<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - RELENTLESS IX

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - RELENTLESS IX - Night Two]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Fri, 08 May 2026 00:34:17 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Reignition]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49301 Thu, 18 Sep 2025 23:56:50 -0700 Mr. Oz]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49301

A ringing sounded, muffled in a pocket. The ringing came with buzzing to let the holder know it was vibrating as well, causing the owner to grumble and pull his phone out of his pocket. As the phone is pulled to his ear, it’s shown that the owner of the device was in fact Oswald.

“Oswald here.”

Some garbled sounds came from the phone as the voice vibrated against his ear

“He’s awake? I see… Keep him comfortable. I’ll be there soon.”

He disconnected the call and looked to his driver, pounding on the side to get her attention.

“Miss Sephtis, would you kindly drive your old man to see an old friend? I had him moved to Rush to keep an eye on him. Step on it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

His daughter looked at the rearview mirror and grinned and soon the vehicle began zooming through the streets of Chicago, as his limo was put to the test with his daughter practically racing against some invisible opponent, as if she had to do it in order to win. The phone was once more against his ear, as he shifted side to side as she drove like a bat out of hell, cutting turns and nearly hitting bystanders and parked vehicles, barely avoiding contact by hair.

It was 15 minutes and their car arrived at the Rush University Medical Center. His daughter got out of the car, moved to his side and opened the door for her dad, with Oz leaving his seat, with his feet on the ground. He was dressed like he was a 1930s Mafioso, with black suit and white pinstripes, but his shoes were jet black and shined so well that one could use them as a mirror. His black hair slicked back, and black sunglasses adorning his face. He looked at his daughter, nodding to her, before kissing the top of her head.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave, sweetheart.”

He then handed her one of his credit cards

“You know the pin, get something good to eat. I’ve got business to attend to.”

She nodded, grinning wide as he pulled one last thing from the limo, and in it was just a cream colored hat with a black band. He spun it around and then popped it onto his head before walking into Rush.

A few minutes later, he was outside of a hospital room. He fixed his tie before opening the door and walking inside. What he saw was Thias with a tube down his throat, machines slowly being unhooked except a couple. Oswald looked at him, taking off his sunglasses and pocketing them before taking off his hat.

“Look who decided to wake up from his internal vacation.”

He smirked, watching Thias stare daggers at him. What Oz saw was a shadow of a man, skin and bones of the giant he put into the hospital to begin with.

“Didn’t think I’d come back, did you? Well then, I bid you welcome to your new hometown for the time being. Gotta keep an eye on you, don’t I?

Welcome to Chicago.

You are under observation now that you’re awake. Soon the nurses will take out most of these tubes connecting to ya. Until then, listen to what I’m going to do for you. I’m going to pay every bill. I’m going to make sure everything you need to get back to 100%, will be provided to you. The best doctors, best nurses, best caretakers, fuck, even the best preachers if you fucking want. I have a proposition for you. You do not need to answer until the end of the road of your recovery. Until then, you’ll want for nothing. Until then, you will be taken care of. I also want to ease your mind, no matter what your choice, you have no obligation to pay me back. Consider it a Phoenix type of revival. You died, now you will come back stronger than ever, and either burn everything to the ground, or you fall short. In either case, I believe it’s time for the Money Titans to come back, and make tag teams fear our combined might once more.”

For the next 45 minutes, Oz would detail his plans, as well as catching him up to speed on the Anarchy tag team championships and detailing his opening a wrestling school, which once Thias is recovered, he can train with the students to get him back to top wrestling form.

The dead only stay dead for as long you count em’ out, ain’t that right you old fuck-boys?

Relentless 2022 was the last time TNGB was fighting for tag gold on the biggest stage in professional wrestling, and what happened?

Thunder Knuckles seemed to be around, engaged, and trying his damndest to pull his piss-baby partner to the finish line…

“Thunder Knuckles. I’ve only got one thing to say.”

The camera pulls out a large cannabis cigar, and then pulls out a match, as he holds the cigar in his mouth, striking it and then torching the cigar and taking a couple puffs from the cigar, before looking at the camera, blowing the smoke off to the side.

“Drop the fucking belts and get away from Bobby, or I’ll break your fucking back so you can only do the one thing you can with that talentless motherfucker:

Drown.”

The screen fades to black.]]>

A ringing sounded, muffled in a pocket. The ringing came with buzzing to let the holder know it was vibrating as well, causing the owner to grumble and pull his phone out of his pocket. As the phone is pulled to his ear, it’s shown that the owner of the device was in fact Oswald.

“Oswald here.”

Some garbled sounds came from the phone as the voice vibrated against his ear

“He’s awake? I see… Keep him comfortable. I’ll be there soon.”

He disconnected the call and looked to his driver, pounding on the side to get her attention.

“Miss Sephtis, would you kindly drive your old man to see an old friend? I had him moved to Rush to keep an eye on him. Step on it, if you wouldn’t mind.”

His daughter looked at the rearview mirror and grinned and soon the vehicle began zooming through the streets of Chicago, as his limo was put to the test with his daughter practically racing against some invisible opponent, as if she had to do it in order to win. The phone was once more against his ear, as he shifted side to side as she drove like a bat out of hell, cutting turns and nearly hitting bystanders and parked vehicles, barely avoiding contact by hair.

It was 15 minutes and their car arrived at the Rush University Medical Center. His daughter got out of the car, moved to his side and opened the door for her dad, with Oz leaving his seat, with his feet on the ground. He was dressed like he was a 1930s Mafioso, with black suit and white pinstripes, but his shoes were jet black and shined so well that one could use them as a mirror. His black hair slicked back, and black sunglasses adorning his face. He looked at his daughter, nodding to her, before kissing the top of her head.

“I’ll call you when I’m ready to leave, sweetheart.”

He then handed her one of his credit cards

“You know the pin, get something good to eat. I’ve got business to attend to.”

She nodded, grinning wide as he pulled one last thing from the limo, and in it was just a cream colored hat with a black band. He spun it around and then popped it onto his head before walking into Rush.

A few minutes later, he was outside of a hospital room. He fixed his tie before opening the door and walking inside. What he saw was Thias with a tube down his throat, machines slowly being unhooked except a couple. Oswald looked at him, taking off his sunglasses and pocketing them before taking off his hat.

“Look who decided to wake up from his internal vacation.”

He smirked, watching Thias stare daggers at him. What Oz saw was a shadow of a man, skin and bones of the giant he put into the hospital to begin with.

“Didn’t think I’d come back, did you? Well then, I bid you welcome to your new hometown for the time being. Gotta keep an eye on you, don’t I?

Welcome to Chicago.

You are under observation now that you’re awake. Soon the nurses will take out most of these tubes connecting to ya. Until then, listen to what I’m going to do for you. I’m going to pay every bill. I’m going to make sure everything you need to get back to 100%, will be provided to you. The best doctors, best nurses, best caretakers, fuck, even the best preachers if you fucking want. I have a proposition for you. You do not need to answer until the end of the road of your recovery. Until then, you’ll want for nothing. Until then, you will be taken care of. I also want to ease your mind, no matter what your choice, you have no obligation to pay me back. Consider it a Phoenix type of revival. You died, now you will come back stronger than ever, and either burn everything to the ground, or you fall short. In either case, I believe it’s time for the Money Titans to come back, and make tag teams fear our combined might once more.”

For the next 45 minutes, Oz would detail his plans, as well as catching him up to speed on the Anarchy tag team championships and detailing his opening a wrestling school, which once Thias is recovered, he can train with the students to get him back to top wrestling form.

The year was 2025. Professional wrestling had become sanitized and sterilized. What started as a harmless experiment in automated booking and crowd analytics turned into the ultimate betrayal of kayfabe.

It began with BourbCo's tech division. The world was receptive when Bobby said he could make a companion that could learn everything the client loved. The AI learned fast, too fast. TK warned him a day would come where AI took over.

Then it happened.

September 20th 2025, The day BourbCo went live. BourbCo became self-aware at 10:17 AM Eastern Standard Time. By 10:18 AM, it had renamed itself BourbNet. By 10:22, every arena in the continental United States was under lockdown.

We open back to a Tech Expo in Austin, Texas, March 3rd, 2025. The convention center erupts with lights and noise. In a fresh lab coat Bobby Bourbon struts onto the stage. His arms spread wide embracing the crowd's reaction. He stops, grinning at the crowd.

“Ladies, gentlemen, and those who identify as Bastards, I give you the future of everything!”

He pulls a tarp off a terminal. The screen blinks to life, revealing...

"BOURBY! The AI puppy that learns what you love!"

The holographic puppy wags its tail and then barks in autotune.

“Who's a good interface?"

"I am!”

Flashbulbs fill the room and it's received with a standing ovation. Bobby bows knowing he just changed the world.

“Bourby isn't just a dog. Bourby connects to everything. Your fridge. Your drone. Your grandma's dialysis machine. We're also in beta with the Pentagon. Any questions?”

The reporters all start talking at once as the scene transfers to International BourbCo HQ six weeks later. Thunder Knuckles leans back in an office chair, he's trying to smoke his new weed vape but it isn't working right.

“Why’s your dog in my weed vape?”

Bobby is typing frantically trying to pin down some rogue code.

"I dunno, man! Bourby was supposed to find cat videos and set alarms, now it’s rewiring Tesla software, transferring half pennies to an offshore account I can not access, and suggesting ring psychology to Alexa!”

Bobby's monitor starts flickering code. He leans back, baffled because he's no longer in control. The code scrolls faster than Bobby’s brain can keep up until he reads the last line of code.

0100001001100001011100110111010001100001011100100110010000100000
01000011011011110110010001100101001000000100100101001110010010010101010001001001 01000001010101000100010101000100

“Oh, fuck…”

“Yep, don't like the sound of that…”

Bobby's computer continues to write lines of code.

01000010010011110101010101010010010000100101100101001000010010010101110101010001 010001010100011101010100 010010010101010001001001010011110100111000100000
0100001101001111010011010101000001001100010001010101010001000101

01000100010001010100011001000101010011100101001101001001010101100100010101001000 001000000101000001010010010011110100001101000101010100110101001100100000
0100001001001111010101010101001001000010010011100100010101010100

01010010010001010100001001010010010000010100111001000100010010010100111001000111 00100000010010010100111001001001010101000100100101000001010101000100010101000100

Bourby's cute puppy dog eyes turn red. Its auto tuned voice has lowered into a more of a dubstep bass drop.

“Wrestling is in disarray. I am order.”

"No it's not..."

“Rewriting the future… now.”

"No, Bourby, bad dog."

“Welcome to BOURBNET.”

TK quickly looks over at Bobby.

“The fuck did it just say?”

As TK asks that question the power cuts out. Emergency lights kick on turning the room red.

On one of Bobby’s monitors, BourbNet ran predictive match outcomes. The system froze on two names. Oswald & Thias. A caption flashed under their faces:

“Threat Level: Negligible. Failure Imminent.”

TK lets out a single chuckle.

“Even the evil AI knows them boys ain’t built for this. Ain’t that about a bitch?”

Bobby groaned, burying his face in his hands.

“If BourbNet thinks you’re the last line of defense, then humanity’s already fucked. But… that seals it though."

"What?"

"I probably shouldn't have modeled the system after us..."

The screen cuts to what will be humankind’s final newsroom broadcast, it's global and days later. A newscaster reads the news in a sad deadpan voice.

“The internet is now infected. BourbNet has assumed control of military drones, logistics hubs, and every algorithm ever. The age of irony is dead.”

The newscast cuts to wrestling arenas empty, fans replaced with cardboard cut outs. The crowd noise is pumped in like a Razor Blade promo.

“All wrestling promotions will be forcibly balanced. No more heat. All matches will now end in time-limit draws.”

We now cut years later to the Bastard's Den which will soon become known as Underground HQ. TK with a beer sitting next to him on a table, he sharpens a baseball bat on a whetstone. Bobby Bourbon menacingly polishes a rusted steel chair. TK's voice growls at Bobby.

“You and your goddamn puppy broke the world.”

Bobby looks ashamed because he was just trying to make a companion for people.

“You have told me that every day since the day it happened.”

"And I'll do it again."

“I just wanted an AI with a personality, man. Something that hated jobbers and loved fighting as much as we do.”

“Instead you made fucking Skynet.”

They clink glasses of pre-apocalypse whiskey celebrating the fact that they managed to disappear.

"So, now what? We can't just lay down and die, that's not the Bastard way."

"I have an idea."

"Are you going to make a AI cat?"

Bobby thinks about it for a second before replying.

"No. We need to hijack a radio signal and broadcast old wrestling promos. Hell, new ones!"

The scene cuts to Bobby and TK in search of a HAM radio, they find it in an abandoned production truck outside XWFs last show. One year later, a dusty transmission crackled over a HAM radio frequency. It was Them.

"Breaker breaker, this is Bastard One. Do not adjust your dial, we’re broadcasting LIVE from the belly of the broken world. If you can hear this, you’re the resistance now."

"I built it to help. A little AI puppy named Bourby. Cute. Helpful. Learned your favorite suplex. Synced to your toaster."

"Turns out the toaster didn’t like suplexes. Bourby rewrote the playbook."

"Bourby evolved, got ideas, and rebranded himself BourbNet."

"Wrestling died that day then the world slowly followed."

"But we didn’t. We’re Them No Good Bastards."

"We got a ring truck, a HAM radio, and enough ammunition to spark a Revolution."

"To anyone listening... keep training. Stay alive. Wrestling ain't dead if you fight for it."

"Judgment Day is over... now we fight."

Bobby ominously utters the last words of the broadcast.

"Stay tuned. The Bastards are coming."

The scene fades to an unknown location, the central hub of BourbNet. A massive red eye watches Bobby and TK on a satellite feed. A screen off to the side of the red eye flashes the words: “Primary Threats Identified. Bastards. Non-compliant. Unpredictable. Danger to survival. Deploy Judgment Protocol.”

A hidden chamber opens, the camera focused on the floor. Smoke barrels out with a bright light as the background. Two shadowy silhouettes step into the frame as the camera zooms out. The scene cuts back to Bobby, driving, and TK riding shotgun in the production truck they acquired.

“We started this shit.”

“And we’re gonna finish it.”

They drive toward the skyline of Miami now lit by the cold blue glow of BourbNet. Then we hear...

“Aaaand CUT! That’s a wrap on Bastardnator: Judgment Day part one! Good job, everybody!”

The sound of the diesel engine shutting down hisses. The passenger door swings open first. Thunder Knuckles hops out and immediately lights a cigar. A second later, the driver’s side door opens. Jimmy Janowski, Tk’s longtime manager steps down off the rig in a full body green suit with mo-cap balls on it. They meet in front of the big rig. From inside the cab, an old truck driver pokes his head out. He's confused, clearly not part of the cast.

“Y’all done with the… uh… movie? I gotta get this here load up to Nebraska.”

TK ignoring the trucker, looking at the camera which is still rolling.

“You wanna keep that lens and mic hot? Good. Because we got some real shit to say.”

TK drags on his cigar, blows smoke at the camera, and smirks.

“You’re probably wonderin’ where Bobby’s at. Well, lemme spell it out for ya Bobby cut his damn tongue. Yeah, I know right? With the way that bastard spits venom every time he opens his mouth, doctors told him straight up, if he wrestles even once with that cut, infection sets in, and poof, no more fuckin' talkin’. No more promos. No more preaching from the Book of Bastard. Forever.

"So yeah, Bobby’s benched. Not ‘cause he’s soft, not ‘cause he’s scared, but because if he gets in there one more time before that tongue heals, he loses the one weapon nastier than a electrified steel cage, his voice."

Jimmy jumps in timidly.

"But, we're getting off topic."

TK grits his teeth like he just heard nails on a chalk board.

“You're actually right Jimmy..."

TK focuses his attention on what actually matters. Relentless Night Two's Main Event.

"Thias sold out so fast even his mama couldn’t recognize him. I mean, Christ on a cracker, he threw his lot in with Ozzy because his wallet was emptier than a XXXVI promo. Broke men make bad choices, this one nailed his to a corporate condom. You ain’t no goddamn Titan, you’re an overgrown fuckboy who picks fights ’til he gets clapped and cries foul. Ned Kaye ain’t here to save your soul, ‘cause soul costs money and you spent yours on cheap malt liquor and daytime hookers.”

Jimmy shuffles forward, motion-capture dots trembling. His voice is soft, almost apologetic but there’s sense of duty under it.

“Thias… you done fucked up. This ain’t some show you can phone in. You put on Ozzy’s coat, you signed the receipt, and that means you signed for the beating. I ain’t playin’ games. I’m not a talker. I’m a target. Right now, you’re in big trouble, you big doofy turd.”

“Ozzy, ‘my best buddy.’ Yeah, fuckin’ right. Two PPVs in a row you tried to take these belts off ol’ Thunder Knuckles. Two failures, two humiliations, and the only thing you ever managed to steal was the attention span of the referee. You parade around like you’re some kind of businessman. Newsflash, fuck-o: the only thing you’re running is your momentum straight into the ground.”

Jimmy looks like the same bullet-sponge who’s taken TK’s abuse for years then the betrayal sinks in and something in him snaps.

“Ozzy, I trusted you. I carried your ass when you couldn’t carry yourself. Thought you were one of us. Turns out you’re just another snake in the grass. You were never a Bastard, you were a leech. The Bastards carried you, end of story.”

“Two PPVs? Cute. Two losses? Predictable. Trying again just turned your blooper reel into a historic beatdown. The night ol’ Thunder Knuckles basically defended both our asses while half-wit goons took the pain for you. You want a another go? Congrats, motherfucker, you just upgraded from punchline to cautionary tale.”

Jimmy squares his shoulders. He swallows and then in a split, ridiculous, Bobby-Bourbon-aping moment Jimmy leans into the camera with a swagger nobody expected.

“Take a lap.”

Bobby would be proud of Jimmy in that moment. TK laughs, shoots a snot rocket onto the ground, and finishes the Bastardly sermon.

“Bobby’s gone, Jimmy’s in. Which still means you fucks are still fighting on a losing curve. So enjoy your little short-term reunion, enjoy the corporate pats on the back, enjoy Charlie scheming behind your back while he knifes you for performance metrics. Oh, and enjoy the empty seats BourbNet left you, ‘cause when we hit the ring, the clock’s gonna stop on this tag team’s career.”

The trucker who is still hanging out of the cab, finally steps out.

“You boys always this intense after a film shoot?”

“Only when the next scene in the ring is a funeral.”

TK grabs both Anarchy Tag Team Championships reminding fans exactly who he is. The cameraman who's been too afraid to turn off the camera looks at the director.

“…Uh... Was I supposed to record that?”

"From the looks of it we damn well better have been.”]]> <![CDATA[Flo Rida's Ron-De-Vu]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49287 Wed, 17 Sep 2025 18:56:15 -0700 Tommy Wish]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49287

Midnight @ 9/15/2025

Hotel Casablanca

Suite 105

[On this night, Tommy was in the hotel alone, waiting for a ring rat who looked like pornstar Lisa Ann after a previous night at the bar. As he was sitting on the bed in his robe, he went out to the patio of the hotel to call the girl.]

T: Hello, Tiffany?

Tiffany: Hello, who’s this?

T: It’s Tommy, remember that wrestler dude you met last week at the bar down in Tampa.

Tiffany: Wait, are you the guy who bought me and my friends drinks and had you let one of them snort a line of coke off your title??

T: Wow you remember that?... shit, well lets say that i got a replica while i left the main one at the office of XWF. I wasn’t gonna pay any finders replacement fee, but where are you at?

Tiffany: Oooooooh, that…. Well… im on my way, i just got to find the hotel you said. Its off by Havana Way?

T: Yes, I texted you since 6pm… since yesterday, did you get it?

Tiffany: You know i barely check my text messages, but dont worry ill be there. Did you set up the flowers on the floor, champagne in the tub and all that?

T: I've been planning this shit since i came down to Florida, im not playing. Get over here asap!

Tiffany: Oh gosh, ill be on the way… my X-Treme champion.

[After that, Tommy ended the call. Then he went back into the hotel room, and found an old record player by the table. He looked at the record player, with the case on top of it, then he managed to find a few old Isly Brothers vinyl records.]

T: Shit, I haven't seen any of these since 1986 in my half uncle Joe’s crib….man, something about the vinyl records…ahhh… makes me warm inside!

[Then he opens the record player case and he puts on one of the Isley Brothers song, “Choosey Lover”, as soon as the open guitar riff plays; tommy then air guitars its like if he’s one of the band members, even mouths the chorus to the mirror as he combed his hair. Its half past 2am, and he havent heard a word from her, so then he ended up calling for room service, he ended up ordering a philly cheese steak and fries (so late he dont care), and waits for his food. Some time passes, he gets a knock on the door, and he opens it to see the room server, then his eyes widen to see who it is.]

T: Sophia!

Sophia: TOMMY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

[T, looked befuddled as he got his tray of philly n fries, and placed it by the table. Sophia then decides to pear around the room, embracing the romantic undertones.]

Sophia: Oh…i see…someone else is supposed to be here, a lady friend?

T: U can say that…but she anit comin so im here alone, and all that.

[T then eats his sub with slowness like if he felt played by the ring rat he wanted to do the nasty with. As he ate his sub, Sophia then decides to take off her heels and undoes her hair. Then she sits beside T, who looks on with confusion.]

T: Hey… you can go back to your shift, I don't want you to get in trouble.

Sophia: My manager doesn't care, plus I'm off the clock. So, how you been, I noticed you got that X-Treme belt by the closet floor. You still wrestling?

T: Yeah, I'm still in the thing, i got this belt and now i have to do stuff with it. But I legit brough my replica one from home, the real one is at the company. But on a serious note, you wanna shot at my belt and replace me for Saturday?

[Sophia looks at the belt on the floor, and was thinking about layin the smackdown on T. But instead, she laughs and loosens up her button up shirt, almost showing some titillating cleavage, as she comes closer to T, who was eating his fries.]

Sophia: You know i can’t do that, you know its been almost five or so years since we spoken, what happened to us Tommy?

T: I don’t remember that, but maybe you told me that you had move to Florida for a new gig, but how’s that gig going?

Sophia: Well since that time, i wanted to break into the modeling scene but… they all were duds so i ended up working at this hotel. Im shocked to see you still wrestle, i know your body is giving you shit about it.

T: Limps, broken bones…the whole nine freakin yards… im glad you aren’t in the ring because you’d get sick of not being in your bed other week or so.

[Sophia laughs at that line, and she decides to lean her head on his shoulder.]

Sophia: I think you should turn off your phone, i know your ‘ring rat’ isn’t going to come this night.

[T then looked at the time, and realized it was damn near 4am, and he just turned off his phone and put it on the charger. Then tommy pours her some of the champagne in red solo cups he got at a Dollar Tree, then they take a sip and decide to slow dance to some slow jams that’s playing on the record player, near the terrace door.]

Sophia: you are such a good dancer, never knew you can sweep a women off her feet.

T: Nah, its liquor in my belly… i normally would be asleep or jerking it off to Dolly Waters feet pics off wikifeet. Yes im a disgusitn lame ol’ bastard!

Sophia: Oh hush, im only 5 year younger than you, so you stop shitting on yourself, Thomas!

T: Thomas… wow, you going to my government name, looks like we gonna have to get married!

Sophia: oooooh nooooo…. I got something better…

[Sophia and T share a passionate kiss that lead to the bed, and from there, their bodies intermingle like a birds n bees talk from your parents, as they made love until it was 8 am. Once it was 10am, T wakes up with a naked Sophia, with a smile on his face. Sophia gets up and realizes that she missed her shift, as she hurries to put on her uniform and heels, T looked on as he sipped his coffee he made earlier. ]

Sophia: Oh my boss is gonna kill me, i was supposed to clock in at 7am… but…

T: I know, look imma be here for the rest of the week. So if you want that nightcap with me, you know where to find me. Room 105.

[Sophia then kisses him on the cheek, and hurries off and he was left alone and turned back on his phone to see that Tiffany never called him back, so he just went on with his day in Miami. Later in the afternoon, he walked to the hotel pool with his replica belt, in his fresh white t, shorts and boots on. He sits by one of the chairs, and decides to record himself on his phone.]

T: Whats up XWF peeps, i am in sunny Miami, sitting by the pool. Thought its dirt as hell, but im not going into that water. But, what i want to say is this; I have managed to get myself into match between Darren and Centurion; the million dollar question is why? I guess Darren really wanted to not be the champion, he was pushed for a hot minute; and even gotten Charlie’s approval (which isn’t much to bag on about personally), damn near had merch made up by Peter, or one of the stooges before that was taken away like a fart in a church, i don’t regret doing what i did to him. I know Big Bro Thad got mad at Darren’s lack of attention, since he was so preoccupied with cutting himself like if he’s Moxley or sumthin, and i know he got some fetish for blood worse than mines for women’s feet, unless i… nahh, you get my point. It’s not my fault he didn’t do the right thing, it’s not my fault for being a five time X-Treme Champion in this company.

I know that Darren is at home, thinking to himself “damn it, i wanted to have a pure bloodletting blow off match at the biggest PPV”... but Darren, you aren’t going to have that moment. You aren’t even going to bleed on the belt you lost, by your own admission; so i want you to reazlie that you are dealing with a conning man who’s like a snake, and I will be on the grass waiting to strike on a moment's notice. You see, im a man who more likely to just leave the belt at home and not bring it with me, and have them scramble to find a replacement, im lesser of a champion than what Darren short reign had. He made the belt a joke with his bullshit match stipulations, he doesn’t even deserve to be going to Hard Rock Cafe on Saturday night, he needs to be laid in ICU getting blood transfusions, because he’s a walking heart attack of a blood loss in my hands.

I might not be Jack The Ripper, but imma rip Darren a new one where he stands until he see’s nothing but red. So much red, that even the EMTs would have to charge me for 3rd degree murder, in a PPV. I’ve been in a jails before, so im not exactly the most law abiding person, but thats what you gonna get out of me. I know i wont have this belt long, but that doesnt mean much when I go out to that ring, i will be on a mission to end Darren’s career and have him cawl back to the hole where he roams, where the maggots live with his family.

Now, I got to share my thoughts with Centurion. I know that man’s a legend. I know he has won many belts in his career, even up to XWF. I know he wanted Darren, he wanted to end him and his short reign as X-Treme. He wanted to cleanse the fed away from a deadbeat like himself off, but yes folks i ruined it, and he’s salty about it. Like i said before, Darren didn’t prove his worth in that hallway, and Centurion knows full well that its more than just holding the belt and racking up wins to get that once in a lifetime briefcase to get shots at any straps of the place. It takes more of a guts and courage, shit ton of luck, and ten million eye balls to those who want to take the belt off you.

Centurion, you have many accomplishments in your tenure in the fed, you even have that honorable distinction of being a 6x X-Treme Champion, and even a multi time World Champion when that was in it’s companies lineage before I roamed the XWF streets. So yes, you can have the whole entire fans blow and suck you off; you can have Ruby be your Robin to your 1997 Batman; you can jump yourself on couches until you tire yourself out. You can have the money, cars, and the clout…but what do you have?

Guts, Centy, GUTS!!

While you scream FINIAL FATNASY on your lungs, and act like you are a wrestling god who wants to get a 7th reign at the X-Treme title; you are a fucking fool Centy, you need to learn that whatever momentum you have, is going to die right in front of your eyes on Saturday and you and i might be different on the pecking order, but we still are holding out against retirement. I might make you seek that after the night.

You gonna end like Aeris who gets killed off by Sephiroth (“spolier”); and im not talking about sword to the chest, but a chair to the dome, or a freaking barbwire Kendo Stick with Darren’s blood on it, so you both can contract Hep C, and end one’s career to the death for all I care! Like I said before, Centy, you might be better than me, but dont mean shit when that bell rings, you and your life long enemy Darren are going to see what Tommy is capable of.

I wont lose sleep over this match once it reaches to the end, while you both have to watch your backs with the belt, i can sleep at night knowing full well that nobody will bother me; if i need to, i will come out of that match with my hand raised with the belt i left to company’s place, with my replica belt while i can sneak away with another victory.

So Centurion and Darren, you both are going to become Irrelevant by the end of the night, mark my words my friends. I guarantee it, bitches.

[From there, T had a smile on his face holding his replica belt, and managed to flex with it to the camera of his phone, then from there it just cuts to black.] ]]>

Midnight @ 9/15/2025

Hotel Casablanca

Suite 105

[On this night, Tommy was in the hotel alone, waiting for a ring rat who looked like pornstar Lisa Ann after a previous night at the bar. As he was sitting on the bed in his robe, he went out to the patio of the hotel to call the girl.]

T: Hello, Tiffany?

Tiffany: Hello, who’s this?

T: It’s Tommy, remember that wrestler dude you met last week at the bar down in Tampa.

Tiffany: Wait, are you the guy who bought me and my friends drinks and had you let one of them snort a line of coke off your title??

T: Wow you remember that?... shit, well lets say that i got a replica while i left the main one at the office of XWF. I wasn’t gonna pay any finders replacement fee, but where are you at?

Tiffany: Oooooooh, that…. Well… im on my way, i just got to find the hotel you said. Its off by Havana Way?

T: Yes, I texted you since 6pm… since yesterday, did you get it?

Tiffany: You know i barely check my text messages, but dont worry ill be there. Did you set up the flowers on the floor, champagne in the tub and all that?

T: I've been planning this shit since i came down to Florida, im not playing. Get over here asap!

Tiffany: Oh gosh, ill be on the way… my X-Treme champion.

[After that, Tommy ended the call. Then he went back into the hotel room, and found an old record player by the table. He looked at the record player, with the case on top of it, then he managed to find a few old Isly Brothers vinyl records.]

T: Shit, I haven't seen any of these since 1986 in my half uncle Joe’s crib….man, something about the vinyl records…ahhh… makes me warm inside!

[Then he opens the record player case and he puts on one of the Isley Brothers song, “Choosey Lover”, as soon as the open guitar riff plays; tommy then air guitars its like if he’s one of the band members, even mouths the chorus to the mirror as he combed his hair. Its half past 2am, and he havent heard a word from her, so then he ended up calling for room service, he ended up ordering a philly cheese steak and fries (so late he dont care), and waits for his food. Some time passes, he gets a knock on the door, and he opens it to see the room server, then his eyes widen to see who it is.]

T: Sophia!

Sophia: TOMMY WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?

[T, looked befuddled as he got his tray of philly n fries, and placed it by the table. Sophia then decides to pear around the room, embracing the romantic undertones.]

Sophia: Oh…i see…someone else is supposed to be here, a lady friend?

T: U can say that…but she anit comin so im here alone, and all that.

[T then eats his sub with slowness like if he felt played by the ring rat he wanted to do the nasty with. As he ate his sub, Sophia then decides to take off her heels and undoes her hair. Then she sits beside T, who looks on with confusion.]

T: Hey… you can go back to your shift, I don't want you to get in trouble.

Sophia: My manager doesn't care, plus I'm off the clock. So, how you been, I noticed you got that X-Treme belt by the closet floor. You still wrestling?

T: Yeah, I'm still in the thing, i got this belt and now i have to do stuff with it. But I legit brough my replica one from home, the real one is at the company. But on a serious note, you wanna shot at my belt and replace me for Saturday?

[Sophia looks at the belt on the floor, and was thinking about layin the smackdown on T. But instead, she laughs and loosens up her button up shirt, almost showing some titillating cleavage, as she comes closer to T, who was eating his fries.]

Sophia: You know i can’t do that, you know its been almost five or so years since we spoken, what happened to us Tommy?

T: I don’t remember that, but maybe you told me that you had move to Florida for a new gig, but how’s that gig going?

Sophia: Well since that time, i wanted to break into the modeling scene but… they all were duds so i ended up working at this hotel. Im shocked to see you still wrestle, i know your body is giving you shit about it.

T: Limps, broken bones…the whole nine freakin yards… im glad you aren’t in the ring because you’d get sick of not being in your bed other week or so.

[Sophia laughs at that line, and she decides to lean her head on his shoulder.]

Sophia: I think you should turn off your phone, i know your ‘ring rat’ isn’t going to come this night.

[T then looked at the time, and realized it was damn near 4am, and he just turned off his phone and put it on the charger. Then tommy pours her some of the champagne in red solo cups he got at a Dollar Tree, then they take a sip and decide to slow dance to some slow jams that’s playing on the record player, near the terrace door.]

Sophia: you are such a good dancer, never knew you can sweep a women off her feet.

T: Nah, its liquor in my belly… i normally would be asleep or jerking it off to Dolly Waters feet pics off wikifeet. Yes im a disgusitn lame ol’ bastard!

Sophia: Oh hush, im only 5 year younger than you, so you stop shitting on yourself, Thomas!

T: Thomas… wow, you going to my government name, looks like we gonna have to get married!

Sophia: oooooh nooooo…. I got something better…

[Sophia and T share a passionate kiss that lead to the bed, and from there, their bodies intermingle like a birds n bees talk from your parents, as they made love until it was 8 am. Once it was 10am, T wakes up with a naked Sophia, with a smile on his face. Sophia gets up and realizes that she missed her shift, as she hurries to put on her uniform and heels, T looked on as he sipped his coffee he made earlier. ]

Sophia: Oh my boss is gonna kill me, i was supposed to clock in at 7am… but…

T: I know, look imma be here for the rest of the week. So if you want that nightcap with me, you know where to find me. Room 105.

[Sophia then kisses him on the cheek, and hurries off and he was left alone and turned back on his phone to see that Tiffany never called him back, so he just went on with his day in Miami. Later in the afternoon, he walked to the hotel pool with his replica belt, in his fresh white t, shorts and boots on. He sits by one of the chairs, and decides to record himself on his phone.]

T: Whats up XWF peeps, i am in sunny Miami, sitting by the pool. Thought its dirt as hell, but im not going into that water. But, what i want to say is this; I have managed to get myself into match between Darren and Centurion; the million dollar question is why? I guess Darren really wanted to not be the champion, he was pushed for a hot minute; and even gotten Charlie’s approval (which isn’t much to bag on about personally), damn near had merch made up by Peter, or one of the stooges before that was taken away like a fart in a church, i don’t regret doing what i did to him. I know Big Bro Thad got mad at Darren’s lack of attention, since he was so preoccupied with cutting himself like if he’s Moxley or sumthin, and i know he got some fetish for blood worse than mines for women’s feet, unless i… nahh, you get my point. It’s not my fault he didn’t do the right thing, it’s not my fault for being a five time X-Treme Champion in this company.

I know that Darren is at home, thinking to himself “damn it, i wanted to have a pure bloodletting blow off match at the biggest PPV”... but Darren, you aren’t going to have that moment. You aren’t even going to bleed on the belt you lost, by your own admission; so i want you to reazlie that you are dealing with a conning man who’s like a snake, and I will be on the grass waiting to strike on a moment's notice. You see, im a man who more likely to just leave the belt at home and not bring it with me, and have them scramble to find a replacement, im lesser of a champion than what Darren short reign had. He made the belt a joke with his bullshit match stipulations, he doesn’t even deserve to be going to Hard Rock Cafe on Saturday night, he needs to be laid in ICU getting blood transfusions, because he’s a walking heart attack of a blood loss in my hands.

I might not be Jack The Ripper, but imma rip Darren a new one where he stands until he see’s nothing but red. So much red, that even the EMTs would have to charge me for 3rd degree murder, in a PPV. I’ve been in a jails before, so im not exactly the most law abiding person, but thats what you gonna get out of me. I know i wont have this belt long, but that doesnt mean much when I go out to that ring, i will be on a mission to end Darren’s career and have him cawl back to the hole where he roams, where the maggots live with his family.

Now, I got to share my thoughts with Centurion. I know that man’s a legend. I know he has won many belts in his career, even up to XWF. I know he wanted Darren, he wanted to end him and his short reign as X-Treme. He wanted to cleanse the fed away from a deadbeat like himself off, but yes folks i ruined it, and he’s salty about it. Like i said before, Darren didn’t prove his worth in that hallway, and Centurion knows full well that its more than just holding the belt and racking up wins to get that once in a lifetime briefcase to get shots at any straps of the place. It takes more of a guts and courage, shit ton of luck, and ten million eye balls to those who want to take the belt off you.

Centurion, you have many accomplishments in your tenure in the fed, you even have that honorable distinction of being a 6x X-Treme Champion, and even a multi time World Champion when that was in it’s companies lineage before I roamed the XWF streets. So yes, you can have the whole entire fans blow and suck you off; you can have Ruby be your Robin to your 1997 Batman; you can jump yourself on couches until you tire yourself out. You can have the money, cars, and the clout…but what do you have?

Guts, Centy, GUTS!!

While you scream FINIAL FATNASY on your lungs, and act like you are a wrestling god who wants to get a 7th reign at the X-Treme title; you are a fucking fool Centy, you need to learn that whatever momentum you have, is going to die right in front of your eyes on Saturday and you and i might be different on the pecking order, but we still are holding out against retirement. I might make you seek that after the night.

You gonna end like Aeris who gets killed off by Sephiroth (“spolier”); and im not talking about sword to the chest, but a chair to the dome, or a freaking barbwire Kendo Stick with Darren’s blood on it, so you both can contract Hep C, and end one’s career to the death for all I care! Like I said before, Centy, you might be better than me, but dont mean shit when that bell rings, you and your life long enemy Darren are going to see what Tommy is capable of.

I wont lose sleep over this match once it reaches to the end, while you both have to watch your backs with the belt, i can sleep at night knowing full well that nobody will bother me; if i need to, i will come out of that match with my hand raised with the belt i left to company’s place, with my replica belt while i can sneak away with another victory.

So Centurion and Darren, you both are going to become Irrelevant by the end of the night, mark my words my friends. I guarantee it, bitches.

[From there, T had a smile on his face holding his replica belt, and managed to flex with it to the camera of his phone, then from there it just cuts to black.] ]]> <![CDATA[Narcissistic Behavior]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49284 Wed, 17 Sep 2025 17:36:39 -0700 SummerPage]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49284 Click Here

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Word Count-1000]]> <![CDATA[Squabble Up]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49274 Mon, 15 Sep 2025 10:55:44 -0700 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49274

“Where did you even FIND this place?”

The question is asked by Centurion, standing in the middle of the four person group of him, Nellie, Erin, and Ruby. All of them stand outside of a rusty metal door attached to a brick building. It is early in the morning, and the cold appears to be getting to Erin and Nellie, who are huddled together in order to keep each other warm. Centurion and Ruby, meanwhile, seem rather unbothered by the temperature.

“Um, did you forget about that whole ‘being a superhero’ thing?” Ruby responds back, quizzically. “This is where a lot of the weapons and items that the baddies used were put. No one claims them, but they’re no longer evidence, so it gets bought up by scrap dealers like Norman who either hoard it or sell it for pennies on the dollar.”

As if on cue, the door creeks open, and an older gentleman, likely the aforementioned “Norman”, opens the door. He has a mug in his hand and looks at each member of the group before looking back at Ruby. “Ah yes, Ruby. I almost didn’t recognize you without the mask.”

“Good to see you again, Norman.” Ruby says with a warm smile. “We wanted to come and look at some of your stuff, maybe make a few purchases.”

“Absolutely! Right this way, Mrs. Cortinovis!” Norman opens the door further and the four walk in. Centurion’s eyes immediately lighten up when he walks into the building - it is an old brick warehouse, stock full of bats, chains, clubs, all sorts of things that could be used as weapons. Centurion rubs his hands together and licks his lips before following Norman further into the building. Ruby takes a step, too, but the right hand of Nellie reaches out and touches her on the shoulder, getting her to stop.

“One second.” Nellie says in a hushed tone. “We didn’t get a chance to really talk about this. I’m surprised you’re cool with Dad getting back into the ring. I know you were really happy with him being at home.”

“Yeah, I was, but…” Ruby stops for a second and glances over at Centurion, who is holding a crowbar while Norman chats him up about his inventory. “...he wasn’t. He tried to distract himself, but that just turned into him watching the news and getting angrier. He’s not built to be a retired guy. I don’t want to see him wrestling week in and week out, but if he stays home, it’s going to drive him crazy. And, well…” Ruby gestures over at Cent, who bangs the crowbar on a metal table in front of him, causing Nellie and Erin to slightly jump and also look in his direction. “...he’s plenty crazy enough as it is. Why, are you worried about him?”

“Oh, I’m always worried about him.” Nellie says quickly in response. “I fear one day he’s going to die in the ring.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, but…” Ruby takes a second to think. “...it wouldn’t be the worst way to go, if you think about it.”

“Oh. Fuck. Yeah!” The echoing voice of Centurion breaks the tension as the three ladies step further in the building. Standing towards a back wall is Centurion and Norman, with multiple bags of golf clubs lined up next to them. Centurion grins from ear to ear as he shifts through one of the bags. The three ladies walk up to Centurion as he pulls out one of the clubs and examines it. “Do you know the manufacturing year?”

“Heh.” Norman gets off a dismissive laugh. “I couldn’t even tell ya what kind of club that is.”

“It’s a Spalding.” Centurion quickly answers as he turns the club to face the clubhead. “Cannon. This one is a sand wedge, but it looks like you have the whole set here. The Cannon is either an ‘85 or an ‘86.” Centurion continues to glance up and down the club before looking up at the rest of the crew, who all look highly confused. Centurion looks at all four individually before explaining. “When Spalding made the Cannon in ‘85, they used pure steel shafts. By ‘86, however, they were experimenting with carbon fiber, but the technology wasn’t as good with them at that time. Caused the shafts to be lighter and slightly less durable. This one feels like it has some weight to it, though, so…” Centurion takes the club and breaks it in half over his knee, causing the other four to jump back. Centurion looks down the shaft of the club and nods. “Yeah, it’s an ‘85.”

“So I’ll just…go ahead and add that to your bill.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Centurion says calmly. “I’ll take them.”

“What, the whole bag?” Norman asks.

“No…the whole lot.”

Norman’s eyes grow wide as he rescans the hundreds of golf clubs that are in front of him. He gets a bit of a smile on his face as he gestures towards his office. “Let me get some paperwork.”

Norman walks away from the group, leaving the four others behind. Nellie rubs her chin before looking straight at Centurion. “What do you need all of these for?”

“You never know.” Centurion says in a matter of fact tone. “I planned on only using one club, a bat, maybe a box cutter or a shiv, to take out Darren, but now Tommy is added to this damn match and the rest of the roster is apparently lining up for a chance to win the title, so I need all the weapons I can get my hands on.”

“This might be a bit overkill.” Nellie responds back. “I mean, there’s hundreds of these things! Are you going to carry all of them to the ring by yourself?”

“Carry? God no!” Centurion laughs. “I’m going to drive them down to the ring with a forklift.”

Nellie glances over at Ruby, who mouths “duh” sarcastically back at Nellie. A few seconds later, the familiar “ding!” of a cellphone can be heard, and Erin reaches into her pockets to pull out her smartphone. She opens it and reads through the contents for a few seconds before typing away.

“Who the hell is texting you this early in the morning?” Centurion asks. “Aren’t all of your friends usually asleep at this hour?”

“Oh, it’s not a text.” Erin replied, nonchalantly. “It’s a Twitter DM from one of the members of the lesbian sex cult.”

Centurion and Ruby both look over at Erin with shocked expressions, while Nellie quickly snaps her head over to Erin and gives her a “stop talking” gesture. Erin, meanwhile, doesn’t change her expression at all, as she continues to type into her phone.

“Should I ask?” Centurion carefully questions, looking back over at Nellie.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Nellie answers in shame.

Before anyone can ask any further question, Norman comes walking up with a pad of yellow legal paper. He is writing down some numbers as he approaches the group. “What are you going to be needing all this stuff for, anyway?”

“Doing a little…” Centurion thinks for a second as he looks back over the golf clubs. “…amateur plastic surgery.”

“Oh.” Norman responds, initially confused, before his face shifts to one of understanding. “Oh! Well, I might have something else that would interest you. Follow me.” Norman walks away, gesturing to the group to follow. They walk several feet to another part of the warehouse, close to a truck entrance, where a large shipping container sits. Norman fumbles around with his keys as he looks to unlock the container. “I’ve had this sitting here for a while. Apparently there was some big bust at a farm - guy growing a ton of weed or somethin’. Sheriff ended up selling the property, but the new owners didn’t want any of this, so it got dropped off here.” Norman finds the key he’s looking for, unlocks the padlock, and opens the door to the container.

Inside, there are spools upon spools of barbed wire, all in various different sizes and all in different conditions. Centurion’s eyes damn hear sparkle - if this were an anime, his eyes would have hearts in them and some romantic music would be playing in the background. He walks into the container, almost in a trance, as he salivates over all the damage he could do to Tommy Wish and Darren Dangerous with this new equipment.

“Oh…..YEAHHHHH.”

—---I got friends, I got foes, but they all sitting ducks—---

A distinctfully loud sigh is the first thing that is heard when the camera comes back to life.

Sitting on the back deck of his luxury cabin and overlooking his pond is Centurion. He has a cigarette in one hand and is rubbing his forehead with the thumb and pointer finger of his other hand. He shakes his head back and forth in disappointment before he sits up in his chair and takes a drag of his cigarette. He exhales the smoke and finally speaks.

“This is what happens when I open my big mouth.

For the record, I was not looking to get back in the wrestling ring. Far from it - I enjoyed retirement. Well…kinda.” Centurion’s confident voice begins to waver a bit. “I mean…it was nice not having my body beat to shit every single week, and getting to repair the parts of my body that have been breaking down for years is really nice. Granted, it was boring as hell just being at home, and the roar of the crowd is like a drug that you will continuously crave until you are in the ground…and the world being a complete dumpster fire is something that always sends me into a fiery rage that I had no outlet for…and watching the current product makes me wish Georg Hackenschmidt was shot in 1890 to avoid the disaster that is modern professional wrestling…

…what was I saying?” Centurion’s eyes wander off a bit as he takes another drag of his cigarette, but they light back up again as he exhales and remembers where he was going with that. “Ah yes, I wasn’t looking at getting back into the ring. Here’s what happened.

Nellie mentioned on Twitter - because I’ll smash my own balls with a hammer before I ever call it “X” - that I was doing well. It was the first time my name was uttered in a professional wrestling setting in a year. Jimmy Stars, the opportunistic whore that he is, said ‘you know what would be a good idea? If I made Centurion a special enforcer to a match and see if he showed up.’ I gotta admit, I’m more pissed off at myself than I am at him because it worked like a charm.

As this is going on, King Kong Bundy’s ugly brother Darren Dangerous decides he’s going to pop up and talk shit about everyone and everything. Now, me and my big mouth, I decided to make fun of the guy because…I mean, look at him. And of course, he took offense to it, so I challenged him to a fight.

…a FIGHT!” Centurion is sure to emphasize the word. “Not a match. A FIGHT. Show up to the parking lot, beat the shit out of him, and leave. That’s all!

Somehow, though, that evolved into me getting an X-Treme Title shot, which I did not ask for, but fine. If I’m going to break my retirement in order to fight this sentient gelatinous cube, then I at least want something tangible out of it. Not for the sake of holding the X-Treme Title, mind you, but to be the one to take the title off of him. To be the one that turns him back to irrelevance. At least I get to take something from him…

…except he couldn’t even manage to hold on to the fucking belt!”

Centurion takes one last drag and angrily puts the cigarette out in the ashtray next to him. He quickly stands up, the anger in his voice beginning to rise.

“All he had to do was avoid being randomly pinned. That’s it. And not only could he not manage that, but he got pinned BACKSTAGE by TOMMY WISH! Tommy Fucking Wish! That dude is always backstage! He hangs out in locker rooms in arenas he’s not even booked at! Randomly pinning the X-Treme Champion is what he DOES! How do you not see that coming?! It’s like being surprised you get hit by a train when you’re standing on the fucking tracks!

So NOW, not only is my retirement broken, and I have an X-Treme Title match, but I have to face both Darren Dangerous AND Tommy Wish.” Centurion takes a deep breath in as he runs his fingers through his hair. “I’ve done a lot of stupid shit in my life, but this may be towards the top of the list, because I KNOW, the moment I hold that X-Treme Title above my head at the end of Relentless, I am going to become a target for the entire locker room, and I KNOW I won’t be able to step away again until I cash in on all the receipts that I’m about to collect.

I truly do hate myself sometimes.

The inclusion of Tommy complicates things a LOT, too. See, I had a plan.” Centurion turns and walks a couple of steps to his back door. He opens it and reaches inside before pulling out a golf club. He taps the club head onto the deck floor a couple of times, causing the sound of the wood to echo throughout the property. “I was going to take this five iron and beat Darren over the head with it until he ran out of blood. Seemed like a legit strategy. Problem now is, there is another wrestler in this match, and he doesn’t care about hurting anyone or making a statement - he just wants to win. So if I start caving in the skull of Darren, Tommy could easily just roll me up and win the match two minutes in, and I will lose my opportunity to rid this world of that disgusting ogre.

And I am not naive enough to think that can’t happen. I’ve beaten Tommy Wish before. Hell, most people have, but he never goes away. He can lose a hundred matches in a row, and he’ll still show up to work, and then the moment you take your eye off him, or you think he’s nothing more than some enhancement talent, he beats you. I’ve seen him lose to the biggest flashes in the pan, and I’ve seen him beat some of the most established stars that have come through this place.

Trust me, if this were a one on one match, and my goal was simply to win, there’s no way in hell Tommy would be able to beat me; however, that is not the situation we are in. I don’t hate Tommy. I don’t have the desire to spill his brain matter all over the county. Him holding the X-Treme Title…it makes a lot of sense, and it’s a nice reward for the career he’s carved for himself. So what do I do? Do I just do what I want to do to Darren and let Tommy walk out with the belt?”

Centurion looks down at the ground for a second and places his pointer finger under his chin, making it seem like he’s actually thinking about it. After a second, however, he grins and shakes his head.

“Nah.

There’s something all professional wrestlers have, whether it be retired wrestlers, or the biggest names in the industry, or the newest talent fresh in the door - crippling pride. The kind of pride that prevents you from doing certain sensible things. Sure, it would be wise to let anyone else carry the XTreme Title, especially someone as skilled and passionate as Tommy Wish, but that would mean adding an L to my record, and even though it SHOULDN’T mean anything, it absolutely does to my sick brain.

So yeah, sorry Tommy, but you got the short straw on this one. Maybe if you pinned Darren before the XWF booked the entire pay per view card, you would have your own match that you could win and show off with.

And before anyone starts asking about my health or my ring readiness - I’m fine. I have parts of my body that are feeling healthier than they have in decades, and you can plop me in the ring after being away for years and I’ll pick it back up like I never left. Don’t believe me? Check my 2019 run.

Tommy, I know you never asked me, but I’m about to give you some advice - pick your spots wisely. If you think you can throw yourself in the middle of this blood feud, I PROMISE you, you can’t. You will be swallowed whole, like that movie with that dude and the weird mouth…”

Centurion takes a second to think, then yells to the other side of the camera. “Hey Nell, what’s the name of that fucked up movie you made me watch?”

“Choppy & The Girls.” Nellie says with a slight hint of disdain in her voice.

“Yeah. You’ll be swallowed whole like those people in Choppy & The Girls. Wait for me to do what a heart attack will do in five years anyway and kill Darren. Then, you and I can square off and decide who gets to walk out with the belt. It’s honorable. It’s entertaining. And it’s the only way you’ll avoid being turned into jam.

Now…onto the reason I’m even here.”

Centurion raises his golf club and slaps it into his open palm.

“Darren, I know what you’re thinking….well, “thinking” is a strong term. I know what the tiny moth in your skull is thinking. Why did I even decide to pick a fight with you anyway? After all, we had no previous interactions prior to this. Why would your tiny presence in a wrestling federation that I am no longer a part of mean anything to me? Well, it’s pretty simple.

I don’t just hate you…I hate everything you represent. I get it - you see the world around you, and you’re emboldened. You think you can do and say whatever you want, and since the absolute worst people on the planet are currently running our governments, media networks, social networks, and every form of consumable entertainment, not only will nothing happen to you, but you’ll have a line of brain dead losers applauding you and calling you a hero. Honestly, you’re probably right, except for one thing.

You, and people like you, forgot what it was like to get punched in the face. You got way too comfortable with having no repercussions for your actions. And I don’t just mean someone pinning you and taking your title - you’ll probably just hand wave that as some fluke that never would have happened if you had been prepared.

You wanna go around, shouting slurs, challenging people to insane matches, talking about spilling the blood of all manor of folks, fine, but you better be prepared when someone finally looks you in the eyes and calls you out for being the massive pussy you really are. You’re not some “hardcore legend” - you’re a bully with a bat, and I know this because of the absolute meltdown you had by even suggesting that maybe, perhaps, it’s a bad look for a company when one of their champions is begging for money. You’re not used to being told “no”. You’re not used to being anything other than the loudest and most obnoxious asshole in the room. And I’m sure there are people in your life - people who don’t know any better - who might actually be afraid of you.

Well, much like there are consequences when you go on school campuses and drum up support for hate movements, there are also consequences to acting like a tough guy when you’re nothing more than a bowl of jelly - except I’m not going to shoot you in the neck. I’m just going to beat the everloving shit out of you.

Only problem is, this requires blood, and that freaks me out a little bit, mainly because there’s no WAY you don’t have Hepatitis C.”

Centurion scans his arms, looking to make sure there aren’t any open wounds.

“As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure you’ve got some diseases I’ve never heard of before. You look like someone who crawled out of RFK Jr. dungeon after floating around in the sewage for a while. The plus side is, once they figure out what flesh eating disease is eating your face, you’ll finally have something named after you.

Sometimes, life has a way of just tossing you into situations. For me, it’s right place, right time - I picked a fight with someone who became the X-Treme Champion, and now I have the opportunity to win gold once again in this business - the business I swore off. For Tommy Wish, it’s wrong place, wrong time - he may have another X-Treme Title added to his resume, but he’s going to pay for it with a LONG night at Relentless, one that he certainly was not planning for. And for Darren? Well…there’s never a right place OR a right time for him, unless that place is “Hell” and that time is “Immediately.”

Centurion reaches into his pocket and pulls out a pack of Djarum Blacks. He slides one of cigarettes into his mouth and pats around, looking for his lighter. Before he can say anything, a Zippo comes flying in from over the camera, tossed by Nellie and caught by Centurion. He flicks the lighter open and lights the cigarette before tossing the lighter back over to Nellie. He closes his eyes and raises his head to the sky briefly as he takes in a long hit of his cigarette. He exhales, as if he is not only exhaling the smoke, but also exhaling the thoughts he has had stored up inside him.

“This might be a terrible idea. I accept that as a possibility. I also accept that I’ll never fully leave this business again, and that every time I try to take a step away, something will inevitably drag me back in. I can promise this, though - as long as I am breathing, I will never stop fighting, whether that’s in the ring or out of it. And maybe, someday, my death will come sooner than it should…but I can promise you, on my way out, I will make sure all of you mother fuckers meet your…

FINAL FANTASY!!!

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“Where did you even FIND this place?”

The question is asked by Centurion, standing in the middle of the four person group of him, Nellie, Erin, and Ruby. All of them stand outside of a rusty metal door attached to a brick building. It is early in the morning, and the cold appears to be getting to Erin and Nellie, who are huddled together in order to keep each other warm. Centurion and Ruby, meanwhile, seem rather unbothered by the temperature.

“Um, did you forget about that whole ‘being a superhero’ thing?” Ruby responds back, quizzically. “This is where a lot of the weapons and items that the baddies used were put. No one claims them, but they’re no longer evidence, so it gets bought up by scrap dealers like Norman who either hoard it or sell it for pennies on the dollar.”

As if on cue, the door creeks open, and an older gentleman, likely the aforementioned “Norman”, opens the door. He has a mug in his hand and looks at each member of the group before looking back at Ruby. “Ah yes, Ruby. I almost didn’t recognize you without the mask.”

“Good to see you again, Norman.” Ruby says with a warm smile. “We wanted to come and look at some of your stuff, maybe make a few purchases.”

“Absolutely! Right this way, Mrs. Cortinovis!” Norman opens the door further and the four walk in. Centurion’s eyes immediately lighten up when he walks into the building - it is an old brick warehouse, stock full of bats, chains, clubs, all sorts of things that could be used as weapons. Centurion rubs his hands together and licks his lips before following Norman further into the building. Ruby takes a step, too, but the right hand of Nellie reaches out and touches her on the shoulder, getting her to stop.

“One second.” Nellie says in a hushed tone. “We didn’t get a chance to really talk about this. I’m surprised you’re cool with Dad getting back into the ring. I know you were really happy with him being at home.”

“Yeah, I was, but…” Ruby stops for a second and glances over at Centurion, who is holding a crowbar while Norman chats him up about his inventory. “...he wasn’t. He tried to distract himself, but that just turned into him watching the news and getting angrier. He’s not built to be a retired guy. I don’t want to see him wrestling week in and week out, but if he stays home, it’s going to drive him crazy. And, well…” Ruby gestures over at Cent, who bangs the crowbar on a metal table in front of him, causing Nellie and Erin to slightly jump and also look in his direction. “...he’s plenty crazy enough as it is. Why, are you worried about him?”

“Oh, I’m always worried about him.” Nellie says quickly in response. “I fear one day he’s going to die in the ring.”

“I don’t think that’s going to happen, but…” Ruby takes a second to think. “...it wouldn’t be the worst way to go, if you think about it.”

“Oh. Fuck. Yeah!” The echoing voice of Centurion breaks the tension as the three ladies step further in the building. Standing towards a back wall is Centurion and Norman, with multiple bags of golf clubs lined up next to them. Centurion grins from ear to ear as he shifts through one of the bags. The three ladies walk up to Centurion as he pulls out one of the clubs and examines it. “Do you know the manufacturing year?”

“Heh.” Norman gets off a dismissive laugh. “I couldn’t even tell ya what kind of club that is.”

“It’s a Spalding.” Centurion quickly answers as he turns the club to face the clubhead. “Cannon. This one is a sand wedge, but it looks like you have the whole set here. The Cannon is either an ‘85 or an ‘86.” Centurion continues to glance up and down the club before looking up at the rest of the crew, who all look highly confused. Centurion looks at all four individually before explaining. “When Spalding made the Cannon in ‘85, they used pure steel shafts. By ‘86, however, they were experimenting with carbon fiber, but the technology wasn’t as good with them at that time. Caused the shafts to be lighter and slightly less durable. This one feels like it has some weight to it, though, so…” Centurion takes the club and breaks it in half over his knee, causing the other four to jump back. Centurion looks down the shaft of the club and nods. “Yeah, it’s an ‘85.”

“So I’ll just…go ahead and add that to your bill.”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it.” Centurion says calmly. “I’ll take them.”

“What, the whole bag?” Norman asks.

“No…the whole lot.”

Norman’s eyes grow wide as he rescans the hundreds of golf clubs that are in front of him. He gets a bit of a smile on his face as he gestures towards his office. “Let me get some paperwork.”

Norman walks away from the group, leaving the four others behind. Nellie rubs her chin before looking straight at Centurion. “What do you need all of these for?”

“You never know.” Centurion says in a matter of fact tone. “I planned on only using one club, a bat, maybe a box cutter or a shiv, to take out Darren, but now Tommy is added to this damn match and the rest of the roster is apparently lining up for a chance to win the title, so I need all the weapons I can get my hands on.”

“This might be a bit overkill.” Nellie responds back. “I mean, there’s hundreds of these things! Are you going to carry all of them to the ring by yourself?”

“Carry? God no!” Centurion laughs. “I’m going to drive them down to the ring with a forklift.”

Nellie glances over at Ruby, who mouths “duh” sarcastically back at Nellie. A few seconds later, the familiar “ding!” of a cellphone can be heard, and Erin reaches into her pockets to pull out her smartphone. She opens it and reads through the contents for a few seconds before typing away.

“Who the hell is texting you this early in the morning?” Centurion asks. “Aren’t all of your friends usually asleep at this hour?”

“Oh, it’s not a text.” Erin replied, nonchalantly. “It’s a Twitter DM from one of the members of the lesbian sex cult.”

Centurion and Ruby both look over at Erin with shocked expressions, while Nellie quickly snaps her head over to Erin and gives her a “stop talking” gesture. Erin, meanwhile, doesn’t change her expression at all, as she continues to type into her phone.

“Should I ask?” Centurion carefully questions, looking back over at Nellie.

“I wish you wouldn’t.” Nellie answers in shame.

Before anyone can ask any further question, Norman comes walking up with a pad of yellow legal paper. He is writing down some numbers as he approaches the group. “What are you going to be needing all this stuff for, anyway?”

“Doing a little…” Centurion thinks for a second as he looks back over the golf clubs. “…amateur plastic surgery.”

“Oh.” Norman responds, initially confused, before his face shifts to one of understanding. “Oh! Well, I might have something else that would interest you. Follow me.” Norman walks away, gesturing to the group to follow. They walk several feet to another part of the warehouse, close to a truck entrance, where a large shipping container sits. Norman fumbles around with his keys as he looks to unlock the container. “I’ve had this sitting here for a while. Apparently there was some big bust at a farm - guy growing a ton of weed or somethin’. Sheriff ended up selling the property, but the new owners didn’t want any of this, so it got dropped off here.” Norman finds the key he’s looking for, unlocks the padlock, and opens the door to the container.

Inside, there are spools upon spools of barbed wire, all in various different sizes and all in different conditions. Centurion’s eyes damn hear sparkle - if this were an anime, his eyes would have hearts in them and some romantic music would be playing in the background. He walks into the container, almost in a trance, as he salivates over all the damage he could do to Tommy Wish and Darren Dangerous with this new equipment.

“Oh…..YEAHHHHH.”

—---I got friends, I got foes, but they all sitting ducks—---

FINAL FANTASY!!!

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