<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - The Revelry 2024 PPV Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Wed, 06 May 2026 19:59:44 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Echoes of Reunions]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47675 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 23:55:18 -0700 Dolly Waters]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47675
My darling…

Madame Maluna’s voice gently tucks around Dolly with the ease of a dryer-warm quilt. So secure, and earnest, it gave Dolly this comforting feeling reminiscent of a childhood she could barely remember anymore.

-so many lives ago-

Maluna wraps an arm around Dolly’s shoulder that invites an embrace rather than a battering for once. In the same motion, she tucks her opposite hand around Dolly’s face, pulling her near.

-we were so many people-

As tears cascade down Dolly's cheeks, dampening Maluna's silken sleeve, memories of past lives and connections weave a tapestry of bittersweet nostalgia. "We carry the echoes of people, homes, and passions within us, unseen yet deeply felt, shaping the essence of who we are," Maluna murmurs, anchoring Dolly to a realm beyond the hospital room's sterile confines. "Their presence, unwavering and eternal, merges with our spirit, shaping our present selves."

Not like this though… Dolly slips her head from Maluna’s embrace, and straightens her focus on the body lying in the hospital bed-

He shouldn’t be like this.

-our dear Patel too, my darling-

-of Patel Gagenndepp. Comatose, and skin graphed, and paralyzed, and battling the tenuous boundary between recovery and loss.

-he has traversed many paths before, and we can only hope that his next journey is illuminated with light,

You may recall Patel Gagandeep, Dolly’s on again, off again trusted assistant. The astute wrestling strategist who ventured into Dolly's world seeking untapped potential within her ring prowess. Their alliance, forged in the crucible of January '23, took an unexpected turn as Patel delved into the shadows of mysticism alongside his enigmatic employer, Dolly Waters. It was in those moments that fate intertwined their destinies with Madame Maluna, ushering them into a frantic and bungling realm where uncertainty, caprice and darkness lurked, testing their resolve and bonds in ways they never imagined. Like the kidnapping of Maluna by Dolly, for which Patel was incarcerated, a massive chakra-tea ponzi scheme and Dolly revivifying a latex love doll with the essence of Jenny Myst.

This was all more than Patel signed up for, and after an advantageous WarGames led them on a terrorist sponsored quest to find a magic djinn lamp, where Dolly nearly led her team and Patel to their deaths multiple times, Patel and Dolly parted ways in the summer of ‘23.

It’s my fault he’s here

But time eventually reweaved the severed ties between Dolly and Patel. The two reconciled as partners in January of ‘24, with Dolly vowing to leave her days as the self proclaimed “Gypsy Queen” of the XWF behind her. With the webs of Dolly’s deceitful, and capricious behavior broomed from the doorways of their potential partnership, she and Patel strategized their way to Dolly capturing her record third reign as Television Champion.

-now.. Maluna lets out reassuring shush How could you have ever known-

But disaster struck. Just before Dolly’s first Television Championship defense, a bomb erupted when Patel and Dolly were visiting their old friend Maluna. Violent. Devastating. It ravaged the old Metaphysics shop -while Dolly was undergoing a very routine hypnotic chakra cleanse from Maluna- injuring the three of them, with Patel’s condition being the most critical.

Dolly has spent most every day and night here since, in this hospital room, eating, and showering, and watching over her friend’s unencouraging recovery, unable to clean the image of Patel’s blood on her hands. She couldn’t bear the thought of Patel awakening from his coma alone, and afraid, with no one there to comfort him as he found that he couldn’t use his lower extremities anymore.

I’m sorry, Patel… she remembers whispering to him as he lied stiff gathering bed sores, just before her return to the XWF in May, They say yer’ getting worse. she grabbed Patel’s hand and I won’t let it end this way She had been so apprehensive to leave his side, but I know what you wanted us to do, my friend. I know where you thought we could climb. she knew there was no modern science or miracle she could perform to change Patel’s condition, but she owed to her friend to honor him,[/dolly] I’m going back to the XWF, and we’re going to finish the job- and I’m going to find out who really did this to you.[/dolly]

-besides me telling you, over and again who was responsible.

Away from the memories, Dolly breaks out from under Maluna’s embrace, excuse the fuck out of me she hisses, standing now from the bed to face Maluna. To this day, you haven’t given me a shred of evidence that Michael Graves had anything to do with this. Besides what? You could “feel it”
You heard that right, since the explosion that maimed Patel, Madame Maluna has been unwavering from her belief that Dolly’s old nemesis, Michael Graves, was responsible for the bomb that ripped through her storefront. Though at least partially credulous for a time, Dolly’s suspicion of Maluna’s claim dwindled with each passing day that police investigations rendered only inconclusive findings.

I don’t think it was Graves… she remembers back to the conversation with Patel’s decaying body again, I know Maluna… feels it was him, or whatever, but I don't know. She started acting strange- she wanted me to punish Graves for this, wanted me to dip back into some weird spellbook stuff. But I dismissed it though! Her shakey, tear-sniffling voice rising with some enthusiasm, You’d be proud of me. I followed your strategy against Graves to a tee. I lost the title… but I kept my nose clean! I was professional, and I didn’t stoop to his level.

It’s more than “feeling something”, my dear.

Maluna’s words sweep Dolly away from the memory again,

You have to hear. I’ve become just a conduit for what the universe has been whispering into your ear all this time, where it’s been guiding you. It wanted you to bring justice to Michael Graves for not just this atrocity… but all of them.[/dolly]

You think I’m unfamiliar with hearing voices?! If this “universe” character were really telling me sweet-nothings to whisk me away, I would’ve done more than just hear it! I’d have been clicking my heels to go home with the great white sky whale or whatever loopy shit yer’ implying

[pink]This has nothing to do with your vain insecurities!

Maluna snaps back,

You have to accept feeling it first before you can ever hear, my darling. It’s deep in there, it’s those echoes, the milenia of energy that has built the essence of you. The calls of your universe.[/pink]

I think she’s totally wrong, buddy. Dolly remembers continuing to whisper, while adjusting Patel’s pillows that night… in fact, I know it has something to do with this. Dolly produced a letter she received from the bank. The letter she showed Patel just before traveling to visit Maluna on the day of the explosion. When I showed this to you, you got so nervous acting

The letter detailed a bank’s faulting on a trust fund being paid by a portion of her XWF salary. The fund’s recipient, a mysterious non-profit entity named S.E.E.R.S, and in fact, seeing the letter did make Patel nervous. And just moments before the explosion, he detailed his involvement with S.E.E.R.S, or The Seers as he referred to them, in conversation with Maluna.

There's something more to this letter, I can feel it she told him, I’m gonna’ find out what it is-

Did Patel ever mention anything to you about The Seers?

Maluna’s words again slam Dolly into the present,

The what?

Though she asked for clarification, Dolly’s mind was already gearing back to the bank letter. S.E.E.R.S. Seers. The subject that seemed to make Patel so tense on that fateful day.

Before the bomb… Maluna wanders across the room, looking out of the hospital window, where only a view of the jagged black roof was to behold. Patel spoke of a shadow wrestling cult, with deep ties in the industry. One that siphons off from their talent’s salaries to fund unspeakable things. He was certain that the XWF was involved.

The features on Dolly’s face twitch with shock,

How could he have been certain?

...my dear Maluna sinks her head for the shame that Dolly’s unwavering nativity has kept such an essential truth from her, you must strengthen your chakras again- Maluna rubs Dolly’s shoulder as she walks back across the room and finds a chair. Patel was a high-level covert infiltrating The Seers.

He was?

She laid her eyes back on her friend, his frail and ravaged body teetering on an all systems failure. Patel, the practical, timid, unthreatening, sort of bitchy man who she’d known for all this time was actually some sort of Indian James Bond?

Who was he working for?

He wouldn’t say, my darling. He was worried that he’d already been compromised. He wore a different mask for so long, playing the role of one The Seers.

So The Seers not only steal money from wrestlers-

They “help” manage their careers too- - in very special circumstances.

What was so special about my circumstance?

That’s what Patel was trying to figure out- but he knew it involved Graves, and something even further behind the shadows, something more sinister. She pauses as Dolly is entrenched, waiting for her to finish the thought a blood cult of the rich and the powerful in wrestling. The elite. The Seers… this is not at all how we remember that conversation, (The Seer, The Sage, and The Sadist) but how would Dolly know? She was in the middle of chakra hypnosis just before the explosion. Which might beg us to wonder:

Why?   

To mold the world as they see fit, they “see” by altering a wrestlers motives, and their instincts, guiding them away from what their- your- universe was telling you my, dear. They predict your every move by SEEING to it first hand that you move the way they’ll predict.

This is nonsense- i just- Dolly stamps past Maluna and opens the door I don't have it in me right now to listen to this… She starts motioning for Maluna to leave.

Muddled as it were, Dolly couldn’t help but feel a tremble, or a reverb from an echo deep within. She knows theres something to this, but Maluna was-

I was always right, my dear. Because I carried the whispers of your universe for you.

When I told you how to handle Corey Smith…

Leading up to the Universal Championship match last summer, she means,

I told you he wasn’t a friend. That his lies and manipulation needed to lay before his feet. But what did Patel tell you? …

never forget your friendships. They bring the true pride you’ll need to win
...never forget your friendships. They-        -the- pride you’ll need to win

They say in near unison,

That’s right… and what happened? You stepped to the side, without even a thank you, while he took your moment, your moment to bring justice.

Just as I told you to bring this justice to Graves, you followed Patel’s words, and look now, my darling. She caresses her hand against Dolly’s bald head. The Seers have pulled you down with the loons, away from your birthright.

[dolly]Please, Maluna, i cant-

-indeed, you can’t. They can, and they will-

Can what?

WILL kill you. It is your blood that is predicted, it’s what’s wagered by The Seers, promised up to their hideous benefactors. You, Dolly, and so many like you belong to a pack of blooddrunk cultists… and Patel was certain that your puppet master, the one who issued Patel’s orders to “see” you, the one he suspected had figured out Patel’s true identity, and thus would try and kill him?

Who… WHO?!

Vincent Lane

Dolly lowers her brow, her face flattening in a most condescending way towards Maluna,

Have you met Vinnie? He’s definitely not capable of something so

They just tried to kill you with a trash compactor! Maluna is sounding unusually combative And now what have they next for, Dolly?

A no disqualification match with tables, ladders and chair strewn across the arena….

See-

and it’s against Vinnie Lane

Maluna shrieks and grabs Dolly’s hand, tracing the tip of her index finger along the lines of the palm. She then shrieks again, this time Dolly shrieks too,

What dammit!?

We have to break the bond of your blood! It’s the only way you’ll overcome The Seers!

No!

Dolly jerks her hand away from Maluna, I’m not doing another stupid ritual with you. she looks over to Patel,

I made a promise! And I’m going to wrestle Vinnie just the way that Patel would’ve wanted me to- with professionalism, and class. Vinnie Lane is an old friend, and he would never try to harm me the way yer’ talking about. Now, if you don’t mind.
Dolly shows Maluna the door again,

I’m listening fer’ the echoes I can hear, Maluna. Not the ones yer’ hearing.

The door to Patel’s room closes in Maluna’s face as the scene fades.]]>
My darling…

Madame Maluna’s voice gently tucks around Dolly with the ease of a dryer-warm quilt. So secure, and earnest, it gave Dolly this comforting feeling reminiscent of a childhood she could barely remember anymore.

-so many lives ago-

Maluna wraps an arm around Dolly’s shoulder that invites an embrace rather than a battering for once. In the same motion, she tucks her opposite hand around Dolly’s face, pulling her near.

-we were so many people-

As tears cascade down Dolly's cheeks, dampening Maluna's silken sleeve, memories of past lives and connections weave a tapestry of bittersweet nostalgia. "We carry the echoes of people, homes, and passions within us, unseen yet deeply felt, shaping the essence of who we are," Maluna murmurs, anchoring Dolly to a realm beyond the hospital room's sterile confines. "Their presence, unwavering and eternal, merges with our spirit, shaping our present selves."

Not like this though… Dolly slips her head from Maluna’s embrace, and straightens her focus on the body lying in the hospital bed-

He shouldn’t be like this.

-our dear Patel too, my darling-

-of Patel Gagenndepp. Comatose, and skin graphed, and paralyzed, and battling the tenuous boundary between recovery and loss.

-he has traversed many paths before, and we can only hope that his next journey is illuminated with light,

You may recall Patel Gagandeep, Dolly’s on again, off again trusted assistant. The astute wrestling strategist who ventured into Dolly's world seeking untapped potential within her ring prowess. Their alliance, forged in the crucible of January '23, took an unexpected turn as Patel delved into the shadows of mysticism alongside his enigmatic employer, Dolly Waters. It was in those moments that fate intertwined their destinies with Madame Maluna, ushering them into a frantic and bungling realm where uncertainty, caprice and darkness lurked, testing their resolve and bonds in ways they never imagined. Like the kidnapping of Maluna by Dolly, for which Patel was incarcerated, a massive chakra-tea ponzi scheme and Dolly revivifying a latex love doll with the essence of Jenny Myst.

This was all more than Patel signed up for, and after an advantageous WarGames led them on a terrorist sponsored quest to find a magic djinn lamp, where Dolly nearly led her team and Patel to their deaths multiple times, Patel and Dolly parted ways in the summer of ‘23.

It’s my fault he’s here

But time eventually reweaved the severed ties between Dolly and Patel. The two reconciled as partners in January of ‘24, with Dolly vowing to leave her days as the self proclaimed “Gypsy Queen” of the XWF behind her. With the webs of Dolly’s deceitful, and capricious behavior broomed from the doorways of their potential partnership, she and Patel strategized their way to Dolly capturing her record third reign as Television Champion.

-now.. Maluna lets out reassuring shush How could you have ever known-

But disaster struck. Just before Dolly’s first Television Championship defense, a bomb erupted when Patel and Dolly were visiting their old friend Maluna. Violent. Devastating. It ravaged the old Metaphysics shop -while Dolly was undergoing a very routine hypnotic chakra cleanse from Maluna- injuring the three of them, with Patel’s condition being the most critical.

Dolly has spent most every day and night here since, in this hospital room, eating, and showering, and watching over her friend’s unencouraging recovery, unable to clean the image of Patel’s blood on her hands. She couldn’t bear the thought of Patel awakening from his coma alone, and afraid, with no one there to comfort him as he found that he couldn’t use his lower extremities anymore.

I’m sorry, Patel… she remembers whispering to him as he lied stiff gathering bed sores, just before her return to the XWF in May, They say yer’ getting worse. she grabbed Patel’s hand and I won’t let it end this way She had been so apprehensive to leave his side, but I know what you wanted us to do, my friend. I know where you thought we could climb. she knew there was no modern science or miracle she could perform to change Patel’s condition, but she owed to her friend to honor him,[/dolly] I’m going back to the XWF, and we’re going to finish the job- and I’m going to find out who really did this to you.[/dolly]

-besides me telling you, over and again who was responsible.

Away from the memories, Dolly breaks out from under Maluna’s embrace, excuse the fuck out of me she hisses, standing now from the bed to face Maluna. To this day, you haven’t given me a shred of evidence that Michael Graves had anything to do with this. Besides what? You could “feel it”
You heard that right, since the explosion that maimed Patel, Madame Maluna has been unwavering from her belief that Dolly’s old nemesis, Michael Graves, was responsible for the bomb that ripped through her storefront. Though at least partially credulous for a time, Dolly’s suspicion of Maluna’s claim dwindled with each passing day that police investigations rendered only inconclusive findings.

I don’t think it was Graves… she remembers back to the conversation with Patel’s decaying body again, I know Maluna… feels it was him, or whatever, but I don't know. She started acting strange- she wanted me to punish Graves for this, wanted me to dip back into some weird spellbook stuff. But I dismissed it though! Her shakey, tear-sniffling voice rising with some enthusiasm, You’d be proud of me. I followed your strategy against Graves to a tee. I lost the title… but I kept my nose clean! I was professional, and I didn’t stoop to his level.

It’s more than “feeling something”, my dear.

Maluna’s words sweep Dolly away from the memory again,

You have to hear. I’ve become just a conduit for what the universe has been whispering into your ear all this time, where it’s been guiding you. It wanted you to bring justice to Michael Graves for not just this atrocity… but all of them.[/dolly]

You think I’m unfamiliar with hearing voices?! If this “universe” character were really telling me sweet-nothings to whisk me away, I would’ve done more than just hear it! I’d have been clicking my heels to go home with the great white sky whale or whatever loopy shit yer’ implying

[pink]This has nothing to do with your vain insecurities!

Maluna snaps back,

You have to accept feeling it first before you can ever hear, my darling. It’s deep in there, it’s those echoes, the milenia of energy that has built the essence of you. The calls of your universe.[/pink]

I think she’s totally wrong, buddy. Dolly remembers continuing to whisper, while adjusting Patel’s pillows that night… in fact, I know it has something to do with this. Dolly produced a letter she received from the bank. The letter she showed Patel just before traveling to visit Maluna on the day of the explosion. When I showed this to you, you got so nervous acting

The letter detailed a bank’s faulting on a trust fund being paid by a portion of her XWF salary. The fund’s recipient, a mysterious non-profit entity named S.E.E.R.S, and in fact, seeing the letter did make Patel nervous. And just moments before the explosion, he detailed his involvement with S.E.E.R.S, or The Seers as he referred to them, in conversation with Maluna.

There's something more to this letter, I can feel it she told him, I’m gonna’ find out what it is-

Did Patel ever mention anything to you about The Seers?

Maluna’s words again slam Dolly into the present,

The what?

Though she asked for clarification, Dolly’s mind was already gearing back to the bank letter. S.E.E.R.S. Seers. The subject that seemed to make Patel so tense on that fateful day.

Before the bomb… Maluna wanders across the room, looking out of the hospital window, where only a view of the jagged black roof was to behold. Patel spoke of a shadow wrestling cult, with deep ties in the industry. One that siphons off from their talent’s salaries to fund unspeakable things. He was certain that the XWF was involved.

The features on Dolly’s face twitch with shock,

How could he have been certain?

...my dear Maluna sinks her head for the shame that Dolly’s unwavering nativity has kept such an essential truth from her, you must strengthen your chakras again- Maluna rubs Dolly’s shoulder as she walks back across the room and finds a chair. Patel was a high-level covert infiltrating The Seers.

He was?

She laid her eyes back on her friend, his frail and ravaged body teetering on an all systems failure. Patel, the practical, timid, unthreatening, sort of bitchy man who she’d known for all this time was actually some sort of Indian James Bond?

Who was he working for?

He wouldn’t say, my darling. He was worried that he’d already been compromised. He wore a different mask for so long, playing the role of one The Seers.

So The Seers not only steal money from wrestlers-

They “help” manage their careers too- - in very special circumstances.

What was so special about my circumstance?

That’s what Patel was trying to figure out- but he knew it involved Graves, and something even further behind the shadows, something more sinister. She pauses as Dolly is entrenched, waiting for her to finish the thought a blood cult of the rich and the powerful in wrestling. The elite. The Seers… this is not at all how we remember that conversation, (The Seer, The Sage, and The Sadist) but how would Dolly know? She was in the middle of chakra hypnosis just before the explosion. Which might beg us to wonder:

Why?   

To mold the world as they see fit, they “see” by altering a wrestlers motives, and their instincts, guiding them away from what their- your- universe was telling you my, dear. They predict your every move by SEEING to it first hand that you move the way they’ll predict.

This is nonsense- i just- Dolly stamps past Maluna and opens the door I don't have it in me right now to listen to this… She starts motioning for Maluna to leave.

Muddled as it were, Dolly couldn’t help but feel a tremble, or a reverb from an echo deep within. She knows theres something to this, but Maluna was-

I was always right, my dear. Because I carried the whispers of your universe for you.

When I told you how to handle Corey Smith…

Leading up to the Universal Championship match last summer, she means,

I told you he wasn’t a friend. That his lies and manipulation needed to lay before his feet. But what did Patel tell you? …

never forget your friendships. They bring the true pride you’ll need to win
...never forget your friendships. They-        -the- pride you’ll need to win

They say in near unison,

That’s right… and what happened? You stepped to the side, without even a thank you, while he took your moment, your moment to bring justice.

Just as I told you to bring this justice to Graves, you followed Patel’s words, and look now, my darling. She caresses her hand against Dolly’s bald head. The Seers have pulled you down with the loons, away from your birthright.

[dolly]Please, Maluna, i cant-

-indeed, you can’t. They can, and they will-

Can what?

WILL kill you. It is your blood that is predicted, it’s what’s wagered by The Seers, promised up to their hideous benefactors. You, Dolly, and so many like you belong to a pack of blooddrunk cultists… and Patel was certain that your puppet master, the one who issued Patel’s orders to “see” you, the one he suspected had figured out Patel’s true identity, and thus would try and kill him?

Who… WHO?!

Vincent Lane

Dolly lowers her brow, her face flattening in a most condescending way towards Maluna,

Have you met Vinnie? He’s definitely not capable of something so

They just tried to kill you with a trash compactor! Maluna is sounding unusually combative And now what have they next for, Dolly?

A no disqualification match with tables, ladders and chair strewn across the arena….

See-

and it’s against Vinnie Lane

Maluna shrieks and grabs Dolly’s hand, tracing the tip of her index finger along the lines of the palm. She then shrieks again, this time Dolly shrieks too,

What dammit!?

We have to break the bond of your blood! It’s the only way you’ll overcome The Seers!

No!

Dolly jerks her hand away from Maluna, I’m not doing another stupid ritual with you. she looks over to Patel,

I made a promise! And I’m going to wrestle Vinnie just the way that Patel would’ve wanted me to- with professionalism, and class. Vinnie Lane is an old friend, and he would never try to harm me the way yer’ talking about. Now, if you don’t mind.
Dolly shows Maluna the door again,

I’m listening fer’ the echoes I can hear, Maluna. Not the ones yer’ hearing.

The door to Patel’s room closes in Maluna’s face as the scene fades.]]> <![CDATA[Redemption]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47680 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 23:54:41 -0700 HGH]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47680 "2023, well, that was a year full of ups and downs. Full of failures and triumphs. I was counted out by most, hell even looked over countless times. I have been at the lowest of lows and the highest of highs. The highest being winning the Anarchy title, only to have it stolen from me. Now i could ramble all day about that, but I'm not going to. Now the lowest of lows, well, that's a whole different can of worms. You see, I was content with being alone. Then all of a sudden I was in the mix with other people. We were collectively The End. Then, after that debacle Mastermind and his misfits, took it upon themselves to take me out. Now, there should have been some back up right? One would think. However, not a single person came out. So here I am sitting at home for months. While I'm sitting at home, issue after issue after issue pops up."


A spotlight comes on and HGH steps into the spotlight from the shadows.


"You see, I have sat at home for months dealing with injuries that piled up and from the beat down from the band of cowards. So, while I'm sitting at home I tune in and what do I see? Some guy coming in and winning the Anarchy title. I've never seen this guy, hell never even knew of his existence. Now, this motherfucker is holding on to MY title. Now, I had two options. Option one, cry, whine, bitch and moan. Option two, take my happy ass to rehab and collect my thoughts over what needs to be done. Make no mistake Mr. Parker, when we meet inside that ring.. all hell will be unleashed."


"It's no secret, having that title stolen from me was one of the most devastating moments of my career.  Come Revelry, Mr. Parker, you will be the unfortunate soul in my way to reclaiming what is rightfully mine. You may think you have everything in the bag that I'm just your run of the mill guy. I assure you, I AM NOT! You will find out that there is absolutely nothing I won't do to bring that title back where it truly belongs."


"Sean, what you need to realize is, you may have had a really good run. You may have been a great champion, but that all changes at Revelry. I don't care what you have to say, I don't care what you do. The fact of the matter is this, two of us will walk into this match, but only one will walk out. Now, don't get your hopes up and count this as a victory my man. No, no, no, what you can do is shine that belt up real nice. Make sure that I will see myself once I am holding it once again."



"I've been to the mountain top before, that was a high I'll never forget. So much so, that I was addicted. Addicted to the fact that I was recognized as the best on this show, but you know what they say..the higher you climb the further and harder the fall. Well Sean, buddy ol' pal, HGH has hit rock fucking bottom and now I'm coming straight back to the top. You see, you may think you know what you are in store for. I assure you the HGH you see in that ring will be nothing you may have seen. The HGH you face, well, he's the guy that is hungrier, healthier, more motivated and last but not least way more pissed off version that no one has seen before. I'm not coming in to shake hands and kiss the babies, fuck that! I'm coming for one thing, that is to end your reign as the Anarchy champion and take my rightful place at the top of the mountain. I have sat at home eager to come back, I have slipped into the darkest of places that one could go. Each and every time I have gone to this dark place, one thing was made abundantly clear. No matter where I go, who I face. When the dust has settled and I have my hand raised wrongs will be right. Ill see you at the Revelry."

"HI!"]]> "2023, well, that was a year full of ups and downs. Full of failures and triumphs. I was counted out by most, hell even looked over countless times. I have been at the lowest of lows and the highest of highs. The highest being winning the Anarchy title, only to have it stolen from me. Now i could ramble all day about that, but I'm not going to. Now the lowest of lows, well, that's a whole different can of worms. You see, I was content with being alone. Then all of a sudden I was in the mix with other people. We were collectively The End. Then, after that debacle Mastermind and his misfits, took it upon themselves to take me out. Now, there should have been some back up right? One would think. However, not a single person came out. So here I am sitting at home for months. While I'm sitting at home, issue after issue after issue pops up."


A spotlight comes on and HGH steps into the spotlight from the shadows.


"You see, I have sat at home for months dealing with injuries that piled up and from the beat down from the band of cowards. So, while I'm sitting at home I tune in and what do I see? Some guy coming in and winning the Anarchy title. I've never seen this guy, hell never even knew of his existence. Now, this motherfucker is holding on to MY title. Now, I had two options. Option one, cry, whine, bitch and moan. Option two, take my happy ass to rehab and collect my thoughts over what needs to be done. Make no mistake Mr. Parker, when we meet inside that ring.. all hell will be unleashed."


"It's no secret, having that title stolen from me was one of the most devastating moments of my career.  Come Revelry, Mr. Parker, you will be the unfortunate soul in my way to reclaiming what is rightfully mine. You may think you have everything in the bag that I'm just your run of the mill guy. I assure you, I AM NOT! You will find out that there is absolutely nothing I won't do to bring that title back where it truly belongs."


"Sean, what you need to realize is, you may have had a really good run. You may have been a great champion, but that all changes at Revelry. I don't care what you have to say, I don't care what you do. The fact of the matter is this, two of us will walk into this match, but only one will walk out. Now, don't get your hopes up and count this as a victory my man. No, no, no, what you can do is shine that belt up real nice. Make sure that I will see myself once I am holding it once again."



"I've been to the mountain top before, that was a high I'll never forget. So much so, that I was addicted. Addicted to the fact that I was recognized as the best on this show, but you know what they say..the higher you climb the further and harder the fall. Well Sean, buddy ol' pal, HGH has hit rock fucking bottom and now I'm coming straight back to the top. You see, you may think you know what you are in store for. I assure you the HGH you see in that ring will be nothing you may have seen. The HGH you face, well, he's the guy that is hungrier, healthier, more motivated and last but not least way more pissed off version that no one has seen before. I'm not coming in to shake hands and kiss the babies, fuck that! I'm coming for one thing, that is to end your reign as the Anarchy champion and take my rightful place at the top of the mountain. I have sat at home eager to come back, I have slipped into the darkest of places that one could go. Each and every time I have gone to this dark place, one thing was made abundantly clear. No matter where I go, who I face. When the dust has settled and I have my hand raised wrongs will be right. Ill see you at the Revelry."

"HI!"]]> <![CDATA[A Spark in a Storm Cloud]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47678 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 23:39:44 -0700 Ned Kaye]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47678 A Spark in a Stormcloud


Droplets of rain stuck to the window of Ned’s cramped apartment, refracting the dreary skyline as its image cascaded through each drop. He looked down the TV tray before him, gripping the lid of a ramen cup and tearing it off completely, noticing the condensation fixed to its underside as steam bellowed from the container. The broth was a deep crimson.

The images crept into his head. Isaiah’s hand on the knife. His inability to stop King from nearly killing a man. And looming over it all was Isaiah’s father, gleeful at the chance to watch Crucible’s hands stain with blood.

Twirling a fork in his fingers, Ned slowly began to slurp the soup, looking to a shelf at his side while he ate. A few replica belts of the titles he had managed to win the XWF, sitting aside his Tag Team Championship. But sitting in front of it was a picture, framed with the glare of the lightbulb above him obscuring its contents. Reaching over, Ned stared at the image, smiling with a bittersweet nostalgia. His winning War Games team, himself, Mark, Isaiah, Crash, Erwin, and…

He placed the picture back, content to allow the glare to hide its image. He had barely spoken to Mark in months. For all their attempts to help Isaiah go down a greater path, they had only succeeded in enabling his worst impulses and preparing him as a tool in the game of a manipulator. Building a weapon for the hands of his father. When Ned closed his eyes, he could still feel the stains burn into his skin, hot on his palms. Like a sin that branded you as you committed it. He looked into the cup, seeing his reflection in the brother, muted but focused upon him.

He picked up the largely unfinished ramen cup, draining it before tossing it in the trash.

His appetite had subsided.

His gaze shifted towards the door, noticing a fancy envelope crammed underneath it. The red, velvety texture of the paper softly brushed his fingertips as he held it, unsealing the letter and looking at its contents.

An invitation to Orun. From the man who loomed over him and Isaiah.

From Senior.


The plastic wheels of Ned’s suitcase hissed as they dragged along the airport’s flooring. Just the brief glimpses of Orun were meant to be majestic. Carefully selected scenes of the skyscrapers and the Great Tree overlooking all. There was an insistence on futurism, a sort of glazed over smile on the faces of those Ned passed. And, of course, every little place he looked, a small camera lens recording the people underneath. He’d occasionally stare at one for long enough to find that it lost all the detached disassociation of a mere machine. All they became were more eyes for the man who beckoned Ned here. As he stepped out, he was surrounded by the flora attached to each lumbering mass of metal, his attention only briefly on those traversing using the trees themselves and some… other means. Then his gaze turned downwards, to those stuck traversing beneath the immaculate image of a utopia, held in place by a man with hands that spilt more blood than Ned could if he had a dozen lifetimes to reconsider.

His nails dug into his palm. Despite nature being stapled to the sides of Orun’s buildings, it felt as equally constrained as the most congested parts of New York. The city he loved, that he and Isaiah called home, was days away now. For the first time in a long time, Ned felt alone.

“Beautiful sight, ain’t it?” The King of Orun stood next to Ned, admiring the view with a surprisingly soft few words. His presence was undeniable, the gold adorning his outfit adding a fitting nobility to his each subtle movement. Lesser men had been caught in its sheer gravity.

For all of The King’s disapproval of Ned, he was not a lesser man.

“Why am I here?” Ned’s voice was more sharp than usual. He had no love for the man standing next to him, who had so rapidly discarded the idea of morality on its merits in the face of power’s seeming divinity. His eyes only turned to The King’s after hearing him stifle a hearty laugh.

“Sounds like a question for your own damn self,” He answered, twisting around and motioning for Kaye to follow him with a raised hand. It was only a few paces until his walk was once again interrupted by Ned, feet still as he stared down Senior.

“You tell me why you invited me here or I leave now.”

The King half-snorted, almost amused by the small “outburst” by his guest. His red eyes, glowing like embers around empty pits, trained on Ned, his footsteps carrying with the weight of the throne associated with him until he stood face to face with Ned.

“You bring greatness out of my son, Ned. Might roll my eyes at the method, swear to God you don’t have the balls to follow through or hunker down, but you get results. In another life, you’re the kind of man I’d have by his side until death. So, take the compliment, enjoy Orun, and be my guest.”

Ned stayed silent, his disapproval spoken through the air between them. The King grit his teeth slightly.

“Jackass. Stupid kid. When are you going to get that this is what he’s being molded for? That this is what Adeyemi is meant to be? This is more than just his home, kid, this is his birthright! It’s what he needs.”

“If that’s so,” Ned spoke as he walked forward, past the mighty King, “then where was it until now?”

It didn’t take long for Ned to find his room, without the personal help of the royal family, of course.


Revelry.

A term of abundance. Of raucous feasts and glorious indulgence.

Of Gods.

The light trickled in through the windows of Orun’s throne room, draping across Isaiah’s face, scars that existed purely in the presence of shadow. He came here every morning to gaze at the seat he strived to fill. The one he’d yet to earn. A stifled air haunted the palace, its spirit overseeing Isaiah. As if every eye in Orun was waiting for him to falter. To fall to the wayside and feast like buzzards on the carcass.

Scavenging was the language of weak predators.

And the Prince of Orun did not speak in a cowardly tongue.

A servant came up, informing Isaiah of the welcoming dinner for their guest of honor. He gave a nod, placing a hand on the throne, feeling the chilled metal cool his fingers, leaving a dissipating mark once his touch retreated. Now was not a time to covet, but to lead.

The dining table had been set and filled with a plethora of fine cuisine as Isaiah entered the room. His father sat at the end of the table, his watchful gaze inspecting the food for any imperfections. He gave his son a smile, pleased by his punctuality. It was hard for Isaiah to see too far into the mind of his elder. Even with a bare face, he kept so much behind a mask. A careful collection of traits and behaviors all strategically chosen, but occasionally revealed a portrait of the man beneath them.

What that portrait even meant was anyone’s damn guess.

His head shot to the side as Ned walked into the room, escorted by one of today’s waitstaff. A greeting feast wasn’t a common occurrence in Orun, but there were figures who had earned it. Why Ned Kaye of all people was determined to be on that list was anyone’s guess. A few glasses of wine were poured and distributed across the table. Ned, despite his goody-two-shoes behavior seemed to carry a different energy when in the presence of Isaiah’s father. It was that killer’s instinct. That undying devotion to conviction.

“I’ll pass, thank you,” Ned politely informed the butler placing the wine next to his plate, giving The King a moment of pause.

“Do you really think me coward enough to slip some poison in your glass?” His question shot off with a slight chuckle at Ned’s presumed caution.

“I don’t drink. Alcohol and I don’t… get along well,” Ned answered, keeping his tone careful.

“Ah, well, we still have quite the selection for you,” He gestured across the table displaying the menagerie of dishes, “feel free to enjoy those to your heart’s content.”[/red][/font]

“Unless you’re too used to eating that cup shit to enjoy real food,” Isaiah quipped, getting a mouthful of soup.

The three men filled their plates, the uneasy air between them feeling tenser by the moment. Ned looked down to the soup in front of him, his reflection in the broth.

“So, do you greet everyone like this or is the occasion special?” Ned asked, still uneasy about The King’s intentions.

“My son has to learn how to rule conclusively. Decisively. And in your wrestling company, you two reign together. If he’s going to be living here, then it’s in my interest to make accommodations.”

“So, you want me here only to push Isaiah forward. Did you ask him?” Ned questioned.

“Does that sound to you like ruling decisively?” The King answered with an inquiry of his own before adding, “I don’t have to like you to respect you. I see you hesitate and let vermin live and you’re still the kind of man that’s pushed my son this far. So, yes, I think you deserve the courtesy. And the guidance, frankly.”

Ned slowly ate at a steak, placing a small portion in his mouth before responding, “I’m not interested. My father gave me just about all he could before he died.”[/color][/font]

“And what did that leave you with? A kingdom? A throne?”

“A childhood.” Ned answered.

The King leaned over, almost intimidatingly after Ned’s words left him. Everything was still for a few long moments before the king snapped his fingers.

“The chef,” he ordered.

The chef was dragged before them. The King lifted the steak off Ned’s plate, crushing it in his hands and letting the juices flow down his arm.

“You see this slop you give my guests? Well done? You kill that animal twice and serve it to me?”

The pleading of the chef filled the dining hall.

“Let’s get out of here,” Isaiah said to Ned, somewhat directing him out as they saw The King’s boot crush the hand of the chef for such a profane display. Tough, but fair he repeated, in a tone that felt like a mockery of justice to Ned.

Tough, but fair.


Walking on the streets of Orun was a solemn experience. Where most merely used the technology of the country to easily transport, the old methods seem reserved for the unable and unwilling. It seemed that The prince couldn’t walk more than a few paces without catching a few glares. Some of inspiration and respect and others of disdain. A resentment for blood’s sake. The two traveled carefully, feeling the wind swirl around them as the glowing neon blues glittered across their skin.

“So, they’re opposed to your father being able to rule with an iron fist?” Ned asked. He and Isaiah hadn’t spoken much about the internal politics of Orun for a myriad of reasons, but he could at least make an attempt to understand the intricacies at play.

“That’s one way of putting it. They think us weak, Ned. Pushovers when a stronger bloodline would hold this place together better than we can,” He answered as he accepted a small gift from a denizen passing by. An intricate bracelet, fashioned in the crest of his family, made by someone he’d never met, a young girl. He saw generosity and comfort in her eyes. But it was Ned who saw the desperation in approval. The fear in its antithesis.

“So, they only think ruling with an iron fist is a bad thing when other people are doing it? Some rebellion,” Ned quipped, frowning a bit as he saw the young lady scurry off, retreating from the second most powerful man by law here.

Isaiah's lip contorted, the regal wear adorning his shoulders glimmering in the light afforded to them, “Why do you have to make everything some big fuckin' charity case? We make tough decisions and you can’t handle it! We secure power so the irresponsible don’t come here and do all the real nasty shit and all you can do is sit back and complain!”

“Yeah, I do!” Ned spat back, becoming impatient with Isaiah’s increasing comfort this worship afforded him, “Somebody has to voice some disapproval considering no one else can!”

“That’s how we get peace, Ned! People are happy, living their fullest lives, but you just gotta have it your way or it's some tyranny all of a damn sudden!” Isaiah stood in Ned’s path, staring Kaye down with the same intensity that his father showed prior in the day.

Ned exhaled, the huff of heated air almost burning his mouth as it traveled past his lips, “So, this is fine with you? All of this is just hunky dory because there are no complaints, even though nobody’s allowed to complain?!”

“You always fall back on that hero shit, Ned,” Isaiah’s words stabbed back at Ned, “You say fuck it and let the bad men make the decisions because for you, good is being too chickenshit to step in!”

“God forbid I show a little patience! That I don’t just throw myself into every situation like a hammer trying to smash everything beneath me! A man is on death’s door because I chose to follow beside you and he’s only alive because I stepped in the way when it counted! You know, for all you gain in haste, you lose in sleep! But that doesn’t matter, as long as there’s some kingdom to listen to you unconditionally, huh?”

“Why do you keep acting like I wanna be worshiped, motherfucker?!” Isaiah’s voice boomed off the walls, like thunder reverberating amongst the trees.

“Maybe because you decided to start preparing for the Revelry by indulging in every little damn treat you can find! Because you’d rather spit bars on the radio than grab back the most important prize in this sport! You gallivant here and talk about how it’s home, but what would Ezekiel think of Orun?”

“How fucking dare you say that man’s name?” Isaiah clutched Ned by the collar of his shirt staring into his eyes hatefully. This man- this Ned Kaye who placed all of this shit in his head. None of that made Isaiah who he was? It was this. It was this path that brought him to the top…

Wasn’t it?

Ned needn’t speak a word. Through all this, Isaiah hadn’t taken a moment to truly mourn his friend. To miss a man he loved like a brother. To think what he would have wanted for Isaiah. Not as a prince, but a man. He released Ned and continued onward. Kaye’s footsteps did not follow him as he disappeared into his new home.

Finally mourning an old friend.


There's a deep seated hatred I have.


It burns deep within me, making my skin crawl and my stomach churn.


It's the feeling I get as I gaze upon the masses, living blissfully in delusion of their station.

It's the feeling I get as I watch those with dopey smiles on their faces and hearts never broken.

It's the feeling I get as I see the foolish stumble into glory.

I hate the unprepared.

I hate those who can't see what they have right on their doorstep.

I hate those who expect to be handed glory… and actually get it.

Razor and LaToya, I hate you.

I hate that you stand at the cusp of glory after having faced defeat.

I hate that you stand as our challengers when you've proven yourself to nobody, not your fans,
not your employers, not your parents… not yourselves.

I hate that you are rewarded for lackluster failure when.

I hate you.

I hate the way you walk, I hate the way you talk, I hate the way you pretend like you've earned
your place at the top.

I mean, don't get me wrong.

I love your passion, I love your energy, I love that you seek to bring more eyes to the ring.

But my dear friends, put some work in before you demand and… Get awarded, a shot at the tag
champs.

Sit and bleed before you try and stand in limelight you didn't deserve.

Razor.

LaToya.

You both have a world of work to put in before either of you can dance this jig for gold.
Ned and I, we know we're uncontested. We know there are the whispers of new tags in the
mix… But none who seem keen to face a new challenge.

The Blacks, for all their bravado and sense of superiority, would rather play house with the
Bastards than come for gold.

Pantheon would rather revel in momentary pops that out the work in, in the XWF.

Where's the League? Where's Waters and Duke? Where are the people who claim to be…
PEOPLE?

We had a little resurgence only to have it die down.

We filled the twitterverse, only to have to calm down.

You're going to stick us with a walking shit show and the American Dream and expect to sell
tickets? Cmon Theo, maybe it's time I stuck a boot in your ass? Maybe then you'd summon your
kings and give us a challenge worth sweating for.

You're sweet, really…

But I think it's time we brought some drama to these championships.

So how about any of you with more than a pair of balls between the two… show yourself on
Sunday?

Why not you stick your necks in the ring during our match?

Why not risk getting guillotined, elbowed, sent to oblivion? And show Ned and I that there is a
division worth purifying?

One full of impurities worth putting through the furnace?

A speck of gold worth purifying in our crucible?

Because right now, it just feels like these titles are worth nothing… Like this division is being
whored out to fill a card…

Like there's a clown running the show.

We are Crucible, and we need some real heat to make us grow, not the lukewarm bullshit you're
throwing at us.

America will only mourn the death of its dream this Sunday, and in its wake, I pray there will be
another to walk.




“What does it mean to stand for something? For an idea?”

“For a country?”

“I ask, Razor, because it is one of the only things you truly claim to do. You slap the word American next to your name like you’re running for an election each time you open your mouth. And, of course, you always make sure to add something like how Latoya and you were going to best the Bastards at Star Warfare. How you were going to tear through them and then beat the holly hell out of Isaiah and I. Well? How’d that go for you?”

“See, unlike my partner, I don’t hate you. I think you seem a decent fellow, but your words lack impact. Weight. Meaning. Sharp name, dull speeches. All flat, no points.  You come out here running down a list of words you think people want to hear like your country and heritage puts you on a winning team. And it’s easy to get mad at you, to see the way you contort that label you insist putting on yourself: “American.” I’d give you the nightmare part, but Blade, you’re a weak night’s sleep at worst. So, you trot around with this limp patriotism and you think that makes you someone. That it gives you a story. A path and a purpose. But what do you really have? A routine of walking in that ring and incomprehensibly yapping about Isaiah and I and this pay-per-view while you fall prey to the lesser threats of the tag division? What have you gone through in your life that hasn’t been at ringside, Blade? What’s truly there beneath the surface because all I see is catchphrases and capes. The laziest superhero act this side of Hollywood. And you’re convinced that you have this straight shot to these titles. These belts that epitomize collaboration. That speak to the spirit of this company in its purest form and what do you give us? What do you give your fans? Sit down interview after sit down interview where you might as well be playing soundbites off of your phone? A loss against the Bastards and a face full of mat against HGH? Being a professional wrestler means being vulnerable. Putting yourself on the line, letting your heart be dissected by hundreds of challengers and having to tear through the storm despite the fact! I give my heart everytime I dare to enter that ring and you can’t even find yours when you lift up a microphone. I don’t hate you, Razor. You’re not worth the intensity of such an emotion.”

“You disappoint me.”

“You spent so much time looking forward to this match that you didn’t pay attention to any of the steps on the way here and categorically tripped on each and every one, smiling with a mouth full of loose teeth about how you’ll climb to the top of the mountain when you can’t even keep even footing on the damn floor.”

“Crucible was founded on one truth: Isaiah and I are not content. We won the Universal Championship while we’ve reigned as the Tag Champs. There is no end point to where we stop striving to improve, to take down historically great tag teams and newcomers. We push one another to be more in and out of the ring! We face our problems head and on and we give ALL of ourselves to this sport! Every last ounce until there is nothing further to give! And you two waltz in and you’ve only given your names and you think that makes you a tag team. You think that makes you allies. I trust Isaiah with my life and he has rewarded that trust even if he struggles to understand it. He is a man worth falling beside in a battle. Discontent with the state of this company. This industry. With himself. And that drives him and me farther than you could ever comprehend. We are the bright light in a dark era. A spark in a storm cloud.”

“But you? You are content to spin your wheels with a partner who might even have less of herself to give than you. Latoya, I’m pretty certain that Taco has had more notable mentions in recent XWF programming. Centurion is about to put his career on the line and if he loses he will have more of a presence in professional wrestling than you do right now. I cannot stress enough how the only note that I have on you is your name and it is more descriptive than anything you’ve ever shown us. If TK thinks I’m a ham sandwich, you’re an empty fucking wrapper.”

“And I’m not saying you two have to splay your life out in front of the public, but they can’t believe in you if you won’t give them a person they can believe in. You are two performers happy to show up, get beat, and wear a smile and a nod the very next day while providing non-answers to Steve Sayors. It takes two people to win these belts. To hold them with the honor and grace of the tag teams of history. To show the tenacity it requires to fight in the XWF.”

“Let me know when you’ve found one.”]]> A Spark in a Stormcloud


Droplets of rain stuck to the window of Ned’s cramped apartment, refracting the dreary skyline as its image cascaded through each drop. He looked down the TV tray before him, gripping the lid of a ramen cup and tearing it off completely, noticing the condensation fixed to its underside as steam bellowed from the container. The broth was a deep crimson.

The images crept into his head. Isaiah’s hand on the knife. His inability to stop King from nearly killing a man. And looming over it all was Isaiah’s father, gleeful at the chance to watch Crucible’s hands stain with blood.

Twirling a fork in his fingers, Ned slowly began to slurp the soup, looking to a shelf at his side while he ate. A few replica belts of the titles he had managed to win the XWF, sitting aside his Tag Team Championship. But sitting in front of it was a picture, framed with the glare of the lightbulb above him obscuring its contents. Reaching over, Ned stared at the image, smiling with a bittersweet nostalgia. His winning War Games team, himself, Mark, Isaiah, Crash, Erwin, and…

He placed the picture back, content to allow the glare to hide its image. He had barely spoken to Mark in months. For all their attempts to help Isaiah go down a greater path, they had only succeeded in enabling his worst impulses and preparing him as a tool in the game of a manipulator. Building a weapon for the hands of his father. When Ned closed his eyes, he could still feel the stains burn into his skin, hot on his palms. Like a sin that branded you as you committed it. He looked into the cup, seeing his reflection in the brother, muted but focused upon him.

He picked up the largely unfinished ramen cup, draining it before tossing it in the trash.

His appetite had subsided.

His gaze shifted towards the door, noticing a fancy envelope crammed underneath it. The red, velvety texture of the paper softly brushed his fingertips as he held it, unsealing the letter and looking at its contents.

An invitation to Orun. From the man who loomed over him and Isaiah.

From Senior.


The plastic wheels of Ned’s suitcase hissed as they dragged along the airport’s flooring. Just the brief glimpses of Orun were meant to be majestic. Carefully selected scenes of the skyscrapers and the Great Tree overlooking all. There was an insistence on futurism, a sort of glazed over smile on the faces of those Ned passed. And, of course, every little place he looked, a small camera lens recording the people underneath. He’d occasionally stare at one for long enough to find that it lost all the detached disassociation of a mere machine. All they became were more eyes for the man who beckoned Ned here. As he stepped out, he was surrounded by the flora attached to each lumbering mass of metal, his attention only briefly on those traversing using the trees themselves and some… other means. Then his gaze turned downwards, to those stuck traversing beneath the immaculate image of a utopia, held in place by a man with hands that spilt more blood than Ned could if he had a dozen lifetimes to reconsider.

His nails dug into his palm. Despite nature being stapled to the sides of Orun’s buildings, it felt as equally constrained as the most congested parts of New York. The city he loved, that he and Isaiah called home, was days away now. For the first time in a long time, Ned felt alone.

“Beautiful sight, ain’t it?” The King of Orun stood next to Ned, admiring the view with a surprisingly soft few words. His presence was undeniable, the gold adorning his outfit adding a fitting nobility to his each subtle movement. Lesser men had been caught in its sheer gravity.

For all of The King’s disapproval of Ned, he was not a lesser man.

“Why am I here?” Ned’s voice was more sharp than usual. He had no love for the man standing next to him, who had so rapidly discarded the idea of morality on its merits in the face of power’s seeming divinity. His eyes only turned to The King’s after hearing him stifle a hearty laugh.

“Sounds like a question for your own damn self,” He answered, twisting around and motioning for Kaye to follow him with a raised hand. It was only a few paces until his walk was once again interrupted by Ned, feet still as he stared down Senior.

“You tell me why you invited me here or I leave now.”

The King half-snorted, almost amused by the small “outburst” by his guest. His red eyes, glowing like embers around empty pits, trained on Ned, his footsteps carrying with the weight of the throne associated with him until he stood face to face with Ned.

“You bring greatness out of my son, Ned. Might roll my eyes at the method, swear to God you don’t have the balls to follow through or hunker down, but you get results. In another life, you’re the kind of man I’d have by his side until death. So, take the compliment, enjoy Orun, and be my guest.”

Ned stayed silent, his disapproval spoken through the air between them. The King grit his teeth slightly.

“Jackass. Stupid kid. When are you going to get that this is what he’s being molded for? That this is what Adeyemi is meant to be? This is more than just his home, kid, this is his birthright! It’s what he needs.”

“If that’s so,” Ned spoke as he walked forward, past the mighty King, “then where was it until now?”

It didn’t take long for Ned to find his room, without the personal help of the royal family, of course.


Revelry.

A term of abundance. Of raucous feasts and glorious indulgence.

Of Gods.

The light trickled in through the windows of Orun’s throne room, draping across Isaiah’s face, scars that existed purely in the presence of shadow. He came here every morning to gaze at the seat he strived to fill. The one he’d yet to earn. A stifled air haunted the palace, its spirit overseeing Isaiah. As if every eye in Orun was waiting for him to falter. To fall to the wayside and feast like buzzards on the carcass.

Scavenging was the language of weak predators.

And the Prince of Orun did not speak in a cowardly tongue.

A servant came up, informing Isaiah of the welcoming dinner for their guest of honor. He gave a nod, placing a hand on the throne, feeling the chilled metal cool his fingers, leaving a dissipating mark once his touch retreated. Now was not a time to covet, but to lead.

The dining table had been set and filled with a plethora of fine cuisine as Isaiah entered the room. His father sat at the end of the table, his watchful gaze inspecting the food for any imperfections. He gave his son a smile, pleased by his punctuality. It was hard for Isaiah to see too far into the mind of his elder. Even with a bare face, he kept so much behind a mask. A careful collection of traits and behaviors all strategically chosen, but occasionally revealed a portrait of the man beneath them.

What that portrait even meant was anyone’s damn guess.

His head shot to the side as Ned walked into the room, escorted by one of today’s waitstaff. A greeting feast wasn’t a common occurrence in Orun, but there were figures who had earned it. Why Ned Kaye of all people was determined to be on that list was anyone’s guess. A few glasses of wine were poured and distributed across the table. Ned, despite his goody-two-shoes behavior seemed to carry a different energy when in the presence of Isaiah’s father. It was that killer’s instinct. That undying devotion to conviction.

“I’ll pass, thank you,” Ned politely informed the butler placing the wine next to his plate, giving The King a moment of pause.

“Do you really think me coward enough to slip some poison in your glass?” His question shot off with a slight chuckle at Ned’s presumed caution.

“I don’t drink. Alcohol and I don’t… get along well,” Ned answered, keeping his tone careful.

“Ah, well, we still have quite the selection for you,” He gestured across the table displaying the menagerie of dishes, “feel free to enjoy those to your heart’s content.”[/red][/font]

“Unless you’re too used to eating that cup shit to enjoy real food,” Isaiah quipped, getting a mouthful of soup.

The three men filled their plates, the uneasy air between them feeling tenser by the moment. Ned looked down to the soup in front of him, his reflection in the broth.

“So, do you greet everyone like this or is the occasion special?” Ned asked, still uneasy about The King’s intentions.

“My son has to learn how to rule conclusively. Decisively. And in your wrestling company, you two reign together. If he’s going to be living here, then it’s in my interest to make accommodations.”

“So, you want me here only to push Isaiah forward. Did you ask him?” Ned questioned.

“Does that sound to you like ruling decisively?” The King answered with an inquiry of his own before adding, “I don’t have to like you to respect you. I see you hesitate and let vermin live and you’re still the kind of man that’s pushed my son this far. So, yes, I think you deserve the courtesy. And the guidance, frankly.”

Ned slowly ate at a steak, placing a small portion in his mouth before responding, “I’m not interested. My father gave me just about all he could before he died.”[/color][/font]

“And what did that leave you with? A kingdom? A throne?”

“A childhood.” Ned answered.

The King leaned over, almost intimidatingly after Ned’s words left him. Everything was still for a few long moments before the king snapped his fingers.

“The chef,” he ordered.

The chef was dragged before them. The King lifted the steak off Ned’s plate, crushing it in his hands and letting the juices flow down his arm.

“You see this slop you give my guests? Well done? You kill that animal twice and serve it to me?”

The pleading of the chef filled the dining hall.

“Let’s get out of here,” Isaiah said to Ned, somewhat directing him out as they saw The King’s boot crush the hand of the chef for such a profane display. Tough, but fair he repeated, in a tone that felt like a mockery of justice to Ned.

Tough, but fair.


Walking on the streets of Orun was a solemn experience. Where most merely used the technology of the country to easily transport, the old methods seem reserved for the unable and unwilling. It seemed that The prince couldn’t walk more than a few paces without catching a few glares. Some of inspiration and respect and others of disdain. A resentment for blood’s sake. The two traveled carefully, feeling the wind swirl around them as the glowing neon blues glittered across their skin.

“So, they’re opposed to your father being able to rule with an iron fist?” Ned asked. He and Isaiah hadn’t spoken much about the internal politics of Orun for a myriad of reasons, but he could at least make an attempt to understand the intricacies at play.

“That’s one way of putting it. They think us weak, Ned. Pushovers when a stronger bloodline would hold this place together better than we can,” He answered as he accepted a small gift from a denizen passing by. An intricate bracelet, fashioned in the crest of his family, made by someone he’d never met, a young girl. He saw generosity and comfort in her eyes. But it was Ned who saw the desperation in approval. The fear in its antithesis.

“So, they only think ruling with an iron fist is a bad thing when other people are doing it? Some rebellion,” Ned quipped, frowning a bit as he saw the young lady scurry off, retreating from the second most powerful man by law here.

Isaiah's lip contorted, the regal wear adorning his shoulders glimmering in the light afforded to them, “Why do you have to make everything some big fuckin' charity case? We make tough decisions and you can’t handle it! We secure power so the irresponsible don’t come here and do all the real nasty shit and all you can do is sit back and complain!”

“Yeah, I do!” Ned spat back, becoming impatient with Isaiah’s increasing comfort this worship afforded him, “Somebody has to voice some disapproval considering no one else can!”

“That’s how we get peace, Ned! People are happy, living their fullest lives, but you just gotta have it your way or it's some tyranny all of a damn sudden!” Isaiah stood in Ned’s path, staring Kaye down with the same intensity that his father showed prior in the day.

Ned exhaled, the huff of heated air almost burning his mouth as it traveled past his lips, “So, this is fine with you? All of this is just hunky dory because there are no complaints, even though nobody’s allowed to complain?!”

“You always fall back on that hero shit, Ned,” Isaiah’s words stabbed back at Ned, “You say fuck it and let the bad men make the decisions because for you, good is being too chickenshit to step in!”

“God forbid I show a little patience! That I don’t just throw myself into every situation like a hammer trying to smash everything beneath me! A man is on death’s door because I chose to follow beside you and he’s only alive because I stepped in the way when it counted! You know, for all you gain in haste, you lose in sleep! But that doesn’t matter, as long as there’s some kingdom to listen to you unconditionally, huh?”

“Why do you keep acting like I wanna be worshiped, motherfucker?!” Isaiah’s voice boomed off the walls, like thunder reverberating amongst the trees.

“Maybe because you decided to start preparing for the Revelry by indulging in every little damn treat you can find! Because you’d rather spit bars on the radio than grab back the most important prize in this sport! You gallivant here and talk about how it’s home, but what would Ezekiel think of Orun?”

“How fucking dare you say that man’s name?” Isaiah clutched Ned by the collar of his shirt staring into his eyes hatefully. This man- this Ned Kaye who placed all of this shit in his head. None of that made Isaiah who he was? It was this. It was this path that brought him to the top…

Wasn’t it?

Ned needn’t speak a word. Through all this, Isaiah hadn’t taken a moment to truly mourn his friend. To miss a man he loved like a brother. To think what he would have wanted for Isaiah. Not as a prince, but a man. He released Ned and continued onward. Kaye’s footsteps did not follow him as he disappeared into his new home.

Finally mourning an old friend.


There's a deep seated hatred I have.


It burns deep within me, making my skin crawl and my stomach churn.


It's the feeling I get as I gaze upon the masses, living blissfully in delusion of their station.

It's the feeling I get as I watch those with dopey smiles on their faces and hearts never broken.

It's the feeling I get as I see the foolish stumble into glory.

I hate the unprepared.

I hate those who can't see what they have right on their doorstep.

I hate those who expect to be handed glory… and actually get it.

Razor and LaToya, I hate you.

I hate that you stand at the cusp of glory after having faced defeat.

I hate that you stand as our challengers when you've proven yourself to nobody, not your fans,
not your employers, not your parents… not yourselves.

I hate that you are rewarded for lackluster failure when.

I hate you.

I hate the way you walk, I hate the way you talk, I hate the way you pretend like you've earned
your place at the top.

I mean, don't get me wrong.

I love your passion, I love your energy, I love that you seek to bring more eyes to the ring.

But my dear friends, put some work in before you demand and… Get awarded, a shot at the tag
champs.

Sit and bleed before you try and stand in limelight you didn't deserve.

Razor.

LaToya.

You both have a world of work to put in before either of you can dance this jig for gold.
Ned and I, we know we're uncontested. We know there are the whispers of new tags in the
mix… But none who seem keen to face a new challenge.

The Blacks, for all their bravado and sense of superiority, would rather play house with the
Bastards than come for gold.

Pantheon would rather revel in momentary pops that out the work in, in the XWF.

Where's the League? Where's Waters and Duke? Where are the people who claim to be…
PEOPLE?

We had a little resurgence only to have it die down.

We filled the twitterverse, only to have to calm down.

You're going to stick us with a walking shit show and the American Dream and expect to sell
tickets? Cmon Theo, maybe it's time I stuck a boot in your ass? Maybe then you'd summon your
kings and give us a challenge worth sweating for.

You're sweet, really…

But I think it's time we brought some drama to these championships.

So how about any of you with more than a pair of balls between the two… show yourself on
Sunday?

Why not you stick your necks in the ring during our match?

Why not risk getting guillotined, elbowed, sent to oblivion? And show Ned and I that there is a
division worth purifying?

One full of impurities worth putting through the furnace?

A speck of gold worth purifying in our crucible?

Because right now, it just feels like these titles are worth nothing… Like this division is being
whored out to fill a card…

Like there's a clown running the show.

We are Crucible, and we need some real heat to make us grow, not the lukewarm bullshit you're
throwing at us.

America will only mourn the death of its dream this Sunday, and in its wake, I pray there will be
another to walk.




“What does it mean to stand for something? For an idea?”

“For a country?”

“I ask, Razor, because it is one of the only things you truly claim to do. You slap the word American next to your name like you’re running for an election each time you open your mouth. And, of course, you always make sure to add something like how Latoya and you were going to best the Bastards at Star Warfare. How you were going to tear through them and then beat the holly hell out of Isaiah and I. Well? How’d that go for you?”

“See, unlike my partner, I don’t hate you. I think you seem a decent fellow, but your words lack impact. Weight. Meaning. Sharp name, dull speeches. All flat, no points.  You come out here running down a list of words you think people want to hear like your country and heritage puts you on a winning team. And it’s easy to get mad at you, to see the way you contort that label you insist putting on yourself: “American.” I’d give you the nightmare part, but Blade, you’re a weak night’s sleep at worst. So, you trot around with this limp patriotism and you think that makes you someone. That it gives you a story. A path and a purpose. But what do you really have? A routine of walking in that ring and incomprehensibly yapping about Isaiah and I and this pay-per-view while you fall prey to the lesser threats of the tag division? What have you gone through in your life that hasn’t been at ringside, Blade? What’s truly there beneath the surface because all I see is catchphrases and capes. The laziest superhero act this side of Hollywood. And you’re convinced that you have this straight shot to these titles. These belts that epitomize collaboration. That speak to the spirit of this company in its purest form and what do you give us? What do you give your fans? Sit down interview after sit down interview where you might as well be playing soundbites off of your phone? A loss against the Bastards and a face full of mat against HGH? Being a professional wrestler means being vulnerable. Putting yourself on the line, letting your heart be dissected by hundreds of challengers and having to tear through the storm despite the fact! I give my heart everytime I dare to enter that ring and you can’t even find yours when you lift up a microphone. I don’t hate you, Razor. You’re not worth the intensity of such an emotion.”

“You disappoint me.”

“You spent so much time looking forward to this match that you didn’t pay attention to any of the steps on the way here and categorically tripped on each and every one, smiling with a mouth full of loose teeth about how you’ll climb to the top of the mountain when you can’t even keep even footing on the damn floor.”

“Crucible was founded on one truth: Isaiah and I are not content. We won the Universal Championship while we’ve reigned as the Tag Champs. There is no end point to where we stop striving to improve, to take down historically great tag teams and newcomers. We push one another to be more in and out of the ring! We face our problems head and on and we give ALL of ourselves to this sport! Every last ounce until there is nothing further to give! And you two waltz in and you’ve only given your names and you think that makes you a tag team. You think that makes you allies. I trust Isaiah with my life and he has rewarded that trust even if he struggles to understand it. He is a man worth falling beside in a battle. Discontent with the state of this company. This industry. With himself. And that drives him and me farther than you could ever comprehend. We are the bright light in a dark era. A spark in a storm cloud.”

“But you? You are content to spin your wheels with a partner who might even have less of herself to give than you. Latoya, I’m pretty certain that Taco has had more notable mentions in recent XWF programming. Centurion is about to put his career on the line and if he loses he will have more of a presence in professional wrestling than you do right now. I cannot stress enough how the only note that I have on you is your name and it is more descriptive than anything you’ve ever shown us. If TK thinks I’m a ham sandwich, you’re an empty fucking wrapper.”

“And I’m not saying you two have to splay your life out in front of the public, but they can’t believe in you if you won’t give them a person they can believe in. You are two performers happy to show up, get beat, and wear a smile and a nod the very next day while providing non-answers to Steve Sayors. It takes two people to win these belts. To hold them with the honor and grace of the tag teams of history. To show the tenacity it requires to fight in the XWF.”

“Let me know when you’ve found one.”]]> <![CDATA[It's Always a Gimmick]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47679 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 22:48:27 -0700 Corey Black]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47679 It's Always a Gimmick]]> It's Always a Gimmick]]> <![CDATA[Operation Mount Tater]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47664 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 22:02:40 -0700 Thunder Knuckles™]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47664



Jimmy and one of Bobby’s Bourbon Men, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, have devised a plan to get Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon back into top shape for another shot at the Tag Team Championships. They've codenamed it: Operation Mount Tater. They pitched it as a money-making internet challenge, confident that they'd fall for it and get the results they needed. This is where we catch up with Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon, who stand at the base of a mountain, its peak can't be seen due to the fog. Both men look at the path ahead, it's steep and treacherous. Instantly, Thunder Knuckles wants to give up because he knows the challenge ahead, he is carrying a heavy burlap sack filled with potatoes. Bobby Bourbon, on the other hand, grips a single potato in his hand, looking at it like it stole his dog.

"This is ridiculous," Bobby grumbles, tossing the potato up and catching it. "Why do I only get one while you get to carry the whole sack?"

Thunder Knuckles chuckles, adjusting the weight on his back. "Consider it a fucking meteor, Bobby. Sometimes we carry more than our fair share, and sometimes we only need to focus on one goddamn thing. Besides, you know you’re stronger than you look."

Bobby raises an eyebrow,  "And what's this supposed to teach us, wise Bastard of spuds?"

Thunder Knuckles shrugs, making Warstien fans jealous that they no longer get to see their hero on XWF programming. "That sometimes, we need to fucking challenge ourselves. And sometimes, we just need to support each other, damn it."

With that, they begin their climb. The early part of the TRIAD trail is relatively easy. A small incline through a dense forest. Despite this, the weight of the sack makes Thunder Knuckles' steps deliberate and heavy. Bobby, meanwhile, strolls with ease, occasionally tossing his potato from hand to hand. With a rhyme in his heart, Bobby begins to bust out into bars.

One potato, two potato, three potato, four.
But math is for nerds and I find it a bore
We handle our business like we’re doing a chore
Time to take out the garbage before it spills on the floor
We rock the earth beneath us like we got bombs for the war
From the mountain top to shore to shore
We dominate the seas, the skies, and even more
Intergalactic, interdimensional, in your house through the front door!
The new kids on the block have no idea what’s in store
Natural Born Killers? More like blood donors for sure
Y’alls acclaims and fame will get ground up into gore
We’ll leave you as a footnote in our historied lore
We’re a pair of bad apples, rotten to the core
Now how do you like them apples? You only get what you pay for
Our opposition, barely that, a slut and their paramour
Vhodka’s a dumb motherfucker, Vincent’s her little whore

With a cheeky smirk on his face, Thunder Knuckles says; “I don’t think anyone can say it better than that.”

As the path grows steeper, the challenges increase. Loose rocks make footing uncertain, and the fog is beginning to set in. Thunder Knuckles' breathing is more labored, each step showing that he's getting in better shape. Bobby, sensing the effort his Bastardly Brother is putting in and stops tossing his potato.

"Need a break, man?" Bobby asks, glancing at Thunder Knuckles' strained expression.

Thunder Knuckles shakes his head no, sweat streaming from his forehead. "No fucking breaks. Just keep fucking moving. The farther we go the more money we make. One step at a goddamn time."

Bobby nods, respecting his partner's determination. They continue, the mountain is growing ever more daunting. The path narrows, the fog is becoming even more intense. Thunder Knuckles stumbles once, but Bobby is there, steadying him with a helping hand.

"Remember," Bobby says, his tone more serious now, "we're in this together."

Thunder Knuckles nods, the burden on his shoulder somehow feeling a bit lighter. They press on, the top is so close, yet still so far away. The air gets colder as Thunder Knuckles' muscles begin to scream in protest. Bobby's still just playing with this potato, keeping him warm.

Finally, they reach the peak. The view from the top of the mountain is breathtaking, the fog lifted, the sight of rolling hills stretching out beneath them. Thunder Knuckles drops the sack of potatoes, that land with a thud, he sinks to his knees as he catches his breath. Bobby stands beside him, holding his single potato.

"We made it," Bobby says, a grin spreads across his face. "Together."

Thunder Knuckles looks up. "Yeah. Together. You can only carry a fucking sack of potatoes so long, ya know?"

As they sit at the top of the mountain, the sun beginning to set, they realize the true value of their journey. It wasn't about the weight of the potatoes or the difficulty of the climb. It was about knowing who you can count on.

Bobby tosses his potato into the air one last time, catching it with a laugh. "You know," he says, "this potato doesn't seem so pointless after all."

Thunder Knuckles chuckles, leaning back to enjoy the view. "Funny how that shit fucking works, huh?"

“This was a good idea.” Bobby throws his potato, which causes a massive rockslide.

Thunder Knuckles nods, not caring who the landside might hurt, in agreement and says, “I know. I’m glad you thought it up.”

Bobby looks puzzled thinking this was Thunder Knuckes' idea. “I didn’t come up with this." That's when it dawns on him. "Shit, did our henchmen plan us a playdate? They’re going to take so many laps.”

And there, atop the mountain, with the world spread out before them, they knew it was only a matter of time before they'd become XWF Tag Team Champions again. All according to Jimmy and Cyberjaw’s plan.]]>



Jimmy and one of Bobby’s Bourbon Men, Cyberjaw, the man with the cybernetic jaw, have devised a plan to get Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon back into top shape for another shot at the Tag Team Championships. They've codenamed it: Operation Mount Tater. They pitched it as a money-making internet challenge, confident that they'd fall for it and get the results they needed. This is where we catch up with Thunder Knuckles and Bobby Bourbon, who stand at the base of a mountain, its peak can't be seen due to the fog. Both men look at the path ahead, it's steep and treacherous. Instantly, Thunder Knuckles wants to give up because he knows the challenge ahead, he is carrying a heavy burlap sack filled with potatoes. Bobby Bourbon, on the other hand, grips a single potato in his hand, looking at it like it stole his dog.

"This is ridiculous," Bobby grumbles, tossing the potato up and catching it. "Why do I only get one while you get to carry the whole sack?"

Thunder Knuckles chuckles, adjusting the weight on his back. "Consider it a fucking meteor, Bobby. Sometimes we carry more than our fair share, and sometimes we only need to focus on one goddamn thing. Besides, you know you’re stronger than you look."

Bobby raises an eyebrow,  "And what's this supposed to teach us, wise Bastard of spuds?"

Thunder Knuckles shrugs, making Warstien fans jealous that they no longer get to see their hero on XWF programming. "That sometimes, we need to fucking challenge ourselves. And sometimes, we just need to support each other, damn it."

With that, they begin their climb. The early part of the TRIAD trail is relatively easy. A small incline through a dense forest. Despite this, the weight of the sack makes Thunder Knuckles' steps deliberate and heavy. Bobby, meanwhile, strolls with ease, occasionally tossing his potato from hand to hand. With a rhyme in his heart, Bobby begins to bust out into bars.

One potato, two potato, three potato, four.
But math is for nerds and I find it a bore
We handle our business like we’re doing a chore
Time to take out the garbage before it spills on the floor
We rock the earth beneath us like we got bombs for the war
From the mountain top to shore to shore
We dominate the seas, the skies, and even more
Intergalactic, interdimensional, in your house through the front door!
The new kids on the block have no idea what’s in store
Natural Born Killers? More like blood donors for sure
Y’alls acclaims and fame will get ground up into gore
We’ll leave you as a footnote in our historied lore
We’re a pair of bad apples, rotten to the core
Now how do you like them apples? You only get what you pay for
Our opposition, barely that, a slut and their paramour
Vhodka’s a dumb motherfucker, Vincent’s her little whore

With a cheeky smirk on his face, Thunder Knuckles says; “I don’t think anyone can say it better than that.”

As the path grows steeper, the challenges increase. Loose rocks make footing uncertain, and the fog is beginning to set in. Thunder Knuckles' breathing is more labored, each step showing that he's getting in better shape. Bobby, sensing the effort his Bastardly Brother is putting in and stops tossing his potato.

"Need a break, man?" Bobby asks, glancing at Thunder Knuckles' strained expression.

Thunder Knuckles shakes his head no, sweat streaming from his forehead. "No fucking breaks. Just keep fucking moving. The farther we go the more money we make. One step at a goddamn time."

Bobby nods, respecting his partner's determination. They continue, the mountain is growing ever more daunting. The path narrows, the fog is becoming even more intense. Thunder Knuckles stumbles once, but Bobby is there, steadying him with a helping hand.

"Remember," Bobby says, his tone more serious now, "we're in this together."

Thunder Knuckles nods, the burden on his shoulder somehow feeling a bit lighter. They press on, the top is so close, yet still so far away. The air gets colder as Thunder Knuckles' muscles begin to scream in protest. Bobby's still just playing with this potato, keeping him warm.

Finally, they reach the peak. The view from the top of the mountain is breathtaking, the fog lifted, the sight of rolling hills stretching out beneath them. Thunder Knuckles drops the sack of potatoes, that land with a thud, he sinks to his knees as he catches his breath. Bobby stands beside him, holding his single potato.

"We made it," Bobby says, a grin spreads across his face. "Together."

Thunder Knuckles looks up. "Yeah. Together. You can only carry a fucking sack of potatoes so long, ya know?"

As they sit at the top of the mountain, the sun beginning to set, they realize the true value of their journey. It wasn't about the weight of the potatoes or the difficulty of the climb. It was about knowing who you can count on.

Bobby tosses his potato into the air one last time, catching it with a laugh. "You know," he says, "this potato doesn't seem so pointless after all."

Thunder Knuckles chuckles, leaning back to enjoy the view. "Funny how that shit fucking works, huh?"

“This was a good idea.” Bobby throws his potato, which causes a massive rockslide.

Thunder Knuckles nods, not caring who the landside might hurt, in agreement and says, “I know. I’m glad you thought it up.”

Bobby looks puzzled thinking this was Thunder Knuckes' idea. “I didn’t come up with this." That's when it dawns on him. "Shit, did our henchmen plan us a playdate? They’re going to take so many laps.”

And there, atop the mountain, with the world spread out before them, they knew it was only a matter of time before they'd become XWF Tag Team Champions again. All according to Jimmy and Cyberjaw’s plan.]]> <![CDATA[Offer and Acceptance]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47677 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 22:01:09 -0700 Mark Flynn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47677 Previously...

The waves crept in…

Slowly but surely…

Like a predator feeding on paralyzed prey…

Why eat quickly?

The hunt is complete

All that remains?

To savor the meal.

…

Flynn’s legs had gone numb from the water’s subzero temperatures…

Flynn was consumed up to his abdomen…

And as the seas swallowed him, hauntingly, mercilessly slowly…

He felt himself slipping away.

…

The beach was soundless. Colorless.

Lifeless.

Not a coo of a seabird to be heard.

Not even the ripples of the tide were audible.

The ocean moved imperceptibly slowly.

The sky was pure white, blotting out the sun.

And Flynn had grown so weak from this lengthy death ritual…

His vision had begun to blur…

Glancing sideways at the beach he laid upon…

He could not see individual grains of sand.

But a solid dome of ivory.

An examining table.

Like one might lay a corpse upon.

To determine the cause of death.

…

Since he had sent away the boy from his dreams who had begged him to live.

There was nothing else here.

But to di-

”Ah! A front-row seat!”

CRUNCH! The sound of metal piercing the sands of the beach echoes amidst the prior silence.

”Phew! Relief and solace abound! I feared I had missed your demise, Mark Flynn!”

…Flynn exhaustedly lets gravity drag his eyes upward.

Just within Flynn’s view.

Sitting on a hot pink beach chair.

His old tag-team partner.

The North Korean War Criminal.

Wearing a pair of camouflage swim trunks. And a t-shirt with Kim Jong Un’s face on it.

…

”N…K?” Flynn’s breath escapes from his lungs like air from a punctured tire.

”What the f…” Flynn’s voice cracks from exhaustion… He blinks, trying to summon enough energy to speak. ”What the ffffff…*cough*” Despite his best efforts to unleash his trademark stream of his favorite F-word, Flynn’s efforts merely result in a sputtering cough.

It seems he is out of ‘fucks’ to give.

”My, oh my! Mark Flynn! Seeing you in this state? As a withered husk of your former self…” NK tsk-tsks in mock sympathy, raising to his lips a summery fruit-flavored beverage, coated at the bottom with popping boba.

He sips… And exhales with a deeply satisfied smile.

”It is… almost *too* delicious.”

”*cough*... *wheeze*... What are y-... What are you do-*COUGH*”

”For the Glorious Leader’s Sake, Mark Flynn, SPEAK!” NK chortles sadistically… Pointing at his own chest. ”Here! From the diaphragm! PROJECT your message! In fact, allow me…” NK turns his head sideways toward the bloated whale carcass, baking on the beach and cups a hand around his ear. ”There! My flawless ears are perfectly attuned to receive your message! You must merely SPEAK IT CLEARLY, Mark Flynn!”

”...Why…” Flynn exhales, spent, possibly wasting the last words he has the physical capacity to speak… ”You… Here… *wheeze*...Why?”

…NK giggles nefariously, as his hand shifts from his ear to his chin. ”Ah! A simple question. Though…” NK’s hand shifts to the top of his head, scratching it curiously. “Perhaps, one of ambiguous meaning.”

“If you seek to understand how I have come to be inside your mind, joining you as you shred your own ego to the abyss of your subconscious…” NK’s index finger points to the sky! “I have SEVERAL THEORIES!”

“One! In this moment, as you will soon cease to exist, like a man on his deathbed, you consider the great regrets of your time… BETRAYING ME! Ending our historically successful partnership out of jealousy! YOU were well aware after I pinned Universal Champion Raion Kido at WarGames that my road to ascend to the top of the XWF was clear! And you ended my career to STEAL my opportunity!”

NK takes another satisfied sip from his beverage, before licking a little blood-red grenadine syrup caught on his front teeth…

“While, I must confess, you DID defeat me at Relentless… Perhaps, I am here, in your mind, because you still harbor some regret! Clearly, this is an ocean of difference between defeating the physical manifestation of your self-doubt… And actually exorcising your personal demons… Heheheheh.”

…NK smacks his own leg. “Delectable! What an absolutely extravagant treat! Even as you’ve spent your entire career claiming your victories in the ring, your lengthy list of career accomplishments, give your life some semblance of worth. That the fruits of your life’s labor justify the sinister, despicable means! That your fame has retroactively transformed your dishonorable chicanery into the triumphant acts of a noble king… A WRESTLING GOD, even!”

“Here you are! Laid bare! As a NOTHING.”

“Your legendary career? Simply a figment of your imagination.”

…

“However!” NK points in the air once more! “An alternative theory! Perhaps, as you raise your son, your infant boy… Rendered from my own DNA… (and birthed by Country Music’s Shania Twain)... In the recesses of your mind, you fear.”

“You dread.”

“You quail, quiver, shrink, shudder and shy!”

“At the thought that… Just as I, your former partner, came to learn who you really are.”

“And despise you with my ENTIRE BEING.”

…

“That, as your son’s mind develops.”

“As he learns to walk and talk…”

“He will come to perceive you.”

“He will come to truly know you, Mark Flynn.”

“And perhaps, you fear that… when he comes to know you.”

“He will come to dislike you.”

“At which point? Won’t that confirm what you’ve always known, deep-down?”

“That you are not misunderstood by the world?”

“That you haven’t been robbed of a fair shake to prove that you’re a decent man?”

“That your reputation doesn’t warp how people perceive your best efforts.”

“But, instead.”

“That deep down.”

“Deeeeeeeeeeeeep down.”

“You are irredeemable.”

…

“Regarding these hypotheses…”

NK raises his hands.

He looks at one.

“The first is a sound theory.”

He looks at the other.

“As is the second.”

Then, his shoulders lift into a shrug.

“Frankly, both are equally delightful to me. But, the most important thing is…”

“In your mind, where you keep your alternative personalities and your hopes and your dreams and your fears and your anxieties… Where you might think you’re safest.”

NK taps his nose.

“I am here.”

“I live rent-free in your head!”

…

“However!” NK points to the sky again! “If you mean, specifically, why am I sitting here?” NK points to the beach beneath his feet. “To that I say… How could I miss this?!?”

NK giggles again, delightedly clapping his hands!

”It’s the event of the season! Of the century! Finally, capitalist swine and individualist traitor, Mark Flynn, shall have the decency to suffer for his crimes against the collective! The sentence? NON-EXISTENCE!”

NK rubs his hands together fiendishly. ”The only disappointment is that your essence evaporating into a metaphorical ocean of your thoughts and ideas means that you will not have a grave upon which I might project my spit.”

…Flynn uses the very last pocket of will in his being to twist his face into a grimace. “Oh, go to h-” Fwshhhhhhhh, the water creeps over his lips, drowning out his voice.

”Now!” NK claps his hands together, before reaching into the rightmost pocket of his swim trunks. ”While is not a funeral, I prepared a statement to eulogize your FAILURE of an existence!”

NK lifts an index card to his eyes, clearing his throat.

”What IS Mark Flynn, anyway?”

”An albatross hanging around the neck of the collectivist dream.”

”An error! A cretin! An insect! A mutant!”

”Mark Flynn is…”



”A goddamned golden boy.”

”The fuckin’ man with the gift of Gab.”

Water streams down a bathroom sink.

Two hands catch the water, before dumping it onto a pair of cheeks…

Christopher K. Clinton scrubs his face clean… Before catching his own eyes in the mirror.

”You could sell sand to the Sultan of Saudi Arabia.”

“AND he’d ask for sand insurance”

“He’d ask if he could buy a sand certificate, declaring the sand came from CHRISTOPHER K. CLINTON.”

Clinton gives his right cheek a gentle smack.

”THAT'D how you good you are.”

Clinton points to the bathroom door.

”Those twelve DUMB FUCKS don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”

”BUT YOU!”

Clinton points back to his reflection.

”YOU know t. YOU know what’s best for the Mark Flynn property.”

”You know that if Mark Flynn wants to be PERMANENTLY EMBEDDED IN WRESTLING LEGEND?!?”

”The only LOGICAL choice is accepting Thaddeus Duke’s job offer!”

”And becoming Co-General Manager of Warfare.”

…Clinton takes a deep breath.

”That’s the truth. Plain and simple.”

“All you gotta do? Is sell the truth.”

“Sand down the rough edges. Coat the bitterness in sugar.”

Clinton reaches down for his throat and straightens out his tie.

“This is your game. This is where you thrive.”

“They’re the jury. And you’re making a case.”

Clinton grins… And delivers unto himself…

A finger gun.

“SHOOOOOOOOWTIME!”


BOOM! Clinton kicks the door in!

A boardroom of twelve Flynns looks from the executive meeting table as Clinton marches front-and-center.

A cacophony of voices in Flynn’s head.

To Clinton, this is a jury of his peers.

“WHAT IS A LEGACY?”

…Clinton’s eyes sweep across the room!

“Webster’s dictionary defines ‘leg-‘“

SLAM!

…Clinton is startled to silence by the sudden thud.

…In the silence, he looks around the room.

And sees twelve Mark Flynn personas…

Eyeing him up and down. Sizing him up.

With distrust. Suspicion. Hostility.

…Clinton grits his teeth… Which he quickly tries to swivel into a smile.

…

The source of the knock was the black-eyed ‘Free-Win’ Flynn.

The cultist who tried to bring about a wrestling apocalypse.

“Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Uh… W-w-well, I mean, let’s not rush things, right? After all, the chase is only exciting after you’ve gotten the setup!” Clinton chuckles, his fingers twitching nervously. “You can’t just have a chase without VALUABLE CONTEXT!”

The Flynns are unamused and unpersuaded.

Clinton tugs at his collar. “…Tough Crowd.”

Free-Win perseveres.

“…This little presentation you’ve prepared… It’s regarding Thaddy boy’s job offer, correct? That we become the Warfare co-GM?”

“That we let ourselves get bought out?” adds RECORD PROFITS™.

“That we embrace the abyss?” growls The Beast.

“NO MORE BELTS?!?” Moans the Whore for Gold.

Clinton dry-swallows. Ffffffffffffuck! PIVOT! PIVOT! STICK AND MOVE!

Clinton raises his hands defensively, “Before we make any rash, uninformed decisions... how about we consider the pros and cons of this off-“

SWIP! Free-Win’s finger slices through the air, cutting Clinton’s verbal defense.

“One sec there, CLINTON. We Flynns need time to… deliberate.”

…

The Flynns huddle over the table. Whispering and murmuring.

…

Clinton turns to face the wall.

FUCK!

What happened out there?

I’ll tell you what happened.

You choked.

You fucking BLEW IT.

You had a goddamned GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY.

To salvage the Mark Flynn brand.

And you let it slip through your fucking fingers!

Like a fat nine-year old little league outfielder bobbling a popfly!

WE LOOKED FUCKING LOST OUT THERE!

…

…No. It’s not over.

We won’t LET IT BE OVER!

This is just phase one of the dance.

Of the SALE.

Let them say no at first.

Let them feel that power of rejecting you.

THEN, the real pitch truly begins.

The pitch of the goddamn ages!

THE GREATEST PITCH OF ALL-T-

“Yep. We’re fine with it.”

…

Clinton slowly turns around, back towards the jury of Flynns.

…

“...What?”

Free-Win nods assertively.

“Make the deal.”


Quote:Hello XWF, my name is Holden Payne, and I'm here to wrestle.

Holden Payne.

New hire, huh?

A green…

Wet-behind-the-ears…

Rookie.

Probably don’t even know your way around the office yet, huh?

Well, Holdy.

Let me be the first to say…

Welcome to the Show.

The Pros.

The Big Leagues.

The FUCKING TOP OF THE WRESTLING WORLD.

The XWF.

Where the BEST of the MOTHERFUCKING BEST come to establish their place in HISTORY.

Where the merely-PHENOMENAL go to TRANSCEND to IMMORTALITY.

…

I’ll be your tour guide.

MARK FLYNN.

If you want my qualifications?

I’ve been here the longest.

And I don’t plan on going anywhere.


“Retiring to accept Thaddeus's offer is the most logical choice. Our goal is, was, and has always been… to assert control over our own destiny.” The Beast thumbs his nose, as he looks around the room of Flynns. “To hold the reins of fate in our own hands! Wrenching the wheel from those undeserving fools who had failed upwards to management! The slack-jawed products of nepotism and inbreeding that make up every wrestling boardroom”

The other Flynns murmur and nod in agreement.

WHAM! The Beast slams his fist against the table!

“… This is Marcus's opportunity to twist wrestling’s corporate structure arm out of its socket until it BLACKS OUT, SCREAMING IN AGONY!”

...

“Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

”This is what’s best for MARK FLYNN.”


See, I figured I’d say my name loud and clear.

And deliver this tour.

In slow, clear language.

Because, dear Holdendum.

I get the vibe when I listen to you talk…

You might be disconnected from reality.

I’m here to set you straight, Holderino.

Quote:I’m calling out all of the talent that’s been sitting on your asses and collecting checks without putting in the work.

Issue One.

This callout only works.

If you've been logging those sweet, sweet billable hours.

Shedding your goddamned blood and sweat for the XWF.

Leaving it ALL on the LINE in that ring.

Those guys you called out?

Quote:The Mastermind's, Corey Black's and Peter Vaughn's of the world.

Those guys?

Have all fucking WRESTLED MORE FOR THE XWF than you have, Holdy.

You can't claim they're sitting on their asses collecting checks.

When you, Holdy, are more than willing to rack up appearance fees laying down challenges. Instead of signing up for matches.

You want to demand things around here?

Supply yourself in the goddamned ring.


“It’s simple supply-and-demand.” Says RECORD PROFITS™ as he points to a bar graph poster…

“Currently, the market is flooded with Mark Flynn. He’s on every single Warfare. The audience has become… *accustomed* to him. The once-bizarre has become the expected. The weird, now mundane.”

RECORD PROFITS™ points to downward trends… Smaller profits over time…

“To drive up demand? We have to reduce supply!” RECORD PROFITS™ flips the graph ninety degrees, so it is now trending upwards!

“We DRAIN the Mark Flynn wrestling market until people are BEGGING FOR IT.”

“...But.” The Beast strokes his chin. “If we do retire to reduce supply… How would we…” Finger-quotes. “Meet the demand we’re driving up.”

RECORD PROFITS™ grins.

“From the director’s chair. We MOLD the fans to worship us. It’s what every retired wrestler does… Take up juuuuuuust enough screentime for the fans to beg for a one-night return!”

“These stupid fucking fans are constantly shitting on the current talent for not being as good as XWF classic. WE can become XWF Classic!”

“We CONTROL THE MARKET! WE DICTATE THE PRICE! WE MAKE BAAAAAAAAAAANK!"


Now, don’t get me wrong.

You’re… ADJACENT to correct.

You’re in the ballpark of correct.

Vaughnie? MM? Other-Corey?

They’re all resting on their laurels.

Showing up to work at their *convenience*.

Just enough to satisfy contractually-obligated minimum appearance clauses in their contracts.

Juuuuuuuust barely clearing the threshold of non-retirement status.

These people are garbage.

Leeches on the XWF.

Siphoning away precious paychecks while expending MINIMAL EFFORT.


“It's the easiest way to accomplish our mission."

"The goal has always been DEFEATING THE WORLD.” Free-Win barks. The rest of the Flynns lean in close, mesmerized.

“That was my mission. Doing it ONE FELL SWOOP. Accomplishing what NO OTHER COULD!”

…

“Now, granted… My preferred method, as Mark Flynn, was… bringing about a world-destroying apocalypse.”

“BUT!”

“The Second best way to beat every competitor in the world?” Free-Win poses this as a question, looking around the room for a Flynn to provide the answer…

Then, he smiles.

“Running a wrestling company.”

“Do you know what employing someone to work is?”

“It’s beating them.”

“Every single day.”

“Watching the ants battle over scraps and crumbs, as you stand over them with a magnifying glass.”

“They worship and plead? Good. They rebel and revolt? Even better. Every move they make is for the benefit of a product you sell to the masses.”

“Every wrestler on the roster turning their desperate, physical exertions chasing a dream mindlessly into YOUR passive income stream.”

“Management IS victory. Employment is defeat. And by ruling the wrestling world?”

“WE BEAT EVERYBODY.”

“It’s just like Theo Pryce told us…”

“Management?”

“Is the real game.”

“Is the REAL fight.”



BUT.

Here’s the problem with your ‘challenge’, there, Holdy.

You CLAIM you want a fight.

A REAL fight.

Quote:Out of all the talent in this company, there has to be someone looking for a real fight.

THERE.

RIGHT FUCKING THERE.

Did you hear that, folks?

Holden Payne.

Laid down the challenge.

For a REAL FIGHT.

…

But the people he named?

The folks he was *brave* enough to call out?

Are the folks that EVEN HOLDEN PAYNE acknowledged…

AREN’T SHOWING UP TO WORK!!!

…

Get what I’m saying?

Holden Payne made a calculated callout.

Addressed to a certain batch of high-profile, missing-in-action names…

That he could assume with a high degree of certainty…

Would not respond to his challenge.

Making him look like a tough guy.

That Dock, Vaughnie and MM are too chicken to face.

…

Honestly?

Fair play.

An almost GENIUS level of punkedness on display here.

On the level of, as a new inmate in prison, calling out the toughest guy in aforementioned prison.

Knowing he was transferred out months ago.

…

But.

Let’s say.

I take you at your word.

In fact, this is a non-hypothetical.

When you lodged the exact same challenge on Warfare?

I took you AT YOUR WORD.

Quote:Out of all the talent in this company, there has to be someone looking for a real fight.

Holden Payne.

Wants a REAL FIGHT.

Quote:I want a challenge, and I want it at The Revelry.

Holden Payne.

Wants a CHALLENGE.

…

Holdemort?

Here's your challenge.

Mark Flynn.

Former Universal champion.

Tied for most briefcases held in XWF History.

The only man to ever enter WarGames holding the X-Treme Title…

And exit it with the belt still around his waist.

XWF Superstar of the Year 2022.

The HIGHEST FUCKING ELO ON THE ENTIRE XWF ROSTER.

I AM STATISTICALLY.

MATHEMATICALLY.

HISTORICALLY.

SCIENTIFICALLY.

AND BY EVERY OTHER METRIC CONCEIVABLE BY THE HUMAN MIND.

THE.

FUCKING.

GUY.

TO BEAT.


From there, the conversation was largely glad-handing and agreeing with each other.

Believe it or not, you get 12 guys in the same room that are technically all the same person?

You get a limited range of opinions.

Optimal Path Mark Flynn went on for a while about The Mountain Top being the Corporate Ladder all along.

Robert Miles just delivered a thumbs-up.

Whore For Gold held out for a few minutes, because ‘HOW FLYNN GET BELTS IF RETIRED?’

…But, once the group explained to the Whore we could use a paycheck to buy all the belts we could dream of, he quickly joined the group.

…It’s funny. Clinton smiled to himself.

He was so worried about making the ultimate sales pitch.

He didn’t account for the product selling itself.

…

Clinton waited for another bout of nods and agreements, before clearing his throat.

“So!” Clinton cuts in! “It’s agreed? Mark Flynn will… retire? And become co-GM?”

…

For a moment, the other Flynns suspiciously side-eye Clinton…

…

Before Free-Win knocks once on the table.

…

The dozen nod.

“Make it so.”

…

Clinton raises his phone.


Back in Flynn's Cherry Red Honda Fit… Clinton (piloting Flynn’s body) starts to text.

“What do I say, Thad? I’m MOTHERFUCKING I-”

…

Clinton’s thumb freezes mid-text.



Clinton hammers on the keyboard of his phone. Hitting the send button over and over.

An error sound chimes each time.

“Fuck.” Clinton mutters as the screen on his phone fizzes and glitches. “FUCK.”

…The Flynns turn to whisper and murmur once more.

Free-Win coughs. “Something the matter, CLINTON.” Free-Win puts an extra bit of pepper on the word ‘Clinton’... Clearly some hostility for the lawyer being the only Flynn persona to not call himself Flynn.

“Uh…” Clinton smiles nervously, feeling the room maybe start to turn on him…

“OH!” HE SNAPS HIS FINGERS! “I’ll just… I’ll call! Who accepts a job offer by text anyway! This calls for a CONVERSATION!”


Clinton raises the phone up to his face…

Cycles through contacts…

Presses Thad’s contact in Flynn’s phone.

And hits ‘ca-...

…

Once more.

Clinton’s…

…

No.

Flynn’s hand.

Is frozen.



“GODDAMMIT.” Clinton holds the phone to his face in the office of Flynn’s mind. But now, his own thumb is stuck in place. “DO IT!”

Clinton grabs his right thumb (the one hovering over the talk button) with his left hand, trying to manhandle his own thumb onto the button!

“FUCKING FUCK YOU! DO IT, YOU FUCK!” Clinton screams at his own thumb!

SWIP!

In a flash, the phone is swiped from Clinton’s hand…

By Free-Win.

“Never call a Clinton to do a Flynn’s job.” Free-Win sighs disappointed, before sliding the phone across the table to The Beast.

The Beast scoops the phone up to his face and smirks at Clinton, before pressing ta-

…

“What?!?” The Beast grimaces at the phone. “Damnable DEVIL DEVICE!”

“Fucking idiot.” RECORD PROFITS™ sighs before wrapping The Beast’s hand under his own. “Do I have to press your thumb down for y-”

…

…RECORD PROFITS™ seethes at both his and the Beast’s hand…

Frozen in place over the phone.

RP growls as the Beast. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!?”

The Beast’s eyebrows raise in puzzlement. “Me?!? I didn’t do anything!”

Whore for Gold dives his entire body on top of RP and B’s hands! “MAKE CALL! GET BELTS!” He lifts his foot over their two hands and sto-

…

His foot freezes millimeters above the phone!

“...BEEEEEEEEEEEEELT!” WFG screeches… Before some unseen force drives his foot backwards and he lands flat on his ass.

The force drives the phone across the table.

…In front of Free-Win Flynn.

…

The rest of the group watches in silence.

…

Free-Win lifts the phone to his face.

Raises his thumb over the button.

…

…His eyes strain.

His hand visibly shakes.

A vein in his forehead visibly pulsates.

As Free-Win struggles against…

Something impossible…

Something unforeseen.

…

The present Mark Flynns…

Despite their collective agreement to end Mark Flynn’s career.

…

Are not in control.




…

Holden.

Maybe you got excited on Warfare…

Because you thought you were wrestling the best.

On his way out the door.

Maybe you believed a rumor that Mark Flynn was cleaning out his desk.

And planning his own retirement party.

Maybe you even thought…

The same way you’d gamed the system to call Vaughnie and Dock cowards…

That you’d turn this into the story…

Of Holden Payne ending Mark Flynn’s career.

…

I got news for you, Hold Music.

I ain’t fucking going anywhere.

I don’t give a shit if it makes financial sense to my brand to leave.

I don’t give a shit if anyone and everyone thinks my best days are behind me.

I don’t give ONE ISOLATED SHIT that I’d have more control from guerilla position than inside that ring.

Know why, Holdo?

Because.

I.

AM.

A.

WRESTLER.

I AM THE GREATEST WRESTLER TO EVER LIVE.

And I’m not fucking going anywhere.

…

You want a challenge, Gary Holdman?

You fucking got it.
]]> Previously...

The waves crept in…

Slowly but surely…

Like a predator feeding on paralyzed prey…

Why eat quickly?

The hunt is complete

All that remains?

To savor the meal.

…

Flynn’s legs had gone numb from the water’s subzero temperatures…

Flynn was consumed up to his abdomen…

And as the seas swallowed him, hauntingly, mercilessly slowly…

He felt himself slipping away.

…

The beach was soundless. Colorless.

Lifeless.

Not a coo of a seabird to be heard.

Not even the ripples of the tide were audible.

The ocean moved imperceptibly slowly.

The sky was pure white, blotting out the sun.

And Flynn had grown so weak from this lengthy death ritual…

His vision had begun to blur…

Glancing sideways at the beach he laid upon…

He could not see individual grains of sand.

But a solid dome of ivory.

An examining table.

Like one might lay a corpse upon.

To determine the cause of death.

…

Since he had sent away the boy from his dreams who had begged him to live.

There was nothing else here.

But to di-

”Ah! A front-row seat!”

CRUNCH! The sound of metal piercing the sands of the beach echoes amidst the prior silence.

”Phew! Relief and solace abound! I feared I had missed your demise, Mark Flynn!”

…Flynn exhaustedly lets gravity drag his eyes upward.

Just within Flynn’s view.

Sitting on a hot pink beach chair.

His old tag-team partner.

The North Korean War Criminal.

Wearing a pair of camouflage swim trunks. And a t-shirt with Kim Jong Un’s face on it.

…

”N…K?” Flynn’s breath escapes from his lungs like air from a punctured tire.

”What the f…” Flynn’s voice cracks from exhaustion… He blinks, trying to summon enough energy to speak. ”What the ffffff…*cough*” Despite his best efforts to unleash his trademark stream of his favorite F-word, Flynn’s efforts merely result in a sputtering cough.

It seems he is out of ‘fucks’ to give.

”My, oh my! Mark Flynn! Seeing you in this state? As a withered husk of your former self…” NK tsk-tsks in mock sympathy, raising to his lips a summery fruit-flavored beverage, coated at the bottom with popping boba.

He sips… And exhales with a deeply satisfied smile.

”It is… almost *too* delicious.”

”*cough*... *wheeze*... What are y-... What are you do-*COUGH*”

”For the Glorious Leader’s Sake, Mark Flynn, SPEAK!” NK chortles sadistically… Pointing at his own chest. ”Here! From the diaphragm! PROJECT your message! In fact, allow me…” NK turns his head sideways toward the bloated whale carcass, baking on the beach and cups a hand around his ear. ”There! My flawless ears are perfectly attuned to receive your message! You must merely SPEAK IT CLEARLY, Mark Flynn!”

”...Why…” Flynn exhales, spent, possibly wasting the last words he has the physical capacity to speak… ”You… Here… *wheeze*...Why?”

…NK giggles nefariously, as his hand shifts from his ear to his chin. ”Ah! A simple question. Though…” NK’s hand shifts to the top of his head, scratching it curiously. “Perhaps, one of ambiguous meaning.”

“If you seek to understand how I have come to be inside your mind, joining you as you shred your own ego to the abyss of your subconscious…” NK’s index finger points to the sky! “I have SEVERAL THEORIES!”

“One! In this moment, as you will soon cease to exist, like a man on his deathbed, you consider the great regrets of your time… BETRAYING ME! Ending our historically successful partnership out of jealousy! YOU were well aware after I pinned Universal Champion Raion Kido at WarGames that my road to ascend to the top of the XWF was clear! And you ended my career to STEAL my opportunity!”

NK takes another satisfied sip from his beverage, before licking a little blood-red grenadine syrup caught on his front teeth…

“While, I must confess, you DID defeat me at Relentless… Perhaps, I am here, in your mind, because you still harbor some regret! Clearly, this is an ocean of difference between defeating the physical manifestation of your self-doubt… And actually exorcising your personal demons… Heheheheh.”

…NK smacks his own leg. “Delectable! What an absolutely extravagant treat! Even as you’ve spent your entire career claiming your victories in the ring, your lengthy list of career accomplishments, give your life some semblance of worth. That the fruits of your life’s labor justify the sinister, despicable means! That your fame has retroactively transformed your dishonorable chicanery into the triumphant acts of a noble king… A WRESTLING GOD, even!”

“Here you are! Laid bare! As a NOTHING.”

“Your legendary career? Simply a figment of your imagination.”

…

“However!” NK points in the air once more! “An alternative theory! Perhaps, as you raise your son, your infant boy… Rendered from my own DNA… (and birthed by Country Music’s Shania Twain)... In the recesses of your mind, you fear.”

“You dread.”

“You quail, quiver, shrink, shudder and shy!”

“At the thought that… Just as I, your former partner, came to learn who you really are.”

“And despise you with my ENTIRE BEING.”

…

“That, as your son’s mind develops.”

“As he learns to walk and talk…”

“He will come to perceive you.”

“He will come to truly know you, Mark Flynn.”

“And perhaps, you fear that… when he comes to know you.”

“He will come to dislike you.”

“At which point? Won’t that confirm what you’ve always known, deep-down?”

“That you are not misunderstood by the world?”

“That you haven’t been robbed of a fair shake to prove that you’re a decent man?”

“That your reputation doesn’t warp how people perceive your best efforts.”

“But, instead.”

“That deep down.”

“Deeeeeeeeeeeeep down.”

“You are irredeemable.”

…

“Regarding these hypotheses…”

NK raises his hands.

He looks at one.

“The first is a sound theory.”

He looks at the other.

“As is the second.”

Then, his shoulders lift into a shrug.

“Frankly, both are equally delightful to me. But, the most important thing is…”

“In your mind, where you keep your alternative personalities and your hopes and your dreams and your fears and your anxieties… Where you might think you’re safest.”

NK taps his nose.

“I am here.”

“I live rent-free in your head!”

…

“However!” NK points to the sky again! “If you mean, specifically, why am I sitting here?” NK points to the beach beneath his feet. “To that I say… How could I miss this?!?”

NK giggles again, delightedly clapping his hands!

”It’s the event of the season! Of the century! Finally, capitalist swine and individualist traitor, Mark Flynn, shall have the decency to suffer for his crimes against the collective! The sentence? NON-EXISTENCE!”

NK rubs his hands together fiendishly. ”The only disappointment is that your essence evaporating into a metaphorical ocean of your thoughts and ideas means that you will not have a grave upon which I might project my spit.”

…Flynn uses the very last pocket of will in his being to twist his face into a grimace. “Oh, go to h-” Fwshhhhhhhh, the water creeps over his lips, drowning out his voice.

”Now!” NK claps his hands together, before reaching into the rightmost pocket of his swim trunks. ”While is not a funeral, I prepared a statement to eulogize your FAILURE of an existence!”

NK lifts an index card to his eyes, clearing his throat.

”What IS Mark Flynn, anyway?”

”An albatross hanging around the neck of the collectivist dream.”

”An error! A cretin! An insect! A mutant!”

”Mark Flynn is…”



”A goddamned golden boy.”

”The fuckin’ man with the gift of Gab.”

Water streams down a bathroom sink.

Two hands catch the water, before dumping it onto a pair of cheeks…

Christopher K. Clinton scrubs his face clean… Before catching his own eyes in the mirror.

”You could sell sand to the Sultan of Saudi Arabia.”

“AND he’d ask for sand insurance”

“He’d ask if he could buy a sand certificate, declaring the sand came from CHRISTOPHER K. CLINTON.”

Clinton gives his right cheek a gentle smack.

”THAT'D how you good you are.”

Clinton points to the bathroom door.

”Those twelve DUMB FUCKS don’t know their ass from a hole in the ground.”

”BUT YOU!”

Clinton points back to his reflection.

”YOU know t. YOU know what’s best for the Mark Flynn property.”

”You know that if Mark Flynn wants to be PERMANENTLY EMBEDDED IN WRESTLING LEGEND?!?”

”The only LOGICAL choice is accepting Thaddeus Duke’s job offer!”

”And becoming Co-General Manager of Warfare.”

…Clinton takes a deep breath.

”That’s the truth. Plain and simple.”

“All you gotta do? Is sell the truth.”

“Sand down the rough edges. Coat the bitterness in sugar.”

Clinton reaches down for his throat and straightens out his tie.

“This is your game. This is where you thrive.”

“They’re the jury. And you’re making a case.”

Clinton grins… And delivers unto himself…

A finger gun.

“SHOOOOOOOOWTIME!”


BOOM! Clinton kicks the door in!

A boardroom of twelve Flynns looks from the executive meeting table as Clinton marches front-and-center.

A cacophony of voices in Flynn’s head.

To Clinton, this is a jury of his peers.

“WHAT IS A LEGACY?”

…Clinton’s eyes sweep across the room!

“Webster’s dictionary defines ‘leg-‘“

SLAM!

…Clinton is startled to silence by the sudden thud.

…In the silence, he looks around the room.

And sees twelve Mark Flynn personas…

Eyeing him up and down. Sizing him up.

With distrust. Suspicion. Hostility.

…Clinton grits his teeth… Which he quickly tries to swivel into a smile.

…

The source of the knock was the black-eyed ‘Free-Win’ Flynn.

The cultist who tried to bring about a wrestling apocalypse.

“Let’s cut to the chase.”

“Uh… W-w-well, I mean, let’s not rush things, right? After all, the chase is only exciting after you’ve gotten the setup!” Clinton chuckles, his fingers twitching nervously. “You can’t just have a chase without VALUABLE CONTEXT!”

The Flynns are unamused and unpersuaded.

Clinton tugs at his collar. “…Tough Crowd.”

Free-Win perseveres.

“…This little presentation you’ve prepared… It’s regarding Thaddy boy’s job offer, correct? That we become the Warfare co-GM?”

“That we let ourselves get bought out?” adds RECORD PROFITS™.

“That we embrace the abyss?” growls The Beast.

“NO MORE BELTS?!?” Moans the Whore for Gold.

Clinton dry-swallows. Ffffffffffffuck! PIVOT! PIVOT! STICK AND MOVE!

Clinton raises his hands defensively, “Before we make any rash, uninformed decisions... how about we consider the pros and cons of this off-“

SWIP! Free-Win’s finger slices through the air, cutting Clinton’s verbal defense.

“One sec there, CLINTON. We Flynns need time to… deliberate.”

…

The Flynns huddle over the table. Whispering and murmuring.

…

Clinton turns to face the wall.

FUCK!

What happened out there?

I’ll tell you what happened.

You choked.

You fucking BLEW IT.

You had a goddamned GOLDEN OPPORTUNITY.

To salvage the Mark Flynn brand.

And you let it slip through your fucking fingers!

Like a fat nine-year old little league outfielder bobbling a popfly!

WE LOOKED FUCKING LOST OUT THERE!

…

…No. It’s not over.

We won’t LET IT BE OVER!

This is just phase one of the dance.

Of the SALE.

Let them say no at first.

Let them feel that power of rejecting you.

THEN, the real pitch truly begins.

The pitch of the goddamn ages!

THE GREATEST PITCH OF ALL-T-

“Yep. We’re fine with it.”

…

Clinton slowly turns around, back towards the jury of Flynns.

…

“...What?”

Free-Win nods assertively.

“Make the deal.”


Quote:Hello XWF, my name is Holden Payne, and I'm here to wrestle.

Holden Payne.

New hire, huh?

A green…

Wet-behind-the-ears…

Rookie.

Probably don’t even know your way around the office yet, huh?

Well, Holdy.

Let me be the first to say…

Welcome to the Show.

The Pros.

The Big Leagues.

The FUCKING TOP OF THE WRESTLING WORLD.

The XWF.

Where the BEST of the MOTHERFUCKING BEST come to establish their place in HISTORY.

Where the merely-PHENOMENAL go to TRANSCEND to IMMORTALITY.

…

I’ll be your tour guide.

MARK FLYNN.

If you want my qualifications?

I’ve been here the longest.

And I don’t plan on going anywhere.


“Retiring to accept Thaddeus's offer is the most logical choice. Our goal is, was, and has always been… to assert control over our own destiny.” The Beast thumbs his nose, as he looks around the room of Flynns. “To hold the reins of fate in our own hands! Wrenching the wheel from those undeserving fools who had failed upwards to management! The slack-jawed products of nepotism and inbreeding that make up every wrestling boardroom”

The other Flynns murmur and nod in agreement.

WHAM! The Beast slams his fist against the table!

“… This is Marcus's opportunity to twist wrestling’s corporate structure arm out of its socket until it BLACKS OUT, SCREAMING IN AGONY!”

...

“Metaphorically speaking, of course.”

”This is what’s best for MARK FLYNN.”


See, I figured I’d say my name loud and clear.

And deliver this tour.

In slow, clear language.

Because, dear Holdendum.

I get the vibe when I listen to you talk…

You might be disconnected from reality.

I’m here to set you straight, Holderino.

Quote:I’m calling out all of the talent that’s been sitting on your asses and collecting checks without putting in the work.

Issue One.

This callout only works.

If you've been logging those sweet, sweet billable hours.

Shedding your goddamned blood and sweat for the XWF.

Leaving it ALL on the LINE in that ring.

Those guys you called out?

Quote:The Mastermind's, Corey Black's and Peter Vaughn's of the world.

Those guys?

Have all fucking WRESTLED MORE FOR THE XWF than you have, Holdy.

You can't claim they're sitting on their asses collecting checks.

When you, Holdy, are more than willing to rack up appearance fees laying down challenges. Instead of signing up for matches.

You want to demand things around here?

Supply yourself in the goddamned ring.


“It’s simple supply-and-demand.” Says RECORD PROFITS™ as he points to a bar graph poster…

“Currently, the market is flooded with Mark Flynn. He’s on every single Warfare. The audience has become… *accustomed* to him. The once-bizarre has become the expected. The weird, now mundane.”

RECORD PROFITS™ points to downward trends… Smaller profits over time…

“To drive up demand? We have to reduce supply!” RECORD PROFITS™ flips the graph ninety degrees, so it is now trending upwards!

“We DRAIN the Mark Flynn wrestling market until people are BEGGING FOR IT.”

“...But.” The Beast strokes his chin. “If we do retire to reduce supply… How would we…” Finger-quotes. “Meet the demand we’re driving up.”

RECORD PROFITS™ grins.

“From the director’s chair. We MOLD the fans to worship us. It’s what every retired wrestler does… Take up juuuuuuust enough screentime for the fans to beg for a one-night return!”

“These stupid fucking fans are constantly shitting on the current talent for not being as good as XWF classic. WE can become XWF Classic!”

“We CONTROL THE MARKET! WE DICTATE THE PRICE! WE MAKE BAAAAAAAAAAANK!"


Now, don’t get me wrong.

You’re… ADJACENT to correct.

You’re in the ballpark of correct.

Vaughnie? MM? Other-Corey?

They’re all resting on their laurels.

Showing up to work at their *convenience*.

Just enough to satisfy contractually-obligated minimum appearance clauses in their contracts.

Juuuuuuuust barely clearing the threshold of non-retirement status.

These people are garbage.

Leeches on the XWF.

Siphoning away precious paychecks while expending MINIMAL EFFORT.


“It's the easiest way to accomplish our mission."

"The goal has always been DEFEATING THE WORLD.” Free-Win barks. The rest of the Flynns lean in close, mesmerized.

“That was my mission. Doing it ONE FELL SWOOP. Accomplishing what NO OTHER COULD!”

…

“Now, granted… My preferred method, as Mark Flynn, was… bringing about a world-destroying apocalypse.”

“BUT!”

“The Second best way to beat every competitor in the world?” Free-Win poses this as a question, looking around the room for a Flynn to provide the answer…

Then, he smiles.

“Running a wrestling company.”

“Do you know what employing someone to work is?”

“It’s beating them.”

“Every single day.”

“Watching the ants battle over scraps and crumbs, as you stand over them with a magnifying glass.”

“They worship and plead? Good. They rebel and revolt? Even better. Every move they make is for the benefit of a product you sell to the masses.”

“Every wrestler on the roster turning their desperate, physical exertions chasing a dream mindlessly into YOUR passive income stream.”

“Management IS victory. Employment is defeat. And by ruling the wrestling world?”

“WE BEAT EVERYBODY.”

“It’s just like Theo Pryce told us…”

“Management?”

“Is the real game.”

“Is the REAL fight.”



BUT.

Here’s the problem with your ‘challenge’, there, Holdy.

You CLAIM you want a fight.

A REAL fight.

Quote:Out of all the talent in this company, there has to be someone looking for a real fight.

THERE.

RIGHT FUCKING THERE.

Did you hear that, folks?

Holden Payne.

Laid down the challenge.

For a REAL FIGHT.

…

But the people he named?

The folks he was *brave* enough to call out?

Are the folks that EVEN HOLDEN PAYNE acknowledged…

AREN’T SHOWING UP TO WORK!!!

…

Get what I’m saying?

Holden Payne made a calculated callout.

Addressed to a certain batch of high-profile, missing-in-action names…

That he could assume with a high degree of certainty…

Would not respond to his challenge.

Making him look like a tough guy.

That Dock, Vaughnie and MM are too chicken to face.

…

Honestly?

Fair play.

An almost GENIUS level of punkedness on display here.

On the level of, as a new inmate in prison, calling out the toughest guy in aforementioned prison.

Knowing he was transferred out months ago.

…

But.

Let’s say.

I take you at your word.

In fact, this is a non-hypothetical.

When you lodged the exact same challenge on Warfare?

I took you AT YOUR WORD.

Quote:Out of all the talent in this company, there has to be someone looking for a real fight.

Holden Payne.

Wants a REAL FIGHT.

Quote:I want a challenge, and I want it at The Revelry.

Holden Payne.

Wants a CHALLENGE.

…

Holdemort?

Here's your challenge.

Mark Flynn.

Former Universal champion.

Tied for most briefcases held in XWF History.

The only man to ever enter WarGames holding the X-Treme Title…

And exit it with the belt still around his waist.

XWF Superstar of the Year 2022.

The HIGHEST FUCKING ELO ON THE ENTIRE XWF ROSTER.

I AM STATISTICALLY.

MATHEMATICALLY.

HISTORICALLY.

SCIENTIFICALLY.

AND BY EVERY OTHER METRIC CONCEIVABLE BY THE HUMAN MIND.

THE.

FUCKING.

GUY.

TO BEAT.


From there, the conversation was largely glad-handing and agreeing with each other.

Believe it or not, you get 12 guys in the same room that are technically all the same person?

You get a limited range of opinions.

Optimal Path Mark Flynn went on for a while about The Mountain Top being the Corporate Ladder all along.

Robert Miles just delivered a thumbs-up.

Whore For Gold held out for a few minutes, because ‘HOW FLYNN GET BELTS IF RETIRED?’

…But, once the group explained to the Whore we could use a paycheck to buy all the belts we could dream of, he quickly joined the group.

…It’s funny. Clinton smiled to himself.

He was so worried about making the ultimate sales pitch.

He didn’t account for the product selling itself.

…

Clinton waited for another bout of nods and agreements, before clearing his throat.

“So!” Clinton cuts in! “It’s agreed? Mark Flynn will… retire? And become co-GM?”

…

For a moment, the other Flynns suspiciously side-eye Clinton…

…

Before Free-Win knocks once on the table.

…

The dozen nod.

“Make it so.”

…

Clinton raises his phone.


Back in Flynn's Cherry Red Honda Fit… Clinton (piloting Flynn’s body) starts to text.

“What do I say, Thad? I’m MOTHERFUCKING I-”

…

Clinton’s thumb freezes mid-text.



Clinton hammers on the keyboard of his phone. Hitting the send button over and over.

An error sound chimes each time.

“Fuck.” Clinton mutters as the screen on his phone fizzes and glitches. “FUCK.”

…The Flynns turn to whisper and murmur once more.

Free-Win coughs. “Something the matter, CLINTON.” Free-Win puts an extra bit of pepper on the word ‘Clinton’... Clearly some hostility for the lawyer being the only Flynn persona to not call himself Flynn.

“Uh…” Clinton smiles nervously, feeling the room maybe start to turn on him…

“OH!” HE SNAPS HIS FINGERS! “I’ll just… I’ll call! Who accepts a job offer by text anyway! This calls for a CONVERSATION!”


Clinton raises the phone up to his face…

Cycles through contacts…

Presses Thad’s contact in Flynn’s phone.

And hits ‘ca-...

…

Once more.

Clinton’s…

…

No.

Flynn’s hand.

Is frozen.



“GODDAMMIT.” Clinton holds the phone to his face in the office of Flynn’s mind. But now, his own thumb is stuck in place. “DO IT!”

Clinton grabs his right thumb (the one hovering over the talk button) with his left hand, trying to manhandle his own thumb onto the button!

“FUCKING FUCK YOU! DO IT, YOU FUCK!” Clinton screams at his own thumb!

SWIP!

In a flash, the phone is swiped from Clinton’s hand…

By Free-Win.

“Never call a Clinton to do a Flynn’s job.” Free-Win sighs disappointed, before sliding the phone across the table to The Beast.

The Beast scoops the phone up to his face and smirks at Clinton, before pressing ta-

…

“What?!?” The Beast grimaces at the phone. “Damnable DEVIL DEVICE!”

“Fucking idiot.” RECORD PROFITS™ sighs before wrapping The Beast’s hand under his own. “Do I have to press your thumb down for y-”

…

…RECORD PROFITS™ seethes at both his and the Beast’s hand…

Frozen in place over the phone.

RP growls as the Beast. “WHAT DID YOU DO?!?”

The Beast’s eyebrows raise in puzzlement. “Me?!? I didn’t do anything!”

Whore for Gold dives his entire body on top of RP and B’s hands! “MAKE CALL! GET BELTS!” He lifts his foot over their two hands and sto-

…

His foot freezes millimeters above the phone!

“...BEEEEEEEEEEEEELT!” WFG screeches… Before some unseen force drives his foot backwards and he lands flat on his ass.

The force drives the phone across the table.

…In front of Free-Win Flynn.

…

The rest of the group watches in silence.

…

Free-Win lifts the phone to his face.

Raises his thumb over the button.

…

…His eyes strain.

His hand visibly shakes.

A vein in his forehead visibly pulsates.

As Free-Win struggles against…

Something impossible…

Something unforeseen.

…

The present Mark Flynns…

Despite their collective agreement to end Mark Flynn’s career.

…

Are not in control.




…

Holden.

Maybe you got excited on Warfare…

Because you thought you were wrestling the best.

On his way out the door.

Maybe you believed a rumor that Mark Flynn was cleaning out his desk.

And planning his own retirement party.

Maybe you even thought…

The same way you’d gamed the system to call Vaughnie and Dock cowards…

That you’d turn this into the story…

Of Holden Payne ending Mark Flynn’s career.

…

I got news for you, Hold Music.

I ain’t fucking going anywhere.

I don’t give a shit if it makes financial sense to my brand to leave.

I don’t give a shit if anyone and everyone thinks my best days are behind me.

I don’t give ONE ISOLATED SHIT that I’d have more control from guerilla position than inside that ring.

Know why, Holdo?

Because.

I.

AM.

A.

WRESTLER.

I AM THE GREATEST WRESTLER TO EVER LIVE.

And I’m not fucking going anywhere.

…

You want a challenge, Gary Holdman?

You fucking got it.
]]> <![CDATA[Series Finale (Part Two)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47658 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 20:18:22 -0700 Dionysus]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47658
The void feels...cold...

This darkened, elongated face...

Its piercing, red eyes...

It was as if it could stare directly into my soul.

The chorus around it...laughed loudly.

Becoming even more cluttered in a dense soundscape of noise.

As if a wall of sonic force was buffeting my eardrums.

Instinctively, I clutched at my ears.

...To no avail.

Then...silence.

YOOOOOOOOOOU DEFIIIIIIIED MY SCRIIIIIIIIPT...

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!" I shouted, to no avail. A sickening cough, between a clearing of the throat and choking on one's own bile, was my only reply.

The chorus returned...with a slow roll of applause.

First silent...then once again deafening.

"I-" I tried speaking aloud, but my words were caught in my throat. I clenched at my ears, growling in pain. "I don't know what-"

THE SCRIIIIIIIIPT...KNOOOOOWS AAAAAAAALL...

Suddenly, a sharp pain crossed my eyes. I winced in pain, as images flashed into my mind.

First, a flash of bright white light.

Then...

...

...

...

...

There was me. With my mother.

At the airport. All those years ago.

A moment frozen in time, as we waved good-bye to my father, presumably for the last time.

Another flash.

Now on a snowy winter road in the middle of the night. The road was to the right of me...and the car was slowly flipping into the ditch. I turned to face the passenger next to me.

The long face stared back, as another flash of white light hit me.

There was...a farm...

...Yes, The Brotherhood Compound.

Another flash.

My arms being held aloft with a world title in my hands. But when I went to look...

...The front plate was replaced by the face I now dread.

Its distended jaw opened wider, consuming my entire being.

YOOOOOOU...BELOOOOOOONG...TO PREEEEEEEDIEU'CIEEEER....

The only falling...

The void had swallowed me whole...

...

...

...

...


































































TICK

TICK

TI-

I awoke to the sound of something snapping.

My face was damp, in a cold sweat. My ears were ringing. My eyes, burning.

...But I could feel my heart. I was still alive.

I felt a familiar sofa underneath me. Elbrook's.

Okay, this is normal, I thought to myself. I turned to look at my least favorite clock in existence.

It had broken. Shattered into a million pieces...with the fragments floating in midair.

That...that was not normal.

I definitely was in Elbrook's office, but something felt...off. Like I wasn't supposed to be in this place. I gently set both my feet on the ground, checking to see if the floor was real. Satisfied with the answer, I slowly stood. The haze from whatever ordeal I had been in still lingered. I stumbled, slowly, to the door. The handle was cold to the touch as I tried to turn it.

...But the knob did not turn.

I stared again at the door. A nameplate was the most prominent feature. But for some reason, I couldn't make out the name. It was simply a haze.

"Come in."

There was a gentle voice on the other side of the door. I heard the latch of a lock, and trying the knob again, I was led into...a similar looking room.

Only there was a person inside.

Along with two easy chairs and a projector.

The man standing inside...I really couldn't tell you what I made of him. He seemed like an average person; looked to be about six feet tall, with short brown hair and blue eyes behind glasses. His beard definitely needed some work, along with his physique. But there was something behind those eyes.

They felt...welcoming.

...And at the same time, intimidating.

There was a file folder in his hands when he turned to face me. He smiled, greeting me with, "I was wondering when we would finally meet."

"Who...what...I-"

He held a hand up to silence me. "I understand you have a lot of questions, but lets start with the easiest one. I called you here myself. You are safe in this space."

"...But Predieu-"

The man...chuckled? "Ah yes, him. He is a strange one, isn't he? Just one of my many creations. I'm sure he left a number on you mentally, but I can assure you he will do you no harm here."

I looked at him in confusion. "Your...creations?"

"Well yes," he replied matter-of-factly. "Much like you are, in a manner of speaking."

Those words struck me like a bolt of lightning. I took a slow step forward. "So...you're telling me...you're...God?"

"...What?" he responded confused. Then, in realization of the statement, he said, "Oh, fuck no. Nothing like that at all. Its...difficult to explain, but what Predieu'cier had said had...some...truth to it." He gestured to the seats. "Come, sit. I will explain everything." Still unsure, I decided to approach the chairs with caution. As we both took a seat, the projector immediately snapped on. There was nothing playing, just a warm, white light against a projector screen. The man set the folder on the table, behind the projector, before looking me in the eye.

"So...who exactly are you?" I finally asked after a moment of silence.

The man sighed, thinking about his response. "Lets just say...I have a vested interest in you." As he said that, the projector went through different moments of my life. It was myself and my father, sitting in front of the television, watching my first wrestling match. "I've known you for as long as you have been alive, Dionysus. Though good times and bad. Its because...well, the idea of who you are is something I created. Because you are a story that I have been telling to others for many years now."

It made me think. "So...anything bad that happened to me...that was you?"

The man frowned. "I'm...sorry about that. You see, a story is only as good as the trials someone has to overcome. If I made your life an easy one-"

"You made me suffer for no reason, then," I interrupted. The projector started to show the darker days of living in the old gym, barely scraping by, staging unsanctioned fights around back to barely make the rent...all while my uncle reaped the benefits of my identity. "Everything that happened...my accident, my financial situation...everything with my uncle...that was your design, right? But howcould you do that to me?"

The man nodded. "You are a man of strong will and resilience, Dionysus. The scenarios placed before you shaped you into the man you are today. A simple life, free of complications, was never going to be the life you lead. There would always be something to stand opposite of you. Whether it was someone you considered a friend..."

The projector showed many different faces, people I had long forgotten and chose to leave in my past.

"...Or even family."

Then the image changed to a picture of my uncle...and eventually, my father.

"But why do all this?" I asked him. "Why put me through all of these horrendous life-changing ordeals?"

The man looked at me, a sad expression on his face. "It was not my intention to make you suffer. Your life was set up that way. My goal wasn't to continue to make you suffer, but for you to succeed, despite your trials."

The projector shifted once again, this time to the various titles I had held, to when I finally overcame my criminal uncle and his machinations, to the recent courtroom victory.

...To finally reuniting with my father after all these years.

"All of these moments," I said, gesturing to the screen, "You created them?"

"Indeed. We just talked about this."

"So...none of the choices I made matter in the end, is that right?" I challenged.

The man blinked. "What? No. Do you take me for some kind of manipulative asshole?"

"Well no, but we did just meet. I really don't know what to make of you, and you haven't been really forthcoming with information about all this."

The man raised a finger to object, paused, then shrugged. "That's fair. After all, I'm making something of a revelation about your life."

"So about my decisions..."

"Ah, right," the man remembered. "Every situation you were forced into was created by me, but those scenarios were influenced by your decisions. Didn't you think that the ends you were reaching were a bit too convenient? It was due to me responding to you. Some of your choices even surprised me!"

"Really? I just acted as I normally would."

"Yes, but you have to understand; I had to plan for any possibility." He gestured to the folder. "Its all in there. Every aspect of your life. Your family. Your friends. Everyone you have ever met. Everything you have ever done. Every last detail has been carefully crafted...except for one thing."

"And...what would that be?"

"This conversation, of course. It has just been the two of us talking to one another. And of course...the future."

It was a lot to process all at once.

Every aspect of my life...was crafted to bring me to this moment?

"...What about The Many Faces? Or Doctor Elbrook? William?"

The man stood up, stretching his back. "What do you think they are?"

I thought long and hard about that question. Elbrook was a patient man who approached problems with logical solutions. Daniel's hard attitude held a deeper passion inside. Wade's calm demeanor held a comfort in himself that I never thought I would achieve. And Devin's inquisitive mind led him to further his own curiosity. William was meek, but acted as a guide through my life.

"They are...reflections of myself, aren't they?" I concluded.

The man nodded. "They are real people, but were specifically designed to help you reflect on your own personality, and adapt it. Your mind was in a very fragile state for a number of months, do you recall?"

"Yes, but over time I was realizing what was truly wrong with me."

"What do you mean?" the man asked. "There was nothing ever wrong with you."

I looked back at him even more confused. "...But the voices...they were definitely-" And I paused, realizing what had happened. "...What...were those voices anyway?"

The man simply smiled. "Surely you have seen a sitcom before?"

...

A live studio audience. Of course.

This son of a bitch subjected me to a live studio audience.

"Clever, right? It was to mask the fact that others like me have had an interest in your story...as well as yourself."

"This is...this is a lot to take in."

"Well eventually you-"

"No, 'eventually' my ass," I said angrily. "You are telling me nothing in my life was real. That everything was set up so I could be...what, some sick form of entertainment? And you're telling me that 'eventually' I'm going to just be okay with all this?! This is my life you messed with!"

The man sighed. "No. You weren't here to entertain. You were here to inspire." He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Listen, I know this is difficult to process, but there are a lot of us rooting for you. We want to see you not just to succeed, but to persevere and overcome. In truth, we want what's best for you, and you always work toward a better life. Its why I called you here. To say thank you." He smiled at me. "You have given me great hope all these years, and now I just want to watch you thrive."

I didn't know how to process my feelings in the moment, but I acknowledged that this man did genuinely care for me...in his own strange way. "I don't think I'm ready to forgive...but I'll still need to think about everything."

"Of course. You will return unharmed." He gestured behind me. "Come; I'll see you out."

I stood beside him then, and looked over at the door. "...Before we leave," I began.

"Oh?"

"I was wondering...can you make those closest to me...real?"

The man laughed. "Dionysus, of course they are real. Why are you asking for that?"

"I mean, as they are now. I'd hate for any of them to vanish."

"Believe me, Dionysus. They are as real to you as they are to me." He gave me a gentle pat on the back. "Besides...weren't you going to talk to one of them now?"

The door opened into a warm embrace of light. "...You're right. And I know what to do," I finished, taking a confident step out of the room. In that moment, I tuned back, shouting, "Wait a minute! How do I come back here if I want? What even is your name?!"

"It will always be here for you!" The man shouted back. "And my name...my name is A-"

A rush of wind prevented me from hearing the rest.

Everything faded back into white.

And out of the void I came.

...

...

...

Whatever trance I was in, I started to come out of it.

I was inside the homestead on the vineyard. I was about to go see Doctor Elbrook.

...On second thought, maybe I'll cancel on him.

I have something more important to do.
[Image: IMG-2218.webp]

No myth encapsulates the spirit of professional wrestling quite like Sisyphus.

A man who cheats death time and time again.

Only to live in eternal torment by pushing a boulder up a hill, only for the same boulder to roll back down.

Over...

And over...

Again...

...

It really gets you to think about the man, doesn't it?

Seeing as he had no choice but to push the boulder, what do you imagine he was going through in his mind?

Torment?

Exhaustion?

Insanity?

...Or perhaps something different?

All fantastic questions leading into The Revelry, isn't it? A time of celebration and jubilance, something I have built toward these past few months. The work and dedication to this craft have led me to this opportunity.

The opportunity to capture gold once again.

But this time, with much higher stakes.

While not in my own home, The Revelry could be considered my home field. A time of merriment concealing the desires of others to throw their absolute worst at one another.

And yet, in the main event, it is myself vs Sebastian Everett-Bryce.

A man I have gone to war with before.

The names we have made for ourselves since that chance encounter, huh SEB?

You see, I could spend this time throwing around how unconventional a champion he is. How he hasn't truly proven his worth as a champion as he has yet to beat me one-on-one. But those words ring empty. I could call SEB's meteoric climb to the top of XWF an outsider's approach to success; sign a high-profile name and watch the weight of that name carry them to the loftiest heights. But if that were true, then where would that place me?

I have a respect for what SEB has done in a short amount of time. Uniting with strong talents under one banner, entering a high stakes rumble match, capitalizing on that victory to achieve greatness. What you did in a few short weeks many do not achieve in their lifetime, let alone a career.

...And yet, how easy you made it look is exactly what I take issue with.

It could be a shade of envy that I possess currently, but when I debuted here not but one year ago, I thought my own rise was meteoric. But to see another immediately be catapulted to the top of the mountain...

I will admit, it rubbed me the wrong way.

My philosophy has always been to prove your worth to everyone, to not just let reputation precede you. The weight of a name is only backed by your ability to get the job done. That even if you are to fail, that you give so much of yourself that there is no question to how good your opponent was.

Just ask Spencer Adams, your fellow Pantheon member. We've gone to war many times over the years, and in our last singles outing, while he was successful, he knew I gave him a hell of a fight. Corey Black may not share those same sentiments, but even he knows the depth of my ability. And I'm sure that in preparation for our match, you have spoken with them, to get an idea of what makes The Lord of the Vine tick.

I'm sure what they would tell you is that I am not here to be the best wrestler in existence.

I am here to simply be great.

Greatness comes in many shapes or sizes. It could be multiple titles, hall of fame recognition everywhere you go, the adoration and respect of your peers. But for me, greatness is giving my all and letting everyone know I am a force to be reckoned with.

Think back to each time I fell short in a title match during my tenure. Yes, we'll even count the gorilla, if that helps you.

Was there any signs of stumbling? Of continually failing to make expectations?

Of course not.

Because for me to succumb to my losses would mean the end of my career as it currently is. I can be disappointed in a loss, but then I must learn from it; see where I made mistakes, observe where I could have made certain moves. If you do not learn, how does one hope to advance? It is like Sisyphus and the boulder; with each climb, he must have learned other ways to bring the boulder to the peak. While it would inevitably slide back down the mountain, he would no doubt remember what brought him there in the first place.

It took years to figure out what my own self-worth was. I slaved away thinking that just hard work would be enough to get me ahead. And when that philosophy clashed with others, I knew I had to strike out on my own, with a boot on my ass and a "good riddance" from those that wanted to see me fail.

And yet, I thrived. I didn't need them, or anyone, for that matter. I only needed to be myself...and believe in me too.

The boulder becomes closer to the pinnacle once more, and you stand at the top, a foot placed against it, preventing my progress. So at this stage, only two possibilities present itself.

Either the boulder rolls back down the hill again.

Or you are forced from the precipice.

My bet is on the latter.

And the joy of holding that title will be all the sweeter, knowing that failure does not mean the end. It simply means a new journey will commence.

No matter what happens, my life begins anew after this match.

Either way, I face you head on with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

For I am happy.

As we must imagine Sisyphus happy.

























































































"Hey, Ellie."

"..."

"Yes, I know it's early. But I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important."

"..."

"I think its time we talked...about us."

]]>
The void feels...cold...

This darkened, elongated face...

Its piercing, red eyes...

It was as if it could stare directly into my soul.

The chorus around it...laughed loudly.

Becoming even more cluttered in a dense soundscape of noise.

As if a wall of sonic force was buffeting my eardrums.

Instinctively, I clutched at my ears.

...To no avail.

Then...silence.

YOOOOOOOOOOU DEFIIIIIIIED MY SCRIIIIIIIIPT...

"WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!" I shouted, to no avail. A sickening cough, between a clearing of the throat and choking on one's own bile, was my only reply.

The chorus returned...with a slow roll of applause.

First silent...then once again deafening.

"I-" I tried speaking aloud, but my words were caught in my throat. I clenched at my ears, growling in pain. "I don't know what-"

THE SCRIIIIIIIIPT...KNOOOOOWS AAAAAAAALL...

Suddenly, a sharp pain crossed my eyes. I winced in pain, as images flashed into my mind.

First, a flash of bright white light.

Then...

...

...

...

...

There was me. With my mother.

At the airport. All those years ago.

A moment frozen in time, as we waved good-bye to my father, presumably for the last time.

Another flash.

Now on a snowy winter road in the middle of the night. The road was to the right of me...and the car was slowly flipping into the ditch. I turned to face the passenger next to me.

The long face stared back, as another flash of white light hit me.

There was...a farm...

...Yes, The Brotherhood Compound.

Another flash.

My arms being held aloft with a world title in my hands. But when I went to look...

...The front plate was replaced by the face I now dread.

Its distended jaw opened wider, consuming my entire being.

YOOOOOOU...BELOOOOOOONG...TO PREEEEEEEDIEU'CIEEEER....

The only falling...

The void had swallowed me whole...

...

...

...

...


































































TICK

TICK

TI-

I awoke to the sound of something snapping.

My face was damp, in a cold sweat. My ears were ringing. My eyes, burning.

...But I could feel my heart. I was still alive.

I felt a familiar sofa underneath me. Elbrook's.

Okay, this is normal, I thought to myself. I turned to look at my least favorite clock in existence.

It had broken. Shattered into a million pieces...with the fragments floating in midair.

That...that was not normal.

I definitely was in Elbrook's office, but something felt...off. Like I wasn't supposed to be in this place. I gently set both my feet on the ground, checking to see if the floor was real. Satisfied with the answer, I slowly stood. The haze from whatever ordeal I had been in still lingered. I stumbled, slowly, to the door. The handle was cold to the touch as I tried to turn it.

...But the knob did not turn.

I stared again at the door. A nameplate was the most prominent feature. But for some reason, I couldn't make out the name. It was simply a haze.

"Come in."

There was a gentle voice on the other side of the door. I heard the latch of a lock, and trying the knob again, I was led into...a similar looking room.

Only there was a person inside.

Along with two easy chairs and a projector.

The man standing inside...I really couldn't tell you what I made of him. He seemed like an average person; looked to be about six feet tall, with short brown hair and blue eyes behind glasses. His beard definitely needed some work, along with his physique. But there was something behind those eyes.

They felt...welcoming.

...And at the same time, intimidating.

There was a file folder in his hands when he turned to face me. He smiled, greeting me with, "I was wondering when we would finally meet."

"Who...what...I-"

He held a hand up to silence me. "I understand you have a lot of questions, but lets start with the easiest one. I called you here myself. You are safe in this space."

"...But Predieu-"

The man...chuckled? "Ah yes, him. He is a strange one, isn't he? Just one of my many creations. I'm sure he left a number on you mentally, but I can assure you he will do you no harm here."

I looked at him in confusion. "Your...creations?"

"Well yes," he replied matter-of-factly. "Much like you are, in a manner of speaking."

Those words struck me like a bolt of lightning. I took a slow step forward. "So...you're telling me...you're...God?"

"...What?" he responded confused. Then, in realization of the statement, he said, "Oh, fuck no. Nothing like that at all. Its...difficult to explain, but what Predieu'cier had said had...some...truth to it." He gestured to the seats. "Come, sit. I will explain everything." Still unsure, I decided to approach the chairs with caution. As we both took a seat, the projector immediately snapped on. There was nothing playing, just a warm, white light against a projector screen. The man set the folder on the table, behind the projector, before looking me in the eye.

"So...who exactly are you?" I finally asked after a moment of silence.

The man sighed, thinking about his response. "Lets just say...I have a vested interest in you." As he said that, the projector went through different moments of my life. It was myself and my father, sitting in front of the television, watching my first wrestling match. "I've known you for as long as you have been alive, Dionysus. Though good times and bad. Its because...well, the idea of who you are is something I created. Because you are a story that I have been telling to others for many years now."

It made me think. "So...anything bad that happened to me...that was you?"

The man frowned. "I'm...sorry about that. You see, a story is only as good as the trials someone has to overcome. If I made your life an easy one-"

"You made me suffer for no reason, then," I interrupted. The projector started to show the darker days of living in the old gym, barely scraping by, staging unsanctioned fights around back to barely make the rent...all while my uncle reaped the benefits of my identity. "Everything that happened...my accident, my financial situation...everything with my uncle...that was your design, right? But howcould you do that to me?"

The man nodded. "You are a man of strong will and resilience, Dionysus. The scenarios placed before you shaped you into the man you are today. A simple life, free of complications, was never going to be the life you lead. There would always be something to stand opposite of you. Whether it was someone you considered a friend..."

The projector showed many different faces, people I had long forgotten and chose to leave in my past.

"...Or even family."

Then the image changed to a picture of my uncle...and eventually, my father.

"But why do all this?" I asked him. "Why put me through all of these horrendous life-changing ordeals?"

The man looked at me, a sad expression on his face. "It was not my intention to make you suffer. Your life was set up that way. My goal wasn't to continue to make you suffer, but for you to succeed, despite your trials."

The projector shifted once again, this time to the various titles I had held, to when I finally overcame my criminal uncle and his machinations, to the recent courtroom victory.

...To finally reuniting with my father after all these years.

"All of these moments," I said, gesturing to the screen, "You created them?"

"Indeed. We just talked about this."

"So...none of the choices I made matter in the end, is that right?" I challenged.

The man blinked. "What? No. Do you take me for some kind of manipulative asshole?"

"Well no, but we did just meet. I really don't know what to make of you, and you haven't been really forthcoming with information about all this."

The man raised a finger to object, paused, then shrugged. "That's fair. After all, I'm making something of a revelation about your life."

"So about my decisions..."

"Ah, right," the man remembered. "Every situation you were forced into was created by me, but those scenarios were influenced by your decisions. Didn't you think that the ends you were reaching were a bit too convenient? It was due to me responding to you. Some of your choices even surprised me!"

"Really? I just acted as I normally would."

"Yes, but you have to understand; I had to plan for any possibility." He gestured to the folder. "Its all in there. Every aspect of your life. Your family. Your friends. Everyone you have ever met. Everything you have ever done. Every last detail has been carefully crafted...except for one thing."

"And...what would that be?"

"This conversation, of course. It has just been the two of us talking to one another. And of course...the future."

It was a lot to process all at once.

Every aspect of my life...was crafted to bring me to this moment?

"...What about The Many Faces? Or Doctor Elbrook? William?"

The man stood up, stretching his back. "What do you think they are?"

I thought long and hard about that question. Elbrook was a patient man who approached problems with logical solutions. Daniel's hard attitude held a deeper passion inside. Wade's calm demeanor held a comfort in himself that I never thought I would achieve. And Devin's inquisitive mind led him to further his own curiosity. William was meek, but acted as a guide through my life.

"They are...reflections of myself, aren't they?" I concluded.

The man nodded. "They are real people, but were specifically designed to help you reflect on your own personality, and adapt it. Your mind was in a very fragile state for a number of months, do you recall?"

"Yes, but over time I was realizing what was truly wrong with me."

"What do you mean?" the man asked. "There was nothing ever wrong with you."

I looked back at him even more confused. "...But the voices...they were definitely-" And I paused, realizing what had happened. "...What...were those voices anyway?"

The man simply smiled. "Surely you have seen a sitcom before?"

...

A live studio audience. Of course.

This son of a bitch subjected me to a live studio audience.

"Clever, right? It was to mask the fact that others like me have had an interest in your story...as well as yourself."

"This is...this is a lot to take in."

"Well eventually you-"

"No, 'eventually' my ass," I said angrily. "You are telling me nothing in my life was real. That everything was set up so I could be...what, some sick form of entertainment? And you're telling me that 'eventually' I'm going to just be okay with all this?! This is my life you messed with!"

The man sighed. "No. You weren't here to entertain. You were here to inspire." He placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Listen, I know this is difficult to process, but there are a lot of us rooting for you. We want to see you not just to succeed, but to persevere and overcome. In truth, we want what's best for you, and you always work toward a better life. Its why I called you here. To say thank you." He smiled at me. "You have given me great hope all these years, and now I just want to watch you thrive."

I didn't know how to process my feelings in the moment, but I acknowledged that this man did genuinely care for me...in his own strange way. "I don't think I'm ready to forgive...but I'll still need to think about everything."

"Of course. You will return unharmed." He gestured behind me. "Come; I'll see you out."

I stood beside him then, and looked over at the door. "...Before we leave," I began.

"Oh?"

"I was wondering...can you make those closest to me...real?"

The man laughed. "Dionysus, of course they are real. Why are you asking for that?"

"I mean, as they are now. I'd hate for any of them to vanish."

"Believe me, Dionysus. They are as real to you as they are to me." He gave me a gentle pat on the back. "Besides...weren't you going to talk to one of them now?"

The door opened into a warm embrace of light. "...You're right. And I know what to do," I finished, taking a confident step out of the room. In that moment, I tuned back, shouting, "Wait a minute! How do I come back here if I want? What even is your name?!"

"It will always be here for you!" The man shouted back. "And my name...my name is A-"

A rush of wind prevented me from hearing the rest.

Everything faded back into white.

And out of the void I came.

...

...

...

Whatever trance I was in, I started to come out of it.

I was inside the homestead on the vineyard. I was about to go see Doctor Elbrook.

...On second thought, maybe I'll cancel on him.

I have something more important to do.
[Image: IMG-2218.webp]

No myth encapsulates the spirit of professional wrestling quite like Sisyphus.

A man who cheats death time and time again.

Only to live in eternal torment by pushing a boulder up a hill, only for the same boulder to roll back down.

Over...

And over...

Again...

...

It really gets you to think about the man, doesn't it?

Seeing as he had no choice but to push the boulder, what do you imagine he was going through in his mind?

Torment?

Exhaustion?

Insanity?

...Or perhaps something different?

All fantastic questions leading into The Revelry, isn't it? A time of celebration and jubilance, something I have built toward these past few months. The work and dedication to this craft have led me to this opportunity.

The opportunity to capture gold once again.

But this time, with much higher stakes.

While not in my own home, The Revelry could be considered my home field. A time of merriment concealing the desires of others to throw their absolute worst at one another.

And yet, in the main event, it is myself vs Sebastian Everett-Bryce.

A man I have gone to war with before.

The names we have made for ourselves since that chance encounter, huh SEB?

You see, I could spend this time throwing around how unconventional a champion he is. How he hasn't truly proven his worth as a champion as he has yet to beat me one-on-one. But those words ring empty. I could call SEB's meteoric climb to the top of XWF an outsider's approach to success; sign a high-profile name and watch the weight of that name carry them to the loftiest heights. But if that were true, then where would that place me?

I have a respect for what SEB has done in a short amount of time. Uniting with strong talents under one banner, entering a high stakes rumble match, capitalizing on that victory to achieve greatness. What you did in a few short weeks many do not achieve in their lifetime, let alone a career.

...And yet, how easy you made it look is exactly what I take issue with.

It could be a shade of envy that I possess currently, but when I debuted here not but one year ago, I thought my own rise was meteoric. But to see another immediately be catapulted to the top of the mountain...

I will admit, it rubbed me the wrong way.

My philosophy has always been to prove your worth to everyone, to not just let reputation precede you. The weight of a name is only backed by your ability to get the job done. That even if you are to fail, that you give so much of yourself that there is no question to how good your opponent was.

Just ask Spencer Adams, your fellow Pantheon member. We've gone to war many times over the years, and in our last singles outing, while he was successful, he knew I gave him a hell of a fight. Corey Black may not share those same sentiments, but even he knows the depth of my ability. And I'm sure that in preparation for our match, you have spoken with them, to get an idea of what makes The Lord of the Vine tick.

I'm sure what they would tell you is that I am not here to be the best wrestler in existence.

I am here to simply be great.

Greatness comes in many shapes or sizes. It could be multiple titles, hall of fame recognition everywhere you go, the adoration and respect of your peers. But for me, greatness is giving my all and letting everyone know I am a force to be reckoned with.

Think back to each time I fell short in a title match during my tenure. Yes, we'll even count the gorilla, if that helps you.

Was there any signs of stumbling? Of continually failing to make expectations?

Of course not.

Because for me to succumb to my losses would mean the end of my career as it currently is. I can be disappointed in a loss, but then I must learn from it; see where I made mistakes, observe where I could have made certain moves. If you do not learn, how does one hope to advance? It is like Sisyphus and the boulder; with each climb, he must have learned other ways to bring the boulder to the peak. While it would inevitably slide back down the mountain, he would no doubt remember what brought him there in the first place.

It took years to figure out what my own self-worth was. I slaved away thinking that just hard work would be enough to get me ahead. And when that philosophy clashed with others, I knew I had to strike out on my own, with a boot on my ass and a "good riddance" from those that wanted to see me fail.

And yet, I thrived. I didn't need them, or anyone, for that matter. I only needed to be myself...and believe in me too.

The boulder becomes closer to the pinnacle once more, and you stand at the top, a foot placed against it, preventing my progress. So at this stage, only two possibilities present itself.

Either the boulder rolls back down the hill again.

Or you are forced from the precipice.

My bet is on the latter.

And the joy of holding that title will be all the sweeter, knowing that failure does not mean the end. It simply means a new journey will commence.

No matter what happens, my life begins anew after this match.

Either way, I face you head on with a smile on my face and a song in my heart.

For I am happy.

As we must imagine Sisyphus happy.

























































































"Hey, Ellie."

"..."

"Yes, I know it's early. But I wouldn't have called if it wasn't important."

"..."

"I think its time we talked...about us."

]]> <![CDATA["Loverboy" Vinnie Lane - Space Oddity]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47676 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 20:13:35 -0700 "Loverboy" Vinnie Lane]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47676


‘Twas the night before Memorial Day…


”VINNIE! Cut it the fuck out, you JERK!”

The throaty shout of Micheal Graves echoes in the dining room of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane’s beachside Malibu estate, the Pink Palisades.

Sitting around the table, each with a pair of playing cards in their hands, are Vinnie, Graves, Roxy Cotton, Maxine, and Miss Furry. All of them are barely dressed. Vinnie is only wearing a pair of hot pink boxer shorts with white hearts decorating them, as well as a pair of socks and sock garters. Graves is in his BVDs and his old bone mask, opting for a throwback presentation. Maxine is wearing a tiny hat. Furry is in a teeny tiny matching bra and panties. All of them have piles of clothing next to them on the floor except for Max, who apparently just has been wearing nothing the entire time. The lone exception, Roxy Cotton, is uncharacteristically wearing layers of clothes. She’s got scarves and coats and even an elegant pair of satin elbow length gloves. Most of the chips are in front of Roxy as well. The girl did not sit down planning on losing, that’s for sure.


“Dude, stop! I told you, tonight is about fun not business! Stop trying to sell me on your wrestling school graduates, dude! Do you call or not? And what the heck are you drinking? It smells like crap!”


”Ayahuasca. But BRO what is your PROBLEM!? Just watch this video of my newest prodigy. He’s like Spider-Man but BETTER! We call him… PETER PARKOUR!”

Gravy then shoves his phone into Vinnie’s face.






Vinnie blinks a few times.


“Okay, that dude is admittedly cool.”


”RIGHT??? I haven’t seen purebred athleticism like that since Big Puddin’!”

The table shakes, sending chips fluttering, as the hamfist of Maxine slams into it. Gravy drops his phone and looks sheepishly at his cards, then calls… and raises!

Roxy, Vinnie, and Max all groan and fold, but Miss Furry calls! It’s a one on one! Roxy flips the river card down, and Gravy smiles through his mask somehow. He lays down his cards… the river gives him a full boat! Tens over twos!
Miss Furry throws her hands up and shakes her head, mucking her cards into the pile. Gravy claps and stands up.


”HELL YEAH! Take it OFF, girl! WOO! Show Daddy Gravy the goods!”


“Dude, isn’t she your student?”


”Yeah, so? What’s your point? TITTIES OR GTFO BITCH!”

Unfazed, Furry gets up and removes bra, tossing it onto her pile… then she shimmies out of her skivvies too! Miss Furry is totally nude at the table, and she does a little gyration just to send Gravy over the top!



[Image: GsW2zwy.png]


”HAVE MERCY!”


Graves plops back down into his chair and scoots it up tight against the table. A few seconds later, the sound of thumping against the underside of the tabletop can clearly be heard, and the table itself bonus a little bit with each thud.


”Okay. Done. Vinnie, get this freak of nature out of my house. Why are all your friends so WEIRD!?”


”Babe! Chill! Let’s just take a timeout… Gravy. You, me, let’s have a vape break.”


”I smoke cigs, I ain’t no fairy. Roll my own, too!”


Gravy holds up a horrendously bad looking hand rolled cigarette. One end is twice as fat as the other, and it looks like it was rolled in a Cottonelle toilet paper wrapper.


”That looks like a joint, Gravy.”


”Nope! Pure tobacco. Well, there’s some peyote in there...”


”Oh… kay. Let’s just get to the porch, dude…”



[Image: LpDfqXx.gif]


Fast forward about five minutes, and Vinnie is leaning against his back door, watching Micheal Graves run around on all fours, hallucinating.

Vinnie takes a long drag on his vape before blowing out a huge pink cloud and opining into the empty air.


“I caught a little flack from people around me a few days ago, dude, when I Twittered about how I’d have rather been booked against Razor. But, like, DUDE… have you dug Razor? I’ve been watching the guy, man. He’s raw. He’s green. He’s not winning yet, but you know what? HE WILL. Someday, Razor will get better. Someday, Razor will improve. Right now, Razor is just a man in a giant empty room, nothing in there but himself and a whole lot of potential. But eventually? Eventually, dude, that room is going to fill up with talent and victory and success! What I mean to say is, Razor hasn’t let anyone down yet! He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be… and it’s exciting to watch, man! I’m stoked every time the dude shows up, because you never know what day is gonna be THE day, you know? The one that marks a turning point for someone.”

“I’ve been a part of the XWF for a decade now, dude. Ten years. I’ve seen every rookie come through these doors in that time. First, as one of them. I watched Gator and Doc and Maverick and others all explode into different directions and different levels of success. They watched me do the same! None of our journeys were identical, man, but we all tested the limits of our potential. You know how I know? Because everyone hearing these words knows who those people are! Well, maybe not Maverick. That’s his own fault, though.”

“Ten years. I’ve overcome everything set in front of me from the day I set foot in this company. They thought I couldn’t beat the old guard, but I did. They thought I couldn’t win the big one, but I did. Then they laughed when I moved into administration… until I dragged this place out of the muck and made it the legit multimedia mainstream juggernaut that it is today. I’ve trained people as wrestlers, I’ve trained them as management, and I’ve got a lot more successes than failures, dude, I can tell you that. I live in a freakin’ castle in Malibu with a chick that wakes up every morning looking like a movie star. I’ve got more money than I can ever spend… because Loverboy has a Midas touch, a charmed life, where everything I touch turns to gold. But… there have been a few times I really thought I was onto something incredible and it just fell flat instead.”

“Enter Dolly Waters.”

“You know, in a lot of ways… I’m to blame for Dolly. See, back in 2016, right after finishing up my epic run with the Universal Title, it was one of my jos to evaluate potential new talent. It’s always been something I was really good at! Before me, you had dudes letting Thunderbolt X and Ghost Tank in the door all willy-nilly. If you were gonna put it into Swiftie terms, it was the Peter Gilmour Era. The diamonds in the rough were few and far between, dude. They were almost by accident. Come to think of it, as good as I was, as legendary as I became, they didn’t WANT me here, dude! They were thrilled to have their weird racist midgets or whatever running the show. It was almost a prerequisite that to succeed in the old XWF you needed to be pretty much completely socially undesirable everywhere else. Believe me, it took a lot of work and a lot of time to scrub all the cat food and swastikas off these walls.”

“At any rate, I got out of the ring and into the board rooms… I was there when an unknown Kentucky hillbilly of average talent and below average intelligence showed up looking for work. Now, you can probably guess that my old boss was SUPER into Kentucky hillbillies with a penchant for allowing any and every racial epithet imaginable to fall out of their Copenhagen-filled mouths - so, the guy you might remember as Muddy Waters got a contract. But something unusual happened that day, dudes and dudettes. Muddy had someone with him. It must have been his every other Saturday on the visitation calendar or something, because Mud brought his little girl Dolly with him. And you know what? In that meeting, Dolly was the one who had a real acumen for the work we do. This kid was 13 or 14 or something, and yet she was the one who knew her way around the squared circle. Turns out, Dolly Waters was the one training her daddy, not the other way around! It’s like finding out Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato were the ones writing all the songs for Barney and Friends!”

“I saw something in Dolly. It was controversial, of course, she was a kid. But I saw the same thing I see in Razor nowadays… neverending potential. The sky’s the limit. And she hit the ground running, dude! She was winning matches right away! She was pretty quickly in the title scene and everything. Dolly Waters SHOULD have been the next great megastar of the XWF, after yours truly. But she wasn’t. She never really made it. In fact, in ten years worth of comings and goings here in the XWF, there has probably never been a bigger disappointment than Dolliver Waters. That’s what Dolly’s short for, right? I don’t know, honestly. No one does, I even Asked Jeeves. But seriously, here’s a chick who got scouted and discovered by the greatest champion in the history of the XWF, who got tapped to be the rising star to lead this place out of the gutter and into the sun… and what the heck did she do instead? She fell on her face. She got entangled in some steroid controversy with Morbid Angel. She got abducted by Gravy. And now I guess she’s lost her hair? And above all, she QUIT… over and over again. Imagine having so much talent and letting it go to waste like that, when so many others never got the chance to even try? Those are the career highlights for Dolly. Those are the things people are gonna remember, dude, because at the end of the day she didn’t reach the top of the mountain. She had plenty of shots at it, but she never got it done. Nothing I can say or do can possibly hurt more than that.”


Vinnie takes another deep vape pull, then holds his nose as Gravy walks up to him, apparently finished with his hallucination.


”Sorry. I rolled around in the free-range Mini pen. You gotta stop feeding those guys old burritos!”


”Gnarly. Let’s get you hosed off.”


The two men go back inside, and upon arriving back at the dining table they see that only Maxine remains. Her eyes meet Gravy’s as he walks in, and she pushes all of her chips into the center of the table.


”All in huh? Well… I don’t have enough to call… uh…”


Maxine then slams a massive strap-on dildo harness onto the table, never wavering her glance away from Graves.


”Ohhh… so… I win, I get the money. You win… you get… me?”


Max nods.

Gravy’s adam’s apple jumps up and down, but he agrees and sits across from Maxine. Max deals five cards to each of them and then slams the deck down for Gravy to cut. She mucks two cards and draws, then smiles.

Gravy stays pat, with shaking hands.

Then, Max lays down her cards in a fan in front of her. A flush, all diamonds. Gravy’s brow breaks out into a heavy sweat, and he lays down his cards face down as he stands from the table.


”Let’s get it over with…”


Maxine fist pumps as she jumps up from her seat (pixelated so that the broadcast is still PG!) and she grabs Graves by the wrist and drags him away.

Vinnie watches in horror as his friend is led off, and Roxy comes back into the room to give him a little shoulder rub.


”Gosh… that’s going to hurt in the morning.”


Roxy then grabs Gravy’s cards and looks at them, giving a little double take.


”Vinnie… he had four queens.”


Vinnie smirks.


”Gravy, you dirty dog…”



[Image: LpDfqXx.gif]


A few hours later…


Vinnie and Roxy are asleep in their massive bed, with Miss Furry curled up on the foot of it. Outside the bedroom windows, a bright flash of light turns the night into day as something rattles the windows in their panes.

Vinnie shoots up into a sitting position as Miss Furry hops down onto the floor and circles around, whining.


”What’s happening, girl? Did Gravy fall down a well and get stuck?”


Vinnie nudges Roxy, but she’s ten Ambien deep into a comatose dream about Captain 80s. She’s dead until morning.

Miss Furry whines and scratches at the window, and Vinnie then gets out of bed and heads over, opening the curtains to the side.


”Oh CRAP, dude! It’s a freakin’ UFO!”


Miss Furry then stands up on her hind legs and walks over beside Vinnie, looking out the window with him. Vinnie opens the curtain wider to reveal a giant saucer shaped craft hovering inches above the well manicured front lawn, just a few feet away from the hedge maze and al of the incredible topiaries of various XWF legends.

“Yup. That’s definitely a UFO.”

The sound of urine hitting the shag carpeting can be heard, as Vinnie and Furry lock eyes.


”My bad. I’m definitely gonna have to tell Roxy that it was you, though.”


“Fair.”


”Aw, man, they totally singed my Atara Themis sculpture! Burned the titties right off! Oh wait, that's just the Luca Arzegotti...”


A round opening widens in the side of the craft, and two silhouettes emerge. They float down to the grass and walk toward the front door of the Palisades.


”Crap! I better get down there and turn off the lights so they think I’m not home!”


Lane skedaddles from the room as Miss Furry climbs under the bed, whimpering in fear.

Vinnie hurries down the stairs and starts turning off light switches as he passes them. He gets all the way to the front door just as the doorbell rings (to the tune of “I Wanna Rock” by Twisted Sister). He slams the deadbolt in place and pulls the shades down over the front windows, then wipes his brow and breathes a deep sigh of relief.


”Whew! Close call!”


The front door is then vaporized, and the two figures walk into the living room.


”Oh. Crap. Well, I guess I should have expected that… hold on, SASHA???”


The lead figure’s appearance materializes from the blank black silhouette as vapor from the steaming pile of door ashes disperses around it.



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“Hello Vincent. You do not have to continue to call me Sasha. Though I am not sure you can pronounce my name with only one mouth…”


”Ohhhhh, so THAT’S how you did that one thing. Dude WHAT are you doing at my house? Or like… on EARTH? Oh crap… dude, Roxy hates you… you gotta get outta here… oh, wait, never mind. Rox is down for the count!”


“Vinnie, why are you up?”


”ROX! Hey! Didn’t you take, like, a million Ambien?”


”Don’t be stupid. It was only seven. Who’s this bitch?”


Roxy points a purple painted fingernail at Sasha Grey-Alien, whose eyes start to glimmer in a golden glow.


”Is the female threatening you, Provider of Earth Seed?”


”Provider of what the fuck, now? Vinnie is this cunt here to die tonight?”


Roxy moves toward her huge shoe shelf near the foyer and starts digging out the perfect stiletto heel to stab  someone to death with.


”Rox! No, dude, relax…. Roxy, uh… this is Sasha Grey. Sort of. You remember? SASHA?”


Roxy stops moving and turns around slowly.


”Sasha Grey? The whore you fucked in Russia?”


”Dude it was TEN YEARS ago!”


”You’re both dead. I can’t believe you invited your ex into our home, I swear to Tom Cruise I’m moving in with Angie and all her annoying cats and I am going to fuck ALL of your friends…”


”Dude CHILL! I don’t even have her number! I didn’t invite her here from across the galaxy, she just showed up with her friend. Oh yeah, who’s your friend, Sasha?”


”As you have accurately recalled, it has been one of your decades since I harvested your semen.”


”Heck yeah you did! Five times in one night!”


”Just for that I’m starting with Theo.”


”Our union was a success and the child we created together has reached full maturity. She has completed her upbringing on my home world and is now ready to be incorporated into your Earth society.”


”Waitwaitwait… a daughter? But she’s only ten, dude, she can’t be THAT mature…”


The second silhouette finally solidifies next to Sasha.






”Aw what the crap? Come ON!”


”Vincent, this is our daughter. She is an exquisite specimen. She will easily seduce and harvest any male from your world that she chooses, and her efforts will help populate this planet with our kind. I thank you for your commitment to our cause and will always remember our harvesting sessions fondly. You had a particularly voluminous yield.”


”This bitch…”


”Relax, Rox, you know my yield is totally voluminous with you, too. Even though Sasha’s coot can spin like a dryer barrel and yours can’t.”


Sasha Grey-Alien turns to her progeny and presses her palm against the beautiful blonde’s forehead.


”I have imparted all of the knowledge of our race within you. Fulfill your destiny here on this planet and make me proud. And do not eviscerate your new step mother no matter how much you would like to.”


”Fare thee well, mother. I will use my womb as you have instructed.”


”Goodbye, daughter. Goodbye Vincent. Goodbye hysterical idiot woman.”


Roxy lunges at Sasha Grey-Alien but grabs only a shimmering mist as Vinnie’s  former interstellar paramour vanishes.

Outside, the spacecraft is gone as well.

Standing in the living room, the only remaining evidence of the encounter is the voluptuous extra terrestrial child of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane and his lover from beyond the stars.


”So uh… what’s your name, kiddo?”


The reply he gets from his new daughter sounds like two voices screaming in harmony.


”Yeah that’s not gonna fly… Uh, what can I name my new mini-me… wait, that works! Minnie! Minnie Lane! Welcome home, dude!”


Vinnie hugs his beautiful daughter as Roxy fumes. Just then, Graves waddles in, wincing, wearing only a ball gag. He pulls the ball from his mouth and looks at Vinnie.


”You got any Prep H Vin-man? My asshole is WRECKED.”





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Some time later.


Vinnie stands outside again, vaping and looking at the stars.


”Got to focus on Revelry. TLC in the Bohemian Grove… Dolly Waters and her failed career…”

“Yeah, sure, Dolly won titles. She got the X Title a couple times. Once she dropped it to Gravy, and once she had it for… what, ten minutes? Before giving it over to her gross throuple partner Corey. Ghost Tank won the X Title more than once, too. Mastermind is a three time champ! Heck, I won it by accident after I was retired! And yeah, yeah, yeah… the guy who took it from me? Muddy Waters. I got to write that little act of charity off on my taxes that year, dude. I was like giving a hobo a dollar for ‘food’ when you know its going towards a six pack.”

“Point is, the X-Treme Title is only worth a crap if you can hold onto it and parlay it into that Big Belt, dude. Lots and lots and LOTS of people have won that title, very few have made it count. I didn’t need the X-Treme Title. I took the hard way to the top, and I made it. Dolly? Just another entry on the list of near-misses. A ‘could have been’ who never was. The simple mathematical truth for Dolly Waters, before she steps into the ring at Revelry against the guy she owes her entire career to, her entire adult life to, honestly, is that there’s just nothing she’s ever done that I didn’t do sooner and better than she did.”

“Now… you ask Dolly and she’ll probably tell you the same thing so many others have. She’ll say “Vinnie Lane lost the Universal Title to Scully.” It’s like a record that skips, dude, the thing that always gets thrown in my face by folks who don’t even realize their insult is a bigger compliment. You can’t lose the Universal Title unless you WIN the Universal Title first. My reign as champion kept the XWF afloat, dude! Prior management tried to sink it. We went dark for months. We almost had a Swaggins in the main event! You might as well have hung a “closed” sign on the front door, but instead, the XWF got a hot pink injection of top tier legend and we went on a rocket ship to success. You’re welcome, Dolly. Everything you’ve won since then was because of me.”

“Oh, and trying to tear me down because it was Scully? Yeah dude, Scully was never at my level. I had a bad night at the office. I walked away with a career ending neck injury and to this day my cervical vertebrae are in shambles. No concern on my part though, dude, because I go down on a chick with legs of steel forged on the stripper poles of Los Angeles every single night when I get home. My neck muscles are stronger than bone at this point. I can shrug a Volkswagen. But Scully? Scully made his mark on the XWF. Scully made his mark on ME. He made it. Peter Gilmour made it. Vinnie Lane BUILT it. Dolly Waters? She couldn’t pick it out of a lineup. It’s a shame, dude. I spent a decade being great at this, and I would have bet it ALL on Dolly. And if I had, I’d be living under the same Pikeville bridge as Muddy Waters and his pickled liver, talking about how different our lives could have been if abortion clinics accepted Marlboro Miles.”

“Dolly Waters is the biggest failure of my career, not losing to Scully. That’s why at Revelry, no one is going to be disappointed with my hand getting raised in victory more than me. When I finally get to see the trainwreck up close, and get one last W for the record books, it will just be one more reminder that I was wrong about Dolly Waters.”

“Please Dolly. I’m begging you, dude. Show me what I saw in 2016. Not every day since. I’m coming out of retirement to show you how to climb the ladder in XWF… don’t let me down.”


The motion activated front porch light goes dark, leaving just the gleaming tip of Vinnie’s vape pen. A pink glow that looks just like the stars above.]]>


‘Twas the night before Memorial Day…


”VINNIE! Cut it the fuck out, you JERK!”

The throaty shout of Micheal Graves echoes in the dining room of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane’s beachside Malibu estate, the Pink Palisades.

Sitting around the table, each with a pair of playing cards in their hands, are Vinnie, Graves, Roxy Cotton, Maxine, and Miss Furry. All of them are barely dressed. Vinnie is only wearing a pair of hot pink boxer shorts with white hearts decorating them, as well as a pair of socks and sock garters. Graves is in his BVDs and his old bone mask, opting for a throwback presentation. Maxine is wearing a tiny hat. Furry is in a teeny tiny matching bra and panties. All of them have piles of clothing next to them on the floor except for Max, who apparently just has been wearing nothing the entire time. The lone exception, Roxy Cotton, is uncharacteristically wearing layers of clothes. She’s got scarves and coats and even an elegant pair of satin elbow length gloves. Most of the chips are in front of Roxy as well. The girl did not sit down planning on losing, that’s for sure.


“Dude, stop! I told you, tonight is about fun not business! Stop trying to sell me on your wrestling school graduates, dude! Do you call or not? And what the heck are you drinking? It smells like crap!”


”Ayahuasca. But BRO what is your PROBLEM!? Just watch this video of my newest prodigy. He’s like Spider-Man but BETTER! We call him… PETER PARKOUR!”

Gravy then shoves his phone into Vinnie’s face.






Vinnie blinks a few times.


“Okay, that dude is admittedly cool.”


”RIGHT??? I haven’t seen purebred athleticism like that since Big Puddin’!”

The table shakes, sending chips fluttering, as the hamfist of Maxine slams into it. Gravy drops his phone and looks sheepishly at his cards, then calls… and raises!

Roxy, Vinnie, and Max all groan and fold, but Miss Furry calls! It’s a one on one! Roxy flips the river card down, and Gravy smiles through his mask somehow. He lays down his cards… the river gives him a full boat! Tens over twos!
Miss Furry throws her hands up and shakes her head, mucking her cards into the pile. Gravy claps and stands up.


”HELL YEAH! Take it OFF, girl! WOO! Show Daddy Gravy the goods!”


“Dude, isn’t she your student?”


”Yeah, so? What’s your point? TITTIES OR GTFO BITCH!”

Unfazed, Furry gets up and removes bra, tossing it onto her pile… then she shimmies out of her skivvies too! Miss Furry is totally nude at the table, and she does a little gyration just to send Gravy over the top!



[Image: GsW2zwy.png]


”HAVE MERCY!”


Graves plops back down into his chair and scoots it up tight against the table. A few seconds later, the sound of thumping against the underside of the tabletop can clearly be heard, and the table itself bonus a little bit with each thud.


”Okay. Done. Vinnie, get this freak of nature out of my house. Why are all your friends so WEIRD!?”


”Babe! Chill! Let’s just take a timeout… Gravy. You, me, let’s have a vape break.”


”I smoke cigs, I ain’t no fairy. Roll my own, too!”


Gravy holds up a horrendously bad looking hand rolled cigarette. One end is twice as fat as the other, and it looks like it was rolled in a Cottonelle toilet paper wrapper.


”That looks like a joint, Gravy.”


”Nope! Pure tobacco. Well, there’s some peyote in there...”


”Oh… kay. Let’s just get to the porch, dude…”



[Image: LpDfqXx.gif]


Fast forward about five minutes, and Vinnie is leaning against his back door, watching Micheal Graves run around on all fours, hallucinating.

Vinnie takes a long drag on his vape before blowing out a huge pink cloud and opining into the empty air.


“I caught a little flack from people around me a few days ago, dude, when I Twittered about how I’d have rather been booked against Razor. But, like, DUDE… have you dug Razor? I’ve been watching the guy, man. He’s raw. He’s green. He’s not winning yet, but you know what? HE WILL. Someday, Razor will get better. Someday, Razor will improve. Right now, Razor is just a man in a giant empty room, nothing in there but himself and a whole lot of potential. But eventually? Eventually, dude, that room is going to fill up with talent and victory and success! What I mean to say is, Razor hasn’t let anyone down yet! He’s exactly where he’s supposed to be… and it’s exciting to watch, man! I’m stoked every time the dude shows up, because you never know what day is gonna be THE day, you know? The one that marks a turning point for someone.”

“I’ve been a part of the XWF for a decade now, dude. Ten years. I’ve seen every rookie come through these doors in that time. First, as one of them. I watched Gator and Doc and Maverick and others all explode into different directions and different levels of success. They watched me do the same! None of our journeys were identical, man, but we all tested the limits of our potential. You know how I know? Because everyone hearing these words knows who those people are! Well, maybe not Maverick. That’s his own fault, though.”

“Ten years. I’ve overcome everything set in front of me from the day I set foot in this company. They thought I couldn’t beat the old guard, but I did. They thought I couldn’t win the big one, but I did. Then they laughed when I moved into administration… until I dragged this place out of the muck and made it the legit multimedia mainstream juggernaut that it is today. I’ve trained people as wrestlers, I’ve trained them as management, and I’ve got a lot more successes than failures, dude, I can tell you that. I live in a freakin’ castle in Malibu with a chick that wakes up every morning looking like a movie star. I’ve got more money than I can ever spend… because Loverboy has a Midas touch, a charmed life, where everything I touch turns to gold. But… there have been a few times I really thought I was onto something incredible and it just fell flat instead.”

“Enter Dolly Waters.”

“You know, in a lot of ways… I’m to blame for Dolly. See, back in 2016, right after finishing up my epic run with the Universal Title, it was one of my jos to evaluate potential new talent. It’s always been something I was really good at! Before me, you had dudes letting Thunderbolt X and Ghost Tank in the door all willy-nilly. If you were gonna put it into Swiftie terms, it was the Peter Gilmour Era. The diamonds in the rough were few and far between, dude. They were almost by accident. Come to think of it, as good as I was, as legendary as I became, they didn’t WANT me here, dude! They were thrilled to have their weird racist midgets or whatever running the show. It was almost a prerequisite that to succeed in the old XWF you needed to be pretty much completely socially undesirable everywhere else. Believe me, it took a lot of work and a lot of time to scrub all the cat food and swastikas off these walls.”

“At any rate, I got out of the ring and into the board rooms… I was there when an unknown Kentucky hillbilly of average talent and below average intelligence showed up looking for work. Now, you can probably guess that my old boss was SUPER into Kentucky hillbillies with a penchant for allowing any and every racial epithet imaginable to fall out of their Copenhagen-filled mouths - so, the guy you might remember as Muddy Waters got a contract. But something unusual happened that day, dudes and dudettes. Muddy had someone with him. It must have been his every other Saturday on the visitation calendar or something, because Mud brought his little girl Dolly with him. And you know what? In that meeting, Dolly was the one who had a real acumen for the work we do. This kid was 13 or 14 or something, and yet she was the one who knew her way around the squared circle. Turns out, Dolly Waters was the one training her daddy, not the other way around! It’s like finding out Selena Gomez and Demi Lovato were the ones writing all the songs for Barney and Friends!”

“I saw something in Dolly. It was controversial, of course, she was a kid. But I saw the same thing I see in Razor nowadays… neverending potential. The sky’s the limit. And she hit the ground running, dude! She was winning matches right away! She was pretty quickly in the title scene and everything. Dolly Waters SHOULD have been the next great megastar of the XWF, after yours truly. But she wasn’t. She never really made it. In fact, in ten years worth of comings and goings here in the XWF, there has probably never been a bigger disappointment than Dolliver Waters. That’s what Dolly’s short for, right? I don’t know, honestly. No one does, I even Asked Jeeves. But seriously, here’s a chick who got scouted and discovered by the greatest champion in the history of the XWF, who got tapped to be the rising star to lead this place out of the gutter and into the sun… and what the heck did she do instead? She fell on her face. She got entangled in some steroid controversy with Morbid Angel. She got abducted by Gravy. And now I guess she’s lost her hair? And above all, she QUIT… over and over again. Imagine having so much talent and letting it go to waste like that, when so many others never got the chance to even try? Those are the career highlights for Dolly. Those are the things people are gonna remember, dude, because at the end of the day she didn’t reach the top of the mountain. She had plenty of shots at it, but she never got it done. Nothing I can say or do can possibly hurt more than that.”


Vinnie takes another deep vape pull, then holds his nose as Gravy walks up to him, apparently finished with his hallucination.


”Sorry. I rolled around in the free-range Mini pen. You gotta stop feeding those guys old burritos!”


”Gnarly. Let’s get you hosed off.”


The two men go back inside, and upon arriving back at the dining table they see that only Maxine remains. Her eyes meet Gravy’s as he walks in, and she pushes all of her chips into the center of the table.


”All in huh? Well… I don’t have enough to call… uh…”


Maxine then slams a massive strap-on dildo harness onto the table, never wavering her glance away from Graves.


”Ohhh… so… I win, I get the money. You win… you get… me?”


Max nods.

Gravy’s adam’s apple jumps up and down, but he agrees and sits across from Maxine. Max deals five cards to each of them and then slams the deck down for Gravy to cut. She mucks two cards and draws, then smiles.

Gravy stays pat, with shaking hands.

Then, Max lays down her cards in a fan in front of her. A flush, all diamonds. Gravy’s brow breaks out into a heavy sweat, and he lays down his cards face down as he stands from the table.


”Let’s get it over with…”


Maxine fist pumps as she jumps up from her seat (pixelated so that the broadcast is still PG!) and she grabs Graves by the wrist and drags him away.

Vinnie watches in horror as his friend is led off, and Roxy comes back into the room to give him a little shoulder rub.


”Gosh… that’s going to hurt in the morning.”


Roxy then grabs Gravy’s cards and looks at them, giving a little double take.


”Vinnie… he had four queens.”


Vinnie smirks.


”Gravy, you dirty dog…”



[Image: LpDfqXx.gif]


A few hours later…


Vinnie and Roxy are asleep in their massive bed, with Miss Furry curled up on the foot of it. Outside the bedroom windows, a bright flash of light turns the night into day as something rattles the windows in their panes.

Vinnie shoots up into a sitting position as Miss Furry hops down onto the floor and circles around, whining.


”What’s happening, girl? Did Gravy fall down a well and get stuck?”


Vinnie nudges Roxy, but she’s ten Ambien deep into a comatose dream about Captain 80s. She’s dead until morning.

Miss Furry whines and scratches at the window, and Vinnie then gets out of bed and heads over, opening the curtains to the side.


”Oh CRAP, dude! It’s a freakin’ UFO!”


Miss Furry then stands up on her hind legs and walks over beside Vinnie, looking out the window with him. Vinnie opens the curtain wider to reveal a giant saucer shaped craft hovering inches above the well manicured front lawn, just a few feet away from the hedge maze and al of the incredible topiaries of various XWF legends.

“Yup. That’s definitely a UFO.”

The sound of urine hitting the shag carpeting can be heard, as Vinnie and Furry lock eyes.


”My bad. I’m definitely gonna have to tell Roxy that it was you, though.”


“Fair.”


”Aw, man, they totally singed my Atara Themis sculpture! Burned the titties right off! Oh wait, that's just the Luca Arzegotti...”


A round opening widens in the side of the craft, and two silhouettes emerge. They float down to the grass and walk toward the front door of the Palisades.


”Crap! I better get down there and turn off the lights so they think I’m not home!”


Lane skedaddles from the room as Miss Furry climbs under the bed, whimpering in fear.

Vinnie hurries down the stairs and starts turning off light switches as he passes them. He gets all the way to the front door just as the doorbell rings (to the tune of “I Wanna Rock” by Twisted Sister). He slams the deadbolt in place and pulls the shades down over the front windows, then wipes his brow and breathes a deep sigh of relief.


”Whew! Close call!”


The front door is then vaporized, and the two figures walk into the living room.


”Oh. Crap. Well, I guess I should have expected that… hold on, SASHA???”


The lead figure’s appearance materializes from the blank black silhouette as vapor from the steaming pile of door ashes disperses around it.



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“Hello Vincent. You do not have to continue to call me Sasha. Though I am not sure you can pronounce my name with only one mouth…”


”Ohhhhh, so THAT’S how you did that one thing. Dude WHAT are you doing at my house? Or like… on EARTH? Oh crap… dude, Roxy hates you… you gotta get outta here… oh, wait, never mind. Rox is down for the count!”


“Vinnie, why are you up?”


”ROX! Hey! Didn’t you take, like, a million Ambien?”


”Don’t be stupid. It was only seven. Who’s this bitch?”


Roxy points a purple painted fingernail at Sasha Grey-Alien, whose eyes start to glimmer in a golden glow.


”Is the female threatening you, Provider of Earth Seed?”


”Provider of what the fuck, now? Vinnie is this cunt here to die tonight?”


Roxy moves toward her huge shoe shelf near the foyer and starts digging out the perfect stiletto heel to stab  someone to death with.


”Rox! No, dude, relax…. Roxy, uh… this is Sasha Grey. Sort of. You remember? SASHA?”


Roxy stops moving and turns around slowly.


”Sasha Grey? The whore you fucked in Russia?”


”Dude it was TEN YEARS ago!”


”You’re both dead. I can’t believe you invited your ex into our home, I swear to Tom Cruise I’m moving in with Angie and all her annoying cats and I am going to fuck ALL of your friends…”


”Dude CHILL! I don’t even have her number! I didn’t invite her here from across the galaxy, she just showed up with her friend. Oh yeah, who’s your friend, Sasha?”


”As you have accurately recalled, it has been one of your decades since I harvested your semen.”


”Heck yeah you did! Five times in one night!”


”Just for that I’m starting with Theo.”


”Our union was a success and the child we created together has reached full maturity. She has completed her upbringing on my home world and is now ready to be incorporated into your Earth society.”


”Waitwaitwait… a daughter? But she’s only ten, dude, she can’t be THAT mature…”


The second silhouette finally solidifies next to Sasha.






”Aw what the crap? Come ON!”


”Vincent, this is our daughter. She is an exquisite specimen. She will easily seduce and harvest any male from your world that she chooses, and her efforts will help populate this planet with our kind. I thank you for your commitment to our cause and will always remember our harvesting sessions fondly. You had a particularly voluminous yield.”


”This bitch…”


”Relax, Rox, you know my yield is totally voluminous with you, too. Even though Sasha’s coot can spin like a dryer barrel and yours can’t.”


Sasha Grey-Alien turns to her progeny and presses her palm against the beautiful blonde’s forehead.


”I have imparted all of the knowledge of our race within you. Fulfill your destiny here on this planet and make me proud. And do not eviscerate your new step mother no matter how much you would like to.”


”Fare thee well, mother. I will use my womb as you have instructed.”


”Goodbye, daughter. Goodbye Vincent. Goodbye hysterical idiot woman.”


Roxy lunges at Sasha Grey-Alien but grabs only a shimmering mist as Vinnie’s  former interstellar paramour vanishes.

Outside, the spacecraft is gone as well.

Standing in the living room, the only remaining evidence of the encounter is the voluptuous extra terrestrial child of “Loverboy” Vinnie Lane and his lover from beyond the stars.


”So uh… what’s your name, kiddo?”


The reply he gets from his new daughter sounds like two voices screaming in harmony.


”Yeah that’s not gonna fly… Uh, what can I name my new mini-me… wait, that works! Minnie! Minnie Lane! Welcome home, dude!”


Vinnie hugs his beautiful daughter as Roxy fumes. Just then, Graves waddles in, wincing, wearing only a ball gag. He pulls the ball from his mouth and looks at Vinnie.


”You got any Prep H Vin-man? My asshole is WRECKED.”





[Image: LpDfqXx.gif]



Some time later.


Vinnie stands outside again, vaping and looking at the stars.


”Got to focus on Revelry. TLC in the Bohemian Grove… Dolly Waters and her failed career…”

“Yeah, sure, Dolly won titles. She got the X Title a couple times. Once she dropped it to Gravy, and once she had it for… what, ten minutes? Before giving it over to her gross throuple partner Corey. Ghost Tank won the X Title more than once, too. Mastermind is a three time champ! Heck, I won it by accident after I was retired! And yeah, yeah, yeah… the guy who took it from me? Muddy Waters. I got to write that little act of charity off on my taxes that year, dude. I was like giving a hobo a dollar for ‘food’ when you know its going towards a six pack.”

“Point is, the X-Treme Title is only worth a crap if you can hold onto it and parlay it into that Big Belt, dude. Lots and lots and LOTS of people have won that title, very few have made it count. I didn’t need the X-Treme Title. I took the hard way to the top, and I made it. Dolly? Just another entry on the list of near-misses. A ‘could have been’ who never was. The simple mathematical truth for Dolly Waters, before she steps into the ring at Revelry against the guy she owes her entire career to, her entire adult life to, honestly, is that there’s just nothing she’s ever done that I didn’t do sooner and better than she did.”

“Now… you ask Dolly and she’ll probably tell you the same thing so many others have. She’ll say “Vinnie Lane lost the Universal Title to Scully.” It’s like a record that skips, dude, the thing that always gets thrown in my face by folks who don’t even realize their insult is a bigger compliment. You can’t lose the Universal Title unless you WIN the Universal Title first. My reign as champion kept the XWF afloat, dude! Prior management tried to sink it. We went dark for months. We almost had a Swaggins in the main event! You might as well have hung a “closed” sign on the front door, but instead, the XWF got a hot pink injection of top tier legend and we went on a rocket ship to success. You’re welcome, Dolly. Everything you’ve won since then was because of me.”

“Oh, and trying to tear me down because it was Scully? Yeah dude, Scully was never at my level. I had a bad night at the office. I walked away with a career ending neck injury and to this day my cervical vertebrae are in shambles. No concern on my part though, dude, because I go down on a chick with legs of steel forged on the stripper poles of Los Angeles every single night when I get home. My neck muscles are stronger than bone at this point. I can shrug a Volkswagen. But Scully? Scully made his mark on the XWF. Scully made his mark on ME. He made it. Peter Gilmour made it. Vinnie Lane BUILT it. Dolly Waters? She couldn’t pick it out of a lineup. It’s a shame, dude. I spent a decade being great at this, and I would have bet it ALL on Dolly. And if I had, I’d be living under the same Pikeville bridge as Muddy Waters and his pickled liver, talking about how different our lives could have been if abortion clinics accepted Marlboro Miles.”

“Dolly Waters is the biggest failure of my career, not losing to Scully. That’s why at Revelry, no one is going to be disappointed with my hand getting raised in victory more than me. When I finally get to see the trainwreck up close, and get one last W for the record books, it will just be one more reminder that I was wrong about Dolly Waters.”

“Please Dolly. I’m begging you, dude. Show me what I saw in 2016. Not every day since. I’m coming out of retirement to show you how to climb the ladder in XWF… don’t let me down.”


The motion activated front porch light goes dark, leaving just the gleaming tip of Vinnie’s vape pen. A pink glow that looks just like the stars above.]]> <![CDATA[Tomorrow's Just Another Day]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47673 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 18:48:26 -0700 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47673

The scene opens in four lights, pointed at four different framed photos hanging on a wall.

“There are moments in our lives that define us.”

In from the darkness steps Centurion, his dress shoes echoing off the wood floor. He steps forward just enough to make out his distinctive suit, but the lights and the camera are still focused on the pictures.

“The longer you are in something, the more these moments tend to spring up. Here is the thing, though…in this business, you're only as good as the latest moment.”

Centurion steps further out from the darkness and in front of the first photo. It is a picture of a very young Centurion pinning Erik Furious for his first ever title in the XWF back in 2001. Centurion takes the picture off the wall, stares at it…

And tosses it to the ground, causing the glass to shatter.

“I have fought long and hard for many years to keep the memories of those who came before this current generation alive. I always considered history to be one of the greatest components of the XWF. A federation that has been around for 25 years should promote that fact. It should value that.

Unfortunately, some folks came along and squandered all that.”

Centurion looks at the second photo, which is of him celebrating in the ring with the members of The Prophecy. Like the first, he takes the picture and smashes it on the ground.

“An entire generation of wrestlers came into this place and flushed the prestige of this company down the toilet, and instead of all of us sitting around and having a frank conversation about how things have changed and now the past was filled with terrible people doing terrible things, we have just decided to take everything prior to the year 2019 and pretend it never happened.

That's why I hated you so much, Madison. It's not just because you're some discount Eva Braun. It's because the shit you pulled during your first run here was so disgusting that it has tainted the fabric of this company, and instead of the XWF putting you on some permanent ban list, they pull out the red carpet for you every time you decide you want another paycheck.”

Centurion steps to the third picture, which is of him standing across the ring from XWF legend Dynamic Dynamite during one of their many epic battles. Like the first two, Centurion grabs the camera and smashes it.

“Every time I have stepped in the ring against you, Madison, I have been as motivated as I ever have been prior to stepping in the ring. The first time we fought, I wanted to beat you. The second time? I NEEDED to beat you. And yet…I came up short. Every. Single. Time.”

Centurion steps to the fourth and final picture, which is of Madison Dyson pinning him in the center of the ring. He grabs the photo off the wall and runs his fingers over the glass.

“I think I still have a lot to give to this industry. I think I can still be a champion in the XWF. But none of that matters if I can't beat you, Madison. That's why I decided to put my career on the line against you - not as some gimmick to bait you into the match. It's because nothing matters if I can't beat you. Hell, I could win the Universal Championship and be crowd emperor of wrestling - if I can't get that definitive victory over you, Madison, then it doesn't matter. It'll never fill the void that is in my soul.”

Centurion stares at the picture for a few seconds, before gently placing it back in place on the wall.

“Moments in life…that define us.

Right now, this is the final moment of my wrestling career. This is the final life-changing point in time. I hope, tomorrow night, I can stand here and smash this picture to pieces just like I did the previous ones…but I can't do that right now. Not yet.

I congratulate you, Madison. To an extent, you've already won. You have infected my brain like no one has before. You have gotten me to essentially shut down an entire wrestling brand in an effort to extract my revenge on you. And most importantly, you have the opportunity to do something that many others have dreamed of for years and years.

You have the chance to finally end my career. A lot of people have said they would be the one to do it. Hell, there was a betting pool going around backstage in regards to who would be the one to finally put me out to pasture. You get the chance to do it, Madison. A distinction that you can put on your list of achievements for the rest of your life.

But it sure as shit ain't going to be easy. You're not going to be able to put me down with a “move”. You're going to need to dig down deep. You're going to need to relive your Neo Nazi days and deliver a level of evil that would shock the audience once final time. That's the only way I'm going to let you take me out. It won't be some celebration with a standing ovation and flowers and all that - it will be in on a stretcher, in an ambulance. You want to put me away, that's how you do it.

I would love to say I know how this ends. The fact is…I don't. I know how hard I'm going to fight. I know I'm going to scratch and claw and deliver every ounce of fight I have left in me….but it may not be enough. If this is it, though…it's been a hell of a ride. And perhaps it finally will be me who meets his…

FINAL FANTASY!!!
]]>

The scene opens in four lights, pointed at four different framed photos hanging on a wall.

“There are moments in our lives that define us.”

In from the darkness steps Centurion, his dress shoes echoing off the wood floor. He steps forward just enough to make out his distinctive suit, but the lights and the camera are still focused on the pictures.

“The longer you are in something, the more these moments tend to spring up. Here is the thing, though…in this business, you're only as good as the latest moment.”

Centurion steps further out from the darkness and in front of the first photo. It is a picture of a very young Centurion pinning Erik Furious for his first ever title in the XWF back in 2001. Centurion takes the picture off the wall, stares at it…

And tosses it to the ground, causing the glass to shatter.

“I have fought long and hard for many years to keep the memories of those who came before this current generation alive. I always considered history to be one of the greatest components of the XWF. A federation that has been around for 25 years should promote that fact. It should value that.

Unfortunately, some folks came along and squandered all that.”

Centurion looks at the second photo, which is of him celebrating in the ring with the members of The Prophecy. Like the first, he takes the picture and smashes it on the ground.

“An entire generation of wrestlers came into this place and flushed the prestige of this company down the toilet, and instead of all of us sitting around and having a frank conversation about how things have changed and now the past was filled with terrible people doing terrible things, we have just decided to take everything prior to the year 2019 and pretend it never happened.

That's why I hated you so much, Madison. It's not just because you're some discount Eva Braun. It's because the shit you pulled during your first run here was so disgusting that it has tainted the fabric of this company, and instead of the XWF putting you on some permanent ban list, they pull out the red carpet for you every time you decide you want another paycheck.”

Centurion steps to the third picture, which is of him standing across the ring from XWF legend Dynamic Dynamite during one of their many epic battles. Like the first two, Centurion grabs the camera and smashes it.

“Every time I have stepped in the ring against you, Madison, I have been as motivated as I ever have been prior to stepping in the ring. The first time we fought, I wanted to beat you. The second time? I NEEDED to beat you. And yet…I came up short. Every. Single. Time.”

Centurion steps to the fourth and final picture, which is of Madison Dyson pinning him in the center of the ring. He grabs the photo off the wall and runs his fingers over the glass.

“I think I still have a lot to give to this industry. I think I can still be a champion in the XWF. But none of that matters if I can't beat you, Madison. That's why I decided to put my career on the line against you - not as some gimmick to bait you into the match. It's because nothing matters if I can't beat you. Hell, I could win the Universal Championship and be crowd emperor of wrestling - if I can't get that definitive victory over you, Madison, then it doesn't matter. It'll never fill the void that is in my soul.”

Centurion stares at the picture for a few seconds, before gently placing it back in place on the wall.

“Moments in life…that define us.

Right now, this is the final moment of my wrestling career. This is the final life-changing point in time. I hope, tomorrow night, I can stand here and smash this picture to pieces just like I did the previous ones…but I can't do that right now. Not yet.

I congratulate you, Madison. To an extent, you've already won. You have infected my brain like no one has before. You have gotten me to essentially shut down an entire wrestling brand in an effort to extract my revenge on you. And most importantly, you have the opportunity to do something that many others have dreamed of for years and years.

You have the chance to finally end my career. A lot of people have said they would be the one to do it. Hell, there was a betting pool going around backstage in regards to who would be the one to finally put me out to pasture. You get the chance to do it, Madison. A distinction that you can put on your list of achievements for the rest of your life.

But it sure as shit ain't going to be easy. You're not going to be able to put me down with a “move”. You're going to need to dig down deep. You're going to need to relive your Neo Nazi days and deliver a level of evil that would shock the audience once final time. That's the only way I'm going to let you take me out. It won't be some celebration with a standing ovation and flowers and all that - it will be in on a stretcher, in an ambulance. You want to put me away, that's how you do it.

I would love to say I know how this ends. The fact is…I don't. I know how hard I'm going to fight. I know I'm going to scratch and claw and deliver every ounce of fight I have left in me….but it may not be enough. If this is it, though…it's been a hell of a ride. And perhaps it finally will be me who meets his…

FINAL FANTASY!!!
]]> <![CDATA[John Dies at the End]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47672 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 15:02:37 -0700 BadmonAdams]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47672 CLICK HERE]]> CLICK HERE]]> <![CDATA[Blood and Wine]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47671 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 12:58:03 -0700 Sebastian Everett-Bryce]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47671 "He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead."
- Oscar Wilde
]]> "He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead."
- Oscar Wilde
]]> <![CDATA[The Plot]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47670 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 06:53:42 -0700 Thaddeus Duke]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47670 [Image: JWfu3PW.jpeg]
The War Room
Brooklyn Warehouse
Brooklyn, New York

Part One - Tape Study - Sunday, February 18th

Frankie and I sat for hours upon hours every weekend since Tyler’s XWF debut.  He was a diligent studier not only in school, but it carried over to his plot as well.  It took time to curate everything.  Tyler had been in more places than just the XWF or OCW.  If you’re studying your prey, you don’t stop at the most recent iteration.  You go all the way back as far as you possibly can.

”What’d you learn?” I asked Frankie as I shut off the last recording.

”A lot,” he replied.

”That isn’t much of an answer,” I goaded him.

”I just mean I keep goin’ back to what you said a couple months ago,” he paused.  ”Knowing what bait to lay out so that your prey will willingly walk right into your trap.”

”What else?”

”Gold will lure him, but it’ll also trap him,” Frankie stated as a matter of fact.  ”He seeks clout and nothing more.  He just wants to pretend to be great rather than doin’ the work to actually be great.”

”So what’s step one?” I asked the boy.

”I need to call Aunt Sloane,” he said as he pulled out his cell.

”What?  Why?” I asked.  ”She doesn’t have any gold.”

”No, but she has a title match with Doc,” he reminded me.  ”So she might.”

He holds his hand up as Sloane answers his facetime call.

”Heyyyy Frankie!” she greeted him warmly.  ”What’s up?  Where are you?”

”With my dad in Brooklyn,” he answered her while turning his phone to put me on camera.  ”Say hi, dad.”

”Hey.”

”Hey Thad, what are you guys up to?”

”Plotting my revenge against Tyler.”

”Your revenge,” she repeated with a laugh.

”You think I’m kidding, but I’m actually kinda serious.”

”Thad, you put him up to this?” she asked me.

”Yeah,” I replied.  ”Well, kind of.  I gave him the greenlight to do it if he thought it’d reclaim the power Tyler stole from him when he sold him out.”

”Hmmmm,” Sloane worried.

”Don’t worry, he’ll never be in any actual physical danger,” I reassured her.  ”That’s a mistake I only need to make once.”

”Okay,” she hesitates.  ”What can I do to help?”

”You’re gonna face him at March Madness right?” he asked.

”That appears to be the plan,” she answered.

”Good,” Frankie replied.  ”I kinda need you to take a dive.”

Silence.

”I swear to God I had no idea that was part of his idea,” I called out.

”I mean, make it look good obviously. But…” he paused as Sloane continued to digest his request.  ”Just lose.”

”Frankie, you can’t ask someone to…”

”No, I’ll do it,” she interrupted me.

”For real?” Frankie asked with a beaming smile.

”I don’t know what you’re cooking up, Frankie,” Sloane replied.  ”But you’re a smart kid and I trust that you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

”I’ve been working on it for months,” Frankie reassured her.

”Then if you need me to lose, I’ll lose,” she restated before looking away from the screen briefly.  ”Okay, I need to go feed Quill and Wig.  Thad, call me in a few days would ya?”

”Yeah I will,” I replied.

”Thanks Aunt Sloane,” Frankie replied before they mutually ended their call.  ”There’s one thing I don’t get.”

”What’s that?”

”Why couldn’t I just hatch one big plan in one night?  How come I gotta drag it out?”

”When we go fishing, do you jerk your rod as soon as you feel a nibble?  Or do you set the hook before you reel that bitch in?”

”Set the hook,” he replied.

”You can do this however you want to do it.  You don’t even have to do this at all if you don’t want to.”

”Nah,” he said before sitting in thought for a few moments.  ”You once told me that revenge is a dish best served cold.”

”I did,” I laughed.  ”But I stole that off an 80’s TV show.”

”That doesn’t make it less true.”

”What’s next?”

He sits quietly in thought again.

”You don’t even know?” I chastised him playfully.  ”Your entire plan hinges on Aunt Sloane being a champion and she gotta get through Doc D’Ville in order to be one.”

”That’s step two,” he replied.  ”We need to meet with Doc.”


Everything that has happened, everything that is going to happen, all could’ve been avoided.  Tyler Norrie never had to sell out a young boy just to push the Duke’s from his life.  All he ever needed to do was speak up and like the wind, my family and I would’ve scattered.  Tyler talks a lot.  He accuses me of this, that and the other thing and expects everyone to buy it lock, stock and barrel.  Our existence within his life was certainly not too much when it benefitted him, right?  When it comes right down to it, he’s the one that found his way into my life, not the other way around.  And at the end of the day, no one gave two shits about Cypher or Tyler Norrie when I bought OCW.  He was put into a title match at my orders and no one else’s.

But the Duke’s… you know, we’re bad for Tyler Norrie.  We weren’t, but that’s how he felt.  Truth be told, the Duke’s aren’t bad for anyone- until we are.

There are so few things that get my dander up but he sure as shit hit the nail on the head and made this rift between us extremely personal.  He could’ve betrayed me and only me and I would’ve buried this the moment we fucked him out of the very same championship that I put him in position for.  He didn’t, so I can’t.  Fact is, targeting children is out of bounds regardless of your fandom, regardless of your experience, regardless of how much you like or dislike your opponent.

Some people just have to learn that the hard way and the hard way is exactly what’s coming at The Revelry.  Tyler is on track to learn what 74 others learned before him.  That I’m not some OCW schmuck.  That I’m not some pom pom waving rah rah aw shucks golly gee fan favorite.  They cheer me, not because I play by the rules.  They do it because I’m honest.  They do it because I tell them exactly what I’ll do and then I go and do it.  They do it because whether they’d traditionally like me or not I earned their respect a long time ago.

Tyler hasn’t yet.  Further, it’s likely he never will.  Men like Tyler, they’d rather take the easy road than the one less traveled.  That’s the difference between guys like me, and also-ran’s like he.

It wasn’t my pride he hurt.

It wasn’t my feelings.

It was a child.  My child.  A young boy that never did a damn thing to anyone was targeted for… what?  To make some kinda point that no one else could possibly see?  To send a message to me?  Whatever his reasons, none of them are valid.  Frankie was betrayed by someone he thought loved him.  Now… after damn near two years.  Frankie will have his revenge.


Part Two - Doc’s Little Devil - February 24th

Admittedly, it took a lot of convincing.  Doc and I have always been on friendly terms, but that doesn’t mean I want my kids anywhere near him.  As ‘dangerous’ goes, Louis D’Ville is one of the most dangerous in XWF history.  When I first learned of this part of the plan, I was reluctant to allow it.  I was damn close to vetoing the whole thing from start to finish but at the end of the day, I’ve allowed Frankie to spread his wings and soar.  It’s partially my fault he was victimized to begin with and my only recourse as a father that doesn’t involve me putting a bullet in Tyler’s brain, is allowing Frankie to fly a little close to the sun.

About a week after Frankie’s call with Sloane Taylor, I let Frankie accompany me to Warfare in Sunrise, Florida.  Before the show hit the airwaves and I was due at ringside for color, we found Lou tucked away in some dark, nondescript portion of the Amerant Bank Arena.

”Young Duke,” Doc greeted me in his cold yet somehow still kinda warm demeanor.  ”Even younger Duke.  What a surprise.”

Immediately I felt uneasy.  Instant regret came rushing into my body and I was about to call it off for a second time, but some gleam in Doc’s eyes, with his warm but creepy smile at my son entirely threw me off my game.

”I see you are still without my tag belts, Young Duke,” Doc says as he darts his eyes from me to Frankie.

”Ugggh how many times do I gotta tell you?” I asked in a tone more akin to a teenage kid that didn’t clean his room and less like the 25 year old full grown man that I actually am.  ”Imma get to it.”

”Ummm, Mister… errrm… Doctor D’Ville?” Frankie said, cutting through the awkwardness.  ”I came to ask a favor of you.”

”Oh?” Doc questioned.  ”Imagine that.  Another Duke needing help from little ol’ me.”

Doc threw his hands behind his back and looked more like a caring grandfather in a certain light than the terrorizing being that he is.

”What can I help you with, young Francis?”

”Well… see…” he stammered as he tried to get the words out.

”Frankie,” I said as I leaned down and turned him toward me.  ”He’s just a man.  Whatever else you think you know about Louis, that’s all you need to remember.  He’s made of flesh, blood and bone just like me.  Just like you.”

Okay, so I lied.

”Yes, of course,” Doc agreed with his shittiest grin.  ”There’s no need to fear the Devil.”

Frankie laid out his plan for the Good Doctor from start to finish.  He told him things that even I wasn’t aware of yet.  As he was laying it out for Doc, I started to think that this could all work after all.  If all else failed, then at the very least Frankie can go into sales without a problem because I'm sold.

”You want me to lose to Ms. Taylor?” Doc questioned.  ”Why would I do such a thing?”

”Affection for my dad?”

”Are you asking or is that your answer?”

”If not that, then maybe because I’m just a kid and I’m plotting a devious scheme on an overgrown manchild,” Frankie replied.

”And what have you learned so far about your prey?” D’Ville asked him.

”Why does everyone keep asking me that!?” Frankie called out a bit rhetorically before going on to answer.  ”He's easy to bait. He's a creature of habit and always goes for the low hanging fruit because he's lazy and uninventive.”

”And me losing my precious championship tonight assures you’re successful in setting up this… Cypher… for his downfall?”

”I want to make sure he gets what he wants,” Frankie began to explain.  ”Then I want to take it all away from him.”

His answer coaxed a chuckle from D’Ville.  Sometimes I marvel at this kid.  He’s way too wise for his years and he’s certainly far smarter than I am.

”For your plan to work, young Francis, means I drop my precious to that blond nitwit,” Doc thinks aloud.  ”In turn she drops it to Cypher presumably at March Madness.  You make him a champion.  Then what happens?”

”That’s where dad comes in,” Frankie began.  ”While Tyler is celebrating his hard fought victory, dad comes in behind him and kicks his head off his shoulders.”

”What does that accomplish in your little plan?” he asked.

”It signals intent,” Frankie replied.  ”That Tyler’s next challenge is the man he betrayed nearly two years ago.”

”So we all play hot potato with an XWF Championship just to eventually allow your dad to take it?”

”No,” I chimed in.  ”I have no interest in carrying gold.”

”He won’t remain champion past his first defense,” he continued.  ”Dad will come out and get him looking the other way.  That distraction will allow whomever he’s facing to get the upper hand and plant him on the mat.  That’s where I come in.”

Doc slams his fists down on the table between us, feigning excitement.

”Dad’s gonna teach me how to do a frog splash–”

”I am?” I questioned.  ”We didn’t discuss this.  I’m not putting you in that ring to potentially get hurt.”

”I’ll be fine,” he insisted.  ”Who in your business targets kids, dad?  Only the worst of the worst try hard edge lords.”

”You think this frog splash of yours will put Cypher down for a three count?” Doc questioned.

”Well I’ll be wearing the belt and I’m not gonna aim for his body,” he paused.  ”Just his head.”

The three of us sat quietly for an excruciatingly long time as Louis considered everything Frankie had told him.  At least it seemed like a long time.  With D’Ville, time is an abstract concept.  Frankie cut through the silence by continuing on with his plan.  He told us both how he’d get air time wearing Cypher’s belt just to coax the little snake from his hole.  Frankie told us of the “bravery” Cypher would show in attempting to confront a teenage boy only to get turned away by Seb’s Veneras International security forces.

Before he was finished, Doc D’Ville stood up and grabbed his title from the table.

”Where you going?  We’re still talking.”

”Yes dear boy,” Doc replied.  ”But now I have to go to the ring and defend my precious.”

”You gonna do it?” Frankie asked.  ”Take the dive I mean?”

”It’s a big ask,” I reminded the boy, causing him to look at me.  When he looked back at D’Ville, he was gone.


Projecting your own bullshit onto me is everything I expected from you, Tyler.  So thank you for living down to, and exceeding, my expectations.  Since this saga began in March you have tried to paint me as a bad father because YOU chose to do what YOU did.  Your poor choices don’t make me the bad guy no matter how you try and spin it.  Worse yet, you know that’s the case and you still double, triple and quadruple down on trying to make the world believe that it’s my fault that you’re a shit human being.

You were a piece of shit long before YOU came into MY life and you’ll be a shit human being long after you’ve left it.

Blaming the father of someone YOU hurt is the worst kind of projection, Tyler.  It’s victim blaming’s little brother and everyone knows how that plays out in the public eye.  It doesn’t make you edgy or innovative.  It just makes you like the hundreds of other middling talents that won’t ever be good enough.

I never should’ve trusted you.  That is on me.  People tried to warn me repeatedly for months and I didn’t listen.  Why?  Because I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.  I wanted to extend my hand to you for saving my life three years ago.  I wanted you to rise above what people said about you but all you did was prove everyone right.

Me trusting you and treating you like family is what put my kid in harms way but no matter how you slice it, no matter how you spin it, what happened was all because of you and your poor choices.  Now, at the Revelry inside the Lion’s Den, you’re gonna find out what happens when you betray me and my family.

I don’t ask much of my friends.  Loyalty.  That’s it.  I bring you in and treat you like my own blood and all I ask in return is that you remain loyal to me, to my family because there’s nothing I won’t give you but love, respect and a helping hand without a second thought.  You’re finding out slowly that I make a much better ally than an enemy.


Part Three - The Splash - Day of Cypher’s Title Defense

Without his mother’s knowledge, she’d veto without question, I had an XWF ring set up in the Brooklyn warehouse.  After school for weeks, Frankie and I would come here and he’d practice the frog splash.  At first there was a crash mat.  The last thing I wanted was for him to hurt himself when he was learning.  Today was the day I finally removed the crash mat and replaced it with a dummy.

”If you’re gonna do this tonight, you gotta know how to hit the mat without hurting yourself,” I told him.

”I’ll be fine,” he said as he climbed the ropes.

Dressed in nothing more than sneakers, basketball shorts and knee and elbow pads, Frankie’s jacked (for a scrawny 13 year old) body leaps, and frog splashes the dummies head.

”Shit,” he muttered to himself.

”You gotta make sure your knees and elbows hit the mat at the same time,” I told him from my perch atop one of the corners.  ”You need to spread the impact over as much of your body as you can.”

Picking himself up from the mat, he returned to the corner to climb again.  Just as he prepared to take flight, his mother entered the building.

”I brought lun… LEANDER!” she yelled at me as Frankie flew and perfectly landed his frog splash.  ”Francis Robert!  Don’t you do that again!”

”Babydoll rela…”

”No!  Absolutely not!  Frankie, get in the car, you’re coming home with me!”

”He’s been practicing for weeks, Lauren.  Trust me.  He’s fine.”

”Mom, let me show you,” Frankie pleaded as he began preparing himself for another attempt.  Adjusting his pads he then scaled the turnbuckles again and landed another perfect frog splash.  This time, not hurting himself in the process.

Lauren watched but was visibly angry.  I understand it.  He’s just a boy and what’s more, he’s her boy.  She’d never forgive herself nor me if something happened to him.

”You’re really gonna put him in the ring with grown ass men?” she questioned angrily.  ”What if something goes wrong?  What if the turnbuckle breaks?  What if he lands awkwardly and breaks his arm, or busts up his knees?”

”That’s not gonna happen…”

”You don’t know…”

”I do know!” I interrupted.

”How could you possibly?”

”BECAUSE I TAUGHT HIM!” I snapped.

”Anything happens to him, it’s your ass,” she warned before storming out.

”I should’ve told her,” Frankie said apologetically.

”Yeah me too,” I agreed.  ”Don’t fuck this up, kid.  I don’t wanna sleep on the couch in my own house.”

To be clear, I have thoroughly enjoyed being the puppet as he pulled all the strings.  Frankie is an extremely intelligent kid and to watch his plot unfold almost to perfection the way it has, has been a great joy to me.  Through this process, he’s learned to let go of what hurts him.  By focusing on how to get past it rather than dwell on what happened, it’s allowed him to spread his wings so to speak.  Whether I win or lose doesn’t matter.  What matters is that justice is served.  That justice isn’t predicated on the final outcome.  If Tyler is victorious, he’ll have earned it and it’ll be the one and only thing he’s ever truly earned in the wrestling business.


Tyler… is a coward.  He’s gone on record saying I hid behind Frankie despite me being the aggressor.  He didn’t have the balls to confront me man to man until my hands were cuffed behind my back at my own doing.  He didn’t have the testicular fortitude to face me man to man until I assured him that I wouldn’t hit him.

He sure was willing and eager to confront a teenage boy standing alone in the middle of the ring though, wasn’t he?  He wanted his belt back and there he was, an undersized 13 year old kid cutting a promo but Tyler wanted to deal with him… until my kids protection detail showed themselves and Tyler didn’t want anything to do with him then, did he?

Cuffing myself in the middle of the ring and hitting my knees, putting myself at Tyler’s mercy was a test.  One he failed miserably.  Thing is, I knew he would because he’s a coward.  Now I didn’t intend to have thumbtacks stuck into my eyeball, but I was ready for Tyler to exceed my low expectations of him by sinking even lower.  I knew what I was in for, but that didn’t matter.  There isn’t a single piece of bait that Tyler won’t swallow hook, line and sinker.

Did that make you feel like a man, Tyler?  Did accosting a restrained man make your shriveled little dick hard?  Congratulations for repeatedly proving what a weak little bitch you truly are.  See Frankie put that test out there just for you.  You had two options and you chose the one everyone knew you would.

Why?

Because you’re a coward.

I will give you some props though, Tyler.  You did have the balls to directly threaten my kid right in front of my face and I’m sure I did exactly what you wanted me to do.  And I don’t regret a damn thing about it.

Frankie set him up.  Now, I knock him down.

At the Revelry in Cali, Tyler, there can be no cowardice.  There will be no mercy afforded to you.  There will be nothing but relentless pursuit of the Lion’s Justice.  Win or lose, this ends on June 2nd.  I will not and can not afford you the courtesy of being a friend and not hurting you.  I will hurt you.  I have every intention of hurting you.  I’m intent on making absolutely certain that you will not walk out under your own power.  If I have to do the same to myself, then so be it.  That’s what it means to live for something other than yourself.  Try it sometime.  You might just find your life’s purpose other than being a sniveling little snake in the grass whose hiss is far worse than his bite.

My hope for you Tyler, is that you come out the other side of this with regret.  Not regret that you got yourself tangled in this mess, but regret that you made the choices you made.  My boy is still naive enough to think that maybe you’re salvageable.  I make no such assumption.

When the bell rings and you’re standing across from me, I won’t see Tyler.  I won’t see a man I once trusted.  I won’t see a man that used to sit in the locker room and play video games with my son.  All I’ll see Tyler… served to me on a golden platter… is vengeance.

I became Frankie’s vessel of revenge because I can.

I put this match inside my own personal fucking playground because I can.

I will hurt you… because I can.

I will make you regret the day you saved my life… because I can.

I’m going to beat you to a bloody fucking pulp… because I can.

I’m going to make you feel pain in places that you didn’t even know you had places because… I can.

I will serve the young lion’s justice, Tyler... simply… because I can.]]> [Image: JWfu3PW.jpeg]
The War Room
Brooklyn Warehouse
Brooklyn, New York

Part One - Tape Study - Sunday, February 18th

Frankie and I sat for hours upon hours every weekend since Tyler’s XWF debut.  He was a diligent studier not only in school, but it carried over to his plot as well.  It took time to curate everything.  Tyler had been in more places than just the XWF or OCW.  If you’re studying your prey, you don’t stop at the most recent iteration.  You go all the way back as far as you possibly can.

”What’d you learn?” I asked Frankie as I shut off the last recording.

”A lot,” he replied.

”That isn’t much of an answer,” I goaded him.

”I just mean I keep goin’ back to what you said a couple months ago,” he paused.  ”Knowing what bait to lay out so that your prey will willingly walk right into your trap.”

”What else?”

”Gold will lure him, but it’ll also trap him,” Frankie stated as a matter of fact.  ”He seeks clout and nothing more.  He just wants to pretend to be great rather than doin’ the work to actually be great.”

”So what’s step one?” I asked the boy.

”I need to call Aunt Sloane,” he said as he pulled out his cell.

”What?  Why?” I asked.  ”She doesn’t have any gold.”

”No, but she has a title match with Doc,” he reminded me.  ”So she might.”

He holds his hand up as Sloane answers his facetime call.

”Heyyyy Frankie!” she greeted him warmly.  ”What’s up?  Where are you?”

”With my dad in Brooklyn,” he answered her while turning his phone to put me on camera.  ”Say hi, dad.”

”Hey.”

”Hey Thad, what are you guys up to?”

”Plotting my revenge against Tyler.”

”Your revenge,” she repeated with a laugh.

”You think I’m kidding, but I’m actually kinda serious.”

”Thad, you put him up to this?” she asked me.

”Yeah,” I replied.  ”Well, kind of.  I gave him the greenlight to do it if he thought it’d reclaim the power Tyler stole from him when he sold him out.”

”Hmmmm,” Sloane worried.

”Don’t worry, he’ll never be in any actual physical danger,” I reassured her.  ”That’s a mistake I only need to make once.”

”Okay,” she hesitates.  ”What can I do to help?”

”You’re gonna face him at March Madness right?” he asked.

”That appears to be the plan,” she answered.

”Good,” Frankie replied.  ”I kinda need you to take a dive.”

Silence.

”I swear to God I had no idea that was part of his idea,” I called out.

”I mean, make it look good obviously. But…” he paused as Sloane continued to digest his request.  ”Just lose.”

”Frankie, you can’t ask someone to…”

”No, I’ll do it,” she interrupted me.

”For real?” Frankie asked with a beaming smile.

”I don’t know what you’re cooking up, Frankie,” Sloane replied.  ”But you’re a smart kid and I trust that you’ve put a lot of thought into this.”

”I’ve been working on it for months,” Frankie reassured her.

”Then if you need me to lose, I’ll lose,” she restated before looking away from the screen briefly.  ”Okay, I need to go feed Quill and Wig.  Thad, call me in a few days would ya?”

”Yeah I will,” I replied.

”Thanks Aunt Sloane,” Frankie replied before they mutually ended their call.  ”There’s one thing I don’t get.”

”What’s that?”

”Why couldn’t I just hatch one big plan in one night?  How come I gotta drag it out?”

”When we go fishing, do you jerk your rod as soon as you feel a nibble?  Or do you set the hook before you reel that bitch in?”

”Set the hook,” he replied.

”You can do this however you want to do it.  You don’t even have to do this at all if you don’t want to.”

”Nah,” he said before sitting in thought for a few moments.  ”You once told me that revenge is a dish best served cold.”

”I did,” I laughed.  ”But I stole that off an 80’s TV show.”

”That doesn’t make it less true.”

”What’s next?”

He sits quietly in thought again.

”You don’t even know?” I chastised him playfully.  ”Your entire plan hinges on Aunt Sloane being a champion and she gotta get through Doc D’Ville in order to be one.”

”That’s step two,” he replied.  ”We need to meet with Doc.”


Everything that has happened, everything that is going to happen, all could’ve been avoided.  Tyler Norrie never had to sell out a young boy just to push the Duke’s from his life.  All he ever needed to do was speak up and like the wind, my family and I would’ve scattered.  Tyler talks a lot.  He accuses me of this, that and the other thing and expects everyone to buy it lock, stock and barrel.  Our existence within his life was certainly not too much when it benefitted him, right?  When it comes right down to it, he’s the one that found his way into my life, not the other way around.  And at the end of the day, no one gave two shits about Cypher or Tyler Norrie when I bought OCW.  He was put into a title match at my orders and no one else’s.

But the Duke’s… you know, we’re bad for Tyler Norrie.  We weren’t, but that’s how he felt.  Truth be told, the Duke’s aren’t bad for anyone- until we are.

There are so few things that get my dander up but he sure as shit hit the nail on the head and made this rift between us extremely personal.  He could’ve betrayed me and only me and I would’ve buried this the moment we fucked him out of the very same championship that I put him in position for.  He didn’t, so I can’t.  Fact is, targeting children is out of bounds regardless of your fandom, regardless of your experience, regardless of how much you like or dislike your opponent.

Some people just have to learn that the hard way and the hard way is exactly what’s coming at The Revelry.  Tyler is on track to learn what 74 others learned before him.  That I’m not some OCW schmuck.  That I’m not some pom pom waving rah rah aw shucks golly gee fan favorite.  They cheer me, not because I play by the rules.  They do it because I’m honest.  They do it because I tell them exactly what I’ll do and then I go and do it.  They do it because whether they’d traditionally like me or not I earned their respect a long time ago.

Tyler hasn’t yet.  Further, it’s likely he never will.  Men like Tyler, they’d rather take the easy road than the one less traveled.  That’s the difference between guys like me, and also-ran’s like he.

It wasn’t my pride he hurt.

It wasn’t my feelings.

It was a child.  My child.  A young boy that never did a damn thing to anyone was targeted for… what?  To make some kinda point that no one else could possibly see?  To send a message to me?  Whatever his reasons, none of them are valid.  Frankie was betrayed by someone he thought loved him.  Now… after damn near two years.  Frankie will have his revenge.


Part Two - Doc’s Little Devil - February 24th

Admittedly, it took a lot of convincing.  Doc and I have always been on friendly terms, but that doesn’t mean I want my kids anywhere near him.  As ‘dangerous’ goes, Louis D’Ville is one of the most dangerous in XWF history.  When I first learned of this part of the plan, I was reluctant to allow it.  I was damn close to vetoing the whole thing from start to finish but at the end of the day, I’ve allowed Frankie to spread his wings and soar.  It’s partially my fault he was victimized to begin with and my only recourse as a father that doesn’t involve me putting a bullet in Tyler’s brain, is allowing Frankie to fly a little close to the sun.

About a week after Frankie’s call with Sloane Taylor, I let Frankie accompany me to Warfare in Sunrise, Florida.  Before the show hit the airwaves and I was due at ringside for color, we found Lou tucked away in some dark, nondescript portion of the Amerant Bank Arena.

”Young Duke,” Doc greeted me in his cold yet somehow still kinda warm demeanor.  ”Even younger Duke.  What a surprise.”

Immediately I felt uneasy.  Instant regret came rushing into my body and I was about to call it off for a second time, but some gleam in Doc’s eyes, with his warm but creepy smile at my son entirely threw me off my game.

”I see you are still without my tag belts, Young Duke,” Doc says as he darts his eyes from me to Frankie.

”Ugggh how many times do I gotta tell you?” I asked in a tone more akin to a teenage kid that didn’t clean his room and less like the 25 year old full grown man that I actually am.  ”Imma get to it.”

”Ummm, Mister… errrm… Doctor D’Ville?” Frankie said, cutting through the awkwardness.  ”I came to ask a favor of you.”

”Oh?” Doc questioned.  ”Imagine that.  Another Duke needing help from little ol’ me.”

Doc threw his hands behind his back and looked more like a caring grandfather in a certain light than the terrorizing being that he is.

”What can I help you with, young Francis?”

”Well… see…” he stammered as he tried to get the words out.

”Frankie,” I said as I leaned down and turned him toward me.  ”He’s just a man.  Whatever else you think you know about Louis, that’s all you need to remember.  He’s made of flesh, blood and bone just like me.  Just like you.”

Okay, so I lied.

”Yes, of course,” Doc agreed with his shittiest grin.  ”There’s no need to fear the Devil.”

Frankie laid out his plan for the Good Doctor from start to finish.  He told him things that even I wasn’t aware of yet.  As he was laying it out for Doc, I started to think that this could all work after all.  If all else failed, then at the very least Frankie can go into sales without a problem because I'm sold.

”You want me to lose to Ms. Taylor?” Doc questioned.  ”Why would I do such a thing?”

”Affection for my dad?”

”Are you asking or is that your answer?”

”If not that, then maybe because I’m just a kid and I’m plotting a devious scheme on an overgrown manchild,” Frankie replied.

”And what have you learned so far about your prey?” D’Ville asked him.

”Why does everyone keep asking me that!?” Frankie called out a bit rhetorically before going on to answer.  ”He's easy to bait. He's a creature of habit and always goes for the low hanging fruit because he's lazy and uninventive.”

”And me losing my precious championship tonight assures you’re successful in setting up this… Cypher… for his downfall?”

”I want to make sure he gets what he wants,” Frankie began to explain.  ”Then I want to take it all away from him.”

His answer coaxed a chuckle from D’Ville.  Sometimes I marvel at this kid.  He’s way too wise for his years and he’s certainly far smarter than I am.

”For your plan to work, young Francis, means I drop my precious to that blond nitwit,” Doc thinks aloud.  ”In turn she drops it to Cypher presumably at March Madness.  You make him a champion.  Then what happens?”

”That’s where dad comes in,” Frankie began.  ”While Tyler is celebrating his hard fought victory, dad comes in behind him and kicks his head off his shoulders.”

”What does that accomplish in your little plan?” he asked.

”It signals intent,” Frankie replied.  ”That Tyler’s next challenge is the man he betrayed nearly two years ago.”

”So we all play hot potato with an XWF Championship just to eventually allow your dad to take it?”

”No,” I chimed in.  ”I have no interest in carrying gold.”

”He won’t remain champion past his first defense,” he continued.  ”Dad will come out and get him looking the other way.  That distraction will allow whomever he’s facing to get the upper hand and plant him on the mat.  That’s where I come in.”

Doc slams his fists down on the table between us, feigning excitement.

”Dad’s gonna teach me how to do a frog splash–”

”I am?” I questioned.  ”We didn’t discuss this.  I’m not putting you in that ring to potentially get hurt.”

”I’ll be fine,” he insisted.  ”Who in your business targets kids, dad?  Only the worst of the worst try hard edge lords.”

”You think this frog splash of yours will put Cypher down for a three count?” Doc questioned.

”Well I’ll be wearing the belt and I’m not gonna aim for his body,” he paused.  ”Just his head.”

The three of us sat quietly for an excruciatingly long time as Louis considered everything Frankie had told him.  At least it seemed like a long time.  With D’Ville, time is an abstract concept.  Frankie cut through the silence by continuing on with his plan.  He told us both how he’d get air time wearing Cypher’s belt just to coax the little snake from his hole.  Frankie told us of the “bravery” Cypher would show in attempting to confront a teenage boy only to get turned away by Seb’s Veneras International security forces.

Before he was finished, Doc D’Ville stood up and grabbed his title from the table.

”Where you going?  We’re still talking.”

”Yes dear boy,” Doc replied.  ”But now I have to go to the ring and defend my precious.”

”You gonna do it?” Frankie asked.  ”Take the dive I mean?”

”It’s a big ask,” I reminded the boy, causing him to look at me.  When he looked back at D’Ville, he was gone.


Projecting your own bullshit onto me is everything I expected from you, Tyler.  So thank you for living down to, and exceeding, my expectations.  Since this saga began in March you have tried to paint me as a bad father because YOU chose to do what YOU did.  Your poor choices don’t make me the bad guy no matter how you try and spin it.  Worse yet, you know that’s the case and you still double, triple and quadruple down on trying to make the world believe that it’s my fault that you’re a shit human being.

You were a piece of shit long before YOU came into MY life and you’ll be a shit human being long after you’ve left it.

Blaming the father of someone YOU hurt is the worst kind of projection, Tyler.  It’s victim blaming’s little brother and everyone knows how that plays out in the public eye.  It doesn’t make you edgy or innovative.  It just makes you like the hundreds of other middling talents that won’t ever be good enough.

I never should’ve trusted you.  That is on me.  People tried to warn me repeatedly for months and I didn’t listen.  Why?  Because I wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt.  I wanted to extend my hand to you for saving my life three years ago.  I wanted you to rise above what people said about you but all you did was prove everyone right.

Me trusting you and treating you like family is what put my kid in harms way but no matter how you slice it, no matter how you spin it, what happened was all because of you and your poor choices.  Now, at the Revelry inside the Lion’s Den, you’re gonna find out what happens when you betray me and my family.

I don’t ask much of my friends.  Loyalty.  That’s it.  I bring you in and treat you like my own blood and all I ask in return is that you remain loyal to me, to my family because there’s nothing I won’t give you but love, respect and a helping hand without a second thought.  You’re finding out slowly that I make a much better ally than an enemy.


Part Three - The Splash - Day of Cypher’s Title Defense

Without his mother’s knowledge, she’d veto without question, I had an XWF ring set up in the Brooklyn warehouse.  After school for weeks, Frankie and I would come here and he’d practice the frog splash.  At first there was a crash mat.  The last thing I wanted was for him to hurt himself when he was learning.  Today was the day I finally removed the crash mat and replaced it with a dummy.

”If you’re gonna do this tonight, you gotta know how to hit the mat without hurting yourself,” I told him.

”I’ll be fine,” he said as he climbed the ropes.

Dressed in nothing more than sneakers, basketball shorts and knee and elbow pads, Frankie’s jacked (for a scrawny 13 year old) body leaps, and frog splashes the dummies head.

”Shit,” he muttered to himself.

”You gotta make sure your knees and elbows hit the mat at the same time,” I told him from my perch atop one of the corners.  ”You need to spread the impact over as much of your body as you can.”

Picking himself up from the mat, he returned to the corner to climb again.  Just as he prepared to take flight, his mother entered the building.

”I brought lun… LEANDER!” she yelled at me as Frankie flew and perfectly landed his frog splash.  ”Francis Robert!  Don’t you do that again!”

”Babydoll rela…”

”No!  Absolutely not!  Frankie, get in the car, you’re coming home with me!”

”He’s been practicing for weeks, Lauren.  Trust me.  He’s fine.”

”Mom, let me show you,” Frankie pleaded as he began preparing himself for another attempt.  Adjusting his pads he then scaled the turnbuckles again and landed another perfect frog splash.  This time, not hurting himself in the process.

Lauren watched but was visibly angry.  I understand it.  He’s just a boy and what’s more, he’s her boy.  She’d never forgive herself nor me if something happened to him.

”You’re really gonna put him in the ring with grown ass men?” she questioned angrily.  ”What if something goes wrong?  What if the turnbuckle breaks?  What if he lands awkwardly and breaks his arm, or busts up his knees?”

”That’s not gonna happen…”

”You don’t know…”

”I do know!” I interrupted.

”How could you possibly?”

”BECAUSE I TAUGHT HIM!” I snapped.

”Anything happens to him, it’s your ass,” she warned before storming out.

”I should’ve told her,” Frankie said apologetically.

”Yeah me too,” I agreed.  ”Don’t fuck this up, kid.  I don’t wanna sleep on the couch in my own house.”

To be clear, I have thoroughly enjoyed being the puppet as he pulled all the strings.  Frankie is an extremely intelligent kid and to watch his plot unfold almost to perfection the way it has, has been a great joy to me.  Through this process, he’s learned to let go of what hurts him.  By focusing on how to get past it rather than dwell on what happened, it’s allowed him to spread his wings so to speak.  Whether I win or lose doesn’t matter.  What matters is that justice is served.  That justice isn’t predicated on the final outcome.  If Tyler is victorious, he’ll have earned it and it’ll be the one and only thing he’s ever truly earned in the wrestling business.


Tyler… is a coward.  He’s gone on record saying I hid behind Frankie despite me being the aggressor.  He didn’t have the balls to confront me man to man until my hands were cuffed behind my back at my own doing.  He didn’t have the testicular fortitude to face me man to man until I assured him that I wouldn’t hit him.

He sure was willing and eager to confront a teenage boy standing alone in the middle of the ring though, wasn’t he?  He wanted his belt back and there he was, an undersized 13 year old kid cutting a promo but Tyler wanted to deal with him… until my kids protection detail showed themselves and Tyler didn’t want anything to do with him then, did he?

Cuffing myself in the middle of the ring and hitting my knees, putting myself at Tyler’s mercy was a test.  One he failed miserably.  Thing is, I knew he would because he’s a coward.  Now I didn’t intend to have thumbtacks stuck into my eyeball, but I was ready for Tyler to exceed my low expectations of him by sinking even lower.  I knew what I was in for, but that didn’t matter.  There isn’t a single piece of bait that Tyler won’t swallow hook, line and sinker.

Did that make you feel like a man, Tyler?  Did accosting a restrained man make your shriveled little dick hard?  Congratulations for repeatedly proving what a weak little bitch you truly are.  See Frankie put that test out there just for you.  You had two options and you chose the one everyone knew you would.

Why?

Because you’re a coward.

I will give you some props though, Tyler.  You did have the balls to directly threaten my kid right in front of my face and I’m sure I did exactly what you wanted me to do.  And I don’t regret a damn thing about it.

Frankie set him up.  Now, I knock him down.

At the Revelry in Cali, Tyler, there can be no cowardice.  There will be no mercy afforded to you.  There will be nothing but relentless pursuit of the Lion’s Justice.  Win or lose, this ends on June 2nd.  I will not and can not afford you the courtesy of being a friend and not hurting you.  I will hurt you.  I have every intention of hurting you.  I’m intent on making absolutely certain that you will not walk out under your own power.  If I have to do the same to myself, then so be it.  That’s what it means to live for something other than yourself.  Try it sometime.  You might just find your life’s purpose other than being a sniveling little snake in the grass whose hiss is far worse than his bite.

My hope for you Tyler, is that you come out the other side of this with regret.  Not regret that you got yourself tangled in this mess, but regret that you made the choices you made.  My boy is still naive enough to think that maybe you’re salvageable.  I make no such assumption.

When the bell rings and you’re standing across from me, I won’t see Tyler.  I won’t see a man I once trusted.  I won’t see a man that used to sit in the locker room and play video games with my son.  All I’ll see Tyler… served to me on a golden platter… is vengeance.

I became Frankie’s vessel of revenge because I can.

I put this match inside my own personal fucking playground because I can.

I will hurt you… because I can.

I will make you regret the day you saved my life… because I can.

I’m going to beat you to a bloody fucking pulp… because I can.

I’m going to make you feel pain in places that you didn’t even know you had places because… I can.

I will serve the young lion’s justice, Tyler... simply… because I can.]]> <![CDATA[Dear_Frankie.doc]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47668 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 06:05:24 -0700 Cypher]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47668



“Don’t view your relationships as temporary, because they’re important.”]]>



“Don’t view your relationships as temporary, because they’re important.”]]> <![CDATA[Reigning Blood]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47667 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 03:25:42 -0700 Madison Dyson]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47667
But naturally, there’s something here to spoil it.

A jeep rushes to a stop, kicking up dust and squashing a bloated lizard under its tire. The shot pans up to reveal two women standing up in the vehicle, accompanied by a harried looking African guide.

Ms. Dyson! I tell you, you cannot do this! It is POACHING!

SHUT UP, FREDERICK! I’ll tell you what is and isn’t poaching. And remember, I’m paying you a handsome sum to be our guide. Madison Dyson squawks back.

Yeah! Frederick, SHUT UP! Says her companion, Governor and slavering puppy killer Kristi Noem. God I can’t wait to kill something.

Madison brings an expensive looking high powered hunting rifle to bear, and our perspective changes yet again such that we are now looking down the scope. The scope travels across the land, passing over numerous examples of flora and fauna until it finally comes to rest on…

[Image: 4C8C48F700000578-5761375-Photographer_La...143829.jpg]

….this sad, pathetic sight.

Kristi brings up her rifle, almost bonking Madison in the head with it in the process, and aims it in the direction of the desiccated lion. Look how weak and pathetic it is. Oh God…oh God… she bites her bottom lip and looks a little…erm…flushed. But suddenly, Madison bats Kristi’s rifle down and backhands her.

Cool your jets, woman! I haven’t even had a chance to use it as a metaphor for my opponent yet. Yeesh!

With Kristi significantly cowed, Madison turns to the camera wearing a devilish smile. Why yes, Centy, of COURSE this song is about you.. You are, after all, the man of the hour looking to crush his own career beneath the spinning wheels of progress. And what better representative of progress’ brutal nature, than, well…nature!

Take a look at this poor pathetic creature, Centurion. Count it’s jutting ribs, its sallow hanging flesh, it’s numbed, indifferent expression as it marches inexorably towards death. Yes, Centurion, this lion is, of course, YOU.

Now you might think I’m just going to be a bucket of insults, but I actually have something nice to say about you. Namely, you USED to be the pride of the XWF. Its mighty apex predator. The king of the proverbial jungle. Your resume was unquestioned. You had guys like Steve Jason, James Raven, and Lee Stone in your rolodex. You had more gold than you could shake a stick at.

But then you decided to come back. And you showed the world your belly. Oh sure, you started out fairly promising with that decent Hart title reign. But what has it been in the five years since then? Why, nothing but trolling around on Anarchy reinforcing your mid card bonafides again and again and AGAIN. And this from the man that Steve Jason himself referred to as a legend? Jesus you haven’t even won the XTreme championship, which is a feat I accomplished as a fucking MANAGER.

Madison shoots the camera a mocking sidelong glance.

A lot of people have been questioning why you seem so eager to sundown your career. But to me, it’s obvious. You know you’re that decaying lion over there. You know you’re not what you used to be. And it’s goddamn pathetic that it’s taken you FIVE YEARS to realize that. Five long years of your fucking Hospice ass career trotted out week after embarassing week.

But why now, Centurion? Why, after so many years of public humiliation, are you choosing to end it? Who the hell knows! Moreover, who cares. But what is clear is that the younger, stronger lions are coming to eat your face.

Kristi claps Madison on the shoulder excitedly. Madison, look, look!

Madison brings the rifle to bear again and looks down the scope to see a trio of younger lions approaching the starved senior lion. Madison leers at the macabre scene. Oh, this is gonna be good.

Ms. Dyson, just shoot the poor thing! It’s going to be ripped limb from limb!

Jesus Frederick, weren’t you just bitching about poaching? Get your shit together. Madison looks at the camera again. Centurion, I’m going to force you to watch this!

Again, the shot transitions to down the scope of the rifle. And what follows isn’t for the faint of heart. The young lions pounce on the older lion, and in a flash of blood and viscera flesh is torn from his decrepid frame, limbs are pulled from worn sockets, and his sagging face is ripped from his skull. All in all, its a scene that’s almost as painful as one of Sean Parker’s utterly generic promos.

You see that, Centy? That’s what happens to the old guard when it can’t keep up anymore. And make no mistake, you haven’t been able to keep up for a good long time.

Can I kill something nooooooooow? Kristi begs.

Madison rolls her eyes. Yeah, fine.

Breathlessly, Kristi brings her rifle to bear and starts popping off shots. With each one, she quivers orgasmically. You’re welcome for that mental image.

And the metaphor doesn’t end there. Because you see, just like these young lions getting obliterated by my O-facing governess friend here, even when you’re at the top of the food chain there’s still always someone meaner and deadlier. Which is why I’m not going to waste the bump from offing Centurion.

Oh no, because Sean Parker, once old man Centy is through, you’re the next one on the receiving end of a bullet between the eyes.

Kristi, panting and red faced, collapses into her seat in a state of post coital bliss.

And Cent, if you think this means I’m already looking past you, it’s because I am. You’re already in the rear view. Dead and buried. And as far as I’m concerned…

Madison smiles wickedly.

….it’ll be a mercy killing.


Word Count: Not maxed out because I'm not insecure
]]>
But naturally, there’s something here to spoil it.

A jeep rushes to a stop, kicking up dust and squashing a bloated lizard under its tire. The shot pans up to reveal two women standing up in the vehicle, accompanied by a harried looking African guide.

Ms. Dyson! I tell you, you cannot do this! It is POACHING!

SHUT UP, FREDERICK! I’ll tell you what is and isn’t poaching. And remember, I’m paying you a handsome sum to be our guide. Madison Dyson squawks back.

Yeah! Frederick, SHUT UP! Says her companion, Governor and slavering puppy killer Kristi Noem. God I can’t wait to kill something.

Madison brings an expensive looking high powered hunting rifle to bear, and our perspective changes yet again such that we are now looking down the scope. The scope travels across the land, passing over numerous examples of flora and fauna until it finally comes to rest on…

[Image: 4C8C48F700000578-5761375-Photographer_La...143829.jpg]

….this sad, pathetic sight.

Kristi brings up her rifle, almost bonking Madison in the head with it in the process, and aims it in the direction of the desiccated lion. Look how weak and pathetic it is. Oh God…oh God… she bites her bottom lip and looks a little…erm…flushed. But suddenly, Madison bats Kristi’s rifle down and backhands her.

Cool your jets, woman! I haven’t even had a chance to use it as a metaphor for my opponent yet. Yeesh!

With Kristi significantly cowed, Madison turns to the camera wearing a devilish smile. Why yes, Centy, of COURSE this song is about you.. You are, after all, the man of the hour looking to crush his own career beneath the spinning wheels of progress. And what better representative of progress’ brutal nature, than, well…nature!

Take a look at this poor pathetic creature, Centurion. Count it’s jutting ribs, its sallow hanging flesh, it’s numbed, indifferent expression as it marches inexorably towards death. Yes, Centurion, this lion is, of course, YOU.

Now you might think I’m just going to be a bucket of insults, but I actually have something nice to say about you. Namely, you USED to be the pride of the XWF. Its mighty apex predator. The king of the proverbial jungle. Your resume was unquestioned. You had guys like Steve Jason, James Raven, and Lee Stone in your rolodex. You had more gold than you could shake a stick at.

But then you decided to come back. And you showed the world your belly. Oh sure, you started out fairly promising with that decent Hart title reign. But what has it been in the five years since then? Why, nothing but trolling around on Anarchy reinforcing your mid card bonafides again and again and AGAIN. And this from the man that Steve Jason himself referred to as a legend? Jesus you haven’t even won the XTreme championship, which is a feat I accomplished as a fucking MANAGER.

Madison shoots the camera a mocking sidelong glance.

A lot of people have been questioning why you seem so eager to sundown your career. But to me, it’s obvious. You know you’re that decaying lion over there. You know you’re not what you used to be. And it’s goddamn pathetic that it’s taken you FIVE YEARS to realize that. Five long years of your fucking Hospice ass career trotted out week after embarassing week.

But why now, Centurion? Why, after so many years of public humiliation, are you choosing to end it? Who the hell knows! Moreover, who cares. But what is clear is that the younger, stronger lions are coming to eat your face.

Kristi claps Madison on the shoulder excitedly. Madison, look, look!

Madison brings the rifle to bear again and looks down the scope to see a trio of younger lions approaching the starved senior lion. Madison leers at the macabre scene. Oh, this is gonna be good.

Ms. Dyson, just shoot the poor thing! It’s going to be ripped limb from limb!

Jesus Frederick, weren’t you just bitching about poaching? Get your shit together. Madison looks at the camera again. Centurion, I’m going to force you to watch this!

Again, the shot transitions to down the scope of the rifle. And what follows isn’t for the faint of heart. The young lions pounce on the older lion, and in a flash of blood and viscera flesh is torn from his decrepid frame, limbs are pulled from worn sockets, and his sagging face is ripped from his skull. All in all, its a scene that’s almost as painful as one of Sean Parker’s utterly generic promos.

You see that, Centy? That’s what happens to the old guard when it can’t keep up anymore. And make no mistake, you haven’t been able to keep up for a good long time.

Can I kill something nooooooooow? Kristi begs.

Madison rolls her eyes. Yeah, fine.

Breathlessly, Kristi brings her rifle to bear and starts popping off shots. With each one, she quivers orgasmically. You’re welcome for that mental image.

And the metaphor doesn’t end there. Because you see, just like these young lions getting obliterated by my O-facing governess friend here, even when you’re at the top of the food chain there’s still always someone meaner and deadlier. Which is why I’m not going to waste the bump from offing Centurion.

Oh no, because Sean Parker, once old man Centy is through, you’re the next one on the receiving end of a bullet between the eyes.

Kristi, panting and red faced, collapses into her seat in a state of post coital bliss.

And Cent, if you think this means I’m already looking past you, it’s because I am. You’re already in the rear view. Dead and buried. And as far as I’m concerned…

Madison smiles wickedly.

….it’ll be a mercy killing.


Word Count: Not maxed out because I'm not insecure
]]> <![CDATA[Alone in my Comfort]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47666 Sat, 01 Jun 2024 03:12:20 -0700 Jason Cashe]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=47666 “Wake up!” The voice was breaking into my dream like it wanted to steal the valuable parts. “Boy, I said WAKE UP!”

SNAP!

I was awake. The immediate reaction to the pain of being hit with.. I wasn't sure what she had but my Mother came into a blurry view as I rolled over in bed and opened my eyes. In her hand, she held a cord of some kind. As I yawned and started to stretch, she cocked back and swung at me with the cord for a second time. It snapped against my outer arm.

“What the fuck, Ma? I’m awake.. I’m awake.”

This was like being a kid again. I had no interest in dealing with this bullshit right now. “Where's the Princess?” She asked as she looked over at the couple of bags I had brought with me.

“Not here obviously..” I responded as I threw my feet off the side of the bed to get up. I had to pee.

CRACKLE!

“Don't get jazzy with me!” Her third swing of the cord and in my head, I told myself that was the last one she was getting. Following me as I make my way to the bathroom, she of course has follow up questions. “What happened?” I shut the door in her face. “What did you do?”

“Not enough I guess, I dunno. Doesn't matter.”

I was scrambling to understand myself but I sure didn't want to give my Mother the satisfaction of being right.

“So she kicked you out?”

As my stream sounded off into the toilet, I shook my head. “No, it was.. Mutual, I guess.”

“A lot of guessing, Mutual you say?!” She bursts out with laughter that stung more than the whips with the chord. “So it's over between you two?”

I gave some pause as I reached for the faucet to wash my hands and wake up. Over? I guess it was. Nobody will take big surprise from it and really, I can't say I am surprised by it. As I washed my hands, I forced out the growing thoughts from my head as I looked at myself in the mirror. My own reflection tells truths and in my eyes, I see them. I see myself for who I am and most of it isn't good.

“Huh? Is it over?” She asks again as I pull the bathroom door open. Her intrigue is fairly high so I know she won't stop until she gets an answer.

“Yeah.. It's over.” Pushing past her, I leave the bedroom and head down the hallway until I find the kitchen. It was my house but it felt like a stranger lived here. “She filed for the annulment this morning.” I said with a sigh. “On her birthday no less..”

“Daaaaaamn! Hahaha! You know..” Her voice let me know she had followed behind me all the way through the house. “I hate to say I told you so but, umm.. I tol–”

“MOM!” I shouted, slamming a fist down into the surface of the counter in the kitchen. “Let me at least get some coffee, ok?”

“I’m just saying.. On her Birthday, she ended your Marriage! Savage!”

She shrugs and attempts to not pry any further but her attempts were a hot mess. Much like her and apparently the apple didn't fall far from the tree. “It was never going to work out anyway. At least it happened before either of you fell in love..”

Love? What If.. We had.. What if we could have? What if.. Words Sloane said to me on New Years, wanting to give it a shot. Like a switch being flipped, I felt an evil rage of anger fill my chest. My heart raced, blood pumped and boiled as I watched coffee slowly drip down into an empty pot.

“Let this be a lesson to you, son.” I wanted her to shut up right now but she just couldn't help herself. “You're a fuck up and fuck ups don't get the Prom Queen.”

“I swear to fucking GAWD!”

I roared with rage and growled, shoving away from the counter, I hurried back down the hallway. Passing the door to where I had slept, I entered the master bedroom. My Mother had all her shit still in suitcases and that saved me a lot of work.

POP!

Slapping me directly in the back, she roars at me. “What are you doing?!” Looking to see as I am getting her suitcases closed up. “That's my stuff! That's all I have left from Atlanta!”

“I want you gone..”

“What?!” The look of surprise covering her face was priceless and I wanted to take a picture and frame it.

“Gone. Out of my house.” Lifting two of her bags from the floor, I bullied past her and piled back into the hall. Launching the bags as far down the hallway as I could, I turned to grab the remaining bags.

“I’m not going anywhere!”

“The fuck you ain't!” Throwing the other bags down to join their companions, I stop in front of my Mother. I look down into her eyes as she looks up into mine. “I want you gone and I will Gorilla Press you out the door if need be, test me..”

Her mouth dropped open. A sign that she actually believed me and rightfully so, I wasn't lying. “But, I’m your Mother!”

I chuckled at the thought of it as I kicked her bags into the living room, heading towards the front door. “I’ll call you a cab, buy you a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go.. Once you get there, get lost.”

She didn't argue. She didn't say anything after that. She sat down and we waited a good 45 minutes before the taxi showed up and neither of us said a thing. I loaded her bags into the trunk, paid the driver and turned back to the house as my Mother was coming down the driveway.

“Here..” Pulling out my wallet, I took out everything I had on me in cash. “A few thousand, take it.”

She doesn't say anything but sure as shit snatches the money from my offering hand. As she ducks to get into the cab, she grabs the door to pull it closed but stops and finally says something.

“Maybe we just aren't meant to have that luxury in life.. Love? Maybe it's just not for us. You, me, between us or with others..”

She shuts the door and the cab pulls away. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

©©©©©©©©

“My Mother beat me with a wire hanger.. And then AFTER I was born, she evolved and started using brooms, wooden spoons or anything she could swing and throw. She got at me a few times, fully loaded clip. It goes without saying that when you grow up without love in the Home, you struggle to truly understand what it means to have it. I also understand that my ‘Marriage’ was a safe space. We needed the other in situations we felt otherwise alone.. The difference being, my situation still lingers.

Regardless.

I am no longer married and I lost my Best Friend..

What I have left is what takes place inside that ring. For the time being, THAT is my entire life! That is a problem for myself and those standing across from me because the idea is that someone will get hurt and I plan to start shooting like there is a life on the line so watch out for the strays..”

©©©©©©©©

I slept for.. I don't know, a long time. I felt like a failure but I wasn't heartbroken. I lost a piece of peace and knew as soon as I got out of bed, I would force myself to pretend none of it mattered. Being alone again was often something people claimed to be comfortable with but more so than ever before, I now literally had nobody.

My Sisters and I don't talk.

I’ve run off any relationship I have had. Consistency says I’m the problem. Marry your Best Friend, they say.. Yeah, that worked out real well didn't it?

Friends are more rare than a Unicorn at this point and I just cut my Mother off. “If you get out of bed, it begins.” I whispered a verbal reminder to myself. What was it that would begin? The adjustment and acceptance that life is meant for chaos and I needed and was capable of accepting it. “Time doesn't value a Woe is Me.” I let out a grunt as I shot myself into a sit up on the bed and let my eyes open to the world I was hesitating to face.

©©©©©©©©

“Hey, I’m Cashe. I wasn't sure if you knew and am not vain enough to believe everyone knows me but you, Mr. Rogers, seem to like introducing yourself to people.

Hailing from Foggy Old London you tell people before the pouring of stories and perspectives that just seem better fit for an Insane Asylum. Not the full restraints but the delirious types nonetheless and I can't bark about it like I’m not about it because at times, I should be a patient there myself!

Yet you seem like a spirited chap who yaps about the randomest of things! Someone who just does not like Joseph Gordon-Levitt! I’m not entirely sure why but I know you call him a Necromancer and have a strong dislike for him to say the least.. Okay, cool. He got murdered by Michael Myers in H20 so he gets at least some love for that in my book but let's talk about you, shall we?

Your Mother died, very sad. Kind of jealous if I’m being honest right now but that's neither here nor there and really takes us down a different path of discussion. Your girlfriend used to be so fat they called her Humongous? Now she's not though? Do I have that right? Again, it's hard to keep up with it sometimes because I don't have a need for ADHD medication like you apparently do..

You have been Xtreme Champion beating not one but two people while they were sleeping to achieve it and only recently did you lose the belt, your Momma would have been proud! Also, what an opportunity then for you to be in the position to go from one trophy to another, at least potentially and outside of your ‘run’ as Xtreme Champion have you even been a radar marking as a potential contender for this belt.. Really, who is? I wasn't when I got the shot.

Speaking of my belt. The XWF Television Championship! Do you want it? To touch, to hold, to carry or to own as your own? You want to be Champion of the Television? You seem more of a floor model but come bell time, I’ll lay you flat in 4k resolution. If you want what I have just so you can have something, you are wasting this opportunity. You are defeated even before you step foot out from the back. If you can hear the audience, you have already lost this bout and I’m just being honest with you..

You're an Anarchy based talent, aren't you? I ask because I am seeing more of Anarchy these days and it's crazy because if I wanted to go and compete with Anarchy, I’d have returned TO Anarchy!

I guess that just comes with the job description. Mine anyway, which is to step into the ring with anyone management decides to book me against! If they want to keep giving these false hoped pretenders like yourself a shot? Then cool, I’ll lace up the boots, walk my happy ass down to the ring and get my arm lifted in victory.

I get paid the same regardless of who is being folded like an L at my feet. I’d just prefer the risk that I might not make it out with my head held high..

See, that's what we do, what I do! We fight! We scrap! We take the hope and will from someone and send them into the back with their heads hung low and feet dragging because of the empty space they reached out and found while trying to grab at achievement! That is your ONLY outcome for this match and I don't give two fucks if it is Warfare, Anarchy or some ‘Special’ Event called Revelry.

I’m lacing em up to lay em down and you are just the next contestant on to catch a beat down and I am your fucking Host!

Come play with me..”

©©©©©©©©

Just me all alone.. In my house in Houston. A house I bought and have yet to spend more than a few hours in until now. Sometimes your home becomes a prison and right now, I’m not sure who I am emprisioning, myself or people who might end up in my lane outside of these walls. I tweeted about it, I could fight right now. Fuck going to jail..

“Lock me UP! Throw away the key!” A movie reference that I refused to take further than that in quoting. I tried to break a smile but I was irritated. What I needed was a distraction but I wasn't sure where to begin.

I roamed through the house. I unpacked my shit, what little I had. That's when I found the bottle. The memory of actually celebrating Christmas hit me as I stared down at the bottle of Moonshine that Sloane’s Father had given me. A planned joke from Sloane’s Sister, Cynara because it was Moonshine that helped get Sloane and I married.

“Where it began, it shall end..”

I let mumble out from my lips. I have no belief I can finish this bottle myself but damnit, I felt the challenge being accepted as I turned and headed towards the kitchen to get a glass. I took two quick shots before I got the idea to check the mail. In truth, I was not dressed to check the mail. I wasn't wearing a robe, I had an orange sock on my right foot and a green one on my left. Not to be trendy but because I couldn't find the pair for either.

I was half naked, only sporting briefs that hugged against me in ways that made me feel safe. I grinned at the thought and proceeded to the front door. Immediately the sun blared down upon me and caused my eyes to squint. The heat hit me almost at the same time but it felt good against the chill that had taken residence on my skin from the AC.

Right outside of my front door sat a small patch of dirt and a growing sunflower. I flicked it as I passed by and headed down to check the mailbox. Nothing. I had no plans today other than to drink Moonshine and lose some time. “Did I leave that open?” I said as I jogged back to the front door. I could almost hear my Mother’s voice shouting at me about letting the air out.

Back inside, I was set on my path. I put on some music, grabbed the bottle, my cup and my phone and plopped down onto the couch in the living room. Setting the bottle on the small coffee table, I filled the cup about halfway before holding it up in front of me.

“To Friendship. Those that were and those that are no more, cheers..”

I coughed but it wasn't me getting choked up, I just had a frog in my throat. “Pain is a Gain and it's never a pretty process!” I had only half a mind to understand what the fuck I meant and truly, even that half wasn't entirely sure. I drank from the cup and didn't stop until the contents were gone.

“Aaaaaaahhh! May I have another? Yes you may!” I added a voice when responding to myself, it's a thing. Then as I take another swig, I add another mutter. Not for me and not for anyone who will hear me. Like a message in a bottle that I never really expect anyone will find, I said:

“Happy Birthday..”

That's PROBABLY when the drinking got heavier.. I can't be sure because quite frankly, I don't remember because I am in the now and if I am drunk now then what do I remember from that now? Confusing? Tell me about it..

I do remember that I wanted to slide around and dance. I danced like nobody should ever see a man on Moonshine dance! I know I knocked my fucking knee which sobered me up some but after a few hits from a bong and another shot or two, I was back in the game!

I didn't finish the bottle though. Fail. I must have passed out right before the sun came up. I think I was in the bathroom trying to take a piss..

©©©©©©©©

“In all walks of life, including at times, this one. I have felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Like I don't belong, I don't fit in because something in my upstairs is just not wired right. Twitter became a fix to have some social.. But even then, I find that being a dick just to swing from a set of nuts is more entertaining than the pet by numbers that most people use it for these days. I can't fit into that because I don't believe in participation trophies.

What we have in this match is just that.. You are one of many, including myself who have been a random name selected out of a hat to compete for the Television Title.

With our new GM in place, I’d imagine he will either give himself a shot at a title or we will see these changes be short term as his track record for maintaining a position of power has been seen with limitations to residency.

Something apparently needed to be done because between the whispers of bickering among the hallways to whole Champions missing out of airtime because production made a boo boo.. Check out my segment slot ONLY available on the Warfare replay for the last show.

So what else will come with these changes? Will we see 10 more championships added like we did when Thad ran Madness before, much like his other gigs of power, he faded out. I wonder though.. After being an active wrestler, then working commentary and now General Manager, I wonder what is next? Will we see someone reinvent Peter Vaughn’s old gimmick? Thad the Custody?

He’s not my opponent though, is he? No, he is just a member of an unofficial circle jerk of people with too much money and even more entitlement and if that was the description of a race of people, I’d be a racist.

I’m getting ahead of myself, forgive me..

Roger, Roger.. You can jumble together every word. Talk like you have no punctuation and tell of the wicked ways of Necromancy and the honorable Joseph Gordon-Levitt. You will do that because it's what you have done since you signed here. My advice to you as we head into this match is simple and I hope you take it to heart.

Slow down. Breath. Take in every face that you can remember from the crowd. Take in the energy you feel bouncing around inside of you as you hear them cheer, maybe even sing along to your theme music! These consuming Sheep will do plenty of things to fit in but see, I want them to cheer for you. I want you to feel as special in your moment as you can feel so that way I can make your story as close to awwww as one of those Sarah McLachlan Animal Shelter commercials where you just KNOW the animals were probably put to sleep after being abused and neglected. You are that animal, the one neglected and abused and left only with a relief of being put to sleep. I will leave you with a sparkle in your eyes, the same found in a pair of peepers before they take their last blink of life.

Roger, I have failed at many things in this life. Probably in a past life as well and in any future lives that I might live but in THIS life, I am good at what we do. I am not tooting my own horn, I wouldn't if I could because it's still a dick in your mouth even if it's your own. Just not my thing.. You know what, nevermind!

The fact is Roger, I’m sending you home disappointed. I am shipping you right back to Anarchy like I did Latoya Hixx and that other saggy meat curtain, Razor Blade. That is the company YOU are in because unfortunately our new GM has kept Cypher with a 3 in his name, relevant.

I beat Dolly Waters, I went to an overtime draw with a King named Prince. With you, Mr. Rogers, I will simply Thumb Wrestle into defeat.. This isn't Pay Per View, this is public humiliation and you are merely a small section on my next highlight reel..”

©©©©©©©©

“Ugh..” The throbbing in my head was immense as I felt a grogginess and I regretted that last shot from the moonshine. It's always that last shot that does the most damage, just scientifically proven, I think.

“... Hello, Jason..”

Not now! I felt the echo of my inner voice flow through me like it would be what made me have to throw up. I felt nauseous and found myself sprawled out on my bed. Maybe I was just having a bad dream? That could be okay, I tried to sell myself. Then I felt a cold hand press gently onto my bare chest followed by the same voice I knew all too well.

“... No more bodyguard, huh?..”

Behind a sinister smile that you can hear in his words which I can't see mind you because I am white girl wasted and probably drooling.

“... I’m sorry to hear about the divorce..” He tells me as his fingers graze my chest. It kind of felt good but I am drunk so ignore me.

“Amolement, dick!”

I blurted but there was no way I said annulment right. Not that it matters either way, same result. I tried to swing on him but couldn't lift an arm.. Was I JUST drunk? I felt incapable of moving. It seemed drunk but had an extra something to it. Wouldn't be the first time he drugged me so we could ‘talk’ though.

“... I’m disappointed in you, my friend.”

He made that tsking sound but it came across funny as with some of his words. I would probably not remember now but he did remove his top front teeth. He also cut off his right nipple. I wanted to see, I tried to blink out the blurriness in my vision but couldn't.

“... Next time we are in the same room together..”

He gave pause. I almost let myself go back to sleep, I was tired. Moonshine or otherwise, I could sleep. That is until he said the last part, that stuck into me much like the knife he had shoved into my lungs back in November.

“... I’m going to kill you.. I will finally set you free of the burden you have become and cannot escape from..”

Somewhere in my subconscious, now and maybe before now, I wondered what if he's right? I must have passed and to be honest, I might not remember much after I wake up.. Then again, I have cameras!]]> “Wake up!” The voice was breaking into my dream like it wanted to steal the valuable parts. “Boy, I said WAKE UP!”

SNAP!

I was awake. The immediate reaction to the pain of being hit with.. I wasn't sure what she had but my Mother came into a blurry view as I rolled over in bed and opened my eyes. In her hand, she held a cord of some kind. As I yawned and started to stretch, she cocked back and swung at me with the cord for a second time. It snapped against my outer arm.

“What the fuck, Ma? I’m awake.. I’m awake.”

This was like being a kid again. I had no interest in dealing with this bullshit right now. “Where's the Princess?” She asked as she looked over at the couple of bags I had brought with me.

“Not here obviously..” I responded as I threw my feet off the side of the bed to get up. I had to pee.

CRACKLE!

“Don't get jazzy with me!” Her third swing of the cord and in my head, I told myself that was the last one she was getting. Following me as I make my way to the bathroom, she of course has follow up questions. “What happened?” I shut the door in her face. “What did you do?”

“Not enough I guess, I dunno. Doesn't matter.”

I was scrambling to understand myself but I sure didn't want to give my Mother the satisfaction of being right.

“So she kicked you out?”

As my stream sounded off into the toilet, I shook my head. “No, it was.. Mutual, I guess.”

“A lot of guessing, Mutual you say?!” She bursts out with laughter that stung more than the whips with the chord. “So it's over between you two?”

I gave some pause as I reached for the faucet to wash my hands and wake up. Over? I guess it was. Nobody will take big surprise from it and really, I can't say I am surprised by it. As I washed my hands, I forced out the growing thoughts from my head as I looked at myself in the mirror. My own reflection tells truths and in my eyes, I see them. I see myself for who I am and most of it isn't good.

“Huh? Is it over?” She asks again as I pull the bathroom door open. Her intrigue is fairly high so I know she won't stop until she gets an answer.

“Yeah.. It's over.” Pushing past her, I leave the bedroom and head down the hallway until I find the kitchen. It was my house but it felt like a stranger lived here. “She filed for the annulment this morning.” I said with a sigh. “On her birthday no less..”

“Daaaaaamn! Hahaha! You know..” Her voice let me know she had followed behind me all the way through the house. “I hate to say I told you so but, umm.. I tol–”

“MOM!” I shouted, slamming a fist down into the surface of the counter in the kitchen. “Let me at least get some coffee, ok?”

“I’m just saying.. On her Birthday, she ended your Marriage! Savage!”

She shrugs and attempts to not pry any further but her attempts were a hot mess. Much like her and apparently the apple didn't fall far from the tree. “It was never going to work out anyway. At least it happened before either of you fell in love..”

Love? What If.. We had.. What if we could have? What if.. Words Sloane said to me on New Years, wanting to give it a shot. Like a switch being flipped, I felt an evil rage of anger fill my chest. My heart raced, blood pumped and boiled as I watched coffee slowly drip down into an empty pot.

“Let this be a lesson to you, son.” I wanted her to shut up right now but she just couldn't help herself. “You're a fuck up and fuck ups don't get the Prom Queen.”

“I swear to fucking GAWD!”

I roared with rage and growled, shoving away from the counter, I hurried back down the hallway. Passing the door to where I had slept, I entered the master bedroom. My Mother had all her shit still in suitcases and that saved me a lot of work.

POP!

Slapping me directly in the back, she roars at me. “What are you doing?!” Looking to see as I am getting her suitcases closed up. “That's my stuff! That's all I have left from Atlanta!”

“I want you gone..”

“What?!” The look of surprise covering her face was priceless and I wanted to take a picture and frame it.

“Gone. Out of my house.” Lifting two of her bags from the floor, I bullied past her and piled back into the hall. Launching the bags as far down the hallway as I could, I turned to grab the remaining bags.

“I’m not going anywhere!”

“The fuck you ain't!” Throwing the other bags down to join their companions, I stop in front of my Mother. I look down into her eyes as she looks up into mine. “I want you gone and I will Gorilla Press you out the door if need be, test me..”

Her mouth dropped open. A sign that she actually believed me and rightfully so, I wasn't lying. “But, I’m your Mother!”

I chuckled at the thought of it as I kicked her bags into the living room, heading towards the front door. “I’ll call you a cab, buy you a plane ticket to anywhere you want to go.. Once you get there, get lost.”

She didn't argue. She didn't say anything after that. She sat down and we waited a good 45 minutes before the taxi showed up and neither of us said a thing. I loaded her bags into the trunk, paid the driver and turned back to the house as my Mother was coming down the driveway.

“Here..” Pulling out my wallet, I took out everything I had on me in cash. “A few thousand, take it.”

She doesn't say anything but sure as shit snatches the money from my offering hand. As she ducks to get into the cab, she grabs the door to pull it closed but stops and finally says something.

“Maybe we just aren't meant to have that luxury in life.. Love? Maybe it's just not for us. You, me, between us or with others..”

She shuts the door and the cab pulls away. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

©©©©©©©©

“My Mother beat me with a wire hanger.. And then AFTER I was born, she evolved and started using brooms, wooden spoons or anything she could swing and throw. She got at me a few times, fully loaded clip. It goes without saying that when you grow up without love in the Home, you struggle to truly understand what it means to have it. I also understand that my ‘Marriage’ was a safe space. We needed the other in situations we felt otherwise alone.. The difference being, my situation still lingers.

Regardless.

I am no longer married and I lost my Best Friend..

What I have left is what takes place inside that ring. For the time being, THAT is my entire life! That is a problem for myself and those standing across from me because the idea is that someone will get hurt and I plan to start shooting like there is a life on the line so watch out for the strays..”

©©©©©©©©

I slept for.. I don't know, a long time. I felt like a failure but I wasn't heartbroken. I lost a piece of peace and knew as soon as I got out of bed, I would force myself to pretend none of it mattered. Being alone again was often something people claimed to be comfortable with but more so than ever before, I now literally had nobody.

My Sisters and I don't talk.

I’ve run off any relationship I have had. Consistency says I’m the problem. Marry your Best Friend, they say.. Yeah, that worked out real well didn't it?

Friends are more rare than a Unicorn at this point and I just cut my Mother off. “If you get out of bed, it begins.” I whispered a verbal reminder to myself. What was it that would begin? The adjustment and acceptance that life is meant for chaos and I needed and was capable of accepting it. “Time doesn't value a Woe is Me.” I let out a grunt as I shot myself into a sit up on the bed and let my eyes open to the world I was hesitating to face.

©©©©©©©©

“Hey, I’m Cashe. I wasn't sure if you knew and am not vain enough to believe everyone knows me but you, Mr. Rogers, seem to like introducing yourself to people.

Hailing from Foggy Old London you tell people before the pouring of stories and perspectives that just seem better fit for an Insane Asylum. Not the full restraints but the delirious types nonetheless and I can't bark about it like I’m not about it because at times, I should be a patient there myself!

Yet you seem like a spirited chap who yaps about the randomest of things! Someone who just does not like Joseph Gordon-Levitt! I’m not entirely sure why but I know you call him a Necromancer and have a strong dislike for him to say the least.. Okay, cool. He got murdered by Michael Myers in H20 so he gets at least some love for that in my book but let's talk about you, shall we?

Your Mother died, very sad. Kind of jealous if I’m being honest right now but that's neither here nor there and really takes us down a different path of discussion. Your girlfriend used to be so fat they called her Humongous? Now she's not though? Do I have that right? Again, it's hard to keep up with it sometimes because I don't have a need for ADHD medication like you apparently do..

You have been Xtreme Champion beating not one but two people while they were sleeping to achieve it and only recently did you lose the belt, your Momma would have been proud! Also, what an opportunity then for you to be in the position to go from one trophy to another, at least potentially and outside of your ‘run’ as Xtreme Champion have you even been a radar marking as a potential contender for this belt.. Really, who is? I wasn't when I got the shot.

Speaking of my belt. The XWF Television Championship! Do you want it? To touch, to hold, to carry or to own as your own? You want to be Champion of the Television? You seem more of a floor model but come bell time, I’ll lay you flat in 4k resolution. If you want what I have just so you can have something, you are wasting this opportunity. You are defeated even before you step foot out from the back. If you can hear the audience, you have already lost this bout and I’m just being honest with you..

You're an Anarchy based talent, aren't you? I ask because I am seeing more of Anarchy these days and it's crazy because if I wanted to go and compete with Anarchy, I’d have returned TO Anarchy!

I guess that just comes with the job description. Mine anyway, which is to step into the ring with anyone management decides to book me against! If they want to keep giving these false hoped pretenders like yourself a shot? Then cool, I’ll lace up the boots, walk my happy ass down to the ring and get my arm lifted in victory.

I get paid the same regardless of who is being folded like an L at my feet. I’d just prefer the risk that I might not make it out with my head held high..

See, that's what we do, what I do! We fight! We scrap! We take the hope and will from someone and send them into the back with their heads hung low and feet dragging because of the empty space they reached out and found while trying to grab at achievement! That is your ONLY outcome for this match and I don't give two fucks if it is Warfare, Anarchy or some ‘Special’ Event called Revelry.

I’m lacing em up to lay em down and you are just the next contestant on to catch a beat down and I am your fucking Host!

Come play with me..”

©©©©©©©©

Just me all alone.. In my house in Houston. A house I bought and have yet to spend more than a few hours in until now. Sometimes your home becomes a prison and right now, I’m not sure who I am emprisioning, myself or people who might end up in my lane outside of these walls. I tweeted about it, I could fight right now. Fuck going to jail..

“Lock me UP! Throw away the key!” A movie reference that I refused to take further than that in quoting. I tried to break a smile but I was irritated. What I needed was a distraction but I wasn't sure where to begin.

I roamed through the house. I unpacked my shit, what little I had. That's when I found the bottle. The memory of actually celebrating Christmas hit me as I stared down at the bottle of Moonshine that Sloane’s Father had given me. A planned joke from Sloane’s Sister, Cynara because it was Moonshine that helped get Sloane and I married.

“Where it began, it shall end..”

I let mumble out from my lips. I have no belief I can finish this bottle myself but damnit, I felt the challenge being accepted as I turned and headed towards the kitchen to get a glass. I took two quick shots before I got the idea to check the mail. In truth, I was not dressed to check the mail. I wasn't wearing a robe, I had an orange sock on my right foot and a green one on my left. Not to be trendy but because I couldn't find the pair for either.

I was half naked, only sporting briefs that hugged against me in ways that made me feel safe. I grinned at the thought and proceeded to the front door. Immediately the sun blared down upon me and caused my eyes to squint. The heat hit me almost at the same time but it felt good against the chill that had taken residence on my skin from the AC.

Right outside of my front door sat a small patch of dirt and a growing sunflower. I flicked it as I passed by and headed down to check the mailbox. Nothing. I had no plans today other than to drink Moonshine and lose some time. “Did I leave that open?” I said as I jogged back to the front door. I could almost hear my Mother’s voice shouting at me about letting the air out.

Back inside, I was set on my path. I put on some music, grabbed the bottle, my cup and my phone and plopped down onto the couch in the living room. Setting the bottle on the small coffee table, I filled the cup about halfway before holding it up in front of me.

“To Friendship. Those that were and those that are no more, cheers..”

I coughed but it wasn't me getting choked up, I just had a frog in my throat. “Pain is a Gain and it's never a pretty process!” I had only half a mind to understand what the fuck I meant and truly, even that half wasn't entirely sure. I drank from the cup and didn't stop until the contents were gone.

“Aaaaaaahhh! May I have another? Yes you may!” I added a voice when responding to myself, it's a thing. Then as I take another swig, I add another mutter. Not for me and not for anyone who will hear me. Like a message in a bottle that I never really expect anyone will find, I said:

“Happy Birthday..”

That's PROBABLY when the drinking got heavier.. I can't be sure because quite frankly, I don't remember because I am in the now and if I am drunk now then what do I remember from that now? Confusing? Tell me about it..

I do remember that I wanted to slide around and dance. I danced like nobody should ever see a man on Moonshine dance! I know I knocked my fucking knee which sobered me up some but after a few hits from a bong and another shot or two, I was back in the game!

I didn't finish the bottle though. Fail. I must have passed out right before the sun came up. I think I was in the bathroom trying to take a piss..

©©©©©©©©

“In all walks of life, including at times, this one. I have felt an emptiness in the pit of my stomach. Like I don't belong, I don't fit in because something in my upstairs is just not wired right. Twitter became a fix to have some social.. But even then, I find that being a dick just to swing from a set of nuts is more entertaining than the pet by numbers that most people use it for these days. I can't fit into that because I don't believe in participation trophies.

What we have in this match is just that.. You are one of many, including myself who have been a random name selected out of a hat to compete for the Television Title.

With our new GM in place, I’d imagine he will either give himself a shot at a title or we will see these changes be short term as his track record for maintaining a position of power has been seen with limitations to residency.

Something apparently needed to be done because between the whispers of bickering among the hallways to whole Champions missing out of airtime because production made a boo boo.. Check out my segment slot ONLY available on the Warfare replay for the last show.

So what else will come with these changes? Will we see 10 more championships added like we did when Thad ran Madness before, much like his other gigs of power, he faded out. I wonder though.. After being an active wrestler, then working commentary and now General Manager, I wonder what is next? Will we see someone reinvent Peter Vaughn’s old gimmick? Thad the Custody?

He’s not my opponent though, is he? No, he is just a member of an unofficial circle jerk of people with too much money and even more entitlement and if that was the description of a race of people, I’d be a racist.

I’m getting ahead of myself, forgive me..

Roger, Roger.. You can jumble together every word. Talk like you have no punctuation and tell of the wicked ways of Necromancy and the honorable Joseph Gordon-Levitt. You will do that because it's what you have done since you signed here. My advice to you as we head into this match is simple and I hope you take it to heart.

Slow down. Breath. Take in every face that you can remember from the crowd. Take in the energy you feel bouncing around inside of you as you hear them cheer, maybe even sing along to your theme music! These consuming Sheep will do plenty of things to fit in but see, I want them to cheer for you. I want you to feel as special in your moment as you can feel so that way I can make your story as close to awwww as one of those Sarah McLachlan Animal Shelter commercials where you just KNOW the animals were probably put to sleep after being abused and neglected. You are that animal, the one neglected and abused and left only with a relief of being put to sleep. I will leave you with a sparkle in your eyes, the same found in a pair of peepers before they take their last blink of life.

Roger, I have failed at many things in this life. Probably in a past life as well and in any future lives that I might live but in THIS life, I am good at what we do. I am not tooting my own horn, I wouldn't if I could because it's still a dick in your mouth even if it's your own. Just not my thing.. You know what, nevermind!

The fact is Roger, I’m sending you home disappointed. I am shipping you right back to Anarchy like I did Latoya Hixx and that other saggy meat curtain, Razor Blade. That is the company YOU are in because unfortunately our new GM has kept Cypher with a 3 in his name, relevant.

I beat Dolly Waters, I went to an overtime draw with a King named Prince. With you, Mr. Rogers, I will simply Thumb Wrestle into defeat.. This isn't Pay Per View, this is public humiliation and you are merely a small section on my next highlight reel..”

©©©©©©©©

“Ugh..” The throbbing in my head was immense as I felt a grogginess and I regretted that last shot from the moonshine. It's always that last shot that does the most damage, just scientifically proven, I think.

“... Hello, Jason..”

Not now! I felt the echo of my inner voice flow through me like it would be what made me have to throw up. I felt nauseous and found myself sprawled out on my bed. Maybe I was just having a bad dream? That could be okay, I tried to sell myself. Then I felt a cold hand press gently onto my bare chest followed by the same voice I knew all too well.

“... No more bodyguard, huh?..”

Behind a sinister smile that you can hear in his words which I can't see mind you because I am white girl wasted and probably drooling.

“... I’m sorry to hear about the divorce..” He tells me as his fingers graze my chest. It kind of felt good but I am drunk so ignore me.

“Amolement, dick!”

I blurted but there was no way I said annulment right. Not that it matters either way, same result. I tried to swing on him but couldn't lift an arm.. Was I JUST drunk? I felt incapable of moving. It seemed drunk but had an extra something to it. Wouldn't be the first time he drugged me so we could ‘talk’ though.

“... I’m disappointed in you, my friend.”

He made that tsking sound but it came across funny as with some of his words. I would probably not remember now but he did remove his top front teeth. He also cut off his right nipple. I wanted to see, I tried to blink out the blurriness in my vision but couldn't.

“... Next time we are in the same room together..”

He gave pause. I almost let myself go back to sleep, I was tired. Moonshine or otherwise, I could sleep. That is until he said the last part, that stuck into me much like the knife he had shoved into my lungs back in November.

“... I’m going to kill you.. I will finally set you free of the burden you have become and cannot escape from..”

Somewhere in my subconscious, now and maybe before now, I wondered what if he's right? I must have passed and to be honest, I might not remember much after I wake up.. Then again, I have cameras!]]>