOULD be the face of the company, but you’re not. I AM. You should be respected, but you’re not. You a fucking rip off, you are the great value brand Champion. Meanwhile I’ve got two titles, a briefcase, and something you won’t have.

The title of Legend.

So before I call it a day, how does it feel knowing that while people may call Main’s run a joke, that people are calling you the joke.

Seriously get over yourself and all the spooky bullshit. No one is buying it for a single moment. You literally had people “shot” on live TV. How the fuck are you not in Jail? That’s right because everything about you is fake. From your title reign. To the people you’ve “killed”. To even your own fucking name. You only knew one thing and you leap right back to it the second you saw an opening. That’s the difference between you and I.

I know who I am, and I didn’t have to kill my mentor for people to know the real me. I didn’t have to hide behind pseudoscience to make people believe I was something I’m not. I’ve always have been just me.

Fuzz

Shawn Warstein.

Can you say the same about yourself? Who are you this week Corey? Or is it Lux? No still going to go by the bastardized Engy moniker? Okay. Good luck with that. When I told everyone I was leaving, a few people didn’t and still don’t believe me. That’s too bad for them. I don’t want people to be disappointed. It looks like they will just have to get used to it, I mean you are the Universal Champion after all. They already know about disappointment. It’s nothing new to you, so I guess it’ll just be the status quo then.

So I guess I should talk about my opponent now I guess. Okay, well you see I’ve already made a promise not to go after her and I plan on doing just that.

Keeping that Promise.

Fuck Me Then I Guess...

Atty, that was a phenomenal first promo. I’m excited to see where your story takes you. I really am. Best of luck at March Madness. I know you’re going to knock them dead.

And now.....

I can finally rest.]]>

New York, NY
6:38pm