<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - March Madness IV - RP Board 2022]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Tue, 02 Jun 2026 12:33:48 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Without The Mask]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43257 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 23:59:13 -0700 Latina Submission Machina]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43257 Mi padre es un bastardo y un tramposo.

Mi madre es una mentirosa y una puta.

Entonces... ¿Quién se supone que debo ser?

We fade into a shot of LSM seated incorrectly on a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room with a white floor, green walls, and a red ceiling. The angle of the camera only shows LSM’s back as she leans forward on the backrest of the chair. LSM reaches up towards her head and slowly begins untying the multicolored luchadora mask that her madre had given her.

Traté de escuchar a Vita.

Pero estaba equivocada.

We can see more and more of Robyn Gonzalez’s naturally dark hair as she continually unfastens the strings on the back of her mask. She speaks with a somber calmness in her voice.

This world isn’t as simple as I used to think. This world is a whole lot more complicated and dangerous than I was ever told. It used to be all black and white for me: there were rudos y tecnicos, bastardos y héroes. That’s how mi madre raised me to think. She kissed my forehead every night before bed with those sweet little lies.

I can’t believe she lied to me for so long, about so much. Family, bloodlines, honor: everything was always a lie.

No más mentiras.

No más esconderse.

Never again.

Now that the back of LSM’S luchadora mask is completely untied she places her hands on the crown of the mask and begins to pull upwards.

No wonder she wanted me to wrestle under a mask: even until the end of her life mi madre wanted everything about me to remain hidden, not only from the world, but even from myself.

Never again.

LSM takes off the multicolored mask her mother gifted her. She holds the mask in her hands, looking down at it with unseen emotion as her previously concealed hair falls down past her shoulders. The camera remains focused on LSM’s back as she sits incorrectly in the chair like a misbehaved hoodlum.

This mask represents every single lie mi madre told me. All the things she concealed about my past, about my family, about my father and my aunt. How could I ever wear it again, knowing what I now know? I still love mi madre, but I won’t live the way she wanted me to. I won’t wrestle from the shadows any longer, behind a mask, afraid of being exposed and seen for who I really am.

Never again.

LSM goes silent for a moment. Then, she lets the mask fall disgracefully to the floor. We hear a deep and elongated sigh before we see LSM look back down at the mask she has worn in every wrestling match of her short career.

Mi madre may have been ashamed of our past but I won’t carry the burden of her embarrassments any longer. Soy mi propia mujer ahora. Soy libre.

I learned the truth and it set me free.

LSM pushes herself up off the chair. Then, she turns around to face the camera without her old discarded mask.


[Image: Thunder-Rosa-0000s.jpg]




¡Soy la hija bastarda de Charlie Nickles! ¡Mi tía es una niña demonio y mi madre era una bruja mentirosa!

I’ve faced down my demons and I’ve come to grips with my past! I’ve fought the wars raging inside of my heart and I refused to submit!

Now, it’s Elijah Martin’s turn to face my demons and see how he fares!

I have been through infierno y aguas altas ever since Bad Medicine! I’ve caught no lucky breaks this year, only broken bones! I was so distracted fighting the war in my heart that I never had time to focus on the battles in the ring. But at March Madness that all changes. I am a changed woman. I am no longer bound by the mistakes of mi madre, I am no longer a slave to the failed traditions of my ancestors. I am LIBRE, and I will never be imprisoned by fate again!

I know everything about my horrible past, and I’ve finally accepted it, which means I am now ready to take control of my future. I am ready to retake control of the Anarchy championship belt, a new and improved Latina Submission Machina!

I’m not the same sweet and innocent girl that beat Elijah Martin’s culo all around the ring during his XWF debut! I’m not the same naive schoolgirl that made Anarchy legend Vita Valenteen submit!

I’m better now.

Way better.

A lot FUCKING better.

LSM pairs a wink with a painted grin as she shows off some of her new rhetorical changes.

Now I’m not saying I’m going to start playing dirty and cheating, but I am saying that I’m ready to do whatever it takes to win my Anarchy championship back! The first time I smacked a tooth out of Elijah Martin’s mouth I felt pretty bad about it, because he might need that tooth later to eat all the humble pie LSM serves.

But now?

Now I don’t feel a hint of guilt for the effects of my devastating moves! If Elijah Martin wants to stand between me and my future he deserves to lose more than a couple canines and molars! If Elijah Martin dares to stand between EL-ES-EM and her future, he’s going to lose a limb!

I’m a damn submission MACHINA, and I’m going to systematically target each and every one of Elijah’s limbs for SURGICAL ALTERATION! I’ve broken the code and I know exactly what it takes to win another championship belt: it takes Elijah’s submission. So that’s exactly what I’m going for tomorrow night. I’ve already pre-installed the new data patch into my AI software, so this submission machina is ready to rock and roll.

Elijah Martin won’t be ready for the Madness I’m bringing to this long March. There’s not a fucking chance.

LSM exudes extreme confidence as we fade to black.]]> Mi padre es un bastardo y un tramposo.

Mi madre es una mentirosa y una puta.

Entonces... ¿Quién se supone que debo ser?

We fade into a shot of LSM seated incorrectly on a chair in the middle of an otherwise empty room with a white floor, green walls, and a red ceiling. The angle of the camera only shows LSM’s back as she leans forward on the backrest of the chair. LSM reaches up towards her head and slowly begins untying the multicolored luchadora mask that her madre had given her.

Traté de escuchar a Vita.

Pero estaba equivocada.

We can see more and more of Robyn Gonzalez’s naturally dark hair as she continually unfastens the strings on the back of her mask. She speaks with a somber calmness in her voice.

This world isn’t as simple as I used to think. This world is a whole lot more complicated and dangerous than I was ever told. It used to be all black and white for me: there were rudos y tecnicos, bastardos y héroes. That’s how mi madre raised me to think. She kissed my forehead every night before bed with those sweet little lies.

I can’t believe she lied to me for so long, about so much. Family, bloodlines, honor: everything was always a lie.

No más mentiras.

No más esconderse.

Never again.

Now that the back of LSM’S luchadora mask is completely untied she places her hands on the crown of the mask and begins to pull upwards.

No wonder she wanted me to wrestle under a mask: even until the end of her life mi madre wanted everything about me to remain hidden, not only from the world, but even from myself.

Never again.

LSM takes off the multicolored mask her mother gifted her. She holds the mask in her hands, looking down at it with unseen emotion as her previously concealed hair falls down past her shoulders. The camera remains focused on LSM’s back as she sits incorrectly in the chair like a misbehaved hoodlum.

This mask represents every single lie mi madre told me. All the things she concealed about my past, about my family, about my father and my aunt. How could I ever wear it again, knowing what I now know? I still love mi madre, but I won’t live the way she wanted me to. I won’t wrestle from the shadows any longer, behind a mask, afraid of being exposed and seen for who I really am.

Never again.

LSM goes silent for a moment. Then, she lets the mask fall disgracefully to the floor. We hear a deep and elongated sigh before we see LSM look back down at the mask she has worn in every wrestling match of her short career.

Mi madre may have been ashamed of our past but I won’t carry the burden of her embarrassments any longer. Soy mi propia mujer ahora. Soy libre.

I learned the truth and it set me free.

LSM pushes herself up off the chair. Then, she turns around to face the camera without her old discarded mask.


[Image: Thunder-Rosa-0000s.jpg]




¡Soy la hija bastarda de Charlie Nickles! ¡Mi tía es una niña demonio y mi madre era una bruja mentirosa!

I’ve faced down my demons and I’ve come to grips with my past! I’ve fought the wars raging inside of my heart and I refused to submit!

Now, it’s Elijah Martin’s turn to face my demons and see how he fares!

I have been through infierno y aguas altas ever since Bad Medicine! I’ve caught no lucky breaks this year, only broken bones! I was so distracted fighting the war in my heart that I never had time to focus on the battles in the ring. But at March Madness that all changes. I am a changed woman. I am no longer bound by the mistakes of mi madre, I am no longer a slave to the failed traditions of my ancestors. I am LIBRE, and I will never be imprisoned by fate again!

I know everything about my horrible past, and I’ve finally accepted it, which means I am now ready to take control of my future. I am ready to retake control of the Anarchy championship belt, a new and improved Latina Submission Machina!

I’m not the same sweet and innocent girl that beat Elijah Martin’s culo all around the ring during his XWF debut! I’m not the same naive schoolgirl that made Anarchy legend Vita Valenteen submit!

I’m better now.

Way better.

A lot FUCKING better.

LSM pairs a wink with a painted grin as she shows off some of her new rhetorical changes.

Now I’m not saying I’m going to start playing dirty and cheating, but I am saying that I’m ready to do whatever it takes to win my Anarchy championship back! The first time I smacked a tooth out of Elijah Martin’s mouth I felt pretty bad about it, because he might need that tooth later to eat all the humble pie LSM serves.

But now?

Now I don’t feel a hint of guilt for the effects of my devastating moves! If Elijah Martin wants to stand between me and my future he deserves to lose more than a couple canines and molars! If Elijah Martin dares to stand between EL-ES-EM and her future, he’s going to lose a limb!

I’m a damn submission MACHINA, and I’m going to systematically target each and every one of Elijah’s limbs for SURGICAL ALTERATION! I’ve broken the code and I know exactly what it takes to win another championship belt: it takes Elijah’s submission. So that’s exactly what I’m going for tomorrow night. I’ve already pre-installed the new data patch into my AI software, so this submission machina is ready to rock and roll.

Elijah Martin won’t be ready for the Madness I’m bringing to this long March. There’s not a fucking chance.

LSM exudes extreme confidence as we fade to black.]]> <![CDATA[The Time Has Come At Last]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43256 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 23:59:09 -0700 The Chameleon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43256 Part 2 of TC:AA: https://the-chameleon.itch.io/tcaa-p2
]]> Part 2 of TC:AA: https://the-chameleon.itch.io/tcaa-p2
]]> <![CDATA[In The Halls of Judgement]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43252 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 21:58:42 -0700 The Chameleon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43252 The Chameleon: Ace Attorney

Available here: https://the-chameleon.itch.io/the-chamel...e-attorney

OOC: TC:AA is an interactive text based game I have created to culminate this story. Please play it to its entirety before reading the next RP, which is Part 2 of this story. Much love. - You Know Who.
]]> The Chameleon: Ace Attorney

Available here: https://the-chameleon.itch.io/the-chamel...e-attorney

OOC: TC:AA is an interactive text based game I have created to culminate this story. Please play it to its entirety before reading the next RP, which is Part 2 of this story. Much love. - You Know Who.
]]> <![CDATA[That place.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43255 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 21:57:07 -0700 rickyrodriguez]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43255 'It was just a text, that's all. One I shoulda just pretended I never saw. But nah. He knows my weakness. He knows just how to reel my ass in every damn time. Bobby texted me.'

Hey man, I know you've been pushing hard with everything. You can't push too hard. I got a few different bottles, Fireball, for one. A half ounce of some really good smoke. Come blow some steam off.

'At first, I wasn't gonna. I already had an excuse lined up and everythin. But before I could even type it up, I saw the next message Bobby sent through.'

I got that new Xenoverse 2 DLC.

'Now Bobby? He knew better than anyone bout just how much I loved everythin Dragon Ball. And I mean the OG. Z. Super. GT. Heroes. People can bitch and bicker over canon but goddamn, I love it all! So when Bobby mentioned my drink, the smoke and the new DLC Pack for Xenoverse? I got ready without givin it a second thought.'

Before long, Ricky found himself inside of Bobby's apartment. Already a couple drinks and two bowls deep, Ricky sat cross legged on the couch, his attention focused on the screen in front of him. He was deep in grinding one of the several Parallel Quest the game offered.

'Dude, Full Power Jiren is sucha fuckin beast. Makin these quests too fuckin easy.'

Bobby laughed out as he tossed Ricky one of those single shot bottles of Fireball. He twisted the top off and drank the icy liquid down. Putting the lid back onto it, Ricky set it on the end table next to him. Getting back into the game, Ricky began to realize what Bobby had said about his upcoming matches was entirely true.

He had been killing it in the gym, in every way imaginable, in preparation for the series of matches he had coming up. The Bronx Championship Match against Dave the Dinosaur. Whatever Liberty wants to throw at him. His growing rivalry with Cassie Lopez. But the one that stood out moreso than all the others was his upcoming Falls Count Anywhere Match against Thaddeus Duke.

Ricky knew the match type despite never explicitly having one. The rules were pretty simple though. Win. However. Wherever. Backstage with a chair. Out in the streets with a brick. There literally was almost no rules to this match. Of course, it was weighing heavy on Ricky's mind.

At this point, it wasn't even who his opponent was that tugged at his mind. It was the potential brutality that was involved. Ricky wasn't an expert at those kind of matches, to say the least, so it was definitely going to be a learning experience. And like..how can you prepare for a match like that? Do you just go around, hittin people with kendo sticks and shit like that.

All Ricky could do was shake his head at the thought. As the night rolled on and Ricky continued to grind through that game, his little stack of empty shot bottles grew larger and larger. Then there was that knock at the door. Ricky perked up, albeit a little confused, curious at who it could be. The look Bobby gave him should've told Ricky all he needed to know.

He watched as Bobby went to answer the door and his heart fell into his stomach when he saw Alessa and Catherine step into that apartment. With a shake of his head, Ricky didn't attempt to mask his displeasure.

'Fuuuuckkk.'

Pausing that game, Ricky got up to his feet, even with only a minor amount of stumble. Bobby was quick to walk up to Ricky with his hands up, hopefully trying to stop him from leaving.

'Bobby..what the fuck?!'

'Ricky, man, just hear me out.'

For just a couple moments, there was a silence between the two. It was only broken when Ricky looked at Bobby expectantly.

'Oh, I just..expected more resistance.'

Bobby laughed and quickly waved off the notion.

'Bobby..'

'She's not about..that..anymore. After everything happened, she realized how stupid it was to try and pursue. She..they're both going through a tough spot right now. You know she wouldn't turn away either one of us if we were in her shoes.'

Ricky looked as if he was going to say something but instead chose not to. He grabbed up a lighter and a half smoked joint before slipping out to the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Lighting up that joint, he took a long hit off of it before turning around and seeing Bobby, Alessa, and Catherine talking amongst themselves.

He didn't even really care what they were talking about. Instead, he was having a hard enough time of just processing what was going on. He should feel livid, betrayed even, that this was going on like it was..but he wasn't. His mind was miles away..almost seven thousand of them.

An annoyed sigh rolled free from behind the lips of Ricky. With his free hand, he slicked his hair back and took another hit. Setting up the little prop up thing on his phone case, he positioned it so it could pick him up. Ricky hit the screen a couple times, starting to record himself.

Shaking his head slowly, Ricky brought his free hand up to rub down his face, sighing into it. The usual childlike demeanor of Ricky was mostly absent at this point as he began to speak up.

'Y'know what bothers me the most bout you, Thad. Bout this whole fuckin situation? You're so sure..you're so fuckin sure that you're just gonna come in and fuckin run me. I mean, beat my ass from corner to corner. Now, I'm not sure if it's some act..some way to try and get up under my skin..inside my head.

And that's fine. Really, it is. There's alottabit of different reasons you're doin it too. Like..maybe you're tryinta push me. Y'know? Like you're tryinta push me to do somethin I usually wouldn't do..push me to act in a way I totally don't act. But it's not goin down like that. I'm not gonna let my head get the best of me, not this time, not anymore.'

The young Ricky feigned a look of deep thought. His free hand stroking his own chin as if he was in deep thought. Those usually bright eyes lit up even more as another idea seemingly struck his mind.

'But what if that isn't the reason? What if..like..you feel like you need that kinda advantage goin into this. See, neither one of us knows just what I'm capable of in this kinda match. I mean, sure I've swung a couple chairs before, maybe some ladder or table work, but this is a wholeee new game, Thad.

And you know that. In that..Lionheart..of yours..you know damn well what is very fuckin possible. You hear bout it damn near every..day. It literally happens all the time. And it's always..the nice ones. The ones who wear their heart on their sleeve. The ones who just..wanna be themselves. They get pushed..and pushed..and pushed.

Then they snap. They lose their fuckin minds and that never ends up well..for anyone. You've seen the news reports. The fuckin droves of neighbors lookin to get their voice out there..

He was sucha nice boy.

Somethin musta happened. I honestly believe he never woulda hurt a fly.

Maybe that just goes to show you you never really know what's goin on with someone.

I'd be lyin if I said I didn't feel like snappin..at least..once a day. March Madness could..very well..be that moment. Not too many more pieces of straw can fit on this camel's back, Thad. I really don't know how much more I can take before I just..boom.'

Placing that joint securely between his lips, he placed his hands together before bringing them outwards to imitate an explosion.

'And the most fucked up thing bout it all is that..it's not even your fault. Like outside of tryinta get to me before this match, you've legit done nothin wrong to me. But it's like you told me..it's just business. And sure, it mighta had a lilbit of a push..but business is why we're here. Business is why Ima hafta kick your ass in every way imaginable.

It's gonna be everythin you ever coulda wanted, Thad. That's what you wanna see, ain't it? For me to finally break through that glass ceilin and fuckin fly higher than I've ever flown before. Now, I'm sure you never wanted it to be done at your expense, but we gotta play the hand we're dealt sometimes, y'know? As shitty as it might be, this is how it is and I'm gonna make the most of it.

You really should be thankin those fellow roster members of yours. When it became evident that you were headin out, there shoulda been a fuckin line of people just fuckin scratchin and clawin for the spot I'm in right now. Honestly tho? You've prolly scared most of them off from tryinta step up to you like that.

It's a damn shame really. Literally anyone would benefit from this kinda match..against this kinda opponent. Prolly not as much of a shame for me cause I'm bouta take this opportunity and make the most of it. Ima take my ass in that ring and for everythin Thad has, I'm gonna step right up into his face and I'm gonna treat him like he's just..another..opponent.

No physical or emotional attachment. No admiration. Just man to man. Doin whatever they hafta do to keep the other down long enough to walk away with what's most important..victory. Lionheart..versus..Little Lion. Only one of us is gonna walk out on top, assumin either of us are gonna be able to.

But either way. Whoever walks out with the W. Whatever hasta be done or said along the way..it all disappears after that bell rings. And we celebrate like only we can. Whatta thing we'll have to celebrate tho. Either you walk away, just as polished and shiny as you've ever been..or we celebrate the biggest win of my entire career. I'll see ya soon, Thaddy.'

Ricky shot a wink before letting a surprisingly smug expression flash across his features just before he ended the recording. Closing out his camera, Ricky pocketed his phone and finished off his joint. Turning to look inside, he saw the three of them, now seated and enjoying their drinks and laughing.

Alessa's smile took him the most off guard. It looked genuine, almost wholesome. The mere sight of it bothered Ricky. What he should have done, what every fiber of his being screamed at him was to just Spider-Man it down the front of the building and haul ass.

But he couldn't. Something he couldn't describe would not let him leave. Instead, Ricky slid that door open and stepped back inside. Instantly, all eyes locked onto him and suddenly he felt like the center of attention. Having that feeling at a show is one thing but in an intimate setting like this, it was unsettling at best.

'Conditions.'

Alessa's eyes lit up as she smiled largely. Bobby did as well, but not nearly as brightly.

'I don't wanna hear not so much as a single fuckin word bout their ways. It's done and over with. That past needs to stay buried, Alessa.'

'That's doable.'

Without even acknowledging Alessa's response, Ricky looked directly at Catherine, the woman who tried so hard to cause problems with him and Sahara. Despite the fact that he recently found out that Alessa had put her up to it, he still didn't feel any better about her.

'And you! Fuckin stop tellin people we're fuckin. That caused so much shit with Sahara, it gave me headache after headache. Like, I know why you did it. I really do. But if you ever..ever step over the line like that again and we will have problems.'

Silently, Cat nodded her head. Ricky looked back and forth between Alessa and Cat. Shaking his head, he walked across that floor and into the kitchen. Grabbing up another handful of shots from that bucket, he made his way back into the living room. Grabbing up that controller, he took a seat on the floor and drank down one of those shots before returning to his game.

'Swear to fuck I better not regret this.'
____________________________________

Tokyo. The site of XWF's March Madness. Ricky Rodriguez stood just outside of the arena that was to house the event. His back facing towards whoever was filming him, Ricky gazed at the building before him. He'd be lying if he didn't feel a bit..in awe at it all.

It was no secret that this was going to be the biggest crowd Ricky had ever wrestled in front of. Just the thought of it had his stomach doing flip after flip in anticipation. He closed his eyes briefly before speaking up.

'Honestly? It's felt like fuckin forever since I joined you and Page out there and laid down that challenge. The days leadin up to this match..it's just felt like they've drug by..so fuckin slowly. But now, standin here, knowin there's no time left..it reallyyy doesn't seem like that long of a time, y'know?

But now we're and it's like..I'm ready. I was able to break through whatever block I had in my head. I managed to get past Jennie and Toddy. I looked Jennie dead in the eye and I put her on her ass. I didn't even feel bad bout it either cause I know it's just..business..'

Ricky turned around, a light smile plastered across his face. He brought those arms up, lacing his hands behind his head, a look of total peace about him.

'I've put..sooo much thought into this. I've mentally prepared myself to do whatever it is that Ima hafta do to keep you down, Thad. If I gotta take you up in the crowd and throw you off a fuckin balcony..then I'm gonna. If I gotta get a chair and follow you around the whole ass arena, beatin the high holy hell outta you..then I'm gonna.

I talked to you a lilbit bout gettin pushed before. That's where I'm at and it's like..that's where I need to be. I need to be able to fully let everythin go and just..go as far as I need to go against you, Thad. And as much as I wanna say it's entirely for me..it's not. It's just as much for you as it is for me, y'know?

I owe it to you to give you the best fight possible and in order to do that..Ima hafta go to a place..mentally..that I haven't been before..a place I'm still not a hundred percent cool with goin. But that's okay. I knew what I signed up for when I stepped into that ring with you.

And sure, I feel this way now..but I know..with my heart of hearts, I know I'm gonna be able to do everythin I need to do. I know..I'm gonna be able to brutalize you. I know I'm gonna be able to take you to your very limits and beyond. I know Ima be able to beat you. The only thing that can stop me..is me.

But like I said..when that bell rings..there is no stoppin until the result is announced. There's gonna be zero hesitation. Zero second guessin. I'm takin this to places I've never been to before. Places I might never go to again after this. Places that I've never exactly wanted to go. All in the name of..competition.'

His fingers released each other as his arms freely fell down to his sides. That smile he wore had faded slightly the more he went on.

'For everythin you've done for me. For the warmth you've extended me. The advice..the support..the care you've given to me. For always havin my back..Ima put you on yours. Not just for the one..not just for the two..but for the whole..ass..count of three. You gonna look up at them stars and you're gonna realize somethin very fuckin important.

You. Were. Wrong. Wrong bout what I can do there. Wrong bout your chances. All the misplaced arrogance. Wrong bout every fuckin bit of it. See, last time I showed you all the respect in the world. I wanted you to know just how I see you..how I feel bout you. But see, I did that..I got that outta the way so I can focus on this.

So I can focus on buildin myself up to be where I needa be to do what I needa do to be successful against you, Thad. I needa be aggressive. I needa be ruthless. I needa think bout all the shitty things that's ever been done to me and channel all of that negative energy.

And I needa unload it cross the side of your fuckin head. Cross your back. Your ribs. Your stomach. I needa get every last bit of that out there and I needa use it against you in all the worst ways. That's what I need to do. That's what I'm gonna do.

I know you're ready, Thad. Least..I know you think you're ready. You prepared for the wrong guy..and I think..deep down..round somewhere in there..you know I'm right. You can doubt..deny..and dismiss all you wanna but when we come face to face here?

You'll know.'

And with that, the filming ended. Alessa lowered her camera, her eyes locked onto Ricky with a sense of gratitude. He noticed it right off the bat but she spoke up before he had the chance to.

'Hey, thank you again. I really needed the work and..I just really appreciate this so much.'

There was a look of skepticism lingering across the face of Ricky that Alessa instantly picked up on. She began packing her camera up, occasionally looking over at Ricky.

'You have every reason to trust me or Cat neither one but I promise you. With the chance you and Bobby are giving me and her, we won't let either one of you down with it. I don't expect you to believe any of it, I really don't. You're going to find out for yourself.'

With that said and her equipment packed away, Alessa walked towards Ricky, closing the distance that was between them. He eyed her cautiously as she stood in front of him. She brought her hand up to rest against his cheek gently.

'I can make this better, I really can.'

Reaching up, Ricky grabbed hold of her by the wrist, pulling her hand from his cheek and shook his head.

'Save it, Alessa.'

Without speaking another word, Ricky walked past her and stepping away entirely, leaving her to carry her own shit. Clearly, she had no problem with it. Nor did she have a problem with Ricky's rejection. Just a hint of a devious grin peeked out across her soft face. She laughed to herself before slipping her backpack on and taking off to follow after Ricky.]]> 'It was just a text, that's all. One I shoulda just pretended I never saw. But nah. He knows my weakness. He knows just how to reel my ass in every damn time. Bobby texted me.'

Hey man, I know you've been pushing hard with everything. You can't push too hard. I got a few different bottles, Fireball, for one. A half ounce of some really good smoke. Come blow some steam off.

'At first, I wasn't gonna. I already had an excuse lined up and everythin. But before I could even type it up, I saw the next message Bobby sent through.'

I got that new Xenoverse 2 DLC.

'Now Bobby? He knew better than anyone bout just how much I loved everythin Dragon Ball. And I mean the OG. Z. Super. GT. Heroes. People can bitch and bicker over canon but goddamn, I love it all! So when Bobby mentioned my drink, the smoke and the new DLC Pack for Xenoverse? I got ready without givin it a second thought.'

Before long, Ricky found himself inside of Bobby's apartment. Already a couple drinks and two bowls deep, Ricky sat cross legged on the couch, his attention focused on the screen in front of him. He was deep in grinding one of the several Parallel Quest the game offered.

'Dude, Full Power Jiren is sucha fuckin beast. Makin these quests too fuckin easy.'

Bobby laughed out as he tossed Ricky one of those single shot bottles of Fireball. He twisted the top off and drank the icy liquid down. Putting the lid back onto it, Ricky set it on the end table next to him. Getting back into the game, Ricky began to realize what Bobby had said about his upcoming matches was entirely true.

He had been killing it in the gym, in every way imaginable, in preparation for the series of matches he had coming up. The Bronx Championship Match against Dave the Dinosaur. Whatever Liberty wants to throw at him. His growing rivalry with Cassie Lopez. But the one that stood out moreso than all the others was his upcoming Falls Count Anywhere Match against Thaddeus Duke.

Ricky knew the match type despite never explicitly having one. The rules were pretty simple though. Win. However. Wherever. Backstage with a chair. Out in the streets with a brick. There literally was almost no rules to this match. Of course, it was weighing heavy on Ricky's mind.

At this point, it wasn't even who his opponent was that tugged at his mind. It was the potential brutality that was involved. Ricky wasn't an expert at those kind of matches, to say the least, so it was definitely going to be a learning experience. And like..how can you prepare for a match like that? Do you just go around, hittin people with kendo sticks and shit like that.

All Ricky could do was shake his head at the thought. As the night rolled on and Ricky continued to grind through that game, his little stack of empty shot bottles grew larger and larger. Then there was that knock at the door. Ricky perked up, albeit a little confused, curious at who it could be. The look Bobby gave him should've told Ricky all he needed to know.

He watched as Bobby went to answer the door and his heart fell into his stomach when he saw Alessa and Catherine step into that apartment. With a shake of his head, Ricky didn't attempt to mask his displeasure.

'Fuuuuckkk.'

Pausing that game, Ricky got up to his feet, even with only a minor amount of stumble. Bobby was quick to walk up to Ricky with his hands up, hopefully trying to stop him from leaving.

'Bobby..what the fuck?!'

'Ricky, man, just hear me out.'

For just a couple moments, there was a silence between the two. It was only broken when Ricky looked at Bobby expectantly.

'Oh, I just..expected more resistance.'

Bobby laughed and quickly waved off the notion.

'Bobby..'

'She's not about..that..anymore. After everything happened, she realized how stupid it was to try and pursue. She..they're both going through a tough spot right now. You know she wouldn't turn away either one of us if we were in her shoes.'

Ricky looked as if he was going to say something but instead chose not to. He grabbed up a lighter and a half smoked joint before slipping out to the balcony, closing the sliding glass door behind him. Lighting up that joint, he took a long hit off of it before turning around and seeing Bobby, Alessa, and Catherine talking amongst themselves.

He didn't even really care what they were talking about. Instead, he was having a hard enough time of just processing what was going on. He should feel livid, betrayed even, that this was going on like it was..but he wasn't. His mind was miles away..almost seven thousand of them.

An annoyed sigh rolled free from behind the lips of Ricky. With his free hand, he slicked his hair back and took another hit. Setting up the little prop up thing on his phone case, he positioned it so it could pick him up. Ricky hit the screen a couple times, starting to record himself.

Shaking his head slowly, Ricky brought his free hand up to rub down his face, sighing into it. The usual childlike demeanor of Ricky was mostly absent at this point as he began to speak up.

'Y'know what bothers me the most bout you, Thad. Bout this whole fuckin situation? You're so sure..you're so fuckin sure that you're just gonna come in and fuckin run me. I mean, beat my ass from corner to corner. Now, I'm not sure if it's some act..some way to try and get up under my skin..inside my head.

And that's fine. Really, it is. There's alottabit of different reasons you're doin it too. Like..maybe you're tryinta push me. Y'know? Like you're tryinta push me to do somethin I usually wouldn't do..push me to act in a way I totally don't act. But it's not goin down like that. I'm not gonna let my head get the best of me, not this time, not anymore.'

The young Ricky feigned a look of deep thought. His free hand stroking his own chin as if he was in deep thought. Those usually bright eyes lit up even more as another idea seemingly struck his mind.

'But what if that isn't the reason? What if..like..you feel like you need that kinda advantage goin into this. See, neither one of us knows just what I'm capable of in this kinda match. I mean, sure I've swung a couple chairs before, maybe some ladder or table work, but this is a wholeee new game, Thad.

And you know that. In that..Lionheart..of yours..you know damn well what is very fuckin possible. You hear bout it damn near every..day. It literally happens all the time. And it's always..the nice ones. The ones who wear their heart on their sleeve. The ones who just..wanna be themselves. They get pushed..and pushed..and pushed.

Then they snap. They lose their fuckin minds and that never ends up well..for anyone. You've seen the news reports. The fuckin droves of neighbors lookin to get their voice out there..

He was sucha nice boy.

Somethin musta happened. I honestly believe he never woulda hurt a fly.

Maybe that just goes to show you you never really know what's goin on with someone.

I'd be lyin if I said I didn't feel like snappin..at least..once a day. March Madness could..very well..be that moment. Not too many more pieces of straw can fit on this camel's back, Thad. I really don't know how much more I can take before I just..boom.'

Placing that joint securely between his lips, he placed his hands together before bringing them outwards to imitate an explosion.

'And the most fucked up thing bout it all is that..it's not even your fault. Like outside of tryinta get to me before this match, you've legit done nothin wrong to me. But it's like you told me..it's just business. And sure, it mighta had a lilbit of a push..but business is why we're here. Business is why Ima hafta kick your ass in every way imaginable.

It's gonna be everythin you ever coulda wanted, Thad. That's what you wanna see, ain't it? For me to finally break through that glass ceilin and fuckin fly higher than I've ever flown before. Now, I'm sure you never wanted it to be done at your expense, but we gotta play the hand we're dealt sometimes, y'know? As shitty as it might be, this is how it is and I'm gonna make the most of it.

You really should be thankin those fellow roster members of yours. When it became evident that you were headin out, there shoulda been a fuckin line of people just fuckin scratchin and clawin for the spot I'm in right now. Honestly tho? You've prolly scared most of them off from tryinta step up to you like that.

It's a damn shame really. Literally anyone would benefit from this kinda match..against this kinda opponent. Prolly not as much of a shame for me cause I'm bouta take this opportunity and make the most of it. Ima take my ass in that ring and for everythin Thad has, I'm gonna step right up into his face and I'm gonna treat him like he's just..another..opponent.

No physical or emotional attachment. No admiration. Just man to man. Doin whatever they hafta do to keep the other down long enough to walk away with what's most important..victory. Lionheart..versus..Little Lion. Only one of us is gonna walk out on top, assumin either of us are gonna be able to.

But either way. Whoever walks out with the W. Whatever hasta be done or said along the way..it all disappears after that bell rings. And we celebrate like only we can. Whatta thing we'll have to celebrate tho. Either you walk away, just as polished and shiny as you've ever been..or we celebrate the biggest win of my entire career. I'll see ya soon, Thaddy.'

Ricky shot a wink before letting a surprisingly smug expression flash across his features just before he ended the recording. Closing out his camera, Ricky pocketed his phone and finished off his joint. Turning to look inside, he saw the three of them, now seated and enjoying their drinks and laughing.

Alessa's smile took him the most off guard. It looked genuine, almost wholesome. The mere sight of it bothered Ricky. What he should have done, what every fiber of his being screamed at him was to just Spider-Man it down the front of the building and haul ass.

But he couldn't. Something he couldn't describe would not let him leave. Instead, Ricky slid that door open and stepped back inside. Instantly, all eyes locked onto him and suddenly he felt like the center of attention. Having that feeling at a show is one thing but in an intimate setting like this, it was unsettling at best.

'Conditions.'

Alessa's eyes lit up as she smiled largely. Bobby did as well, but not nearly as brightly.

'I don't wanna hear not so much as a single fuckin word bout their ways. It's done and over with. That past needs to stay buried, Alessa.'

'That's doable.'

Without even acknowledging Alessa's response, Ricky looked directly at Catherine, the woman who tried so hard to cause problems with him and Sahara. Despite the fact that he recently found out that Alessa had put her up to it, he still didn't feel any better about her.

'And you! Fuckin stop tellin people we're fuckin. That caused so much shit with Sahara, it gave me headache after headache. Like, I know why you did it. I really do. But if you ever..ever step over the line like that again and we will have problems.'

Silently, Cat nodded her head. Ricky looked back and forth between Alessa and Cat. Shaking his head, he walked across that floor and into the kitchen. Grabbing up another handful of shots from that bucket, he made his way back into the living room. Grabbing up that controller, he took a seat on the floor and drank down one of those shots before returning to his game.

'Swear to fuck I better not regret this.'
____________________________________

Tokyo. The site of XWF's March Madness. Ricky Rodriguez stood just outside of the arena that was to house the event. His back facing towards whoever was filming him, Ricky gazed at the building before him. He'd be lying if he didn't feel a bit..in awe at it all.

It was no secret that this was going to be the biggest crowd Ricky had ever wrestled in front of. Just the thought of it had his stomach doing flip after flip in anticipation. He closed his eyes briefly before speaking up.

'Honestly? It's felt like fuckin forever since I joined you and Page out there and laid down that challenge. The days leadin up to this match..it's just felt like they've drug by..so fuckin slowly. But now, standin here, knowin there's no time left..it reallyyy doesn't seem like that long of a time, y'know?

But now we're and it's like..I'm ready. I was able to break through whatever block I had in my head. I managed to get past Jennie and Toddy. I looked Jennie dead in the eye and I put her on her ass. I didn't even feel bad bout it either cause I know it's just..business..'

Ricky turned around, a light smile plastered across his face. He brought those arms up, lacing his hands behind his head, a look of total peace about him.

'I've put..sooo much thought into this. I've mentally prepared myself to do whatever it is that Ima hafta do to keep you down, Thad. If I gotta take you up in the crowd and throw you off a fuckin balcony..then I'm gonna. If I gotta get a chair and follow you around the whole ass arena, beatin the high holy hell outta you..then I'm gonna.

I talked to you a lilbit bout gettin pushed before. That's where I'm at and it's like..that's where I need to be. I need to be able to fully let everythin go and just..go as far as I need to go against you, Thad. And as much as I wanna say it's entirely for me..it's not. It's just as much for you as it is for me, y'know?

I owe it to you to give you the best fight possible and in order to do that..Ima hafta go to a place..mentally..that I haven't been before..a place I'm still not a hundred percent cool with goin. But that's okay. I knew what I signed up for when I stepped into that ring with you.

And sure, I feel this way now..but I know..with my heart of hearts, I know I'm gonna be able to do everythin I need to do. I know..I'm gonna be able to brutalize you. I know I'm gonna be able to take you to your very limits and beyond. I know Ima be able to beat you. The only thing that can stop me..is me.

But like I said..when that bell rings..there is no stoppin until the result is announced. There's gonna be zero hesitation. Zero second guessin. I'm takin this to places I've never been to before. Places I might never go to again after this. Places that I've never exactly wanted to go. All in the name of..competition.'

His fingers released each other as his arms freely fell down to his sides. That smile he wore had faded slightly the more he went on.

'For everythin you've done for me. For the warmth you've extended me. The advice..the support..the care you've given to me. For always havin my back..Ima put you on yours. Not just for the one..not just for the two..but for the whole..ass..count of three. You gonna look up at them stars and you're gonna realize somethin very fuckin important.

You. Were. Wrong. Wrong bout what I can do there. Wrong bout your chances. All the misplaced arrogance. Wrong bout every fuckin bit of it. See, last time I showed you all the respect in the world. I wanted you to know just how I see you..how I feel bout you. But see, I did that..I got that outta the way so I can focus on this.

So I can focus on buildin myself up to be where I needa be to do what I needa do to be successful against you, Thad. I needa be aggressive. I needa be ruthless. I needa think bout all the shitty things that's ever been done to me and channel all of that negative energy.

And I needa unload it cross the side of your fuckin head. Cross your back. Your ribs. Your stomach. I needa get every last bit of that out there and I needa use it against you in all the worst ways. That's what I need to do. That's what I'm gonna do.

I know you're ready, Thad. Least..I know you think you're ready. You prepared for the wrong guy..and I think..deep down..round somewhere in there..you know I'm right. You can doubt..deny..and dismiss all you wanna but when we come face to face here?

You'll know.'

And with that, the filming ended. Alessa lowered her camera, her eyes locked onto Ricky with a sense of gratitude. He noticed it right off the bat but she spoke up before he had the chance to.

'Hey, thank you again. I really needed the work and..I just really appreciate this so much.'

There was a look of skepticism lingering across the face of Ricky that Alessa instantly picked up on. She began packing her camera up, occasionally looking over at Ricky.

'You have every reason to trust me or Cat neither one but I promise you. With the chance you and Bobby are giving me and her, we won't let either one of you down with it. I don't expect you to believe any of it, I really don't. You're going to find out for yourself.'

With that said and her equipment packed away, Alessa walked towards Ricky, closing the distance that was between them. He eyed her cautiously as she stood in front of him. She brought her hand up to rest against his cheek gently.

'I can make this better, I really can.'

Reaching up, Ricky grabbed hold of her by the wrist, pulling her hand from his cheek and shook his head.

'Save it, Alessa.'

Without speaking another word, Ricky walked past her and stepping away entirely, leaving her to carry her own shit. Clearly, she had no problem with it. Nor did she have a problem with Ricky's rejection. Just a hint of a devious grin peeked out across her soft face. She laughed to herself before slipping her backpack on and taking off to follow after Ricky.]]> <![CDATA[Reflections]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43254 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 21:45:16 -0700 "Venom" Xavier Lux]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43254 It’s been a while since we have seen Xavier Lux in XWF, not since the Denzel Porter Invitational where he and his fellow Exiles members fell to Genesis. Well, that event was all for fun, and it’s now time to get back to business and the business is his second pay-per-view appearance against yet another newcomer. We all know how it went for him last time, spring boarding a young lion into success that really should have been Xavier's, but it wasn't meant to be just yet. But to say he is looking to redeem himself after falling short is a huge understatement. Speaking of looking, we find him walking down the corridors of a very bus hospital by himself, in his usual street clothes, which includes a CCPE black t-shirt. The COVID pandemic might be dying out but you couldn't tell in this hospital and besides, if it's not a world-wide-spread-decease it is always something else. The busy bees of the hospital don't seem to bother with Xavier and he doesn't bother them, he is clearly focused on what he is looking for. After a turn here and there, he gets to the room he is looking for and waits a moment before knocking; clearly having second thoughts about the person he is here to see. He finally makes a decision and decides to stay, knocking on the door, and after a few moments of silence, someone from inside tells him to come in and he quickly opens the door and walks inside. The room is nothing special, just a single occupancy room, there is a man laying on a bed with a neck brace on as well as a sling in his badly bruised right arm, his torso is heavily taped. The man is looking out the window, and we can see he has a few cuts in his forehead and cheekbone. The view of the room is a nice one, trees as far as the eye can see, all coming back to life as spring is almost here. There is a large lake to the right, a couple of sailboats drifting about and the sun is slowly setting behind the mountains off in the distance. Xavier walks around the bed and instead of looking at the man in the bed, he too stares at the sunset, takes a deep breath, and then begins talking.
Things haven’t gone how I wanted them to go.

No answer from the man in the bed.

Things have gone exactly how most of the XWF roster that knew who I was expected them to.

Again, no answer.

A big fish in a small pond…

This time the man on the bed speaks.

…coming to drown in the vast sea that is XWF.

Xavier turns to face the man.

It’s been said to death.

Xavier nods and then turns back to look out the window.

By them, by me, but regardless of who said it, facts are facts.

The man on the bed just grunts.

I feel like I have been in XWF for quite a while now but only have four matches under my belt, five if you count the Denzel Porter invitational and I don’t. That was an exhibition match, three on three, for charity, for showcasing, for the fans, whatever. I didn’t get pinned… I didn’t get the win either, but it was what it was…. Four matches nonetheless and I am two and two.

So why does it feel like it’s 2-20?


The man on the bed says with pain in his voice. Xavier hangs his head and puts his hands in his pockets but doesn’t answer.

Damn.

Maybe because I always expect the best out of me, and for me, if I am not winning convincingly, then not only do I see myself not as the best, not even good enough but as a lowly piece of indie shit that can’t hack it in the big time anymore.

NLW feels like a century ago.

It’s only two losses, good grief man, get a hold of yourself. You see me broken down here, I got just as many losses as you in TPW.

But you got two more wins than me.

It’s only 2 losses, and against great talent, you know this. Speak their name, speak their truths.

Fine. One of them is a former XWF Universal champion who is fighting Peter Vaughn at the same pay per view to regain said title. The other, the young lion who went on a tear, wasn’t quite ready for the TV championship yet but is in the final four of a tournament that-

That you didn’t want to be a part of. Coward.

I'm not afraid. But clearly, I'm not ready either.

Still, those are 2 good losses.

There is no such thing.

Fine, you lost. You live, you lose, you learn, move on.

To what? More losses?

Stop being a little drama queen, bitch.


Xavier turns to face him again, and this time walks up to him until he is bedside. He looks down at him, clearly stung by the last few words but deep down he knows he is right.

Drama queen huh? Who’s the one laying on a hospital bed all banged up after one little fall from the top of a cage?

You are... little bitch.


Xavier is taken back by this and then blinks rapidly, as if struggling to see all the sudden. He shakes his head, and refocuses, he looks back down at the man on the bed and he now realizes he is indeed the one on the bed, just not quite him, his other self, his TPW self.

Do you see me now?

I do.

So you know what the problem is right?

Trying to be two different personalities when I’m only one man.

Bingo. Stop trying to be that man you think they want in TPW and the man you think they want here in XWF. Just be yourself, regardless of where you are.

Be Xavier Lux.

Be the Venom, poison all these motherfuckers.

Fuck them all?

Each and every one.


Xavier nods at himself and he nods back. He walks away from the bed and heads for the door, but as he gets there, he takes a look back and sees nothing but an empty bed. He smirks, grabs a leather bag from a chair nearby which has his belongings and leaves the room and the hospital all together.
So here I am being thrown in another “falls count anywhere” match.

Because I did so well last time, right?

As if going to war with Elias all over the place last time wasn’t enough, now I gotta do it all over again with a complete unknown in my second pay-per-view ever with this promotion.

Well not completely unknown, I do know we’re both part of CCPE so that means Chris Page must think he’s a good wrestler and a helluva talent because let’s be honest; Page doesn’t align himself with just anyone. Chris knows talent, his enterprise is full of it, even if most of them are assholes. I wonder if Mac Bane is an asshole? Based on his little promo at Warfare, he is, but I digress. But as we saw at the Denzel Porter Invitational, being part of the same group, or enterprise in this case means absolutely nothing. Once we step into the ring against each other and the bell rings, anything fucking goes. Hell, even before getting into the ring those guys got very personal attacking me saying all kinds of stuff about me from the past, from the present. Saying they knew exactly who I am and the kind of impact I’m making or lack thereof. All kinds of stuff really, nothing was off limits, so I shouldn’t expect less or no different from my current opponent.

But let me tell you, honestly, whatever Mac got to say it really means nothing.

Regardless of if it’s Elias or this guy or somebody else, I will bring the same fight to each and every one of my opponents. Sometimes I do well you know, sometimes I don’t and lately in XWF it just hasn’t gone my way but I’m still gonna keep bringing it so Mac can expect a damn good fight and we can start it in the ring, or in the CCPE VIP lounge or we can start it anywhere else but at the pay-per-view there is definitely going to be a hell of a fight because frankly I’m tired of losing and if me winning a match has to come at the expense of CCPE member will then so be it.

I know booking this match is not Chris’ doing because we all know Theo Pryce wants to take down CCPE after what has been going down lately in the Warfare show. He saw an opening and he took it, booking members of the same group against each other to despite Page. Yeah, Page should have known better than to leave that opening for Pryce, but whatever, what is done and done, and Theo could have picked any member of CCPE but he must have had his reasons for picking me. But honestly, regardless of what those reasons are or what he thinks would come about from this match, it simply will be nothing more than a good old fashion fight, a CCPE showcase that will steal the show. He thinks he is going to put a crack in CCPE? Nah, he’s just going to make it stronger.

Still, I know that dude Bane is gonna try to come in and make a big impact on his first match just like Raion Kiddo did on his first match against me at the last pay-per-view where he was a last-minute add-on. But not Mac, Chris has made sure he’s being advertised in every which way possible. He’s making his big debut and expectations are high, they have seen what he can do against the likes of Vinnie Lane and now they want to see what he can do against someone like me. I know he wants to impress Chris Page and show him that the faith that he has put in him is warranted. Well guess what world? I want to show Chris Page that he wasn’t mistaken when he added me to his enterprise either. I know he has given me his vote of confidence despite my last two losses, and I know the result of this one won’t change a damn thing but I need to start pulling my weight in CCPE and since there is no way out of this match, I gotta show up and show out.

Both Bane and I have a lot riding on this match, and if I’m honest, me more than him, specially because it is a falls counts anywhere match.

You know normally I would say that this type of environment is perfect for me because I thrive in this type of matches. I’m all about the hardcore style, I’m all about wrestling that to the extreme but the truth of the matter is I just had this very type of match against Elias where I proved that was not the case. I didn’t win, and it’s not that I lost terribly, I mean I gave him a good match, he can’t just say he walked over me or that it was a walk in a park. But at the end of the day, the bottom line is that he won, he got the W so I can’t use that to boast anymore. People have seen what I can do in a falls count anywhere match and now they know that I’m not the best at it so I gotta use this match with Mac Bane as an opportunity to redeem myself. Maybe that’s why Theo Pryce put me in the match, maybe not so much as to mess with Chris but to give me another chance. Maybe, I doubt it, but maybe.

So, I gotta use this match as a way to show him, the roster and the crowd that, yeah what you saw last time was not enough to win but that’s not all I got. I got so much more in the tank, I got a lot more moves in my arsenal and if anything, the last match proved to me was that I need to step it up a notch. I need to be more hardcore, I need to be more extreme, and I need to really take it to the next level because otherwise I’m not gonna come away with a w and I need that W. Again, I know I’m only two and two, it’s not the end of the world if I don’t win but every win is so important in XWF, every win is so big and having losses is even bigger so I can’t do that to myself. I cannot lose three matches in a row and really that’s what really grinds my gears more than anything. It’s not the fact that I’ve lost twice but that I lost twice in a row and I’m looking at three now which is something I have never done in my career, it’s something that I’m not used to and granted the talent level that I’m facing in XWF is probably some of the best wrestlers I’ve ever had to face. You’ve seen what Raion Kiddo can do, everyone knows what Alias is all about, former universal champion, blah-blah-blah. Mac Bane is a current SCW world heavyweight champion and from the looks of him, one tough hombre. A big man at six-foot-six, that describes himself as a big ball of intensity.

So yeah, these matches are bigger, that much more important and I need to get a dub and no, I’m not doing it to prove it to the fans. I’m not doing it to prove it to all the wrestlers that were running their mouth about me and still can’t keep my name out of their mouths. Nah, I’m doing it for me alone, I need this W I need to get back on the winning column and refocus myself in XWF because as hard as it might be to believe, I want to be in XWF.

During this whole time I’ve been off from this promotion, I kept asking myself what am I doing here? Why did I come to this federation? What do I want to achieve and I know a lot of people are asking those question as well. They’re like, “oh he came to XWF, that’s great, he’s here finally, now what is he gonna do? What or who is he going to go after?” I honestly didn’t know, but now I do: I want to succeed in XWF.

So I need to win, that’s all that matters right now, get that W against Mac Bane and the rest will follow.]]> It’s been a while since we have seen Xavier Lux in XWF, not since the Denzel Porter Invitational where he and his fellow Exiles members fell to Genesis. Well, that event was all for fun, and it’s now time to get back to business and the business is his second pay-per-view appearance against yet another newcomer. We all know how it went for him last time, spring boarding a young lion into success that really should have been Xavier's, but it wasn't meant to be just yet. But to say he is looking to redeem himself after falling short is a huge understatement. Speaking of looking, we find him walking down the corridors of a very bus hospital by himself, in his usual street clothes, which includes a CCPE black t-shirt. The COVID pandemic might be dying out but you couldn't tell in this hospital and besides, if it's not a world-wide-spread-decease it is always something else. The busy bees of the hospital don't seem to bother with Xavier and he doesn't bother them, he is clearly focused on what he is looking for. After a turn here and there, he gets to the room he is looking for and waits a moment before knocking; clearly having second thoughts about the person he is here to see. He finally makes a decision and decides to stay, knocking on the door, and after a few moments of silence, someone from inside tells him to come in and he quickly opens the door and walks inside. The room is nothing special, just a single occupancy room, there is a man laying on a bed with a neck brace on as well as a sling in his badly bruised right arm, his torso is heavily taped. The man is looking out the window, and we can see he has a few cuts in his forehead and cheekbone. The view of the room is a nice one, trees as far as the eye can see, all coming back to life as spring is almost here. There is a large lake to the right, a couple of sailboats drifting about and the sun is slowly setting behind the mountains off in the distance. Xavier walks around the bed and instead of looking at the man in the bed, he too stares at the sunset, takes a deep breath, and then begins talking.
Things haven’t gone how I wanted them to go.

No answer from the man in the bed.

Things have gone exactly how most of the XWF roster that knew who I was expected them to.

Again, no answer.

A big fish in a small pond…

This time the man on the bed speaks.

…coming to drown in the vast sea that is XWF.

Xavier turns to face the man.

It’s been said to death.

Xavier nods and then turns back to look out the window.

By them, by me, but regardless of who said it, facts are facts.

The man on the bed just grunts.

I feel like I have been in XWF for quite a while now but only have four matches under my belt, five if you count the Denzel Porter invitational and I don’t. That was an exhibition match, three on three, for charity, for showcasing, for the fans, whatever. I didn’t get pinned… I didn’t get the win either, but it was what it was…. Four matches nonetheless and I am two and two.

So why does it feel like it’s 2-20?


The man on the bed says with pain in his voice. Xavier hangs his head and puts his hands in his pockets but doesn’t answer.

Damn.

Maybe because I always expect the best out of me, and for me, if I am not winning convincingly, then not only do I see myself not as the best, not even good enough but as a lowly piece of indie shit that can’t hack it in the big time anymore.

NLW feels like a century ago.

It’s only two losses, good grief man, get a hold of yourself. You see me broken down here, I got just as many losses as you in TPW.

But you got two more wins than me.

It’s only 2 losses, and against great talent, you know this. Speak their name, speak their truths.

Fine. One of them is a former XWF Universal champion who is fighting Peter Vaughn at the same pay per view to regain said title. The other, the young lion who went on a tear, wasn’t quite ready for the TV championship yet but is in the final four of a tournament that-

That you didn’t want to be a part of. Coward.

I'm not afraid. But clearly, I'm not ready either.

Still, those are 2 good losses.

There is no such thing.

Fine, you lost. You live, you lose, you learn, move on.

To what? More losses?

Stop being a little drama queen, bitch.


Xavier turns to face him again, and this time walks up to him until he is bedside. He looks down at him, clearly stung by the last few words but deep down he knows he is right.

Drama queen huh? Who’s the one laying on a hospital bed all banged up after one little fall from the top of a cage?

You are... little bitch.


Xavier is taken back by this and then blinks rapidly, as if struggling to see all the sudden. He shakes his head, and refocuses, he looks back down at the man on the bed and he now realizes he is indeed the one on the bed, just not quite him, his other self, his TPW self.

Do you see me now?

I do.

So you know what the problem is right?

Trying to be two different personalities when I’m only one man.

Bingo. Stop trying to be that man you think they want in TPW and the man you think they want here in XWF. Just be yourself, regardless of where you are.

Be Xavier Lux.

Be the Venom, poison all these motherfuckers.

Fuck them all?

Each and every one.


Xavier nods at himself and he nods back. He walks away from the bed and heads for the door, but as he gets there, he takes a look back and sees nothing but an empty bed. He smirks, grabs a leather bag from a chair nearby which has his belongings and leaves the room and the hospital all together.
So here I am being thrown in another “falls count anywhere” match.

Because I did so well last time, right?

As if going to war with Elias all over the place last time wasn’t enough, now I gotta do it all over again with a complete unknown in my second pay-per-view ever with this promotion.

Well not completely unknown, I do know we’re both part of CCPE so that means Chris Page must think he’s a good wrestler and a helluva talent because let’s be honest; Page doesn’t align himself with just anyone. Chris knows talent, his enterprise is full of it, even if most of them are assholes. I wonder if Mac Bane is an asshole? Based on his little promo at Warfare, he is, but I digress. But as we saw at the Denzel Porter Invitational, being part of the same group, or enterprise in this case means absolutely nothing. Once we step into the ring against each other and the bell rings, anything fucking goes. Hell, even before getting into the ring those guys got very personal attacking me saying all kinds of stuff about me from the past, from the present. Saying they knew exactly who I am and the kind of impact I’m making or lack thereof. All kinds of stuff really, nothing was off limits, so I shouldn’t expect less or no different from my current opponent.

But let me tell you, honestly, whatever Mac got to say it really means nothing.

Regardless of if it’s Elias or this guy or somebody else, I will bring the same fight to each and every one of my opponents. Sometimes I do well you know, sometimes I don’t and lately in XWF it just hasn’t gone my way but I’m still gonna keep bringing it so Mac can expect a damn good fight and we can start it in the ring, or in the CCPE VIP lounge or we can start it anywhere else but at the pay-per-view there is definitely going to be a hell of a fight because frankly I’m tired of losing and if me winning a match has to come at the expense of CCPE member will then so be it.

I know booking this match is not Chris’ doing because we all know Theo Pryce wants to take down CCPE after what has been going down lately in the Warfare show. He saw an opening and he took it, booking members of the same group against each other to despite Page. Yeah, Page should have known better than to leave that opening for Pryce, but whatever, what is done and done, and Theo could have picked any member of CCPE but he must have had his reasons for picking me. But honestly, regardless of what those reasons are or what he thinks would come about from this match, it simply will be nothing more than a good old fashion fight, a CCPE showcase that will steal the show. He thinks he is going to put a crack in CCPE? Nah, he’s just going to make it stronger.

Still, I know that dude Bane is gonna try to come in and make a big impact on his first match just like Raion Kiddo did on his first match against me at the last pay-per-view where he was a last-minute add-on. But not Mac, Chris has made sure he’s being advertised in every which way possible. He’s making his big debut and expectations are high, they have seen what he can do against the likes of Vinnie Lane and now they want to see what he can do against someone like me. I know he wants to impress Chris Page and show him that the faith that he has put in him is warranted. Well guess what world? I want to show Chris Page that he wasn’t mistaken when he added me to his enterprise either. I know he has given me his vote of confidence despite my last two losses, and I know the result of this one won’t change a damn thing but I need to start pulling my weight in CCPE and since there is no way out of this match, I gotta show up and show out.

Both Bane and I have a lot riding on this match, and if I’m honest, me more than him, specially because it is a falls counts anywhere match.

You know normally I would say that this type of environment is perfect for me because I thrive in this type of matches. I’m all about the hardcore style, I’m all about wrestling that to the extreme but the truth of the matter is I just had this very type of match against Elias where I proved that was not the case. I didn’t win, and it’s not that I lost terribly, I mean I gave him a good match, he can’t just say he walked over me or that it was a walk in a park. But at the end of the day, the bottom line is that he won, he got the W so I can’t use that to boast anymore. People have seen what I can do in a falls count anywhere match and now they know that I’m not the best at it so I gotta use this match with Mac Bane as an opportunity to redeem myself. Maybe that’s why Theo Pryce put me in the match, maybe not so much as to mess with Chris but to give me another chance. Maybe, I doubt it, but maybe.

So, I gotta use this match as a way to show him, the roster and the crowd that, yeah what you saw last time was not enough to win but that’s not all I got. I got so much more in the tank, I got a lot more moves in my arsenal and if anything, the last match proved to me was that I need to step it up a notch. I need to be more hardcore, I need to be more extreme, and I need to really take it to the next level because otherwise I’m not gonna come away with a w and I need that W. Again, I know I’m only two and two, it’s not the end of the world if I don’t win but every win is so important in XWF, every win is so big and having losses is even bigger so I can’t do that to myself. I cannot lose three matches in a row and really that’s what really grinds my gears more than anything. It’s not the fact that I’ve lost twice but that I lost twice in a row and I’m looking at three now which is something I have never done in my career, it’s something that I’m not used to and granted the talent level that I’m facing in XWF is probably some of the best wrestlers I’ve ever had to face. You’ve seen what Raion Kiddo can do, everyone knows what Alias is all about, former universal champion, blah-blah-blah. Mac Bane is a current SCW world heavyweight champion and from the looks of him, one tough hombre. A big man at six-foot-six, that describes himself as a big ball of intensity.

So yeah, these matches are bigger, that much more important and I need to get a dub and no, I’m not doing it to prove it to the fans. I’m not doing it to prove it to all the wrestlers that were running their mouth about me and still can’t keep my name out of their mouths. Nah, I’m doing it for me alone, I need this W I need to get back on the winning column and refocus myself in XWF because as hard as it might be to believe, I want to be in XWF.

During this whole time I’ve been off from this promotion, I kept asking myself what am I doing here? Why did I come to this federation? What do I want to achieve and I know a lot of people are asking those question as well. They’re like, “oh he came to XWF, that’s great, he’s here finally, now what is he gonna do? What or who is he going to go after?” I honestly didn’t know, but now I do: I want to succeed in XWF.

So I need to win, that’s all that matters right now, get that W against Mac Bane and the rest will follow.]]> <![CDATA[The Welcome to Otherworld Saga #3: A Glimpse of The End]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43253 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 21:17:50 -0700 ALIAS]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43253



                                                                                                                              































































[Image: GjxMYzt.jpg]




”In a perfectly normal Otherworld full of danger, disaster, and dastardly deer dangling demonic dicks adorned with with deadly daggers - the latter of which is completely unrelated to the folly of this fable but felt pertinent to mention nonetheless - the rats race against the clock. They did all of the things that they thought they needed to do, and brought to this world a visitor in whom they saw a sliver of hope. That sort of folly is a common flaw in the feeble minds of the mortal folk, and I have been quite happy to allow them to follow their tails down whatever path it may take them. They thought, even, that they had understood the measure of this means of communication. I have been leveraging this for months, and yet the girl thinks it sufficient to merely waltz on in and take things over as she sees fit?

Nay.

It was nothing more than an illusion that the girl thought she had overthrown back in the visitor’s November. Passing on her ‘knowledge’ to the Smith and Flynn lads, they thought themselves geniuses when they finally broke through and were able to summon their supposed saviour.

But this story already has a happy ending.

I am The High Lord.

I am salvation.

And I am in control here.

Anything you can do, I can do better.”





3A: The Dark Tower

Unknown.
The year 2040.

~~The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.~~

He had drawn the analogy between himself and this gunslinger several times before, and yet he had never even met a man named Roland. It was a strange thought to cross into his head at this moment - not at the beginning or the end, but right here in the middle. Still, it had never felt more fitting than now. With every surging step he took, a shadow of his own making dashed before him across the wasteland. The rising sun cast its early morning glow from behind, framing his silhouette as he rose over another featureless ridge.

The barren land seemed to extend infinitely into the distance. He knew that couldn't be true, but the desert wanted him to believe it. Its warm currents lolled up towards the crest and teased him with a permanence and consistency that he had long dreamed of. In that moment, standing on high and looking down on the seared landscape, it wasn't just the desert that wanted him to believe in it. He wanted it too. But in his heart, he knew.

Heavy breathing comes up on his side. He looks to his left and sees Frankie Duke struggling under the weight of his MOLLE as he reaches the top of the elevation. To his right, the North Korean War Criminal joins Frankie and the World-Beater, and only a few seconds later, the Daughter of ALIAS slips silently onto the peak.

"Everyone okay?" ALIAS asks, checking in on his companions. They had been travelling all night, following a map provided to them by The Witness. How The Witness came into possession of it, he didn’t know. It reminded him of the map his salmon-coloured friend had provided for him a whole year ago. That had been the genesis of his quest to understand himself, and he hoped that similar answers would be found through this one.

"Affirmative, Comrade ALIAS," the War Criminal says. His cheeks are flushed and his muscles strained, but there's a rare delight upon his face as he serves his Dear Leader.

"Frankie?" While he knows NK wouldn't admit his struggles - he probably doesn't even view himself as legitimately struggling - the young Duke is more giving with his emotions. In between gasps of dry air, he empties a couple of drops of water from a canteen into his mouth.

"I'll be fine," Frankie says, trying to regain himself.

"We need to press on." Eyes fall on the terrain again.





Vast.






Expansive.






Indefinite.






Everywhere they look, the same parched dirt braces itself for another long and laborious day of war against the looming sun.

"Are we sure we are going in the right direction?" Frankie asks. "We've been travelling all night."

"Over the course of the night, we went off course on twelve and three-quarter occasions," NK proudly answers.

"How was there three-q–"

"I, of course, was able to get us back on track without any trouble," he beams. Frankie and ALIAS side-eye one another. "The looks on your faces confirms my suspicion that you did not even notice. Fortunate that I was with you! I once navigated my way through an IKEA and avoided the living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, office, children's, outdoors, marketplace AND warehouse sections!"

"So… just the cafeteria?" Frankie wonders.

"Wait, IKEA is still a thing?" The Bastard-Tamer chimes in.

"Naturally," NK says. "It is the most efficient place to purchase DIY weaponry."

"...what section are those in?"

"Children's, of course!" NK looks at Frankie as if their associate has lost his mind, but Frankie is focused on ALIAS. His shaking head tells the visitor to drop the subject, and though he chuckles a little to himself, he ultimately follows the prompt.

"There!"

The North Korean War Queen, Paritegi, points out over the arid plains. She stands with one foot on a small rocky outcrop, staring into the distance. On her back, her dual swords crossover one another. A tiny sliver of steel on each of them catches the morning light and reflects it back at the trio who stand behind her. On her face, she wears the same featureless white mask that she had on each mission that her once-father had seen her on. He had seen the face underneath - she had let him in on her closely guarded secret! But Frankie Duke did not know who she was, and if NK did, he didn’t seem to care. She was the North Korean War Queen, a title earned as the daughter of the great unifier. And out here in the ravaged world, she was something even more.

A myth.

"What do you see?" her former guardian steps up beside her and tries to follow her field of vision. Since the moment that she unmasked to him, he had tried to find whatever opportunity that he could to get close to her. He wanted to know everything: where her grandmother had taken her; how she got the scar over her eye; when she wound up linking up with The Exiles of this time; who The Witness was, if she even knew! Everything. More than that, even, he just wanted to spend time with her. Get to know her. Hear her laugh again.

She never laughed.

"Movement," she says simply, still fixed on some point ahead.

"You heard the lady," ALIAS said, glancing back at the other two. "Let’s get moving!"

~~The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.~~

But not alone.

From afar the four of them look like nothing but tiny specks of lint blowing along a dusty floor. Within the spaces between them, however, an unseen energy bonds them like atoms in an unnamed molecule of reality. Together they rise from an awkward amble down an unsteady hill, into a fluid pace, striding together in unison. They run across the desert, chasing their shadows past nothing-coloured nothings and nothing shaped like nothing crossed with a nothing nothing. All they had were their legs, their weapons, and the sun hot on their heels. 'Whom was fleeing whom?' one of them thought to themselves. There would be no prize in guessing who.


~~~

##Onwards!
Feet trample.
Onwards!
They press.
Onwards!
Unyielding.
Ever forward!
No less!##

~~~



"There!" The War Queen says again, and her 'father' understands. In mythology, Paritegi is revered for her role in crossing the borders between realms.

"A myth", he whispers under his breath, an echo of an earlier sentiment.

The Exiles come to a halt in front of more nothing.

But this nothing shimmers blue.

'No, it's nothing,' their respective consciousnesses tell them. Their eyes, however, disagree.

"What is it?" Frankie asks. "Some sort of barrier?"

"A border," Space Jesus replies, stepping towards it. Currents of lightning ripple along the surface, arcing out like veins across a thin membrane of skin. He has seen this sort of thing before. Inside his own mind, a field just like this lay beyond a never ending war between unshapely forces of darkness and vibrant reflections of his small circle of trust. On the other side lay the altars upon which his answers would be found.

He looks from side-to-side at his war-weary allies. Their numbers have been steadily decreasing ever since he arrived. But he cannot let them all expire! He can't let Her down! Blood or not, that's his fucking daughter!

Without any further thought, ALIAS steps through the border between worlds.

There, on the other side, a dark tower reaches into a sunless sky.

~~The Gunslinger fled across the desert, and the Man in Black followed.~~




3B: The Ego

“Thank you, Petey.

Probably not the way you expected this to start, no? But hey, it’s okay, my ego isn’t so damn big that I can’t stop and give thanks to whomever has earned it.

The question is, is yours?

…

LOL! I’m just yanking your chain! That ain’t the fucking question. You said I’ve got a big ego, and you know that it’s oh so darn easy to just play the ‘I am rubber, you are glue’ card and say ‘takes one to know one’. Because it’s fucking you we’re talking about here, Pete!”


<<<<<<<<<<<<



“But that’s all I’m gonna do on that front. I ain’t trying to get your own shit to stick to you - you’re doing a damn fine job of not changing your fucking pull-up all by yourself. And if we want to get real down and dirty with it, I’m not really planning on leaving much of you left over for anything to stick to if I even wanted to go with that approach. So instead of just ‘no u’ing you, I want to take the time to put what you said under a microscope. Not for their accuracy but for their meaning. Because unlike you, my little man, I’m not content with just taking a surface level look at shit. I’m not content to keep on trying to peg someone into a box that just wasn’t fit to hold them. But you keep doing it. So I’mma keep pulling your pants down about it.

I know I can.

I know I will.

Call it ego if you want. I say, so fucking what? Should I be ashamed of it? When I keep on showing that every time I make a fucking promise, I keep it? You throw that word at me like I should be insulted, but Pete, I’m not. Mark Flynn said the same thing. You’ve done the comparisons with respect to how I put him down - I won’t repeat ‘em, but you should know that you’re making the same mistake he did. Creating this fucking fiction that I was never supposed to get a big head about things. As I should have to defend the very accusation of it.

Nah, not me. That’s called a strawman, and pulling that shit out just shows me how bad you are at all of this. Not the grab-ass flippy-dippy shit you pass off as scrappin’ when you’re in the ring. I’m talking about this part right here, the real hor d’oeuvre to whatever sized fucking meal you want to dish up. I’ve said it this entire time, Pete, if you can’t use this time to show me that you understand a fucking thing about me, welp… you’re toast. Burnt toast at that! Eaten by itself. Bland. Hardly filling. Shit.

Peter Vaughn everybody!

Look at you fucking try, though. Go Petey go! Be a ‘close but no cigar’ rather than an ‘also ran’! But don’t come at me with more of this shit about what you want from me. Of course you’d want me to come in thinking I might lose! It’s literally the only fucking chance you have! And what… you want to paint it as a surprise that I won’t do that? Why the fuck would I?! Why would I take away the very thing that has driven me through FUCKING EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING for over a year, all to make you feel better? You expect egotistical me to placate kiddy-table you so that you don’t feel like you’re walking into this sumbitch with the outcome a foregone conclusion? Get fucked! The moment I think I’m going to lose is the moment that I will, and against you? It ain’t happening. No ifs, ands, or buts, about it.

Do you want to know what I want from you though, Petey? Oh yeah, baby, we’re flippin’ that shit! I may not have wanted to have played that game before, but I view this opportunity to be a little different than the previous one, because Pete…?

I want you to keep telling me I’m being predictable.

Because that’s exactly what this is!

This is predictable.

I am taking The Universe back.

And it sounds like that’s going to be the biggest surprise of ‘em all for you! Me though? I don’t need to switch things up, man. I don’t need to keep my ego in check. I just need to be me. Now, say it with me, Petey Poo, ‘cause I know that you know the words!

I.

Am.

ALIAS.

And all that it entails.


How’s that for predictability and ego, eh?

So thank you, Pete. Thank you for teeing that up so fucking beautifully, and thank you for being so goddamn oblivious that you don’t even realise the opportunity you’ve presented me. By not understanding who I am - whether wilfully or just ‘cause you can’t figure it the fuck out - you’re giving me the opportunity to get a rare hoodoo off of my back. You know those four Ls that I mentioned? Bet you didn’t know that two of them were in cages, did you? Oh, who am I kidding, of course you didn’t! You’re not paying the right type of attention! And that makes this so much easier for me to change that narrative. Because this cage is special, Pete. You chose it to be that way.

The last two times I’ve been in one? People ‘won’ by fucking fleeing from me.

That’s not an option here.

And your dumbass has some sort of idea that a Plunge off the top of three cages - that is, you doing a fucking backflip, landing with your leg across my throat, and definitely blowing your spine out the top of your head - is somehow going to help you here, and not me.

Nope.

You breaking your ass bone only helps me to put you down, Petey.

And that helps me take back the fucking Universe.”




3C: The Fortress

The High Lord's fortress.
The year 2040.

They had been surprised how easy it had been to sneak into the tower. Approaching with care, Frankie and NK kept their rifles pointed directly ahead of their faces, and Paritegi's hand seemed to quiver expectantly. The World-Eater merely kept his eyes peeled for any sort of danger. As he was wont to say - he is the weapon. It wasn't just a quip. John Caedus had explained it to him half a year ago and from there, he had ripped the truth about himself from The Universe by force.

It felt weird then, for him to be on the verge of ripping open another chamber of secrets, and to not be alone in the quest. But here he was, alongside the son of a sometimes adversary, a possibly-immortal criminal more quirk than menace, and his daughter. His fucking daughter. Not by blood, but by action. It was only six months that he spent with her, but it was during that time that he learned his name and it was during that time that he found something else to live for; to die for; and as they had approached the monolithic black structure he thought - something to kill for.

During this time, his daughter had found the way in. No bloodshed needed.

'Yet,' he thought.

The black tower was made of something unfamiliar. It was as if it wasn't really there, or at least, shouldn't be. Created even, not just for this purpose but for this moment.

Inside the tower, The Exiles hold a silent conversation amongst themselves. On edge as each of them had been, the surprise of practically walking in the front door without incident shows through in their eyes. The North Korean War Queen's aren't readable like the others' are, but she still shows it in the way she carries her body.

She gestures to the three men, signalling to them to be on the lookout. On her mark, they fan out to explore the space. Or… they try to.

From the outside, the tower was immense. With every step that they had taken it seemed to grow immeasurably high, aided by there being no other structure around to standardise it against on this side of the border between worlds. Its width, more tangible than its height, appeared to be just shy of a football field in diameter. Now inside it, however, the tower had seemingly closed in around them. The Path-Finder was sure that when they had entered, the space was much larger, but the circular room they now find themselves in would now be no more than fifteen feet wide. He stands with the entrance to his back, and on either side, directly opposite one another, solitary windows - rectangular save for an arched top - provide glassless spaces with which the man can see directly outside. Nothing else exists within the room, save for a black-as-black-can-be staircase. It felt as though they were being funnelled towards it. Towards, and up.

"Careful." It surprises ALIAS to hear his 'daughter' be the one to break the silence. His foot creaks on the bottom step as he stops and glances back at her. That white mask of hers haunts his vision. Taking her advice, his second step comes with enhanced vigilance.

Paritegi was the last to reach the top of the stairs, emerging from the hole in the ground hot on Frankie Duke's heels. Somehow the space above seemed smaller still, narrowing into a small corridor. Taking the lead to shuffle through it, ALIAS runs his finger along the walls. To his surprise, a bumpy, stony texture greets him.

"Comrade ALIAS…" NK says, oblivious to his volume. Muscles tighten, concerned that the sound will attract unwanted attention. The War Criminal does not seem to notice. "...the air temperature appears to have dropped ten degrees. Celsius."

He adds the scale at the last minute. Truthfully, NK is still flabbergasted that even after the world has ended for all intents and purposes, Fahrenheit is still the go-to gauge in this land.

"He's right," Frankie agrees. He doesn't know NK got his numbers, but he can certainly detect that something is different. "It feels like we're outside."

"We are."

The man in the front points up, and above them, where this floor's ceiling should be, a velvet sky sits across the top of the rocky canyon The Exiles squeeze through. A thousand stars flirtatiously wink at them.

"How…?" Frankie's question is shared by the group, though before any debate can materialise, the walls bleed away.

They step out into a clearing. The rock walls are still there, sitting just beyond the shadows, leaving an impossibly large space in the middle. The North Korean War Queen sweeps to the front of the line and crouches down in front of her 'father'. Something rattles underneath her feet, and between her fingers she grasps a thin, sinew-covered bone.

"Human," she says. "Fresh."

"There's more." Frankie motions to the ground. Between shredded strips of clothes and mud stained with blood, more bones are scattered across the cavern's ground. He steps further into the chaos, and makes eye contact - if you can call it that - with a skull dug into the dirt. He pauses, and before he even knows what he's doing, his hand begins reaching towards it.

"Don't." The King-Slayer grabs Frankie's wrist. A months-old vision of a severed head held in his hand goes unspoken. ALIAS keeps that one to himself for now.

Frankie's mouth opens to question further, but the sound that comes out is anything but human.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


"Comrade ALIAS!" NK calls. "Francis Duke!"

He didn't need to call on them. They heard it too.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


The monstrous sound echoes once again. Or, a version of it.

"Everyone together!" Paritegi commands. The Exiles take up formation in a tight circle.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


"I count three!" NK shouts. He doesn’t even mention the time he accurately counted 796,544 jellybeans in a jar at the 2024 North Korean National Fair.

In a way, ‘three’ is right.

The God-Killer sees it first, as it steps out of the shadows.

Four paws.

One body.

Three heads full of gnashing teeth.

"You seem angry, buddy," he says to the beast with a casual familiarity. The others whip around to his flank, facing the savage creature. NK and Frankie ready their guns. The North Korean War Queen slides her glowing swords out of their sheaths.

"You know this wolf?" she asks.

"It was before your time," he says. The way he phrases that risks exposing her identity, but the other two are too focused on what they're seeing to really register it. ALIAS edges forward, offering a gloved hand to the three-headed animal to sniff. His mind drifts back to his battles against Atara Themis. "I rode him from the Underworld, and with him, I slayed the Gods."

That statement made Paritegi uneasy.

Myth.

"This is Cerberus."

And that statement made them all uneasy. Even the beast. One of its heads snapped at ALIAS's hand. It would have taken it clean off had the hand not moved at the last minute.

"Friend or foe?" the Daughter of ALIAS asks. She lowers herself into a defensive stance, in case the answer is for the worst.

The mythological creature answers for them. Without any warning, it pounces. All three heads chomp at the air, and again, their target barely gets out of the way in time.

Bullets start ripping through the air as NK and Frankie both squeeze their triggers tight. One of Cerberus's heads howls, another whimpers, while the third sets its sights on the men and their guns. The beast's entire body turns towards them and while the other two heads are still distracted, Cerberus barrels in their direction. The men hold the line, unloading round after round into the wolf's massive frame. Still it presses on. At the last second it slides to the side, and a wicked war cry pierces the air.

It's Paritegi.

Her swords glow as she whips them at the monster's legs. Each slice pushes Cerberus further and further towards the dark. But even with bullets and swords working together in unison, three heads are too much to manage. The North Korean War Queen is forced to zig zag out of harm's way, lest she go the way of so many others.

Eat.

Cerberus takes aim again. All three heads snarl in the same direction.

But He steps in front.

"We've done this once before," ALIAS says to the beast. "You made the right choice that time, buddy. Be a good boy now and heel."

Three heads think. It's a peculiar sight to see. All three came to the same conclusion.

Eat.

Cerberus pounces again.





ALIAS punches the beast to fucking infinity. It flies backwards, through the shadows, and crashes right through the rocky wall of the clearing.


~~~






“Because anything you can do, I can do better.”





~~~



"Holy sh–," he hears Frankie Duke mutter in the background.

Light floods into the hole, wiping clear the star-studded sky and revealing the black of the tower behind it. A staircase stands where the hole was made, and the Wolf-Skinner steps over Cerberus's fallen carcass on his way to it.

The first step creaks under his foot.

He looks back.

"You guys coming?"




3D: The Metaphor

“For all your cute quips, Pete, sometimes I don’t quite follow your logic. You start a spiel about how I’ve surprised you with all my talk of eating this and eating that, and then you finish that exact train of thought by calling me predictable. But hey, if you didn’t pick up on it already, I’m the kind of cretin who when insulted, just leans into it. Predictable? Sure. I got you, boo. Surprise you? Why should I? We’ve been through that today, right?

But now, let’s do the same thing that I just did. Let me flip this shit once more and talk about what has surprised me. And for the record, I still don’t count this as a ‘no u’, more of just a bonding sesh.

Pete, did you really not expect to hear me talking about eating you - overalls and all? Like… fucking really? Have you never heard me speak? Has Chris Page actually not told you anything? This is kinda my thing, buddy. I eat people. Mostly their hopes and dreams, mind you. The parts of them that make them ‘them’, as opposed to just another bag of meat. I chomp down on their futures, leaving them a sad fucking shell of whatever they used to be. That’s ‘eating’, Pete. Every now and then, I take it a little further. I got a little carried away with Lycana, for example, and she still has the teeth marks in her skin to show it. When it comes to you, though? I’ll stick to the sob stories about how you got bullied for… your parent’s occupation? Right… ‘cause that makes you on my fucking level, doesn’t it? Yikes! But see how everything’s all out in the open now? See how we’ve finally gotten down to what makes you tick? Little twink (yep, I’m sticking with it) cuck…

Hi again, Aimi!

…who just wants his mama’s love. That I can actually empathise with! And as is the case with so much of the way this has all played out, you find yourself the underdog and that almost gets me rooting for you! Then you go ahead and point out how you didn’t expect I’d go this route with you, and it all falls a-fucking-part. I know it’s meant to offend me, but it’s more embarrassing than anything else. For you.

Pete, not only does this show you poorly Page has been preparing you - he got fucking eaten after all - but it also shows how in-fucking-sufficient it is to simply watch the battles I fight without paying attention to the context that I’ve embedded them within. But hey, since you ain’t listening, I’ve got just the remedy! You know that hand of mine? The one you think The Left Hand left me as some sort of momento, despite the very obvious fact that they had burned their logo into it before I burned that fucker off and took my own power back?

C’mon, man. Even you have to admit that no matter what you think their intentions were, that’s what I’ve gone and done.

Well, I’mma jam that hand through the chapped cunt hole in your face that all your words keep falling out of; have it swim through your innards like the loads you’ve swallowed from whatever trade-school fuckboi sorority-house-of-the-week hazing party you’ve been hanging out at; burrow on into your ticker and finger-fuck your ventricles with my unclipped nails; and then… oh Petey, then I’m gonna pull that motherfucker out of your rancid fucking chest and ever-so-predictbaly eat it whole. Right in front of you.

Are you getting it yet? This is all a fucking metaphor! And because you’re having such a tough time trying to keep up with it, you’re about to join a very special club, pal: Those who lost The Universe in their very first defence! Let me know if there are any membership perks, and I can weigh them up against the shitstorm that would naturally follow if I were to hand The Universe on over to Charlie fucking Nickles. Ah, who am I kidding? I put Charlie down already. Why the fuck would he get a shot?

Not that I’m looking past you, Pete. I’m just looking at the grand summation of everything, and buddy… you ain’t in it.”




3E: The Ascent to Madness

The High Lord's fortress.
The year 2040.

The tower continued, impossible to define.

After defeating the wolf, Space Jesus expected the worst. His three companions from this world didn't have the same understanding that he had, but they did their best to be prepared for anything.

Again there was no ceiling. No walls either. NK didn't need to comment on the temperature for all to agree that it had fallen colder. Snow fell from the heavens. In the light of tiny flames sitting atop open torches pegged into the overgrown thickets that lined a rugged path, the unique pattern of each snowflake flashed its underbelly before melting away as soon as it touched the ground.

"This is getting weirder and weirder," Frankie remarks. With his gun still in his hands, he held his arms close to his body to trap whatever warmth he could.

"It's about to tip the scales," ALIAS says. He felt the change before he saw it. It was abstract, just like the tower itself, but as two snowflakes turned to dew upon his temples he felt reality itself similarly transform.

Chains clinked.

"What was that?" Frankie jumped.

Feet stumbled along a path.

And then came the groaning.

Through the falling powder, four figures emerged.

"Oh my God…"

Stitched together like Frankenstein's Monster, The First Resistance emerged from the snow.

Vinnie Lane.

Theo Pryce.

Doctor Louis D'Ville.

Gator.

The four who first took up arms against the High Lord, and were slaughtered and carved up for their efforts.

They stumbled towards The Exiles, eyes black and dead. In the places where their bodies were sewn together, matted messes of crimson have dried and darkened into a shade edging closer to brown. The skin around each of their eyes and lips has receded, disfiguring them further, and the pieces themselves hang grotesquely in place. Vinnie's scalp was bare, and the long back of his hair was stitched off-centre, hanging to the side of his head instead. Theo's leg was crooked at the knee, causing his foot to drag along the ground and with every slow and cumbersome step. Doc's back was crooked, as if he had a reverse hunchback, forming a sort of Z-shape with his spine. Gator, meanwhile, had his head quite literally not screwed on straight. It seemed to roll around, attached just by a small thread.

Each of them had only one thing on their minds.

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!"

"Comrade ALIAS," NK says. "I have deduced that our former colleagues appear to be zombies!"

"Great job, NK," the World-Eater snarks. NK just takes it as genuine praise. "I don't suppose you'd like to start shooting them, would you?"

"Certainly!"

He opens fire. Frankie didn't need any additional convincing, similarly letting the bullets fly. The zombified First Resistance are quickly blown to the ground.

The Exiles breathe a sigh of relief.

But it all seems too easy.

The zombies surge back to life. Theo's mangled hand grabs Frankie around the leg.

"No!" he shouts. He spins around and lines up Theo's face in front of the rifle.

"Shoot!" ALIAS urges him, but still Frankie delays.

"I… I can't," he says. "He's family."

The North Korean War Queen has no such issues, thrusting one of her blades through Theo's head. Frankie jerks his leg away, ripping Theo's hand from the seams of his twice-dead body.

"You… killed… him…" the ghoulish remains of Vinnie Lane stutter.

"You can speak?" Frankie gasps.

"Comrade ALIAS!" the North Korean War Criminal says again. "It appears our former colleagues may not be zombies after all!"

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!" Definitely-Maybe-Probably-Possibly-Not-A-Zombie Vinnie screeches, lurching at NK. He unloads another volley into his former employer, but it’s not enough to slow him this time. He lumbers forward. A plunging sword courtesy of the War Queen does the trick.

"Wait! Stop stabbing!" Frankie shouts, as Franken-Gator rises from the dead. "Vinnie spoke! If they're still in there somewhere, we could use the help. And really, if they're in there, we should help them!"

"Help…" Gator says. "Help… self… to BRAAAAAIIIINS!"

Just as Vinnie had done, Gator lunges forward. NK and Frankie dive in different directions, and Gator tumbles into the dirt. He clambers to his feet again. The Daughter of ALIAS brandishes her weapon, but Frankie scrambles and tries to position himself in between.

"Gator…" he says. "I know that you can hear me…"

"Hear… heartbeat…" The words come from his floppy head, but there is still no life in those eyes.

"Look at you!" Frankie pleads. "You're showing restraint right now! I know that you’re in there!"

"Frankie…" the Father of Paritegi says. He sees the young Duke's eyes drift from Gator's shambling corpse to where Theo lies motionless. He knows what Frankie is thinking. His father…

"Hello… my… friends…" a resurrected Doc says.

"Not now, Lou!" And Lou actually waits. ALIAS turns his attention back to Frankie. "Frankie, they're not them anymore. You have to know that. Dead is dead. There is no coming back."

"There is when you're involved…" The words pierce his heart like his 'daughter' had driven one of her swords through it. Is this truly a power that he can wield? Is it one that he can share? Is that… is that why he's here?

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!" Gator says again, and he dives for Frankie Duke. Tackling him to the ground, he readies his warped, feral teeth.

Eat.

The blade of the North Korean War Queen separates Gator's head from the rest of his body. Kicking zombie-Gator off of Frankie, she offers him a gloved hand. Frantically, he accepts, and she pulls him off the ground. Frankie's eyes are wide with terror, but the Queen thumps him in the chest and points at his rifle on the ground.

"Pick it up," she says.

He does.

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!" Not-Dead-Enough Lou growls.

Frankie whips around with his rifle drawn. NK aims his as well, and the Daughter of ALIAS twirls her swords, ready to put down another of these facsimiles of the First Resistance.

"I told you ‘not now’, Lou," the D'Ville's Bane sighs.





Doctor Louis D'Ville's corpse literally explodes into a shower of blood and gore, and in its place - a staircase.

"I get it now," he says, placing one foot on that creaky first step.

"Ah yes!" NK agrees, seemingly unfazed. "I, of course, also understand."

He doesn’t really, though.

Still, he's the first up the stairs behind ALIAS. The North Korean War Queen helps Frankie Duke follow, rising up through the piss-soaked floor of an old Irish pub.


~~~



"Guys, I have news! I have some big news!" Mac says, bursting into the bar.

"News! News! News! News!" Charlie, Dennis, and Frank chant, each jumping from their seat.

"SQUAWK!!!" Dee adds.


~~~



"It's Always Sunny," Space Jesus says to his fellows.





Moving one by one between them, ALIAS single handedly breaks the necks of Rob McElhenny, Charlie Day, Glenn Howerton, Kaitlin Olson, and Danny DeVito.





"What… is going on?" Frankie asks, the only one of the other three comfortable enough to speak up.

"Come on!" urges the man with one foot on a staircase that opens above the bar. It doesn't even creak as he raves up it. The others struggle to keep up, and as Frankie comes up last again, the blazing sun immediately blinds him. Using his hand to shield his eyes from the light, he squints through the salt-heavy air and is punished by the glare reflecting back off the sea.

"Where are we?" he asks the War Criminal and the War Queen, standing next to him and similarly struggling against the brightness of the day. From the safety of an old ship deck, they rock back and forward over the waves.

"A white whale!" comes the answer, but not from one of the people he asked. ALIAS stands near the bow of the ship with an oversized harpoon in his hand. He takes a couple of running steps and then hurls it out to sea like a javelin. With impeccable timing, a whale, white just like he described it, bursts through the surface and gracefully glides through the air.

The harpoon pierces right through its eyeball.





"Let's go!" he shouts again, without even waiting for the magnificent creature to splash back into the water. He's already heading for a staircase winding its way around the mast.

"WAIT!!!" Frankie shouts at the top of his lungs. "Can you tell us what the hell is going on?"

"As I already demonstrated, I most definitely know what this is all about," NK follows. He shifts his weight on his feet while his eyes drop to the ground. "…But it would be useful data for you to confirm it."

"It’s Bad Medicine all over again,” The War-Winner smiles, with his foot on the bottom step again. "The wolf, the zombies, the TV show, the white whale. That's exactly what I had to fight through. And it's over now. All that's left is the shenanigans that happened afterwards. We're undoing it. All of it! This is the reason that you needed to bring me here; it's the reason that Lord High Everything Else - or whatever is self-fellating name is - is looking for me. The timing is too perfect. Guys…"

He begins his ascent to the end. Looking down at The Exiles, he finishes his thought.

"...I hear it calling. This is The Universe seeking to right itself."

At the top of the stairs, The Universe awaits.

"Hi."




3F: The Banquet

“You know, for a guy trying to convince me that it doesn’t matter who we’ve beaten…

An awfully convenient thing to say, given the context is with regards to me beating somebody who you couldn’t.

…it sure would look silly if I were to take ‘A Trip Down Memory Lane’ and spot you name- dropping everyone from Centurion, to Dickie Watson, to Supreme Machine, to El Diablo Blanco. But that’s the world we’re living in, isn’t it Pete?

Side note: “War Queen” Leah? Great name!

Totally doesn’t matter who you’ve beaten, right? Not at all. You just like mentioning it.”


Quote:
“You think you’re the only one?”


“Get it?

Bish, please. Morbid Angel, Doctor Louis D’Ville, Chris Page, Chris Chaos, Thaddeus Duke, Robert Main, Bobby Bourbon, Unknown Solider. There’s a bunch of names that I’ve beaten. Want to know what they have in common, aside from being on the other end of the ol’ one-two-three against me?

Former Universal Champions.

But that doesn’t matter, right? I just like mentioning it, HA!

You can see what I’m angling at here, can’t you? I’m trying to stay true to what I said earlier and not fall into that same ‘no u’ trap, but I’m a cunt’s hair away here from dropping the H word just like you did.

‘Hypocrite.’

Chill, buddy, I’m not calling you one. I’m just putting the word out there into the aether, and if you think there’s enough sentiment behind it when you factor in everything else that I’ve said that you wind up applying it to yourself, sans my intention… well that’s on you. I honestly think that word feels a bit dirty in this day and age. Kind of like calling someone a Nazi in an internet argument, or calling them ‘woke’ in every day conversation. To me, it shows me that you’re outta fucking ammo. But I’m not. So lemme load another magazine here and get some more target practice in on you before the big finale on Sunday.

We are not the same. Cut the comparison between Flynn and Caedus however you want, it doesn’t make it true. And to me, it doesn’t matter whether you’re intentionally muddying those waters or if you’re actually delusional enough to believe that those respective results for the two of us are on the same level. Either way, getting into a debate with you about it would be like beating myself in the nuts with a two-by-four.

Only fun for the first couple of seconds.

Jim Caedus is one of the four who can say they have one up on Big Daddy A. Regardless of the circumstances, I do not make an excuse about it. The cunt’s a fucking ringworm in human form, but he’s the only one of the four who managed to do it with a three count too. And you? You actually deserve just as much credit as he does for that outcome. Yep, I said ‘credit’. But you weren’t able to capitalise, were ya? I was right there in front of you, and Caedus’s briefcase was right there in your hands.

But you couldn’t make it work.

Because that’s how the fucking dynamic is going to be between the two of us for all of time, Petey.

And what’s different between the way Jimbo did it, and what you’re dealing with here? Ask yourself if the conditions are the same, man. Did Caedus get this treatment? Did I tell Jim Caeuds that I was going to eat him alive, like I’m saying to you? Like I said to Flynn? Or even to Lycana that night it all went down? Yeah, we’re back on that, Pete. The meal, the feast, the fucking banquet. Because that’s what this is all for, Pete. It’s a tag. A fucking mark on your shit-stained soul that means you never get away from me. And mark (get it?!) my fucking words, Pete, there is not a single person that I’ve ever promised to Eat, that I haven’t done exactly that too.

Not.

A.

One.

Caedus skirted that, as was his right when he earned that briefcase. But the moment I came looking for my pound of flesh, as was my right. he fucking fled. Like the others when they ran from me in a cage. If Jimmy surfaces again, you can be damn sure that he’ll get the classic ALIAS touch. But you? You’ve been tagged already. That is the difference between now and Bad Medicine, and that is the difference between the four…

Plus a wolf, a horde of zombies, the cast of It’s Always Sunny, a literal white whale, and Apex!

…that you had with you then, and then millions I’d be willing to go through this time around. It’s your turn right now, my guy. For the eatin’.

You’ve been insinuating that I want the Universe back because I can’t handle seeing it in someone else’s hands.

Which means you’ve made your fucking decision on trying to understand me. You’ve closed the book and tossed it in the fucking trash! You’re one of them.

Futile.

Pathetic.

The same as all the rest. Just like how this is gonna go.

Inevitable.”




3G: The End

The High Lord's fortress.
The year 2040.

The face staring back at him is pale and gaunt. Though the wrinkles suggest an age in the fifties or sixties, it's unclear if a single strand of facial hair has ever grown from its skin. It smiles at him, warm and welcoming, but with some subtly disquieting undertone that it was hard to place a finger on. Everything on the surface seemed to make sense, but it could be seen in the way the man the face was attached to held his gaze, and heard in the way he spoke.

"I'm so glad to see you again," the man with the face said. "It's been far too long for BEST FRIENDS like us to go without spending time together."

"Lance?" Space Jesus asks, after picking his jaw off the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, silly," Lance replies. "Come! Sit with me!"

He motions to a metal folding chair set up opposite him, on the other side of an unremarkable wooden desk.

Given what had transpired over the previous few floors, the rest of the space around future Lance seemed rather mundane. Black, unidentifiable walls created a near perfect cube, with the same empty, church-like windows cut out into their sides as had been seen on the first floor. The interior's shape didn't match that of the tower's outward appearance, but the level of difference in irregularities between this and the open ocean was profound.

Lance repeats his gesture with a little more oomph. His BEST FRIEND slides the chair back along whatever it was the floor was made of. Before he can sit, the presence of others in the room becomes known.

"Oh," Lance remarks, glancing over his BEST FRIEND's shoulder. "We have company.'

The North Korean War Criminal rises from the ground, joining Frankie Duke and the Daughter of ALIAS in the curious space.

"You, I know." He juts a gangly finger in NK's direction. His attention then turns to Frankie Duke. "You seem vaguely familiar. The Duke boy, Francis. It's odd that your siblings seem nowhere in sight, isn't it?"

"Wait, what?" Lance's finger moves on, without answering Frankie's question.

"But you…"

Paritegi, the War Queen, already has her swords drawn.

"You're something else altogether. Oh yes, I have heard of you: the North Korean War Queen! But who you are under that mask, I haven't the foggiest!" Lance's eyes linger on the woman for a moment, before shrugging. "No matter! The more the merrier!"

"For what?" Only now did he take a seat.

"For the end, of course!" Lance's face brightens at the thought. ALIAS is close enough to see his 'best friend's' eyes gloss over, but the rest of The Exiles don't catch it. Standing in the background, they still don't understand.

Luckily for them, Lance is happy to explain!

"You fought all the way here," he says. "You did exactly what you needed to do the night The Universe was taken from you."

"What I did do that night," Lance's BEST FRIEND corrects.

"Did you though?" Lance cocks his head to the side. "Or did you just, as you so often say, 'survive'."

"What the hell is this, man?" He didn't stay seated for long. "I thought we were supposed to be friends?"

"We are!" Lance pleads. "BEST FRIENDS! Everything that I have done has been for you! For… the movement."

The phrasing catches The Exiles off guard. In the back, Frankie and NK look to each other for clarity. The War Queen's face is harder to read from behind her mask.

"No!" ALIAS says. He points back at his allies. "They have been continuing that work - defining it even! You've just been sitting here in whatever the fuck this is doing whatever the fuck you've been doing."

"Ah yes." Lance stands and extends his arms to the group. "Follow me, my lovelies! I have something I'd like to show you."

He turns his back - a risky gambit - and takes long, ranging strides across the room to another staircase, this one grander than any that had come before it!

"Where the hell did that come from?" Frankie mutters. NK goes to answer, but the sight of the War Queen taking a step forward catches both his and Frankie's attention.

She sweeps across the Otherwordly surface, blades still trembling with an unknown power. With Lance's foot on the bottom step of the palatial carpet perfectly laid over the stairs, it's Paritegi who first joins him. Her 'father' looks on in confusion. Frankie and NK step beside him, as the three men try to decide whether to trust the older Lance.

"What choice do we have?" Paritegi asks them. And she is right. They know it. They had come all this way, and couldn't turn back now. But yet…

"You're the High Lord," ALIAS accuses Lance, without budging.

"Oh dear, no!" Lance says, denying. He begins his ascent up the stairs, and whether the others like it or not they will follow. The Daughter of ALIAS walks behind him, but the rest?

If their feet won't move, then the tower will move instead. The staircase rolls under their feet. Without any choice of their own, they are forced higher and higher until they burst out of the very top of the tower itself!

So much for 'choice' in Lance's movement.

On top of the unknown world, the barren landscape seems to stretch forever. Even beyond the confines of the translucent field that separated the tower from the rest of Otherworld, they could still see the violent aftermath of the world as they had once known it coming to a cataclysmic end.

"I didn't do this," Lance says, staring out at the devastation. "I'm just trying to fix it. These trials you've been put through, they've been to make sure that you're ready. That you can do what you didn’t do last time. What is it that you would say in your time? 'A werewolf, an army of zombies, two factions, the cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and an actual white whale'?"

"The factions…" It clicks. He hasn't defeated the factions. An argument could be made for The Bastards, but it wasn't really he who achieved that.

"Umm…" Frankie Duke interrupts. "That's all great and all, but how do you explain that?"

They are not alone on the top of the tower. A holographic chamber flickers silently to the side, preventing any noise from escaping, but inside noise is definitely being made.

Vita Valenteen, Unknown Soldier, and Ruby, beat furiously against the energy field.

"Uh oh…" Lance says.

"Possible Comrade BEST FRIEND Lance seems concerned…" NK whispers the obvious.

"They shouldn't be there…" His voice trails off. Eyes enlarged, he spins in a frantic circle, searching the visible world for a sign of something. A thundering THUMP quakes the fortress. "Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no-oh-no…!"

"What?" The War-Winner asks.

"He's here!" Lance screams. Another THUMP makes the whole world shake.

"Get them out of there!" The Daughter of ALIAS barks, pointing to the imprisoned trio. The North Korean War Criminal doesn't need to be told twice. He sprints across the tower's summit towards the cell, seeing a control panel in one corner as he is in mid-dash. He makes a beeline straight for it. A simple keypad is all that stands between him and freeing The Exiless's superpowered allies. He studies it carefully, mumbling to himself as he tries to find any clue as to the code.

"…add two… divide by pi… to the power of eleventy and a half… take away Mark Flynn's birthday… multiply by aleph-omega… I have it!"

He presses the number seven. Just the number seven.

And the forcefield opens!

After Frankie Duke just shoots the console.

"That is an unlikely outcome," NK says, convinced that his calculations were responsible. Frankie isn't interested in debating it. As soon as the barricade drops, he sets about helping to usher Vita, Ruby and Soldier out. NK quickly joins in.

THUMP!

It happens again.

THUMP!

And continues.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"He's here! He's here!" Lance continues to repeat. ALIAS grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the middle of a circle made by the reunited Exiles, plus Vita.

"How were you captured?" Paritegi asks to Unknown Soldier next to her.

But he's not there.

And neither is Ruby.

THUMP!

She wonders where they are. But…

"He's here…" Lance says quietly. Defeated.

Giant cloven feet fall from the sky. A pinkish hue stains the fur of the giant, bipedal beast. In its massive but humanoid hand, a club imprinted with spiked bones and snapped blades, smacks against the ground several times. Each hit lands with such force as to cause The Exiles to struggle to maintain their balance. Like its hands, the beast's chest is human, though wider than any that the onlookers had ever seen before. And its head? Long, terrible horns warp their way from temples covered with that same pinkish fur that mats the tufts on its legs and torso.

ALIAS knows what this is.

"Ruby!" Vita shouts, seeing her friend in front of the monster. Unknown Soldier holds her in his arms and she struggles against him. "Wait a flippin' minute…"

Behind them, a hand shoots out from behind the back of the creature, landing in the thick bush on one of those gigantic shoulders. Another finds ground on the exposed leather just at the bottom of its tree trunk neck. A figure pulls Himself up, standing on the abomination's shoulders and towering over His kingdom.

~~The Grand fucking Poobah, Big Daddy A, the Master of both the known AND unknown Universes, Lord High Everything Else…~~

The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur roars.

"Hail ALIAS," Unknown Soldier says as he twists Ruby's head right around.





"RUUUUUBBBBBY!" Vita screams, flinging herself forward.

All hell breaks loose.

From atop The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, the High Lord Himself steers the beast on a wrecking spree. Vita flies through the air, but is swatted away with ease. Unknown Soldier follows after, determined to keep the vampire occupied as much as he can. For one last time, Frankie Duke and the North Korean War Criminal stand side-by-side, blasting round after round into The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, with no sign of the ammo issues they faced against The Bastards. While they unload, the War Queen deflects shots of the Minotaur's clubs with her overpowered swords. ALIAS balls his gloved fist and steels himself to join the melee. This is the very thing that he was made for! But the High Lord dismounts from His position, leaving the Minotaur to fight alone, and He lands cleanly in front of the supposed saviour.

ALIAS locks eyes with Himself.

No signs of age tarnish His face, and even eighteen years on He still has the same penchant for old cardigans and hole-punched sneakers.

He never went missing.

He is the High Lord.

Always was.

"I don't know why you did this to the world," he says to Himself. "I don't know why you brought me here. But it’s over."

"You did this," He, the High Lord, accuses. "You put together Your own resistance, chose the name The Exiles to get under Your own skin, and brought Yourself here so that You would know exactly what You need to do. You saw this as the only natural conclusion to… the movement."

"Shut the fuck up," the past ALIAS snarls. "You are not me. And if you think The Exiles would get under my skin, well buddy, you are vastly overestimating Peter Vaughn."

"Who?" He asks. A small pause follows. It seems innocuous but in that moment, the time-displaced variant understands everything he needed to know about the ‘threats’ to his time.

He was now more concerned with the threats to this one.

Himself.

After all, who else is going to beat ALIAS?

"HELP!" The North Korean War Criminal shouts in the battle beyond. The World-Beater sees NK in the enormous grip of The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, being brought closer and closer to the creature’s sharpened mouth. He moves to intervene; to save NK!

"Not so fast," He says, forcing ALIAS back. "You're forgetting something, my younger self."

"And what's that?"

"This isn’t Your world."

THUMP!

The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur stomps his foot, and the entire fortress rattles again. It doesn't stop. Already scattered and battered, The Exiles can't do much to keep themselves together. And nor can ALIAS.

He stumbles.

He falls.

And the war ends just as it did back at Bad Medicine. When he was on his back.

With a click of his fingers for dramatic effect, the High Lord opens a swirling black hole atop The Dark Tower. He picks the disoriented ALIAS up by his shirt, and hurls him through. He crashes into the ground on the other side, bouncing several times before coming to a forcible halt against a solid wooden wall.

Groaning, he tries to pick himself up. The portal is still open! He sees it!

Each movement he makes forces him to dig into wells of energy he didn’t know he had. He might not! But he has to try!

"Get up, you sonofabitch," he tells himself. The 'real' him! Not some maniacal, dystopian counterpart, but the one in the here and now!

He finds his feet.

And looking ahead through the portal, he sees The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur Eat the North Korean War Criminal.





"FUCK!" he shouts, willing himself forward!

In the Otherworld, his future self squares up against his daughter.

ALIAS dives!

The High Lord turns to him and winks.

The portal blinks out of existence and ALIAS crashes into another wall.

"NOOOO!" he screams.

He rises once more, in the sometimes small, sometimes large, log cabin that The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur had introduced him to. It was a nexus of the world.

But just this world.

Through its windows, he could see Lance walking down the street of one of the movement's tent cities. He could see Dani preparing a meal. He could even see Steve Sayors, sitting patiently at home as he waited for somebody to call him for work.

But he couldn't see the two factions.

He couldn't see the Otherworld.

He couldn't see Himself.




3H: The Hell

“Do you get it, Pete? I’ve been trying to get this message across to you, and I hope that it’s sunk in by now.

You are the Universal Champion.

But I’m the big boss fight. I’m the fucking end game, after which you don’t get a chance to run and complete all of your little side quests. I’m it. Game fucking over when this is all said and done. You will never be the same again.

People will barely even remember your name.

See, I’ve been to hell too.


[Image: WRVxtLj.jpg]



Granted, yours looks more like a day to day thing.

You’re fucking thirty? With skin like that?! Woah!

Mind. Blown.

But when I went to hell, the devil didn’t try to keep me there. No, he thought I’d be too much of a hassle, and he knew that there was something else that I had to do.

You, Pete. Taking the Universe back from you.

So don’t you worry your little cotton socks off - he won’t bother you too much again. Because he doesn’t fucking dare stand in my way. Just ask Unknown Soldier, the devil’s favourite mouth to fuck.

And if the Custodial Cunts or the Fix-It Fuckholes want to send you to heaven next, well…


[Image: WRVxtLj.jpg]



They don’t want me there either. Instead… I get my very own world to play in, full of flames and all manner of other fun things. Forever in limbo, with no other levels in which to progress to! Solely fixed on one thing.

You know what it is. You have it, and you want to keep it.

But you won’t.

It’s coming fucking home!

Call it lust if you want. I didn’t demand to be put into the front of the line, I never fucking left! That rematch after cash-in clause is a rare contract that I can actually get around. You though? Boy, you won’t have that rematch. ‘Cause I’m not coming through the back door like Jim did. I’m huffing and puffing and blowing your whole fucking house down. Right out in the open.

Because I’m hungry. Jesus deep-throating Christ, you missed two real obvious ones on the gluttony front, Pete! You even took aim at the ‘Eat You’ mantra, but still left it on the fucking table instead of hitting it out of the park when it would’ve been a good one. I don’t even know if that’s the most egregious error, either. A fucking drinking problem? Who do you think I am? Lee Stone? Fuck that, let me ask another question:

…

Do you have a light?

…

See! You don’t have to make shit up, if you just know who the fuck you’re up against. You have not done the right research!

At least when you spoke about greed you were able to offer your own. If I had to pick though, that’s the place where you could’ve really hammered me too. It’s probably been my greatest vice. I’ve… allowed myself to be so consumed with my purpose that it’s often driven others away. You could’ve really taken me to task there. Now though? I’m trying, you know? Greed is good, sure. But I’m better.

Even with my temper.

What’s that? Are we going through these fucking levels real quick, just like you did? Yup!
Anger is why I lost to Lycana the first time. I lost sight of the mission, something which was a significant learning moment for me. But in general, my temper is… inconsistent. The trigger, if something was about to pop off? How ‘people like you’ have treated ‘people like me’. Yeah… what you said, bud. But about me. While we’re on this, Pete mind letting me know just who the fuck you’re talking about when you say those three words to me? People like who? People without a home? People without a family? People who have had to fight tooth and fucking nail to make sure that they don’t lose autonomy over their own lives? Ugh. We’re here again, Pete, but it’s all your fucking fault:

YOU HAVEN’T DONE THE RIGHT RESEARCH!

I’ve already worn my fair share of straight-jackets, bud. Try to keep up.

Because you’re just stuffing a scarecrow full of straw to beat, instead of actually speaking to me.

Peter denied God three times before he finally accepted him. Well you’ve rounded past third, buddy, and The Universe is on its way home. Time for you to finally accept your fucking position in all of this. And in case you’re wondering… there’s your goddamn heresy.

Anything you can do, I can do better!

That just leaves us with the violence, doesn’t it? Well, bitch, let there be blood! At least we can agree that’s the circle that you belong in, because if suicide victims go there, well everytime you’re opening your mouth, you’re pulling the fucking trigger on yourself all over again.

Hey… do the cannibals go there too?

I guess we’re about to find out. ‘Cause we’re done, Peter. Just like your reign as the Universal Champion, this whole thing is over before it really began. I’m going to do what I do best.

It seems like everyone except you already knows the drill, so it’s about time you get to learning.

Here it is folks. Then, now, and forever…

I’m going to Eat Peter Vaughn.”

































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[Image: GjxMYzt.jpg]




”In a perfectly normal Otherworld full of danger, disaster, and dastardly deer dangling demonic dicks adorned with with deadly daggers - the latter of which is completely unrelated to the folly of this fable but felt pertinent to mention nonetheless - the rats race against the clock. They did all of the things that they thought they needed to do, and brought to this world a visitor in whom they saw a sliver of hope. That sort of folly is a common flaw in the feeble minds of the mortal folk, and I have been quite happy to allow them to follow their tails down whatever path it may take them. They thought, even, that they had understood the measure of this means of communication. I have been leveraging this for months, and yet the girl thinks it sufficient to merely waltz on in and take things over as she sees fit?

Nay.

It was nothing more than an illusion that the girl thought she had overthrown back in the visitor’s November. Passing on her ‘knowledge’ to the Smith and Flynn lads, they thought themselves geniuses when they finally broke through and were able to summon their supposed saviour.

But this story already has a happy ending.

I am The High Lord.

I am salvation.

And I am in control here.

Anything you can do, I can do better.”





3A: The Dark Tower

Unknown.
The year 2040.

~~The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.~~

He had drawn the analogy between himself and this gunslinger several times before, and yet he had never even met a man named Roland. It was a strange thought to cross into his head at this moment - not at the beginning or the end, but right here in the middle. Still, it had never felt more fitting than now. With every surging step he took, a shadow of his own making dashed before him across the wasteland. The rising sun cast its early morning glow from behind, framing his silhouette as he rose over another featureless ridge.

The barren land seemed to extend infinitely into the distance. He knew that couldn't be true, but the desert wanted him to believe it. Its warm currents lolled up towards the crest and teased him with a permanence and consistency that he had long dreamed of. In that moment, standing on high and looking down on the seared landscape, it wasn't just the desert that wanted him to believe in it. He wanted it too. But in his heart, he knew.

Heavy breathing comes up on his side. He looks to his left and sees Frankie Duke struggling under the weight of his MOLLE as he reaches the top of the elevation. To his right, the North Korean War Criminal joins Frankie and the World-Beater, and only a few seconds later, the Daughter of ALIAS slips silently onto the peak.

"Everyone okay?" ALIAS asks, checking in on his companions. They had been travelling all night, following a map provided to them by The Witness. How The Witness came into possession of it, he didn’t know. It reminded him of the map his salmon-coloured friend had provided for him a whole year ago. That had been the genesis of his quest to understand himself, and he hoped that similar answers would be found through this one.

"Affirmative, Comrade ALIAS," the War Criminal says. His cheeks are flushed and his muscles strained, but there's a rare delight upon his face as he serves his Dear Leader.

"Frankie?" While he knows NK wouldn't admit his struggles - he probably doesn't even view himself as legitimately struggling - the young Duke is more giving with his emotions. In between gasps of dry air, he empties a couple of drops of water from a canteen into his mouth.

"I'll be fine," Frankie says, trying to regain himself.

"We need to press on." Eyes fall on the terrain again.





Vast.






Expansive.






Indefinite.






Everywhere they look, the same parched dirt braces itself for another long and laborious day of war against the looming sun.

"Are we sure we are going in the right direction?" Frankie asks. "We've been travelling all night."

"Over the course of the night, we went off course on twelve and three-quarter occasions," NK proudly answers.

"How was there three-q–"

"I, of course, was able to get us back on track without any trouble," he beams. Frankie and ALIAS side-eye one another. "The looks on your faces confirms my suspicion that you did not even notice. Fortunate that I was with you! I once navigated my way through an IKEA and avoided the living room, dining room, kitchen, bathroom, bedroom, office, children's, outdoors, marketplace AND warehouse sections!"

"So… just the cafeteria?" Frankie wonders.

"Wait, IKEA is still a thing?" The Bastard-Tamer chimes in.

"Naturally," NK says. "It is the most efficient place to purchase DIY weaponry."

"...what section are those in?"

"Children's, of course!" NK looks at Frankie as if their associate has lost his mind, but Frankie is focused on ALIAS. His shaking head tells the visitor to drop the subject, and though he chuckles a little to himself, he ultimately follows the prompt.

"There!"

The North Korean War Queen, Paritegi, points out over the arid plains. She stands with one foot on a small rocky outcrop, staring into the distance. On her back, her dual swords crossover one another. A tiny sliver of steel on each of them catches the morning light and reflects it back at the trio who stand behind her. On her face, she wears the same featureless white mask that she had on each mission that her once-father had seen her on. He had seen the face underneath - she had let him in on her closely guarded secret! But Frankie Duke did not know who she was, and if NK did, he didn’t seem to care. She was the North Korean War Queen, a title earned as the daughter of the great unifier. And out here in the ravaged world, she was something even more.

A myth.

"What do you see?" her former guardian steps up beside her and tries to follow her field of vision. Since the moment that she unmasked to him, he had tried to find whatever opportunity that he could to get close to her. He wanted to know everything: where her grandmother had taken her; how she got the scar over her eye; when she wound up linking up with The Exiles of this time; who The Witness was, if she even knew! Everything. More than that, even, he just wanted to spend time with her. Get to know her. Hear her laugh again.

She never laughed.

"Movement," she says simply, still fixed on some point ahead.

"You heard the lady," ALIAS said, glancing back at the other two. "Let’s get moving!"

~~The Man in Black fled across the desert, and the Gunslinger followed.~~

But not alone.

From afar the four of them look like nothing but tiny specks of lint blowing along a dusty floor. Within the spaces between them, however, an unseen energy bonds them like atoms in an unnamed molecule of reality. Together they rise from an awkward amble down an unsteady hill, into a fluid pace, striding together in unison. They run across the desert, chasing their shadows past nothing-coloured nothings and nothing shaped like nothing crossed with a nothing nothing. All they had were their legs, their weapons, and the sun hot on their heels. 'Whom was fleeing whom?' one of them thought to themselves. There would be no prize in guessing who.


~~~

##Onwards!
Feet trample.
Onwards!
They press.
Onwards!
Unyielding.
Ever forward!
No less!##

~~~



"There!" The War Queen says again, and her 'father' understands. In mythology, Paritegi is revered for her role in crossing the borders between realms.

"A myth", he whispers under his breath, an echo of an earlier sentiment.

The Exiles come to a halt in front of more nothing.

But this nothing shimmers blue.

'No, it's nothing,' their respective consciousnesses tell them. Their eyes, however, disagree.

"What is it?" Frankie asks. "Some sort of barrier?"

"A border," Space Jesus replies, stepping towards it. Currents of lightning ripple along the surface, arcing out like veins across a thin membrane of skin. He has seen this sort of thing before. Inside his own mind, a field just like this lay beyond a never ending war between unshapely forces of darkness and vibrant reflections of his small circle of trust. On the other side lay the altars upon which his answers would be found.

He looks from side-to-side at his war-weary allies. Their numbers have been steadily decreasing ever since he arrived. But he cannot let them all expire! He can't let Her down! Blood or not, that's his fucking daughter!

Without any further thought, ALIAS steps through the border between worlds.

There, on the other side, a dark tower reaches into a sunless sky.

~~The Gunslinger fled across the desert, and the Man in Black followed.~~




3B: The Ego

“Thank you, Petey.

Probably not the way you expected this to start, no? But hey, it’s okay, my ego isn’t so damn big that I can’t stop and give thanks to whomever has earned it.

The question is, is yours?

…

LOL! I’m just yanking your chain! That ain’t the fucking question. You said I’ve got a big ego, and you know that it’s oh so darn easy to just play the ‘I am rubber, you are glue’ card and say ‘takes one to know one’. Because it’s fucking you we’re talking about here, Pete!”


<<<<<<<<<<<<



“But that’s all I’m gonna do on that front. I ain’t trying to get your own shit to stick to you - you’re doing a damn fine job of not changing your fucking pull-up all by yourself. And if we want to get real down and dirty with it, I’m not really planning on leaving much of you left over for anything to stick to if I even wanted to go with that approach. So instead of just ‘no u’ing you, I want to take the time to put what you said under a microscope. Not for their accuracy but for their meaning. Because unlike you, my little man, I’m not content with just taking a surface level look at shit. I’m not content to keep on trying to peg someone into a box that just wasn’t fit to hold them. But you keep doing it. So I’mma keep pulling your pants down about it.

I know I can.

I know I will.

Call it ego if you want. I say, so fucking what? Should I be ashamed of it? When I keep on showing that every time I make a fucking promise, I keep it? You throw that word at me like I should be insulted, but Pete, I’m not. Mark Flynn said the same thing. You’ve done the comparisons with respect to how I put him down - I won’t repeat ‘em, but you should know that you’re making the same mistake he did. Creating this fucking fiction that I was never supposed to get a big head about things. As I should have to defend the very accusation of it.

Nah, not me. That’s called a strawman, and pulling that shit out just shows me how bad you are at all of this. Not the grab-ass flippy-dippy shit you pass off as scrappin’ when you’re in the ring. I’m talking about this part right here, the real hor d’oeuvre to whatever sized fucking meal you want to dish up. I’ve said it this entire time, Pete, if you can’t use this time to show me that you understand a fucking thing about me, welp… you’re toast. Burnt toast at that! Eaten by itself. Bland. Hardly filling. Shit.

Peter Vaughn everybody!

Look at you fucking try, though. Go Petey go! Be a ‘close but no cigar’ rather than an ‘also ran’! But don’t come at me with more of this shit about what you want from me. Of course you’d want me to come in thinking I might lose! It’s literally the only fucking chance you have! And what… you want to paint it as a surprise that I won’t do that? Why the fuck would I?! Why would I take away the very thing that has driven me through FUCKING EVERYONE AND EVERYTHING for over a year, all to make you feel better? You expect egotistical me to placate kiddy-table you so that you don’t feel like you’re walking into this sumbitch with the outcome a foregone conclusion? Get fucked! The moment I think I’m going to lose is the moment that I will, and against you? It ain’t happening. No ifs, ands, or buts, about it.

Do you want to know what I want from you though, Petey? Oh yeah, baby, we’re flippin’ that shit! I may not have wanted to have played that game before, but I view this opportunity to be a little different than the previous one, because Pete…?

I want you to keep telling me I’m being predictable.

Because that’s exactly what this is!

This is predictable.

I am taking The Universe back.

And it sounds like that’s going to be the biggest surprise of ‘em all for you! Me though? I don’t need to switch things up, man. I don’t need to keep my ego in check. I just need to be me. Now, say it with me, Petey Poo, ‘cause I know that you know the words!

I.

Am.

ALIAS.

And all that it entails.


How’s that for predictability and ego, eh?

So thank you, Pete. Thank you for teeing that up so fucking beautifully, and thank you for being so goddamn oblivious that you don’t even realise the opportunity you’ve presented me. By not understanding who I am - whether wilfully or just ‘cause you can’t figure it the fuck out - you’re giving me the opportunity to get a rare hoodoo off of my back. You know those four Ls that I mentioned? Bet you didn’t know that two of them were in cages, did you? Oh, who am I kidding, of course you didn’t! You’re not paying the right type of attention! And that makes this so much easier for me to change that narrative. Because this cage is special, Pete. You chose it to be that way.

The last two times I’ve been in one? People ‘won’ by fucking fleeing from me.

That’s not an option here.

And your dumbass has some sort of idea that a Plunge off the top of three cages - that is, you doing a fucking backflip, landing with your leg across my throat, and definitely blowing your spine out the top of your head - is somehow going to help you here, and not me.

Nope.

You breaking your ass bone only helps me to put you down, Petey.

And that helps me take back the fucking Universe.”




3C: The Fortress

The High Lord's fortress.
The year 2040.

They had been surprised how easy it had been to sneak into the tower. Approaching with care, Frankie and NK kept their rifles pointed directly ahead of their faces, and Paritegi's hand seemed to quiver expectantly. The World-Eater merely kept his eyes peeled for any sort of danger. As he was wont to say - he is the weapon. It wasn't just a quip. John Caedus had explained it to him half a year ago and from there, he had ripped the truth about himself from The Universe by force.

It felt weird then, for him to be on the verge of ripping open another chamber of secrets, and to not be alone in the quest. But here he was, alongside the son of a sometimes adversary, a possibly-immortal criminal more quirk than menace, and his daughter. His fucking daughter. Not by blood, but by action. It was only six months that he spent with her, but it was during that time that he learned his name and it was during that time that he found something else to live for; to die for; and as they had approached the monolithic black structure he thought - something to kill for.

During this time, his daughter had found the way in. No bloodshed needed.

'Yet,' he thought.

The black tower was made of something unfamiliar. It was as if it wasn't really there, or at least, shouldn't be. Created even, not just for this purpose but for this moment.

Inside the tower, The Exiles hold a silent conversation amongst themselves. On edge as each of them had been, the surprise of practically walking in the front door without incident shows through in their eyes. The North Korean War Queen's aren't readable like the others' are, but she still shows it in the way she carries her body.

She gestures to the three men, signalling to them to be on the lookout. On her mark, they fan out to explore the space. Or… they try to.

From the outside, the tower was immense. With every step that they had taken it seemed to grow immeasurably high, aided by there being no other structure around to standardise it against on this side of the border between worlds. Its width, more tangible than its height, appeared to be just shy of a football field in diameter. Now inside it, however, the tower had seemingly closed in around them. The Path-Finder was sure that when they had entered, the space was much larger, but the circular room they now find themselves in would now be no more than fifteen feet wide. He stands with the entrance to his back, and on either side, directly opposite one another, solitary windows - rectangular save for an arched top - provide glassless spaces with which the man can see directly outside. Nothing else exists within the room, save for a black-as-black-can-be staircase. It felt as though they were being funnelled towards it. Towards, and up.

"Careful." It surprises ALIAS to hear his 'daughter' be the one to break the silence. His foot creaks on the bottom step as he stops and glances back at her. That white mask of hers haunts his vision. Taking her advice, his second step comes with enhanced vigilance.

Paritegi was the last to reach the top of the stairs, emerging from the hole in the ground hot on Frankie Duke's heels. Somehow the space above seemed smaller still, narrowing into a small corridor. Taking the lead to shuffle through it, ALIAS runs his finger along the walls. To his surprise, a bumpy, stony texture greets him.

"Comrade ALIAS…" NK says, oblivious to his volume. Muscles tighten, concerned that the sound will attract unwanted attention. The War Criminal does not seem to notice. "...the air temperature appears to have dropped ten degrees. Celsius."

He adds the scale at the last minute. Truthfully, NK is still flabbergasted that even after the world has ended for all intents and purposes, Fahrenheit is still the go-to gauge in this land.

"He's right," Frankie agrees. He doesn't know NK got his numbers, but he can certainly detect that something is different. "It feels like we're outside."

"We are."

The man in the front points up, and above them, where this floor's ceiling should be, a velvet sky sits across the top of the rocky canyon The Exiles squeeze through. A thousand stars flirtatiously wink at them.

"How…?" Frankie's question is shared by the group, though before any debate can materialise, the walls bleed away.

They step out into a clearing. The rock walls are still there, sitting just beyond the shadows, leaving an impossibly large space in the middle. The North Korean War Queen sweeps to the front of the line and crouches down in front of her 'father'. Something rattles underneath her feet, and between her fingers she grasps a thin, sinew-covered bone.

"Human," she says. "Fresh."

"There's more." Frankie motions to the ground. Between shredded strips of clothes and mud stained with blood, more bones are scattered across the cavern's ground. He steps further into the chaos, and makes eye contact - if you can call it that - with a skull dug into the dirt. He pauses, and before he even knows what he's doing, his hand begins reaching towards it.

"Don't." The King-Slayer grabs Frankie's wrist. A months-old vision of a severed head held in his hand goes unspoken. ALIAS keeps that one to himself for now.

Frankie's mouth opens to question further, but the sound that comes out is anything but human.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


"Comrade ALIAS!" NK calls. "Francis Duke!"

He didn't need to call on them. They heard it too.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


The monstrous sound echoes once again. Or, a version of it.

"Everyone together!" Paritegi commands. The Exiles take up formation in a tight circle.

GRRRRRRRRRRR!!!


"I count three!" NK shouts. He doesn’t even mention the time he accurately counted 796,544 jellybeans in a jar at the 2024 North Korean National Fair.

In a way, ‘three’ is right.

The God-Killer sees it first, as it steps out of the shadows.

Four paws.

One body.

Three heads full of gnashing teeth.

"You seem angry, buddy," he says to the beast with a casual familiarity. The others whip around to his flank, facing the savage creature. NK and Frankie ready their guns. The North Korean War Queen slides her glowing swords out of their sheaths.

"You know this wolf?" she asks.

"It was before your time," he says. The way he phrases that risks exposing her identity, but the other two are too focused on what they're seeing to really register it. ALIAS edges forward, offering a gloved hand to the three-headed animal to sniff. His mind drifts back to his battles against Atara Themis. "I rode him from the Underworld, and with him, I slayed the Gods."

That statement made Paritegi uneasy.

Myth.

"This is Cerberus."

And that statement made them all uneasy. Even the beast. One of its heads snapped at ALIAS's hand. It would have taken it clean off had the hand not moved at the last minute.

"Friend or foe?" the Daughter of ALIAS asks. She lowers herself into a defensive stance, in case the answer is for the worst.

The mythological creature answers for them. Without any warning, it pounces. All three heads chomp at the air, and again, their target barely gets out of the way in time.

Bullets start ripping through the air as NK and Frankie both squeeze their triggers tight. One of Cerberus's heads howls, another whimpers, while the third sets its sights on the men and their guns. The beast's entire body turns towards them and while the other two heads are still distracted, Cerberus barrels in their direction. The men hold the line, unloading round after round into the wolf's massive frame. Still it presses on. At the last second it slides to the side, and a wicked war cry pierces the air.

It's Paritegi.

Her swords glow as she whips them at the monster's legs. Each slice pushes Cerberus further and further towards the dark. But even with bullets and swords working together in unison, three heads are too much to manage. The North Korean War Queen is forced to zig zag out of harm's way, lest she go the way of so many others.

Eat.

Cerberus takes aim again. All three heads snarl in the same direction.

But He steps in front.

"We've done this once before," ALIAS says to the beast. "You made the right choice that time, buddy. Be a good boy now and heel."

Three heads think. It's a peculiar sight to see. All three came to the same conclusion.

Eat.

Cerberus pounces again.





ALIAS punches the beast to fucking infinity. It flies backwards, through the shadows, and crashes right through the rocky wall of the clearing.


~~~






“Because anything you can do, I can do better.”





~~~



"Holy sh–," he hears Frankie Duke mutter in the background.

Light floods into the hole, wiping clear the star-studded sky and revealing the black of the tower behind it. A staircase stands where the hole was made, and the Wolf-Skinner steps over Cerberus's fallen carcass on his way to it.

The first step creaks under his foot.

He looks back.

"You guys coming?"




3D: The Metaphor

“For all your cute quips, Pete, sometimes I don’t quite follow your logic. You start a spiel about how I’ve surprised you with all my talk of eating this and eating that, and then you finish that exact train of thought by calling me predictable. But hey, if you didn’t pick up on it already, I’m the kind of cretin who when insulted, just leans into it. Predictable? Sure. I got you, boo. Surprise you? Why should I? We’ve been through that today, right?

But now, let’s do the same thing that I just did. Let me flip this shit once more and talk about what has surprised me. And for the record, I still don’t count this as a ‘no u’, more of just a bonding sesh.

Pete, did you really not expect to hear me talking about eating you - overalls and all? Like… fucking really? Have you never heard me speak? Has Chris Page actually not told you anything? This is kinda my thing, buddy. I eat people. Mostly their hopes and dreams, mind you. The parts of them that make them ‘them’, as opposed to just another bag of meat. I chomp down on their futures, leaving them a sad fucking shell of whatever they used to be. That’s ‘eating’, Pete. Every now and then, I take it a little further. I got a little carried away with Lycana, for example, and she still has the teeth marks in her skin to show it. When it comes to you, though? I’ll stick to the sob stories about how you got bullied for… your parent’s occupation? Right… ‘cause that makes you on my fucking level, doesn’t it? Yikes! But see how everything’s all out in the open now? See how we’ve finally gotten down to what makes you tick? Little twink (yep, I’m sticking with it) cuck…

Hi again, Aimi!

…who just wants his mama’s love. That I can actually empathise with! And as is the case with so much of the way this has all played out, you find yourself the underdog and that almost gets me rooting for you! Then you go ahead and point out how you didn’t expect I’d go this route with you, and it all falls a-fucking-part. I know it’s meant to offend me, but it’s more embarrassing than anything else. For you.

Pete, not only does this show you poorly Page has been preparing you - he got fucking eaten after all - but it also shows how in-fucking-sufficient it is to simply watch the battles I fight without paying attention to the context that I’ve embedded them within. But hey, since you ain’t listening, I’ve got just the remedy! You know that hand of mine? The one you think The Left Hand left me as some sort of momento, despite the very obvious fact that they had burned their logo into it before I burned that fucker off and took my own power back?

C’mon, man. Even you have to admit that no matter what you think their intentions were, that’s what I’ve gone and done.

Well, I’mma jam that hand through the chapped cunt hole in your face that all your words keep falling out of; have it swim through your innards like the loads you’ve swallowed from whatever trade-school fuckboi sorority-house-of-the-week hazing party you’ve been hanging out at; burrow on into your ticker and finger-fuck your ventricles with my unclipped nails; and then… oh Petey, then I’m gonna pull that motherfucker out of your rancid fucking chest and ever-so-predictbaly eat it whole. Right in front of you.

Are you getting it yet? This is all a fucking metaphor! And because you’re having such a tough time trying to keep up with it, you’re about to join a very special club, pal: Those who lost The Universe in their very first defence! Let me know if there are any membership perks, and I can weigh them up against the shitstorm that would naturally follow if I were to hand The Universe on over to Charlie fucking Nickles. Ah, who am I kidding? I put Charlie down already. Why the fuck would he get a shot?

Not that I’m looking past you, Pete. I’m just looking at the grand summation of everything, and buddy… you ain’t in it.”




3E: The Ascent to Madness

The High Lord's fortress.
The year 2040.

The tower continued, impossible to define.

After defeating the wolf, Space Jesus expected the worst. His three companions from this world didn't have the same understanding that he had, but they did their best to be prepared for anything.

Again there was no ceiling. No walls either. NK didn't need to comment on the temperature for all to agree that it had fallen colder. Snow fell from the heavens. In the light of tiny flames sitting atop open torches pegged into the overgrown thickets that lined a rugged path, the unique pattern of each snowflake flashed its underbelly before melting away as soon as it touched the ground.

"This is getting weirder and weirder," Frankie remarks. With his gun still in his hands, he held his arms close to his body to trap whatever warmth he could.

"It's about to tip the scales," ALIAS says. He felt the change before he saw it. It was abstract, just like the tower itself, but as two snowflakes turned to dew upon his temples he felt reality itself similarly transform.

Chains clinked.

"What was that?" Frankie jumped.

Feet stumbled along a path.

And then came the groaning.

Through the falling powder, four figures emerged.

"Oh my God…"

Stitched together like Frankenstein's Monster, The First Resistance emerged from the snow.

Vinnie Lane.

Theo Pryce.

Doctor Louis D'Ville.

Gator.

The four who first took up arms against the High Lord, and were slaughtered and carved up for their efforts.

They stumbled towards The Exiles, eyes black and dead. In the places where their bodies were sewn together, matted messes of crimson have dried and darkened into a shade edging closer to brown. The skin around each of their eyes and lips has receded, disfiguring them further, and the pieces themselves hang grotesquely in place. Vinnie's scalp was bare, and the long back of his hair was stitched off-centre, hanging to the side of his head instead. Theo's leg was crooked at the knee, causing his foot to drag along the ground and with every slow and cumbersome step. Doc's back was crooked, as if he had a reverse hunchback, forming a sort of Z-shape with his spine. Gator, meanwhile, had his head quite literally not screwed on straight. It seemed to roll around, attached just by a small thread.

Each of them had only one thing on their minds.

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!"

"Comrade ALIAS," NK says. "I have deduced that our former colleagues appear to be zombies!"

"Great job, NK," the World-Eater snarks. NK just takes it as genuine praise. "I don't suppose you'd like to start shooting them, would you?"

"Certainly!"

He opens fire. Frankie didn't need any additional convincing, similarly letting the bullets fly. The zombified First Resistance are quickly blown to the ground.

The Exiles breathe a sigh of relief.

But it all seems too easy.

The zombies surge back to life. Theo's mangled hand grabs Frankie around the leg.

"No!" he shouts. He spins around and lines up Theo's face in front of the rifle.

"Shoot!" ALIAS urges him, but still Frankie delays.

"I… I can't," he says. "He's family."

The North Korean War Queen has no such issues, thrusting one of her blades through Theo's head. Frankie jerks his leg away, ripping Theo's hand from the seams of his twice-dead body.

"You… killed… him…" the ghoulish remains of Vinnie Lane stutter.

"You can speak?" Frankie gasps.

"Comrade ALIAS!" the North Korean War Criminal says again. "It appears our former colleagues may not be zombies after all!"

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!" Definitely-Maybe-Probably-Possibly-Not-A-Zombie Vinnie screeches, lurching at NK. He unloads another volley into his former employer, but it’s not enough to slow him this time. He lumbers forward. A plunging sword courtesy of the War Queen does the trick.

"Wait! Stop stabbing!" Frankie shouts, as Franken-Gator rises from the dead. "Vinnie spoke! If they're still in there somewhere, we could use the help. And really, if they're in there, we should help them!"

"Help…" Gator says. "Help… self… to BRAAAAAIIIINS!"

Just as Vinnie had done, Gator lunges forward. NK and Frankie dive in different directions, and Gator tumbles into the dirt. He clambers to his feet again. The Daughter of ALIAS brandishes her weapon, but Frankie scrambles and tries to position himself in between.

"Gator…" he says. "I know that you can hear me…"

"Hear… heartbeat…" The words come from his floppy head, but there is still no life in those eyes.

"Look at you!" Frankie pleads. "You're showing restraint right now! I know that you’re in there!"

"Frankie…" the Father of Paritegi says. He sees the young Duke's eyes drift from Gator's shambling corpse to where Theo lies motionless. He knows what Frankie is thinking. His father…

"Hello… my… friends…" a resurrected Doc says.

"Not now, Lou!" And Lou actually waits. ALIAS turns his attention back to Frankie. "Frankie, they're not them anymore. You have to know that. Dead is dead. There is no coming back."

"There is when you're involved…" The words pierce his heart like his 'daughter' had driven one of her swords through it. Is this truly a power that he can wield? Is it one that he can share? Is that… is that why he's here?

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!" Gator says again, and he dives for Frankie Duke. Tackling him to the ground, he readies his warped, feral teeth.

Eat.

The blade of the North Korean War Queen separates Gator's head from the rest of his body. Kicking zombie-Gator off of Frankie, she offers him a gloved hand. Frantically, he accepts, and she pulls him off the ground. Frankie's eyes are wide with terror, but the Queen thumps him in the chest and points at his rifle on the ground.

"Pick it up," she says.

He does.

"BRAAAAAIIIINS!" Not-Dead-Enough Lou growls.

Frankie whips around with his rifle drawn. NK aims his as well, and the Daughter of ALIAS twirls her swords, ready to put down another of these facsimiles of the First Resistance.

"I told you ‘not now’, Lou," the D'Ville's Bane sighs.





Doctor Louis D'Ville's corpse literally explodes into a shower of blood and gore, and in its place - a staircase.

"I get it now," he says, placing one foot on that creaky first step.

"Ah yes!" NK agrees, seemingly unfazed. "I, of course, also understand."

He doesn’t really, though.

Still, he's the first up the stairs behind ALIAS. The North Korean War Queen helps Frankie Duke follow, rising up through the piss-soaked floor of an old Irish pub.


~~~



"Guys, I have news! I have some big news!" Mac says, bursting into the bar.

"News! News! News! News!" Charlie, Dennis, and Frank chant, each jumping from their seat.

"SQUAWK!!!" Dee adds.


~~~



"It's Always Sunny," Space Jesus says to his fellows.





Moving one by one between them, ALIAS single handedly breaks the necks of Rob McElhenny, Charlie Day, Glenn Howerton, Kaitlin Olson, and Danny DeVito.





"What… is going on?" Frankie asks, the only one of the other three comfortable enough to speak up.

"Come on!" urges the man with one foot on a staircase that opens above the bar. It doesn't even creak as he raves up it. The others struggle to keep up, and as Frankie comes up last again, the blazing sun immediately blinds him. Using his hand to shield his eyes from the light, he squints through the salt-heavy air and is punished by the glare reflecting back off the sea.

"Where are we?" he asks the War Criminal and the War Queen, standing next to him and similarly struggling against the brightness of the day. From the safety of an old ship deck, they rock back and forward over the waves.

"A white whale!" comes the answer, but not from one of the people he asked. ALIAS stands near the bow of the ship with an oversized harpoon in his hand. He takes a couple of running steps and then hurls it out to sea like a javelin. With impeccable timing, a whale, white just like he described it, bursts through the surface and gracefully glides through the air.

The harpoon pierces right through its eyeball.





"Let's go!" he shouts again, without even waiting for the magnificent creature to splash back into the water. He's already heading for a staircase winding its way around the mast.

"WAIT!!!" Frankie shouts at the top of his lungs. "Can you tell us what the hell is going on?"

"As I already demonstrated, I most definitely know what this is all about," NK follows. He shifts his weight on his feet while his eyes drop to the ground. "…But it would be useful data for you to confirm it."

"It’s Bad Medicine all over again,” The War-Winner smiles, with his foot on the bottom step again. "The wolf, the zombies, the TV show, the white whale. That's exactly what I had to fight through. And it's over now. All that's left is the shenanigans that happened afterwards. We're undoing it. All of it! This is the reason that you needed to bring me here; it's the reason that Lord High Everything Else - or whatever is self-fellating name is - is looking for me. The timing is too perfect. Guys…"

He begins his ascent to the end. Looking down at The Exiles, he finishes his thought.

"...I hear it calling. This is The Universe seeking to right itself."

At the top of the stairs, The Universe awaits.

"Hi."




3F: The Banquet

“You know, for a guy trying to convince me that it doesn’t matter who we’ve beaten…

An awfully convenient thing to say, given the context is with regards to me beating somebody who you couldn’t.

…it sure would look silly if I were to take ‘A Trip Down Memory Lane’ and spot you name- dropping everyone from Centurion, to Dickie Watson, to Supreme Machine, to El Diablo Blanco. But that’s the world we’re living in, isn’t it Pete?

Side note: “War Queen” Leah? Great name!

Totally doesn’t matter who you’ve beaten, right? Not at all. You just like mentioning it.”


Quote:
“You think you’re the only one?”


“Get it?

Bish, please. Morbid Angel, Doctor Louis D’Ville, Chris Page, Chris Chaos, Thaddeus Duke, Robert Main, Bobby Bourbon, Unknown Solider. There’s a bunch of names that I’ve beaten. Want to know what they have in common, aside from being on the other end of the ol’ one-two-three against me?

Former Universal Champions.

But that doesn’t matter, right? I just like mentioning it, HA!

You can see what I’m angling at here, can’t you? I’m trying to stay true to what I said earlier and not fall into that same ‘no u’ trap, but I’m a cunt’s hair away here from dropping the H word just like you did.

‘Hypocrite.’

Chill, buddy, I’m not calling you one. I’m just putting the word out there into the aether, and if you think there’s enough sentiment behind it when you factor in everything else that I’ve said that you wind up applying it to yourself, sans my intention… well that’s on you. I honestly think that word feels a bit dirty in this day and age. Kind of like calling someone a Nazi in an internet argument, or calling them ‘woke’ in every day conversation. To me, it shows me that you’re outta fucking ammo. But I’m not. So lemme load another magazine here and get some more target practice in on you before the big finale on Sunday.

We are not the same. Cut the comparison between Flynn and Caedus however you want, it doesn’t make it true. And to me, it doesn’t matter whether you’re intentionally muddying those waters or if you’re actually delusional enough to believe that those respective results for the two of us are on the same level. Either way, getting into a debate with you about it would be like beating myself in the nuts with a two-by-four.

Only fun for the first couple of seconds.

Jim Caedus is one of the four who can say they have one up on Big Daddy A. Regardless of the circumstances, I do not make an excuse about it. The cunt’s a fucking ringworm in human form, but he’s the only one of the four who managed to do it with a three count too. And you? You actually deserve just as much credit as he does for that outcome. Yep, I said ‘credit’. But you weren’t able to capitalise, were ya? I was right there in front of you, and Caedus’s briefcase was right there in your hands.

But you couldn’t make it work.

Because that’s how the fucking dynamic is going to be between the two of us for all of time, Petey.

And what’s different between the way Jimbo did it, and what you’re dealing with here? Ask yourself if the conditions are the same, man. Did Caedus get this treatment? Did I tell Jim Caeuds that I was going to eat him alive, like I’m saying to you? Like I said to Flynn? Or even to Lycana that night it all went down? Yeah, we’re back on that, Pete. The meal, the feast, the fucking banquet. Because that’s what this is all for, Pete. It’s a tag. A fucking mark on your shit-stained soul that means you never get away from me. And mark (get it?!) my fucking words, Pete, there is not a single person that I’ve ever promised to Eat, that I haven’t done exactly that too.

Not.

A.

One.

Caedus skirted that, as was his right when he earned that briefcase. But the moment I came looking for my pound of flesh, as was my right. he fucking fled. Like the others when they ran from me in a cage. If Jimmy surfaces again, you can be damn sure that he’ll get the classic ALIAS touch. But you? You’ve been tagged already. That is the difference between now and Bad Medicine, and that is the difference between the four…

Plus a wolf, a horde of zombies, the cast of It’s Always Sunny, a literal white whale, and Apex!

…that you had with you then, and then millions I’d be willing to go through this time around. It’s your turn right now, my guy. For the eatin’.

You’ve been insinuating that I want the Universe back because I can’t handle seeing it in someone else’s hands.

Which means you’ve made your fucking decision on trying to understand me. You’ve closed the book and tossed it in the fucking trash! You’re one of them.

Futile.

Pathetic.

The same as all the rest. Just like how this is gonna go.

Inevitable.”




3G: The End

The High Lord's fortress.
The year 2040.

The face staring back at him is pale and gaunt. Though the wrinkles suggest an age in the fifties or sixties, it's unclear if a single strand of facial hair has ever grown from its skin. It smiles at him, warm and welcoming, but with some subtly disquieting undertone that it was hard to place a finger on. Everything on the surface seemed to make sense, but it could be seen in the way the man the face was attached to held his gaze, and heard in the way he spoke.

"I'm so glad to see you again," the man with the face said. "It's been far too long for BEST FRIENDS like us to go without spending time together."

"Lance?" Space Jesus asks, after picking his jaw off the floor. "What are you doing here?"

"Waiting for you, silly," Lance replies. "Come! Sit with me!"

He motions to a metal folding chair set up opposite him, on the other side of an unremarkable wooden desk.

Given what had transpired over the previous few floors, the rest of the space around future Lance seemed rather mundane. Black, unidentifiable walls created a near perfect cube, with the same empty, church-like windows cut out into their sides as had been seen on the first floor. The interior's shape didn't match that of the tower's outward appearance, but the level of difference in irregularities between this and the open ocean was profound.

Lance repeats his gesture with a little more oomph. His BEST FRIEND slides the chair back along whatever it was the floor was made of. Before he can sit, the presence of others in the room becomes known.

"Oh," Lance remarks, glancing over his BEST FRIEND's shoulder. "We have company.'

The North Korean War Criminal rises from the ground, joining Frankie Duke and the Daughter of ALIAS in the curious space.

"You, I know." He juts a gangly finger in NK's direction. His attention then turns to Frankie Duke. "You seem vaguely familiar. The Duke boy, Francis. It's odd that your siblings seem nowhere in sight, isn't it?"

"Wait, what?" Lance's finger moves on, without answering Frankie's question.

"But you…"

Paritegi, the War Queen, already has her swords drawn.

"You're something else altogether. Oh yes, I have heard of you: the North Korean War Queen! But who you are under that mask, I haven't the foggiest!" Lance's eyes linger on the woman for a moment, before shrugging. "No matter! The more the merrier!"

"For what?" Only now did he take a seat.

"For the end, of course!" Lance's face brightens at the thought. ALIAS is close enough to see his 'best friend's' eyes gloss over, but the rest of The Exiles don't catch it. Standing in the background, they still don't understand.

Luckily for them, Lance is happy to explain!

"You fought all the way here," he says. "You did exactly what you needed to do the night The Universe was taken from you."

"What I did do that night," Lance's BEST FRIEND corrects.

"Did you though?" Lance cocks his head to the side. "Or did you just, as you so often say, 'survive'."

"What the hell is this, man?" He didn't stay seated for long. "I thought we were supposed to be friends?"

"We are!" Lance pleads. "BEST FRIENDS! Everything that I have done has been for you! For… the movement."

The phrasing catches The Exiles off guard. In the back, Frankie and NK look to each other for clarity. The War Queen's face is harder to read from behind her mask.

"No!" ALIAS says. He points back at his allies. "They have been continuing that work - defining it even! You've just been sitting here in whatever the fuck this is doing whatever the fuck you've been doing."

"Ah yes." Lance stands and extends his arms to the group. "Follow me, my lovelies! I have something I'd like to show you."

He turns his back - a risky gambit - and takes long, ranging strides across the room to another staircase, this one grander than any that had come before it!

"Where the hell did that come from?" Frankie mutters. NK goes to answer, but the sight of the War Queen taking a step forward catches both his and Frankie's attention.

She sweeps across the Otherwordly surface, blades still trembling with an unknown power. With Lance's foot on the bottom step of the palatial carpet perfectly laid over the stairs, it's Paritegi who first joins him. Her 'father' looks on in confusion. Frankie and NK step beside him, as the three men try to decide whether to trust the older Lance.

"What choice do we have?" Paritegi asks them. And she is right. They know it. They had come all this way, and couldn't turn back now. But yet…

"You're the High Lord," ALIAS accuses Lance, without budging.

"Oh dear, no!" Lance says, denying. He begins his ascent up the stairs, and whether the others like it or not they will follow. The Daughter of ALIAS walks behind him, but the rest?

If their feet won't move, then the tower will move instead. The staircase rolls under their feet. Without any choice of their own, they are forced higher and higher until they burst out of the very top of the tower itself!

So much for 'choice' in Lance's movement.

On top of the unknown world, the barren landscape seems to stretch forever. Even beyond the confines of the translucent field that separated the tower from the rest of Otherworld, they could still see the violent aftermath of the world as they had once known it coming to a cataclysmic end.

"I didn't do this," Lance says, staring out at the devastation. "I'm just trying to fix it. These trials you've been put through, they've been to make sure that you're ready. That you can do what you didn’t do last time. What is it that you would say in your time? 'A werewolf, an army of zombies, two factions, the cast of It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia, and an actual white whale'?"

"The factions…" It clicks. He hasn't defeated the factions. An argument could be made for The Bastards, but it wasn't really he who achieved that.

"Umm…" Frankie Duke interrupts. "That's all great and all, but how do you explain that?"

They are not alone on the top of the tower. A holographic chamber flickers silently to the side, preventing any noise from escaping, but inside noise is definitely being made.

Vita Valenteen, Unknown Soldier, and Ruby, beat furiously against the energy field.

"Uh oh…" Lance says.

"Possible Comrade BEST FRIEND Lance seems concerned…" NK whispers the obvious.

"They shouldn't be there…" His voice trails off. Eyes enlarged, he spins in a frantic circle, searching the visible world for a sign of something. A thundering THUMP quakes the fortress. "Oh-no-oh-no-oh-no-oh-no…!"

"What?" The War-Winner asks.

"He's here!" Lance screams. Another THUMP makes the whole world shake.

"Get them out of there!" The Daughter of ALIAS barks, pointing to the imprisoned trio. The North Korean War Criminal doesn't need to be told twice. He sprints across the tower's summit towards the cell, seeing a control panel in one corner as he is in mid-dash. He makes a beeline straight for it. A simple keypad is all that stands between him and freeing The Exiless's superpowered allies. He studies it carefully, mumbling to himself as he tries to find any clue as to the code.

"…add two… divide by pi… to the power of eleventy and a half… take away Mark Flynn's birthday… multiply by aleph-omega… I have it!"

He presses the number seven. Just the number seven.

And the forcefield opens!

After Frankie Duke just shoots the console.

"That is an unlikely outcome," NK says, convinced that his calculations were responsible. Frankie isn't interested in debating it. As soon as the barricade drops, he sets about helping to usher Vita, Ruby and Soldier out. NK quickly joins in.

THUMP!

It happens again.

THUMP!

And continues.

THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!

"He's here! He's here!" Lance continues to repeat. ALIAS grabs him by the arm and pulls him into the middle of a circle made by the reunited Exiles, plus Vita.

"How were you captured?" Paritegi asks to Unknown Soldier next to her.

But he's not there.

And neither is Ruby.

THUMP!

She wonders where they are. But…

"He's here…" Lance says quietly. Defeated.

Giant cloven feet fall from the sky. A pinkish hue stains the fur of the giant, bipedal beast. In its massive but humanoid hand, a club imprinted with spiked bones and snapped blades, smacks against the ground several times. Each hit lands with such force as to cause The Exiles to struggle to maintain their balance. Like its hands, the beast's chest is human, though wider than any that the onlookers had ever seen before. And its head? Long, terrible horns warp their way from temples covered with that same pinkish fur that mats the tufts on its legs and torso.

ALIAS knows what this is.

"Ruby!" Vita shouts, seeing her friend in front of the monster. Unknown Soldier holds her in his arms and she struggles against him. "Wait a flippin' minute…"

Behind them, a hand shoots out from behind the back of the creature, landing in the thick bush on one of those gigantic shoulders. Another finds ground on the exposed leather just at the bottom of its tree trunk neck. A figure pulls Himself up, standing on the abomination's shoulders and towering over His kingdom.

~~The Grand fucking Poobah, Big Daddy A, the Master of both the known AND unknown Universes, Lord High Everything Else…~~

The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur roars.

"Hail ALIAS," Unknown Soldier says as he twists Ruby's head right around.





"RUUUUUBBBBBY!" Vita screams, flinging herself forward.

All hell breaks loose.

From atop The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, the High Lord Himself steers the beast on a wrecking spree. Vita flies through the air, but is swatted away with ease. Unknown Soldier follows after, determined to keep the vampire occupied as much as he can. For one last time, Frankie Duke and the North Korean War Criminal stand side-by-side, blasting round after round into The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, with no sign of the ammo issues they faced against The Bastards. While they unload, the War Queen deflects shots of the Minotaur's clubs with her overpowered swords. ALIAS balls his gloved fist and steels himself to join the melee. This is the very thing that he was made for! But the High Lord dismounts from His position, leaving the Minotaur to fight alone, and He lands cleanly in front of the supposed saviour.

ALIAS locks eyes with Himself.

No signs of age tarnish His face, and even eighteen years on He still has the same penchant for old cardigans and hole-punched sneakers.

He never went missing.

He is the High Lord.

Always was.

"I don't know why you did this to the world," he says to Himself. "I don't know why you brought me here. But it’s over."

"You did this," He, the High Lord, accuses. "You put together Your own resistance, chose the name The Exiles to get under Your own skin, and brought Yourself here so that You would know exactly what You need to do. You saw this as the only natural conclusion to… the movement."

"Shut the fuck up," the past ALIAS snarls. "You are not me. And if you think The Exiles would get under my skin, well buddy, you are vastly overestimating Peter Vaughn."

"Who?" He asks. A small pause follows. It seems innocuous but in that moment, the time-displaced variant understands everything he needed to know about the ‘threats’ to his time.

He was now more concerned with the threats to this one.

Himself.

After all, who else is going to beat ALIAS?

"HELP!" The North Korean War Criminal shouts in the battle beyond. The World-Beater sees NK in the enormous grip of The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur, being brought closer and closer to the creature’s sharpened mouth. He moves to intervene; to save NK!

"Not so fast," He says, forcing ALIAS back. "You're forgetting something, my younger self."

"And what's that?"

"This isn’t Your world."

THUMP!

The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur stomps his foot, and the entire fortress rattles again. It doesn't stop. Already scattered and battered, The Exiles can't do much to keep themselves together. And nor can ALIAS.

He stumbles.

He falls.

And the war ends just as it did back at Bad Medicine. When he was on his back.

With a click of his fingers for dramatic effect, the High Lord opens a swirling black hole atop The Dark Tower. He picks the disoriented ALIAS up by his shirt, and hurls him through. He crashes into the ground on the other side, bouncing several times before coming to a forcible halt against a solid wooden wall.

Groaning, he tries to pick himself up. The portal is still open! He sees it!

Each movement he makes forces him to dig into wells of energy he didn’t know he had. He might not! But he has to try!

"Get up, you sonofabitch," he tells himself. The 'real' him! Not some maniacal, dystopian counterpart, but the one in the here and now!

He finds his feet.

And looking ahead through the portal, he sees The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur Eat the North Korean War Criminal.





"FUCK!" he shouts, willing himself forward!

In the Otherworld, his future self squares up against his daughter.

ALIAS dives!

The High Lord turns to him and winks.

The portal blinks out of existence and ALIAS crashes into another wall.

"NOOOO!" he screams.

He rises once more, in the sometimes small, sometimes large, log cabin that The Salmon-Coloured Minotaur had introduced him to. It was a nexus of the world.

But just this world.

Through its windows, he could see Lance walking down the street of one of the movement's tent cities. He could see Dani preparing a meal. He could even see Steve Sayors, sitting patiently at home as he waited for somebody to call him for work.

But he couldn't see the two factions.

He couldn't see the Otherworld.

He couldn't see Himself.




3H: The Hell

“Do you get it, Pete? I’ve been trying to get this message across to you, and I hope that it’s sunk in by now.

You are the Universal Champion.

But I’m the big boss fight. I’m the fucking end game, after which you don’t get a chance to run and complete all of your little side quests. I’m it. Game fucking over when this is all said and done. You will never be the same again.

People will barely even remember your name.

See, I’ve been to hell too.


[Image: WRVxtLj.jpg]



Granted, yours looks more like a day to day thing.

You’re fucking thirty? With skin like that?! Woah!

Mind. Blown.

But when I went to hell, the devil didn’t try to keep me there. No, he thought I’d be too much of a hassle, and he knew that there was something else that I had to do.

You, Pete. Taking the Universe back from you.

So don’t you worry your little cotton socks off - he won’t bother you too much again. Because he doesn’t fucking dare stand in my way. Just ask Unknown Soldier, the devil’s favourite mouth to fuck.

And if the Custodial Cunts or the Fix-It Fuckholes want to send you to heaven next, well…


[Image: WRVxtLj.jpg]



They don’t want me there either. Instead… I get my very own world to play in, full of flames and all manner of other fun things. Forever in limbo, with no other levels in which to progress to! Solely fixed on one thing.

You know what it is. You have it, and you want to keep it.

But you won’t.

It’s coming fucking home!

Call it lust if you want. I didn’t demand to be put into the front of the line, I never fucking left! That rematch after cash-in clause is a rare contract that I can actually get around. You though? Boy, you won’t have that rematch. ‘Cause I’m not coming through the back door like Jim did. I’m huffing and puffing and blowing your whole fucking house down. Right out in the open.

Because I’m hungry. Jesus deep-throating Christ, you missed two real obvious ones on the gluttony front, Pete! You even took aim at the ‘Eat You’ mantra, but still left it on the fucking table instead of hitting it out of the park when it would’ve been a good one. I don’t even know if that’s the most egregious error, either. A fucking drinking problem? Who do you think I am? Lee Stone? Fuck that, let me ask another question:

…

Do you have a light?

…

See! You don’t have to make shit up, if you just know who the fuck you’re up against. You have not done the right research!

At least when you spoke about greed you were able to offer your own. If I had to pick though, that’s the place where you could’ve really hammered me too. It’s probably been my greatest vice. I’ve… allowed myself to be so consumed with my purpose that it’s often driven others away. You could’ve really taken me to task there. Now though? I’m trying, you know? Greed is good, sure. But I’m better.

Even with my temper.

What’s that? Are we going through these fucking levels real quick, just like you did? Yup!
Anger is why I lost to Lycana the first time. I lost sight of the mission, something which was a significant learning moment for me. But in general, my temper is… inconsistent. The trigger, if something was about to pop off? How ‘people like you’ have treated ‘people like me’. Yeah… what you said, bud. But about me. While we’re on this, Pete mind letting me know just who the fuck you’re talking about when you say those three words to me? People like who? People without a home? People without a family? People who have had to fight tooth and fucking nail to make sure that they don’t lose autonomy over their own lives? Ugh. We’re here again, Pete, but it’s all your fucking fault:

YOU HAVEN’T DONE THE RIGHT RESEARCH!

I’ve already worn my fair share of straight-jackets, bud. Try to keep up.

Because you’re just stuffing a scarecrow full of straw to beat, instead of actually speaking to me.

Peter denied God three times before he finally accepted him. Well you’ve rounded past third, buddy, and The Universe is on its way home. Time for you to finally accept your fucking position in all of this. And in case you’re wondering… there’s your goddamn heresy.

Anything you can do, I can do better!

That just leaves us with the violence, doesn’t it? Well, bitch, let there be blood! At least we can agree that’s the circle that you belong in, because if suicide victims go there, well everytime you’re opening your mouth, you’re pulling the fucking trigger on yourself all over again.

Hey… do the cannibals go there too?

I guess we’re about to find out. ‘Cause we’re done, Peter. Just like your reign as the Universal Champion, this whole thing is over before it really began. I’m going to do what I do best.

It seems like everyone except you already knows the drill, so it’s about time you get to learning.

Here it is folks. Then, now, and forever…

I’m going to Eat Peter Vaughn.”

































]]> <![CDATA[Sound Bath]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43251 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 19:09:39 -0700 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43251

“You’re going to hear a sound journey that’s going to sound interesting, maybe soothing to you, and it will help relax your skin, bones, and water within your body.”

Centurion is aware of a lot of weird stuff that exists in the world, but the words “sound bath” were never something he expected to hear put together under any context.

We open up on a back lawn somewhere in Southern California. The house that accompanies the lawn is rather large – much larger than one would expect, knowing the property values of that area. Laying on blankets throughout the yard are lines of young women, all of whom have their eyes closed as they listen to the words of another, albeit older, woman in front of them. The older woman has multiple glass bowls, as well as various chimes and bells placed all around her.

The women taking part in this “sound bath” are all influencers on various platforms, whether that be Twitch, Twitter, Youtube, etc. Among that crowd are Nellie Cortinovis and Erin Morgan, who are lying next to each other, fully entranced in the experience.

Sitting on a side patio, out of visual range but not out of ear shot, is Centurion, who has a glass of wine in front of him. He looks incredibly bored, and is reading various notes on his upcoming matches. Sitting next to him is Ruby, who has her face buried in a comic book, and seems to have absolutely no interest in what is going on.

“Now, take a deep breath.” The older woman says as she hits one of her sound bowls, causing a vibrating sound to be released. “Aaaaand let it go. Wooosh…” The woman gives the sound of an exaggerated exhale as she rubs her fabric mallet around the bowl.

“I think someone should let go of the pot.” Centurion mumbles under his breath as the sound of the bowl dissipates.

“Be nice.” Ruby says, though she is not nearly as passionate about scolding Centurion as she has been in the past.

“I am being nice!” Centurion snaps back in a hushed, low toned. “This lady clearly has injected so much THC that her brain is nothing more than a Pink Floyd album cover at this point. I want to pay for her rehab.”

“Are you going to go in with her?” Ruby says with snark.

Centurion blinks for a second, thinking about how to best respond to Ruby’s dunk. “…that’s different.” Centurion looks back down at his notes and turns a couple of pages as the lady hits a couple more sound bowls. Centurion shakes his head as he lifts some of the pages and studies them.

“You know.” Centurion casually says, still softly and only to Ruby. “It’s really hard to sit here and listen to a sound bath while reading notes about Charlie Nickles, a man who likely never traditionally baths.”

“We didn’t have to come.” Ruby says as she finally closes her comic book and looks over at Centurion. “We could have just as easily stayed in the hotel room and not worry about it.”

“Yeah…” Centurion says as he thinks more about what he’s saying. “…but I’m never one to turn down a free dinner. And it’s better to be sitting out here, rather than upstairs with the male content creators, who I assume are all talking about, I don’t know…chicks, and…cars, and…Mountain Dew.”

“It’s the first time we’ve walked into a crowd and I was the one who felt old.” Ruby says in agreement. “Heck, I think Nellie is one of the oldest ones here tonight. Is this what getting old feels like? Everyone just sort of de-ages around you?”

“I don’t like how casually you asked ME that.” Centurion responds. “But yeah, kind of. It’s one of those things that’s like “oh, you were born in the 2000’s and yet you’re still legally allowed to drink.” It messes with you, but you do get used to it after a while.”

As the two of them are talking, the sound of rain begins to fill the lawn area. Centurion arches an eyebrow and turns to look, and sees the woman holding some sort of wooden pan with tiny marbles in them. She is walking around the line of people lying on the ground as she shakes the pan.

“I suddenly feel like I have to pee.” Centurion says sarcastically.

“I suddenly feel like I have to leave.” Ruby returns the energy back to Centurion.

The sound bath…therapist…person shakes the pan with more speed and passion as she steps over some of the people lying on the floor. “Allow your stress to flow like the wind – out and away, and back into the environment.”

“Ah, is that all it takes?” Centurion replies with another snarky remark, once again causing Ruby to roll her eyes. “Hey Rubez, maybe before our next match, we should allow our stress to flow like the wind. You think Charlie will give me some time on Sunday shake some beads and let my stress be carried away?”

“Why does everything require a comment from you?” Ruby asks in a serious tone.

Centurion sits there and thinks for a second, not coming up with an answer to Ruby’s inquiry. “…I dunno. I’ve just always kind of done that, I guess. Trust me, you’re not the first person who has dated me that has said something about it.”

“And yet, weirdly, you still keep doing it.” Ruby says with a slight smile on her face. “It’s almost like you enjoy annoying people.”

“That might be it.” Centurion responds with a smile of his own. “Or I just can’t keep my thoughts inside my head. I let them fester for too long, and my brain will start oozing out of my ears. I wonder which colored crystal I need to bang against the wall in order for that to no longer be a thing."

“Ehem…”

Centurion and Ruby both turn their heads to see the leader of the sound bath, as well as all 25 women participating in it, staring directly at the two of them. Nellie hides her head in her hands in embarrassment, as does Ruby, but Centurion just continues to push on.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Centurion responds, doubling down. “You all know this is crap!”

“I assure you, this is NOT crap!” The woman says in a confrontational tone. “THIS has helped heal the body and minds of people for generations. Before we had things like prescription drugs, our ancestors would partake in therapies such as these to sooth their minds.”

“You think that, do you?” Centurion says, almost laughing. “Because I’m pretty sure, if my ancestors got stressed, they would invade a nearby village and kill a soldier. I’m going to have to check my history books again, but I don’t think ‘sound therapy’ was popular in ancient Greece.”

“Even if you are right…” The lady says with no hesitation “…stress in our lives still exist. Perhaps you would not be so up tight if you partook in various therapies to calm down that destructive mind you have.”

The woman turns and walks back to her place in front of the group of women, who all snarl at Centurion for a second before lying back down. Ruby just sort of shrugs her shoulders as Centurion.

“Well…she’s got you there."

------BOOOOOOOONGGGG!!!------

We reopen inside the apartment of Centurion in Chicago, Illinois. There, we see a closeup shot at a wooden display case. There is a glass top to it, and the inside has a red velvet lining. Sitting inside the case is the UGWC World Championship, and next to that, the Fight! NYC Bareknuckle Championship. The camera pans out just a bit to see Centurion, in a high-priced suit, looking down at his two titles.

“They’re beautifully displayed, aren’t they? I had a professional fashion this thing after I won the World Title – I think it’s important to show off your accomplishments, especially as you hold on to them. You never know how long you’re going to have the great things in your life, so you should cherish. Sure, it sets you up for disappointment in the future. There is a chance that I lose both of these belts in the next couple of weeks, and this thing will be empty, but hey, all that does is give me more motivation to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Of course, Charlie, there IS room for one more in there. I specifically had this designed so it can fit three titles simultaneously; however, I have no intention on putting the XWF Television Championship in this case. No, I have another place to put it. Somewhere nice and cozy, just for it.”

Centurion gestures to the side, and into frame walks Ruby. She is holding a generic cardboard Bankers box, which she hands over to Centurion.

“That’s right, Charlie. Goldie’s going right in here. No fancy cases or beautiful displays for her. No, she gets tossed in the box, put under a desk, and likely collecting dust, only taken out for the moments when I need to show up at events with the thing in hand. I will disrespect the everloving fuck out of this title, before I melt it down and turn it into a set of grills and replace it with a new, better Television Championship. Why?

Because of you, Charlie. Because of what you’ve done. You’ve defiled and destroyed this title. Your constant obsession and coddling of the belt has turned it into nothing more than an expensive paperweight. The Television Title should be the top title on Savage. Instead, it’s nothing more than a prop – a shiny obsession that your goofy ass as completely devalued. This is why no one will admit it, Charlie – but everyone in the back is rooting for me."

“Of course they’re rooting for you!” Ruby says, off screen, in a deep and mocking voice trying to imitate Charlie Nickles. “They don’t think they can beat me!”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to believe. Though, let me ask you this question, Charlie – what is more likely? The fact that people want you to lose the title because they’re afraid of stepping up to you and facing you, or the fact that people want you to lose the title because you’re an incredibly weird dude and you likely hang that title around your unwashed dick?”

“I’m….going to go.” Ruby says off camera after Centurion gets a bit more vulgar. Off camera, we can hear the sound of footsteps walking away and up a set of stairs. Centurion waits until he hears a door close before continuing.

“That’s why I need to win this match, Charlie. Not for me – I can honestly take it or leave it. Another title would be nice, but I’m not going to act like it would be some life changing event for me. No, I need to win for the betterment of the XWF. Every minute you walk around with a title around your waist, while continuing to rant and rave like a homeless meth addict, you hurt the reputation of the X-treme Wrestling Federation.

Which is funny, because I know that’s not how you see yourself. Not that you care about the reputation of the XWF, but you don’t consider yourself to be a joke. In fact, you take yourself VERY seriously. I know this, based on some recent comments you made about me.

A couple months ago, you made a quip about me losing the Anarchy Title to Elijah Martin, and just recently, you made the same sort of remark about losing to Bartholomew Lichter. You mocked me and laughed at me, and that’s fine. I played down to my competition, and I got beat. That sucks, and I own it, but let me ask you something…

What makes you think you’re any better than those two?

When I lose to Martin or Lichter, it’s a big deal, because I’m a God damn legend and I’m supposed to win those matches. If you were to lose those matches, Charlie? You may get a “huh, interesting.” And that’s it. You’re certainly not on the level you THINK you are. You think of yourself as this main event caliber star. You think you’re the next person to win the Universal Title and become a household name…which is hilarious to me, because you’ve proven time and again you tend to shrivel up when the best wrestlers stand up to you.”

Centurion walks away from the case, and the camera follows him. He walks up to a desk and pours himself a glass of scotch out of a crystal decanter. He pops the lid back on an grabs the glass. He looks at it for a few seconds before looking back towards the camera.

“It’s called a decanter, Charlie. You put a certain amount is liquor in there so you can set it out in other locations and not make it look like you’re an absolute animal. I’m sure the only way you consume alcohol is through a funnel up the ass, but most of the world appreciates a certainly level of class.

I honestly feel kind of bad for you, Charlie. Well, kind of, sort of. I know you’re a lonely guy. Single life can be hard after being married for a while. Trust me, I know. That’s why you’ve fallen in love with a title belt – it’s the only thing in this world that won’t judge you for being an unkempt freakshow. Goldie will love you unconditionally. Goldie won’t tell you that you need to shower.

But I’m telling you, man – you gotta let it go. It’s not healthy for you. Someday, and that day is coming very soon, Goldie will leave you, and then what? You’re going to fall in love with a filing cabinet? You’re going to start fucking water fountains? At some point, you have to say “enough is enough”. You need to move on, and start being with actual human beings.

It’s alright, Charlie. I’m sure you’ll find someone who loves you. You have so much going for you – you’re dashing lo….um…well, ok, your great personali….uhh…oh! You’re a pro wrestler! You must have a lot of money that you didn’t blow on heroin and cheesesteaks!

…alright, maybe you’ll never find love, but that’s ok! Some people are meant to be alone. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. There are monks out there that spend their entire lives in isolation – doing nothing but praying, drinking, and pissing off the side of mountains. Actually, that sounds right up your alley, Charlie. Why don’t you become a monk? You’ll be doing yourself, and the rest of the world, a huge favor if you decided to just hang out in Tibet for the next 40 years.

No matter what, I hope your life turns around and you find a career that truly makes you happy. I say that because this pro wrestling shit is clearly not doing it for you. You’ve been a miserable bastard since you got here, and I don’t understand why someone would continue to do something when it causes them so much misery. But hey, maybe I’m out of touch. Either way, I’m looking forward to your next steps, after Goldie is around my waist, and you meet your…

FINAL FANTASY!!!]]>

“You’re going to hear a sound journey that’s going to sound interesting, maybe soothing to you, and it will help relax your skin, bones, and water within your body.”

Centurion is aware of a lot of weird stuff that exists in the world, but the words “sound bath” were never something he expected to hear put together under any context.

We open up on a back lawn somewhere in Southern California. The house that accompanies the lawn is rather large – much larger than one would expect, knowing the property values of that area. Laying on blankets throughout the yard are lines of young women, all of whom have their eyes closed as they listen to the words of another, albeit older, woman in front of them. The older woman has multiple glass bowls, as well as various chimes and bells placed all around her.

The women taking part in this “sound bath” are all influencers on various platforms, whether that be Twitch, Twitter, Youtube, etc. Among that crowd are Nellie Cortinovis and Erin Morgan, who are lying next to each other, fully entranced in the experience.

Sitting on a side patio, out of visual range but not out of ear shot, is Centurion, who has a glass of wine in front of him. He looks incredibly bored, and is reading various notes on his upcoming matches. Sitting next to him is Ruby, who has her face buried in a comic book, and seems to have absolutely no interest in what is going on.

“Now, take a deep breath.” The older woman says as she hits one of her sound bowls, causing a vibrating sound to be released. “Aaaaand let it go. Wooosh…” The woman gives the sound of an exaggerated exhale as she rubs her fabric mallet around the bowl.

“I think someone should let go of the pot.” Centurion mumbles under his breath as the sound of the bowl dissipates.

“Be nice.” Ruby says, though she is not nearly as passionate about scolding Centurion as she has been in the past.

“I am being nice!” Centurion snaps back in a hushed, low toned. “This lady clearly has injected so much THC that her brain is nothing more than a Pink Floyd album cover at this point. I want to pay for her rehab.”

“Are you going to go in with her?” Ruby says with snark.

Centurion blinks for a second, thinking about how to best respond to Ruby’s dunk. “…that’s different.” Centurion looks back down at his notes and turns a couple of pages as the lady hits a couple more sound bowls. Centurion shakes his head as he lifts some of the pages and studies them.

“You know.” Centurion casually says, still softly and only to Ruby. “It’s really hard to sit here and listen to a sound bath while reading notes about Charlie Nickles, a man who likely never traditionally baths.”

“We didn’t have to come.” Ruby says as she finally closes her comic book and looks over at Centurion. “We could have just as easily stayed in the hotel room and not worry about it.”

“Yeah…” Centurion says as he thinks more about what he’s saying. “…but I’m never one to turn down a free dinner. And it’s better to be sitting out here, rather than upstairs with the male content creators, who I assume are all talking about, I don’t know…chicks, and…cars, and…Mountain Dew.”

“It’s the first time we’ve walked into a crowd and I was the one who felt old.” Ruby says in agreement. “Heck, I think Nellie is one of the oldest ones here tonight. Is this what getting old feels like? Everyone just sort of de-ages around you?”

“I don’t like how casually you asked ME that.” Centurion responds. “But yeah, kind of. It’s one of those things that’s like “oh, you were born in the 2000’s and yet you’re still legally allowed to drink.” It messes with you, but you do get used to it after a while.”

As the two of them are talking, the sound of rain begins to fill the lawn area. Centurion arches an eyebrow and turns to look, and sees the woman holding some sort of wooden pan with tiny marbles in them. She is walking around the line of people lying on the ground as she shakes the pan.

“I suddenly feel like I have to pee.” Centurion says sarcastically.

“I suddenly feel like I have to leave.” Ruby returns the energy back to Centurion.

The sound bath…therapist…person shakes the pan with more speed and passion as she steps over some of the people lying on the floor. “Allow your stress to flow like the wind – out and away, and back into the environment.”

“Ah, is that all it takes?” Centurion replies with another snarky remark, once again causing Ruby to roll her eyes. “Hey Rubez, maybe before our next match, we should allow our stress to flow like the wind. You think Charlie will give me some time on Sunday shake some beads and let my stress be carried away?”

“Why does everything require a comment from you?” Ruby asks in a serious tone.

Centurion sits there and thinks for a second, not coming up with an answer to Ruby’s inquiry. “…I dunno. I’ve just always kind of done that, I guess. Trust me, you’re not the first person who has dated me that has said something about it.”

“And yet, weirdly, you still keep doing it.” Ruby says with a slight smile on her face. “It’s almost like you enjoy annoying people.”

“That might be it.” Centurion responds with a smile of his own. “Or I just can’t keep my thoughts inside my head. I let them fester for too long, and my brain will start oozing out of my ears. I wonder which colored crystal I need to bang against the wall in order for that to no longer be a thing."

“Ehem…”

Centurion and Ruby both turn their heads to see the leader of the sound bath, as well as all 25 women participating in it, staring directly at the two of them. Nellie hides her head in her hands in embarrassment, as does Ruby, but Centurion just continues to push on.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Centurion responds, doubling down. “You all know this is crap!”

“I assure you, this is NOT crap!” The woman says in a confrontational tone. “THIS has helped heal the body and minds of people for generations. Before we had things like prescription drugs, our ancestors would partake in therapies such as these to sooth their minds.”

“You think that, do you?” Centurion says, almost laughing. “Because I’m pretty sure, if my ancestors got stressed, they would invade a nearby village and kill a soldier. I’m going to have to check my history books again, but I don’t think ‘sound therapy’ was popular in ancient Greece.”

“Even if you are right…” The lady says with no hesitation “…stress in our lives still exist. Perhaps you would not be so up tight if you partook in various therapies to calm down that destructive mind you have.”

The woman turns and walks back to her place in front of the group of women, who all snarl at Centurion for a second before lying back down. Ruby just sort of shrugs her shoulders as Centurion.

“Well…she’s got you there."

------BOOOOOOOONGGGG!!!------

We reopen inside the apartment of Centurion in Chicago, Illinois. There, we see a closeup shot at a wooden display case. There is a glass top to it, and the inside has a red velvet lining. Sitting inside the case is the UGWC World Championship, and next to that, the Fight! NYC Bareknuckle Championship. The camera pans out just a bit to see Centurion, in a high-priced suit, looking down at his two titles.

“They’re beautifully displayed, aren’t they? I had a professional fashion this thing after I won the World Title – I think it’s important to show off your accomplishments, especially as you hold on to them. You never know how long you’re going to have the great things in your life, so you should cherish. Sure, it sets you up for disappointment in the future. There is a chance that I lose both of these belts in the next couple of weeks, and this thing will be empty, but hey, all that does is give me more motivation to make sure that doesn’t happen.

Of course, Charlie, there IS room for one more in there. I specifically had this designed so it can fit three titles simultaneously; however, I have no intention on putting the XWF Television Championship in this case. No, I have another place to put it. Somewhere nice and cozy, just for it.”

Centurion gestures to the side, and into frame walks Ruby. She is holding a generic cardboard Bankers box, which she hands over to Centurion.

“That’s right, Charlie. Goldie’s going right in here. No fancy cases or beautiful displays for her. No, she gets tossed in the box, put under a desk, and likely collecting dust, only taken out for the moments when I need to show up at events with the thing in hand. I will disrespect the everloving fuck out of this title, before I melt it down and turn it into a set of grills and replace it with a new, better Television Championship. Why?

Because of you, Charlie. Because of what you’ve done. You’ve defiled and destroyed this title. Your constant obsession and coddling of the belt has turned it into nothing more than an expensive paperweight. The Television Title should be the top title on Savage. Instead, it’s nothing more than a prop – a shiny obsession that your goofy ass as completely devalued. This is why no one will admit it, Charlie – but everyone in the back is rooting for me."

“Of course they’re rooting for you!” Ruby says, off screen, in a deep and mocking voice trying to imitate Charlie Nickles. “They don’t think they can beat me!”

“Sure, if that’s what you want to believe. Though, let me ask you this question, Charlie – what is more likely? The fact that people want you to lose the title because they’re afraid of stepping up to you and facing you, or the fact that people want you to lose the title because you’re an incredibly weird dude and you likely hang that title around your unwashed dick?”

“I’m….going to go.” Ruby says off camera after Centurion gets a bit more vulgar. Off camera, we can hear the sound of footsteps walking away and up a set of stairs. Centurion waits until he hears a door close before continuing.

“That’s why I need to win this match, Charlie. Not for me – I can honestly take it or leave it. Another title would be nice, but I’m not going to act like it would be some life changing event for me. No, I need to win for the betterment of the XWF. Every minute you walk around with a title around your waist, while continuing to rant and rave like a homeless meth addict, you hurt the reputation of the X-treme Wrestling Federation.

Which is funny, because I know that’s not how you see yourself. Not that you care about the reputation of the XWF, but you don’t consider yourself to be a joke. In fact, you take yourself VERY seriously. I know this, based on some recent comments you made about me.

A couple months ago, you made a quip about me losing the Anarchy Title to Elijah Martin, and just recently, you made the same sort of remark about losing to Bartholomew Lichter. You mocked me and laughed at me, and that’s fine. I played down to my competition, and I got beat. That sucks, and I own it, but let me ask you something…

What makes you think you’re any better than those two?

When I lose to Martin or Lichter, it’s a big deal, because I’m a God damn legend and I’m supposed to win those matches. If you were to lose those matches, Charlie? You may get a “huh, interesting.” And that’s it. You’re certainly not on the level you THINK you are. You think of yourself as this main event caliber star. You think you’re the next person to win the Universal Title and become a household name…which is hilarious to me, because you’ve proven time and again you tend to shrivel up when the best wrestlers stand up to you.”

Centurion walks away from the case, and the camera follows him. He walks up to a desk and pours himself a glass of scotch out of a crystal decanter. He pops the lid back on an grabs the glass. He looks at it for a few seconds before looking back towards the camera.

“It’s called a decanter, Charlie. You put a certain amount is liquor in there so you can set it out in other locations and not make it look like you’re an absolute animal. I’m sure the only way you consume alcohol is through a funnel up the ass, but most of the world appreciates a certainly level of class.

I honestly feel kind of bad for you, Charlie. Well, kind of, sort of. I know you’re a lonely guy. Single life can be hard after being married for a while. Trust me, I know. That’s why you’ve fallen in love with a title belt – it’s the only thing in this world that won’t judge you for being an unkempt freakshow. Goldie will love you unconditionally. Goldie won’t tell you that you need to shower.

But I’m telling you, man – you gotta let it go. It’s not healthy for you. Someday, and that day is coming very soon, Goldie will leave you, and then what? You’re going to fall in love with a filing cabinet? You’re going to start fucking water fountains? At some point, you have to say “enough is enough”. You need to move on, and start being with actual human beings.

It’s alright, Charlie. I’m sure you’ll find someone who loves you. You have so much going for you – you’re dashing lo….um…well, ok, your great personali….uhh…oh! You’re a pro wrestler! You must have a lot of money that you didn’t blow on heroin and cheesesteaks!

…alright, maybe you’ll never find love, but that’s ok! Some people are meant to be alone. It doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. There are monks out there that spend their entire lives in isolation – doing nothing but praying, drinking, and pissing off the side of mountains. Actually, that sounds right up your alley, Charlie. Why don’t you become a monk? You’ll be doing yourself, and the rest of the world, a huge favor if you decided to just hang out in Tibet for the next 40 years.

No matter what, I hope your life turns around and you find a career that truly makes you happy. I say that because this pro wrestling shit is clearly not doing it for you. You’ve been a miserable bastard since you got here, and I don’t understand why someone would continue to do something when it causes them so much misery. But hey, maybe I’m out of touch. Either way, I’m looking forward to your next steps, after Goldie is around my waist, and you meet your…

FINAL FANTASY!!!]]> <![CDATA[TOY Story]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43238 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 18:22:09 -0700 Jenny Myst]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43238
As soon as the door closed, the entire room took a big gasp. Boo-bear-y and Dollface were the first to move. They hopped down from the shelf and walked across the room.

"Close call"

"I thought she would never leave."

The toys were in the midst of their own little tournament. They wanted to crown the king and the queen of the toybox, and they had set up their own little competition. PANDAemic was putting the finishing touches on the course, and Tinky was making sure the track was level. Kimmy (because, fuck Barbie) was inflating the balls that they would be using and Kit Kat was testing the jumpy-springs. It looked like the Olympics for toys, and the human almost ruined it.

There would be a number of competitions between the toys. They would race, wrestle, jump, shoot nerf guns (well, throw nerf arrows but to them it was amazing!) and climb the blocks to grab the bandanna flag and race back down to the bottom.

Geoffrey the Giraffe was at an advantage when it came to the flag game, because he could just stick his neck up and grab it.

Red Teddy and Blue Teddy were the referee's. They were discussing what would be a disqualification (mostly concerning Geofrey) while Hobs (he was a Tiger!) was stretching his stuffed legs to get ready to race.

Competition one was the race.

Competition two was the blocks.

Competition three was the wrestling match.

Competition four was the long jump.

The toys had been waiting years for this. They had been preparing every night when the human girl would sleep, longing to finally reach toy supremacy by winning the games and getting to call themselves King or Queen of the toybox for a full year. For some of them, this was their last chance at glory (they were older toys, far less played with and often shoved into a corner to die alone) and for others this was a chance to finally, in their minds, become the toy that the human girl chose to take with her to her "sessions". Even though the rumor in toy-land was that these sessions were horrifying and often resulted in the girl screaming, she would cuddle the stuffing damn near out of them afterwards.

Blue Teddy then turned and threw the nerf dart into the air. It was time for the race. Hobbs was ready. He got down into position. He would be facing off against the other fastest toy, Goatsy (he was a goat). Blue Teddy threw another dark in the air and the two took off, running with an adorable wobble and going as fast as their little legs would take them. When they got to the end, Hobbs had the advantage. Red Teddy was there to watch closely for who crossed the line first, and Timmy the Gorilla (who oddly also wore a tiara), was there to make sure nobody cheated. When Hobbs crossed the line first, he did a little dance. Goatsy was distraught but knew there were other events for redemption.

The Princess watched from her shelf-throne, a smile on her face. She had already deemed herself Queen and did not need to lower herself to the events of peasants. Nobody liked Princess.

The toys all made their way over to the blocks. The bandana flag was set up on a flag pole made from a straw and stood up using some Elmers glue that was found under the bed.

For a little girls toy, cuddle's are paramount.

Just as the nerf dart hit the air, and all of the competitors began to climb the blocks (they decided that Geoffrey would not be allowed to participate in this event), they stopped. There was a smell of smoke in the air and the room began to get extremely warm.

Red and Blue Teddy looked towards the door, their stumpy arms pointing towards and orange light emitting from underneath. They sent Timmy the Tiara wearing Gorilla over to check it out. He walked over to the door and looked under it. Just as he was about to turn back and tell the toys to hide, the door exploded and he was lost in a large, orange, ball of light. Red and Blue Teddy were the next closest. They began to scream through their stitched mouths as they caught fire, melting their bodies and the stuffing from inside of them poured out in a heap of black and yellow charred mass.

Geoffrey tripped over himself trying to get under the bed. Goat boy, who was half way up a block, fell backwards and into the flames below as the entire floor became one flame. The toys screamed in agony as they burned alive. In the door way a figure stood. Shadowy. Imposing. Doom and death in the form of a smiling face with bright blue eyes.

The princess stared into the distance as her face melted, one of her eyes falling into her ever-softening body and her face turning a blackish grey.

All these toys ever wanted was to be loved. To feel the affection from the one they looked up to the most.

The human girl loved these toys, as they were her only escape from the hell that she called reality.

Sometimes, you need to destroy something you love to truly feel what its like to live.

[Image: h2pWe53.gif]

"Kiddo.....

I'm sorry to say this hunnybear, but I think you're in over your head here. I thought maybe you'd come up with something creative and whitty to say about me. I was hoping, praying actually, that this guy that everyone thinks is the second coming of wrestling Christ would actually have a punchline stronger than "vapid" and "weak minded." I mean....how many times has someone said that EXACT SAME THING...."

*begins to count on her fingers, nodding her head with each one.*

"Madison Dyson used to call me that a lot. Like, every promo. It was her favorite thing to say about me. Poor thing. Her career was never the same after she lost to me....she died shortly after. Shame."

First Time Madison Called Me Vapid
Here Was Her Lapdog, Engy, Calling Me Vapid!
I can keep going, but you get the point....I hope

*looks up for a moment, then back down with a smile.*

"Some could say I ended her career. Others would say it was already on the downturn when I beat her. They are just jelly! But you, Rain, you take Jelly to a whole new level! You're so bitter, spiteful. I can feel it. You've never lived up to expectations here and the pressure is getting to you. I can hear you starting to crack in your words. I can see you back tracking, getting defensive, having to defend yourself over the smallest little thing........

You're pulling a rabit out of a hat only to find out that the rabbit isn't real.

You want to complain about how I tell people about my reign as Shooting Star Champ--101 days by the way--but you think that I am the only one who likes to highlight my accomplishments to make myself feel better. They all do it. It is kind of the M.O. around these parts. Duke does it. Just ask him, he will tell you how great he is. Robert Main will tell you exactly how many times APEX has won anything and Chris Page likes to brag. Centurion....holy jumping fucking shit balls, don't get that guy going about how good he is unless you've got some time to kill! Any top competitor here will tell you how good they are because they are proud. Hell, we have a title history page on the company website for a reason. I revolutionized women's wrestling here and I held down that division for over a year before my breakdown. You call the title 'defunct', and that's your prerogative boobear, but just because they didn't have anyone talented enough to compete for the title on a nightly basis after Nickles took care of Betsy, all of the sudden it's my fault that their recruiting sucks? It isn't my fault that the title is defucnt, its my fault I went away and allowed inferior talent to think they could hang until Vinnie pulled the plug for sanity sake. You know the people who don't brag? Oswald, Tommy Wish, Lord Raab, Calvalry...you know, the B tier. Why? Because they have nothing to brag about. They have done nothing of note. Does that sound familiar? Maybe that is why you don't brag, because what do you have to brag about other than the opinions of the banana slugs that inhabit this roster and seem to think you're worth more than a Dixie Cup of piss.

Yes, Rain, I know you have had a title shot. I am blonde, not blind. That is why I held up when mentioning it. I wasn't sure if being a loser was a soft spot for you. Sounds like it is. I am glad you think I am just some dumb blonde who is oblivious to the happenings around here....makes it that much better if we do face each other.....because it's clear you've already underestimated me. That's fine. I am used to it. It's your fatal flaw, not mine. You seem to have that Centurion level of small dick energy. It's toxic. I have had my share of Main Events, Rain, and many of them came while you were still drinking Sake and practicing your HI-YAH's in whatever dojo would house you. I don't care about Main Events, because they don't define me. Just like titles....I said when I came back it wasn't about chasing titles. If Charlie wants to GIVE me one, fine, but I don't let a piece of gold define me or where I sit on the card. I got my 50th career win this past Thursday, and I am just having fun. Do you even know what fun is? It's not my fault your father threatened to disown you when he heard your League of Legends team took second place. You're view of the world.. must be very narrow......"

*she gasps, putting a gloved hand over her mouth, realizing the gravity of what she just said....*


"I know I am set up for the underdog role. I know that nobody but me is giving me a shot. That's fine. I just wanna play and have fun. I am not sure if there is something in the water around here, however. Remind me not to drink the tap! Bobby Bourbon seems to be falling into the same trap as everyone else. He is grouping me in with Chris Chaos, confusing me with that piece of crap, and seems to think I have left multiple times. Big guy, get your facts straight. I mean I am batshit crazy and probably belong in a padded room but at least I can string together a coherent timeline of events. You just say things. Rain wants to talk about shock value....holy hell, Bobby you're the king. I may say some crazy stuff, but you're just flat out wrong. Everyone takes you seriously because you say it with such conviction....you actually believe your own bullshit!

I love how you distort facts to make me look bad and censor names like we're in fucking middle school. What is he, Voldemort? He who shall not be named? Grow a sack for once and say his name: S h a n e C a r v e r. Gabe Reno. We're adults here, at least physically. CHRIS went to join S h a n e and the Nazi, Fascist, Racist, Homophobic, Liablist Slandering fuck tards......I was locked away. Oh! Do you mean when I joined SEE because management here sucked? Or when I joined RLF because management here sucked? Okay! I get it now! I have been a disloyal cunt a couple times in my career, but never once was it to ride the S h a n e C a r v e r revenge train conducted by Gabe Reno. I left here because of differences with management, not some petty middle finger laden tempter tantrum. That's more your thing....and Jim Caedus's. So you can take Vinnie's dick totally out of your mouth now and ask Theo to politely stop fondling your balls. We ALL know YOU haven't been a model student here either, have ya? Rule numero uno of being a troll Bobert....you gotta have your facts right. Otherwise, it isn't a troll, its just nonsense.

OH! And way to get defensive about the Zach Galifianakis joke, by the way. It was funny and everybody laughed. You're only salty because it hit home just....a little....too....hard. "

*grins, turning towards the other camera*

Thunder Knuckles, man, I'll have what you're having my guy! An entire promo and all you did was talk about how you're going to be king. How about you try winning SOMETHING first? I mean holy hell man, your entire 'promo' was harder to follow than a Michael J. Fox creative writing class. You literally had like three sentences at the very end about me. Bravo! Did I roast you that hard that you literally had to block all of it out of your mind and only focus on the Elvis punchline? Dismiss it from your short term memory, hoping it would go away? Is one of the requirements to be a bastard being delusional? You literally are a walking, talking, nothing around here and you throw around the word king so much.....baby steps here Knucks. Lets try actually getting by Rain man first, mmmkay? Because IF you do, you've got your bastard brother Bourbino or moi, and well, we all know how well you perform in matches when the stakes are high....."

*she coughs. But not to be a bitch, like, a legit cough. Something was in her throat.*

"Damn......hate when that happens. And who said I didn't have a gag reflex?! Anywhoo.....

Knucks you're fooling yourself if you think that you're the one walking out of this. I know the bets are on Bobby, and Rainy day over there has a lot of internal support, but you seem to be on your own little island all alone. In a weird way, I respect it, because of course I think I am going to win this little game and many people think I am delusional, too. The difference is, that it won't effect me either way. I am just happy to be here, you NEED to be here. You need matches like this so that the rest of the roster doesn't forget you exist. B.O.B was your crutch because Ms. Fury carried you like a Jan Sport for a year before her untimely demise and you just haven't been able to hack it since.

You seem to be going for the comedy approach, at least that is how I heard it. You think you're entertaining. Laugh while you can, I doubt you’ll be smiling after the group of Japanese businessmen who just paid for you are finished with you. Rain is into some weird shit, man. They all are. Have him explain to you what "jiggle physics" are. It looks like Justin from Wizards of Waverly Place had a midlife crisis and got the shit beaten out of him, turned to meth and binge drinking, and here is Thunder Knuckles. You look like a mom’s basement boxing promoter. You look like a bargain basement store mannequin wearing a knock-off bathrobe. I almost feel bad for you. Almost. I would have compassion for you if I didn't already know how pathetic you truly are. Until you actually do something around here, be it in this match or sometime in the near future, just keep that trap of yours closed because you're only embarrassing yourself."

*tisk-tisk's the screen*

So I come into the Tokyo Dome the clear underdog. Coolio. I bet Raiden thinks he has home field advantage. He will probably even bring the hat, too. Who knows with that guy. All I know is that win or lose, I am going to give it all I have. I am going to go into this match loose, with nothing to lose. Every single one of these "men" has something riding on this. They all have ego's to uphold. They all have some sort of excuse as to why they aren't where they want to be in their careers. Bobby even told me he is yet to do all things he wants to do, his best achievements yadda yadda. You know who says the best is yet to come? The people who haven't done shit in the first place. Knuckles seems to think this is going to be a Bastard's match--and hell, maybe it is--but with your brash sense of self-achievement and downright assinine sense of accomplishment.....you know what, fuck it.....I don't have a punchline there. There is Confederate flag sticker on your car somewhere, I know this, and that's what I was driving at. Why waste any more time?

Rain man, I wanted to just say before I get back to arts and crafts here....you made it clear to everyone that you don't respect my accomplishment because my title is "defunct". Well, little man (and I am five feet tall, that is a lot coming from me), I would only say this. Win one before you put down another. I have held more titles in my day than you've had matches in your career and until you put that gold around your waist your opinion means nothing to anyone who actually matters.

That being said, I have to get back to what I was doing. Have fun everyone, godspeed or some shit......"

*burps*
]]>
As soon as the door closed, the entire room took a big gasp. Boo-bear-y and Dollface were the first to move. They hopped down from the shelf and walked across the room.

"Close call"

"I thought she would never leave."

The toys were in the midst of their own little tournament. They wanted to crown the king and the queen of the toybox, and they had set up their own little competition. PANDAemic was putting the finishing touches on the course, and Tinky was making sure the track was level. Kimmy (because, fuck Barbie) was inflating the balls that they would be using and Kit Kat was testing the jumpy-springs. It looked like the Olympics for toys, and the human almost ruined it.

There would be a number of competitions between the toys. They would race, wrestle, jump, shoot nerf guns (well, throw nerf arrows but to them it was amazing!) and climb the blocks to grab the bandanna flag and race back down to the bottom.

Geoffrey the Giraffe was at an advantage when it came to the flag game, because he could just stick his neck up and grab it.

Red Teddy and Blue Teddy were the referee's. They were discussing what would be a disqualification (mostly concerning Geofrey) while Hobs (he was a Tiger!) was stretching his stuffed legs to get ready to race.

Competition one was the race.

Competition two was the blocks.

Competition three was the wrestling match.

Competition four was the long jump.

The toys had been waiting years for this. They had been preparing every night when the human girl would sleep, longing to finally reach toy supremacy by winning the games and getting to call themselves King or Queen of the toybox for a full year. For some of them, this was their last chance at glory (they were older toys, far less played with and often shoved into a corner to die alone) and for others this was a chance to finally, in their minds, become the toy that the human girl chose to take with her to her "sessions". Even though the rumor in toy-land was that these sessions were horrifying and often resulted in the girl screaming, she would cuddle the stuffing damn near out of them afterwards.

Blue Teddy then turned and threw the nerf dart into the air. It was time for the race. Hobbs was ready. He got down into position. He would be facing off against the other fastest toy, Goatsy (he was a goat). Blue Teddy threw another dark in the air and the two took off, running with an adorable wobble and going as fast as their little legs would take them. When they got to the end, Hobbs had the advantage. Red Teddy was there to watch closely for who crossed the line first, and Timmy the Gorilla (who oddly also wore a tiara), was there to make sure nobody cheated. When Hobbs crossed the line first, he did a little dance. Goatsy was distraught but knew there were other events for redemption.

The Princess watched from her shelf-throne, a smile on her face. She had already deemed herself Queen and did not need to lower herself to the events of peasants. Nobody liked Princess.

The toys all made their way over to the blocks. The bandana flag was set up on a flag pole made from a straw and stood up using some Elmers glue that was found under the bed.

For a little girls toy, cuddle's are paramount.

Just as the nerf dart hit the air, and all of the competitors began to climb the blocks (they decided that Geoffrey would not be allowed to participate in this event), they stopped. There was a smell of smoke in the air and the room began to get extremely warm.

Red and Blue Teddy looked towards the door, their stumpy arms pointing towards and orange light emitting from underneath. They sent Timmy the Tiara wearing Gorilla over to check it out. He walked over to the door and looked under it. Just as he was about to turn back and tell the toys to hide, the door exploded and he was lost in a large, orange, ball of light. Red and Blue Teddy were the next closest. They began to scream through their stitched mouths as they caught fire, melting their bodies and the stuffing from inside of them poured out in a heap of black and yellow charred mass.

Geoffrey tripped over himself trying to get under the bed. Goat boy, who was half way up a block, fell backwards and into the flames below as the entire floor became one flame. The toys screamed in agony as they burned alive. In the door way a figure stood. Shadowy. Imposing. Doom and death in the form of a smiling face with bright blue eyes.

The princess stared into the distance as her face melted, one of her eyes falling into her ever-softening body and her face turning a blackish grey.

All these toys ever wanted was to be loved. To feel the affection from the one they looked up to the most.

The human girl loved these toys, as they were her only escape from the hell that she called reality.

Sometimes, you need to destroy something you love to truly feel what its like to live.

[Image: h2pWe53.gif]

"Kiddo.....

I'm sorry to say this hunnybear, but I think you're in over your head here. I thought maybe you'd come up with something creative and whitty to say about me. I was hoping, praying actually, that this guy that everyone thinks is the second coming of wrestling Christ would actually have a punchline stronger than "vapid" and "weak minded." I mean....how many times has someone said that EXACT SAME THING...."

*begins to count on her fingers, nodding her head with each one.*

"Madison Dyson used to call me that a lot. Like, every promo. It was her favorite thing to say about me. Poor thing. Her career was never the same after she lost to me....she died shortly after. Shame."

First Time Madison Called Me Vapid
Here Was Her Lapdog, Engy, Calling Me Vapid!
I can keep going, but you get the point....I hope

*looks up for a moment, then back down with a smile.*

"Some could say I ended her career. Others would say it was already on the downturn when I beat her. They are just jelly! But you, Rain, you take Jelly to a whole new level! You're so bitter, spiteful. I can feel it. You've never lived up to expectations here and the pressure is getting to you. I can hear you starting to crack in your words. I can see you back tracking, getting defensive, having to defend yourself over the smallest little thing........

You're pulling a rabit out of a hat only to find out that the rabbit isn't real.

You want to complain about how I tell people about my reign as Shooting Star Champ--101 days by the way--but you think that I am the only one who likes to highlight my accomplishments to make myself feel better. They all do it. It is kind of the M.O. around these parts. Duke does it. Just ask him, he will tell you how great he is. Robert Main will tell you exactly how many times APEX has won anything and Chris Page likes to brag. Centurion....holy jumping fucking shit balls, don't get that guy going about how good he is unless you've got some time to kill! Any top competitor here will tell you how good they are because they are proud. Hell, we have a title history page on the company website for a reason. I revolutionized women's wrestling here and I held down that division for over a year before my breakdown. You call the title 'defunct', and that's your prerogative boobear, but just because they didn't have anyone talented enough to compete for the title on a nightly basis after Nickles took care of Betsy, all of the sudden it's my fault that their recruiting sucks? It isn't my fault that the title is defucnt, its my fault I went away and allowed inferior talent to think they could hang until Vinnie pulled the plug for sanity sake. You know the people who don't brag? Oswald, Tommy Wish, Lord Raab, Calvalry...you know, the B tier. Why? Because they have nothing to brag about. They have done nothing of note. Does that sound familiar? Maybe that is why you don't brag, because what do you have to brag about other than the opinions of the banana slugs that inhabit this roster and seem to think you're worth more than a Dixie Cup of piss.

Yes, Rain, I know you have had a title shot. I am blonde, not blind. That is why I held up when mentioning it. I wasn't sure if being a loser was a soft spot for you. Sounds like it is. I am glad you think I am just some dumb blonde who is oblivious to the happenings around here....makes it that much better if we do face each other.....because it's clear you've already underestimated me. That's fine. I am used to it. It's your fatal flaw, not mine. You seem to have that Centurion level of small dick energy. It's toxic. I have had my share of Main Events, Rain, and many of them came while you were still drinking Sake and practicing your HI-YAH's in whatever dojo would house you. I don't care about Main Events, because they don't define me. Just like titles....I said when I came back it wasn't about chasing titles. If Charlie wants to GIVE me one, fine, but I don't let a piece of gold define me or where I sit on the card. I got my 50th career win this past Thursday, and I am just having fun. Do you even know what fun is? It's not my fault your father threatened to disown you when he heard your League of Legends team took second place. You're view of the world.. must be very narrow......"

*she gasps, putting a gloved hand over her mouth, realizing the gravity of what she just said....*


"I know I am set up for the underdog role. I know that nobody but me is giving me a shot. That's fine. I just wanna play and have fun. I am not sure if there is something in the water around here, however. Remind me not to drink the tap! Bobby Bourbon seems to be falling into the same trap as everyone else. He is grouping me in with Chris Chaos, confusing me with that piece of crap, and seems to think I have left multiple times. Big guy, get your facts straight. I mean I am batshit crazy and probably belong in a padded room but at least I can string together a coherent timeline of events. You just say things. Rain wants to talk about shock value....holy hell, Bobby you're the king. I may say some crazy stuff, but you're just flat out wrong. Everyone takes you seriously because you say it with such conviction....you actually believe your own bullshit!

I love how you distort facts to make me look bad and censor names like we're in fucking middle school. What is he, Voldemort? He who shall not be named? Grow a sack for once and say his name: S h a n e C a r v e r. Gabe Reno. We're adults here, at least physically. CHRIS went to join S h a n e and the Nazi, Fascist, Racist, Homophobic, Liablist Slandering fuck tards......I was locked away. Oh! Do you mean when I joined SEE because management here sucked? Or when I joined RLF because management here sucked? Okay! I get it now! I have been a disloyal cunt a couple times in my career, but never once was it to ride the S h a n e C a r v e r revenge train conducted by Gabe Reno. I left here because of differences with management, not some petty middle finger laden tempter tantrum. That's more your thing....and Jim Caedus's. So you can take Vinnie's dick totally out of your mouth now and ask Theo to politely stop fondling your balls. We ALL know YOU haven't been a model student here either, have ya? Rule numero uno of being a troll Bobert....you gotta have your facts right. Otherwise, it isn't a troll, its just nonsense.

OH! And way to get defensive about the Zach Galifianakis joke, by the way. It was funny and everybody laughed. You're only salty because it hit home just....a little....too....hard. "

*grins, turning towards the other camera*

Thunder Knuckles, man, I'll have what you're having my guy! An entire promo and all you did was talk about how you're going to be king. How about you try winning SOMETHING first? I mean holy hell man, your entire 'promo' was harder to follow than a Michael J. Fox creative writing class. You literally had like three sentences at the very end about me. Bravo! Did I roast you that hard that you literally had to block all of it out of your mind and only focus on the Elvis punchline? Dismiss it from your short term memory, hoping it would go away? Is one of the requirements to be a bastard being delusional? You literally are a walking, talking, nothing around here and you throw around the word king so much.....baby steps here Knucks. Lets try actually getting by Rain man first, mmmkay? Because IF you do, you've got your bastard brother Bourbino or moi, and well, we all know how well you perform in matches when the stakes are high....."

*she coughs. But not to be a bitch, like, a legit cough. Something was in her throat.*

"Damn......hate when that happens. And who said I didn't have a gag reflex?! Anywhoo.....

Knucks you're fooling yourself if you think that you're the one walking out of this. I know the bets are on Bobby, and Rainy day over there has a lot of internal support, but you seem to be on your own little island all alone. In a weird way, I respect it, because of course I think I am going to win this little game and many people think I am delusional, too. The difference is, that it won't effect me either way. I am just happy to be here, you NEED to be here. You need matches like this so that the rest of the roster doesn't forget you exist. B.O.B was your crutch because Ms. Fury carried you like a Jan Sport for a year before her untimely demise and you just haven't been able to hack it since.

You seem to be going for the comedy approach, at least that is how I heard it. You think you're entertaining. Laugh while you can, I doubt you’ll be smiling after the group of Japanese businessmen who just paid for you are finished with you. Rain is into some weird shit, man. They all are. Have him explain to you what "jiggle physics" are. It looks like Justin from Wizards of Waverly Place had a midlife crisis and got the shit beaten out of him, turned to meth and binge drinking, and here is Thunder Knuckles. You look like a mom’s basement boxing promoter. You look like a bargain basement store mannequin wearing a knock-off bathrobe. I almost feel bad for you. Almost. I would have compassion for you if I didn't already know how pathetic you truly are. Until you actually do something around here, be it in this match or sometime in the near future, just keep that trap of yours closed because you're only embarrassing yourself."

*tisk-tisk's the screen*

So I come into the Tokyo Dome the clear underdog. Coolio. I bet Raiden thinks he has home field advantage. He will probably even bring the hat, too. Who knows with that guy. All I know is that win or lose, I am going to give it all I have. I am going to go into this match loose, with nothing to lose. Every single one of these "men" has something riding on this. They all have ego's to uphold. They all have some sort of excuse as to why they aren't where they want to be in their careers. Bobby even told me he is yet to do all things he wants to do, his best achievements yadda yadda. You know who says the best is yet to come? The people who haven't done shit in the first place. Knuckles seems to think this is going to be a Bastard's match--and hell, maybe it is--but with your brash sense of self-achievement and downright assinine sense of accomplishment.....you know what, fuck it.....I don't have a punchline there. There is Confederate flag sticker on your car somewhere, I know this, and that's what I was driving at. Why waste any more time?

Rain man, I wanted to just say before I get back to arts and crafts here....you made it clear to everyone that you don't respect my accomplishment because my title is "defunct". Well, little man (and I am five feet tall, that is a lot coming from me), I would only say this. Win one before you put down another. I have held more titles in my day than you've had matches in your career and until you put that gold around your waist your opinion means nothing to anyone who actually matters.

That being said, I have to get back to what I was doing. Have fun everyone, godspeed or some shit......"

*burps*
]]> <![CDATA[Future State part 3]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43250 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 16:46:32 -0700 Corey Smith]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43250
RECAP

Last time, we saw Corey Smith transplanted from the current timeline and into a horrific future where Madison Dyson, Corey’s long time enemy, had taken control of the country. Madison captured Corey and his friend Pan, and after a bout of ego massaging, killed them both by throwing them out of her aircraft.

However, Corey didn’t die. Instead, he simply returned to this timeline. Now, on the eve of March Madness, after seeing the future that awaits him and all of us, Corey must make peace with ending his XWF career and moving on to something more. And the fight starts now, with Madison Dyson’s demonic council Mammon, the Lord of Avarice.


The shot opens on XWF’s steadfast interviewer Steve Sayors.

Hello everyone. With me today is none other than Corey Smith. Supercontinental champion for the last 6 months, and ready to square off with Angie Vaughn at March Madness for his championship. And Corey, let me first start off by saying…

The shot pans back, to reveal Corey seated next to Steve. He looks battered and bruised. You can tell that even sitting in the seat is mildly uncomfortable for him.

….you look like hell. What happened?!

It’s a…long story. But rest assured, I’m still game for my championship defense.

I certainly hope so. Our buyrates are counting on it. He chuckles nervously. So, let’s start off with the story that everyone wants to hear. Corey, you’ve been very public about the fact that your XWF career may be drawing to a close. Do you still feel the same way?

Corey’s gaze cast downward as he replied. I do, Steve. And I know that’s not the answer most of you want to hear. But it’s the truth.

Steve shakes his head. Wow! It’s truly the end of an era for Corey Smith. A career that has spanned three different personas, six championship reigns…

Seven, Steve. Let’s not forget the 24/7 championship. Corey cracks a smile despite the gravity of the moment.

Of course not! Plus a win/loss record most competitors would kill for. Corey Smith, where do you go from here? What do you do?!

Corey opened his mouth, then shut it abruptly. A strange expression crosses his features, as though he’s having a terse internal dialogue. Well, Steve, I….

BEFORE-??


The shots echoed off the granite floors, kicking up dust and debris. Corey sank back further on his haunches, averting his eyes as he grabbed for his ordinance. Courtesy of Thad Duke. Corey recalled how Thad had wanted to accompany him, to help him. And how Corey had insisted it was something he would have to do alone. A pang of regret tugged at him now for not accepting the assist.

At any rate, he pulled the pin on the grenade and lobbed it around the corner. Screams called out as an explosion soon followed. Corey dove even further away from the corner, ducking and covering. He arose, covered in plaster and dust, to a quieted hallway. Corey approached the corner, blade now at the ready, and peeked an eye into the swirling smoke and licks of blame that now characterized the hallway. Sensing it was safe, he made his way forward. He inadvertently kicked the body of the first mercenary as he made his way through the haze. Corey looked down to ascertain that he was quite dead. The second was a little further along, but the rattle in his chest and slight movements stopped Corey dead in his tracks.

Corey looked down at the man, the miasma having cleared just enough to disclose the shrapnel studded left side of his face. More shrapnel seemed to be buried in his chest, and a steady stream of blood issued forth from the wound. The man was as good as dead, and despite the fact that they were on opposite sides of the equation, Corey couldn’t help but experience a wash of guilt.

I’m sorry. He muttered, driving the sword deep into the man’s chest where his heart would be, ending his suffering. Corey continued on, into another hall with doors on either side. Corey’s steady march was soon interrupted by one of the doors shooting open, and a vested Blackwater mercenary stepped out, spraying bullets. Corey barely had time to duck under the spray. After the salvo was finished, he propelled himself forward, striving to get in close to the man to remove the threat of his firearm. The man, surprised by Corey’s boldness, stumbled backwards, taking Corey’s momentum with him and sending them both to the floor. Corey rolled to his feet, and the grunt got up a short time after, having lost his weapon.

NOW


Steve it’s like this. The XWF, for all its flaws, all the violence, all the mayhem. It will always hold a special place in my heart. It has borne witness to some of the greatest moments of my life. And some of the worst. But I have a different calling now. I want to heal instead of hurt. And I want to focus on my philanthropy. Running the commune. And managing my good fortune so that I can devote my time and money to other good causes around the world.

A noble cause to be sure. And I don’t think anyone could fault you for that.

I’m sure some will try. Haters gonna hate. Corey smiles. But there’s something undivulged behind the smile. Even Steve seems to pick up on it.

So is that all you’ll be doing with your free time?

Isn’t it enough?

I mean, certainly! But don’t you think you’ll get bored?

Yeah, there’s definitely something else there. Oh, I don’t think so.

BEFORE-The Grotto


Pan’s body was warm against his, even as the sun came down and the evening redness held sway. They had been sitting near the banks of the water in their nakedness, holding each other and simply enjoying that tender feeling of skin on skin. But a nagging guilt was with Corey. It attacked on two fronts: did he just get intimate with Pan to forget his troubles. And, perhaps more troubling, was what he just did disrespectful to Christian’s memory, to the times they had together.

Shekel for your thoughts. Pan reached up and gave Corey’s nose a gentle pinch. Corey playfully batted his hand away. He turned towards Pan, going chest to chest, and he brought one knee up against his thigh. He could feel Pan stir again against him.

Just happy.

Hmmmm…

What?

Corey X. Smith it’s never just that simple for you.

My middle name doesn’t start with an X.

Just guessed. But back to the topic at hand, you’re never just thinking about how happy you are. That brain is always working. Pan tapped Corey’s forehead.

You’re right. Corey relented. Of course you’re right. I’m thinking about what I have to do after I leave the XWF. I said I wanted to focus on the commune, on charity, but that’s only half true.

You’re taking the fight to Madison. You want to finish this.

Yes. He replied stolidly. It’s time. No more agreements. No more ignoring. No more capitulation. Not after what I saw.

I want to help you.

No…

Why not? You know I can help.

Of course I know you can help but…Jesus, Pan I saw you get shot in the head and tossed out of a plane.

That was only one of many possible futures. We can change things!

Heh.

…what?

Corey brushed some stray locks out of Pan’s eyes. That’s what you said in the future too.

I still want to help you.

….

Corey? Pan prodded.

I’ll think about it.

You’ll “think about it”. Pan sat up, looking a little disappointed.

I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt fighting my battles for me. Corey reached up, brushing past the point of Pan’s ear to gently touch the side of his head.

I understand. And yet I still want to help.

You’re impossible.

So I’ve heard.

Corey smiled, drawing Pan down to meet his lips. Pan situated himself atop Corey’s body, again pressing skin to skin, drawing the kiss down to Corey’s neck. Corey gave a little gasp of pleasure, his eyes heavenward towards the unfamiliar sky and its alien stars.

NOW


Now, Corey, you’ve made no bones about the fact that you consider Angie Vaughn to be something of a disappointment as an opponent.

True.

So it begs the question, is this the match you really want to go out on?

Why don’t we just say what we’re all thinking Steve. “Why isn’t Corey facing Alias?”

Steve nodded, making a gesture as if Corey had the floor.

Yeah, I’ve thought a lot about that. I always pictured Alias as my dream match. The Unstoppable Enigma versus the Impossible Boy. Put that on a t-shirt and sell it. My detractors will say it’s because I don’t want to be one of the long line of people who’ve lost to him. I mean, the guy has been a freight train, beating the very best the XWF has had to offer time and again. I can honestly say, and I mean no disrespect, I don’t think there is anyone on the current roster that can stop him.

Steve quirks an eyebrow. Including you?

Maybe. Maybe. But I think, more than that, it’s what would beating Alias even accomplish for me. He’s going to be Universal Champion again, and then if I beat him I become Universal Champion. But that title, it just carries so much weight for me.

Because you held it as The Engineer.

And Lux died winning that title. Corey paused, starting to look emotional. He cast his glance to the side before reorienting it on Steve. I’m not sure I’d even want it.

But what if it was better this time, Corey? You could undo everything…

No. Corey’s terse reply brokered no further argument. If Lux couldn’t have it, then I don’t deserve to have it either. Case closed.

BEFORE-??


Corey drew back his sword and slashed low, just as the mercenary withdrew a long wicked looking knife and blocked the slash, momentarily catching Corey’s sword with the hilt of his knife and popping it upwards. Momentarily placed off balance, Corey took a step back and regrouped, only to have to parry one slash, and then another. Corey dropped into a crouch, going for a leg sweep, but the mercenary hopped over the attempt and countered with a boot to Corey’s face. Corey rolled again, and when he stopped blood was dribbling out the side of his mouth and the remnants of a cracked tooth fell down the back of his throat. The mercenary charged, and Corey slashed upwards with such force that it knocked the knife out of the man’s hands. Corey then lashed out with a kick of his own, landing right on the side of his head, before plunging the sword hilt deep in his chest.

There was little remaining between Corey and his goal now. He stepped out onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

It was like some nightmarish version of the eponymous structure. The environment was darkened, and the walls were painted with strange glyphs and symbols that seemed to glow through the gloom. The ground was littered with the bodies of slain brokers, their blood settling into pools all over that drew swarming flies and gnats. And on the plethora of screens, each bore a facet of Mammon’s face. A partial cheekbone here, an eye there, forming a kaleidoscopic vision of his visage that was both haunting and surreal. Corey stepped into the midst of those towering screens, and stood before one of the eyes.

Your men are dead. Madison is next. Corey declared defiantly.

Do you think so? The voice seemed to rumble from somewhere deep beneath the Exchange, a shredding sound that almost seemed to attack Corey to his core. He wavered briefly, before rallying. You’ve seen the future, no? You know how this ends.

I’ve seen A future, Mammon. One of many possibilities. And I’m committing the rest of my life to stopping it.

A laugh bellowed out from the depths. You? Alone?

Corey shrugged, trying to seem demure. Why not?

If you insist. But you’ll fail. You will die. And everyone you love will die. Is that what you want?

I don’t see things panning out that way.

Bah! The arrogance! The same arrogance that allows you to justify using people as pawns to further your petty vengeance.

What are you talking about?

Perhaps I’ll just show you.

A dark silhouette appeared in contrast to the eerie white light broadcast from the monitors. When the figure stepped to the fore, Corey’s mouth set in a firm frown and his body tensed.

Mercy

You remember her, right? The woman you had Doctor D’Ville manipulate into killing Madison Dyson for you? She was happy, Corey. She had a child. She was free. But you undid all of that for her.

Corey swiped an arm through the air, taking a defiant step forward. Okay, yes! I used her! And it was one of the most shameful things I’ve ever done. I own that! But the rest of what happened to her is on you people! I didn’t take her child from her. I didn’t turn her into what she is now!

Mercy doesn’t see things that way Corey. And she’s come to collect. Best of luck to you.

With that, Mercy attacked, leaping at Corey with her blade studded glove bearing down on him. Corey dodged, and then parried another blow from the other bladed gauntlet she wore. Mercy, I don’t want to hurt you! Just walk… But Mercy broke through Corey’s defenses, kicking him fiercely in the chest and causing his heart to buck beneath his ribs. He gasped, skittering backwards to put some distance between them. But Mercy was relentless, sweeping low and then slashing high with her knived fingers. Corey again deflected the swipes, but with Mercy closing the distance with each frenetic strike. Finally, she was on him, and managed to get in a swipe to his midsection. Thin angry wounds appeared on his belly. Corey retreated, crying out in pain and assessing the damage.

What is it that they say about a woman scorned?

They met again, blades clashing over and over. Trading the advantage back and forth. Mercy was eventually able to catch Corey off guard again, sweeping his legs out from under him. Corey lost control of his blade as he fell, and Mercy kicked it away and stood defiantly over him, blades coming down to puncture his throat. Corey rolled to the side and kipped up to his feet, weaponless. Mercy attacked again, and this time Corey had to juke and dive to avoid the slashes. Every time he tried to advance towards his sword she cut him off. Corey knew that eventually he would wear down, make a mistake, and then she would have him. He needed a plan. Needed to do something. His eyes settled on a semblance of a weapon on the floor, and he scooped up a pen. A deviant hissing that Corey soon realized was laughter came from beneath Mercy’s mask.

Mercy faked low and then went high, this time raking her blades across Corey’s forearm. But he fought through the pain, instead lunging into Mercy’s body and barreling into her chest. Mercy back flipped with the momentum, but Corey caught her in mid air with a running dropkick. She hit the ground hard, and Corey moved like lightning, stabbing her in the eye with the pen. Mercy kicked out her legs and howled in agony, leaving Corey time to grab his sword. Mercy ripped the pen out of her eye socket and stood, glowering at her enemy as blood trickled out of one of the eyeholes of her mask. Corey readied his sword and started to fend Mercy off again. But her peripheral vision was off now, and Corey made use of attacking from the side her vision was damaged on. He was able to get in a slash to her arm, and then a kick. And then another, and another. Mercy almost toppled. Corey pulled his sword back and lunged, sending the blade straight through the mouth opening of her mask and out the back of her head. She dropped to her knees and then keeled over, dead.

I’m sorry Mercy.

An angry rumble percolated up from the depths.

You don’t yet understand sorry. I have reinforcements en route.

That’s fine, I was just the distraction anyway.

What?

Outside the Exchange, from an adjacent building, a sea of flying fey head towards the seat of Mammon’s power, carrying what appear to be large seedlings. One by one, they land on the exterior of the Exchange, planting the seeds against the side of the building with a green adhesive. And then, once done, they fly away again. From the ground, Pan watches them go, smiling. And then he turns to look at The Exchange. Come on Corey, get out of there.

Buds burst forth from the seeds and then proceed to grow like wildfire, gathering mass until they are large choking vines taking root in the building, squeezing the walls and causing them to buckle. Some of the vines find their way through the windows, shattering glass and entering.

Back inside, Corey can hear the pained groans of the building. Mammon’s eye glowers at him hatefully.

What have you done?!

Destroyed you. Tiles from the ceiling started to fall to the floor, and the groaning only intensified as the massive choking vines set about their work. Corey barreled out of the room as Mammon cried out in a rage behind him.

NOW


Fair enough, Corey. So, I guess this is goodbye.

It is, Steve.

Is there anything else you want to say? He gestures to the camera.

Yes. He turns to face forward. My favorite poet, Walt Whitman, said that “I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.” I’ve thought a lot about that quite over the years. I’ve asked myself what it means. And I think it means this: there is something cosmic and beautiful even amongst the mundane. There’s beauty everywhere if you’re willing to find it.

With everything I’ve been through, I have forgotten that notion on more than one occasion. But now, I want it to be the guiding principle of my life. And maybe some of you will take it as the guiding principle of yours too. You don’t need to be a dimension hopping super assassin or a millionaire to change the world. You can change it right now. By caring. By loving. And then by doing. And you may think your contribution to be small or insignificant. But it won’t be to the ones you touch. And in the end, that's really all that matters.

Thank you, Corey.

Thank you, Steve. And thank all of you as well. Corey nods to the camera. Goodnight.

[Image: AcademicSneakyHydatidtapeworm-size_restricted.gif]
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RECAP

Last time, we saw Corey Smith transplanted from the current timeline and into a horrific future where Madison Dyson, Corey’s long time enemy, had taken control of the country. Madison captured Corey and his friend Pan, and after a bout of ego massaging, killed them both by throwing them out of her aircraft.

However, Corey didn’t die. Instead, he simply returned to this timeline. Now, on the eve of March Madness, after seeing the future that awaits him and all of us, Corey must make peace with ending his XWF career and moving on to something more. And the fight starts now, with Madison Dyson’s demonic council Mammon, the Lord of Avarice.


The shot opens on XWF’s steadfast interviewer Steve Sayors.

Hello everyone. With me today is none other than Corey Smith. Supercontinental champion for the last 6 months, and ready to square off with Angie Vaughn at March Madness for his championship. And Corey, let me first start off by saying…

The shot pans back, to reveal Corey seated next to Steve. He looks battered and bruised. You can tell that even sitting in the seat is mildly uncomfortable for him.

….you look like hell. What happened?!

It’s a…long story. But rest assured, I’m still game for my championship defense.

I certainly hope so. Our buyrates are counting on it. He chuckles nervously. So, let’s start off with the story that everyone wants to hear. Corey, you’ve been very public about the fact that your XWF career may be drawing to a close. Do you still feel the same way?

Corey’s gaze cast downward as he replied. I do, Steve. And I know that’s not the answer most of you want to hear. But it’s the truth.

Steve shakes his head. Wow! It’s truly the end of an era for Corey Smith. A career that has spanned three different personas, six championship reigns…

Seven, Steve. Let’s not forget the 24/7 championship. Corey cracks a smile despite the gravity of the moment.

Of course not! Plus a win/loss record most competitors would kill for. Corey Smith, where do you go from here? What do you do?!

Corey opened his mouth, then shut it abruptly. A strange expression crosses his features, as though he’s having a terse internal dialogue. Well, Steve, I….

BEFORE-??


The shots echoed off the granite floors, kicking up dust and debris. Corey sank back further on his haunches, averting his eyes as he grabbed for his ordinance. Courtesy of Thad Duke. Corey recalled how Thad had wanted to accompany him, to help him. And how Corey had insisted it was something he would have to do alone. A pang of regret tugged at him now for not accepting the assist.

At any rate, he pulled the pin on the grenade and lobbed it around the corner. Screams called out as an explosion soon followed. Corey dove even further away from the corner, ducking and covering. He arose, covered in plaster and dust, to a quieted hallway. Corey approached the corner, blade now at the ready, and peeked an eye into the swirling smoke and licks of blame that now characterized the hallway. Sensing it was safe, he made his way forward. He inadvertently kicked the body of the first mercenary as he made his way through the haze. Corey looked down to ascertain that he was quite dead. The second was a little further along, but the rattle in his chest and slight movements stopped Corey dead in his tracks.

Corey looked down at the man, the miasma having cleared just enough to disclose the shrapnel studded left side of his face. More shrapnel seemed to be buried in his chest, and a steady stream of blood issued forth from the wound. The man was as good as dead, and despite the fact that they were on opposite sides of the equation, Corey couldn’t help but experience a wash of guilt.

I’m sorry. He muttered, driving the sword deep into the man’s chest where his heart would be, ending his suffering. Corey continued on, into another hall with doors on either side. Corey’s steady march was soon interrupted by one of the doors shooting open, and a vested Blackwater mercenary stepped out, spraying bullets. Corey barely had time to duck under the spray. After the salvo was finished, he propelled himself forward, striving to get in close to the man to remove the threat of his firearm. The man, surprised by Corey’s boldness, stumbled backwards, taking Corey’s momentum with him and sending them both to the floor. Corey rolled to his feet, and the grunt got up a short time after, having lost his weapon.

NOW


Steve it’s like this. The XWF, for all its flaws, all the violence, all the mayhem. It will always hold a special place in my heart. It has borne witness to some of the greatest moments of my life. And some of the worst. But I have a different calling now. I want to heal instead of hurt. And I want to focus on my philanthropy. Running the commune. And managing my good fortune so that I can devote my time and money to other good causes around the world.

A noble cause to be sure. And I don’t think anyone could fault you for that.

I’m sure some will try. Haters gonna hate. Corey smiles. But there’s something undivulged behind the smile. Even Steve seems to pick up on it.

So is that all you’ll be doing with your free time?

Isn’t it enough?

I mean, certainly! But don’t you think you’ll get bored?

Yeah, there’s definitely something else there. Oh, I don’t think so.

BEFORE-The Grotto


Pan’s body was warm against his, even as the sun came down and the evening redness held sway. They had been sitting near the banks of the water in their nakedness, holding each other and simply enjoying that tender feeling of skin on skin. But a nagging guilt was with Corey. It attacked on two fronts: did he just get intimate with Pan to forget his troubles. And, perhaps more troubling, was what he just did disrespectful to Christian’s memory, to the times they had together.

Shekel for your thoughts. Pan reached up and gave Corey’s nose a gentle pinch. Corey playfully batted his hand away. He turned towards Pan, going chest to chest, and he brought one knee up against his thigh. He could feel Pan stir again against him.

Just happy.

Hmmmm…

What?

Corey X. Smith it’s never just that simple for you.

My middle name doesn’t start with an X.

Just guessed. But back to the topic at hand, you’re never just thinking about how happy you are. That brain is always working. Pan tapped Corey’s forehead.

You’re right. Corey relented. Of course you’re right. I’m thinking about what I have to do after I leave the XWF. I said I wanted to focus on the commune, on charity, but that’s only half true.

You’re taking the fight to Madison. You want to finish this.

Yes. He replied stolidly. It’s time. No more agreements. No more ignoring. No more capitulation. Not after what I saw.

I want to help you.

No…

Why not? You know I can help.

Of course I know you can help but…Jesus, Pan I saw you get shot in the head and tossed out of a plane.

That was only one of many possible futures. We can change things!

Heh.

…what?

Corey brushed some stray locks out of Pan’s eyes. That’s what you said in the future too.

I still want to help you.

….

Corey? Pan prodded.

I’ll think about it.

You’ll “think about it”. Pan sat up, looking a little disappointed.

I just don’t want anyone else to get hurt fighting my battles for me. Corey reached up, brushing past the point of Pan’s ear to gently touch the side of his head.

I understand. And yet I still want to help.

You’re impossible.

So I’ve heard.

Corey smiled, drawing Pan down to meet his lips. Pan situated himself atop Corey’s body, again pressing skin to skin, drawing the kiss down to Corey’s neck. Corey gave a little gasp of pleasure, his eyes heavenward towards the unfamiliar sky and its alien stars.

NOW


Now, Corey, you’ve made no bones about the fact that you consider Angie Vaughn to be something of a disappointment as an opponent.

True.

So it begs the question, is this the match you really want to go out on?

Why don’t we just say what we’re all thinking Steve. “Why isn’t Corey facing Alias?”

Steve nodded, making a gesture as if Corey had the floor.

Yeah, I’ve thought a lot about that. I always pictured Alias as my dream match. The Unstoppable Enigma versus the Impossible Boy. Put that on a t-shirt and sell it. My detractors will say it’s because I don’t want to be one of the long line of people who’ve lost to him. I mean, the guy has been a freight train, beating the very best the XWF has had to offer time and again. I can honestly say, and I mean no disrespect, I don’t think there is anyone on the current roster that can stop him.

Steve quirks an eyebrow. Including you?

Maybe. Maybe. But I think, more than that, it’s what would beating Alias even accomplish for me. He’s going to be Universal Champion again, and then if I beat him I become Universal Champion. But that title, it just carries so much weight for me.

Because you held it as The Engineer.

And Lux died winning that title. Corey paused, starting to look emotional. He cast his glance to the side before reorienting it on Steve. I’m not sure I’d even want it.

But what if it was better this time, Corey? You could undo everything…

No. Corey’s terse reply brokered no further argument. If Lux couldn’t have it, then I don’t deserve to have it either. Case closed.

BEFORE-??


Corey drew back his sword and slashed low, just as the mercenary withdrew a long wicked looking knife and blocked the slash, momentarily catching Corey’s sword with the hilt of his knife and popping it upwards. Momentarily placed off balance, Corey took a step back and regrouped, only to have to parry one slash, and then another. Corey dropped into a crouch, going for a leg sweep, but the mercenary hopped over the attempt and countered with a boot to Corey’s face. Corey rolled again, and when he stopped blood was dribbling out the side of his mouth and the remnants of a cracked tooth fell down the back of his throat. The mercenary charged, and Corey slashed upwards with such force that it knocked the knife out of the man’s hands. Corey then lashed out with a kick of his own, landing right on the side of his head, before plunging the sword hilt deep in his chest.

There was little remaining between Corey and his goal now. He stepped out onto the floor of the New York Stock Exchange.

It was like some nightmarish version of the eponymous structure. The environment was darkened, and the walls were painted with strange glyphs and symbols that seemed to glow through the gloom. The ground was littered with the bodies of slain brokers, their blood settling into pools all over that drew swarming flies and gnats. And on the plethora of screens, each bore a facet of Mammon’s face. A partial cheekbone here, an eye there, forming a kaleidoscopic vision of his visage that was both haunting and surreal. Corey stepped into the midst of those towering screens, and stood before one of the eyes.

Your men are dead. Madison is next. Corey declared defiantly.

Do you think so? The voice seemed to rumble from somewhere deep beneath the Exchange, a shredding sound that almost seemed to attack Corey to his core. He wavered briefly, before rallying. You’ve seen the future, no? You know how this ends.

I’ve seen A future, Mammon. One of many possibilities. And I’m committing the rest of my life to stopping it.

A laugh bellowed out from the depths. You? Alone?

Corey shrugged, trying to seem demure. Why not?

If you insist. But you’ll fail. You will die. And everyone you love will die. Is that what you want?

I don’t see things panning out that way.

Bah! The arrogance! The same arrogance that allows you to justify using people as pawns to further your petty vengeance.

What are you talking about?

Perhaps I’ll just show you.

A dark silhouette appeared in contrast to the eerie white light broadcast from the monitors. When the figure stepped to the fore, Corey’s mouth set in a firm frown and his body tensed.

Mercy

You remember her, right? The woman you had Doctor D’Ville manipulate into killing Madison Dyson for you? She was happy, Corey. She had a child. She was free. But you undid all of that for her.

Corey swiped an arm through the air, taking a defiant step forward. Okay, yes! I used her! And it was one of the most shameful things I’ve ever done. I own that! But the rest of what happened to her is on you people! I didn’t take her child from her. I didn’t turn her into what she is now!

Mercy doesn’t see things that way Corey. And she’s come to collect. Best of luck to you.

With that, Mercy attacked, leaping at Corey with her blade studded glove bearing down on him. Corey dodged, and then parried another blow from the other bladed gauntlet she wore. Mercy, I don’t want to hurt you! Just walk… But Mercy broke through Corey’s defenses, kicking him fiercely in the chest and causing his heart to buck beneath his ribs. He gasped, skittering backwards to put some distance between them. But Mercy was relentless, sweeping low and then slashing high with her knived fingers. Corey again deflected the swipes, but with Mercy closing the distance with each frenetic strike. Finally, she was on him, and managed to get in a swipe to his midsection. Thin angry wounds appeared on his belly. Corey retreated, crying out in pain and assessing the damage.

What is it that they say about a woman scorned?

They met again, blades clashing over and over. Trading the advantage back and forth. Mercy was eventually able to catch Corey off guard again, sweeping his legs out from under him. Corey lost control of his blade as he fell, and Mercy kicked it away and stood defiantly over him, blades coming down to puncture his throat. Corey rolled to the side and kipped up to his feet, weaponless. Mercy attacked again, and this time Corey had to juke and dive to avoid the slashes. Every time he tried to advance towards his sword she cut him off. Corey knew that eventually he would wear down, make a mistake, and then she would have him. He needed a plan. Needed to do something. His eyes settled on a semblance of a weapon on the floor, and he scooped up a pen. A deviant hissing that Corey soon realized was laughter came from beneath Mercy’s mask.

Mercy faked low and then went high, this time raking her blades across Corey’s forearm. But he fought through the pain, instead lunging into Mercy’s body and barreling into her chest. Mercy back flipped with the momentum, but Corey caught her in mid air with a running dropkick. She hit the ground hard, and Corey moved like lightning, stabbing her in the eye with the pen. Mercy kicked out her legs and howled in agony, leaving Corey time to grab his sword. Mercy ripped the pen out of her eye socket and stood, glowering at her enemy as blood trickled out of one of the eyeholes of her mask. Corey readied his sword and started to fend Mercy off again. But her peripheral vision was off now, and Corey made use of attacking from the side her vision was damaged on. He was able to get in a slash to her arm, and then a kick. And then another, and another. Mercy almost toppled. Corey pulled his sword back and lunged, sending the blade straight through the mouth opening of her mask and out the back of her head. She dropped to her knees and then keeled over, dead.

I’m sorry Mercy.

An angry rumble percolated up from the depths.

You don’t yet understand sorry. I have reinforcements en route.

That’s fine, I was just the distraction anyway.

What?

Outside the Exchange, from an adjacent building, a sea of flying fey head towards the seat of Mammon’s power, carrying what appear to be large seedlings. One by one, they land on the exterior of the Exchange, planting the seeds against the side of the building with a green adhesive. And then, once done, they fly away again. From the ground, Pan watches them go, smiling. And then he turns to look at The Exchange. Come on Corey, get out of there.

Buds burst forth from the seeds and then proceed to grow like wildfire, gathering mass until they are large choking vines taking root in the building, squeezing the walls and causing them to buckle. Some of the vines find their way through the windows, shattering glass and entering.

Back inside, Corey can hear the pained groans of the building. Mammon’s eye glowers at him hatefully.

What have you done?!

Destroyed you. Tiles from the ceiling started to fall to the floor, and the groaning only intensified as the massive choking vines set about their work. Corey barreled out of the room as Mammon cried out in a rage behind him.

NOW


Fair enough, Corey. So, I guess this is goodbye.

It is, Steve.

Is there anything else you want to say? He gestures to the camera.

Yes. He turns to face forward. My favorite poet, Walt Whitman, said that “I believe a leaf of grass is no less than the journey-work of the stars.” I’ve thought a lot about that quite over the years. I’ve asked myself what it means. And I think it means this: there is something cosmic and beautiful even amongst the mundane. There’s beauty everywhere if you’re willing to find it.

With everything I’ve been through, I have forgotten that notion on more than one occasion. But now, I want it to be the guiding principle of my life. And maybe some of you will take it as the guiding principle of yours too. You don’t need to be a dimension hopping super assassin or a millionaire to change the world. You can change it right now. By caring. By loving. And then by doing. And you may think your contribution to be small or insignificant. But it won’t be to the ones you touch. And in the end, that's really all that matters.

Thank you, Corey.

Thank you, Steve. And thank all of you as well. Corey nods to the camera. Goodnight.

[Image: AcademicSneakyHydatidtapeworm-size_restricted.gif]
]]> <![CDATA[A Trip Through The Mind's Eye]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43249 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 15:54:30 -0700 Peter Vaughn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43249


The Road So Far:

A Secret War Is Brewing, P1

A Secret War Is Brewing, P2

A Secret War Is Brewing, P3

Near Misses or Near Hits?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

A Trip Through Hell

[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

I know I'm the narrator, but sometimes even I'm not sure what's going on. So let's take this one step at a time and try and figure it out together, shall we?

Peter Vaughn has been in the midst of a special mission, known only to him, where he has joined two underground organizations: the Custodial Coalition and the Maintenance Mafia. Neither group knows which has Vaughn's full allegiance, and supposedly the Coalition doesn't know that he's turned into a double, or possibly triple, agent. Yet Vaughn has been concerned as of late that his cover may have been blown, due to a drive-by incident that came too close for comfort.

A short time later, Vaughn seemingly was shot.

Vaughn would awaken in a strange reality, with a prior version of himself, a Janitor, if you will, showing him some of his darkest moments and pushing him to repent. Vaughn, though, believed that he was in the virtual reality system of the Coalition, which was seemingly proved true with the appearance of the Master Cleaner, who promptly sent Vaughn to Hell.

I know, right?

So Vaughn had a meet-up with The Devil, who didn't seem like such a bad guy. Vaughn has since pushed his way up from the bowels of Hell, working through every Circle of tortured souls, meeting some of the worst historical figures of all time (and Betty White, who was awesome), and finding an apparent friendship with former President John F. Kennedy... who turned out to be Satan in disguise.

I KNOW, right?

But Vaughn escaped Satan's trap, tapping into his own control of virtual reality, and has blasted out of Hell, seeking revenge on the man who put him there: Master Cleaner. However, is Vaughn actually in VR? Because our last moments from a day ago showed Vaughn in a hospital bed, unconscious.

I KNOW, RIGHT??

So with all that said... it's time to get a better idea of what's REALLY going on...


~The picture slowly opens back in the hospital room seen at the end of our last adventure. We see a view from above of Peter Vaughn, lying in the bed. There is a bandage wrapped around his forehead, and a couple of small bandages on his right arm, but otherwise, he could just be sleeping. In a hospital room. With the heartbeat monitor going off next to him, giving a strong rhythm throughout the room. Standing nearby, we see "Chronic" Chris Page, Vaughn's agent, and his brother, Thomas Hill.~

Chris Page: Did they say when he's going to wake up? This guy's got a lot of matches soon, including defending the XWF Universal Title. I'd... he'd be pissed if the title got vacated.

Thomas Hill: The doctors say it's... complicated.

Chris Page: Complicated how? I heard a rumor on the way here that Vaughn was actually shot?

Voice: The answer to that is Yes and No.

~Page and Hill turn at the sound of the new voice, as a man is walking into the room. He's got on a brown trenchcoat and a fedora, a unique look in this day and age. He takes off the hat, revealing his dark, messy hair as he nods to the two men.~

Thomas Hill: Chris, this is the detective who's looking into what happened. Detective... I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name.

Detective Black: It's Black. Detective Ian Black. I've worked with your client before, Mr. Page.

Chris Page: Funny, Peter's never mentioned you. But it's not like we talk personal lives that often. So what can you tell me?

Detective Black: Last night, Mr. Vaughn was on his way to his truck after leaving a building in the south side of Dallas. I'm not sure what he was doing there, to be frank with you. We're still looking into that. But we do know that someone took a shot at Mr. Vaughn with a high-powered rifle from quite a distance away.

Chris Page: So he WAS shot!

Detective Black: Again, Yes and No.

~Page looks confused, as the detective reaches into his pocket and pulls out an evidence bag. He shows Page what's inside: a basically destroyed cell phone, shards and all.~

Detective Black: This case apparently took the hit for Vaughn. It would have knocked him off of his feet, for sure, but the bullet thankfully never penetrated. It just destroyed some hardware.

Chris Page: That's a relief. But then, why is he still here in the hospital?

Thomas Hill: The doctors think it's because of how he landed. His head snapped back into concrete, knocking him out . He probably lost consciousness fairly quickly. What the doctors don't know is why he's still unconscious. One of them was speculating that it had something to do with all the head shots Peter has taken over the years, but another thought it might be psychological.

Chris Page: Can we just smack him again, get him to wake up? Or what about a dose of adrenaline?

Thomas Hill: That would be a last-case option. For now, the doctors want to give him a chance to come out of it on his own. But we really don't know what's going on in there.

Detective Black: Since I have you here, Mr. Page, I was wondering if you could answer a few other questions I have.

Chris Page: I can answer what I can, although you know I have a confidentiality agreement with all my clients.

Detective Black: Well, can you answer why Mr. Vaughn would have another one of these?

~The detective brings out another evidence bag, this one containing a second cell phone. This one did not take any bullets, making it infinitely more usable. Page looks a bit perplexed, shaking his head. The two continue to talk, speculating about why Vaughn was carrying two cell phones, as the camera slowly focuses back on Vaughn's face. You can see the REM - Rapid Eye Movement - going on behind his eyelids, showing that Vaughn is certainly not a vegetable. But no one in the real world can know what's happening in the recesses of Peter Vaughn's mind at the moment. Only we get to see...~


"Hello darkness, my old friend... I've come to talk with you again..."

I don't know if you'd like being called the Darkness or not, Ails. But sometimes I do get that feeling from you, that you're actually darker than me. That, once again, proves how dense a lot of the fans out there are, rooting for you when you can come across as an absolute madman, while booing me for finding practical, intelligent ways to win my matches. There's just no appreciation for good manipulation these days, is there?

I mean, it's clear you've got some problems, seeing that you talk about burning your own left hand as if it was your own decision. Do you really believe that? Are you that obtuse, not seeing the forest for the trees? I mean, I thought it was fairly obvious, which is why I kept commenting about it. Do you not see that the Left Hand drove you to burning that hand? That, in a way, it was one of their greatest victories? For the rest of your life, your own left hand is going to remind you of that force that doesn't exist anymore, but will live on forever... through you.

I mean, I would have just gotten a tattoo or something. That would have been smarter.

And then there's your talk about liking my body type, but wishing I was 15 years younger. Ummm, dude, I'm 30 years old, so this just got incredibly creepy. You know what? I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you thought I was a lot older. I can definitely say I've had a tough life, and it shows on my face. I'll never be one of those runway models, and I'll never have my picture on a poster in some girl's bedroom.

Do kids even still do that nowadays? I don't even know.

So let's just say you thought I was 35. That way, it'd be a twenty-year-old you're dreaming about. That's good. That's legal. Maybe still a little too young for a guy like you, but in the terms of the law, it's still allowed, so good for you. That being said... first you want to eat me, and then you want to fuck me. Why do I get the feeling I need to have a safe word going into this contest?

Asparagus. No, I don't like the "ass" at the beginning of that. What about... Flushometer? No, no, plumbing term, you might misconstrue it. Hey, how about "Fuck Off, Ails"? I like that one.

Let me break it down to you, Ails. I really have no time in my life right now for a relationship. I am completely dedicated to being an all-star wrestler everywhere I go, and let's face it, my emotional disconnections would make it unfair to a significant other. So I'm not looking for anyone, and I'm sure not looking for casual S&M with you. Sorry, man, you're just not my type, no matter which way I aged or de-aged you.

I'm also not interested in letting you walk out of the Tokyo Dome under your own power. You may think that this match works fully to your advantage, and you go ahead and keep thinking that. I don't want you to realize the truth until the end, when you have that single moment of clarification that you've screwed up. It will be much, much too late when that moment comes, though, for you to do anything to stop it.

I'm going to enjoying making you use the wheelchair-accessible ramp at the next show. I'll even change your name from Ails to Whails. It works on multiple levels. Yes, it's going to be a thrill, seeing you dismantled and your reputation forever tarnished.

Assuming I can ever wake my damn self up.


~The view becomes that of a spectacular landscape. It almost seems like an ancient world in Greece, with pillars standing all around us. Seated in the middle of one set of pillars is the Master Cleaner. He appears to be meditating, focused on nothing but the 'world' around him. There is a slight rumble in the air, that gets him to open his eyes. He sighs, knowing what's to come. The Master Cleaner rises to his feet, preparing himself, as the rumble grows more intense. It seems like an earthquake, and in some ways, it is, as Peter Vaughn comes blasting up out of the ground nearby, floating in mid-air as he looks around the area.~

Peter Vaughn: MASTER CLEANER!!!

~Vaughn does a full rotation, his body glowing like a Super Saiyan having reached his final form. He spots the Master Cleaner waiting for him and slowly lowers back to the ground. He walks over to him, still fuming at what he's been put through at the hands of this man.~

Peter Vaughn: You have a lot to answer for, Master.

Master Cleaner: You believe so, Peter?

Peter Vaughn: You... cast me into Hell!

Master Cleaner: Did I? Or did your own actions lead to that inevitability? You were the one who decided to potentially betray the Coalition by joining with the Maintenance Mafia.

Peter Vaughn: It wasn't going to be a betrayal! It was all going to be an amazing series of events, and you just had to ruin it! I just had to keep it secret for just a little longer...

Master Cleaner: "Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth."

Peter Vaughn: You're quoting Buddha to me now? A little on the nose, don't you think?

Master Cleaner: What I think is that you are not yet in the right frame of mind to listen to the truth, Peter. Do we really have to do this?

Peter Vaughn: You know that we do. It had to happen... just not this soon.

~The Master Cleaner nods once, raising a hand out to his right. There is a flash as the VR landscape seems to change, becoming more intense. In the Master Cleaner's hand, he now holds one of his most powerful weapons: the Broom of Beheading.~



[Image: mastercleanerfight.jpg]



~Vaughn darkly smiles and raises his own hand, with another cosmic push coming around him. Now Vaughn looks younger, with more hair, as if channeling back to his janitorial days. He also has his own broom, ready for war, as he swings it around him.~



[Image: janitorfight.gif]



~The two men begin to circle around each other, as the dramatic music begins to raise to another notch. A chorus can be heard, singing heavily in the background...~



Chorus: "Soon It Will All Be Clean..."



~Both men show the intensity on their faces, knowing this could be a final conflict. Vaughn's smile has not faded; in fact, it may be stronger than before.~



Chorus: "Floors, Doors, Walls, Halls..."



~Vaughn swings his broom around one more time, snapping his fingers, and barbed wire appears on the edge of his broom. He waves to the Master Cleaner to come at him. In response, the Master Cleaner raises his own broom, with it suddenly lighting on fire.~



Chorus: "They're So Tough, They'll Clean Them All!!"



~With their yells mingling together in the air, Vaughn and the Master Cleaner leap towards each other, their weapons held high. They smash into each other, with the force of a kiloton bomb erupting from between them.~


~Hill, Page, and the detective react immediately at the sudden shriek from the heart monitor. They all rush over, as Vaughn can be seen on the bed, seemingly having a seizure. Hill and Page get on either side, holding down his arms, as the detective runs to get help.~

Chris Page: What the HELL is happening??

Thomas Hill: C'mon, bro! FIGHT!!

~A doctor comes running in with a nurse, pushing past Hill in order to work on their patient, who is shaking back and forth, as if in a desperate battle for survival.~


Are you ready for a war that people will be talking about the rest of their lives?

I sure hope so, Ails. I've said over and over that this fight, to me, is more than just a championship fight. This is a battle for the ages, a confrontation that will blow the minds of all XWF fans as they sit back in utter shock at how violent and mesmerizing it becomes. I want the notoriety of this battle to be spoken of for decades, as one of, if not the, greatest war in XWF history.

I know you want it too. You've talked about the thrill of battle before, and I guarantee you, by the time this one is done, you'll have that thrill coursing through your bloodstream... and flowing out through your various cuts, breaks, and shreds of what's left of your skin.

You are the one I've been waiting for, Ails. Drew Archyle couldn't muster up the strength. Jim Caedus didn't live up to expectations, I think everyone can agree on that. Barney Green let me down, as he didn't rise to the occasion. Tommy Wish was a disaster better forgotten about. Now Centurion tried, he really did, and I respect him for it, but even defeating him wasn't the mark I was hoping for.

But you, Ails? You're the one. I defeat you, and I remove all levels of doubt out there that I'm a truly elite wrestler. And it can't be a one and done affair. I can't just knock you out easily, climb all the cages, and get the title, as the crowd heavily boos how boring the contest was. No, we need to have a conflict that shakes the foundations of heaven and hell, something that will have every person in the arena getting their tickets preserved to tell future generations: "I was there."

Can you do it, Ails? Can you give me the bloody fight to the finish that I've been waiting for since I got here in the XWF? Can you make this a war to end all wars? Or will you disappoint me like so many others have before?

Just speaking for myself... I believe in you. Make it happen.

Let the blood ring down and the word go out, that this was the most epic contest ever. And that you can proudly reflect on it years later, as the moment that "The Mechanic" became the ultimate legend of the business.


~The war has continued throughout the land, blowing away anything that was previously standing. There are glimpses of colors jumping back and forth, too quick for the eye to see, as the war between these two apparently supernatural beings has continued. There is one particularly bright flash of light, and a meteor rockets towards the earth below. It crashes into the ground, bringing up a huge cloud of dust. After a few seconds, the dust dissipates, and we see the Master Cleaner pulling himself out of a crater in the ground. Peter Vaughn comes floating down near him, still looking enraged. Neither is holding a weapon anymore: both have probably been obliterated by the force of the battle.~

Master Cleaner: You have learned a lot, young Vaughn. Your skills are truly impressive.

Peter Vaughn: You think so? You haven't seen anything yet.

~Vaughn flexes his arms, beginning to channel more energy. Suddenly, he seems to be growing. He's up 10 feet... 20 feet... 30 feet... he's becoming a giant, grinning as he towers over the Master Cleaner, glaring down at him with darkness shining through his eyes.~

Peter Vaughn: I Control This World!! Me!! Your Time Has Passed!!

~Vaughn raises his leg up, preparing to squash the Master Cleaner and end this battle once and for all. He brings his boot down... and the Master Cleaner catches it, quickly growing to giant-size as well!! He throws Vaughn backwards, causing him to crash into some strange buildings that have appeared around them. Vaughn growls, getting back to his feet.~

Master Cleaner: You may think you have control, Peter. But just by us having this conflict, it is clear that you are wrong. You are NOT in control. You have doubts!

~With a roar of rage, Vaughn launches himself forward, a Titan, throwing a mighty fist into the side of the Master Cleaner. He responds with a strike of his own, with these two massive goliaths unleashing shots that would disintegrate anyone who got between them.~

Peter Vaughn: Fall, Damn You!!

Master Cleaner: Not until you see the truth!!

~The Master Cleaner catches Vaughn under the chin, staggering him. He moves in, trying to wrap up Vaughn from behind, but Vaughn quickly unleashes a low blow through the Master Cleaner's legs, causing him to fall backwards, trashing a few more buildings. Vaughn turns, his eyes igniting, and he lets loose with a blast of pure energy right into the Master Cleaner's face!!! The large man stumbles away, his face badly burned, as Vaughn continues after him in pursuit. All signs of control are gone. This is Vaughn at almost his most primal, a sight only seen once or twice in the real world before.~

~This is Vaughn completely unrestrained.~


~Vaughn's arms and legs are now shuddering, although the majority of the spasms have apparently ceased. The doctor gets another dose of medicine ready, to try and control the reactions taking place inside the wrestler's body. Meanwhile, a nurse is pushing Hill, Page, and the detective backwards.~

Nurse: You can't be here right now! Please give the doctor some space!

Thomas Hill: Is he going to make it??

Nurse: Just let us do our work, we'll do everything we can for him. Now go!

~Page grabs Hill's arm, helping to pull him out into the hallway with the detective. The door is shut, keeping them out from all that's going on.~

Thomas Hill: God damn it!

Chris Page: Don't worry, Thomas. Vaughn's too stubborn to lose a match with the Grim Reaper. He'll come out of this, I'm sure of it.

~Page nods to Thomas, then walks down the hallway, pulling out his phone and sending some texts. They might be to alert others about Vaughn's condition. They might be Page already arranging for a replacement for Vaughn from someone else in the CCPE stable of wrestlers. The business must go on, after all. We cut away from the scene.~


Sometimes the outcomes just feel out of your control, don't they?

I know you talked some about your own life, Ails, and how you were losing years of your life due to not being in control. You seem to think I had the option of changing my fate when I was younger. Let's talk about that. You're saying that a kid whose mother left him as a child got to make that choice? Funny, I don't remember ever saying "Hey, Ma, why don't you go away for the rest of my life". No, that shit just happened. My mother abandoned my family, and there wasn't even a good reason for it. She wanted out, wanted something different, and that was that.

So how about a child getting to choose who his father is? No? That doesn't happen? My dad wasn't a bad guy, or a bad father, but his decisions led him to being a general maintenance man which paid next to nothing, and I had no say in how that ended up. You think I chose to be bullied constantly by the other kids, who thought being a janitor's kid was a mark of shame? You think I chose being socially isolated, with me becoming a time bomb that wouldn't erupt until decades later? True, I could have been less of a wimp and punched some guys in the mouth. I'm sure that would have gone over well with the rest of the thugs, as well as the people in charge of my school.

No, Ails. There weren't any choices in how I grew up. That's life. You either live with it or die from it.

You could say, MAYBE, that I chose to become a janitor myself while in junior high and high school. Technically, it WAS a choice. I could help with paying the bills with my father, or I could go without eating food. If you've never lived with the fun of having buttered pieces of bread as your main meal four days in a row, you know nothing about what kind of a choice that was. I HAD to earn some money, and it wasn't like anyone else was hiring a kid besides, well, some businesses that I wanted no part of.

Hell, I didn't even really have a choice in becoming a wrestler. That one I don't regret, however. Sometimes things just work out, I suppose.

And now it feels like the current state of affairs is out of my control as well. Page, I'm sure, is already talking to Mac or Thad, seeing if they'd be interested in a night's work one of the biggest shows of the year. But you know what? I refuse to let this be decided by someone else. I'm not going to let this chance of humbling you get away from me.

I'm going to wake up, and I'm going to come kick your ass. My choice, my rules, my victory.


~Back inside Vaughn's mind, the battle had continued to rage. And it's apparently not settling down. At all.~

[Image: anime-explosion.gif]

~The explosion seems to take over everything in range, disintegrating the landscape to splinters and shrapnel. As the brightness dies away, we see two men standing at the epicenter of the eruption. They appear to both be naturally sized again... or maybe the landscape grew to accommodate them. Either way, neither looks to be in the best shape. The Master Cleaner is laying on his side, looking burnt all over. Peter Vaughn is kneeling nearby, still smoking from the awesome release of power that just took place. He's shaking badly, but still manages to rise up to his feet. He slowly limps over to the Master Cleaner, studying him.~

Peter Vaughn: You told me once... master... that anyone could die in here. It just takes the right series of events, right? So... how close are you? Are you beginning... to feel it? Is your end near?

~The Master Cleaner painfully sits up, against all odds of being able to move. Vaughn watches him warily, wondering if this is once again a trick.~

Master Cleaner: You... still... don't... understand...

Peter Vaughn: You keep saying that. WHAT don't I understand? You refusing to listen to me? You turning on me? I've had that happen to me all my life! I'm used to it! And I won't let you stop me, just like I never let anyone else!

Master Cleaner: You're... still... making... the choices... Peter...

Peter Vaughn: Damn right I am! What's wrong with that?

Master Cleaner: You chose... the Mafia... you chose... the secret...

Peter Vaughn: So? SO WHAT?? Are you saying this is MY fault? Are you saying that I'M the one who caused all of this??

~Vaughn angrily waves his hand, pulling a piece of earth out of the ground near him. He floats it up into the sky, lifting it above the Master Cleaner, who doesn't move away.~

Peter Vaughn: I... I won't take the blame! No matter what you say!!

~Just as Vaughn's arm starts to move, a shadow appears from behind, locking Vaughn up into a full nelson hold!! He struggles, shocked, as the person holds him in place, with the boulder falling to the side, doing no damage.~

Peter Vaughn: What the hell??

Voice: I think what the pendejo is trying to say is that you could have avoided all of this, ese.

[b[~Vaughn gasps, hearing the sound of the man who gave him the deal in El Paso. The man who handed Vaughn his telephone number, asking if he wanted to work with him. The man from the Maintenance Mafia.~[/b]

Peter Vaughn: SALVAJE???

~Salvaje laughs, holding Vaughn tight, as the Master Cleaner pulls himself up. He isn't in great shape, but he's got enough left to start hammering the defenseless Vaughn with lefts and rights to the mid-section, doing some more damage.~


~Inside the hospital room, Vaughn is shaking violently again. The doctors are racing around him, trying to get him fully strapped down.~

Nurse: Doctor, what is this?? I've never seen anything like it!!

Doctor: I don't know, Susan, but I don't think he can take much more, whatever's going on! His brain activity and heart rate are off the charts!

~Sedatives haven't worked. Ice packs have been brought in. But so far, the doctors have a feeling that there's not much they can do until the situation is resolved, one way or another.~


Twists and turns, turns and twists. You never know what's coming next in this universe.

Of course, you have to prepare for all of them. At least, you should. But you seem to have a low opinion of the men and women I used to work with. The Exiles. You say that they were never a factor? That's... actually refreshing, really. Normally all I hear is people bellyaching that I only got to where I was today because of having the Exiles backing me up. But I think you've swung a little too far to the other end of the spectrum, Ails, because discounting them entirely is a pretty major mistake for a former Universal Champion to be making.

I acknowledge that I probably wouldn't have gotten to the title opportunities I earned without the Exiles' help. After all, Apex was dead set for eliminating me from competition wherever I was wrestling. They would quadruple-team anyone they got the chance against, and the fans would cheer, because it's not evil when the good guys do it, right? Without The Exiles' evening of the odds, Caedus probably would have still been the champion. Or maybe not.

Because if the Exiles hadn't joined me in beating your ass down at Bad Medicine, Caedus wouldn't have had the balls to come out and cash in his opportunity. You would have been too alert and too big a threat for him to handle, so no way you would have lost the title that night. So using that example, I'd say the Exiles were MORE than a small factor in leading to where we are today.

Now, you may want to act like numbers don't matter. I mean, every macho man does it. "I'll fight through twenty man, no, fifty men to get my title!" Yeah. Unfortunately, everyone knows the truth. Even the almighty, immortal ALIAS can't beat the numbers. Otherwise, you would have been able to do it when it was only four-on-one. You couldn't even handle that, what makes you think you could handle twenty?

Bear in mind, as I said, I don't plan on bringing those numbers to the ring. Honestly, I'm sick and tired of people commenting that I haven't earned anything. But for you to blow off the idea of having so many against you is just showing your ignorance of basic truths. It's almost like you're giving me permission to stack the deck against you, and I'm trying really hard to resist that urge.

As we've both said before, though, sometimes things are just out of your control.


~With a roar, Vaughn throws his arms out, sending off another blast of energy. The explosion causes Salvaje to get knocked off of him, as well as sending the Master Cleaner onto his back. Vaughn spins around, staring at Salvaje in absolute shock.~

Peter Vaughn: You... you can't be here, Salvaje...

Salvaje: Oh no? And yet I seem to be here, ese.

Peter Vaughn: No... no, you can't... the Maintenance Mafia doesn't have a connection to this system. That's... that's what you wanted me to get for you!!

~Salvaje dusts himself off, smirking. Vaughn looks back over his shoulder, but the Master Cleaner still hasn't recovered. He turns back to the Maintenance Mafia member, trying to figure out what's going on.~

Salvaje: You still think you're in some VR somewhere? ¿Eres tan estúpido, pendejo?

~Vaughn's Spanish is pretty rusty, but he still gets the gist of what Salvaje is saying.~

Peter Vaughn: If... if I'm not in VR... then where am I?

Salvaje: Buena pregunta. He's finally starting to figure it out, eh, Cleaner?

~Vaughn turns back to the Master Cleaner, who is now getting to his feet. Remarkably, all of the burn wounds are disappearing, as if they were never there. The Master Cleaner simply waits, saying nothing, as Vaughn glances back and forth between them. He then grabs at his chest, feeling a sudden ache.~

Peter Vaughn: The... the bullet...

~Suddenly, the imagery around them changes, as they are all now standing on a street corner. We see that time has apparently stopped, as everyone is frozen in place. Vaughn walks forward, looking at one particular individual: himself. He views Peter Vaughn is mid-fall, having been struck. He's tilted at a crazy angle, showing how hard he's going to hit when he lands. The moving Vaughn considers him, thinking things over.~

Peter Vaughn: Did... did I die? It looks like a heart shot. Very professional. No wonder my chest has been hurting.

Master Cleaner: You're not dead.

Peter Vaughn: But I got hit... so am I lying there on the sidewalk, bleeding out? Not quite how I ever pictured myself going out. Then again, it's better than getting eaten by a shark or slowly wasting away.

Salvaje: You aren't giving up, are you, idiota?

Master Cleaner: No, I don't think he has that in him.

Peter Vaughn: So what are you saying? I need to beat both of you in order to get out of here?

~Salvaje laughs, raising his hands.~

Salvaje: We can fight from here until eternity if you wish, amigo, but I don't know that it would change anything.

Peter Vaughn: Then what? WHAT do I need to do?

Master Cleaner: I've told you already, Peter.

~The Master Cleaner is suddenly blurry, as if something is going on inside. A piece peels off of him, reforming to his side into "The Janitor" Peter Vaughn. This version of Vaughn is the one who looks like the happy, jaunty Janitor of old.~

The Janitor: You need to confront your past, and make a choice.

Peter Vaughn: What, for the supposed betrayal? I haven't betrayed anyone! Well, not yet, at least...

The Janitor: But you know you're going to have to do it at some point. You put yourself in this position. And we both know that you consider loyalty one of your strongest qualities.

Master Cleaner: There's no emotion in loyalty. Just logic.

Salvaje: You felt like you could make any decision and you wouldn't feel a thing about it.

The Janitor: But it hasn't worked out that way over the last month, has it?

Master Cleaner: It has been eating at you... churning under the surface...

Salvaje: That feeling in your gut...

The Janitor: Knowing that you were set to be a traitor, one way or another...

~Vaughn is rubbing at his head, as if to stop the thoughts from making their way inside.~

Peter Vaughn: No... no, I don't care about any of that. I saw an opportunity to broaden my base, to gain more power, and I took it. It's nothing more than that.

Master Cleaner: Then explain your feelings. Why you're fighting so hard to deny why you're here.

Peter Vaughn: I'm not denying anything! I'm speaking the truth! What, I'm supposed to get all teared up at the thought of turning on someone? I'm a wrestler, these things happen! You... you can't be honorable in the wrestling business. It never worked for me. So I should feel bad about double-crossing the Coalition? Or tricking the Mafia?

Salvaje: Nah, betrayal, it's kind of our thing, yeah?

Master Cleaner: One of us probably shot you.

Salvaje: Oh, definitely, amigo!

Peter Vaughn: So... then.... it makes no sense.... WHY DO I FEEL GUILTY???

~Vaughn drops to a knee, shaking his head, finally admitting the truth. The Janitor, smiling, kneels down next to him.~

The Janitor: Maybe because you've been looking for something like the Coalition your entire life... a comradery you have only found once before, with your father... and now that you've found it, you're looking for ways to throw it away...

~Vaughn just continues to look downwards, having this expressed right in his face. The other three figures, who may or may not be from his own imagination, wait silently with him, letting him have the time to work out what he really needs to do.~

Peter Vaughn: I.... I just...

~Suddenly, there's an eruption from the ground nearby, causing all four figures to jump away. They turn as a group, looking as a staircase has suddenly appeared, coming up to the surface. A large figure walks upwards, stepping in front of them.~

Satan: Hey, buddies! Are we about ready to make our choice?

~The Prince of Darkness grins as he comes forward, joining the festivities once again.~


~Thomas Hill has found a bench and is sitting quietly outside his half-brother's hospital room. He jumps slightly as Detective Black appears in front of him, holding a tray.~

Detective Black: You looked like you might be hungry.

Thomas Hill: Not really.

Detective Black: Oh, good, more for me, then!

~The detective sits down next to Thomas, taking a bite out of his sandwich. Thomas scoots over, not wanting to be too close to the man.~

Detective Black: Y'know, I have learned a lot of Peter's story. But you're still a bit of an enigma. I know you had loan shark issues, and Peter helped you out with that. But I'm still not sure about what else you're connected to.

Thomas Hill: What do you mean?

Detective Black: I mean about Jonathan Barrows, and what happened to him. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?

~Thomas sputters for a moment, then reaches past the detective, grabbing the second sandwich. He starts taking big bites, nodding to him, while the detective raises a critical eyebrow. Before he can say anything else, though, Detective Black's attention is diverted by Chris Page coming back down the hall.~

Detective Black: Heard anything yet?

Chris Page: Huh? You two are the ones sitting in front of the room, how would I have heard anything?

Detective Black: Ahhhh, good point, good point.

~Thomas just nods while eating more of the sandwich. The door near them suddenly opens, with the nurse stepping out and looking towards them. Thomas immediately starts coughing, trying to swallow.~

Nurse: I've got... some news...

~The group looks up towards her, wondering what is coming next, as we cut away.~


You know what, Ails? I think we're getting close to the end of our little tete-a-tete.

Okay, so we're talking on the airwaves, that makes it less private, but still, you get my meaning.

We've both talked about our motivations to win. We've gone over in detail how we're not scared of the other, how we're both going to seriously injure the other, and how you want to eat and/or fuck me. I think we've covered almost everything.

About the only thing I see left for some debate is your comments about being able to change the world as the Universal Champion. I find that fascinating, really. You know, I've been the champ for nearly two months now, and you know what? The world hasn't changed. Is it because I'm not trying enough? Or is it just because that statement is utter lunacy?

See, here's the thing, Ails: when you were champion for, what, six months? Did you feel like the world was getting better because you were on top of the mountain? Were you visiting sick kids, maybe, or helping the helpless? Were you out there at the soup kitchens, buying extra soup supplies for the chefs? I don't really remember any of that being newsworthy, but I suppose that doesn't mean you weren't doing it. The media people tend to think of stuff like that as boring self-help stories and stick them at the end of broadcasts or in the back of the newspaper.

Maybe you could use your power as champion by helping the world climate right now? Hey, we're closing in on another World War, it wouldn't hurt to try, right? Wrong. Because there isn't a god-damn thing I can do about it as champion. Sure, I could get myself flown into Russia and try and give Putin a Revenged or The Plunge, but you think that would actually change anything? I mean, it'd be fun, but I'd also probably end up being arrested/shot/disappeared... and someone else would get the 'power' of being the champion.

So you see, saying you're going to change the world when you become the champion makes you sound pretty damn crazy, Ails. You might be more out of your mind than I've been, and that's saying something.

Now, that being said... I've helped some people since I started getting the big bucks. As you mentioned, I've been protecting Aimi, giving her a place to stay and to heal, while bringing new life into the world. I've sent some money to charities, and I've even paid the hospital bills of a fan or two. It wasn't really out of any sort of pity or anything, just because I could. But I don't think I'd go far enough to call that changing the world. I don't have a big enough fulcrum for that.

So if you really think that holding my championship will make you some sort of God hovering over the hopeless, well, we've got some professionals that can help you with something like that. They also love these things called straitjackets. I think the fit will be perfect for you.

The nice thing is, you don't have to worry about finding out what you can and can't do with this title, because it's not leaving my possession. I'm going to be on top of the XWF for a long, long time... maybe long enough that the opportunity to change the world WILL arise.

And I'll probably let it slip on past me, because I don't really give a damn about the world. And you'll have to watch that moment and know that it's your fault it didn't happen. Won't that be fun?


~Vaughn is back on his feet now, ready to fight. It's not a surprising reaction, since the last time Vaughn saw him, Satan had been trying to trap him into his own section of Hell. Satan, though, seems all smiles now.~

Satan: How you feeling, Peter? Damn, you guys really did a number on this place up here, didn't you? Glad this fight didn't take place on my turf, hah hah!

Peter Vaughn: I've got more than enough left to jam my boot up your ass, Satan...

Satan: Ooooo, is that an offer? Well, save it for later, Peter. We have business to conduct.

~Satan gives a quick wave, and suddenly there are three doors visible. We see one, a normal door, standing on its own in the middle of nowhere. The second door is floating above, seemingly out of reach. The final door is laying flat on the ground, as if covering an opening to the netherworld.~

Satan: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Pick Your Door!!

~There's suddenly the sound of game-show music and a crowd cheering, even though there is nobody nearby. Obviously, this one's not being recorded in front of a live studio audience. Satan does a quick spin and bow, before turning back to the puzzled Vaughn.~

Satan: Mr. Peter Vaughn, we've got three choices for you today! First off, only a short flight away for a Neo guy like you, it's Door #1! This door will lead you to... well, that glowy place in the sky that, for some reason, everyone likes. I've visited it, didn't think it was all that great, but to each his own.

~The first door opens briefly, allowing us to hear the sounds of angels singing, before slamming shut again.~

Satan: In Door #2, you've got the glorious vacation spa known as Jahannam... and, okay, better off known as Hell. We have the best saunas in the underworld, and we will have smores every single night you're there!

~The second door opens to a cacophony of screams, with Satan quickly knocking the door back closed.~

Satan: Okay, it may not be the Four Seasons, but I can guarantee that you will be given a very high-ranking position working for me. There is definitely room for promotions, as well.

Peter Vaughn: Getting promoted in Hell... now I have heard everything.

Satan: And finally... Door #3. The door where you have the trip of a lifetime... because it IS your lifetime!

~The door swings open, and it, well, sounds normal. There's not much distinguishing it from any other door you've ever opened. Vaughn immediately seems interested, stepping forward.~

Satan: Of course, that also means going back to the real world... where there are real life decisions to be made, and real life consequences from those decisions. Sounds like too much anxiety to me, but what do I know? I'm only the King of the Underworld, The Prince of Darkness, and the Chief Balloon Maker!

~Everyone turns towards Satan, who smiles again.~

Satan: That's right, I make fabulous balloons! Stop being jealous!

~Vaughn stares at the third door, looking slightly hesitant. He looks back at the Master Cleaner, Salvaje, and The Janitor, considering them. The Janitor just gives him a sad smile, nodding to him.~

The Janitor: Time to face what you've done, Peter.

Satan: I mean... he doesn't HAVE to...

~But Vaughn is already moving, grabbing the doorknob. He swings the door wide open, seeing the brightness outside. It's almost too much, but Vaughn's never been one to back away. He jumps forward, into the light...~


~... and wakes up in the hospital bed, looking around in complete confusion at what's going on. The doctors are checking him over, with one shining a bright light into his eye. Anyone who's experienced this knows how annoying that can be.~

Doctor: How are you feeling?

Peter Vaughn: What's going on?

~The door opens, and Thomas Hill, Chris Page, and Detective Black come into the room, as one of the doctors clears out to make some space.~

Thomas Hill: Peter! You're back with us!

Peter Vaughn: Was... was I shot?

Detective Black: Well, Yes and No...

~The detective begins to explain, as Thomas steps back, just relieved that Vaughn is conscious again. Page has already turned around and gotten back on his phone, presumably telling the replacement he was getting lined up that they are no longer needed. It seems to be a happy ending, of sorts, although Vaughn still looks very confused at all that's happened in only a limited amount of time. We slowly drop away.~


Looks like that about does it, Ails. I'll be out of this hospital soon enough. I'm sure they'll clear me. The XWF has pretty deep pockets. So I'll be there for our Ascent Into Madness. There's really not that much more to say, is there?

You say you're going to beat the hell out of me. I say I'm going to break you and leave you worse off then you've been in quite some time.

You say you're going to become the champion again. I say you're only going to try and fail, coming to the end of your comeback in a brutal fashion.

You say you're not scared of anything I might be bringing to the table. I say you're nothing but a fool if you're coming into this without a single plan in place.

You say you're going to eat me... well, I'm going to hope this isn't the case, but even if you do rip off a chunk, that'll be the only tasty thing you have down your gullet before I break your jaw.

End all, be all, this could really be the most intense, magnificent match in XWF history, Ails. You sound like you're going to be bringing your A game. I'm coming with my A+++, which is the only way I compete. This may be the only time where the "upset" is due to the champion beating the contender, but I'm looking forward to showing the world that I am, indeed, better than ALIAS. Everyone who's been doubting me going into this contest? I hope your eyes have been opened to the greatness of Peter Vaughn.

And if not, be sure to tune in Sunday, and we'll blow your mind.

All that's left to say, Ails, is the tried and true: Prepare yourself for the Plunge, and maybe something new.


~We return one more time to the world, where we see Peter Vaughn sitting in his hospital bed. He pulls over his VR unit, pressing the button on the side as he places the helmet onto his head.~

Peter Vaughn: Link Start.

~Vaughn's personal gear has been rigged for voice activation, so this time it actually works, sending him streaming into the Virtual Reality of the Coalition. He walks forward in the world, looking around. A second later, a figure appears in front of him.~

Master Cleaner: Peter. I wasn't expecting to see you today. We have been keeping track of your progress.

Peter Vaughn: I heard an ambulance was picking me up minutes after I was shot. I assumed you guys had something to do with it.

Master Cleaner: You think those contacts we've given you are just for bringing out the color in your eyes? They immediately alerted us to something life-threatening happening to you. You're a member of our society, Peter. We take care of our own.

~Vaughn lowers his head for a moment, then raises back up to meet the Master Cleaner in the eyes.~

Peter Vaughn: About that. I think we need to have a talk about some... important things that have come up.

~The Master Cleaner waits patiently as Vaughn begins to explain about what happened in El Paso. We slowly fade out, leaving the scene behind.~

]]>


The Road So Far:

A Secret War Is Brewing, P1

A Secret War Is Brewing, P2

A Secret War Is Brewing, P3

Near Misses or Near Hits?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

A Trip Through Hell

[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

I know I'm the narrator, but sometimes even I'm not sure what's going on. So let's take this one step at a time and try and figure it out together, shall we?

Peter Vaughn has been in the midst of a special mission, known only to him, where he has joined two underground organizations: the Custodial Coalition and the Maintenance Mafia. Neither group knows which has Vaughn's full allegiance, and supposedly the Coalition doesn't know that he's turned into a double, or possibly triple, agent. Yet Vaughn has been concerned as of late that his cover may have been blown, due to a drive-by incident that came too close for comfort.

A short time later, Vaughn seemingly was shot.

Vaughn would awaken in a strange reality, with a prior version of himself, a Janitor, if you will, showing him some of his darkest moments and pushing him to repent. Vaughn, though, believed that he was in the virtual reality system of the Coalition, which was seemingly proved true with the appearance of the Master Cleaner, who promptly sent Vaughn to Hell.

I know, right?

So Vaughn had a meet-up with The Devil, who didn't seem like such a bad guy. Vaughn has since pushed his way up from the bowels of Hell, working through every Circle of tortured souls, meeting some of the worst historical figures of all time (and Betty White, who was awesome), and finding an apparent friendship with former President John F. Kennedy... who turned out to be Satan in disguise.

I KNOW, right?

But Vaughn escaped Satan's trap, tapping into his own control of virtual reality, and has blasted out of Hell, seeking revenge on the man who put him there: Master Cleaner. However, is Vaughn actually in VR? Because our last moments from a day ago showed Vaughn in a hospital bed, unconscious.

I KNOW, RIGHT??

So with all that said... it's time to get a better idea of what's REALLY going on...


~The picture slowly opens back in the hospital room seen at the end of our last adventure. We see a view from above of Peter Vaughn, lying in the bed. There is a bandage wrapped around his forehead, and a couple of small bandages on his right arm, but otherwise, he could just be sleeping. In a hospital room. With the heartbeat monitor going off next to him, giving a strong rhythm throughout the room. Standing nearby, we see "Chronic" Chris Page, Vaughn's agent, and his brother, Thomas Hill.~

Chris Page: Did they say when he's going to wake up? This guy's got a lot of matches soon, including defending the XWF Universal Title. I'd... he'd be pissed if the title got vacated.

Thomas Hill: The doctors say it's... complicated.

Chris Page: Complicated how? I heard a rumor on the way here that Vaughn was actually shot?

Voice: The answer to that is Yes and No.

~Page and Hill turn at the sound of the new voice, as a man is walking into the room. He's got on a brown trenchcoat and a fedora, a unique look in this day and age. He takes off the hat, revealing his dark, messy hair as he nods to the two men.~

Thomas Hill: Chris, this is the detective who's looking into what happened. Detective... I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name.

Detective Black: It's Black. Detective Ian Black. I've worked with your client before, Mr. Page.

Chris Page: Funny, Peter's never mentioned you. But it's not like we talk personal lives that often. So what can you tell me?

Detective Black: Last night, Mr. Vaughn was on his way to his truck after leaving a building in the south side of Dallas. I'm not sure what he was doing there, to be frank with you. We're still looking into that. But we do know that someone took a shot at Mr. Vaughn with a high-powered rifle from quite a distance away.

Chris Page: So he WAS shot!

Detective Black: Again, Yes and No.

~Page looks confused, as the detective reaches into his pocket and pulls out an evidence bag. He shows Page what's inside: a basically destroyed cell phone, shards and all.~

Detective Black: This case apparently took the hit for Vaughn. It would have knocked him off of his feet, for sure, but the bullet thankfully never penetrated. It just destroyed some hardware.

Chris Page: That's a relief. But then, why is he still here in the hospital?

Thomas Hill: The doctors think it's because of how he landed. His head snapped back into concrete, knocking him out . He probably lost consciousness fairly quickly. What the doctors don't know is why he's still unconscious. One of them was speculating that it had something to do with all the head shots Peter has taken over the years, but another thought it might be psychological.

Chris Page: Can we just smack him again, get him to wake up? Or what about a dose of adrenaline?

Thomas Hill: That would be a last-case option. For now, the doctors want to give him a chance to come out of it on his own. But we really don't know what's going on in there.

Detective Black: Since I have you here, Mr. Page, I was wondering if you could answer a few other questions I have.

Chris Page: I can answer what I can, although you know I have a confidentiality agreement with all my clients.

Detective Black: Well, can you answer why Mr. Vaughn would have another one of these?

~The detective brings out another evidence bag, this one containing a second cell phone. This one did not take any bullets, making it infinitely more usable. Page looks a bit perplexed, shaking his head. The two continue to talk, speculating about why Vaughn was carrying two cell phones, as the camera slowly focuses back on Vaughn's face. You can see the REM - Rapid Eye Movement - going on behind his eyelids, showing that Vaughn is certainly not a vegetable. But no one in the real world can know what's happening in the recesses of Peter Vaughn's mind at the moment. Only we get to see...~


"Hello darkness, my old friend... I've come to talk with you again..."

I don't know if you'd like being called the Darkness or not, Ails. But sometimes I do get that feeling from you, that you're actually darker than me. That, once again, proves how dense a lot of the fans out there are, rooting for you when you can come across as an absolute madman, while booing me for finding practical, intelligent ways to win my matches. There's just no appreciation for good manipulation these days, is there?

I mean, it's clear you've got some problems, seeing that you talk about burning your own left hand as if it was your own decision. Do you really believe that? Are you that obtuse, not seeing the forest for the trees? I mean, I thought it was fairly obvious, which is why I kept commenting about it. Do you not see that the Left Hand drove you to burning that hand? That, in a way, it was one of their greatest victories? For the rest of your life, your own left hand is going to remind you of that force that doesn't exist anymore, but will live on forever... through you.

I mean, I would have just gotten a tattoo or something. That would have been smarter.

And then there's your talk about liking my body type, but wishing I was 15 years younger. Ummm, dude, I'm 30 years old, so this just got incredibly creepy. You know what? I'm going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you thought I was a lot older. I can definitely say I've had a tough life, and it shows on my face. I'll never be one of those runway models, and I'll never have my picture on a poster in some girl's bedroom.

Do kids even still do that nowadays? I don't even know.

So let's just say you thought I was 35. That way, it'd be a twenty-year-old you're dreaming about. That's good. That's legal. Maybe still a little too young for a guy like you, but in the terms of the law, it's still allowed, so good for you. That being said... first you want to eat me, and then you want to fuck me. Why do I get the feeling I need to have a safe word going into this contest?

Asparagus. No, I don't like the "ass" at the beginning of that. What about... Flushometer? No, no, plumbing term, you might misconstrue it. Hey, how about "Fuck Off, Ails"? I like that one.

Let me break it down to you, Ails. I really have no time in my life right now for a relationship. I am completely dedicated to being an all-star wrestler everywhere I go, and let's face it, my emotional disconnections would make it unfair to a significant other. So I'm not looking for anyone, and I'm sure not looking for casual S&M with you. Sorry, man, you're just not my type, no matter which way I aged or de-aged you.

I'm also not interested in letting you walk out of the Tokyo Dome under your own power. You may think that this match works fully to your advantage, and you go ahead and keep thinking that. I don't want you to realize the truth until the end, when you have that single moment of clarification that you've screwed up. It will be much, much too late when that moment comes, though, for you to do anything to stop it.

I'm going to enjoying making you use the wheelchair-accessible ramp at the next show. I'll even change your name from Ails to Whails. It works on multiple levels. Yes, it's going to be a thrill, seeing you dismantled and your reputation forever tarnished.

Assuming I can ever wake my damn self up.


~The view becomes that of a spectacular landscape. It almost seems like an ancient world in Greece, with pillars standing all around us. Seated in the middle of one set of pillars is the Master Cleaner. He appears to be meditating, focused on nothing but the 'world' around him. There is a slight rumble in the air, that gets him to open his eyes. He sighs, knowing what's to come. The Master Cleaner rises to his feet, preparing himself, as the rumble grows more intense. It seems like an earthquake, and in some ways, it is, as Peter Vaughn comes blasting up out of the ground nearby, floating in mid-air as he looks around the area.~

Peter Vaughn: MASTER CLEANER!!!

~Vaughn does a full rotation, his body glowing like a Super Saiyan having reached his final form. He spots the Master Cleaner waiting for him and slowly lowers back to the ground. He walks over to him, still fuming at what he's been put through at the hands of this man.~

Peter Vaughn: You have a lot to answer for, Master.

Master Cleaner: You believe so, Peter?

Peter Vaughn: You... cast me into Hell!

Master Cleaner: Did I? Or did your own actions lead to that inevitability? You were the one who decided to potentially betray the Coalition by joining with the Maintenance Mafia.

Peter Vaughn: It wasn't going to be a betrayal! It was all going to be an amazing series of events, and you just had to ruin it! I just had to keep it secret for just a little longer...

Master Cleaner: "Three things cannot long stay hidden: the sun, the moon and the truth."

Peter Vaughn: You're quoting Buddha to me now? A little on the nose, don't you think?

Master Cleaner: What I think is that you are not yet in the right frame of mind to listen to the truth, Peter. Do we really have to do this?

Peter Vaughn: You know that we do. It had to happen... just not this soon.

~The Master Cleaner nods once, raising a hand out to his right. There is a flash as the VR landscape seems to change, becoming more intense. In the Master Cleaner's hand, he now holds one of his most powerful weapons: the Broom of Beheading.~



[Image: mastercleanerfight.jpg]



~Vaughn darkly smiles and raises his own hand, with another cosmic push coming around him. Now Vaughn looks younger, with more hair, as if channeling back to his janitorial days. He also has his own broom, ready for war, as he swings it around him.~



[Image: janitorfight.gif]



~The two men begin to circle around each other, as the dramatic music begins to raise to another notch. A chorus can be heard, singing heavily in the background...~



Chorus: "Soon It Will All Be Clean..."



~Both men show the intensity on their faces, knowing this could be a final conflict. Vaughn's smile has not faded; in fact, it may be stronger than before.~



Chorus: "Floors, Doors, Walls, Halls..."



~Vaughn swings his broom around one more time, snapping his fingers, and barbed wire appears on the edge of his broom. He waves to the Master Cleaner to come at him. In response, the Master Cleaner raises his own broom, with it suddenly lighting on fire.~



Chorus: "They're So Tough, They'll Clean Them All!!"



~With their yells mingling together in the air, Vaughn and the Master Cleaner leap towards each other, their weapons held high. They smash into each other, with the force of a kiloton bomb erupting from between them.~


~Hill, Page, and the detective react immediately at the sudden shriek from the heart monitor. They all rush over, as Vaughn can be seen on the bed, seemingly having a seizure. Hill and Page get on either side, holding down his arms, as the detective runs to get help.~

Chris Page: What the HELL is happening??

Thomas Hill: C'mon, bro! FIGHT!!

~A doctor comes running in with a nurse, pushing past Hill in order to work on their patient, who is shaking back and forth, as if in a desperate battle for survival.~


Are you ready for a war that people will be talking about the rest of their lives?

I sure hope so, Ails. I've said over and over that this fight, to me, is more than just a championship fight. This is a battle for the ages, a confrontation that will blow the minds of all XWF fans as they sit back in utter shock at how violent and mesmerizing it becomes. I want the notoriety of this battle to be spoken of for decades, as one of, if not the, greatest war in XWF history.

I know you want it too. You've talked about the thrill of battle before, and I guarantee you, by the time this one is done, you'll have that thrill coursing through your bloodstream... and flowing out through your various cuts, breaks, and shreds of what's left of your skin.

You are the one I've been waiting for, Ails. Drew Archyle couldn't muster up the strength. Jim Caedus didn't live up to expectations, I think everyone can agree on that. Barney Green let me down, as he didn't rise to the occasion. Tommy Wish was a disaster better forgotten about. Now Centurion tried, he really did, and I respect him for it, but even defeating him wasn't the mark I was hoping for.

But you, Ails? You're the one. I defeat you, and I remove all levels of doubt out there that I'm a truly elite wrestler. And it can't be a one and done affair. I can't just knock you out easily, climb all the cages, and get the title, as the crowd heavily boos how boring the contest was. No, we need to have a conflict that shakes the foundations of heaven and hell, something that will have every person in the arena getting their tickets preserved to tell future generations: "I was there."

Can you do it, Ails? Can you give me the bloody fight to the finish that I've been waiting for since I got here in the XWF? Can you make this a war to end all wars? Or will you disappoint me like so many others have before?

Just speaking for myself... I believe in you. Make it happen.

Let the blood ring down and the word go out, that this was the most epic contest ever. And that you can proudly reflect on it years later, as the moment that "The Mechanic" became the ultimate legend of the business.


~The war has continued throughout the land, blowing away anything that was previously standing. There are glimpses of colors jumping back and forth, too quick for the eye to see, as the war between these two apparently supernatural beings has continued. There is one particularly bright flash of light, and a meteor rockets towards the earth below. It crashes into the ground, bringing up a huge cloud of dust. After a few seconds, the dust dissipates, and we see the Master Cleaner pulling himself out of a crater in the ground. Peter Vaughn comes floating down near him, still looking enraged. Neither is holding a weapon anymore: both have probably been obliterated by the force of the battle.~

Master Cleaner: You have learned a lot, young Vaughn. Your skills are truly impressive.

Peter Vaughn: You think so? You haven't seen anything yet.

~Vaughn flexes his arms, beginning to channel more energy. Suddenly, he seems to be growing. He's up 10 feet... 20 feet... 30 feet... he's becoming a giant, grinning as he towers over the Master Cleaner, glaring down at him with darkness shining through his eyes.~

Peter Vaughn: I Control This World!! Me!! Your Time Has Passed!!

~Vaughn raises his leg up, preparing to squash the Master Cleaner and end this battle once and for all. He brings his boot down... and the Master Cleaner catches it, quickly growing to giant-size as well!! He throws Vaughn backwards, causing him to crash into some strange buildings that have appeared around them. Vaughn growls, getting back to his feet.~

Master Cleaner: You may think you have control, Peter. But just by us having this conflict, it is clear that you are wrong. You are NOT in control. You have doubts!

~With a roar of rage, Vaughn launches himself forward, a Titan, throwing a mighty fist into the side of the Master Cleaner. He responds with a strike of his own, with these two massive goliaths unleashing shots that would disintegrate anyone who got between them.~

Peter Vaughn: Fall, Damn You!!

Master Cleaner: Not until you see the truth!!

~The Master Cleaner catches Vaughn under the chin, staggering him. He moves in, trying to wrap up Vaughn from behind, but Vaughn quickly unleashes a low blow through the Master Cleaner's legs, causing him to fall backwards, trashing a few more buildings. Vaughn turns, his eyes igniting, and he lets loose with a blast of pure energy right into the Master Cleaner's face!!! The large man stumbles away, his face badly burned, as Vaughn continues after him in pursuit. All signs of control are gone. This is Vaughn at almost his most primal, a sight only seen once or twice in the real world before.~

~This is Vaughn completely unrestrained.~


~Vaughn's arms and legs are now shuddering, although the majority of the spasms have apparently ceased. The doctor gets another dose of medicine ready, to try and control the reactions taking place inside the wrestler's body. Meanwhile, a nurse is pushing Hill, Page, and the detective backwards.~

Nurse: You can't be here right now! Please give the doctor some space!

Thomas Hill: Is he going to make it??

Nurse: Just let us do our work, we'll do everything we can for him. Now go!

~Page grabs Hill's arm, helping to pull him out into the hallway with the detective. The door is shut, keeping them out from all that's going on.~

Thomas Hill: God damn it!

Chris Page: Don't worry, Thomas. Vaughn's too stubborn to lose a match with the Grim Reaper. He'll come out of this, I'm sure of it.

~Page nods to Thomas, then walks down the hallway, pulling out his phone and sending some texts. They might be to alert others about Vaughn's condition. They might be Page already arranging for a replacement for Vaughn from someone else in the CCPE stable of wrestlers. The business must go on, after all. We cut away from the scene.~


Sometimes the outcomes just feel out of your control, don't they?

I know you talked some about your own life, Ails, and how you were losing years of your life due to not being in control. You seem to think I had the option of changing my fate when I was younger. Let's talk about that. You're saying that a kid whose mother left him as a child got to make that choice? Funny, I don't remember ever saying "Hey, Ma, why don't you go away for the rest of my life". No, that shit just happened. My mother abandoned my family, and there wasn't even a good reason for it. She wanted out, wanted something different, and that was that.

So how about a child getting to choose who his father is? No? That doesn't happen? My dad wasn't a bad guy, or a bad father, but his decisions led him to being a general maintenance man which paid next to nothing, and I had no say in how that ended up. You think I chose to be bullied constantly by the other kids, who thought being a janitor's kid was a mark of shame? You think I chose being socially isolated, with me becoming a time bomb that wouldn't erupt until decades later? True, I could have been less of a wimp and punched some guys in the mouth. I'm sure that would have gone over well with the rest of the thugs, as well as the people in charge of my school.

No, Ails. There weren't any choices in how I grew up. That's life. You either live with it or die from it.

You could say, MAYBE, that I chose to become a janitor myself while in junior high and high school. Technically, it WAS a choice. I could help with paying the bills with my father, or I could go without eating food. If you've never lived with the fun of having buttered pieces of bread as your main meal four days in a row, you know nothing about what kind of a choice that was. I HAD to earn some money, and it wasn't like anyone else was hiring a kid besides, well, some businesses that I wanted no part of.

Hell, I didn't even really have a choice in becoming a wrestler. That one I don't regret, however. Sometimes things just work out, I suppose.

And now it feels like the current state of affairs is out of my control as well. Page, I'm sure, is already talking to Mac or Thad, seeing if they'd be interested in a night's work one of the biggest shows of the year. But you know what? I refuse to let this be decided by someone else. I'm not going to let this chance of humbling you get away from me.

I'm going to wake up, and I'm going to come kick your ass. My choice, my rules, my victory.


~Back inside Vaughn's mind, the battle had continued to rage. And it's apparently not settling down. At all.~

[Image: anime-explosion.gif]

~The explosion seems to take over everything in range, disintegrating the landscape to splinters and shrapnel. As the brightness dies away, we see two men standing at the epicenter of the eruption. They appear to both be naturally sized again... or maybe the landscape grew to accommodate them. Either way, neither looks to be in the best shape. The Master Cleaner is laying on his side, looking burnt all over. Peter Vaughn is kneeling nearby, still smoking from the awesome release of power that just took place. He's shaking badly, but still manages to rise up to his feet. He slowly limps over to the Master Cleaner, studying him.~

Peter Vaughn: You told me once... master... that anyone could die in here. It just takes the right series of events, right? So... how close are you? Are you beginning... to feel it? Is your end near?

~The Master Cleaner painfully sits up, against all odds of being able to move. Vaughn watches him warily, wondering if this is once again a trick.~

Master Cleaner: You... still... don't... understand...

Peter Vaughn: You keep saying that. WHAT don't I understand? You refusing to listen to me? You turning on me? I've had that happen to me all my life! I'm used to it! And I won't let you stop me, just like I never let anyone else!

Master Cleaner: You're... still... making... the choices... Peter...

Peter Vaughn: Damn right I am! What's wrong with that?

Master Cleaner: You chose... the Mafia... you chose... the secret...

Peter Vaughn: So? SO WHAT?? Are you saying this is MY fault? Are you saying that I'M the one who caused all of this??

~Vaughn angrily waves his hand, pulling a piece of earth out of the ground near him. He floats it up into the sky, lifting it above the Master Cleaner, who doesn't move away.~

Peter Vaughn: I... I won't take the blame! No matter what you say!!

~Just as Vaughn's arm starts to move, a shadow appears from behind, locking Vaughn up into a full nelson hold!! He struggles, shocked, as the person holds him in place, with the boulder falling to the side, doing no damage.~

Peter Vaughn: What the hell??

Voice: I think what the pendejo is trying to say is that you could have avoided all of this, ese.

[b[~Vaughn gasps, hearing the sound of the man who gave him the deal in El Paso. The man who handed Vaughn his telephone number, asking if he wanted to work with him. The man from the Maintenance Mafia.~[/b]

Peter Vaughn: SALVAJE???

~Salvaje laughs, holding Vaughn tight, as the Master Cleaner pulls himself up. He isn't in great shape, but he's got enough left to start hammering the defenseless Vaughn with lefts and rights to the mid-section, doing some more damage.~


~Inside the hospital room, Vaughn is shaking violently again. The doctors are racing around him, trying to get him fully strapped down.~

Nurse: Doctor, what is this?? I've never seen anything like it!!

Doctor: I don't know, Susan, but I don't think he can take much more, whatever's going on! His brain activity and heart rate are off the charts!

~Sedatives haven't worked. Ice packs have been brought in. But so far, the doctors have a feeling that there's not much they can do until the situation is resolved, one way or another.~


Twists and turns, turns and twists. You never know what's coming next in this universe.

Of course, you have to prepare for all of them. At least, you should. But you seem to have a low opinion of the men and women I used to work with. The Exiles. You say that they were never a factor? That's... actually refreshing, really. Normally all I hear is people bellyaching that I only got to where I was today because of having the Exiles backing me up. But I think you've swung a little too far to the other end of the spectrum, Ails, because discounting them entirely is a pretty major mistake for a former Universal Champion to be making.

I acknowledge that I probably wouldn't have gotten to the title opportunities I earned without the Exiles' help. After all, Apex was dead set for eliminating me from competition wherever I was wrestling. They would quadruple-team anyone they got the chance against, and the fans would cheer, because it's not evil when the good guys do it, right? Without The Exiles' evening of the odds, Caedus probably would have still been the champion. Or maybe not.

Because if the Exiles hadn't joined me in beating your ass down at Bad Medicine, Caedus wouldn't have had the balls to come out and cash in his opportunity. You would have been too alert and too big a threat for him to handle, so no way you would have lost the title that night. So using that example, I'd say the Exiles were MORE than a small factor in leading to where we are today.

Now, you may want to act like numbers don't matter. I mean, every macho man does it. "I'll fight through twenty man, no, fifty men to get my title!" Yeah. Unfortunately, everyone knows the truth. Even the almighty, immortal ALIAS can't beat the numbers. Otherwise, you would have been able to do it when it was only four-on-one. You couldn't even handle that, what makes you think you could handle twenty?

Bear in mind, as I said, I don't plan on bringing those numbers to the ring. Honestly, I'm sick and tired of people commenting that I haven't earned anything. But for you to blow off the idea of having so many against you is just showing your ignorance of basic truths. It's almost like you're giving me permission to stack the deck against you, and I'm trying really hard to resist that urge.

As we've both said before, though, sometimes things are just out of your control.


~With a roar, Vaughn throws his arms out, sending off another blast of energy. The explosion causes Salvaje to get knocked off of him, as well as sending the Master Cleaner onto his back. Vaughn spins around, staring at Salvaje in absolute shock.~

Peter Vaughn: You... you can't be here, Salvaje...

Salvaje: Oh no? And yet I seem to be here, ese.

Peter Vaughn: No... no, you can't... the Maintenance Mafia doesn't have a connection to this system. That's... that's what you wanted me to get for you!!

~Salvaje dusts himself off, smirking. Vaughn looks back over his shoulder, but the Master Cleaner still hasn't recovered. He turns back to the Maintenance Mafia member, trying to figure out what's going on.~

Salvaje: You still think you're in some VR somewhere? ¿Eres tan estúpido, pendejo?

~Vaughn's Spanish is pretty rusty, but he still gets the gist of what Salvaje is saying.~

Peter Vaughn: If... if I'm not in VR... then where am I?

Salvaje: Buena pregunta. He's finally starting to figure it out, eh, Cleaner?

~Vaughn turns back to the Master Cleaner, who is now getting to his feet. Remarkably, all of the burn wounds are disappearing, as if they were never there. The Master Cleaner simply waits, saying nothing, as Vaughn glances back and forth between them. He then grabs at his chest, feeling a sudden ache.~

Peter Vaughn: The... the bullet...

~Suddenly, the imagery around them changes, as they are all now standing on a street corner. We see that time has apparently stopped, as everyone is frozen in place. Vaughn walks forward, looking at one particular individual: himself. He views Peter Vaughn is mid-fall, having been struck. He's tilted at a crazy angle, showing how hard he's going to hit when he lands. The moving Vaughn considers him, thinking things over.~

Peter Vaughn: Did... did I die? It looks like a heart shot. Very professional. No wonder my chest has been hurting.

Master Cleaner: You're not dead.

Peter Vaughn: But I got hit... so am I lying there on the sidewalk, bleeding out? Not quite how I ever pictured myself going out. Then again, it's better than getting eaten by a shark or slowly wasting away.

Salvaje: You aren't giving up, are you, idiota?

Master Cleaner: No, I don't think he has that in him.

Peter Vaughn: So what are you saying? I need to beat both of you in order to get out of here?

~Salvaje laughs, raising his hands.~

Salvaje: We can fight from here until eternity if you wish, amigo, but I don't know that it would change anything.

Peter Vaughn: Then what? WHAT do I need to do?

Master Cleaner: I've told you already, Peter.

~The Master Cleaner is suddenly blurry, as if something is going on inside. A piece peels off of him, reforming to his side into "The Janitor" Peter Vaughn. This version of Vaughn is the one who looks like the happy, jaunty Janitor of old.~

The Janitor: You need to confront your past, and make a choice.

Peter Vaughn: What, for the supposed betrayal? I haven't betrayed anyone! Well, not yet, at least...

The Janitor: But you know you're going to have to do it at some point. You put yourself in this position. And we both know that you consider loyalty one of your strongest qualities.

Master Cleaner: There's no emotion in loyalty. Just logic.

Salvaje: You felt like you could make any decision and you wouldn't feel a thing about it.

The Janitor: But it hasn't worked out that way over the last month, has it?

Master Cleaner: It has been eating at you... churning under the surface...

Salvaje: That feeling in your gut...

The Janitor: Knowing that you were set to be a traitor, one way or another...

~Vaughn is rubbing at his head, as if to stop the thoughts from making their way inside.~

Peter Vaughn: No... no, I don't care about any of that. I saw an opportunity to broaden my base, to gain more power, and I took it. It's nothing more than that.

Master Cleaner: Then explain your feelings. Why you're fighting so hard to deny why you're here.

Peter Vaughn: I'm not denying anything! I'm speaking the truth! What, I'm supposed to get all teared up at the thought of turning on someone? I'm a wrestler, these things happen! You... you can't be honorable in the wrestling business. It never worked for me. So I should feel bad about double-crossing the Coalition? Or tricking the Mafia?

Salvaje: Nah, betrayal, it's kind of our thing, yeah?

Master Cleaner: One of us probably shot you.

Salvaje: Oh, definitely, amigo!

Peter Vaughn: So... then.... it makes no sense.... WHY DO I FEEL GUILTY???

~Vaughn drops to a knee, shaking his head, finally admitting the truth. The Janitor, smiling, kneels down next to him.~

The Janitor: Maybe because you've been looking for something like the Coalition your entire life... a comradery you have only found once before, with your father... and now that you've found it, you're looking for ways to throw it away...

~Vaughn just continues to look downwards, having this expressed right in his face. The other three figures, who may or may not be from his own imagination, wait silently with him, letting him have the time to work out what he really needs to do.~

Peter Vaughn: I.... I just...

~Suddenly, there's an eruption from the ground nearby, causing all four figures to jump away. They turn as a group, looking as a staircase has suddenly appeared, coming up to the surface. A large figure walks upwards, stepping in front of them.~

Satan: Hey, buddies! Are we about ready to make our choice?

~The Prince of Darkness grins as he comes forward, joining the festivities once again.~


~Thomas Hill has found a bench and is sitting quietly outside his half-brother's hospital room. He jumps slightly as Detective Black appears in front of him, holding a tray.~

Detective Black: You looked like you might be hungry.

Thomas Hill: Not really.

Detective Black: Oh, good, more for me, then!

~The detective sits down next to Thomas, taking a bite out of his sandwich. Thomas scoots over, not wanting to be too close to the man.~

Detective Black: Y'know, I have learned a lot of Peter's story. But you're still a bit of an enigma. I know you had loan shark issues, and Peter helped you out with that. But I'm still not sure about what else you're connected to.

Thomas Hill: What do you mean?

Detective Black: I mean about Jonathan Barrows, and what happened to him. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?

~Thomas sputters for a moment, then reaches past the detective, grabbing the second sandwich. He starts taking big bites, nodding to him, while the detective raises a critical eyebrow. Before he can say anything else, though, Detective Black's attention is diverted by Chris Page coming back down the hall.~

Detective Black: Heard anything yet?

Chris Page: Huh? You two are the ones sitting in front of the room, how would I have heard anything?

Detective Black: Ahhhh, good point, good point.

~Thomas just nods while eating more of the sandwich. The door near them suddenly opens, with the nurse stepping out and looking towards them. Thomas immediately starts coughing, trying to swallow.~

Nurse: I've got... some news...

~The group looks up towards her, wondering what is coming next, as we cut away.~


You know what, Ails? I think we're getting close to the end of our little tete-a-tete.

Okay, so we're talking on the airwaves, that makes it less private, but still, you get my meaning.

We've both talked about our motivations to win. We've gone over in detail how we're not scared of the other, how we're both going to seriously injure the other, and how you want to eat and/or fuck me. I think we've covered almost everything.

About the only thing I see left for some debate is your comments about being able to change the world as the Universal Champion. I find that fascinating, really. You know, I've been the champ for nearly two months now, and you know what? The world hasn't changed. Is it because I'm not trying enough? Or is it just because that statement is utter lunacy?

See, here's the thing, Ails: when you were champion for, what, six months? Did you feel like the world was getting better because you were on top of the mountain? Were you visiting sick kids, maybe, or helping the helpless? Were you out there at the soup kitchens, buying extra soup supplies for the chefs? I don't really remember any of that being newsworthy, but I suppose that doesn't mean you weren't doing it. The media people tend to think of stuff like that as boring self-help stories and stick them at the end of broadcasts or in the back of the newspaper.

Maybe you could use your power as champion by helping the world climate right now? Hey, we're closing in on another World War, it wouldn't hurt to try, right? Wrong. Because there isn't a god-damn thing I can do about it as champion. Sure, I could get myself flown into Russia and try and give Putin a Revenged or The Plunge, but you think that would actually change anything? I mean, it'd be fun, but I'd also probably end up being arrested/shot/disappeared... and someone else would get the 'power' of being the champion.

So you see, saying you're going to change the world when you become the champion makes you sound pretty damn crazy, Ails. You might be more out of your mind than I've been, and that's saying something.

Now, that being said... I've helped some people since I started getting the big bucks. As you mentioned, I've been protecting Aimi, giving her a place to stay and to heal, while bringing new life into the world. I've sent some money to charities, and I've even paid the hospital bills of a fan or two. It wasn't really out of any sort of pity or anything, just because I could. But I don't think I'd go far enough to call that changing the world. I don't have a big enough fulcrum for that.

So if you really think that holding my championship will make you some sort of God hovering over the hopeless, well, we've got some professionals that can help you with something like that. They also love these things called straitjackets. I think the fit will be perfect for you.

The nice thing is, you don't have to worry about finding out what you can and can't do with this title, because it's not leaving my possession. I'm going to be on top of the XWF for a long, long time... maybe long enough that the opportunity to change the world WILL arise.

And I'll probably let it slip on past me, because I don't really give a damn about the world. And you'll have to watch that moment and know that it's your fault it didn't happen. Won't that be fun?


~Vaughn is back on his feet now, ready to fight. It's not a surprising reaction, since the last time Vaughn saw him, Satan had been trying to trap him into his own section of Hell. Satan, though, seems all smiles now.~

Satan: How you feeling, Peter? Damn, you guys really did a number on this place up here, didn't you? Glad this fight didn't take place on my turf, hah hah!

Peter Vaughn: I've got more than enough left to jam my boot up your ass, Satan...

Satan: Ooooo, is that an offer? Well, save it for later, Peter. We have business to conduct.

~Satan gives a quick wave, and suddenly there are three doors visible. We see one, a normal door, standing on its own in the middle of nowhere. The second door is floating above, seemingly out of reach. The final door is laying flat on the ground, as if covering an opening to the netherworld.~

Satan: Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Pick Your Door!!

~There's suddenly the sound of game-show music and a crowd cheering, even though there is nobody nearby. Obviously, this one's not being recorded in front of a live studio audience. Satan does a quick spin and bow, before turning back to the puzzled Vaughn.~

Satan: Mr. Peter Vaughn, we've got three choices for you today! First off, only a short flight away for a Neo guy like you, it's Door #1! This door will lead you to... well, that glowy place in the sky that, for some reason, everyone likes. I've visited it, didn't think it was all that great, but to each his own.

~The first door opens briefly, allowing us to hear the sounds of angels singing, before slamming shut again.~

Satan: In Door #2, you've got the glorious vacation spa known as Jahannam... and, okay, better off known as Hell. We have the best saunas in the underworld, and we will have smores every single night you're there!

~The second door opens to a cacophony of screams, with Satan quickly knocking the door back closed.~

Satan: Okay, it may not be the Four Seasons, but I can guarantee that you will be given a very high-ranking position working for me. There is definitely room for promotions, as well.

Peter Vaughn: Getting promoted in Hell... now I have heard everything.

Satan: And finally... Door #3. The door where you have the trip of a lifetime... because it IS your lifetime!

~The door swings open, and it, well, sounds normal. There's not much distinguishing it from any other door you've ever opened. Vaughn immediately seems interested, stepping forward.~

Satan: Of course, that also means going back to the real world... where there are real life decisions to be made, and real life consequences from those decisions. Sounds like too much anxiety to me, but what do I know? I'm only the King of the Underworld, The Prince of Darkness, and the Chief Balloon Maker!

~Everyone turns towards Satan, who smiles again.~

Satan: That's right, I make fabulous balloons! Stop being jealous!

~Vaughn stares at the third door, looking slightly hesitant. He looks back at the Master Cleaner, Salvaje, and The Janitor, considering them. The Janitor just gives him a sad smile, nodding to him.~

The Janitor: Time to face what you've done, Peter.

Satan: I mean... he doesn't HAVE to...

~But Vaughn is already moving, grabbing the doorknob. He swings the door wide open, seeing the brightness outside. It's almost too much, but Vaughn's never been one to back away. He jumps forward, into the light...~


~... and wakes up in the hospital bed, looking around in complete confusion at what's going on. The doctors are checking him over, with one shining a bright light into his eye. Anyone who's experienced this knows how annoying that can be.~

Doctor: How are you feeling?

Peter Vaughn: What's going on?

~The door opens, and Thomas Hill, Chris Page, and Detective Black come into the room, as one of the doctors clears out to make some space.~

Thomas Hill: Peter! You're back with us!

Peter Vaughn: Was... was I shot?

Detective Black: Well, Yes and No...

~The detective begins to explain, as Thomas steps back, just relieved that Vaughn is conscious again. Page has already turned around and gotten back on his phone, presumably telling the replacement he was getting lined up that they are no longer needed. It seems to be a happy ending, of sorts, although Vaughn still looks very confused at all that's happened in only a limited amount of time. We slowly drop away.~


Looks like that about does it, Ails. I'll be out of this hospital soon enough. I'm sure they'll clear me. The XWF has pretty deep pockets. So I'll be there for our Ascent Into Madness. There's really not that much more to say, is there?

You say you're going to beat the hell out of me. I say I'm going to break you and leave you worse off then you've been in quite some time.

You say you're going to become the champion again. I say you're only going to try and fail, coming to the end of your comeback in a brutal fashion.

You say you're not scared of anything I might be bringing to the table. I say you're nothing but a fool if you're coming into this without a single plan in place.

You say you're going to eat me... well, I'm going to hope this isn't the case, but even if you do rip off a chunk, that'll be the only tasty thing you have down your gullet before I break your jaw.

End all, be all, this could really be the most intense, magnificent match in XWF history, Ails. You sound like you're going to be bringing your A game. I'm coming with my A+++, which is the only way I compete. This may be the only time where the "upset" is due to the champion beating the contender, but I'm looking forward to showing the world that I am, indeed, better than ALIAS. Everyone who's been doubting me going into this contest? I hope your eyes have been opened to the greatness of Peter Vaughn.

And if not, be sure to tune in Sunday, and we'll blow your mind.

All that's left to say, Ails, is the tried and true: Prepare yourself for the Plunge, and maybe something new.


~We return one more time to the world, where we see Peter Vaughn sitting in his hospital bed. He pulls over his VR unit, pressing the button on the side as he places the helmet onto his head.~

Peter Vaughn: Link Start.

~Vaughn's personal gear has been rigged for voice activation, so this time it actually works, sending him streaming into the Virtual Reality of the Coalition. He walks forward in the world, looking around. A second later, a figure appears in front of him.~

Master Cleaner: Peter. I wasn't expecting to see you today. We have been keeping track of your progress.

Peter Vaughn: I heard an ambulance was picking me up minutes after I was shot. I assumed you guys had something to do with it.

Master Cleaner: You think those contacts we've given you are just for bringing out the color in your eyes? They immediately alerted us to something life-threatening happening to you. You're a member of our society, Peter. We take care of our own.

~Vaughn lowers his head for a moment, then raises back up to meet the Master Cleaner in the eyes.~

Peter Vaughn: About that. I think we need to have a talk about some... important things that have come up.

~The Master Cleaner waits patiently as Vaughn begins to explain about what happened in El Paso. We slowly fade out, leaving the scene behind.~

]]> <![CDATA[The Ides of March]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43248 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 12:08:14 -0700 Mac]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43248
"Champions aren’t made in the gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them-a desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have the skill and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill." – Muhammad Ali

{The Bane Home - Las Vegas, NV - “History”}

It was approaching twilight, my tumbler was empty, “Such a shame”, I said as I looked at the empty glass. The woodsy aroma of my scotch still filled my senses. I considered having another one but then shrugged it off. “Not tonight,” I said as I looked down at the open photo album. Looking at the picture in the center of the album, “Sixteen fucking years old,” I smirked. “The day it all started right there.” The man in the picture standing next to me was my father, Jonathan Bane, “Piece of shit,” I commented as I sighed. My father had been a tremendous talent in his own right but never could quite get out of his own way. He wouldn’t travel to other territories in order to get his name and his brand out there to a wider audience. He refused to do the work that was needed to get ahead. So, he worked in western Louisiana and east Texas exclusively. That of course is where he came to know Larry Thibedoux and Martin Boyette…

[ 21 Years ago ]

“Jon, you sure you wan ya boy in dis?” My father looked at him and smirked. “What's the problem, Larry?” The old man always talked down to these guys who were technically his business partners at this point in my life. They hated him for the way he treated not only them but me. Martin said to me, “You don have to do this Mac.” I looked at my father and then back at Martin, “yeah, I kinda do.” My first opponent was a local, who went by the name of Crush. Maybe he just watched too much t.v. or something. He was six feet tall and about a buck-eighty on a good day. He was also in his mid-thirties and smoked two packs a day. This was not going to be a fair fight, I knew it and so did the old man. Crush had never been defeated, this was his eighth fight. This was my first fight, so sure I got where the gentlemen were coming from, they didn’t expect me to survive this. This was not a fight club or some bullshit you see on television. This was as real as it gets.

The crowd had started filing in, and we were being ushered towards the cage. Once inside, I could smell my opponent's body odor and his fear. We began descending as the pulley system began to lower us into the pit. I looked down and saw half a dozen alligators staring back up at us. “Crush” began to cackle like a mad man as he saw my face. “You gon die in this pit today asshole” The cheers and applause from the gathering crowd made him bolder as he walked across the cage towards me. I leaned up against the cage wall very casually, “keep it up jackass and you’ll never see this cage reach the bottom.” My words caught him by surprise, but not as much as the pump kick I gave him that sent him flying. The crowd was getting louder, the louder they became the more intense I became. They wanted blood and I was going to give it to them.

The fight was already over, he was just too stupid to realize it. He rubbed his chest as the cage set down. The pump kick I’d given him left a nice red footprint on his chest as he staggered back towards the center of the cage. “I’m gon feed you to the gators, one piece at a time boy.” He virtually shouted it at me as he charged towards me. I waited until the last possible moment and dropped down, executing a front sweep. Essentially I had just kicked his feet out from under him and sent him face first into the cage wall. He bounced off the cage walls and the crowd had their first bloodshed of the night. The steel had carved a path from the right side of his nose up past his eyebrow. I stood back waiting for him to recover, that was the first and last mistake I would ever make in this kind of event. He saw his own blood and it was like watching a “b” movie about the Viking berserkers. He went nuts.

He lowered his head and tackled me, soon he was on top of me raining down rights and lefts. He managed to bust me open by slamming my head into the cage floor repeatedly. His mistake was afterward he stood up off of me and posed for his buddies. That gave me everything I needed. Time to recover and a distraction that proved to be his final mistake. The fact that I was back on my feet brought the crowd to theirs as I attacked him from behind with a clubbing blow that sent him back into the cage wall again. He bounced off the wall and I grabbed him by the back of the head and using every bit of strength I had, I launched him into it again. Then a third time for good measure. I stared down at a man, who was dying before my eyes. I went to the side of the cage, after a few minutes it was obvious that he wasn’t going to get back up and they began raising the cage back to where we began. My father met me with a smile and a towel to wipe the blood from my face with. I wiped my face off, “Well damn, Mac, you’re tougher than I thought,” he said with heavy sarcasm.

[ Present Day ]

I closed the photo album and stared at it for a moment. Shaking off the memory, I stood up and grabbed the tumbler from the side table. I poured myself another drink and went out onto our back porch. It had been a bit warmer lately so I stood there watching the night sky. “Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” That phrase has always amused me. I chuckled as I took a seat and set the drink on the side table beside my chair. Taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. I took a sip of my drink, followed shortly by a deep drag of my cigarette. Exhaling slowly I look back up at the night sky. “It’s been a long damn time since I spent time at the Tokyo Dome. This is going to be such a great night.”

Fade

{The Tokyo Dome, Tokyo Japan, “Showtime”}

I had arrived in Tokyo and the ride to the dome was a long one, with so many people, so much traffic. So I started out the window as the driver tried his best to weave in and out of traffic. All and all it was an uneventful ride to the dome. I paid the driver and exited the vehicle. I walked up to the front of the venue, admiring the architecture. From the two-tone paving stones that made up the walkway to the building itself, to the myriad of windows that reflected the sunlight in a cascade of colors depending on the time of day. Of all the places in the world where you can work a wrestling event, for me, this has always been one of my Meca’s of pro wrestling. The people of Japan were polite, and if you could get over with them, you could do that anywhere. As I looked at the glass that adorned the front of the building I could see a young kid, maybe 20 trying his best to blend into the crowd that was moving along near the entrance. He kept glancing at me as if trying to summon his courage. At first, I thought he might be an autograph seeker but then he made a dash in my direction.

I could almost smell his desperation as he got close to me. As he reached for my bag, I swung it from my right shoulder, across my body to my left shoulder. He missed his grab and stumbled past me, crashing at the feet of the local police, who had watched it all unfold with unhidden amusement. He tried to scramble to his feet but they secured him as I approached. “You know, if you wanted my autograph all you had to do is ask.” The policemen openly laughed at him as they escorted him away. “Everyone has to learn the hard way, I suppose.” I shrugged and began making my way inside. I passed by the stands where they were selling our merchandise, considering I’m not a fan favorite, I was a little surprised at the number of people wearing my t-shirt.

I finally found the door I was looking for, “Chronic” Chris Page, and I knocked. “Entrevue came the response from the other side.” His antics always amused me and I pushed the door open. A smile bloomed on his face as he stood up from behind his desk. “Welcome to Tokyo, Mac.” I smiled and shook his extended hand in a firm grip, “Thanks, I have been here in ages, or at least it feels like a lifetime ago.” He pointed at the chair across from the desk, “Please take a seat.” I sat my bag by the chair and settled into a very uncomfortable-looking chair that turned into a very comfortable chair much to my surprise. After a brief pause, it was me that broke the silence. “I know you’re not happy with what Theo pulled,” I began. He interrupted me, “Unhappy would be putting it mildly, but what can we do.” I smiled, “Nothing really, it was expected with so many people that you represent being in one place.” He nodded admittedly, “Yeah, it really was expected, he’s a dick.” It was my turn to nod in agreement, “I think he is very cagey, if he’s viewing this collection of talent as a lot of people do, we may be headed for war. I mean, most people view us as a stable, right?” He nodded, “I’m picking up what you’re throwing down.” I smiled, I knew he did, Chris is one of the most cerebral people I had ever met. “The real question, is do we wait and react, or do we escalate?”

Fade

{In-Studio - Tokyo Dome, Japan - “Making sure I’m heard.”

Standing in front of an XWF banner, I wore a CCPE t-shirt with my own visage on it. The t-shirt was tucked into my blue jeans, leather belt, black boot completed my look. As the cameras began to roll, I gave the camera a wink and began.

Well, Chris allowed Theo to choose my first opponent and in typical Theo fashion he tried to poison the well by putting Xavier in my way.

I paused to take a breath, and then quickly jumped in.

In the way of an explanation, Xavier and I are associated with Chris through “Chronic” Chris Page Enterprises. It won't matter in the least, to be honest, to either of us.

Pausing more for dramatic effect than anything, I give a one-sentence statement.

The Enterprise still wins.

I smile more broadly as I think about the adversity I’ve overcome personally.

It’s just another obstacle to overcome, he’s just another man standing across the ring from me.

Pausing again, I stare down at the boots I’m wearing.

Even if it were my best friend standing across the ring from me, I take no prisoners and personal relationships don’t matter.

When I look up, my gaze has changed subtly, the smile is gone or transformed into something more predatory.

It’s just as simple as that. No one should take this as I hate everyone and that I have no friends in this business.

My gaze doesn’t change, cocking my head to the side, I continue.

I have many, but the point is, I get paid to win matches, not influence others or make nice with people I don’t know.

My head returns to a more neutral position, and I relax my facial features.

All that being said, I know about Lux through his reputation mostly. He’s won world titles in places that due to the nature of the talent levels were truly an accomplishment. Places that were stacked with talent, not to mention the truly competitive environment that they represented.

I pause to take a breath and then jump right back in.

Now then, as far as platitudes, I’m done.
I remove the bandanna from my head, allowing my hair to fall freely and cascade across my shoulders.

Now I feel like it’s time for a little history lesson. I am a third-generation wrestler, with an emphasis on wrestling.

I stuff the bandanna in my back pocket as I think about my level of experience and all the blood wars I’ve been through in twenty years.

I’ve been doing this long enough that the experience factor of my opponents is not relevant to me. I know Xavier has been around a bit, but I don’t think he’s got as much experience as I do inside that ring. I can say that because I grew up inside the ring. I’ve been in wrestling rings working and training since I was able to walk. I have lived and breathed this industry my entire life.

I smile as I think of the people involved in CCPE, we don’t all like each other, but there is a healthy respect.

I know exactly what I get in an opponent like Lux, like me he is a wrestler first, that doesn’t mean he can’t or won’t throw hands. Like me, he doesn’t have to.

Allowing my expression to slide to a more relaxed and friendly look.

Xavier, talent recognizes talent. My only issue with you is that you are my debut opponent and will be treated accordingly. That’s not a threat or an accusation, it’s just the way I am.

My hands had been resting in front of me, with my thumbs hooked behind the belt buckle. I move my hands away from them and spread my arms out wide.

The bright side is that once we have this match, I’d consider teaming with you at some point.

Bringing my arms back in and crossing them in front of me.

The more immediate thing is that what happens in the ring in Tokyo between us is nothing more than Theo’s jealousy of Page shining through.

Resting my right elbow in my left hand, I raise my right arm up and begin tapping my lip with my index finger.

Just because I didn’t choose you as my first opponent, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. That’s the reason it’s up to you and me to steal the show and make him look stupid.

I allow myself to express my amusement with the inferred statement.

That’s not terribly difficult, although I think that Pryce is very cagey. What my team did in the Denzel Porter Invitational…I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed putting someone through a burning table so much in my life as I did when I did that to Lane.

The amusement blooms into a full smile.

I mean, it was almost orgasmic. To be fair and not exclude anyone, Theo did get the pin in that match. So hats off to you little man. That’s about as much respect as I can muster even for a former champion. Mostly because you piss me off.

Dropping my arms back to my side I continue.

Now to the real talk. Xavier Lux and I have no history, no other reason to be in the ring together, other than some suit decided that’s what’s best for business, and his own amusement.

I pause to breathe as I continue.

Now, Lux, I hear you've been asking around about me, when you could have just asked Chris to give you my digits. I get it, someone you don’t know, so you ask others you’ve encountered due to a similar style. It’s cool.

I shrug it off as if it doesn’t matter because to me it doesn’t.

Here’s what you need to know about this guy.

I bring my hands up, pointing to myself with my thumbs.

I started wrecking other people at the age of sixteen. If it wasn’t inside of wrestling rings, it was inside of fight pits in western Louisiana. You’ve probably seen the movie Fight Club or something similar. It’s worse than that. You are placed in a cage that is lowered into a pit.

I smile broadly at that memory.

The winner is the guy who’s still breathing at the end of it, the loser becomes gator bait. Been doing that shit since I was a teenager, I’ll be forty-seven this year.

My smile becomes predatory again.

Any questions?

Fade.]]>
"Champions aren’t made in the gyms. Champions are made from something they have deep inside them-a desire, a dream, a vision. They have to have the skill and the will. But the will must be stronger than the skill." – Muhammad Ali

{The Bane Home - Las Vegas, NV - “History”}

It was approaching twilight, my tumbler was empty, “Such a shame”, I said as I looked at the empty glass. The woodsy aroma of my scotch still filled my senses. I considered having another one but then shrugged it off. “Not tonight,” I said as I looked down at the open photo album. Looking at the picture in the center of the album, “Sixteen fucking years old,” I smirked. “The day it all started right there.” The man in the picture standing next to me was my father, Jonathan Bane, “Piece of shit,” I commented as I sighed. My father had been a tremendous talent in his own right but never could quite get out of his own way. He wouldn’t travel to other territories in order to get his name and his brand out there to a wider audience. He refused to do the work that was needed to get ahead. So, he worked in western Louisiana and east Texas exclusively. That of course is where he came to know Larry Thibedoux and Martin Boyette…

[ 21 Years ago ]

“Jon, you sure you wan ya boy in dis?” My father looked at him and smirked. “What's the problem, Larry?” The old man always talked down to these guys who were technically his business partners at this point in my life. They hated him for the way he treated not only them but me. Martin said to me, “You don have to do this Mac.” I looked at my father and then back at Martin, “yeah, I kinda do.” My first opponent was a local, who went by the name of Crush. Maybe he just watched too much t.v. or something. He was six feet tall and about a buck-eighty on a good day. He was also in his mid-thirties and smoked two packs a day. This was not going to be a fair fight, I knew it and so did the old man. Crush had never been defeated, this was his eighth fight. This was my first fight, so sure I got where the gentlemen were coming from, they didn’t expect me to survive this. This was not a fight club or some bullshit you see on television. This was as real as it gets.

The crowd had started filing in, and we were being ushered towards the cage. Once inside, I could smell my opponent's body odor and his fear. We began descending as the pulley system began to lower us into the pit. I looked down and saw half a dozen alligators staring back up at us. “Crush” began to cackle like a mad man as he saw my face. “You gon die in this pit today asshole” The cheers and applause from the gathering crowd made him bolder as he walked across the cage towards me. I leaned up against the cage wall very casually, “keep it up jackass and you’ll never see this cage reach the bottom.” My words caught him by surprise, but not as much as the pump kick I gave him that sent him flying. The crowd was getting louder, the louder they became the more intense I became. They wanted blood and I was going to give it to them.

The fight was already over, he was just too stupid to realize it. He rubbed his chest as the cage set down. The pump kick I’d given him left a nice red footprint on his chest as he staggered back towards the center of the cage. “I’m gon feed you to the gators, one piece at a time boy.” He virtually shouted it at me as he charged towards me. I waited until the last possible moment and dropped down, executing a front sweep. Essentially I had just kicked his feet out from under him and sent him face first into the cage wall. He bounced off the cage walls and the crowd had their first bloodshed of the night. The steel had carved a path from the right side of his nose up past his eyebrow. I stood back waiting for him to recover, that was the first and last mistake I would ever make in this kind of event. He saw his own blood and it was like watching a “b” movie about the Viking berserkers. He went nuts.

He lowered his head and tackled me, soon he was on top of me raining down rights and lefts. He managed to bust me open by slamming my head into the cage floor repeatedly. His mistake was afterward he stood up off of me and posed for his buddies. That gave me everything I needed. Time to recover and a distraction that proved to be his final mistake. The fact that I was back on my feet brought the crowd to theirs as I attacked him from behind with a clubbing blow that sent him back into the cage wall again. He bounced off the wall and I grabbed him by the back of the head and using every bit of strength I had, I launched him into it again. Then a third time for good measure. I stared down at a man, who was dying before my eyes. I went to the side of the cage, after a few minutes it was obvious that he wasn’t going to get back up and they began raising the cage back to where we began. My father met me with a smile and a towel to wipe the blood from my face with. I wiped my face off, “Well damn, Mac, you’re tougher than I thought,” he said with heavy sarcasm.

[ Present Day ]

I closed the photo album and stared at it for a moment. Shaking off the memory, I stood up and grabbed the tumbler from the side table. I poured myself another drink and went out onto our back porch. It had been a bit warmer lately so I stood there watching the night sky. “Those who don’t learn from history are doomed to repeat it.” That phrase has always amused me. I chuckled as I took a seat and set the drink on the side table beside my chair. Taking out a pack of cigarettes and lighting one. I took a sip of my drink, followed shortly by a deep drag of my cigarette. Exhaling slowly I look back up at the night sky. “It’s been a long damn time since I spent time at the Tokyo Dome. This is going to be such a great night.”

Fade

{The Tokyo Dome, Tokyo Japan, “Showtime”}

I had arrived in Tokyo and the ride to the dome was a long one, with so many people, so much traffic. So I started out the window as the driver tried his best to weave in and out of traffic. All and all it was an uneventful ride to the dome. I paid the driver and exited the vehicle. I walked up to the front of the venue, admiring the architecture. From the two-tone paving stones that made up the walkway to the building itself, to the myriad of windows that reflected the sunlight in a cascade of colors depending on the time of day. Of all the places in the world where you can work a wrestling event, for me, this has always been one of my Meca’s of pro wrestling. The people of Japan were polite, and if you could get over with them, you could do that anywhere. As I looked at the glass that adorned the front of the building I could see a young kid, maybe 20 trying his best to blend into the crowd that was moving along near the entrance. He kept glancing at me as if trying to summon his courage. At first, I thought he might be an autograph seeker but then he made a dash in my direction.

I could almost smell his desperation as he got close to me. As he reached for my bag, I swung it from my right shoulder, across my body to my left shoulder. He missed his grab and stumbled past me, crashing at the feet of the local police, who had watched it all unfold with unhidden amusement. He tried to scramble to his feet but they secured him as I approached. “You know, if you wanted my autograph all you had to do is ask.” The policemen openly laughed at him as they escorted him away. “Everyone has to learn the hard way, I suppose.” I shrugged and began making my way inside. I passed by the stands where they were selling our merchandise, considering I’m not a fan favorite, I was a little surprised at the number of people wearing my t-shirt.

I finally found the door I was looking for, “Chronic” Chris Page, and I knocked. “Entrevue came the response from the other side.” His antics always amused me and I pushed the door open. A smile bloomed on his face as he stood up from behind his desk. “Welcome to Tokyo, Mac.” I smiled and shook his extended hand in a firm grip, “Thanks, I have been here in ages, or at least it feels like a lifetime ago.” He pointed at the chair across from the desk, “Please take a seat.” I sat my bag by the chair and settled into a very uncomfortable-looking chair that turned into a very comfortable chair much to my surprise. After a brief pause, it was me that broke the silence. “I know you’re not happy with what Theo pulled,” I began. He interrupted me, “Unhappy would be putting it mildly, but what can we do.” I smiled, “Nothing really, it was expected with so many people that you represent being in one place.” He nodded admittedly, “Yeah, it really was expected, he’s a dick.” It was my turn to nod in agreement, “I think he is very cagey, if he’s viewing this collection of talent as a lot of people do, we may be headed for war. I mean, most people view us as a stable, right?” He nodded, “I’m picking up what you’re throwing down.” I smiled, I knew he did, Chris is one of the most cerebral people I had ever met. “The real question, is do we wait and react, or do we escalate?”

Fade

{In-Studio - Tokyo Dome, Japan - “Making sure I’m heard.”

Standing in front of an XWF banner, I wore a CCPE t-shirt with my own visage on it. The t-shirt was tucked into my blue jeans, leather belt, black boot completed my look. As the cameras began to roll, I gave the camera a wink and began.

Well, Chris allowed Theo to choose my first opponent and in typical Theo fashion he tried to poison the well by putting Xavier in my way.

I paused to take a breath, and then quickly jumped in.

In the way of an explanation, Xavier and I are associated with Chris through “Chronic” Chris Page Enterprises. It won't matter in the least, to be honest, to either of us.

Pausing more for dramatic effect than anything, I give a one-sentence statement.

The Enterprise still wins.

I smile more broadly as I think about the adversity I’ve overcome personally.

It’s just another obstacle to overcome, he’s just another man standing across the ring from me.

Pausing again, I stare down at the boots I’m wearing.

Even if it were my best friend standing across the ring from me, I take no prisoners and personal relationships don’t matter.

When I look up, my gaze has changed subtly, the smile is gone or transformed into something more predatory.

It’s just as simple as that. No one should take this as I hate everyone and that I have no friends in this business.

My gaze doesn’t change, cocking my head to the side, I continue.

I have many, but the point is, I get paid to win matches, not influence others or make nice with people I don’t know.

My head returns to a more neutral position, and I relax my facial features.

All that being said, I know about Lux through his reputation mostly. He’s won world titles in places that due to the nature of the talent levels were truly an accomplishment. Places that were stacked with talent, not to mention the truly competitive environment that they represented.

I pause to take a breath and then jump right back in.

Now then, as far as platitudes, I’m done.
I remove the bandanna from my head, allowing my hair to fall freely and cascade across my shoulders.

Now I feel like it’s time for a little history lesson. I am a third-generation wrestler, with an emphasis on wrestling.

I stuff the bandanna in my back pocket as I think about my level of experience and all the blood wars I’ve been through in twenty years.

I’ve been doing this long enough that the experience factor of my opponents is not relevant to me. I know Xavier has been around a bit, but I don’t think he’s got as much experience as I do inside that ring. I can say that because I grew up inside the ring. I’ve been in wrestling rings working and training since I was able to walk. I have lived and breathed this industry my entire life.

I smile as I think of the people involved in CCPE, we don’t all like each other, but there is a healthy respect.

I know exactly what I get in an opponent like Lux, like me he is a wrestler first, that doesn’t mean he can’t or won’t throw hands. Like me, he doesn’t have to.

Allowing my expression to slide to a more relaxed and friendly look.

Xavier, talent recognizes talent. My only issue with you is that you are my debut opponent and will be treated accordingly. That’s not a threat or an accusation, it’s just the way I am.

My hands had been resting in front of me, with my thumbs hooked behind the belt buckle. I move my hands away from them and spread my arms out wide.

The bright side is that once we have this match, I’d consider teaming with you at some point.

Bringing my arms back in and crossing them in front of me.

The more immediate thing is that what happens in the ring in Tokyo between us is nothing more than Theo’s jealousy of Page shining through.

Resting my right elbow in my left hand, I raise my right arm up and begin tapping my lip with my index finger.

Just because I didn’t choose you as my first opponent, doesn’t mean I wouldn’t. That’s the reason it’s up to you and me to steal the show and make him look stupid.

I allow myself to express my amusement with the inferred statement.

That’s not terribly difficult, although I think that Pryce is very cagey. What my team did in the Denzel Porter Invitational…I don’t think I’ve ever enjoyed putting someone through a burning table so much in my life as I did when I did that to Lane.

The amusement blooms into a full smile.

I mean, it was almost orgasmic. To be fair and not exclude anyone, Theo did get the pin in that match. So hats off to you little man. That’s about as much respect as I can muster even for a former champion. Mostly because you piss me off.

Dropping my arms back to my side I continue.

Now to the real talk. Xavier Lux and I have no history, no other reason to be in the ring together, other than some suit decided that’s what’s best for business, and his own amusement.

I pause to breathe as I continue.

Now, Lux, I hear you've been asking around about me, when you could have just asked Chris to give you my digits. I get it, someone you don’t know, so you ask others you’ve encountered due to a similar style. It’s cool.

I shrug it off as if it doesn’t matter because to me it doesn’t.

Here’s what you need to know about this guy.

I bring my hands up, pointing to myself with my thumbs.

I started wrecking other people at the age of sixteen. If it wasn’t inside of wrestling rings, it was inside of fight pits in western Louisiana. You’ve probably seen the movie Fight Club or something similar. It’s worse than that. You are placed in a cage that is lowered into a pit.

I smile broadly at that memory.

The winner is the guy who’s still breathing at the end of it, the loser becomes gator bait. Been doing that shit since I was a teenager, I’ll be forty-seven this year.

My smile becomes predatory again.

Any questions?

Fade.]]> <![CDATA[Elijah Never Forgets]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43245 Sat, 26 Mar 2022 08:34:42 -0700 ElijahMartin]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43245 After dumping Stevie into the Chicago River, I decided to spend a few days relaxing back at the palatial estate of the beautiful Lexi Gold, admiring her beauty and recovering from my Scaffold Match as much as possible before our international flight. The Queen and I eventually flew from Los Angeles to Tokyo a couple days ago, as we are now in a beautiful hotel suite not too far from the Tokyo Dome, where all of the "Madness" will occur this Sunday. I'm currently laying back on a sofa, with a tremendous spread of sushi laid out for me and my smoking hot girlfriend. Lexi feeds me a piece from a shrimp tempura hand roll, which is one of my absolute favorites.


Oh man, what a time to be alive! Here I am in Tokyo, Japan - I've got the woman of my dreams beside me, and I am well on my way to becoming the greatest XWF Anarchy Champion of all time. The King and Queen of Anarchy have now been holding court for nearly three months, humbling peasant after peasant that is thrown in our way. Whether it's poor old Andy who I took the championship from, or Big Money Oswald who was taught that royalty can't be bought and sold like a commodity on the New York Stock Exchange, or even that green as dog shit rookie Mister Good Times from last week... every poor soul that has been put in our way, the Royal Couple of the XWF has disposed of them in overwhelming manner.


The resume that I am building over these first seven months of my XWF career speaks for itself - I have taken on all challengers willing to step into the ring with me, embracing every kind of match under the sun that you can possibly dream of. And while I took my lumps from time to time in 2021, things have been remarkable and pretty damn near perfect thus far in 2022! From the moment I became the new XWF Anarchy Champion in the first show of the new year, I have been unbeatable, facing challengers to the crown of all shape, size and difficulty. I have made people quit, I have made them bleed, I have thrown them into rivers, I have made their cornermen throw in the towel... I have been a completely DOMINANT champion, imposing my will against anyone at any time.


Now when you get to be as unstoppable as Queen Lexi and I have been, you naturally attract more eyeballs to your success. Chronic Chris Page saw what was going on with yours truly, watching my success continue to grow en route to becoming the new Anarchy Champion. But even I have to admit, when I started getting phone calls from and having business meetings with Mister Page to negotiate terms for me to potentially join CCP Enterprises... I had to pinch myself once or twice, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. The career accolades for a man of Page's caliber all speak for themselves: Universal Champion, Tag Team Champion, Television Champion, World Heavyweight Champion, a 2019 inductee into the Hall of Legends... it's all quite impressive and even a bit intimidating, especially for someone who has only been with the company for barely half a year and would love to build a legacy of that sort. But in the end, Mister Page knows the goods when he sees it, and trust me... Queen Lexi and I are all that and a bag of chips.


I stop for a moment to let Queen Lexi feed her king another piece of Shrimp Tempura roll, as well as a shot of high quality sake.


That was delicious, my love. So now, we come to the pay-per-view event this coming Sunday entitled March Madness 4, featuring the culmination of the March Madness tournament and SIX championship matches on a packed card! And obviously, being the fighting champion that I am, the XWF Anarchy Championship will be one of those six titles defended this Sunday night. I truly didn't know who to expect to face as the weeks were counting down, but when the matchup was announced a day or two before my last title defense in Chicago... it brought a smile to my face from ear to ear. You see, there's a popular saying in the Animal Kingdom that an elephant never forgets... well, consider me the biggest and meanest elephant in the XWF Kingdom.


I remember my unsuccessful XWF debut back in the middle of August last year all too well - it was a tag team match where I got paired with a poor fool named Edward Junior, who didn't even know how to speak nor understand the English language. Our opponents for that contest were HGH and Latina Submission Machina. Now while I didn't factor into the decision in that losing effort, I made sure I held on to how that loss felt for a long time, letting it fuel me as I continued to move up the ranks on Anarchy and within the XWF. And the way things were developing, it looked like LSM and I were on a collision course for the Anarchy Title, as I won the top contender's spot at Relentless and she was the new champion. But eventually, she would drop the belt to Old Man Andy and the rest is history.


But now LSM, it's my turn to embarrass you. This time around, there aren't any illiterate tag team partners. This time, there isn't anyone in my corner to make me look like a fool, because Queen Lexi is the greatest crown jewel ANY King could ever have! And this time LSM... I walk into this match with all of the momentum in my favor. I am the one who has been putting in the work, I am the one who has been making the towns, I AM THE ONE... BUILDING A KINGDOM!! And you... you take two months off, and expect to just walk back into the ring, dethrone the King and become a two-time Anarchy Champion?! I am the greatest wrestler on the Anarchy roster, which I have proved time and time again as your REIGNING... DEFENDING... UNDISPUTED ANARCHY CHAMPION!! In the end LSM, you are just another victim... and this Sunday night...


Lexi Gold puts a finger over Elijah's mouth to stop what he is saying...


HE WILL RULE YOU!!!]]> After dumping Stevie into the Chicago River, I decided to spend a few days relaxing back at the palatial estate of the beautiful Lexi Gold, admiring her beauty and recovering from my Scaffold Match as much as possible before our international flight. The Queen and I eventually flew from Los Angeles to Tokyo a couple days ago, as we are now in a beautiful hotel suite not too far from the Tokyo Dome, where all of the "Madness" will occur this Sunday. I'm currently laying back on a sofa, with a tremendous spread of sushi laid out for me and my smoking hot girlfriend. Lexi feeds me a piece from a shrimp tempura hand roll, which is one of my absolute favorites.


Oh man, what a time to be alive! Here I am in Tokyo, Japan - I've got the woman of my dreams beside me, and I am well on my way to becoming the greatest XWF Anarchy Champion of all time. The King and Queen of Anarchy have now been holding court for nearly three months, humbling peasant after peasant that is thrown in our way. Whether it's poor old Andy who I took the championship from, or Big Money Oswald who was taught that royalty can't be bought and sold like a commodity on the New York Stock Exchange, or even that green as dog shit rookie Mister Good Times from last week... every poor soul that has been put in our way, the Royal Couple of the XWF has disposed of them in overwhelming manner.


The resume that I am building over these first seven months of my XWF career speaks for itself - I have taken on all challengers willing to step into the ring with me, embracing every kind of match under the sun that you can possibly dream of. And while I took my lumps from time to time in 2021, things have been remarkable and pretty damn near perfect thus far in 2022! From the moment I became the new XWF Anarchy Champion in the first show of the new year, I have been unbeatable, facing challengers to the crown of all shape, size and difficulty. I have made people quit, I have made them bleed, I have thrown them into rivers, I have made their cornermen throw in the towel... I have been a completely DOMINANT champion, imposing my will against anyone at any time.


Now when you get to be as unstoppable as Queen Lexi and I have been, you naturally attract more eyeballs to your success. Chronic Chris Page saw what was going on with yours truly, watching my success continue to grow en route to becoming the new Anarchy Champion. But even I have to admit, when I started getting phone calls from and having business meetings with Mister Page to negotiate terms for me to potentially join CCP Enterprises... I had to pinch myself once or twice, just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. The career accolades for a man of Page's caliber all speak for themselves: Universal Champion, Tag Team Champion, Television Champion, World Heavyweight Champion, a 2019 inductee into the Hall of Legends... it's all quite impressive and even a bit intimidating, especially for someone who has only been with the company for barely half a year and would love to build a legacy of that sort. But in the end, Mister Page knows the goods when he sees it, and trust me... Queen Lexi and I are all that and a bag of chips.


I stop for a moment to let Queen Lexi feed her king another piece of Shrimp Tempura roll, as well as a shot of high quality sake.


That was delicious, my love. So now, we come to the pay-per-view event this coming Sunday entitled March Madness 4, featuring the culmination of the March Madness tournament and SIX championship matches on a packed card! And obviously, being the fighting champion that I am, the XWF Anarchy Championship will be one of those six titles defended this Sunday night. I truly didn't know who to expect to face as the weeks were counting down, but when the matchup was announced a day or two before my last title defense in Chicago... it brought a smile to my face from ear to ear. You see, there's a popular saying in the Animal Kingdom that an elephant never forgets... well, consider me the biggest and meanest elephant in the XWF Kingdom.


I remember my unsuccessful XWF debut back in the middle of August last year all too well - it was a tag team match where I got paired with a poor fool named Edward Junior, who didn't even know how to speak nor understand the English language. Our opponents for that contest were HGH and Latina Submission Machina. Now while I didn't factor into the decision in that losing effort, I made sure I held on to how that loss felt for a long time, letting it fuel me as I continued to move up the ranks on Anarchy and within the XWF. And the way things were developing, it looked like LSM and I were on a collision course for the Anarchy Title, as I won the top contender's spot at Relentless and she was the new champion. But eventually, she would drop the belt to Old Man Andy and the rest is history.


But now LSM, it's my turn to embarrass you. This time around, there aren't any illiterate tag team partners. This time, there isn't anyone in my corner to make me look like a fool, because Queen Lexi is the greatest crown jewel ANY King could ever have! And this time LSM... I walk into this match with all of the momentum in my favor. I am the one who has been putting in the work, I am the one who has been making the towns, I AM THE ONE... BUILDING A KINGDOM!! And you... you take two months off, and expect to just walk back into the ring, dethrone the King and become a two-time Anarchy Champion?! I am the greatest wrestler on the Anarchy roster, which I have proved time and time again as your REIGNING... DEFENDING... UNDISPUTED ANARCHY CHAMPION!! In the end LSM, you are just another victim... and this Sunday night...


Lexi Gold puts a finger over Elijah's mouth to stop what he is saying...


HE WILL RULE YOU!!!]]> <![CDATA[There can be only one]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43243 Fri, 25 Mar 2022 22:55:02 -0700 Thunder Knuckles™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43243
There Can Be Only One






The scene starts with TK in Marty's body watching the long jump competition with Jimmy. Marty's brother, Bobert, is also standing on the other side of TK.

What should I do?

You've been training for a year, Marty you know what to do.

TK was clearly talking to Jimmy but Bobert can't see Jimmy. TK looks over at Bobert.

Will you shut the fuck up? I'm trying to strategize here.

Marty! Watch your mouth!

TK uncontrollably apologizes. Jimmy's laughing at the situation.

I'm sorry, Bobert...

You showed him, TK.

Jimmy thinks it's absolutely amazing to hear TK say that he's sorry so much. TK turns his attention from Bobert.

It's alright, Marty. I know you're ready to compete. I'm going to go get some popcorn your event is up next.

Robert walks away hoping that competition doesn't end up going to his brother's head. TK turns to look back at Jimmy, who still has a smile on his face from TK apologizing.

Well, mother fucker? What's the plan? Wipe that goddamn smile off your face too!

Jimmy is now trying to conceal his smile.

The only thing you can do, Thunder Knuckles. You have to take Bobby Bobby Kurgan's head or he'll take yours. It's the only way you can go back to your body.

TK isn't amused by this and you can see it on Marty's face as well. The Special Olympics announcer cuts in.

Ladies and gentlemen, our next event is about to take place! Please focus your attention on the center of the field. Sword fighting, it's coming up next!

Did you hear that?

Yeah, how the fuck couldn't I? We're next...

TK looks across the field to see Bobby Kurgan, who's as docile as a lamb.

How can he be so goddamn calm?

It's Bobby, man, he's always calm.

TK looks over at Jimmy blankly.

Until he's fucking not! He's the epitome of goddamn violence!

True.

Jimmy trying to change the subject.

Did you see the sword Marty has been training with?

No.

Oh, walk over here then.

The two men walk over to the rack of swords.

Which one is it?

It's that one.

Jimmy points at a Katana.

Dooooope. A ninja sword!

Jimmy corrects TK.

It's a Japanese Katana. It's lightweight and extremely sharp.

Shut the fuck up, Jimmy! You're such a goddamn nerd.

That wasn't very nice

Jimmy says this knowing full well what will happen. That's when the words Jimmy has been waiting years to hear happen.

I'm sorry, Jimmy.

Jimmy's smile enrages TK because he knows he was just tricked. TK takes a swipe at Jimmy, it goes right threw him.

You're so fucking lucky!

Yeah, I'm probably going to pay for that later but in case you die... I had to hear it just once.

TK nods his head because he knows that to be true.

Fair enough, fair enough. What's Bobby wielding there are tons of these swords?

Don't worry about which word he's using.

No, mother fucker, which one is he using? It's important to know what you're going up against. Isn't that what you're always going on and on about?

Jimmy, disgruntled, shows TK the sword Bobby Kurgan is going to be using by pointing at it. Once he does TK's eyes bulge out of Marty's head.

HOLY SHIT! THAT THING IS GODDAMN HUGE!

Jimmy trying to get TK to chill out.

You're yelling, calm down.

Of fucking course I'm yelling! Calm down, calm down, yeah right. That thing looks heavy as shit!

I'm sure it is. It's not the size of the sword that-

That's what small dicked mother fuckers say, Jimmy!

You're just going to have to be faster than him. That's all.

This is horse shit.

TK tries to pick up the sword Bobby Kurgan will be using but Marty's body is too weak to lift it.

Holy fuck...

TK is struggling to try to lift the huge sword.

Holy fuck...

TK gives up because he can't lift it.

What kind of goddamn sword is this?

Just take a deep breath, man. It's called a Great Sword.

TK does as Jimmy asks and shakes off his nerves.

How long do we have?

As soon as TK finishes his sentence the announcer chimes in.

Ladies and gentlemen, It's time for the sword fighting competition! Athletes prepare yourselves!

Jimmy nervously answers TK.

Looks like now. You better grab your sword.

TK shakes his head no.

You really don't have a choice. Unless...

TK jumps all over the phrase "Unless".

Unless what?

Unless you want to be stuck in Marty's body until he dies.

TK thinks about it for a second.

What are you doing?

I'm fucking thinking about it!

Jimmy instantly goes into full-on hype mode trying to rally TK.

GRAB YOUR SWORD! YOU'RE THUNDER KNUCKLES! Not one person in the world thinks you can defeat Bobby Kurgan but I DO!

TK nods his head in compliance.

You're right, Jimmy! I'm goddamn Thunder Knuckles! Former two-time Television Champion not some shit stain who can't get the fucking job done!

That's right! Now cut off Bobby Kurgan's damn head!

I WILL!

TK grabs his sword and heads to the center of the field as Bobby Kurgan slowly approaches the sword rack. TK makes it to the center of the field where he looks around and hears everyone cheering. Bobby Kurgan grabs his two-handed Great Sword with one hand, dragging the ground by his side, as he slowly meanders to the center of the field. Once both men are in the center of the field a whistle blows. TK pulls up his Katana like a baseball bat. Bobby Kurgan is still just standing there drooling on himself with his Great Sword dug into the ground where it stopped. TK shrugs and takes a swipe from the left and reflexively Bobby Kurgan blocks with swiftness. TK is in awe of how fast the big man is. Bobby Kurgan swings the Great Sword once again looking to cut TK into two. TK quickly jumps back just barely missing getting cut by the mighty swipe. TK rushes in but is met with a punch to the face knocking him flat on his ass. Bobby Kurgan raises his Great Sword over his head to deal a final blow aiming for TK's neck. TK sees this and quickly rolls out of the way as Bobby Kurgan's blade plunges into the earth. TK gets to his feet and swings his Katana but Kurgan blocks it again, this time sending dirt flying into the air. The crowd is loving this they chanting both Marty and Kurgan's names. TK is on more of offensive now swing this Katand high left, low right, swinging in the middle, all blocked by Kurgan's Great Sword. Kurgan throws a big boot to TK's chest knocking him on the ground once again. This time TK is ready for that kind of action. TK predicts that Bobby Kurgan would once again raise his Great Sword up high going for his neck. TK sneers at Bobby Kurgan grabs some dirt from the ground and yells out.

Pocket sand, mother fucker!

Bobby Kurgan screams out due to the dirt in his eyes. TK jumps up and goes for a death blow at the neck of Bobby Kurgan. Even though blinded Bobby Kurgan parried swiftly. TK can't believe it. Bobby Kugan continues to fight with dirt in his eyes, trying to shake it off, lunges forward trying to drive his Great Sword into the chest of TK. TK dodges the move kicking Bobby Kurgan square in the ass. Bobby Kurgan turns back around and nods at TK as if to say "good job". TK nods back to show respect to Bobby Kurgan. Kurgan swings his Great Sword at TK's knees, TK jumps over this move hitting Bobby Kurgan on the top of the head with the butt of the Katana's hilt. This staggers Kurgan but not for long. Kurgan again swings in the middle of TK's body. TK moves to his left ducking under the blade, ending up behind Bobby Kurgan, and slashes the back of Kurgan's right leg. This action ends up dropping Kurgan to one knee. Without hesitation, TK spins swinging his Katana catching the back of Kurgan's neck slicing all the way through. The blade is so sharp that Bobby Kurgan's head doesn't fall off his shoulders for three-point four seconds. As soon as Bobby Kurgan's head hit the ground the crowd is appalled. People are screaming wondering why this was even an event at the Special Olympics. Suddenly dark clouds begin swirling above the outdoor venue, thunder is roaring, and lighting strikes TK. Marty's body starts shining a blue light, then white, repeating over and over until TK is shot back to his own sleeping body in the year 2099. Almost as soon as TK enters his body he wakes up in a cold sweat and screams out.

BOBBY!

Jimmy is right by TK's side as he wakes up. Jimmy softly places his hand on TK's shoulder to comfort him.

He's not here.

What the fuck do you mean he's not here.

When you decapitated Bobby Kurgan it killed-

TK cuts off Jimmy with tears in his eyes. Jimmy bows his head in condolence.

No, it cant be!

Jimmy raises his head back up looking TK dead in his eyes.

I told you, Thunder Knuckles. There can only be one.

The song "Memories" by Maroon 5 begins to play as the credits roll.



[Image: frnyKt7.png]


?
?PREACH?






TK is still standing next to the posters of the final four in his tailor-made Tom Ford all-black suit. He seems in the zone and ready to go.

Radion, I hope you got your bitch womb ready cause this baby is about to be fire. I'm about to show all of you that there's more than one way to skin a goddamn cat. This mother fucker seems to think that because his opponents talk about him that he's viewed as some strong dude or some shit.

TK rolls his eyes.

Nothing can be farther from the goddamn truth. When your reputation in that ring is strong your opponents will seldom fucking challenge you.

TK nods his head because he knows he's telling the young talent the truth.

When you're weak, like Kid-o is, the attacks come from all fucking sides, like piranha to dead meat. Yet another damn difference between us. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles knows that true power lies in the ability to control your emotions. I've proven that Radion isn't capable of doing that, and thus, is unfit to be King. In just one match, with yours truly, he has shown more emotion than he has in his entire career. I'm certainly glad he knows he's swinging up when he's swinging at me. The thing is, this dude might be six foot but he's still only hitting me in the fucking knees. For a guy who says that shit doesn't bother him Radion sure fucking cried about it a goddamn bunch. You can't have it both ways, Kid-o. If that's what Shoguns do, thank fucking God, I'm looking to be King.

TK adjusts his triple folded pocket square. This is a signal to Todd in the truck to put up another graphic. This time it's of a Saint Seiya character crying with the words "None of that bothers me.", followed by the words, "Continues to cry about it."


[Image: 20220324_220737.gif]



I firmly believe in the ruling class seeing as I fucking rule. So, let me help guide this young talent. When you let someone control your emotions, they become your master. I'm so glad I can dictate your pace. The way I see it, there are only three kinds of people in this world. Bad ones, ones that follow their King, and ones that need protection. It's obvious you're the second option. I do need loyal subjects, after all.

TK winks into the camera for Raion.

Since we're on the subject and how Kid-o will become one of mine after the March Madness Finals. I feel that it's important for me to teach him. Directing your opponents with bait, stimulating their anger, and toying with their pride are all ways to disrupt their plans. This allows you to control them at your wish, just like I did you. You are more focused on the fact that 'Ol Thunder Knuckles made you look so foolish that it's all you can talk about. That is why I'm done with you.

TK flicks his hand, as if to say, move along peasant.

Before we go on any farther, as King, 'Ol Thunder Knuckles will be just like he is in the ring. That's right, mother fuckers, adaptable. Every good ruler has to be fluid. Standing in one place like a wall, against the tide of change, will slowly erode you into the sands of the beaches. I will also instill all my values in XWF. They'll be shining beacons of what you can accomplish here. Giving my people, the roster, the fans, and even management something to inspire to be.

TK nonchalantly brushes the dirt off his shoulders with an arrogant twinkle in his eye.

Pay attention fuck-wits because here's something none of you thought to do. What the fuck will you do as King? For 'Ol Thunder Knuckles that's easy. A King knows that an isolated kingdom is a vulnerable one. That's why once BOB's army is rebuilt. We will make alliances with other companies. The fortress we call XWF can quickly become a prison when you're surrounded by enemies.

TK narrows his eyes, judging those who don't believe him.

That's easier said than done. To gain true allies you have to be diplomatic and explain that our causes will benefit theirs. Goodwill is as thin as a communion wafer. However, mutual interest, now that's as thick as Charlie's ex-wife.

TK's toothy grin is showing until it's wiped off his face. He just began thinking about what he got to do next.

That brings us to my Bastardly Brother, Bobby Bourbon.

TK pauses for a second then cracks his neck.

Alright, as King you have to be aware of ANYONE who hypes you. That's right, Bobby, even you, my man. This is often a tactic to fucking disarm you. When the time comes I will deliver a Thunder Strike without any goddamn hesitation before it's too late to act. I'm entering the final four with boldness because entering timid. Nah, timid will only be met with some fucking strong opposition in the ring against Bobby Bourbon.

TK's eyes are like daggers staring into the camera. He's remaining calm but you can see the intensity behind his eyes.

Bobby my best advice to you is to surrender, don't allow yourself to be crushed because of honor. Next year, I'll sit in your corner and watch you take my place as King. There is no doubt in my goddamn mind that you desire to become King. Hell, I'd even say you deserve it, but, deserving it and beating your boy are two different fucking things.

With laser focus, he continues.

So, look no further your next king is here, going against my brother Bob, and I got a damn golden spear. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles got the fire so hot, that'll melt the wax in your ear. From this point on, things won't be the same. The roster will get spooked when they hear my name. Shit, I started out all about XBUX when I came in "the game". Then I caught traction and along came the fucking fame. From electric cages to singles competition, I'll beat them all, like a war of attrition.

TK gives his patent-pending jerking-off hand gesture.

For all the real ones that have been fucking with me since 19, my rookie day. Look at me now I want all the smoke, blow it my way. Bring me some real shit starters because I'll turn their punk asses into martyrs. I'm coming for Bobby harder than ever because I got a style that is a lot more clever. I'm about to show that I'm just a little bit better. Even Bobby's been saying that I possess something special. That's why my name as King is going to live on forever. With my finesse, I belong with the absolute best, hit the rest with a pop quiz, put them to the goddamn test. I must confess, on March 27th Bobby will be taking a rest.

TK takes both of his hands, puts them together, and simulates that they are a pillow, closes his eyes as he lays his head on the "pillow".

With all that said, when I walk out of the March Madness Finals as King and command respect with goddamn my awe-inspiring displays of fucking violence. I will have a coronation LIVE on Saturday Night Savage. Where I will be knighting Bobby Bourbon as my Minister of War.

TK pauses yet again for a moment placing his index finger on his chin.

I feel like I'm forgetting something...

Suddenly TK remembers and chuckles to himself.

Oh, yeah! Jenny Myst, L-O-L, I'm so very fucking glad you described me as Elvis. I mean, shit, you're definitely not becoming royalty but at least you know who's the fuc-King! I'd make you a royal concubine but I'm afraid of the itch I'd get from you won't be cured by a cream. That's not talking "ish" on Jenny Myst, that's speaking fact. You'll figure it out one day. You're dismissed.

TK's cocky grin is the last thing you see before the scene fades to a promotional hype video from Bastard Net. The video shows Connor Macleod saying, " There can only be one" as Queen's "Princes of the Universe" plays. This fades to a Bastard vs. Bastard screen before showing clips of both TK and Bobby Bourbon. The Battle of the Bastards! A match unrivaled at March Madness. Prepare yourselves for the carnage! Bastard versus Bastard!



]]>
There Can Be Only One






The scene starts with TK in Marty's body watching the long jump competition with Jimmy. Marty's brother, Bobert, is also standing on the other side of TK.

What should I do?

You've been training for a year, Marty you know what to do.

TK was clearly talking to Jimmy but Bobert can't see Jimmy. TK looks over at Bobert.

Will you shut the fuck up? I'm trying to strategize here.

Marty! Watch your mouth!

TK uncontrollably apologizes. Jimmy's laughing at the situation.

I'm sorry, Bobert...

You showed him, TK.

Jimmy thinks it's absolutely amazing to hear TK say that he's sorry so much. TK turns his attention from Bobert.

It's alright, Marty. I know you're ready to compete. I'm going to go get some popcorn your event is up next.

Robert walks away hoping that competition doesn't end up going to his brother's head. TK turns to look back at Jimmy, who still has a smile on his face from TK apologizing.

Well, mother fucker? What's the plan? Wipe that goddamn smile off your face too!

Jimmy is now trying to conceal his smile.

The only thing you can do, Thunder Knuckles. You have to take Bobby Bobby Kurgan's head or he'll take yours. It's the only way you can go back to your body.

TK isn't amused by this and you can see it on Marty's face as well. The Special Olympics announcer cuts in.

Ladies and gentlemen, our next event is about to take place! Please focus your attention on the center of the field. Sword fighting, it's coming up next!

Did you hear that?

Yeah, how the fuck couldn't I? We're next...

TK looks across the field to see Bobby Kurgan, who's as docile as a lamb.

How can he be so goddamn calm?

It's Bobby, man, he's always calm.

TK looks over at Jimmy blankly.

Until he's fucking not! He's the epitome of goddamn violence!

True.

Jimmy trying to change the subject.

Did you see the sword Marty has been training with?

No.

Oh, walk over here then.

The two men walk over to the rack of swords.

Which one is it?

It's that one.

Jimmy points at a Katana.

Dooooope. A ninja sword!

Jimmy corrects TK.

It's a Japanese Katana. It's lightweight and extremely sharp.

Shut the fuck up, Jimmy! You're such a goddamn nerd.

That wasn't very nice

Jimmy says this knowing full well what will happen. That's when the words Jimmy has been waiting years to hear happen.

I'm sorry, Jimmy.

Jimmy's smile enrages TK because he knows he was just tricked. TK takes a swipe at Jimmy, it goes right threw him.

You're so fucking lucky!

Yeah, I'm probably going to pay for that later but in case you die... I had to hear it just once.

TK nods his head because he knows that to be true.

Fair enough, fair enough. What's Bobby wielding there are tons of these swords?

Don't worry about which word he's using.

No, mother fucker, which one is he using? It's important to know what you're going up against. Isn't that what you're always going on and on about?

Jimmy, disgruntled, shows TK the sword Bobby Kurgan is going to be using by pointing at it. Once he does TK's eyes bulge out of Marty's head.

HOLY SHIT! THAT THING IS GODDAMN HUGE!

Jimmy trying to get TK to chill out.

You're yelling, calm down.

Of fucking course I'm yelling! Calm down, calm down, yeah right. That thing looks heavy as shit!

I'm sure it is. It's not the size of the sword that-

That's what small dicked mother fuckers say, Jimmy!

You're just going to have to be faster than him. That's all.

This is horse shit.

TK tries to pick up the sword Bobby Kurgan will be using but Marty's body is too weak to lift it.

Holy fuck...

TK is struggling to try to lift the huge sword.

Holy fuck...

TK gives up because he can't lift it.

What kind of goddamn sword is this?

Just take a deep breath, man. It's called a Great Sword.

TK does as Jimmy asks and shakes off his nerves.

How long do we have?

As soon as TK finishes his sentence the announcer chimes in.

Ladies and gentlemen, It's time for the sword fighting competition! Athletes prepare yourselves!

Jimmy nervously answers TK.

Looks like now. You better grab your sword.

TK shakes his head no.

You really don't have a choice. Unless...

TK jumps all over the phrase "Unless".

Unless what?

Unless you want to be stuck in Marty's body until he dies.

TK thinks about it for a second.

What are you doing?

I'm fucking thinking about it!

Jimmy instantly goes into full-on hype mode trying to rally TK.

GRAB YOUR SWORD! YOU'RE THUNDER KNUCKLES! Not one person in the world thinks you can defeat Bobby Kurgan but I DO!

TK nods his head in compliance.

You're right, Jimmy! I'm goddamn Thunder Knuckles! Former two-time Television Champion not some shit stain who can't get the fucking job done!

That's right! Now cut off Bobby Kurgan's damn head!

I WILL!

TK grabs his sword and heads to the center of the field as Bobby Kurgan slowly approaches the sword rack. TK makes it to the center of the field where he looks around and hears everyone cheering. Bobby Kurgan grabs his two-handed Great Sword with one hand, dragging the ground by his side, as he slowly meanders to the center of the field. Once both men are in the center of the field a whistle blows. TK pulls up his Katana like a baseball bat. Bobby Kurgan is still just standing there drooling on himself with his Great Sword dug into the ground where it stopped. TK shrugs and takes a swipe from the left and reflexively Bobby Kurgan blocks with swiftness. TK is in awe of how fast the big man is. Bobby Kurgan swings the Great Sword once again looking to cut TK into two. TK quickly jumps back just barely missing getting cut by the mighty swipe. TK rushes in but is met with a punch to the face knocking him flat on his ass. Bobby Kurgan raises his Great Sword over his head to deal a final blow aiming for TK's neck. TK sees this and quickly rolls out of the way as Bobby Kurgan's blade plunges into the earth. TK gets to his feet and swings his Katana but Kurgan blocks it again, this time sending dirt flying into the air. The crowd is loving this they chanting both Marty and Kurgan's names. TK is on more of offensive now swing this Katand high left, low right, swinging in the middle, all blocked by Kurgan's Great Sword. Kurgan throws a big boot to TK's chest knocking him on the ground once again. This time TK is ready for that kind of action. TK predicts that Bobby Kurgan would once again raise his Great Sword up high going for his neck. TK sneers at Bobby Kurgan grabs some dirt from the ground and yells out.

Pocket sand, mother fucker!

Bobby Kurgan screams out due to the dirt in his eyes. TK jumps up and goes for a death blow at the neck of Bobby Kurgan. Even though blinded Bobby Kurgan parried swiftly. TK can't believe it. Bobby Kugan continues to fight with dirt in his eyes, trying to shake it off, lunges forward trying to drive his Great Sword into the chest of TK. TK dodges the move kicking Bobby Kurgan square in the ass. Bobby Kurgan turns back around and nods at TK as if to say "good job". TK nods back to show respect to Bobby Kurgan. Kurgan swings his Great Sword at TK's knees, TK jumps over this move hitting Bobby Kurgan on the top of the head with the butt of the Katana's hilt. This staggers Kurgan but not for long. Kurgan again swings in the middle of TK's body. TK moves to his left ducking under the blade, ending up behind Bobby Kurgan, and slashes the back of Kurgan's right leg. This action ends up dropping Kurgan to one knee. Without hesitation, TK spins swinging his Katana catching the back of Kurgan's neck slicing all the way through. The blade is so sharp that Bobby Kurgan's head doesn't fall off his shoulders for three-point four seconds. As soon as Bobby Kurgan's head hit the ground the crowd is appalled. People are screaming wondering why this was even an event at the Special Olympics. Suddenly dark clouds begin swirling above the outdoor venue, thunder is roaring, and lighting strikes TK. Marty's body starts shining a blue light, then white, repeating over and over until TK is shot back to his own sleeping body in the year 2099. Almost as soon as TK enters his body he wakes up in a cold sweat and screams out.

BOBBY!

Jimmy is right by TK's side as he wakes up. Jimmy softly places his hand on TK's shoulder to comfort him.

He's not here.

What the fuck do you mean he's not here.

When you decapitated Bobby Kurgan it killed-

TK cuts off Jimmy with tears in his eyes. Jimmy bows his head in condolence.

No, it cant be!

Jimmy raises his head back up looking TK dead in his eyes.

I told you, Thunder Knuckles. There can only be one.

The song "Memories" by Maroon 5 begins to play as the credits roll.



[Image: frnyKt7.png]


?
?PREACH?






TK is still standing next to the posters of the final four in his tailor-made Tom Ford all-black suit. He seems in the zone and ready to go.

Radion, I hope you got your bitch womb ready cause this baby is about to be fire. I'm about to show all of you that there's more than one way to skin a goddamn cat. This mother fucker seems to think that because his opponents talk about him that he's viewed as some strong dude or some shit.

TK rolls his eyes.

Nothing can be farther from the goddamn truth. When your reputation in that ring is strong your opponents will seldom fucking challenge you.

TK nods his head because he knows he's telling the young talent the truth.

When you're weak, like Kid-o is, the attacks come from all fucking sides, like piranha to dead meat. Yet another damn difference between us. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles knows that true power lies in the ability to control your emotions. I've proven that Radion isn't capable of doing that, and thus, is unfit to be King. In just one match, with yours truly, he has shown more emotion than he has in his entire career. I'm certainly glad he knows he's swinging up when he's swinging at me. The thing is, this dude might be six foot but he's still only hitting me in the fucking knees. For a guy who says that shit doesn't bother him Radion sure fucking cried about it a goddamn bunch. You can't have it both ways, Kid-o. If that's what Shoguns do, thank fucking God, I'm looking to be King.

TK adjusts his triple folded pocket square. This is a signal to Todd in the truck to put up another graphic. This time it's of a Saint Seiya character crying with the words "None of that bothers me.", followed by the words, "Continues to cry about it."


[Image: 20220324_220737.gif]



I firmly believe in the ruling class seeing as I fucking rule. So, let me help guide this young talent. When you let someone control your emotions, they become your master. I'm so glad I can dictate your pace. The way I see it, there are only three kinds of people in this world. Bad ones, ones that follow their King, and ones that need protection. It's obvious you're the second option. I do need loyal subjects, after all.

TK winks into the camera for Raion.

Since we're on the subject and how Kid-o will become one of mine after the March Madness Finals. I feel that it's important for me to teach him. Directing your opponents with bait, stimulating their anger, and toying with their pride are all ways to disrupt their plans. This allows you to control them at your wish, just like I did you. You are more focused on the fact that 'Ol Thunder Knuckles made you look so foolish that it's all you can talk about. That is why I'm done with you.

TK flicks his hand, as if to say, move along peasant.

Before we go on any farther, as King, 'Ol Thunder Knuckles will be just like he is in the ring. That's right, mother fuckers, adaptable. Every good ruler has to be fluid. Standing in one place like a wall, against the tide of change, will slowly erode you into the sands of the beaches. I will also instill all my values in XWF. They'll be shining beacons of what you can accomplish here. Giving my people, the roster, the fans, and even management something to inspire to be.

TK nonchalantly brushes the dirt off his shoulders with an arrogant twinkle in his eye.

Pay attention fuck-wits because here's something none of you thought to do. What the fuck will you do as King? For 'Ol Thunder Knuckles that's easy. A King knows that an isolated kingdom is a vulnerable one. That's why once BOB's army is rebuilt. We will make alliances with other companies. The fortress we call XWF can quickly become a prison when you're surrounded by enemies.

TK narrows his eyes, judging those who don't believe him.

That's easier said than done. To gain true allies you have to be diplomatic and explain that our causes will benefit theirs. Goodwill is as thin as a communion wafer. However, mutual interest, now that's as thick as Charlie's ex-wife.

TK's toothy grin is showing until it's wiped off his face. He just began thinking about what he got to do next.

That brings us to my Bastardly Brother, Bobby Bourbon.

TK pauses for a second then cracks his neck.

Alright, as King you have to be aware of ANYONE who hypes you. That's right, Bobby, even you, my man. This is often a tactic to fucking disarm you. When the time comes I will deliver a Thunder Strike without any goddamn hesitation before it's too late to act. I'm entering the final four with boldness because entering timid. Nah, timid will only be met with some fucking strong opposition in the ring against Bobby Bourbon.

TK's eyes are like daggers staring into the camera. He's remaining calm but you can see the intensity behind his eyes.

Bobby my best advice to you is to surrender, don't allow yourself to be crushed because of honor. Next year, I'll sit in your corner and watch you take my place as King. There is no doubt in my goddamn mind that you desire to become King. Hell, I'd even say you deserve it, but, deserving it and beating your boy are two different fucking things.

With laser focus, he continues.

So, look no further your next king is here, going against my brother Bob, and I got a damn golden spear. 'Ol Thunder Knuckles got the fire so hot, that'll melt the wax in your ear. From this point on, things won't be the same. The roster will get spooked when they hear my name. Shit, I started out all about XBUX when I came in "the game". Then I caught traction and along came the fucking fame. From electric cages to singles competition, I'll beat them all, like a war of attrition.

TK gives his patent-pending jerking-off hand gesture.

For all the real ones that have been fucking with me since 19, my rookie day. Look at me now I want all the smoke, blow it my way. Bring me some real shit starters because I'll turn their punk asses into martyrs. I'm coming for Bobby harder than ever because I got a style that is a lot more clever. I'm about to show that I'm just a little bit better. Even Bobby's been saying that I possess something special. That's why my name as King is going to live on forever. With my finesse, I belong with the absolute best, hit the rest with a pop quiz, put them to the goddamn test. I must confess, on March 27th Bobby will be taking a rest.

TK takes both of his hands, puts them together, and simulates that they are a pillow, closes his eyes as he lays his head on the "pillow".

With all that said, when I walk out of the March Madness Finals as King and command respect with goddamn my awe-inspiring displays of fucking violence. I will have a coronation LIVE on Saturday Night Savage. Where I will be knighting Bobby Bourbon as my Minister of War.

TK pauses yet again for a moment placing his index finger on his chin.

I feel like I'm forgetting something...

Suddenly TK remembers and chuckles to himself.

Oh, yeah! Jenny Myst, L-O-L, I'm so very fucking glad you described me as Elvis. I mean, shit, you're definitely not becoming royalty but at least you know who's the fuc-King! I'd make you a royal concubine but I'm afraid of the itch I'd get from you won't be cured by a cream. That's not talking "ish" on Jenny Myst, that's speaking fact. You'll figure it out one day. You're dismissed.

TK's cocky grin is the last thing you see before the scene fades to a promotional hype video from Bastard Net. The video shows Connor Macleod saying, " There can only be one" as Queen's "Princes of the Universe" plays. This fades to a Bastard vs. Bastard screen before showing clips of both TK and Bobby Bourbon. The Battle of the Bastards! A match unrivaled at March Madness. Prepare yourselves for the carnage! Bastard versus Bastard!



]]> <![CDATA[Hellfire]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43242 Fri, 25 Mar 2022 22:43:33 -0700 Bobby Bourbon]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43242
Bobby’s move.

HELLFIRE

Bobby is seated at a chess table.

Chernit, I have thought it over, are you good at chess?

Yes. 5 times champion.

Nope.

Bobby shakes his head and stands up from the chess table.

I'm a physical ass whooper, I suck at chess.

Chernit laughs.

So we can play the board games now?

Well, Chernit, have you ever seen Rocky IV?

Chernit looks taken emotionally by the mention of the film.

It was beautiful.

Well, I happen to have a very special Bourbon Man with me in town. And, well…

You mean, you brought him

RoboBob, the robot from Rocky IV with a picture of Bobby’s face stapled to it, crashes in through the door.

Happy birthday, Paulie.

Chernit looks like a kid seeing santa in the mall. His eyes light up, a silly grin crawling across his wide jaw. He runs over and hugs RoboBob.

Happy birthday, Paulie!

Look…

Bobby interrupts Chernit's exuberance over holding a movie prop from several decades in the past.

…where did they film Rocky IV?

Vancouver.

Bobby looks slackjawed.

Damnit. Should have done a google on that earlier.

No, but we in Russia built the entire village that was jn the film in 2002!

That's perfect!

~~~~~

We see Bobby walk out of a cozy cabin, draped with icicles. He's wearing a dark blue wool knit hat, sweats, and a thick leather jacket. As he does, Chernit watches him with binoculars but from like 20 feet away. It's kind of ridiculous. Bobby trots out to the road and begins jogging. He jogs past other villagers, who look on at the man just running. He runs over some hills and through a creek. He loads up a sled and Chernit sits on it as he pulls it through the snow. He starts doing pull ups in a barn where they have a roaring fire to keep them warm. Chernit looks on and nods, approvingly. Bobby carries a log on his shoulders and walks through the snow. We see Bobby chopping a tree with an axe. We see Bobby skipping rope. He hangs from a loft in the barn, sits up, where Chernit is sitting on his legs, throws a few punches, then repeats. He splits a log with an axe. He splits several more logs as Chernit watches, more than happy to recreate Rocky IV for BastardNET. We see Chernit holding up the pads so Bobby can slug away at them. Bobby starts working a speed bag, that endurance is going to pay off over 2 matches. Bobby starts hoisting a couple of rocks in a net with a pully. Bobby goes into a headstand and begins bowing his feet to the floor and back in controlled fashion, amping up the core strength needed for the Bobbybomb. Chernit and RoboBob look on as he does. Bobby has a yoke built for 2 oxen on his shoulders, doing some real Oregon Trail shit. Bobby crumples up a picture of Jenny Myst. Bobby hoists a wooden two-wheeled cart, Chernit, RoboBob, and for some reason Axe Mannix, axe man on Xanax are in it. He doesn't do a rickshaw with them, he just lifts them up and bounces them around a bit. We see Bobby hauling ass uphill in the snow. Bobby runs up a hill into the woods. Chernit watches. Several minutes pass. Chernit looks around, he is all alone off in the wilds of Siberia while Bobby isn't anywhere to be found.

Damnit.

We see Chernit and Bobby sharing a hot cocoa in the cabin. It looks like Bobby likes having Chernit around.

~~~~~

Somewhere in Moscow, down a seedy looking alley, we see two large men in suits standing at a door. Bobby approaches with Chernit in tow.

Why are we coming here? Shouldn't we be learning American board games?

We will, Chernit, but we gotta go here first.

The two large men nod as they let Chernit and Bobby inside. Bobby leads both men down a set of stairs, then another large men waits. He opens the door and we see a posh night spot. Bobby leads Chernit to a table. The place all makes Chernit, former chess celebrity. Another man steps forward, removing a feather boa and gaudy sunglasses.

That's the current chess champion!

Neat! Beat him, Chernit, because you're a Bourbon Man now!

Chernit spastically jumps up and down while he holds his own face.

Oh my god!

A scroll of text reading "NEW BOURBON MAN ALERT: RUSSIAN CHESS MASTER!" rides the bottom of your screen. Chernit takes a seat as Bobby sneaks off into the kitchen. The place is empty, and Bobby meanders around until he finds what he's looking for; the soda syrups. You see, most soda served in restaurants out of a fountain comes to them as a syrup, which gets mixed with carbonated water. Bobby finds the whole set up holding every flavor of soda. Bobby pulls a syringe out of his pocket, labelled LSD, and injects one of the lines. He pulls out 6 more syringes and does the same with each of the rest of the soda syrup packages. Bobby walks back out of the kitchen, the cover of the late night chess match dominating this weird Russian nightclub.



Whew. Secret mission complete. That there was actually pretty fucked up of me, so, yeah, there's all that. But, what you can't blame me for are the expectations people have of me going into this pay-per-view. March Madness 4, I'm in the final four, and that’s all the numbers you'll get out of me. Here I am, and people expect me to finish out the tournament, and Jenny Myst moped about that to me. She did goofy illogical math regarding our match history. Jenny did bad math about me to me in her promo. Jesus. I want you to know, Jenny, that one chokeslam from me is because of you doing that shit. Grab your tiny neck, pick you up by it, and plant you. That's one of like a dozen signature moves I do. I'm fucking cool like that. Jenny Myst is as bright as a coffin in dirt, as sharp as a casaba melon, and dumber than an inbred goat. Fuck you, Jenny, I'ma whoop your ass in the name of animal husbandry now. For the love of fuck, you get all fussy with me because talking heads had a word about the tournament we are in and didn't think you had good odds. They didn't fill my head, they didn't say shit about what brought you to the dance, I know your game in that ring well enough for that, but I'm still going to beat you. It sucks, Jenny, it's actually tough, stepping up and living up to the hype that follows you. Having to prove it, every fucking show, every fucking time. I don't get soft work, ever. It's like if this were a game, and not the XWF, I play on hard mode while you play easy. You care more about what happens to you than what you could do to someone else in that ring, it's why I will fuck you up in that ring, almost rhythmically.

Bobby takes a seat in a tiger striped beanbag chair.

From the dawn of my XWF career, girl, I have done a lot. A Lot. I haven't done it all yet, but here's my chance, and there's you, moping at me and telling me how you saw what happened in the past. Ooh, ah, just what the Universe needed, Jenny Myst's perspective on what they all already saw. Raion, you caught yourself doing the exact same thing. As 50% of the Bastard representation in this tournament, I must let you know that we in BOB cut through that shit like a razor. I never picked a fight with Raion Kido. I told him to settle shit with another Bastard like a competitor in the damn ring, and this lion, this Angel of Athena, this Duke of Wellington, this dork who posts more selfies on Twitter than the women I follow who like to showcase their tatas, this milquetoast morose menial mentally mishandling my mission, this dude who couldn't run a Burger King let alone be a king, said to come see him. I saw him. Bam, splat, there wasn't a fight. I whooped an ass, Kido, I didn't pick a fight. Jenny, you prattled on, ad nauseam, whining about this, whining about that, throwing yourself a pity party. Yep, I lost my mask. Happened months ago. We all saw it, you're talking about reruns around the water cooler and looking the fool for it. You know what I didn't do? Piss and moan about it. I didn't have a long discourse about how people overlooked me, woe is you. I did notice, however, that you tried to be funny in that gods awful Zach Galifianakis joke. Man, five years ago when he was a B-lister like you that joke would have slayed. Jenny Myst, who has disappeared many times from the XWF, making pennies on her lousy OnlyFans, because she has offset boobs like Tara Reid and an incredibly hairy butt crack. Jenny Myst has to get high school boys drunk to bang her and even then, they're iffy. Jenny Myst once left the XWF to stan Gabe Reno and Shane hoping for a barbecue, maybe even a spit roast.

Bobby smirks.

Jenny Myst doesn't buy underwear with days of the week on them she gets panties with entire calendars. No wonder she still thinks its 2015. Jenny Myst is a self-adulating fool who thinks the greatest accomplishments in her career are worth noting, and maybe they are. Congratulations. No joke there. Thing is, Jenny, the greatest things in my career I have yet to do. Universal Champ, Tag Champs in 2 separate companies, Hart Champ. Xtreme Champ. I have done all that and yet, I'm not looking to get back to a place, I'm working on surpassing that. Being more. I get there by beating more. I guess it's great you found this little win streak of yours, I will send it to a crashing halt. Same goes for you, Raion, you've been quite the workhorse, but not a damn bit of that matters. What matters is Tokyo, this Sunday. Two matches, one night, my crown.

Bobby closes his eyes.

Also, Raion, news flash bud, check the ego. I didn't come back for you. I came back for the people and didn't even know you were here until I asked Charlie what he was doing one week and he said he was going to beat your ass. Oo-wee, Raion, you do compete an awful lot but sure do choke when it comes to the big time matches. Just like Jenny! Damn, between the two of you, I don't know who's the finer choke artist, Jenny’s just due. Well, young missy, I can guarantee, without a shadow of a doubt, your day is this Sunday, that gag reflex is already quivering and them butterflies in your belly are sure coming back up. You made it to the final four, but don’t book yourself a late flight Jenny, you got the mightiest of mighty ass-whoopings coming straight for you at March Madness 4. Your night will be overwith earlier than mine, plain and simple. Then, after that, it’s onward and upward as I continue to punch, kick, knee, headbutt, chokeslam, and toss people around my way to the crown and throne to the truest man of the people, the humble servant of all, one who will reject all of the pomp and the fucking circumstances, the Bastard King. Now, I know that means I will, probably, have to fight the most dangerous man in the XWF, or all of wrestling, besides me, because we are equally dangerous in our own right. I mean, fuck, we ARE, after all, Them No Good Bastards. One of the best tag teams in history, not just XWF history, but wrestling history. Everybody knows that when ole’ Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon, Them No Good Bastards, get to fighting on a pay-per-view we mean business. So, our opponents are basically Raion Kido teaming up with Jenny Myst. I reckon TK can pull his weight against Kido, and for Kido’s sake, he better fucking hope TK does. I know, it’s not TNGB coming into Madness, but we are Bastards for Pete’s sake. After Jenny gets dunked and I move on to the finals, I will ultimately show that I know TK as well as he knows me. There’s no way he can hit me with his offense, it’s so well scouted. The Thunder Strike, the second most devastating solo maneuver in wrestling, third most in all maneuvers. The top in all maneuvers is the Rainbow Laser Death Sequence. The Bobbybomb is more devastating. I have the Manhattan Drop scouted. I know all about your jiggy wiggy dancing knee drop that you plan on doing in the future, that discus reverse elbow you’ve been practicing in the mirror in hotels, the back-handspring rolling suicida to the outside into a tornado DDT, all those future moves you want to do, TK, I scouted. I know your weakness, though. I don’t want to say it, because, damn it, it will ruin our partnership! I have to exploit that weakness, though, to edge myself forward and win the March Madness 4 March Madness tournament to determine the King of the XWF and by proxy BOB. Ladies and gentlemen, that weakness?

Bobby shrugs all Sean Warstein-like. That bastard.

Thunder Knuckles hates the catapult maneuver. Absolutely. When we first started partnering up, we we going over what would be a cool finisher, and I was thinking a slingshot into something, and he immediately, sharply, and without hesitation said ‘oh fuck no, we’re not, fuck the slingshot, that move is stupid’. I had to agree, it didn’t make sense whatsoever, but hey, he’s also the master of the foot DDT, so I definitely know he’s onto some strategy I don’t and can’t fathom. Like, I do a ton of crazy ass signature, one of a kind Bobby Bourbon shit in that ring, but I sure as fuck am baffled how to deliver a Thunder Strike correctly and at this point, I’m afraid to ask. Sorry TK. I will perform the catapult toehold on you at March Madness 4, in Tokyo, in front of everybody for all creation, from Earth to whatever hereafter we’ve visited, and sweet work continuing the time travel stuff, it seems cool. I remember when we did it and it was minty fresh.

Bobby holds his hands together.

If it comes to us, and you best damn well roast Kido like I roasted…

Bobby stops and glances sideways.

Wait, does anyone smell anything burnt? I already scorched Myst like the Brusque Out-and-out Bullhorn I can be, and I am really, really look forward to grabbing a hold of your insipid, immature, goofy ass and put a hurting on you that you sure as fuck ain't never felt before. There will be science teams, from around the globe, ringside to monitor the tremors I create with the impact of my offense on you. You're coming into this awful cocksure that you will evade everything I do, which isn't the case. I am quick and agile enough to catch you like a grizzly grabbing a spawning salmon and like the salmon, you ain't gonna like what comes next. That's when you become a part of my sports science documentary where nerds tell us all about what I do in the ring. Kinda like you tried only accurate and worth listening to.

Bobby rises out of the beanbag chair and begins to walk. The camera keeps pace. He continues to talk with his back to the camera.

So, XWF Universe, what do you need of your king? What are your whims, wishes, wants, and what do you will? As the People's King, a man who has been uncrowned for years, please, keep bringing them requests!

Bobby opens a door and descends down a staircase. He then opens a metal door and steps into the Moscow undercity. He continues to walk.

I will do what is best for all mankind, all you gotta do is say the word and Bobby makes it done, because I get fucking results when I get to work in my field, be it international espionage or professional wrestling, no matter what results you wanted.

Bobby descends down more stairs and in through a door. A massive water purification chamber is seen. Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, stand beside the massive vat of water with two fifty-five gallon drums.

Yo.

We got the stuff.

Excellent. How pure?

Government grade, like the CIA made.

Perfect.

Bobby and his cronies open the drums of LSD and pour them into the city's fresh water supply.

Batman is going to be so pissed with you.

Bobby sniggers.

I'm nonfiction, Batman can't sniff my shit.]]>
Bobby’s move.

HELLFIRE

Bobby is seated at a chess table.

Chernit, I have thought it over, are you good at chess?

Yes. 5 times champion.

Nope.

Bobby shakes his head and stands up from the chess table.

I'm a physical ass whooper, I suck at chess.

Chernit laughs.

So we can play the board games now?

Well, Chernit, have you ever seen Rocky IV?

Chernit looks taken emotionally by the mention of the film.

It was beautiful.

Well, I happen to have a very special Bourbon Man with me in town. And, well…

You mean, you brought him

RoboBob, the robot from Rocky IV with a picture of Bobby’s face stapled to it, crashes in through the door.

Happy birthday, Paulie.

Chernit looks like a kid seeing santa in the mall. His eyes light up, a silly grin crawling across his wide jaw. He runs over and hugs RoboBob.

Happy birthday, Paulie!

Look…

Bobby interrupts Chernit's exuberance over holding a movie prop from several decades in the past.

…where did they film Rocky IV?

Vancouver.

Bobby looks slackjawed.

Damnit. Should have done a google on that earlier.

No, but we in Russia built the entire village that was jn the film in 2002!

That's perfect!

~~~~~

We see Bobby walk out of a cozy cabin, draped with icicles. He's wearing a dark blue wool knit hat, sweats, and a thick leather jacket. As he does, Chernit watches him with binoculars but from like 20 feet away. It's kind of ridiculous. Bobby trots out to the road and begins jogging. He jogs past other villagers, who look on at the man just running. He runs over some hills and through a creek. He loads up a sled and Chernit sits on it as he pulls it through the snow. He starts doing pull ups in a barn where they have a roaring fire to keep them warm. Chernit looks on and nods, approvingly. Bobby carries a log on his shoulders and walks through the snow. We see Bobby chopping a tree with an axe. We see Bobby skipping rope. He hangs from a loft in the barn, sits up, where Chernit is sitting on his legs, throws a few punches, then repeats. He splits a log with an axe. He splits several more logs as Chernit watches, more than happy to recreate Rocky IV for BastardNET. We see Chernit holding up the pads so Bobby can slug away at them. Bobby starts working a speed bag, that endurance is going to pay off over 2 matches. Bobby starts hoisting a couple of rocks in a net with a pully. Bobby goes into a headstand and begins bowing his feet to the floor and back in controlled fashion, amping up the core strength needed for the Bobbybomb. Chernit and RoboBob look on as he does. Bobby has a yoke built for 2 oxen on his shoulders, doing some real Oregon Trail shit. Bobby crumples up a picture of Jenny Myst. Bobby hoists a wooden two-wheeled cart, Chernit, RoboBob, and for some reason Axe Mannix, axe man on Xanax are in it. He doesn't do a rickshaw with them, he just lifts them up and bounces them around a bit. We see Bobby hauling ass uphill in the snow. Bobby runs up a hill into the woods. Chernit watches. Several minutes pass. Chernit looks around, he is all alone off in the wilds of Siberia while Bobby isn't anywhere to be found.

Damnit.

We see Chernit and Bobby sharing a hot cocoa in the cabin. It looks like Bobby likes having Chernit around.

~~~~~

Somewhere in Moscow, down a seedy looking alley, we see two large men in suits standing at a door. Bobby approaches with Chernit in tow.

Why are we coming here? Shouldn't we be learning American board games?

We will, Chernit, but we gotta go here first.

The two large men nod as they let Chernit and Bobby inside. Bobby leads both men down a set of stairs, then another large men waits. He opens the door and we see a posh night spot. Bobby leads Chernit to a table. The place all makes Chernit, former chess celebrity. Another man steps forward, removing a feather boa and gaudy sunglasses.

That's the current chess champion!

Neat! Beat him, Chernit, because you're a Bourbon Man now!

Chernit spastically jumps up and down while he holds his own face.

Oh my god!

A scroll of text reading "NEW BOURBON MAN ALERT: RUSSIAN CHESS MASTER!" rides the bottom of your screen. Chernit takes a seat as Bobby sneaks off into the kitchen. The place is empty, and Bobby meanders around until he finds what he's looking for; the soda syrups. You see, most soda served in restaurants out of a fountain comes to them as a syrup, which gets mixed with carbonated water. Bobby finds the whole set up holding every flavor of soda. Bobby pulls a syringe out of his pocket, labelled LSD, and injects one of the lines. He pulls out 6 more syringes and does the same with each of the rest of the soda syrup packages. Bobby walks back out of the kitchen, the cover of the late night chess match dominating this weird Russian nightclub.



Whew. Secret mission complete. That there was actually pretty fucked up of me, so, yeah, there's all that. But, what you can't blame me for are the expectations people have of me going into this pay-per-view. March Madness 4, I'm in the final four, and that’s all the numbers you'll get out of me. Here I am, and people expect me to finish out the tournament, and Jenny Myst moped about that to me. She did goofy illogical math regarding our match history. Jenny did bad math about me to me in her promo. Jesus. I want you to know, Jenny, that one chokeslam from me is because of you doing that shit. Grab your tiny neck, pick you up by it, and plant you. That's one of like a dozen signature moves I do. I'm fucking cool like that. Jenny Myst is as bright as a coffin in dirt, as sharp as a casaba melon, and dumber than an inbred goat. Fuck you, Jenny, I'ma whoop your ass in the name of animal husbandry now. For the love of fuck, you get all fussy with me because talking heads had a word about the tournament we are in and didn't think you had good odds. They didn't fill my head, they didn't say shit about what brought you to the dance, I know your game in that ring well enough for that, but I'm still going to beat you. It sucks, Jenny, it's actually tough, stepping up and living up to the hype that follows you. Having to prove it, every fucking show, every fucking time. I don't get soft work, ever. It's like if this were a game, and not the XWF, I play on hard mode while you play easy. You care more about what happens to you than what you could do to someone else in that ring, it's why I will fuck you up in that ring, almost rhythmically.

Bobby takes a seat in a tiger striped beanbag chair.

From the dawn of my XWF career, girl, I have done a lot. A Lot. I haven't done it all yet, but here's my chance, and there's you, moping at me and telling me how you saw what happened in the past. Ooh, ah, just what the Universe needed, Jenny Myst's perspective on what they all already saw. Raion, you caught yourself doing the exact same thing. As 50% of the Bastard representation in this tournament, I must let you know that we in BOB cut through that shit like a razor. I never picked a fight with Raion Kido. I told him to settle shit with another Bastard like a competitor in the damn ring, and this lion, this Angel of Athena, this Duke of Wellington, this dork who posts more selfies on Twitter than the women I follow who like to showcase their tatas, this milquetoast morose menial mentally mishandling my mission, this dude who couldn't run a Burger King let alone be a king, said to come see him. I saw him. Bam, splat, there wasn't a fight. I whooped an ass, Kido, I didn't pick a fight. Jenny, you prattled on, ad nauseam, whining about this, whining about that, throwing yourself a pity party. Yep, I lost my mask. Happened months ago. We all saw it, you're talking about reruns around the water cooler and looking the fool for it. You know what I didn't do? Piss and moan about it. I didn't have a long discourse about how people overlooked me, woe is you. I did notice, however, that you tried to be funny in that gods awful Zach Galifianakis joke. Man, five years ago when he was a B-lister like you that joke would have slayed. Jenny Myst, who has disappeared many times from the XWF, making pennies on her lousy OnlyFans, because she has offset boobs like Tara Reid and an incredibly hairy butt crack. Jenny Myst has to get high school boys drunk to bang her and even then, they're iffy. Jenny Myst once left the XWF to stan Gabe Reno and Shane hoping for a barbecue, maybe even a spit roast.

Bobby smirks.

Jenny Myst doesn't buy underwear with days of the week on them she gets panties with entire calendars. No wonder she still thinks its 2015. Jenny Myst is a self-adulating fool who thinks the greatest accomplishments in her career are worth noting, and maybe they are. Congratulations. No joke there. Thing is, Jenny, the greatest things in my career I have yet to do. Universal Champ, Tag Champs in 2 separate companies, Hart Champ. Xtreme Champ. I have done all that and yet, I'm not looking to get back to a place, I'm working on surpassing that. Being more. I get there by beating more. I guess it's great you found this little win streak of yours, I will send it to a crashing halt. Same goes for you, Raion, you've been quite the workhorse, but not a damn bit of that matters. What matters is Tokyo, this Sunday. Two matches, one night, my crown.

Bobby closes his eyes.

Also, Raion, news flash bud, check the ego. I didn't come back for you. I came back for the people and didn't even know you were here until I asked Charlie what he was doing one week and he said he was going to beat your ass. Oo-wee, Raion, you do compete an awful lot but sure do choke when it comes to the big time matches. Just like Jenny! Damn, between the two of you, I don't know who's the finer choke artist, Jenny’s just due. Well, young missy, I can guarantee, without a shadow of a doubt, your day is this Sunday, that gag reflex is already quivering and them butterflies in your belly are sure coming back up. You made it to the final four, but don’t book yourself a late flight Jenny, you got the mightiest of mighty ass-whoopings coming straight for you at March Madness 4. Your night will be overwith earlier than mine, plain and simple. Then, after that, it’s onward and upward as I continue to punch, kick, knee, headbutt, chokeslam, and toss people around my way to the crown and throne to the truest man of the people, the humble servant of all, one who will reject all of the pomp and the fucking circumstances, the Bastard King. Now, I know that means I will, probably, have to fight the most dangerous man in the XWF, or all of wrestling, besides me, because we are equally dangerous in our own right. I mean, fuck, we ARE, after all, Them No Good Bastards. One of the best tag teams in history, not just XWF history, but wrestling history. Everybody knows that when ole’ Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon, Them No Good Bastards, get to fighting on a pay-per-view we mean business. So, our opponents are basically Raion Kido teaming up with Jenny Myst. I reckon TK can pull his weight against Kido, and for Kido’s sake, he better fucking hope TK does. I know, it’s not TNGB coming into Madness, but we are Bastards for Pete’s sake. After Jenny gets dunked and I move on to the finals, I will ultimately show that I know TK as well as he knows me. There’s no way he can hit me with his offense, it’s so well scouted. The Thunder Strike, the second most devastating solo maneuver in wrestling, third most in all maneuvers. The top in all maneuvers is the Rainbow Laser Death Sequence. The Bobbybomb is more devastating. I have the Manhattan Drop scouted. I know all about your jiggy wiggy dancing knee drop that you plan on doing in the future, that discus reverse elbow you’ve been practicing in the mirror in hotels, the back-handspring rolling suicida to the outside into a tornado DDT, all those future moves you want to do, TK, I scouted. I know your weakness, though. I don’t want to say it, because, damn it, it will ruin our partnership! I have to exploit that weakness, though, to edge myself forward and win the March Madness 4 March Madness tournament to determine the King of the XWF and by proxy BOB. Ladies and gentlemen, that weakness?

Bobby shrugs all Sean Warstein-like. That bastard.

Thunder Knuckles hates the catapult maneuver. Absolutely. When we first started partnering up, we we going over what would be a cool finisher, and I was thinking a slingshot into something, and he immediately, sharply, and without hesitation said ‘oh fuck no, we’re not, fuck the slingshot, that move is stupid’. I had to agree, it didn’t make sense whatsoever, but hey, he’s also the master of the foot DDT, so I definitely know he’s onto some strategy I don’t and can’t fathom. Like, I do a ton of crazy ass signature, one of a kind Bobby Bourbon shit in that ring, but I sure as fuck am baffled how to deliver a Thunder Strike correctly and at this point, I’m afraid to ask. Sorry TK. I will perform the catapult toehold on you at March Madness 4, in Tokyo, in front of everybody for all creation, from Earth to whatever hereafter we’ve visited, and sweet work continuing the time travel stuff, it seems cool. I remember when we did it and it was minty fresh.

Bobby holds his hands together.

If it comes to us, and you best damn well roast Kido like I roasted…

Bobby stops and glances sideways.

Wait, does anyone smell anything burnt? I already scorched Myst like the Brusque Out-and-out Bullhorn I can be, and I am really, really look forward to grabbing a hold of your insipid, immature, goofy ass and put a hurting on you that you sure as fuck ain't never felt before. There will be science teams, from around the globe, ringside to monitor the tremors I create with the impact of my offense on you. You're coming into this awful cocksure that you will evade everything I do, which isn't the case. I am quick and agile enough to catch you like a grizzly grabbing a spawning salmon and like the salmon, you ain't gonna like what comes next. That's when you become a part of my sports science documentary where nerds tell us all about what I do in the ring. Kinda like you tried only accurate and worth listening to.

Bobby rises out of the beanbag chair and begins to walk. The camera keeps pace. He continues to talk with his back to the camera.

So, XWF Universe, what do you need of your king? What are your whims, wishes, wants, and what do you will? As the People's King, a man who has been uncrowned for years, please, keep bringing them requests!

Bobby opens a door and descends down a staircase. He then opens a metal door and steps into the Moscow undercity. He continues to walk.

I will do what is best for all mankind, all you gotta do is say the word and Bobby makes it done, because I get fucking results when I get to work in my field, be it international espionage or professional wrestling, no matter what results you wanted.

Bobby descends down more stairs and in through a door. A massive water purification chamber is seen. Diamondback, the man who can blend into any crowd, and Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, stand beside the massive vat of water with two fifty-five gallon drums.

Yo.

We got the stuff.

Excellent. How pure?

Government grade, like the CIA made.

Perfect.

Bobby and his cronies open the drums of LSD and pour them into the city's fresh water supply.

Batman is going to be so pissed with you.

Bobby sniggers.

I'm nonfiction, Batman can't sniff my shit.]]> <![CDATA[A Trip Through Hell]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43240 Fri, 25 Mar 2022 13:08:49 -0700 Peter Vaughn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=43240


The Road So Far:

A Secret War Is Brewing, P1

A Secret War Is Brewing, P2

A Secret War Is Brewing, P3[

Near Misses or Near Hits?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

So Peter Vaughn has been sent to hell.

It's not as 'simple' as that sounds, though. Earlier this year, Vaughn joined up with the Custodial Coalition, an underground organization that deals in information and control. Vaughn had to undergo some major trials in order to join the group, seemingly becoming tight with their leader, Master Cleaner. But Vaughn also made a deal with another organization, the Maintenance Mafia, when on a secret mission for the Coalition. He seemed to become a double agent... or maybe a triple agent... nothing's really known for sure what Vaughn intended as his master plan.

What does seem to matter is that the Coalition somehow seems to have found out about the double-cross. After Vaughn was seemingly shot in the real world, he's found himself in what appears to be the virtual reality that the Coalition has control of, experiencing some of his worst moments in the last year before realizing what was happening. Master Cleaner then sent Vaughn spiraling down into a virtual hell, one apparently of his own making. Now, for Vaughn to ever see the light of day again, he's going to have to fight his way back up from the dark pits of the underworld.

This... will not be easy.


~A body comes flying straight at us, flying overhead. Another one goes crashing into the harsh rocky landscape, with the creature laying there, unconscious. The camera comes around, showing Peter Vaughn beating the hell out of a third creature, utilizing a heavy stone he found along the path where he landed. He bashes the creature down, leaving it sprawled out before him. Vaughn gets up, breathing heavily. He wipes off some sweat, taking a few deep breaths.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn, it's hot down here.

~Vaughn starts walking forward again, continuing the path he was following before being rudely interrupted by the creatures from Hell. He starts going up a large hill, hiking up easily, although the temperatures and altitude seem to be affecting him. He's still cradling the bloody stone in one hand, not relinquishing his grip on his only weapon found so far.~

Peter Vaughn: Master Cleaner... when I get hold of you... I'll show you what it means to be scrubbed out...

~Seething, Vaughn gets to the top of the hill, taking a moment to look all around at the vast landscape surrounding him. We can see that most of the area is on fire, as you would expect from a place like this. Screams of agony can occasionally be heard, echoing out throughout the land. The sounds don't seem to be bothering Vaughn any, as he has no emotional connection to those being tortured. He starts down the hill, seeing someone waiting at the bottom for him. He prepares the stone again, making sure he's ready to rumble.~

Peter Vaughn: Whoever this is, I hope they're prepared to... wait... huh?

~The wrestler stumbles to a stop at the end of the hill, managing to cut short his momentum. In front of him, waiting patiently, is, well... the Devil.~

Satan: Hey, buddy!

[Image: MV5BMTYxOTI1MjExM15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwODM1...@._V1_.jpg]

~The devil grins at Vaughn, who looks at him with a great deal of shock and surprise.~

Peter Vaughn: So you're, uh... you're Satan?

Satan: That's one of my names, yes.

Peter Vaughn: Huh. I gave the Coalition's VR system more credit for being realistic.

Satan: What was that?

Peter Vaughn: Oh, nothing. So I guess you're here to put me in my place and make my life a living hell, right?

Satan: Well, yes, I HAVE done that in the past. But I'm not here to do it to you, Peter. Can I call you Peter?

Peter Vaughn: Uh... sure... Satan...

Satan: Let's go and get a bite, and we can talk about what's happening next.

~Satan walks off, with a confused Vaughn following behind him, looking completely bewildered.~


Sometimes, things can still surprise you.

It's kind of nice, really. I mean, who wants to know exactly what's going to happen all the time? For instance, I never expected to keep hearing Ails talk about eating me. I will admit, that's not something I've ever had much cause to worry about, in any sense of the expression. I've never been that much of a womanizer, not like other wrestlers, and I've never faced someone with Mike Tyson-like tendencies.

Well, maybe Supreme Machine. I don't know for sure, but he seems like the sort to go for the ears, doesn't he?

But Ails, you seem to think you're just going to consume Peter Vaughn and ruin him, right? Well, I'm afraid that's not the way things are going to go down at March Madness. I'm not some hor d'oeuvre that is easily taken down with a glass of water. I'm not even just one plate of steak and fries. We're talking a five-course meal here, featuring the finest food ever made in the world. We're talking lobster, filet minion, and those black truffles that everyone with a ton of money seems to love. When it all comes down to it, Ails, this isn't a meal you can get down in one sitting.

Basically, I'm saying you're going to choke on it.

You see, I was afraid this was going to happen. You've been on a great winning streak, and we all knew that the odds were strong that you'd come in with a cocky chip on your shoulder. You're expecting to just get handed this championship and continue on your 'previous' reign like nothing ever happened. You seem to think that I'm just going to be a gnat to swat aside, easily removed from your sight.

As I said, I do like to be surprised, so I have to say, you're really disappointing me.

I could 'almost' forgive you for it, since you are one of the great ones I've seen in this business. But your ego is threatening to weigh you down and keep you from soaring up for that championship. It's a long climb to the top, Ails, and you won't be able to make it up there if you're not coming into this one thinking that there's no possibility of you losing. You can't be too cocky in a match like this. I'm expecting this to be one of my greatest fights ever, a war to end all wars, and I'm willing to concede that there is a chance you can walk out the victor.

There's also a chance that my foot gets stuck in your ass. Nothing sexual, just gratuitous violence.

I suppose I should be happy that you're coming into this match with a blindside that a beginner to the sport could exploit. But it's not what I want, Ails. I want you coming in with the knowledge that it's not going to be so easy. I want you coming in thinking that you're going to need to be at your top 100 percent if you want to squeeze past me and reclaim the Universal Title. I want you believing, in your heart, that this is going to be one of the toughest fights you've ever been in.

And I want you to surprise me, because right now, you're all too predictable.


~We see Peter Vaughn sitting with Satan at a small, stone table. A meal has been brought before them, apparently ordered beforehand. Vaughn is munching on a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, while Satan is currently devouring a cobb salad. Satan takes another bite, smiling.~

Satan: Anthony, you've done an incredible job, as always.

~The chef nearby nods, keeping his face from the camera. Vaughn studies him for a moment, his full name on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn't come to him. He shrugs and puts the rest of the gourmet-style sandwich down on the plate.~

Peter Vaughn: So I have to say, Satan, this is not what I was expecting.

Satan: Oh, I know. All you guys tend to come in here expecting everywhere to be, well, Hell. But here on the first level, we tend to be fairly laid back.

Peter Vaughn: So it seems.

Satan: Some have called this place Limbo. I prefer to think of it as Satansville, but unfortunately the name has never truly caught on.

Peter Vaughn: Hey, far be it from me having a problem with someone wanting their name to be remembered.

Satan: Exactly! You know, Peter, you and I could be very good friends. I've been watching you for quite a while.

~Having no response to Beelzebub following his career, Vaughn goes back to the sandwich, taking another bite to hide his inability to speak.~

Satan: I've got to say, I see great things in your future, Peter. The sky's the limit! Well, maybe not the sky, but almost anything else, really. Oh, let me get your drink refilled. Anthony!

~The male chef comes over again, filling up Vaughn's glass. It's a dark liquid, but Vaughn's been drinking it with no ill effects as far as he can tell. He nods his thanks to Anthony.~

Peter Vaughn: I take it your plan is for me to stay here and work for you?

Satan: Oh, Demons no! No, I'd much rather have you back on Earth! You've still got so far to go, before you're ready to come back here!

Peter Vaughn: Ahhh... ummm, thanks?

Satan: You're welcome. No, Peter, you need to escape from here. Now, I can't just let you go. It'd look pretty bad for my reputation, letting a human just walk out on me. But that doesn't mean I have to come at you with everything, or that you couldn't believably sneak your way out of here.

Peter Vaughn: Alright... so where would I need to 'sneak'?

~Satan's hand waves for a second, a little seductively, and a map suddenly appears on the table next to Vaughn. He picks it up, studying it.~

Peter Vaughn: Huh. So Alighieri had a lot of it right, huh?

Satan: Oh, yes. Of course, he had some help with that. It IS an Inferno down here, after all.

Peter Vaughn: If I'm reading this right, you're saying I just head up this path through the levels, and I can escape from here?

Satan: Of course you can. I believe in you. Now, let's have some dessert!

~Satan claps his hands, looking behind him. A cart is pushed out, which seems to have a sports car on it. Satan steps up to it, cutting a piece off.~

Satan: You see? It's a Ferrari... but it's also cake!

Peter Vaughn: I see that. Er... impressive.

Satan: Isn't it?

~The two dig into the pieces of cake, with Vaughn shaking his head for a moment at how surreal all of this is. Both seem to enjoy the texture of the cake, nodding in agreement towards the chef.~

Satan: Brilliant!

Peter Vaughn: Superb.

~The chef just nods and walks off. Vaughn stares after him, still trying to place the man, with no luck. Satan, meanwhile, finishes his piece of cake and sits back.~

Satan: Ahhhh, it's good to be the king. Drink up, Peter, and then you can be on your way!

~Vaughn obediently finishes his drink and gets up, feeling energized. He nods to Satan, a smirk appearing on his face.~

Peter Vaughn: I can't believe I'm saying this, but it was good to meet you, Satan. Personally, though, I'm hoping never to see you again.

Satan: Hah hah hah, that's what they ALL say!! But I wouldn't count on that, Peter. Good luck to you!

~Vaughn grabs the map and walks off, using it to figure out where he needs to go first. Satan watches him go, a dark grin crossing his face.~

Satan: I'll see you soon...

~He stays where he is, nodding to the chef.~

Satan: You can go now, chef. Just remember, the party with Hippocrates is in three days. Your penance is going well, isn't it? After all.. it could be worse.

~Satan gestures in the direction that Vaughn is headed. The chef nods, still not saying anything. Satan smiles again, loving every minute of being the ruler of Hell.~


So let's talk comparison, Ails.

You talked several times about your victory over Mark Flynn, a man who did get the surprise pinfall on me when I found myself distracted by Apex. As I've said in the past, I don't blame Flynn for that at all, and I acknowledge my loss to him as a perfectly legal contest. I lost him to fair and square, because no matter what the outside interference was, it didn't change the result of the match.

So in your mind, since ALIAS beat Flynn and Flynn beat Vaughn, Alias > Vaughn.

Hey, it's a comparison, sure, and one that is worth taking a good, hard look at. There's just one problem.

We can do a similar comparison in a different direction, and reach an entirely new conclusion.

After all, you, Ails, were pinned by Jim Caedus. Sure, there was outside interference and you can point to that if you want, even though that would make you a true hypocrite. But in the end, Caedus defeated you for the Universal Title. And then, a month later, I defeated Caedus cleanly, destroying him and seemingly ending his XWF career once and for all. I took the man who stripped you of your championship and, well, let's just say I owned him more than you owned Flynn, that's for sure.

So in that comparison, we've got Vaughn beating Caedus and Caedus beating ALIAS, hence Vaughn > ALIAS.

Hey, aren't these comparisons fun? I mean, they're meaningless, but they're amusing, nonetheless.

Overall, Ails, it doesn't matter who you've beaten, and it doesn't matter who I've beaten. Both of us have taken down some of the greats in the business, and both of us have taken losses as well. In the end, what's going to matter is if I break you at March Madness or you survive to come out on top. That will be the best identifier to look to, rather than comparing past accomplishments and going "Nah nah, nah nah nah."

Will I be non-stop bragging if I defeat you, Ails? Oh, you bet your ass I will be. And who wouldn't be? And that would last until the next time we faced, because once I defeat you, the comparisons will be all out of alignment.

After all, we can't leave it at ALIAS defeats Flynn, Flynn defeats Vaughn, and Vaughn defeats ALIAS. That just won't do at all. We'll need to have ourselves a little tiebreaker in the future.

But even if that doesn't happen, the world will still know that after March Madness, if & when I grab my championship from the top of the three tiers, I will always be known as greater than you.

> > > > > > > > > > >


~The picture rejoins Vaughn as he's made his way upwards through a hidden staircase. He climbs slowly, watching for anything that might jump out at him, but surprisingly nothing does. Maybe it would if this was a video game. Vaughn gets to the next exit and comes out, looking around. The screams are still there, but they're a tad different from the previous level. There are also some moans thrown in for good measure. Vaughn walks forward, looking around at what appears to be a continuous, massive orgy.~

Peter Vaughn: So... this is the Second Circle... Lust. Huh. It doesn't seem that bad.

~Vaughn walks forward, being careful where he steps. He's consulting the map as well, looking for his way out of there. Finding his destination, Vaughn keeps walking... only to have his leg grabbed, almost causing him to trip.~

Peter Vaughn: Hey!

~Being the professional athlete that he is, Vaughn's easily able to right himself. He looks back, annoyed at whoever it was that grabbed him. It takes a moment to see past the full-on orgy and pick out a face or two.~

Peter Vaughn: Huh... you look familiar...

Man: Please... can you help me? I.... I need help...

~Vaughn smirks at the sight, as the man's face disappears for a few moments underneath a woman. Or is that a man? It's hard to tell at this angle. After a few more seconds go by, the man appears again, gasping.~

Peter Vaughn: I don't know. It doesn't really look like you need much help, other than reaching certain spots, and I can guarantee to you I'm not going to help you with that. It's not really my thing.

Man: ... Please... it's been... decades... ah can't... take much more...

Peter Vaughn: Uh huh... Well, I suppose I can throw one of my favorite quotes of yours back at you. "Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate." I think your pleading has you a little past fear at this point. So what can you offer me, in order for me to help you?

Man: There's a... ooohhh... there's a secret... to the next... doorway...

Peter Vaughn: Oh, a secret? Why didn't you say so? Let me just... okay, you all, quit squirming...

~Carefully, Vaughn works to extradite the man from the pile. It isn't easy. I mean, it's Hell, why would it be? But somehow Vaughn manages it with a minimum of contact, pulling the naked man out. Interestingly, as soon as he's out of the pile, the man starts developing clothes around him. The suit seals off the need for any blurring of the screen, as he gets to his feet.~

Man: Ah thank you, son.

Peter Vaughn: I guess you regret fooling around with Marilyn now, don't you?

Man: Ah have seen the right path. If I could live again, ah would keep myself from falling to the sins of the flesh again.

Peter Vaughn: Yeah, sure you would. Anyhow, let's get going, Mr. President. Show me that secret that'll get me outta here.

~The man adjusts his hair, which has now become like it was in real life. He looks just like he does on the half dollar coin. President Kennedy takes a deep breath and walks forward, trying not to fall back into the temptation all around him. They head for the side, where a doorway to the next circle has appeared. There is a woman standing in front of it, staring around at the calamity around her. Vaughn does a double take.~

Peter Vaughn: Wait... Betty? Betty White?

JFK: Can ah say, Betty, I loved you in Life With Elizabeth. When you would get asked if you're ashamed of yourself, and shake your head so smugly towards the camera...

Peter Vaughn: Oh, c'mon, that's not... you don't... this isn't right! I have to say, terrible programming up there, Master Cleaner! And also, it still feels too soon!!

~The woman turns and grins at Vaughn & JFK.~

Betty White: Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just visiting some old acquaintances and telling them "Thank you for being a friend". And now that I've done that... later bitches!

~White disappears in a flash of glowing light. Vaughn, taken aback, glances into the pile still writhing inside the pit. His eyes widen in recognition.~

Peter Vaughn: Wow. Who thought those stars would be here?

~Vaughn shakes his head, chuckling, before turning to the doorway.~

Peter Vaughn: So what's the secret?

JFK: What?

Peter Vaughn: The secret to going up to the next circle?

JFK: Oh, uh, skip the first step and run up the rest of the way so you do not get pulled back in.

Peter Vaughn: You, ummm... you sound like you're making that up, Mr. President.

JFK: Ah bet you won't try the first step and find out, will you?

~Vaughn stares at the former leader of the United States for a short time before giving a short laugh. He then runs forward, jumping over the first three steps and then hurrying up the stairwell. JFK follows, hesitatingly slightly at what's being left behind before remembering what it was like. He hurries after Vaughn, heading upwards.~


So can you lust over an inanimate object?

Okay, Ails, before your mind goes to that place that we ALL know it's going to go, I'm talking about the Universal Championship. I know, when you reach the top and the belt becomes yours to defend, you almost see it like your partner. Your friend. Your connection to the wrestling world. So how does it feel when you lose that title and see it roaming around with other men, out of your grasp?

It makes you want it back, doesn't it? In your mind, you're thinking "Only I, the mighty all-caps ALIAS, should get to parade around with that title around my waist!" I mean, that's the feeling I get from you, anyway, considering you came back from your little hiatus and immediately threw yourself into the #1 contender position again. It almost reeked of desperation, come to think of it. Were you that jealous that someone else was wearing the gold, that you had to hurry back into the ring to try to regain it?

Sounds like an obsession to me. You know what they say happens when you allow lust into your life.

Now, me? Hell, I want every championship, so I can't really be high and mighty and act like I'm above it all. I love the sensation of holding that gold for the first time, knowing that it's become mine, and that its previous owner is likely lying unconscious, unable to do anything about it. Honestly, maybe I like the sensation of taking it away from someone more than actually holding it. It's an interesting idea to bring up to a therapist, depending on if I ever decide on talking to one in the future.

At the same time, holding this championship, to me, means that the checkbox has already been filled. Now and forever, I am listed in the XWF record books as an XWF Universal Champion. Nothing will ever change that, no matter what happens in the future. If I lose the belt, I'll be disheartened, but I doubt I'll leap into ex-stalker territory like you have. I'll just go on to the next championship, continuing to pad my record as one of the greatest of all time.

For now, though, I'll deal with your lusting for gold the best way I know how, Ails: by kicking you in the balls and watching the heat die from your eyes.

Broken Wood. Problem Solved.


~A heavy rain is falling as Vaughn and JFK make their way into the third circle of Hell. Vaughn looks particularly displeased, feeling himself getting soaked. JFK doesn't seem to mind, but then, he's been covered in a lot worse over the last several decades. They walk further into the area, seeing the disgusting mud mire set up around them. People, if you can still call them people, are writhing in the muck, screaming and being unable to escape their fate.~

Peter Vaughn: This looks a lot like your level, Prez.

JFK: No, this is for those who were gluttonous in life.

~They make their way carefully along the limited path, not wanting to end up in this pit for all eternity. As Vaughn & JFK circle around, one man manages to crawl to the edge towards them.~

Man: You there! If thou would pull me out of this infernal eternity, I would give thee everything I have!

Peter Vaughn: ... Ummm, you don't really have anything for me, pal. Not anymore.

Man: I can find thee gold! The best of food and drink! WOMEN!!

JFK: Ah like where this guy's head is at.

Peter Vaughn: Who are you? Should I know you?

Man: I am the true king of England! I am Henry VIII!!

Peter Vaughn: Ahhh, right. Like the song!

King Henry VIII: The song?

Peter Vaughn: Of course! It's a great little novelty tune. You know it, right, Prez?

JFK: Ah'm afraid not.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, right, it came in the mid-60's, after you, y'know...

~Vaughn signals with his hand the sign for a head being blown up. JFK winces, not really wanting to remember the feeling of that day.~

Peter Vaughn: How did it go... "I'm Henry the 8th I am, Henry the 8th I am, I am... I got married to the widow next door, she's been married 7 times before..."

King Henry VIII: What is this blasphemy? Just pull me out from here before...

Peter Vaughn: "And every one was a Hen-e-ry (Hen-e-ry)! She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)! "

~JFK is bouncing his head along with the song, enjoying it. Meanwhile, King Henry VIII tries to pull himself out, but of course, it's impossible. It also attracts the attention of something else.~

Peter Vaughn: "I'm her 8th old man named Henry, Henry the 8th I am!"

King Henry VIII: Stop singing, scoundrel, and free me from... oh no... CEREBERUS!!!!

~The three-headed hellhound has emerged through the rain and hail, growling. King Henry VIII tries to beg off, but there's nowhere for him to go, as Cereberus picks him up in each of the three jaws and begins to once again tear him limb from limb. JFK stumbles away, feeling sick, while Vaughn just raises his eyebrows.~

JFK: Ah think we need to go.

Peter Vaughn: You're probably right. "Second verse, same as the first! I'm Henry the 8th, I am..."

~With Vaughn still singing, the two hurry off towards the next exit, as King Henry VIII's screams continue for some time. In Hell, unfortunately, you can't really die again, after all.~


I don't think I'd go so far as to call you gluttonous, Ails.

I mean, you and I are in extremely good shape, so food and drink is not an issue for either of us. At least, not that I've seen. Although you DID say you wanted to eat me... so I suppose I can't rule that out as a possibility.

You don't have a secret problem with alcoholism, do you, Ails? If you do, I'm going to probably regret my nickname I've given you, really. So hopefully that's not the case, and you're a man who believes in clean living.

Of course, that's not the only definition for gluttony. The one that I think fits you best is "a person who is always eager for more of something usually unpleasant." So it doesn't have to just be chicken wings and vodka. It could be someone's addiction to meth or coke. It could be someone always going into the masseuse and getting the crap beat out of them.

Basically, it could be your glutton for punishment.

I mean, why would you keep coming back, Ails? Why would you fight to climb the mountain once again, after having been so violently thrown off of it in the past? One could only assume that you appreciated the pain and torture you endured at the heights of the XWF, and that you have come back wanting more of it. Are you a masochist, Ails? Or am I being unfair?

Truthfully, I don't know for sure. I've seen some of your matches that you've chosen in the past, and they were pretty brutal, so maybe you do have a bit of a glutton for punishment. I hope I've made your day by setting up the Ascent Into Madness match. I only want it to give you everything you need and more. I just, y'know, hope you survive it. Even if you don't, though, hey, what a way to go, right?

That's two sins down that you've qualified for, Ails. How many more are you... and I... going to have attached to our records by the end of this journey? I suppose we'll find out.


~In the fourth circle of Hell, we see Vaughn and JFK carefully making their way down a large rock formation. They land on the ground, staring around at the chaos going on all around them. It's one of the biggest brawls anyone has ever seen.~

Peter Vaughn: What level is this? It kind of looks like my type of Hell here...

JFK: If ah remember the circles correctly, this would be the place where the greedy are punished.

Peter Vaughn: The greedy? All they're doing is fighting each other...

JFK: Yessir, and they're trying ta get the other's stuff.

Peter Vaughn: Ahhh, so they're endlessly fighting avarice. Interesting.

~One group comes fighting too close to the pair, with Vaughn turning and dropkicking one of the men off the edge and to the ground below. A second man tries to grab at Vaughn's shirt, reaching for a necklace underneath, and Vaughn quickly sends him flying with an arm drag takedown. He gets up, with the last man pushing himself up and breaking heavily.~

Man: Thanks for the help, good sir.

Peter Vaughn: Ummm, sure, no problem. And you are?

Man: My name is Charles Ponzi...

~A second later, Vaughn is pounding away at Ponzi's face, stunning him. Vaughn then twists him around, taking him hard to the ground with Revenged!!! Ponzi collapses to the side, unable to move, as Vaughn gets to his feet, still looking furious. JFK steps towards him, putting a hand on him.~

JFK: Hold on, Peter! We don't have time to stay here!

Peter Vaughn: We also don't have time for no Ponzi schemes, you hear me? You know how many good families were ruined by this asshole? Just so he could get rich?

~Vaughn kicks away at Ponzi's side, doing more damage, with JFK pulling him back.~

JFK: Ah understand, but we really have to go!

~JFK drags Vaughn further away, as he spits back at the downed Ponzi.~

Peter Vaughn: Those bastards robbed me blind back in the day. Stupid Ponzi, coming up with that deal... I'M GLAD YOU'RE IN HELL!!!

~They both move away, with Ponzi just laying there, groaning. Suddenly, the two men from earlier are back, jumping on him and working to take away any belongings he's got left, as Ponzi feebly fights against them. Meanwhile, we see Vaughn and JFK reach the next level up, although there doesn't seem to be a way to open the passageway. They both hit at the door, unable to figure out how to release it.~

Peter Vaughn: What the hell... they're keeping them locked in?

JFK: They probably don't want tha fight to go further up.

Peter Vaughn: Then what do we do... wait... hold on a second...

~Vaughn turns and grabs a guy out of a fighting mob, with the man immediately swinging at him. Vaughn twists him around, applying a full nelson submission, with the weaker man desperately trying to find a way to get free.~

Peter Vaughn: Calm down there, Edison! I'm in need of your brains, so you need to stop fighting for a minute!

~The man, hearing his last name for the first time in ages, stops struggling. Vaughn waits a moment to be sure before releasing him, spinning him around. JFK takes a closer look at his face.~

JFK: Ah'll be, it IS Thomas Edison!

Thomas Edison: What do you want, boy? Can't you see I'm busy?

Peter Vaughn: I'll bet you $10,000 that you can't figure out a way through this doorway.

~At the sound of a chance to win a fortune, Edison's eyes light up. He goes to the doorway, immediately studying it, as Vaughn & JFK step back to watch. After a moment, Edison smiles and taps a certain spot on the door.~

Thomas Edison: You buffoons. The answer is right here, obviously! You have to give up something to be able to leave here. You have to give up one of your treasures, and who would ever want to do that? Now, where's my $10...

~Vaughn immediately grabs Edison by the arm and launches him bodily back into the crowd, knocking down a large swath of individuals. He grins as he gets up, looking out at the chaos he just caused.~

Peter Vaughn: You'll have to talk to Tesla about that, Tommy.

~Vaughn turns back to the door, where JFK is studying the opening that Edison found. He feels around in his pockets, but they're currently empty.~

JFK: Ah'm afraid ah don't have much.

Peter Vaughn: Not a problem.

~Vaughn considers his necklace, studying it for a moment. Then he shrugs, yanking it off and walking over to the doorway and slipping it inside. Immediately the door raises up, allowing enough space for JFK and Vaughn to quickly slip out before it descends again, keeping all of those greedy bastards trapped in their circle of Hell.~


So now we get to the sin of greed... which has a lot in common with gluttony and lust, doesn't it?

I'm afraid this one works for us, too, Ails. You're covetous of what I've got, after all. You want my championship. And as for me, I suppose I want what you've got: the notoriety, the fame, the respect. It's all I ever seem to hear about you, how people think you're one of the most amazing wrestlers in our recent history. That's what I want people saying about me. Will I ever get there? It depends on who you ask. Some will say I've already made it by holding three World Titles at the same time. Others will never get beyond their vision of me as a Janitor.

But I think I can sway a lot of those feelings if I have a marquee victory like defeating you in the PPV main event in a convincing fashion. Like, say, putting you in the hospital... or worse.

I suppose some would say wanting something like that would not be a good thing. But I can't help myself, Ails. While I can't say I have anything personal against you, I really, REALLY want to be the one to take you out, because it would be the top feather in my cap for a long time to come. Who else compares to the legend of ALIAS? One of the Ravens, maybe? That Warstein guy? Hell, maybe none of them.

When I defeat you with a Plunge off the top of the cage, I'll take away some of your hard-earned respect and prestige, but it'll be well worth it in the end. For me, at least. For you, maybe not so much. But just think of it this way: you'll be helping me fight through the avarice trapped in my heart. You'll be doing me a huge favor by falling at my feet, giving me that victory I crave so badly.

Because Greed is Good. And I want it all.


~Vaughn and JFK make their way out to the next circle, looking around as they walk alongside the River Styx. Vaughn glances into the water, and a second later wishes he hadn't, seeing all the dead souls underneath. They walk on, hearing the sounds of another war going on ahead of them.~

Peter Vaughn: Another level just built on fighting? What the hell... seems lazy to me.

JFK: From what ah hear, this circle is about the sin of Anger. Thus, everyone is always angry.

Peter Vaughn: Like the Hulk?

JFK: The who?

Peter Vaughn: You know, the Hulk! Oh, wait... you missed out on the Marvel movies, didn't you? Damn, and I think his comics were just coming out when you lost your brains, too. Man, you died at just about the worst time, you know that? You missed out on so much!

JFK: Ah know. At least I left behind a loving family and children who surely lived long, incredible lives.

Peter Vaughn: Ummm....

~Vaughn is saved from answering as a sudden mob rushes up towards them, screaming. Their leader, a man dressed in furs, shouts in Mongolian and charges, swinging a wicked sword. Vaughn ducks under it, as JFK is tackled by some of the other guys. The man roars and goes after Vaughn again, showing no restraint in his attack. That allows Vaughn to hit a sweet kick to the face, knocking the Mongol backwards.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn, you were cooler in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, Genghis!

~Vaughn follows up with a running double-knee to the chest, sending Khan crashing onto his back. Vaughn grabs for his blade, picking it up and spinning back to where JFK is taking a brutal beating. Vaughn races over, cutting away at the two men, sending body parts flying. They fall away, as Vaughn spins back, swinging again... and decapitating the rising Genghis, sending his head soaring through the air.~

Peter Vaughn: KHHHHHAAAAAAANNNNNN!!!!!

~After the impassioned scream, Vaughn calmly picks up the injured JFK, hauling him along with him towards the next exit.~

Peter Vaughn: I can't believe I killed Genghis Khan.

JFK: He'll be restored any minute now so tha fight can continue.

Peter Vaughn: C'mon, Prez, at least give me a few minutes to gloat before you take it away from me!

JFK: Sorry.

Peter Vaughn: It's okay. I'll still wear that victory with pride.

~They move on, avoiding a few more confrontations when possible. When they couldn't be avoided, Vaughn just went to work. Eventually, they get past the enraged fighters and to the next step, heading upwards.~


Okay, I can already hear what everyone is going to say.

Yes. I've got some anger management issues. I think I've worked through them a lot more than I did in the past, but it's a continual process. I may be less likely to take hostages and risk wholesale slaughter, but I do have to contain my rage sometimes in order to stick to my game plans in matches. When it comes to someone I hate, like Knox or JC, I'll probably revert a little bit, but hey, a little fury is good now and again, right?

As for you, Ails... it's hard to say if we've ever seen your anger get the best of you. Maybe in your fights against The Left Hand? I don't know if I'd even count that, though. Whenever you and I have faced off in the ring, I haven't sensed that rage in you. That furious anger. That... passion. It seems to be lacking a little bit, if I'm being honest.

Don't get me wrong, I know you want to win the title. I know you want to defeat me. I know you want to eat me, which is still creepy, by the way. But do you really hate me enough to make this personal? Because in my view... I don't see it as personal. Sure, you had your title taken away, and maybe you blame me and the Exiles for what Caedus did (which is a mistake, by the way, but okay). But overall, this one feels more like it's about the legacy of the belt and our own entwined fortunes, not anything like a blood feud.

Seems almost a shame, really. I feel like I should hate you, for everything you represent and how people like you have treated people like me in the past. But I can't feel it. I don't hate you, Ails.

I just want to see the blood spilling down your forehead from your torn scalp, as you cling to life with whatever willpower you have left.

But it's nothing personal.


~On the next level, Vaughn and JFK step out onto an empty landscape. They start on their way through, with Vaughn keeping his guard up, but nothing seems to be going on. The place feels almost... abandoned.~

Peter Vaughn: I don't understand. What's going on here?

JFK: The sixth circle of Hell was all about heresy, wasn't it? Going against the church?

Peter Vaughn: Which church?

JFK: Ah think back in the day, it was Christianity. But now...

Peter Vaughn: Wait, are you telling me that even Hell no longer discriminates due to religion?

JFK: That's what it seems like.

Peter Vaughn: That's... actually kind of cool. Good on Satan for cancelling this level. I'm surprised he didn't turn it into... oh, wait...

~As the duo moves forward, they can see green grass set up next to a bunker and some artificial turf with a flag sticking out of it.~

JFK: He turned it... into a golf course?

Peter Vaughn: Even the Devil has to stress release at times, Prez. Let's keep moving.

~Leaving the golf course behind, Vaughn and JFK quickly make it up to the seventh circle, where they find three ringed areas encircling the sandy, dust-covered land. The two start to make their way across, looking down into each pit.~

JFK: The first ring here is for murderers and those who harmed others.

Peter Vaughn: So probably a lot of wrestlers down there. Oh, hey, I see Manson! Gacy! Bundy! Wow, I feel like I should get some autographs... but it's probably safer to stay up here.

JFK: The second ring is for those who hurt themselves. Suicide victims.

~Vaughn immediately stops JFK, looking downwards.~

Peter Vaughn: Wait... are you telling me Kurt Cobain is down there? We need to find him! Which tree is he?

JFK: Ah don't know who that is.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, man... you missed out on Nirvana. That's so sad, Prez.

~Vaughn looks around the ring for Cobain, but he can't find him, since none of them look as they did back in their human days.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn. I wonder if I started singing "Come As You Are", he would start reacting?

JFK: Ah really believe we should keep moving, Peter.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, fine... it's not like it's real, anyway. But man, if there was one person I could rescue... well, him or Chester Bennington...

~Vaughn shakes his head and continues along with JFK, reaching the final ring near the center. It has a lot less going on in it, with just a single room set-up, standing on its own.~

Peter Vaughn: Well, that's strange. What's this doing here?

JFK: Ah believe... it's for you, Peter.

~Startled at the change in voice, Vaughn turns... only to be grabbed by the throat by Satan!! The figure lifts Vaughn high in the air, ignoring his kicking legs, as he begins to carry Vaughn towards the single dwelling.~

Satan: I'm sorry about this, Peter. I truly am. But you had to make the climb yourself, so I could place you where you'll be spending the rest of eternity... in the apartment you once believed was the hell you were trapped in. You've made your own bed, Peter. Time to die in it.

~Satan gets closer and closer to the room, with Vaughn struggling like an insane person to get free.~


Well, damn. I should have expected that if I was going to have a home in this Hell, it'd be in the Seventh Circle of Violence.

You and I both know how this goes, Ails. I know you enjoy tearing at a person's eyeball and bashing head into 'buckles just as well as I do. You wouldn't be in this business if you were squeamish. We live on violence. We thrive on violence. And so do the fans who are watching us, cheering us on to break bones and dislocate joints.

In this, we're probably on a pretty even par, Ails. I give you full credit for being just as much of a sadistic son of a bitch as, well, me. I don't mean continually trying to stab my opponent or anything, I wouldn't go that far. But I'm sure we both get a thrill out of that vibration you get from the steel chair after it's smacked across the back of a victim's skull. We both love that moment when our adversaries fall to our finishers, knocking them out so severely that there's always the possibility of some brain damage. Hell, we both must love the violence equally, because that's the only thing that would make us sign up for such a dangerous contest.

When you have me against a cage wall, and you're trying your best to shred my forehead open and spill out every last drop of blood you can manage, will you at least admit to yourself that we have something in common? I hope you will. I hope you'll accept the truth about yourself. And when I'm sending splinters into your spine from the table I just put you through, I'll be thinking the same thing:

We both enjoy inflicting pain, at least on some level.

So while they're trying to put me into the circle of Violence, claiming that this is where I belong... well, I'll save you a seat, Ails. A seat with a lot of nails sticking out of it, that I can break across your back. Won't that be a sight?


Peter Vaughn: No...

Satan: What's that, Peter? It's hard to hear you with your windpipe crushed.

Peter Vaughn: ... I.... Said... NO!!!!

~Suddenly, there's a blast of light, and Satan finds himself shockingly thrown backwards. He manages to stay upright, using his massive muscles to absorb the blow. He gets up, staring at Vaughn, who is not floating in mid-air. He turns slowly towards Satan, his face full of rage.~

Satan: No! I don't believe it!

Peter Vaughn: Believe it or not, you piece of shit, you're still going to burn!

~Vaughn begins to send wave after wave of energy into Satan, causing him to scream out in pain. He falls backwards, rolling, trying to put himself out, as Vaughn floats above him.~

Peter Vaughn: I knew... I could do it... I worked... so hard at it... I've been trying... ever since I got here... you think you're the only one who can... manipulate this world, Cleaner?

YOU THINK YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE??

~Vaughn glances from left to right, as if seeing the binary code encircling him and manipulating it.~

Peter Vaughn: I can control this Virtual Reality now, Cleaner!! Which means you can't hold me down any longer!! I'm coming for you!!!

~Vaughn begins to fly upwards at tremendous speed, leaving the scalded Satan behind, as he heads for the surface... and where he knows the location of Master Cleaner. Satan slowly gets up, watching him go.~

Satan: Huh. Well, that was unexpected. Bye bye now, Peter. I'll sure I'll see you again... probably sooner than you think.

~Satan dusts himself off, then slowly transforms back into JFK.~

JFK: At any rate, ah've got an orgy to get back to!

~He walks off, heading for the path down, as the shot focuses upwards again, seeing the blinding glow far above.~


~The image shifts to the sun high in the sky, shining down on the real world. The camera slowly comes down, leaving the sun behind and showing that we're in front of the Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas. Inside, we see a man hurrying down a hallway, sliding his cell phone into his pocket as he comes around the corner, almost running straight into a nurse there.~

Nurse: Please, sir, no running! We have enough patients here without adding a couple more to the mix!

~The man steps back, but doesn't move out of her way, as he's looking for information on the patient he's come to see. The camera slides to the right, showing the man's familiar face for all to see.~

Chris Page: I'm sorry, miss. Can you tell me how he's doing?

Nurse: The patient here? Are you family?

Voice: It's okay, nurse, he's basically family, he can come in.

~The nurse obediently, if reluctantly, steps aside, and Page immediately moves into the room. Seated next to the bed is Thomas Hill, the recently-discovered half-brother of Peter Vaughn. He gets up to shake Page's hand.~

Chris Page: Thomas.

Thomas Hill: Chris.

Chris Page: What's the update? They wouldn't tell me anything over the phone.

Thomas Hill: It's... well, it's not great, Chris. It's not great at all.

~Thomas looks to his left, with Page following his gaze. The camera quickly does the same, showing us the hospital bed in question... and giving us the view of a bandaged Peter Vaughn, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. We slowly fade out.~

]]>


The Road So Far:

A Secret War Is Brewing, P1

A Secret War Is Brewing, P2

A Secret War Is Brewing, P3[

Near Misses or Near Hits?

A Trip Down Memory Lane

[Image: executive-summary.jpg]

So Peter Vaughn has been sent to hell.

It's not as 'simple' as that sounds, though. Earlier this year, Vaughn joined up with the Custodial Coalition, an underground organization that deals in information and control. Vaughn had to undergo some major trials in order to join the group, seemingly becoming tight with their leader, Master Cleaner. But Vaughn also made a deal with another organization, the Maintenance Mafia, when on a secret mission for the Coalition. He seemed to become a double agent... or maybe a triple agent... nothing's really known for sure what Vaughn intended as his master plan.

What does seem to matter is that the Coalition somehow seems to have found out about the double-cross. After Vaughn was seemingly shot in the real world, he's found himself in what appears to be the virtual reality that the Coalition has control of, experiencing some of his worst moments in the last year before realizing what was happening. Master Cleaner then sent Vaughn spiraling down into a virtual hell, one apparently of his own making. Now, for Vaughn to ever see the light of day again, he's going to have to fight his way back up from the dark pits of the underworld.

This... will not be easy.


~A body comes flying straight at us, flying overhead. Another one goes crashing into the harsh rocky landscape, with the creature laying there, unconscious. The camera comes around, showing Peter Vaughn beating the hell out of a third creature, utilizing a heavy stone he found along the path where he landed. He bashes the creature down, leaving it sprawled out before him. Vaughn gets up, breathing heavily. He wipes off some sweat, taking a few deep breaths.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn, it's hot down here.

~Vaughn starts walking forward again, continuing the path he was following before being rudely interrupted by the creatures from Hell. He starts going up a large hill, hiking up easily, although the temperatures and altitude seem to be affecting him. He's still cradling the bloody stone in one hand, not relinquishing his grip on his only weapon found so far.~

Peter Vaughn: Master Cleaner... when I get hold of you... I'll show you what it means to be scrubbed out...

~Seething, Vaughn gets to the top of the hill, taking a moment to look all around at the vast landscape surrounding him. We can see that most of the area is on fire, as you would expect from a place like this. Screams of agony can occasionally be heard, echoing out throughout the land. The sounds don't seem to be bothering Vaughn any, as he has no emotional connection to those being tortured. He starts down the hill, seeing someone waiting at the bottom for him. He prepares the stone again, making sure he's ready to rumble.~

Peter Vaughn: Whoever this is, I hope they're prepared to... wait... huh?

~The wrestler stumbles to a stop at the end of the hill, managing to cut short his momentum. In front of him, waiting patiently, is, well... the Devil.~

Satan: Hey, buddy!

[Image: MV5BMTYxOTI1MjExM15BMl5BanBnXkFtZTgwODM1...@._V1_.jpg]

~The devil grins at Vaughn, who looks at him with a great deal of shock and surprise.~

Peter Vaughn: So you're, uh... you're Satan?

Satan: That's one of my names, yes.

Peter Vaughn: Huh. I gave the Coalition's VR system more credit for being realistic.

Satan: What was that?

Peter Vaughn: Oh, nothing. So I guess you're here to put me in my place and make my life a living hell, right?

Satan: Well, yes, I HAVE done that in the past. But I'm not here to do it to you, Peter. Can I call you Peter?

Peter Vaughn: Uh... sure... Satan...

Satan: Let's go and get a bite, and we can talk about what's happening next.

~Satan walks off, with a confused Vaughn following behind him, looking completely bewildered.~


Sometimes, things can still surprise you.

It's kind of nice, really. I mean, who wants to know exactly what's going to happen all the time? For instance, I never expected to keep hearing Ails talk about eating me. I will admit, that's not something I've ever had much cause to worry about, in any sense of the expression. I've never been that much of a womanizer, not like other wrestlers, and I've never faced someone with Mike Tyson-like tendencies.

Well, maybe Supreme Machine. I don't know for sure, but he seems like the sort to go for the ears, doesn't he?

But Ails, you seem to think you're just going to consume Peter Vaughn and ruin him, right? Well, I'm afraid that's not the way things are going to go down at March Madness. I'm not some hor d'oeuvre that is easily taken down with a glass of water. I'm not even just one plate of steak and fries. We're talking a five-course meal here, featuring the finest food ever made in the world. We're talking lobster, filet minion, and those black truffles that everyone with a ton of money seems to love. When it all comes down to it, Ails, this isn't a meal you can get down in one sitting.

Basically, I'm saying you're going to choke on it.

You see, I was afraid this was going to happen. You've been on a great winning streak, and we all knew that the odds were strong that you'd come in with a cocky chip on your shoulder. You're expecting to just get handed this championship and continue on your 'previous' reign like nothing ever happened. You seem to think that I'm just going to be a gnat to swat aside, easily removed from your sight.

As I said, I do like to be surprised, so I have to say, you're really disappointing me.

I could 'almost' forgive you for it, since you are one of the great ones I've seen in this business. But your ego is threatening to weigh you down and keep you from soaring up for that championship. It's a long climb to the top, Ails, and you won't be able to make it up there if you're not coming into this one thinking that there's no possibility of you losing. You can't be too cocky in a match like this. I'm expecting this to be one of my greatest fights ever, a war to end all wars, and I'm willing to concede that there is a chance you can walk out the victor.

There's also a chance that my foot gets stuck in your ass. Nothing sexual, just gratuitous violence.

I suppose I should be happy that you're coming into this match with a blindside that a beginner to the sport could exploit. But it's not what I want, Ails. I want you coming in with the knowledge that it's not going to be so easy. I want you coming in thinking that you're going to need to be at your top 100 percent if you want to squeeze past me and reclaim the Universal Title. I want you believing, in your heart, that this is going to be one of the toughest fights you've ever been in.

And I want you to surprise me, because right now, you're all too predictable.


~We see Peter Vaughn sitting with Satan at a small, stone table. A meal has been brought before them, apparently ordered beforehand. Vaughn is munching on a Philly cheesesteak sandwich, while Satan is currently devouring a cobb salad. Satan takes another bite, smiling.~

Satan: Anthony, you've done an incredible job, as always.

~The chef nearby nods, keeping his face from the camera. Vaughn studies him for a moment, his full name on the tip of his tongue, but it doesn't come to him. He shrugs and puts the rest of the gourmet-style sandwich down on the plate.~

Peter Vaughn: So I have to say, Satan, this is not what I was expecting.

Satan: Oh, I know. All you guys tend to come in here expecting everywhere to be, well, Hell. But here on the first level, we tend to be fairly laid back.

Peter Vaughn: So it seems.

Satan: Some have called this place Limbo. I prefer to think of it as Satansville, but unfortunately the name has never truly caught on.

Peter Vaughn: Hey, far be it from me having a problem with someone wanting their name to be remembered.

Satan: Exactly! You know, Peter, you and I could be very good friends. I've been watching you for quite a while.

~Having no response to Beelzebub following his career, Vaughn goes back to the sandwich, taking another bite to hide his inability to speak.~

Satan: I've got to say, I see great things in your future, Peter. The sky's the limit! Well, maybe not the sky, but almost anything else, really. Oh, let me get your drink refilled. Anthony!

~The male chef comes over again, filling up Vaughn's glass. It's a dark liquid, but Vaughn's been drinking it with no ill effects as far as he can tell. He nods his thanks to Anthony.~

Peter Vaughn: I take it your plan is for me to stay here and work for you?

Satan: Oh, Demons no! No, I'd much rather have you back on Earth! You've still got so far to go, before you're ready to come back here!

Peter Vaughn: Ahhh... ummm, thanks?

Satan: You're welcome. No, Peter, you need to escape from here. Now, I can't just let you go. It'd look pretty bad for my reputation, letting a human just walk out on me. But that doesn't mean I have to come at you with everything, or that you couldn't believably sneak your way out of here.

Peter Vaughn: Alright... so where would I need to 'sneak'?

~Satan's hand waves for a second, a little seductively, and a map suddenly appears on the table next to Vaughn. He picks it up, studying it.~

Peter Vaughn: Huh. So Alighieri had a lot of it right, huh?

Satan: Oh, yes. Of course, he had some help with that. It IS an Inferno down here, after all.

Peter Vaughn: If I'm reading this right, you're saying I just head up this path through the levels, and I can escape from here?

Satan: Of course you can. I believe in you. Now, let's have some dessert!

~Satan claps his hands, looking behind him. A cart is pushed out, which seems to have a sports car on it. Satan steps up to it, cutting a piece off.~

Satan: You see? It's a Ferrari... but it's also cake!

Peter Vaughn: I see that. Er... impressive.

Satan: Isn't it?

~The two dig into the pieces of cake, with Vaughn shaking his head for a moment at how surreal all of this is. Both seem to enjoy the texture of the cake, nodding in agreement towards the chef.~

Satan: Brilliant!

Peter Vaughn: Superb.

~The chef just nods and walks off. Vaughn stares after him, still trying to place the man, with no luck. Satan, meanwhile, finishes his piece of cake and sits back.~

Satan: Ahhhh, it's good to be the king. Drink up, Peter, and then you can be on your way!

~Vaughn obediently finishes his drink and gets up, feeling energized. He nods to Satan, a smirk appearing on his face.~

Peter Vaughn: I can't believe I'm saying this, but it was good to meet you, Satan. Personally, though, I'm hoping never to see you again.

Satan: Hah hah hah, that's what they ALL say!! But I wouldn't count on that, Peter. Good luck to you!

~Vaughn grabs the map and walks off, using it to figure out where he needs to go first. Satan watches him go, a dark grin crossing his face.~

Satan: I'll see you soon...

~He stays where he is, nodding to the chef.~

Satan: You can go now, chef. Just remember, the party with Hippocrates is in three days. Your penance is going well, isn't it? After all.. it could be worse.

~Satan gestures in the direction that Vaughn is headed. The chef nods, still not saying anything. Satan smiles again, loving every minute of being the ruler of Hell.~


So let's talk comparison, Ails.

You talked several times about your victory over Mark Flynn, a man who did get the surprise pinfall on me when I found myself distracted by Apex. As I've said in the past, I don't blame Flynn for that at all, and I acknowledge my loss to him as a perfectly legal contest. I lost him to fair and square, because no matter what the outside interference was, it didn't change the result of the match.

So in your mind, since ALIAS beat Flynn and Flynn beat Vaughn, Alias > Vaughn.

Hey, it's a comparison, sure, and one that is worth taking a good, hard look at. There's just one problem.

We can do a similar comparison in a different direction, and reach an entirely new conclusion.

After all, you, Ails, were pinned by Jim Caedus. Sure, there was outside interference and you can point to that if you want, even though that would make you a true hypocrite. But in the end, Caedus defeated you for the Universal Title. And then, a month later, I defeated Caedus cleanly, destroying him and seemingly ending his XWF career once and for all. I took the man who stripped you of your championship and, well, let's just say I owned him more than you owned Flynn, that's for sure.

So in that comparison, we've got Vaughn beating Caedus and Caedus beating ALIAS, hence Vaughn > ALIAS.

Hey, aren't these comparisons fun? I mean, they're meaningless, but they're amusing, nonetheless.

Overall, Ails, it doesn't matter who you've beaten, and it doesn't matter who I've beaten. Both of us have taken down some of the greats in the business, and both of us have taken losses as well. In the end, what's going to matter is if I break you at March Madness or you survive to come out on top. That will be the best identifier to look to, rather than comparing past accomplishments and going "Nah nah, nah nah nah."

Will I be non-stop bragging if I defeat you, Ails? Oh, you bet your ass I will be. And who wouldn't be? And that would last until the next time we faced, because once I defeat you, the comparisons will be all out of alignment.

After all, we can't leave it at ALIAS defeats Flynn, Flynn defeats Vaughn, and Vaughn defeats ALIAS. That just won't do at all. We'll need to have ourselves a little tiebreaker in the future.

But even if that doesn't happen, the world will still know that after March Madness, if & when I grab my championship from the top of the three tiers, I will always be known as greater than you.

> > > > > > > > > > >


~The picture rejoins Vaughn as he's made his way upwards through a hidden staircase. He climbs slowly, watching for anything that might jump out at him, but surprisingly nothing does. Maybe it would if this was a video game. Vaughn gets to the next exit and comes out, looking around. The screams are still there, but they're a tad different from the previous level. There are also some moans thrown in for good measure. Vaughn walks forward, looking around at what appears to be a continuous, massive orgy.~

Peter Vaughn: So... this is the Second Circle... Lust. Huh. It doesn't seem that bad.

~Vaughn walks forward, being careful where he steps. He's consulting the map as well, looking for his way out of there. Finding his destination, Vaughn keeps walking... only to have his leg grabbed, almost causing him to trip.~

Peter Vaughn: Hey!

~Being the professional athlete that he is, Vaughn's easily able to right himself. He looks back, annoyed at whoever it was that grabbed him. It takes a moment to see past the full-on orgy and pick out a face or two.~

Peter Vaughn: Huh... you look familiar...

Man: Please... can you help me? I.... I need help...

~Vaughn smirks at the sight, as the man's face disappears for a few moments underneath a woman. Or is that a man? It's hard to tell at this angle. After a few more seconds go by, the man appears again, gasping.~

Peter Vaughn: I don't know. It doesn't really look like you need much help, other than reaching certain spots, and I can guarantee to you I'm not going to help you with that. It's not really my thing.

Man: ... Please... it's been... decades... ah can't... take much more...

Peter Vaughn: Uh huh... Well, I suppose I can throw one of my favorite quotes of yours back at you. "Let us never negotiate out of fear. But let us never fear to negotiate." I think your pleading has you a little past fear at this point. So what can you offer me, in order for me to help you?

Man: There's a... ooohhh... there's a secret... to the next... doorway...

Peter Vaughn: Oh, a secret? Why didn't you say so? Let me just... okay, you all, quit squirming...

~Carefully, Vaughn works to extradite the man from the pile. It isn't easy. I mean, it's Hell, why would it be? But somehow Vaughn manages it with a minimum of contact, pulling the naked man out. Interestingly, as soon as he's out of the pile, the man starts developing clothes around him. The suit seals off the need for any blurring of the screen, as he gets to his feet.~

Man: Ah thank you, son.

Peter Vaughn: I guess you regret fooling around with Marilyn now, don't you?

Man: Ah have seen the right path. If I could live again, ah would keep myself from falling to the sins of the flesh again.

Peter Vaughn: Yeah, sure you would. Anyhow, let's get going, Mr. President. Show me that secret that'll get me outta here.

~The man adjusts his hair, which has now become like it was in real life. He looks just like he does on the half dollar coin. President Kennedy takes a deep breath and walks forward, trying not to fall back into the temptation all around him. They head for the side, where a doorway to the next circle has appeared. There is a woman standing in front of it, staring around at the calamity around her. Vaughn does a double take.~

Peter Vaughn: Wait... Betty? Betty White?

JFK: Can ah say, Betty, I loved you in Life With Elizabeth. When you would get asked if you're ashamed of yourself, and shake your head so smugly towards the camera...

Peter Vaughn: Oh, c'mon, that's not... you don't... this isn't right! I have to say, terrible programming up there, Master Cleaner! And also, it still feels too soon!!

~The woman turns and grins at Vaughn & JFK.~

Betty White: Oh, don't worry about me. I'm just visiting some old acquaintances and telling them "Thank you for being a friend". And now that I've done that... later bitches!

~White disappears in a flash of glowing light. Vaughn, taken aback, glances into the pile still writhing inside the pit. His eyes widen in recognition.~

Peter Vaughn: Wow. Who thought those stars would be here?

~Vaughn shakes his head, chuckling, before turning to the doorway.~

Peter Vaughn: So what's the secret?

JFK: What?

Peter Vaughn: The secret to going up to the next circle?

JFK: Oh, uh, skip the first step and run up the rest of the way so you do not get pulled back in.

Peter Vaughn: You, ummm... you sound like you're making that up, Mr. President.

JFK: Ah bet you won't try the first step and find out, will you?

~Vaughn stares at the former leader of the United States for a short time before giving a short laugh. He then runs forward, jumping over the first three steps and then hurrying up the stairwell. JFK follows, hesitatingly slightly at what's being left behind before remembering what it was like. He hurries after Vaughn, heading upwards.~


So can you lust over an inanimate object?

Okay, Ails, before your mind goes to that place that we ALL know it's going to go, I'm talking about the Universal Championship. I know, when you reach the top and the belt becomes yours to defend, you almost see it like your partner. Your friend. Your connection to the wrestling world. So how does it feel when you lose that title and see it roaming around with other men, out of your grasp?

It makes you want it back, doesn't it? In your mind, you're thinking "Only I, the mighty all-caps ALIAS, should get to parade around with that title around my waist!" I mean, that's the feeling I get from you, anyway, considering you came back from your little hiatus and immediately threw yourself into the #1 contender position again. It almost reeked of desperation, come to think of it. Were you that jealous that someone else was wearing the gold, that you had to hurry back into the ring to try to regain it?

Sounds like an obsession to me. You know what they say happens when you allow lust into your life.

Now, me? Hell, I want every championship, so I can't really be high and mighty and act like I'm above it all. I love the sensation of holding that gold for the first time, knowing that it's become mine, and that its previous owner is likely lying unconscious, unable to do anything about it. Honestly, maybe I like the sensation of taking it away from someone more than actually holding it. It's an interesting idea to bring up to a therapist, depending on if I ever decide on talking to one in the future.

At the same time, holding this championship, to me, means that the checkbox has already been filled. Now and forever, I am listed in the XWF record books as an XWF Universal Champion. Nothing will ever change that, no matter what happens in the future. If I lose the belt, I'll be disheartened, but I doubt I'll leap into ex-stalker territory like you have. I'll just go on to the next championship, continuing to pad my record as one of the greatest of all time.

For now, though, I'll deal with your lusting for gold the best way I know how, Ails: by kicking you in the balls and watching the heat die from your eyes.

Broken Wood. Problem Solved.


~A heavy rain is falling as Vaughn and JFK make their way into the third circle of Hell. Vaughn looks particularly displeased, feeling himself getting soaked. JFK doesn't seem to mind, but then, he's been covered in a lot worse over the last several decades. They walk further into the area, seeing the disgusting mud mire set up around them. People, if you can still call them people, are writhing in the muck, screaming and being unable to escape their fate.~

Peter Vaughn: This looks a lot like your level, Prez.

JFK: No, this is for those who were gluttonous in life.

~They make their way carefully along the limited path, not wanting to end up in this pit for all eternity. As Vaughn & JFK circle around, one man manages to crawl to the edge towards them.~

Man: You there! If thou would pull me out of this infernal eternity, I would give thee everything I have!

Peter Vaughn: ... Ummm, you don't really have anything for me, pal. Not anymore.

Man: I can find thee gold! The best of food and drink! WOMEN!!

JFK: Ah like where this guy's head is at.

Peter Vaughn: Who are you? Should I know you?

Man: I am the true king of England! I am Henry VIII!!

Peter Vaughn: Ahhh, right. Like the song!

King Henry VIII: The song?

Peter Vaughn: Of course! It's a great little novelty tune. You know it, right, Prez?

JFK: Ah'm afraid not.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, right, it came in the mid-60's, after you, y'know...

~Vaughn signals with his hand the sign for a head being blown up. JFK winces, not really wanting to remember the feeling of that day.~

Peter Vaughn: How did it go... "I'm Henry the 8th I am, Henry the 8th I am, I am... I got married to the widow next door, she's been married 7 times before..."

King Henry VIII: What is this blasphemy? Just pull me out from here before...

Peter Vaughn: "And every one was a Hen-e-ry (Hen-e-ry)! She wouldn't have a Willy or a Sam (no Sam)! "

~JFK is bouncing his head along with the song, enjoying it. Meanwhile, King Henry VIII tries to pull himself out, but of course, it's impossible. It also attracts the attention of something else.~

Peter Vaughn: "I'm her 8th old man named Henry, Henry the 8th I am!"

King Henry VIII: Stop singing, scoundrel, and free me from... oh no... CEREBERUS!!!!

~The three-headed hellhound has emerged through the rain and hail, growling. King Henry VIII tries to beg off, but there's nowhere for him to go, as Cereberus picks him up in each of the three jaws and begins to once again tear him limb from limb. JFK stumbles away, feeling sick, while Vaughn just raises his eyebrows.~

JFK: Ah think we need to go.

Peter Vaughn: You're probably right. "Second verse, same as the first! I'm Henry the 8th, I am..."

~With Vaughn still singing, the two hurry off towards the next exit, as King Henry VIII's screams continue for some time. In Hell, unfortunately, you can't really die again, after all.~


I don't think I'd go so far as to call you gluttonous, Ails.

I mean, you and I are in extremely good shape, so food and drink is not an issue for either of us. At least, not that I've seen. Although you DID say you wanted to eat me... so I suppose I can't rule that out as a possibility.

You don't have a secret problem with alcoholism, do you, Ails? If you do, I'm going to probably regret my nickname I've given you, really. So hopefully that's not the case, and you're a man who believes in clean living.

Of course, that's not the only definition for gluttony. The one that I think fits you best is "a person who is always eager for more of something usually unpleasant." So it doesn't have to just be chicken wings and vodka. It could be someone's addiction to meth or coke. It could be someone always going into the masseuse and getting the crap beat out of them.

Basically, it could be your glutton for punishment.

I mean, why would you keep coming back, Ails? Why would you fight to climb the mountain once again, after having been so violently thrown off of it in the past? One could only assume that you appreciated the pain and torture you endured at the heights of the XWF, and that you have come back wanting more of it. Are you a masochist, Ails? Or am I being unfair?

Truthfully, I don't know for sure. I've seen some of your matches that you've chosen in the past, and they were pretty brutal, so maybe you do have a bit of a glutton for punishment. I hope I've made your day by setting up the Ascent Into Madness match. I only want it to give you everything you need and more. I just, y'know, hope you survive it. Even if you don't, though, hey, what a way to go, right?

That's two sins down that you've qualified for, Ails. How many more are you... and I... going to have attached to our records by the end of this journey? I suppose we'll find out.


~In the fourth circle of Hell, we see Vaughn and JFK carefully making their way down a large rock formation. They land on the ground, staring around at the chaos going on all around them. It's one of the biggest brawls anyone has ever seen.~

Peter Vaughn: What level is this? It kind of looks like my type of Hell here...

JFK: If ah remember the circles correctly, this would be the place where the greedy are punished.

Peter Vaughn: The greedy? All they're doing is fighting each other...

JFK: Yessir, and they're trying ta get the other's stuff.

Peter Vaughn: Ahhh, so they're endlessly fighting avarice. Interesting.

~One group comes fighting too close to the pair, with Vaughn turning and dropkicking one of the men off the edge and to the ground below. A second man tries to grab at Vaughn's shirt, reaching for a necklace underneath, and Vaughn quickly sends him flying with an arm drag takedown. He gets up, with the last man pushing himself up and breaking heavily.~

Man: Thanks for the help, good sir.

Peter Vaughn: Ummm, sure, no problem. And you are?

Man: My name is Charles Ponzi...

~A second later, Vaughn is pounding away at Ponzi's face, stunning him. Vaughn then twists him around, taking him hard to the ground with Revenged!!! Ponzi collapses to the side, unable to move, as Vaughn gets to his feet, still looking furious. JFK steps towards him, putting a hand on him.~

JFK: Hold on, Peter! We don't have time to stay here!

Peter Vaughn: We also don't have time for no Ponzi schemes, you hear me? You know how many good families were ruined by this asshole? Just so he could get rich?

~Vaughn kicks away at Ponzi's side, doing more damage, with JFK pulling him back.~

JFK: Ah understand, but we really have to go!

~JFK drags Vaughn further away, as he spits back at the downed Ponzi.~

Peter Vaughn: Those bastards robbed me blind back in the day. Stupid Ponzi, coming up with that deal... I'M GLAD YOU'RE IN HELL!!!

~They both move away, with Ponzi just laying there, groaning. Suddenly, the two men from earlier are back, jumping on him and working to take away any belongings he's got left, as Ponzi feebly fights against them. Meanwhile, we see Vaughn and JFK reach the next level up, although there doesn't seem to be a way to open the passageway. They both hit at the door, unable to figure out how to release it.~

Peter Vaughn: What the hell... they're keeping them locked in?

JFK: They probably don't want tha fight to go further up.

Peter Vaughn: Then what do we do... wait... hold on a second...

~Vaughn turns and grabs a guy out of a fighting mob, with the man immediately swinging at him. Vaughn twists him around, applying a full nelson submission, with the weaker man desperately trying to find a way to get free.~

Peter Vaughn: Calm down there, Edison! I'm in need of your brains, so you need to stop fighting for a minute!

~The man, hearing his last name for the first time in ages, stops struggling. Vaughn waits a moment to be sure before releasing him, spinning him around. JFK takes a closer look at his face.~

JFK: Ah'll be, it IS Thomas Edison!

Thomas Edison: What do you want, boy? Can't you see I'm busy?

Peter Vaughn: I'll bet you $10,000 that you can't figure out a way through this doorway.

~At the sound of a chance to win a fortune, Edison's eyes light up. He goes to the doorway, immediately studying it, as Vaughn & JFK step back to watch. After a moment, Edison smiles and taps a certain spot on the door.~

Thomas Edison: You buffoons. The answer is right here, obviously! You have to give up something to be able to leave here. You have to give up one of your treasures, and who would ever want to do that? Now, where's my $10...

~Vaughn immediately grabs Edison by the arm and launches him bodily back into the crowd, knocking down a large swath of individuals. He grins as he gets up, looking out at the chaos he just caused.~

Peter Vaughn: You'll have to talk to Tesla about that, Tommy.

~Vaughn turns back to the door, where JFK is studying the opening that Edison found. He feels around in his pockets, but they're currently empty.~

JFK: Ah'm afraid ah don't have much.

Peter Vaughn: Not a problem.

~Vaughn considers his necklace, studying it for a moment. Then he shrugs, yanking it off and walking over to the doorway and slipping it inside. Immediately the door raises up, allowing enough space for JFK and Vaughn to quickly slip out before it descends again, keeping all of those greedy bastards trapped in their circle of Hell.~


So now we get to the sin of greed... which has a lot in common with gluttony and lust, doesn't it?

I'm afraid this one works for us, too, Ails. You're covetous of what I've got, after all. You want my championship. And as for me, I suppose I want what you've got: the notoriety, the fame, the respect. It's all I ever seem to hear about you, how people think you're one of the most amazing wrestlers in our recent history. That's what I want people saying about me. Will I ever get there? It depends on who you ask. Some will say I've already made it by holding three World Titles at the same time. Others will never get beyond their vision of me as a Janitor.

But I think I can sway a lot of those feelings if I have a marquee victory like defeating you in the PPV main event in a convincing fashion. Like, say, putting you in the hospital... or worse.

I suppose some would say wanting something like that would not be a good thing. But I can't help myself, Ails. While I can't say I have anything personal against you, I really, REALLY want to be the one to take you out, because it would be the top feather in my cap for a long time to come. Who else compares to the legend of ALIAS? One of the Ravens, maybe? That Warstein guy? Hell, maybe none of them.

When I defeat you with a Plunge off the top of the cage, I'll take away some of your hard-earned respect and prestige, but it'll be well worth it in the end. For me, at least. For you, maybe not so much. But just think of it this way: you'll be helping me fight through the avarice trapped in my heart. You'll be doing me a huge favor by falling at my feet, giving me that victory I crave so badly.

Because Greed is Good. And I want it all.


~Vaughn and JFK make their way out to the next circle, looking around as they walk alongside the River Styx. Vaughn glances into the water, and a second later wishes he hadn't, seeing all the dead souls underneath. They walk on, hearing the sounds of another war going on ahead of them.~

Peter Vaughn: Another level just built on fighting? What the hell... seems lazy to me.

JFK: From what ah hear, this circle is about the sin of Anger. Thus, everyone is always angry.

Peter Vaughn: Like the Hulk?

JFK: The who?

Peter Vaughn: You know, the Hulk! Oh, wait... you missed out on the Marvel movies, didn't you? Damn, and I think his comics were just coming out when you lost your brains, too. Man, you died at just about the worst time, you know that? You missed out on so much!

JFK: Ah know. At least I left behind a loving family and children who surely lived long, incredible lives.

Peter Vaughn: Ummm....

~Vaughn is saved from answering as a sudden mob rushes up towards them, screaming. Their leader, a man dressed in furs, shouts in Mongolian and charges, swinging a wicked sword. Vaughn ducks under it, as JFK is tackled by some of the other guys. The man roars and goes after Vaughn again, showing no restraint in his attack. That allows Vaughn to hit a sweet kick to the face, knocking the Mongol backwards.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn, you were cooler in Bill & Ted's Excellent Adventure, Genghis!

~Vaughn follows up with a running double-knee to the chest, sending Khan crashing onto his back. Vaughn grabs for his blade, picking it up and spinning back to where JFK is taking a brutal beating. Vaughn races over, cutting away at the two men, sending body parts flying. They fall away, as Vaughn spins back, swinging again... and decapitating the rising Genghis, sending his head soaring through the air.~

Peter Vaughn: KHHHHHAAAAAAANNNNNN!!!!!

~After the impassioned scream, Vaughn calmly picks up the injured JFK, hauling him along with him towards the next exit.~

Peter Vaughn: I can't believe I killed Genghis Khan.

JFK: He'll be restored any minute now so tha fight can continue.

Peter Vaughn: C'mon, Prez, at least give me a few minutes to gloat before you take it away from me!

JFK: Sorry.

Peter Vaughn: It's okay. I'll still wear that victory with pride.

~They move on, avoiding a few more confrontations when possible. When they couldn't be avoided, Vaughn just went to work. Eventually, they get past the enraged fighters and to the next step, heading upwards.~


Okay, I can already hear what everyone is going to say.

Yes. I've got some anger management issues. I think I've worked through them a lot more than I did in the past, but it's a continual process. I may be less likely to take hostages and risk wholesale slaughter, but I do have to contain my rage sometimes in order to stick to my game plans in matches. When it comes to someone I hate, like Knox or JC, I'll probably revert a little bit, but hey, a little fury is good now and again, right?

As for you, Ails... it's hard to say if we've ever seen your anger get the best of you. Maybe in your fights against The Left Hand? I don't know if I'd even count that, though. Whenever you and I have faced off in the ring, I haven't sensed that rage in you. That furious anger. That... passion. It seems to be lacking a little bit, if I'm being honest.

Don't get me wrong, I know you want to win the title. I know you want to defeat me. I know you want to eat me, which is still creepy, by the way. But do you really hate me enough to make this personal? Because in my view... I don't see it as personal. Sure, you had your title taken away, and maybe you blame me and the Exiles for what Caedus did (which is a mistake, by the way, but okay). But overall, this one feels more like it's about the legacy of the belt and our own entwined fortunes, not anything like a blood feud.

Seems almost a shame, really. I feel like I should hate you, for everything you represent and how people like you have treated people like me in the past. But I can't feel it. I don't hate you, Ails.

I just want to see the blood spilling down your forehead from your torn scalp, as you cling to life with whatever willpower you have left.

But it's nothing personal.


~On the next level, Vaughn and JFK step out onto an empty landscape. They start on their way through, with Vaughn keeping his guard up, but nothing seems to be going on. The place feels almost... abandoned.~

Peter Vaughn: I don't understand. What's going on here?

JFK: The sixth circle of Hell was all about heresy, wasn't it? Going against the church?

Peter Vaughn: Which church?

JFK: Ah think back in the day, it was Christianity. But now...

Peter Vaughn: Wait, are you telling me that even Hell no longer discriminates due to religion?

JFK: That's what it seems like.

Peter Vaughn: That's... actually kind of cool. Good on Satan for cancelling this level. I'm surprised he didn't turn it into... oh, wait...

~As the duo moves forward, they can see green grass set up next to a bunker and some artificial turf with a flag sticking out of it.~

JFK: He turned it... into a golf course?

Peter Vaughn: Even the Devil has to stress release at times, Prez. Let's keep moving.

~Leaving the golf course behind, Vaughn and JFK quickly make it up to the seventh circle, where they find three ringed areas encircling the sandy, dust-covered land. The two start to make their way across, looking down into each pit.~

JFK: The first ring here is for murderers and those who harmed others.

Peter Vaughn: So probably a lot of wrestlers down there. Oh, hey, I see Manson! Gacy! Bundy! Wow, I feel like I should get some autographs... but it's probably safer to stay up here.

JFK: The second ring is for those who hurt themselves. Suicide victims.

~Vaughn immediately stops JFK, looking downwards.~

Peter Vaughn: Wait... are you telling me Kurt Cobain is down there? We need to find him! Which tree is he?

JFK: Ah don't know who that is.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, man... you missed out on Nirvana. That's so sad, Prez.

~Vaughn looks around the ring for Cobain, but he can't find him, since none of them look as they did back in their human days.~

Peter Vaughn: Damn. I wonder if I started singing "Come As You Are", he would start reacting?

JFK: Ah really believe we should keep moving, Peter.

Peter Vaughn: Oh, fine... it's not like it's real, anyway. But man, if there was one person I could rescue... well, him or Chester Bennington...

~Vaughn shakes his head and continues along with JFK, reaching the final ring near the center. It has a lot less going on in it, with just a single room set-up, standing on its own.~

Peter Vaughn: Well, that's strange. What's this doing here?

JFK: Ah believe... it's for you, Peter.

~Startled at the change in voice, Vaughn turns... only to be grabbed by the throat by Satan!! The figure lifts Vaughn high in the air, ignoring his kicking legs, as he begins to carry Vaughn towards the single dwelling.~

Satan: I'm sorry about this, Peter. I truly am. But you had to make the climb yourself, so I could place you where you'll be spending the rest of eternity... in the apartment you once believed was the hell you were trapped in. You've made your own bed, Peter. Time to die in it.

~Satan gets closer and closer to the room, with Vaughn struggling like an insane person to get free.~


Well, damn. I should have expected that if I was going to have a home in this Hell, it'd be in the Seventh Circle of Violence.

You and I both know how this goes, Ails. I know you enjoy tearing at a person's eyeball and bashing head into 'buckles just as well as I do. You wouldn't be in this business if you were squeamish. We live on violence. We thrive on violence. And so do the fans who are watching us, cheering us on to break bones and dislocate joints.

In this, we're probably on a pretty even par, Ails. I give you full credit for being just as much of a sadistic son of a bitch as, well, me. I don't mean continually trying to stab my opponent or anything, I wouldn't go that far. But I'm sure we both get a thrill out of that vibration you get from the steel chair after it's smacked across the back of a victim's skull. We both love that moment when our adversaries fall to our finishers, knocking them out so severely that there's always the possibility of some brain damage. Hell, we both must love the violence equally, because that's the only thing that would make us sign up for such a dangerous contest.

When you have me against a cage wall, and you're trying your best to shred my forehead open and spill out every last drop of blood you can manage, will you at least admit to yourself that we have something in common? I hope you will. I hope you'll accept the truth about yourself. And when I'm sending splinters into your spine from the table I just put you through, I'll be thinking the same thing:

We both enjoy inflicting pain, at least on some level.

So while they're trying to put me into the circle of Violence, claiming that this is where I belong... well, I'll save you a seat, Ails. A seat with a lot of nails sticking out of it, that I can break across your back. Won't that be a sight?


Peter Vaughn: No...

Satan: What's that, Peter? It's hard to hear you with your windpipe crushed.

Peter Vaughn: ... I.... Said... NO!!!!

~Suddenly, there's a blast of light, and Satan finds himself shockingly thrown backwards. He manages to stay upright, using his massive muscles to absorb the blow. He gets up, staring at Vaughn, who is not floating in mid-air. He turns slowly towards Satan, his face full of rage.~

Satan: No! I don't believe it!

Peter Vaughn: Believe it or not, you piece of shit, you're still going to burn!

~Vaughn begins to send wave after wave of energy into Satan, causing him to scream out in pain. He falls backwards, rolling, trying to put himself out, as Vaughn floats above him.~

Peter Vaughn: I knew... I could do it... I worked... so hard at it... I've been trying... ever since I got here... you think you're the only one who can... manipulate this world, Cleaner?

YOU THINK YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE??

~Vaughn glances from left to right, as if seeing the binary code encircling him and manipulating it.~

Peter Vaughn: I can control this Virtual Reality now, Cleaner!! Which means you can't hold me down any longer!! I'm coming for you!!!

~Vaughn begins to fly upwards at tremendous speed, leaving the scalded Satan behind, as he heads for the surface... and where he knows the location of Master Cleaner. Satan slowly gets up, watching him go.~

Satan: Huh. Well, that was unexpected. Bye bye now, Peter. I'll sure I'll see you again... probably sooner than you think.

~Satan dusts himself off, then slowly transforms back into JFK.~

JFK: At any rate, ah've got an orgy to get back to!

~He walks off, heading for the path down, as the shot focuses upwards again, seeing the blinding glow far above.~


~The image shifts to the sun high in the sky, shining down on the real world. The camera slowly comes down, leaving the sun behind and showing that we're in front of the Baylor University Medical Center in Dallas, Texas. Inside, we see a man hurrying down a hallway, sliding his cell phone into his pocket as he comes around the corner, almost running straight into a nurse there.~

Nurse: Please, sir, no running! We have enough patients here without adding a couple more to the mix!

~The man steps back, but doesn't move out of her way, as he's looking for information on the patient he's come to see. The camera slides to the right, showing the man's familiar face for all to see.~

Chris Page: I'm sorry, miss. Can you tell me how he's doing?

Nurse: The patient here? Are you family?

Voice: It's okay, nurse, he's basically family, he can come in.

~The nurse obediently, if reluctantly, steps aside, and Page immediately moves into the room. Seated next to the bed is Thomas Hill, the recently-discovered half-brother of Peter Vaughn. He gets up to shake Page's hand.~

Chris Page: Thomas.

Thomas Hill: Chris.

Chris Page: What's the update? They wouldn't tell me anything over the phone.

Thomas Hill: It's... well, it's not great, Chris. It's not great at all.

~Thomas looks to his left, with Page following his gaze. The camera quickly does the same, showing us the hospital bed in question... and giving us the view of a bandaged Peter Vaughn, lying unconscious in the hospital bed. We slowly fade out.~

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