<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Snow Pain Snow Gain 2026 RP Board]]>

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - Snow Pain Snow Gain 2026 RP Board]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Sat, 02 May 2026 15:36:21 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Snow Pain, Snow Gangs]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49681 Sat, 24 Jan 2026 23:39:58 -0800 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49681

[Image: 080694a7-7997-4f3f-a646-6ba30cd14ad8.jpg]

Chapter 1: Birthed In Blood

We open with a wide shot of Xtopia, the modern metropolis in the Land of X.

Decades ago this city was the bustling capital of an Empire, and then a Kingdom.

Now it's a slum-ridden hub for gang violence and corporate malfeasance. Gone were the days of rulers parading through the streets; instead, the streets were ruling themselves.

The Revolution seized power, then collapsed before consolidating control. Chairwoman Waters fled, and the metropolis plunged into chaos.

The camera strolls through slum after slum, showing the cold and unplowed streets in all their former glory. The unhoused masses huddled for warmth around flaming piles of trash.

Then the camera catches a glimpse of Xtopia’s last beacon of hope:

The Corporate Plaza.

A shining light in the darkness, located in the cold heart of the metropolis. In The Corporate Plaza, peace and prosperity were protected by the long barrel of the law…or what was left of it.

Dozens of skyscrapers touched the heavens, immaculate roads slicing through indulgent homes. The Corporate Plaza oozed with the smugness of a bubble begging to burst.

The freshly plowed streets were patrolled by AI-powered guards known ‘Guardians Roaming Our Keep’- or GROKs for short. They manned military checkpoints along every entrance into The Plaza.

Most people would never dare approach, for fear of being shot on sight.

But The Nickleman wasn’t most people.

The camera settled upon a shot of a hummer limousine slowly rolling towards the guard post. The license plates on the limo just read ‘BOB’.

The camera switches to a shot inside the limo, where we see The Nichols Brood in all their glory for the first time.

Charlie was a former Warlord in the Land of X, who traded away his power for an expensive suit. He once ruled this city with an iron fist, but now he was just another cog in a broken machine.

His sister Jennie was a notorious killer, formerly barred from The Corporate Plaza for repeatedly brutally murdering corrupt businessmen. But these days, she ferried back and forth through the checkpoints with ease.

That was part of the deal her brother struck with The Corporation.

Part of the deal that saw Charlie fall from the throne, and into the backseat of this limousine.

The window in the back rolled down as the limo reached the checkpoint. Charlie produced his credentials with a huff of authority, showing his ID badge and his sister’s authorization forms to the GROK manning the station. After a brief inspection the GROK returned the credentials and opened the gate, allowing the scarlet limousine into Xtopia’s inner sanctum.

Once the limousine pulled off, Jennie flipped her hair over her shoulder and rolled her eyes.

“Those GROKs get dumber by the day. I swear, they’re only good for one thing and that’s-”

A look of disgust spread across Charlie’s face as he raised his jeweled hand to interrupt her. The diamond-encrusted Balenciaga on his wrist flashed in harmony with his ruby rings as the sun’s rays peeked through the tinted windows.

“Enough, Jennie. We have serious business to handle; I don’t have time for your perversions.”

Jennie crossed her arms defiantly.

“What’s so important, anyways? Why do we have to get the whole squad together on such short notice?”

Charlie looks at Jennie with a smirk the size of a canyon.

“We are going to steal The Universal Stone.”

Jennie’s eyes go wide as a look of shock flashes across her features.

“You mean you actually found it?!”

“Well, sort of…”

Jennie audibly groans, but Charlie quickly reassures her.

“But I know where it is! And I know who has it!”

Charlie pauses briefly, letting Jennie’s imagination run wild- for a moment.

“House of Hardcore.”

Jennie’s jaw slacks, as if she can’t believe what she’s hearing.

“How did those idiots get a hold of it? I thought they just played video games and jerked each other off all day! When the hell did they become major players?”

“Two words: Dickie. Watson.”

“You’re not sending us on another wild goose chase, are you?”

“Of course not.”

Jennie raised a skeptical eyebrow, but Charlie paid her no further mind. The Nickleman folded his hands in his lap as his sister turned once more to gaze out the window, staring up at the massive skyscrapers stretching to the heavens.

But heaven was the last thing on Charlie’s mind.

Tonight, he was aiming to unleash hell on his enemies.

As the limousine strolled through The Corporate Plaza, Charlie turned directly towards the camera. While facing the audience head-on, he unfurled a knowing grin- as if he knew there was a viewer riding alongside him. The Nickleman leaned forward in his seat, loosening the tie around his neck before he spoke.

“The Universal Stone….oh, how I’ve longed for her. How I’ve missed her.”

When Charlie spoke, it was as if he were speaking directly to the audience behind the camera. His sister didn’t even react, as if she couldn’t hear him at all. The Nickleman was speaking directly to you, and you alone.

“The Universal Stone is the high that keeps on giving.

It’s the rock you can cut a thousand lines from, that will never reduce or diminish.

It’s the power of the Universe in your pocket, and it used to be mine…”

The Nickleman tries to hide his pain, but his clenched fists are a dead giveaway. A fire rages behind his eyes, a fire he plans to unleash all across Xtopia tonight.

“But now, it belongs to Dickie Watson…a man who doesn’t even know how to snort it properly.

By the time the powder settles tonight, both the stone and this city will be mine!

But Xtopia will not fall in some grand battle all at once.

It will fall one district at a time, one gang at a time, and one name at a time.”

As Charlie monologues, we see the limo slowly roll to a stop as it picks up another passenger. That’s when The Corporation’s Chief Physician, Dr. Holly Cambric, takes a seat next to Jennie.

“Kieran King and his “Kingsguard” will have to be eliminated first.

Before I can even attempt to reclaim The Stone, I’ll need to dislodge that glutton from his dusty throne.

The King’s District lays directly between The Plaza and The Slums, so to get my stone back I have to go THROUGH him.

There’s no other way.

But even if there was?

I wouldn’t take it.

He’s been clinging to the power of nothing but nostalgia for too long.

It’s time for him to find his place in the past he claims to represent.”

Then, we see the illustrious Mr. Oz pile into the back.

“And once I draw that egocentric cretin out of the picture, House of Hardcore will be next.

Snakes McGee, and then his Dickless boy wonder.

Somehow these two pinheads have wrangled together the vermin in the slums, and united them under the banner of Hardcore…

But what the fuck do they know about Hardcore?

McGee is just another snake in the grass, and Watson is nothing without a Sherlock.”

Vitriol spills from The Nickleman’s mouth as spittle flies from his lips, just in time for a little bit to land on the limousine’s newest passenger- Jenny Myst! The blonde-haired diva opened her mouth to complain- but the audience doesn’t hear it, because the camera and the boom mic are still centered on Charlie’s monologue!

“One by one they will all fall, their bodies will turn cold before they ever touch the snow.

Tonight, The Corporation will take back what’s always been ours:

This City.

And-

The Stone.”

Now, everyone in the limousine is listening to Charlie’s rambling scheme. Mr. Oz pulls out his glock and cocks it back for action, as Dr. Cambric adjusted her gloves like a surgeon preparing for a different kind of operation. Jenny and Jennie feign disinterest, their resting bitch faces proving resistant to even the most rousing of speeches!

“We’re here. Now remember, everyone- let ME do the talking…because I do it best.”

The Nickleman cracks a cocky smirk as the doors to the limousine are opened from the outside, and every member of The Corporation exits one-by-one.

The camera changes perspectives, revealing that the limousine has pulled up to a massive skyscraper- the largest and most phallic structure in all Xtopia.

It was The Trillionaire’s seat of power.

A tower built not for defense, but for watching the city burn beneath it.

As Charlie led his crew through the double-wide glass doors, the camera shifted perspectives once more. Inside the building, we see Charlie leading his soldiers towards a different sort of battle. One that involved marching straight to the elevator.

Ding!

When the doors opened, Charlie turned back to his crew while adjusting his tie.

“You all wait down here, alright?”

“Why can’t we go up there?! I’ve got some issues I’ve been meaning to take up with those Trillionaire scumbags.”

The Nickleman fixed the buttons on his cuffs as he stepped onto the elevator.

“Yeah, that’s exactly why I’m not taking you. Just stay down here, look tough, and be ready to roll- because once we declare Warfare, it’s gonna’ be show time.”

Then the elevator door slammed shut, and the floor began to rise.

Charlie was headed up to the room where champions were crowned…and then quietly buried behind the scenes.

Up to the room where he once bought his sister’s freedom.

The room where he sold a stake in The Stone to The Trillionaires.

The room that transformed him from a Warlord…

Into another empty suit.

DING!

A familiar bell chimed as the doors to the top floor crawled away from each other.

We switch to a shot inside the elevator, looking out into the grandiose room as it slowly reveals itself. The room was vast and luxurious, but every eye was drawn towards the long, upwards sloping table placed right in the center.

At the head of the obsidian table, lifted twenty feet off the ground on black platforms, sat three self-important oligarchs with more dollars than sense.

The Trillionaires.

Musk, Zuckerberg, and Bezos: the three men who had seized control of The Corporation, and laid claim to all of Xtopia.

On either side of the table, lifted on ten-foot platforms, sat The Trillionaire’s two middle managers: Peter Principal and Dick Lichter. Or as Charlie liked to call them, ‘the cripple and the dwarf’.

Charlie stepped off the elevator and sat at his end of the sloped table, low and close to the floor. He stared up at The Trillionaires, but they wouldn’t make eye contact with him. They’d barely even glance in his direction, but that was nothing unusual. Every time Charlie met with the corporate brass, The Trillionaires let their mouthpieces speak for them.

“Welcome back, Charlie! It’s always a pleasure to see you.”

The Nickleman shifted his gaze towards the aptly named Peter Principal, who had been confined to a motorized chair ever since the last uprising.

“A pleasure indeed. Even if you are…”

The little manager, Dick Lichter, checks his watch.

“One minute and seven seconds late.”

The Nickleman tried hard to bite his tongue, but he couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes at Lichter’s feigned indignation.

“You have my sincere apologies. The trip up to the top floor always takes longer than I expect.”

Peter waves away Lichter’s concerns with a simple flick of his wrist, which is pretty much all he can do from inside his wheelchair.

“Oh it’s no problem, Charlie! After all, no one has spilled as much blood for The Corporation as you have. What’s an extra minute here or there, when you take the lives of dissidents and traitors everywhere?!”

The Nickleman gave a gruff nod in response.

“We received your request for an emergency meeting, and of course, we are always happy to oblige our favorite expense! So how can The Corporation help you today, Mr. Nickles? Did you rack up another giant tab at the brothel? Does your limousine need a new coat of paint? Just say the word, and we’ll write some checks!”

The Nickleman slowly folded his hands together on the obsidian table.

For a moment, he said nothing.

He simply stared past Peter Principal, past Dick Lichter…

And right into the eyes of The Trillionaires themselves.

“I didn’t come here to beg for scraps.”

Peter blinked. Lichter cocked his head.

“I came here to collect what I’m owed.”

The Trillionaires lifted their eyes in unison, like three pieces of the same machine, meeting Charlie’s steeled gaze for the first time.

“Oh come now, Charlie. Whatever you need, we can afford-”

The sound of a manilla folder smacking against the table interrupts Peter. Charlie carefully peels it open, before pulling out an intel report and lifting it up for all to see.

“I’ve found The Universal Stone- and tonight, I’m taking it back.”

Peter’s jaw drops as Lichter’s eyes grow wide. The Trillionaires look down their noses and down their table at Charlie, their faces completely blank.

“My snitches told me that House of Hardcore had begun moving serious weight, and that almost overnight, they’d taken complete control of the slums.

So I drove out to the slums to do a little digging…

And I scored myself a bag.”

The Nickleman reached back into his suit jacket and pulled out a small bag of yellow powder. He flicked the baggy a couple times before throwing it down on the table.

“It’s golden snow.

The Universal kind.

And that can only mean one thing…

House of Hardcore has The Stone.”

The Nickleman flipped to the next page in his folder, showcasing the floor plans of a house.

“More specifically, their leader- Dickie Watson, has it.

And I know exactly where that boy sleeps.”

Then, Charlie pulls out a detailed map of Xtopia- complete with invasion plans originating from The Corporate Plaza.

“I propose that we mobilize all GROKs immediately, and deploy them across the city, taking complete control of Xtopia one district at a time. First, we march our GROKs through the King’s District- razing it to ash- so that way we can cross freely into The Slums and begin our door-to-door hunt of House Hardcore.

No one will see it coming…and by the time the sun rises, the city and the stone will both be ours.”

The Nickleman set all his papers down as he looked up towards The Trillionaires, a bloodthirsty grin glued to his lips.

A long silence followed. Peter and Lichter looked panicked, exchanging worried glances before their eyes shifted up to The Trillionaires as well.

Finally, Bezos leaned forward.

“Impressive, Charlie.”

Zuckerberg nodded.

“Decisive.”

Musk tilted his head, amused.

“Very…you.”

Then, Bezos steepled his fingers.

“But war is expensive, Charlie.”

Zuckerberg’s voice flattened.

“Messy, even.”

Musk smiled.

“Unpredictable at best.”

The Trillionaires shared a collective smirk at Charlie’s expense.

“We’re not storming the slums tonight, or ever, for that matter.”

Charlie raised a hand to protest- but the other Trillionaires interjected faster.

“But rest assured, we know that Dickie Watson has the stone. We’ve known for weeks.”

“And we plan on taking down House of Hardcore from the inside. We already have a man in place- a fellow by the name of Scoops.”

Charlie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His jaw dropped at the same time as The Trillionaire’s other shoe.

“You built The Corporation for us.”

“You bled for it.”

“But you’re not what this Corporation needs anymore.”

The Trillionaires paused as they let their words sink in.

“You’re too violent.”

“Too expensive.”

“Too volatile.”

Charlie stared at them.

For a long time.

Then…

He slowly closed the folder.

Carefully slid the maps back inside.

Straightened the stack.

And nodded once.

“I see.”

Peter noticed the life draining from Charlie’s face, and quickly chimed in.

“It’s nothing personal, of course: it’s strictly business!”

“Of course…strictly business.”

Charlie muttered in agreement as he stood up from the table, gathering his belongings. Just as he was leaving the table, Lichter piped up again.

“But before you go, maybe you could do us a favor tonight, just a quick little errand…”

The Nickleman hid a scowl as he turned back to gaze up at the little middle manager.

“Scoops McGee is expecting a visit from us. He wants to make sure our deal is legit, and he wants to hear it in person. I figure, who better to tell Scoops about all we can offer than The Nickleman himself?”

“Hmmph. I’ll see what I can do.”

Charlie pressed the call elevator button, quickly summoning his ride and stepping on. As the doors rush towards the middle, Charlie catches one last glimpse of The Trillionaires sitting up on their platforms, grinning like wolves as he makes his descent.

The doors slam shut in his face, and Charlie is finally alone.

Alone with himself…

And with memories of The Warlord he used to be.

Charlie unknotted his tie with a snarl as the elevator slowly brought him back down to earth.

“Does no one know…

Who they're dealing with?

They think I'll let it go…

Just forget and forgive?”

The Nickleman burned with a controlled rage as he took off his tie and unbuttoned the cuffs of his jacket.

“They thought they could use ME, like I use everyone else…

Like I was just another puppet with strings…”

The Nickleman stared directly into the camera in classic Scorsese style.

“And maybe they were right.

I spilled blood when they told me.

I heeded their calls, I took their orders, I danced to their music…”

The Nickleman took off his suit jacket, laying it down on the floor of the elevator alongside his tie.

“But that was back when I thought they owned this city.

Now, I realize…

They just lease it.”

DING!

“So tonight…this puppet cuts the strings.”

The elevator doors crawl open, revealing Charlie’s gaggle of goons waiting outside. Charlie steps out sans his jacket or tie, and suddenly, the camera changes perspective.

Outside of the tower, we see the hummer limo pulled up curbside. Gray storm clouds roll in overhead, engulfing the top few floors of the tower. Roaring thunder breaks overhead as the doors to the tower swing wide open, with The Nickleman and his gang storming towards the limousine.

“What’s going on? What happened up there?”

Jennie pestered Charlie with questions, but he was in no mood to answer. He walked right to the back hatch of his hummer and lifted it open. Then, the camera switched to a shot inside the hatch of the limousine: where we see Charlie rifling through a hidden cache of machineguns.

“Charlie, what are you doing?!”

The Nickleman pulls out tommy gun after tommy gun, and begins handing them out to his motley crew. He hands his sister the last tommy gun, and stares her dead in the eyes as he pushes it into her chest.

“I’m starting a war.”

Without any further explanation, Charlie cocks back his gun and walks back into the tower. His crew followed close behind with varied expressions, but equal loyalty. His sister wore a sick and twisted grin, as if she had been dreaming of this moment. Jenny Myst was equal parts antsy and anxious, while Mr. Oz wore the grizzled face of a veteran who’s done this a thousand times. Cambric, for her part, appeared completely unfazed by the whole ordeal.

We switch back to a wide shot, showing both the tower and the limousine on the curb. Dark snow falls from the clouds wrapped around The Corporate skyscrapers as Charlie’s crew reenter the tower.

There are a few moments of quiet, of calm, of tranquility…

Before the first shots ring out.

The top floor of the tower lights up like a pyrotechnic display, while the bloodcurdling screams of yes-men get cut short.

The clouds themselves flash and roar with chaos as the pinnacle of order is ripped to shreds, one tommy drum at a time.

Three more screams ring out before the gunshots finally cease, and the top floor of the towers goes pitch black.

The snow falls heavier now, as the city of Xtopia is pushed to it’s breaking point once more.

After a few moments of somber calm, the doors to the tower reopen, and Charlie’s crew walked out with the quiet confidence of sycophants drenched in victory. Their footsteps leave scarlet in the snow, just like their breath leaves clouds of hot air.

They throw their empty guns in the back hatch of the limousine as the hummer starts up, kicking dirty exhaust fumes into the air. All five of them hop into the back of the limousine before it swiftly strolls off, leaving just as quickly as it had arrived.

The camera fades out on a wide shot of the largest skyscraper in Xtopia, now completely engulfed by storm clouds and rolling thunder.

This was the night The Corporation died…

And something far older was reborn.

Chapter 2: Burying The Past

The scarlet hummer rolls up to The King’s District with 6 or 7 GROK corpses caught between the wheels and in the grill. Robotic heads, arms, and legs stick out from the limousine like custom accessories. The hummer slows to a rolling stop as it reaches the front-gate of Kieran’s sanctum.

The gate looks like a cheap Victorian antique. The bars were too frail and decorative to be a barrier: at best, this gate was a veneer of deterrence. The brick work keeping the gate in place was so shoddy, it seemed that more effort went into forming a crown with the bricks than in forming a real foundation.

Behind the gate sat the only blocks in Xtopia that remembered the name ‘Kieran King’. Back in it’s heyday, The King’s District was home to the city’s premiere aristocrats.

But now?

The King’s District was home to abandoned mansions and the crackheads sneaking into them. The Kingsguard were waging a losing battle as they tried to secure the forgotten district.

As Charlie analyzed the two Kingsguards standing watch at the gate, he started to understand why. That’s when Mr. Oz looked betwixt his comrades in the limousine with trepidation.

“Uh…do those guards have special needs?”

The camera cuts to a close shot of the gate. We see Kieran’s guards giggling while making ‘6, 7’ motions with their hands. They’re wearing gold-plated helmets that read ‘CAUTION - CHAMPION’.

“We can’t murder people with special needs, can we?”

“Why not? Look at their shiny golden helmets! They’re Kieran’s CHAMPION guards!”

Jenny Myst nods in agreement with Charlie- but Jennie Nickles cocks her head to the side and purses her lips before objecting.

“I don’t feel comfortable murdering people with special needs, even if Kieran King is using them as human shields.”

“I agree with Jennie.”

Jenny Myst perks up and offers a gracious smile to Cambric.

“Thanks!”

“No, I meant the other Jennie…”

“Oh…”

Jenny Myst looks sheepishly at the ground as Charlie keeps his eyes peeled to the ‘champion’ guards watching over the gate, or rather, playing “6-7” with each other next to the gate.

“I think we can probably drive right through. They don’t have the capacities to stop us, or even understand what’s happening. It’s not like they’re real people, after all.”

Jennie smacks her brother’s shoulder.

“You can’t say that!”

“I’m just telling the truth! If you and Ozzy were guarding that gate- that’d be one thing. But when the Kingsguard are at the gate, it’s a completely OTHER thing…because, well…you know.”

Charlie makes a gesture with his hands, and you do in fact know.

“That may be true, but it’s not polite to say.”

The Nickleman rolls his eyes at the political correctness of his compatriots.

“Well what do you want to do? Would you rather we shoot them down in cold blood, then drive over their disabled bodies with our hummer?”

“YES! I’m voting for that option!”

Dr. Cambric raises her hand with an idea.

“We could talk to them. While working at a clinic for the disabled, I learned that they’re quite easy to bargain with…”

“Fine.”

Cambric nods her head in gratitude. Then, she slides closer to the window as the limo approaches the gate. Kingsguard 6 and Kingsguard 7 take a break from their games to address the car.

“Halt!”

As the limo stops, Cambric rolls down the window.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

“Actually, we are supposed to be here.”

Cambric states it with such confidence and authority that the guards look at each other. Then, they start scratching their helmets.

“We are here to deliver a package to Kieran King.”

Kingsguard #6 is about to open the gate for the limousine, but #7 squints his eyes suspiciously.

“Wait a second…what kind of package?”

“Uhm…”

Cambric’s mind blanks, but Jenny Myst is quick to chime in.

“An X-tra small package of condoms for Kieran’s MICRO-dick!”

The rest of the limo gasps at the blatant disrespect, but the guards don’t seem to get the joke. The only joke they understand is 6-7.

“Oh we oughta let them through, boss man is going to be real mad at us if he doesn’t get those!”

The gate creaks open allowing the hummer to pass through. As the limo rolls on, Charlie explains his plan of attack to the team.

“Tonight, we’re not chasing history…we’re erasing it.

Once and for all.

The King’s District lays squarely between The Plaza and The Slums.

That means, it lays right in between our sights.

There’s no getting to The Stone without going through The King’s Palace.

But his Kingsguard can’t defend districts anymore. They can only haunt them. They don’t protect a throne anymore- they just guard the ego of a ghost.

And egos, like bubbles, burst when pressure is applied.”

The Nickleman grinned as his soldiers prepared for war. The limousine slowed to a stop as it pulled up to the intersection of Shane Street & Pryce Lane, neatly marked for the audience by the street signs in the corner of the frame. The backdoors flew open as Charlie’s crew piled out of the hummer with tommy guns.

Mr. Oz takes a big whiff of the fresh air and immediately gags!

“Why does it smell like shit and maggots out here?!”

Jenny Myst cheerfully quips back.

“Because we’re on Shane Street! Whenever Kieran talks about “returning Xtopia to it’s former glory”, he’s talking about making the whole city like this! Because in his mind, THESE were the good old days! The days before plumbing!”

Jennie Nickles flips her hair over her shoulders in dramatic fashion.

“I find it hard to believe a “King” would willingly live in this toilet bowl.”

Charlie’s crew marched towards The Palace, walking past abandoned villas and run-down dreamhouses. A once opulent district now rendered hollow by the sands of time.

As they approached The King’s Palace, they took a moment to scout the defenses. They didn’t see any security personnel: apparently, the Kingsguard was stretched so thin they couldn’t even fortify Kieran’s estate.

But a sign warned:

BEWARE OF T.O.M.E.-GUN (totally overpowered missile equipped gun)

Charlie ignored it and tried the door. Locked. A keypad sat on the doorframe

“So…what do we think the password is?”

“Maybe try 1234?”

Charlie shrugs, because Oz’s guess is just as good as any other. Charlie inputs the code, and then the console beeps.

ERROR! INCORRECT CODE! 1 ATTEMPT REMAINING!

“What do you think happens when we run out of attempts?”

“Maybe an alarm sounds?”

“Well, we wouldn’t want that- hmm, I wonder if the code is…”

That’s when a lightbulb went off over Charlie’s head. But it was just the porchlight. Either way, Charlie typed in his last guess: 6767.

The console was silent for a moment.

Then, it let out a loud and continuous BEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.

The palace lawn splits open like a tomb as a platform rises from underground. Atop the platform sits a giant battle-mech coated in gold paint and equipped with an array of missiles, firearms, and defensive plating.

After a few seconds, a flash of green flickers in the mech’s eyes.

Then, the T.O.M.E.-GUN activates.

“WARNING! YOU ARE TRESPASSING! THE PUNISHMENT…

IS DEATH!

The battle mech sends a barrage of missiles towards Charlie’s crew. The projectiles squeal and crackle through the air.

BOOM!

The barrage rocks the front of the house, exactly where the gang was standing. Most of them dodge out of the way just in time, before the missiles explode against the front porch…

Except for Jenny Myst.

Her entire body evaporates into red paste as soon as the missiles hit.

Her innards fly outward, coating Cambric and Oz in scarlet goo. Charlie’s sister screams in horror as her linguistic doppelganger is swiftly dispatched by the King’s mech.

“OH MY GOD!”

But amidst the havoc, Charlie notices a giant hole has been blown into the palace. Charlie doesn’t have time to grieve a lost puppet: he still has a war to win.

“EVERYONE, inside the palace, NOW!”

The survivors duck into the hole. Another missile barrage crumbles the wall as the mech moves forward.

"We gotta’ take this motherfucker out!"

Charlie unloads shots. Bullets bounce off metal plating. Return fire forces him back into cover as the massive mech advances toward them.

That’s when Mr. Oz, the most loyal bastard in Xtopia, turns to Charlie with a martyr’s resolve.

“You go find Kieran. We’ll hold the line and take this mech down!”

Jennie and Holly look like they’ve just seen a ghost, but Charlie extends his hand out towards Oz to shake it with gratitude.

“You’re a true friend.”

“I’m your Brother, and that means I don’t have a choice. I know you would do the same for me, or for any of us.”

“Of course…”

The Nickleman trails off, knowing in his heart that it was a lie. But right now, Charlie didn’t have time to explain the nuances of his Bastardry. There was still a King in need of slaying, and a Stone in need of reclaiming.

As Charlie crept back through the innards of the palace, Mr. Oz stood tall above the wreckage and began unloading his entire magazine onto the battle mech.

“COME AND GET SOME, YOU DIRTY CLANKER!”

Oz screamed as he held the trigger down. The mech turned to face Oz as the bullets ricocheted off it. Before the mech could fire back, Jennie and Holly had crawled towards a position on the opposite side of the rubble, effectively flanking the war machine.

“TASTE OUR METAL, DICKWEED!”

Jennie and Holly blasted at the T.O.M.E.-GUN with tommy guns of their own, and within seconds the entire palace had turned into a warzone.

It was the perfect cover for Charlie to announce his arrival- but first, he had to find Kieran.

As the battle raged in the front of the house, The Nickleman snuck down long corridors and up a few flights of rickety stairs, searching for the man who used to rule this land with an iron fist.

But those days were long gone.

Because tonight, Kieran wasn’t going to war.

Warfare was coming to him.

The Nickleman stopped in his tracks once we saw the faded arches of Kieran’s throne room. The gold trim had cracked long ago, and the wood beneath was showing it’s rot. The paint was peeling off the double-doors leading into the room, and the bronze doorknobs had long since dulled.

But Charlie knew this relic of grandiosity was exactly what he was looking for. As Charlie pulled open the doors to the throne room, the hinges creaked with age. The Nickleman kept his tommy gun close to the chest as he stepped through the gap.

Kieran’s abode had seen better days. The marble floor was cracked, the velvet drapes hanging from the windows had faded, and the chandelier overhead was still swinging- but it was missing most of the bulbs.

In the back, seated on a rusted platform with a crown insignia, was Kieran King himself.

Or rather, the foul monstrosity he had become.

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRhhO4X1LcxC054qP_SQHp...79qG3MuQ&s]

Kieran had grown fatter and more disgusting over the years, as his insatiable appetite for glory caused him to devour everything he encountered. From feasting on his own nostalgia to swallowing whole the dreams of others, Kieran never met a meal he didn’t like. Surrounding the platform were stacks of golden plates, each one licked clean by the gluttonous King himself.

The weight of Kieran’s stuffed stomach stopped him from moving off the platform and kept him confined inside his own palatial prison.

But it didn’t stop him from abusing the sorry sods he kept in his Kingsguard. Especially that sorry sod he kept leashed to his platform. A grown man in a gimp costume, he wore a collar that read ‘#69”.

Charlie was disgusted by the sight of Kieran’s hoggish debauchery.

“You’re pathetic.

You're no King – you never have been. You're just a mark for yourself. You worked yourself into believing your own hype, and now you're too heavy to carry your own weight.

I killed my past tonight. Shot it dead on the top floor of that tower. But you? You're still clinging to yours like it's the only meal you've got left. Difference is, I can still make power moves. And you’re stuck on that platform, choking on rotted memories.

You know what your problem is, Kieran? You think people still pop for your tired fucking gimmick. But they don't.

So the only pop you’re getting tonight…is when my bullet meets your skull.”

Charlie raises the tommy gun and puts the golden pig in his sights. Kieran’s face tries to move, his eyebrows try to rise and his mouth tries to drop, but the fatty skin drooping down his face makes it hard for him to react.

But somehow, Kieran’s able to unleash his gimp!

“GUARD! SAVE ME!”

Kingsguard #69 comes running towards Charlie on all fours, growling like a mad dog!

BANG! BANG!

Two shots ring out, and four holes appear in the gimp’s suit before he collapses in a pool of his own blood. The guard drops dead halfway between Charlie and Kieran.

The Nickleman lowers his gun as he raises a devilish brow at the gluttonous King. Charlie walks forward as Kieran tries to reach for his panic button- but alas, he can’t even lift his oversized arm.

“You thought that feeding on the weak would make you strong, but it just made you fat and lazy.

So since you love eating so much…

Why don’t you EAT THIS?!”

The Nickleman cackles as he empties the drum of his gun into Kieran’s fatty flesh. Hot metal slices through King’s buttery body, causing the engorged gargantuan to collapse from the platform. Kieran falls facedown in a pool of his own oily blood, one last gasp escaping his lungs as Charlie turns to the door.

Without another solemn word, The Nickleman just walks out the same way he came in.

The camera stays in the throne room when Charlie leaves, slowly zooming out from Kieran’s body. As the camera zooms out further, Kieran’s corpse begins to appear as small and inconsequential as his legacy.

Back at the front of the palace, Charlie walks towards the fallen battle mech with a soft smile of surprise. Somehow, his soldiers had taken down the golden automaton. The most powerful weapon in the Kingsguard arsenal, the T.O.M.E.-GUN, was fully decommissioned by Charlie’s goons.

“You’re going to be ok, just stay with me!”

A few meters away from the wreckage, we see Dr. Cambric treating a gravely wounded Oz. Jennie is standing just above them, her entire body coated in blood. As Charlie looks over at the commotion, he sees that Oz is missing a leg- and a huge chunk of his chest.

“Can you save him, Holly?!”

“I think so- I just need some time!”

Dr. Cambric had already applied a tourniquet to Oz’s leg and was quickly trying to patch up the hole in his chest- but the gushing blood made it difficult. The Nickleman marched in their direction with a blank face of disinterest.

“We don’t have time for this. We have to move- the sooner we retake The Stone, the better.”

Cambric continues treating Oz’s wounds as Jennie snaps at her brother.

“Oz can’t go anywhere right now!”

“Well then…he can stay here and bleed out. But we have a mission to finish.”

“You must be joking.”

“We don’t have time to joke, and we don’t have time to take care of some bum who got his leg blown off. Let’s move.”

Jennie’s face contorts into a wretched expression of pure disgust. The Nickleman didn’t pay her objections any mind; instead, he started marching back towards their hummer- until he realized he wasn’t being followed.

Then, Cambric stood up. Her surgical gloves were covered in Oz’s blood.

“I’m not leaving him here. I swore a Hippocratic oath.”

Charlie stared down at Oz with a mixture of disdain and disappointment, like a puppet master watching his doll outlive it’s usefulness. Then, he lifted his gaze towards Cambric and Jennie. He rolled his eyes in their direction before finally relenting.

“Fine. You stay here and babysit the dead man. Jennie, let’s go.”

Jennie looked between Charlie and Cambric, unsure of what to do- but after Cambric gave her an assuring nod, she let out a deep sigh and followed Charlie out through the blasted doors of the palace.

And just like that…

5 turned to 2.

Because in this city…

It’s every Bastard for himself.

Chapter 3: Red Snow, Gold Stones

The Bastard limo strolled into The Slums just before dawn, looking worse for wear since it’s encounter with T.O.M.E.-GUN. Several windows had been shot out by the mech, and a giant dent flattened the hood. Yet still, a Bastard’s work is never finished- and Charlie’s night was far from over.

The limo parked along a lonely street, beside dilapidated apartments and across from a slew of narrow alleys. Jennie hopped out of the limo with her machine gun, but Charlie stayed around for a few seconds…just enough time to turn back towards the camera one last time, in classic Scorsese fashion.

"One down. Two to go.

Kieran learned what happens when you mistake nostalgia for relevance. He thought his 'glory days' meant something.

They don't.

They never did.

But at least Kieran had the decency to stay in his lane—rotting in his palace, surrounded by his special little helpers.

But Dickie Watson? That boy doesn't even know what lane he's in. He thinks holding The Universal Stone makes him powerful.

It doesn't.

It just makes him a target.

And Scoops McGee? He’s just a rat who took the bait.

The Trillionaires thought they could use Scoops to replace me. But now they’re dead, and Scoops is about to learn what happens when you bet on the wrong horse.

By sunrise, this city will have a new ruler.

Not Kieran's kind- fat, lazy, stuck in the past.

But my kind.

The kind that TAKES what he wants.

The Universal Stone will be mine.

Xtopia will be mine.

And anyone standing in my way?

Becomes another body in the street."

Then, Charlie grabs his gun and steps out into The Slums.

The duo dip into a downtrodden alleyway, where rats scurry while crackheads sleep. They walk a few blocks before arriving at a seemingly abandoned warehouse with boarded windows.

This is where Scoops did his business. A place where men bought power by the ounce and sold loyalty by the pound.

Charlie knocked once, and then waited patiently for his next victim.

After a few moments, Scoops opened the door.

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRYUuzLe9_myxn4gDeKBAl...zLcKFP1w&s]

Scoops always had the mind of a snake, and his life in The Slums had degraded the rest of him. The noxious sludge dumped into The Slums from The Plaza had left many of Xtopia’s poorest with incurable mutations and disease.

“Look who finally showed up.”

Scoops gestured for The Nichols Brood to enter, before shutting the door before anyone saw.

“I’m still not sure about this…”

Jennie raised a curious brow at The Snakeman whilst The Nickleman chortled dismissively.

“You don’t have to be sure. You just have to do it. Don’t you remember what The Trillionaires promised you for your cooperation?”

The snake’s eyes light up with the promise of power and riches.

“You’re right…The Corporation wants me to have The Universal Stone, and why shouldn’t I have it? I deserve it. I’ve lived in these slums for long enough, and it’s time for my dreams to become reality.
Dickie be damned!”

“Exactly.”

Charlie lied through his teeth while clutching the tommy gun.

“So when are we doing this? Next week, Dickie should be-“

“We’re doing it tonight.”

“Tonight?”

The snake quivered with trepidation as Charlie stepped closer.

“Pick up your phone, give Watson a call. He’s no Sherlock; he’ll never see it coming. Just tell him to swing by, and The Corporation will handle the rest.”

“A-a-are you sure?”

“Of course. The Trillionaires sent me here to make you their champion- and there’s no better time than the present.”

Scoops sighed, grabbed his phone, and dialed Dickie.

"Hey, Dickie- how's it hanging? Listen, I need you at the warehouse ASAP. We need to cut more bricks off The Stone. New client."

Charlie grinned as Dickie's muffled voice replied.

"Yeah, ok. See you soon."

Scoops looked towards Charlie and Jennie with regret as he hung up the phone.

“Dickie should be here any minute. Do me a favor, though…make it painless for him.”

“You’re not the first person to ask me for a favor tonight…”

The Nickleman smirked while he took the safety off his gun.

You’re a coward and a traitor, and frankly, I don’t know which disgusts me more.

You claim “House of Hardcore”, but instead of celebrating Dickie’s big win, you’re trying to claim it for yourself. You’re twisting Dickie’s emotions and manipulating him into offering up his own back.

But you’re too much of a coward to stick the knife in yourself.”

“You don’t have to rub it in. I’m just looking out for myself- besides, I’ve always deserved The Stone more than Dickie. Why shouldn’t I wear the crown The Corporation wants me to have?”
Charlie looks at Scoops with a shit-eating smirk before he raises the barrel of his gun.

“Snakes don’t get crowns.

They get skinned.”

A volley of gunfire erupts inside the warehouse!

Bullets shred the snakeman’s scaley flesh. Scoops hit the floor instantly, as dead as his dreams have always been.

Charlie turns towards Jennie with pride.

“And now, we just play the waiting game.”

The Nickleman reloaded his tommy gun’s drum while posting up next to the front door. His sister, however, was looking quite queasy from this entire ordeal.

As if she couldn’t bring herself to approve of his brutal methods.

Imagine that- a serial killer, with such a stick up her ass she can’t stomach watching her brother’s crimes unfold.

"Look what you're becoming. Let's leave - skip town before The Universal Stone turns you into someone I don't recognize."

"Excuse me?"

"You left Ozzy to die. You're murdering people in cold blood! I can't watch my brother turn into a monster."

"Then close your eyes."

The Nickleman cocked his gun as he stood by the door, eagerly awaiting Dickie’s arrival.

“I can’t let you do this. I know you’re better than this.”

Jennie reached out, trying to grab a hold of Charlie’s machinegun.

I lost The Universal Stone for you once, but I won’t let that happen again!

Charlie raises the barrel of his gun, and in an instant, he sends his sister to her maker.

One shot was all he needed.

A single bullet through the skull, and his little sister nagged him no more.

Charlie stared at Jennie’s corpse with something between a smile and a frown.

But he didn’t have time to mourn her…

Because just a few moments later, there was a knock at the door.

Dickie had arrived.

Alone, and blissfully unaware of his fate.

Charlie opened the door with a nearly full magazine.

[Image: images?q=tbn:ANd9GcRN9ep0ikITN2FNtGwffdq...Lm7Vr8Xg&s]

Soft, effeminate, and so pure of heart that he practically sparkled in the sun- Dickie was everything Charlie despised.

“Where’s Scoops?”

As soon as Charlie opened the door Dickie’s suspicions were raised. Then, Dickie’s suspicions were confirmed as soon as he looked over Charlie’s shoulder- and saw the corpses of Scoops and Jennie.

Dickie cried out in shock, but Charlie was ready for this confrontation.

He’d been looking forward to it all night!

The Nickleman bashed in Dickie’s face with the butt of his gun, causing Watson to fall back into the
snow.

“You’re not a leader, you’re an empty vessel others fill with their own hopes and dreams- because they reckon if someone as mediocre as you can wield The Stone, then anyone can!”

Charlie punted Dickie in the face the moment he tried to stand up.

“You’re a weak and spineless shell of a champion. You’re the dog who finally caught the car, and doesn’t know what to do with it: so you just get run over.

Rubber across the face.”

Charlie throws his machine gun down and takes his belt off.

“Belt to motherfuckin’ ass!”

As dawn breaks and the sun peeks through the clouds, Charlie breaks a piece of Dickie’s tooth off with a smack of the belt!

Dickie scrambles to his feet, darting out of the alleyway and into the inner-Slums…but The Nickleman is right behind him. Charlie grabs Dickie by the scruff of his neck while Watson screams bloody murder.

“HELP! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP!”

While Dickie’s cries went unanswered, the commotion did not go unnoticed.

The common scum in The Slums came out to watch the bloodbath, but no one lifted a finger to help. Even if Dickie Watson was their hero, Charlie Nickles was their nightmare- and no one in Xtopia dared to dream of defeating him.

As Dickie fought for his freedom, The Nickleman wrapped the belt around his fragile neck.

The citizens of Xtopia watched in dismay as their idol was dragged through the snow, neck-first. Watson’s face turned blue as Charlie slowly suffocated him in the public square.

“You think you’re Xtopia’s savior? Look at you now! You can’t even save yourself!”

Charlie tightened his grip on the belt as Dickie flailed around in the snow, gasping for air.

After Dickie’s last breath left his lungs, The Nickleman let the leash loose. Then, he rifled through Dickie’s pockets until he found what he came for.

“You’re just as beautiful as I remember…”

Charlie took The Universal Stone from Dickie’s corpse and held it up for everyone to see.

A large, golden rock- a symbol of something far more than itself.

As the sun rose and dawn fully broke, Xtopia realized that this was the night everything changed forevermore.

Kieran used to believe that history was a shield.

That because he ruled once, these streets still belonged to him.

But he found out the hard way that ghosts don’t run cities: they haunt them.

Scoops thought betrayal was strategy. That if everyone’s bleeding, nobody will notice the knife in their back.

But parasites don’t inherit empires: they die in them.

Dickie assumed that because he had friends, he had allies. He thought making people like him would make people respect him.

But he was dead wrong.

On this fateful night, Charlie Nickles didn’t just shoot a few bodies.

He shot down entire legacies.

He didn’t settle for slaying mere mortals.

He killed the myths that animated them.

So when the snow finally stopped falling, when the streets went quiet and the gangs were counting what they lost…

There was only one truth left standing in Xtopia:

This city runs on blood, and it’s ruled by whoever spills the most.

Snow Pain.

Snow Gangs.]]>

Chapter 1: Birthed In Blood

Chapter 2: Burying The Past

Chapter 3: Red Snow, Gold Stones

[Word Count: 7997] [AI Score: 10.53% | 17.43% | 9.42% | 5.94% | 15.13%]

]]> Death was dressed in white.

[Word Count: 7997] [AI Score: 10.53% | 17.43% | 9.42% | 5.94% | 15.13%]

]]> <![CDATA["joker"]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49679 Sat, 24 Jan 2026 23:27:10 -0800 faceless]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49679 so what's your excuse, what helps you sleep?
you leave a negative comment
not knowing that what you sow, you will reap
i bet you smile when you post, thinking you're hurting me
but you see the way the brain works
you become what you speak

DAX

JOKER

WORDCOUNTER: 7902

ZEROGPT: 13.5%

]]> so what's your excuse, what helps you sleep?
you leave a negative comment
not knowing that what you sow, you will reap
i bet you smile when you post, thinking you're hurting me
but you see the way the brain works
you become what you speak

DAX

JOKER

WORDCOUNTER: 7902

ZEROGPT: 13.5%

]]> <![CDATA[Misconceptions]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49677 Sat, 24 Jan 2026 17:03:47 -0800 Sebastian Everett-Bryce]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49677 MISCONCEPTIONS]]> MISCONCEPTIONS]]> <![CDATA[The Lonely King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49676 Sat, 24 Jan 2026 09:32:55 -0800 Isaiah King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49676 Exactly a year ago they said I was at the peak of my career.

I believed them. ]]> Exactly a year ago they said I was at the peak of my career.

I believed them. ]]> <![CDATA[Chapter XIV: XXXIX]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49674 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 19:51:26 -0800 XXXVI]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49674 “A very happy belated birthday to my upcoming opponent Reginald. Last month, you entered the final year of your thirties and as your career is in its waning years, you made the choice to move out of the United States. I don’t blame you. I too chose to leave my country of origin. It’s strange at first, but exciting, right? Tell me, as you approach your forties, do you find yourself feeling reflective? Do you look back on your career with fondness? Any regrets? By removing yourself from the day-to-day and taking bookings on the lucha scene, have you found some measure of peace? I don’t condone the evils that this administration is doing in the name of their god. It’s true that religion is an opiate of the masses. I will rip you away from your family, in Jesus name. Pitiful, really.”

“I have been separate from my country so long that it feels foreign. Home is not so much where I am, but the company I keep. That is another change, right Reginald? You have distanced yourself from your brethren in the T.H.U.G.S. Never one to back down from a fight, but you find yourself flying solo, without your war dogs. You fancy yourself a revolutionary, and yet you have never won the Revolution title. Your brother JB has. Though you are a 3 time X-Treme champion, Tommy is the one most people associate with X-Treme matches. While you are the scrappy perennial underdog, always getting the crowd behind him but never quite winning when it counts, I personally spent my last defense of this title beating Mr. Oz in an X-Treme rules match and then again in a tables match.”

“Throw any insane match type at me and I won’t hesitate to do what’s needed to win. Just ask Latoya Hixx. Ask Summer Page. Ask Thunder Knuckles or Mister Oz. When it comes to Snow Pain, Snow Gain in the frozen tundra of Antarctica, I look forward to facing you for the first time. It’s refreshing to be facing someone new. In fact, I actually like you, Reginald. I respect you. But despite that, I won’t think twice about locking you inside an ice chest and possibly reducing your life span by a few years. I don’t need to shift into second or third gear to accept that reality. I’m already here. I’ve looked death in the face and spat. I am not afraid to die. I embrace it. Can you say the same?”

“When it comes to a bench player on the already third-string stable that despite being around XWF for longer than most, has failed to capture anything meaningful or long-term. Six months is how long I’ve been here and I’ve already captured both the Revolution title and the Anarchy tag team title, a belt that I believe the T.H.U.G.S. have only contended for. In fact, I unseated the longest running champions to win the Anarchy tag titles and as I continue to retain, I am close to becoming the longest reigning Revolution champion. I say this not to brag, but to show that in a short amount of time, I’ve accomplished more than most and I’m not finished. You may have heart and grit, but it’s not enough to pry this title from me. You’ll have to put me on ice and slam the door shut. You'll have to make peace with doing that to another human. I already have. I don’t think you’re ready, Reginald. But I welcome you to try. Let us dance a violent dance, Señor Estrada and if you have what it takes, I will offer my hand in congratulations.”

“Are the preparations ready?” Asks XXXVI.

“Yes, the training exercise is fully set up for you,” says CIX.

He looks at her before heading in. “Wish me luck?”

She looks back at him fondly, “I have faith in you.”

He rolls his eyes and makes his way inside.

The room is an obstacle course, encased in ice. XXXVI begins to shiver immediately. He tries to shake it off as he leaps over the first hurdle. He clears it, lands on the icy floor and slides a few inches. He steadies himself and moves forward.

Next is a ropes course. He steps onto the icy rope and makes his way across carefully, an open chasm below. Halfway through, another masked man emerges, X. He comes from the other side of the rope and shakes it, causing XXXVI to falter. XXXVI picks up the pace and finds himself slipping. He falls face down on the ropes. X approaches, himself being cautious. XXXVI tries to use the vertical ropes to pull himself up as X reaches for his arms. Before he can get there, XXXVI pulls himself forward and slides underneath X, moving to the other side of the ropes course.

He enters a doorway and immediately gets hit with a cutter. Another masked man, O was ready and XXXVI wasn’t.

“You have to prep for everything, weapon. Reggie Estrada could hit you with the Calcuto Cutter and then throw you in the ice box. You need to be aware at all times.” O says.

He helps XXXVI up. XXXVI brushes himself off. He moves to the next room. In it is a wrestling ring, surrounded by ice. Beside the ring is an ice box, just like the one he’ll be using at Vostok Station. In the ring is Square, The Director’s masked minion who is built like a linebacker. XXXVI has faced bigger men before. He steps into the ring. Square lunges toward him. XXXVI dodges. XXXVI kicks, but Square catches his leg. He hoists XXXVI up and tosses him over the top rope into the ice box! He gives chase, careful not to fall upon exiting the ring. He tries to slam the door shut, but XXXVI blocks it.

XXXVI bursts out like a xenomorph. Butterfly suplex! XXXVI closes the box. He puts on the lock, as the screams bubble underneath.]]> <![CDATA[Cold as Ice]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49672 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 18:33:35 -0800 SummerPage]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49672
Click Here

Word Count-1000]]>
Click Here

Word Count-1000]]> <![CDATA[Oh, Fuck This (Crashout)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49671 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 17:49:09 -0800 HeavensToBetsy]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49671 “So, about my disappearance after War Games…”

Betsy Granger sits in the middle of a dark room. There are no chairs, nothing of comfort, and a single overhead light, dim and swinging from the chain it hangs from. The Traveler herself sits on a dirty floor, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

“To those who were thinking, or hoping, that I was tucking tale and running again… Happy to disappoint. I’m afraid you won’t be rid of me that easily.”

The swinging light reveals her hair, matted and unclean, hanging in clumps down her back. Holding the mini mic in her hand, she keeps her face down.

“I can bounce back from a loss; I’ve been doing it for years now. It’s just that… Look, after War Games, I found myself swept up in… urgent business.”

Swing. She lifts her head up as the light flies overhead. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks more sunken into her face than normal.

“You wouldn’t believe the… Well, exactly, you wouldn’t believe what happened, so why bother trying to explain? Everyone saw what they were supposed to see, and in the end, that becomes their truth.”

As she rambles, the light takes more sweeps overhead, revealing more. Her arms were smaller, showing a significant weight loss.

“It becomes THE truth, and that’s all people care about, because it’s easier than thinking on your own. I have a truth that should be heard, but I no longer think the occupants on this planet are ready to receive it; so with mercy, I’ll allow them to continue the lie as I readjust to whatever all of this is supposed to be.”

She gestures around as the light finally slows to a stop, remaining directly over her now. Licking her dry, cracked lips between words, she sits back, resting comfortably on her knees now.

“To those who cared, it’s been rough, but I’m back and alive. To those who wished me gone for good, fuck you, I’m worse than a cockroach. To those in my match, what the actual fuck is going on here?”

She switches her position so that she’s sitting cross-legged. Reaching into the deep pockets of her hoodie, she pulls out an icepick that would make a lobotomist breathe heavy.

“By the way; hey, XWF? Thanks so much for picking my exact nightmare location for this fucking event. We’re too close to some Forty Days of Night shit for my comfort… And somewhere along the way, the Corporate Bros got together and said ‘Hey, how can we pour fuel into this chaos and really set Betsy ablaze?”

Betsy makes a stabbing motion with the ice pick towards the camera.

“Let's put a shot at the Revolution Title on the line. Then we could throw her into a tightly confined space with a master sadist whose abby-normal brain thought up the stipulation; and a Bonafide hottie patottie who has a face I’d hate to see rearranged. Though methinks you like the pain and lady to lady, I can support that. It’s why we’re here, isn’t it? And lately, I’ve had a taste for blood myself.”

She stabs the ice pick into the dirt buildup and begins to draw.

“I hope you can take as much as you can dish, Ozzy, because a caged animal tends to go feral preeeeeetty quickly. This match may have me on some of my fears… and some of my fears. I’m not a fan of being trapped in a freezer specifically, and the company I’ve been given only complicates things. Then there’s the fucking Icepick of Damacles swinging overhead, gonna have to parkour my way up there.”

‘There’s an easier way to get out of your situation, you know.’ Paulie’s voice whispers, sending ice down her spine.

A head twitch, eyes shut, clear your mind. Taking a deep breath, Betsy opens her eyes and looks down. Her drawing was intact. Relieved, she picks up.

“I’ve taken too many losses to take it easy and play friendly. Now there’s something at stake, a chance to move forward. And I’ve got variety of pent-up emotions that need an outlet; so, if I end up sticking one of you to the wall with an icepick, please don’t take it personally. The longer I stay trapped in that room, the more unhinged I’ll become and that won’t be good for anybody. I don’t… want…”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Betsy moans as Paulie’s giggle fills her mind. ‘You can do much better than that.’

“I don’t want to hurt them.” Betsy cries out, dropping the ice pick and clapping her hands over her head.

‘Of course, not right now, but you’ll soon come around.’ Paulie replies in a gleeful tone. ‘It's cute watching you try and fight it.' His laugh reverberates through her head, driving her near to madness.

“Fuck… OFF!” Betsy growls this loudly, half a scream tearing from her throat. She redirects her attention to the camera.

“I will not fall… I can’t, for I have a Revolution to claim. Once I get through this-“ she spins the icepick in her hand. “and the two obstacles attacked. Fuck it, if I don’t get my shit together, this is gonna big tine hurt. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got more of a kink for the emotional pain. Not that I can’t handle getting tossed around, but being shanked with an icepick by a big ass pain daddy doesn’t sound like a good fucking time to me. Getting pinned against the wall by Summer does, however, unless she has some of the same ideas with the icepick that I do…”

She stabs it into the floor again.

“All jokes aside, it’s time to remind folks who the fuck I am. The name is Betsy, aka the Impossible Traveler, aka the next number one contender to the Revolution Championship."

A mocking salute with the Icepick.

/End]]> “So, about my disappearance after War Games…”

Betsy Granger sits in the middle of a dark room. There are no chairs, nothing of comfort, and a single overhead light, dim and swinging from the chain it hangs from. The Traveler herself sits on a dirty floor, knees drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around her legs.

“To those who were thinking, or hoping, that I was tucking tale and running again… Happy to disappoint. I’m afraid you won’t be rid of me that easily.”

The swinging light reveals her hair, matted and unclean, hanging in clumps down her back. Holding the mini mic in her hand, she keeps her face down.

“I can bounce back from a loss; I’ve been doing it for years now. It’s just that… Look, after War Games, I found myself swept up in… urgent business.”

Swing. She lifts her head up as the light flies overhead. Her skin was sallow, her cheeks more sunken into her face than normal.

“You wouldn’t believe the… Well, exactly, you wouldn’t believe what happened, so why bother trying to explain? Everyone saw what they were supposed to see, and in the end, that becomes their truth.”

As she rambles, the light takes more sweeps overhead, revealing more. Her arms were smaller, showing a significant weight loss.

“It becomes THE truth, and that’s all people care about, because it’s easier than thinking on your own. I have a truth that should be heard, but I no longer think the occupants on this planet are ready to receive it; so with mercy, I’ll allow them to continue the lie as I readjust to whatever all of this is supposed to be.”

She gestures around as the light finally slows to a stop, remaining directly over her now. Licking her dry, cracked lips between words, she sits back, resting comfortably on her knees now.

“To those who cared, it’s been rough, but I’m back and alive. To those who wished me gone for good, fuck you, I’m worse than a cockroach. To those in my match, what the actual fuck is going on here?”

She switches her position so that she’s sitting cross-legged. Reaching into the deep pockets of her hoodie, she pulls out an icepick that would make a lobotomist breathe heavy.

“By the way; hey, XWF? Thanks so much for picking my exact nightmare location for this fucking event. We’re too close to some Forty Days of Night shit for my comfort… And somewhere along the way, the Corporate Bros got together and said ‘Hey, how can we pour fuel into this chaos and really set Betsy ablaze?”

Betsy makes a stabbing motion with the ice pick towards the camera.

“Let's put a shot at the Revolution Title on the line. Then we could throw her into a tightly confined space with a master sadist whose abby-normal brain thought up the stipulation; and a Bonafide hottie patottie who has a face I’d hate to see rearranged. Though methinks you like the pain and lady to lady, I can support that. It’s why we’re here, isn’t it? And lately, I’ve had a taste for blood myself.”

She stabs the ice pick into the dirt buildup and begins to draw.

“I hope you can take as much as you can dish, Ozzy, because a caged animal tends to go feral preeeeeetty quickly. This match may have me on some of my fears… and some of my fears. I’m not a fan of being trapped in a freezer specifically, and the company I’ve been given only complicates things. Then there’s the fucking Icepick of Damacles swinging overhead, gonna have to parkour my way up there.”

‘There’s an easier way to get out of your situation, you know.’ Paulie’s voice whispers, sending ice down her spine.

A head twitch, eyes shut, clear your mind. Taking a deep breath, Betsy opens her eyes and looks down. Her drawing was intact. Relieved, she picks up.

“I’ve taken too many losses to take it easy and play friendly. Now there’s something at stake, a chance to move forward. And I’ve got variety of pent-up emotions that need an outlet; so, if I end up sticking one of you to the wall with an icepick, please don’t take it personally. The longer I stay trapped in that room, the more unhinged I’ll become and that won’t be good for anybody. I don’t… want…”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Betsy moans as Paulie’s giggle fills her mind. ‘You can do much better than that.’

“I don’t want to hurt them.” Betsy cries out, dropping the ice pick and clapping her hands over her head.

‘Of course, not right now, but you’ll soon come around.’ Paulie replies in a gleeful tone. ‘It's cute watching you try and fight it.' His laugh reverberates through her head, driving her near to madness.

“Fuck… OFF!” Betsy growls this loudly, half a scream tearing from her throat. She redirects her attention to the camera.

“I will not fall… I can’t, for I have a Revolution to claim. Once I get through this-“ she spins the icepick in her hand. “and the two obstacles attacked. Fuck it, if I don’t get my shit together, this is gonna big tine hurt. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve got more of a kink for the emotional pain. Not that I can’t handle getting tossed around, but being shanked with an icepick by a big ass pain daddy doesn’t sound like a good fucking time to me. Getting pinned against the wall by Summer does, however, unless she has some of the same ideas with the icepick that I do…”

She stabs it into the floor again.

“All jokes aside, it’s time to remind folks who the fuck I am. The name is Betsy, aka the Impossible Traveler, aka the next number one contender to the Revolution Championship."

A mocking salute with the Icepick.

/End]]> <![CDATA[Conceited]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49670 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 17:13:25 -0800 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49670 I legitimately think it will be warmer in Antarctica than it is in Pennsylvania this weekend]]> I legitimately think it will be warmer in Antarctica than it is in Pennsylvania this weekend]]> <![CDATA[The Kingsguard in: YESTERDAY'S KING - The White Epilogue]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49669 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 14:50:53 -0800 Kieran King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49669 For a moment, the room glanced nervously at each other. Kieran realised what he had done too late. What if Kingsguard #6 and #7 had been on the plane? What if they didn’t make it? What if they were now zombies roaming the Antarctic wasteland?

(word count: 1,985)

]]> For a moment, the room glanced nervously at each other. Kieran realised what he had done too late. What if Kingsguard #6 and #7 had been on the plane? What if they didn’t make it? What if they were now zombies roaming the Antarctic wasteland?

(word count: 1,985)

]]> <![CDATA[Samael Dyson and the Rollerwhores present....NSFW! (no seriously its nsfw)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49668 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 14:25:29 -0800 Samael Dyson]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49668 “Steve Sayors here coming to you from the self proclaimed “Biggest Orgy in Town”! It even says so on the sign out front. And right now I’m just trying to not touch anything because EVERYTHING is sticky.”

Steve gamely plunges forward into the shadowy building, which is a catacomb of side rooms and darkened niches where literally everybody be fuckin’! Steve is clearly overdressed wearing his customary suit and tie, as people pass by him wearing lingerie, g-strings or even nothing at all.

“Sam said someone was supposed to….”

“HELLO MR SAILORS!”

“GAH!”

Steve damn near jumps out of his skin as one of Sam Dyson’s Insignificants sneaks up behind him. Steve recovers quickly, consummate professional that he is.

“Did you call me Mr. Sailors?”

The Insignificant is wearing a customary brown paper bag over his head, but aside from that he’s nude except for some leather chaps.

“How do you like my chaps, Mr. Sailors? Hey! Did you know that it’s redundant to say “assless chaps” because all chaps are assless?! The more you know!”

“Yeah, fascinating, can you please just take me to Sam Dyson so I can get this over with.”

“My master is in the showers! Shall we go join him?”

“Great, I’m sure nothing perverted will happen there. How about if I just wait for him to be done, okay?”

“Oh my master won’t mind, he’s a very free spirit you see.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about. But fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”

Steve and the chaps that are redundantly assless Insignificant continue through the building until they pass through double doors leading to a spa area. Their steps are accompanied by the sounds of water sloshing and the grunts and exultations of coitus. Headed into the locker room, the Insignificant calls out, “Master are you still here?”

“Yeah I’m….ufff…..here…..oh God…..” A voice calls out from a shower stall.

“Can….can I approach?” Steve speaks hesitantly.

“Yes! Goddammit Steve, I want him to see!”

“See….see what?” Steve approaches with the camera man in tow despite himself, and what he finally sees in the shower makes him gasp and avert his eyes!

[Image: EVAN%20TERS%20JERKING%20OFF%201.gif]

“Oh god WHY?!”

“YES, STEVE! YES! I want Kieran King to see me in all my masculine sexual virility! I’m….uhhh….Kieran don’t you dare look away! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! You look at me as I speak to….oh yeah, ugh….you!

Yeah, you boys thought you had me all figured out. Dead in a ditch. Like mother like son. And all that other crap Kieran spoon fed that Coors chugging, local sports team cheering, tiny dick like a turtle head poking out of a thistle of pubes having nitwit, because we all know he was too stone cold stupid to cook up a promo like that without a whole shit ton of help.”

Sam’s body bucks as he continues to pleasure himself while cutting a promo. Which just might be a first in XWF history.

“Dead in a ditch. Just another cautionary tale. Just another pathetic junkie. Jesus fucking Christ did you morons do an ounce of research on me?! Uh….yessssss…..uh….do you know what I’m capable of?! Of course not. You think I’m just another shock jock. Another C-A-R-V-E-R (although the man was damn good at his job, I’m still a fan!).

Well tell me this. Would “just another shock jock” have the power to take over the whole asylum that I was imprisoned in, gradually turning the entire staff to my will? Would “just another shock jock” have been able to send those creatures against you on that last episode of Anarchy? And don’t bullshit me…mmmmmm….you guys were pissing your pants at the sight of them! Would “just another shock jock” have a fucking VAMPIRE and a HORDE OF SULTRY BARBARIAN ROLLER SPORTS ENTHUSIASTS in his rolodex?!

Oh fuck I’m gettin’ close….

No! You idiots! The answer is NO! Because I’m not some piece of wayward white trash from Bumblefuck, USA! I am the heir to Anton LaVey….a new age Alesieter Crowley. Those fuckers walked so I could RUN! And run I have! I am in league with powers beyond your wildest imaginings! Old ones. Those who live in the impossible angles. Those beyond the stars who were here when here was just a vast plain of nothingness. In short…I AM POWER UN-UN-UN-OH GOD HERE IT COMES….

UNLEASHED!!!!!!

Sam, well, there’s no tasteful way to put it, he explodes everywhere.

“Oh God it’s on my shoe! IT’S ON MY SHOE!” Steve wails.

“Dude, look at my fucking camera!” shouts the camera operator as he’s forced to….ah-hem….clean the lens.

“Behold my sexual power! Bow in awe of my legions upon legions of spent children!”

“I think I’m gonna barf.”

“Steven, I do declare you seem a bit overdressed for this party.”

“I….I would like to keep my clothes please.”

“Nonsense. Insignificants!” Sam primly claps his hands twice and within seconds a cavalcade of nude and semi nude Insignificants start to undress Steve in a whirlwind of profanity and tossed clothing. When all is said and done, Steve is clad only in his tighty whities. He places his hand over his groin to try to preserve some dignity.

“Please…please just let me go….” Steve whines.

“Go? GO?!! You haven’t even met my Rollerwhores yet! Come, Steve. Heh heh….”come”. That has double meanings doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…I...uh.... noticed….”

The Insignificants jostle Steve into action and they head down another labyrinthene hallway to a grand old black and gold elevator in an art deco style. The entire group piles into the elevator. A subtle jazz muzak is playing, but there are already two couples rutting away in the elevator which drowns out the calming tunes. The entire ride is punctuated by the sounds of sex, light jazz, but otherwise awkward silence. When they finally, mercifully reach the penthouse suite, Sam steps off the elevator first and gestures for everyone else to follow.

The suite is massive but done up like a tawdry loveshack, with a red and pink motif, a heart shaped bed and racks upon racks of sex toys of every size, shape, and variety.

But the eye is most naturally drawn to a set of sex swings hanging from the ceiling. And in each of those swings is a bound Rollerwhore: Violet and Elektra. Both women seem to be trying to swing their swing closer to the other, but they’re having little success.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Sam cuts in, standing between the oscillating sex swings. The Rollerwhores attention is instantly and obediently on Sam. “What did I fucking say, huh?! I said NO SEXUAL CONTACT UNTIL YOU BEAT THE KINGSGUARD!”

The Rollerwhores wordlessly mime their despondency, shaking their heads and holding their hands together entreatingly.

“Oh no, I don’t care how much you beg and plead! NO SEX UNTIL YOU GET ME A WIN!”

Elektra and Violet look at each other forlornly, but ultimately accept their master’s edict. That’s when Steve Sayors cuts in.

“You know Sam, I think we’re long overdue talking about the topic of Clutch Cassidy and the heinous, reprehensible thing you and the Rollerwhores did….”

“Oh fuck Clutch Cassidy! And not in the fun way. You wanna talk Clutch? Fine. Clutch was weak! She was a weak partner and a weak competitor. She is the reason we lost to the Kingsguard. Which is why she has been replaced. You see Steve, Clutch was only human, with all the little foibles and liabilities that come with that. But the Rollerwhores? They’re the next step in human evolution. They’re something far beyond the Clutch Cassidy’s of the world.”

“Well, they look pretty human to me.”

“Ah, but looks are often deceiving, are they not? Imagine if you will a being stripped down to their purest ID impulses, stripped down to that caveman, or caveWOMAN, thought process that only values fighting and fucking. Purestrain animals who are only out to satisfy those basest of urges, and who will stop at nothing, NOTHING to get them satisfied. That’s what a Rollerwhore is! And be me denying them the chance to fuck, denying one of those base drives, I’m turning them into indestructible fighting machines fueled on pent up rage and sexual frustration.”

Sam looks directly into the camera. He is also, by the way, still completely nude, so we’re subjecting Kieran and the Kingsguard to that as well.

“Or maybe KIeran, JUST MAYBE, I’ll unleash the full power of these whores on your thugs! Maybe I’ll let them go sex wild on your boys. You think these guys, with their dumpy wives and sexless existances would be able to combat that? You think they could withstand the full throttle sexual fury of a ROLLERWHORE?! They’d be flopping on the canvas like dead fish, ready to do whatever Elektra and Violet tell them to do! Hell, they’ll be so busy creaming their armor that they won’t even notice the 1-2-3!

And I already know what you’re gonna say. That they’re just another patented Samael Dyson tawdry gimmick. Another attempt at grasping the limelight as shamelessly and perversely as possible. And you know what I say to that?

YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT!

I mean, we all remember that the X in XWF stands for XTREME, right? We all remember that this used to be the most shocking, over the top spectacle in sports history, right? So why should I feel ashamed for paying homage to the XWF’s roots? Why should I LIMIT myself to the standards and practices of banality and “good taste” just because the rest of you don’t have the balls to push the envelope anymore? This place used to be built off the backs of guys like Michael Graves (still gonna lose though, lol) and Charlie Nickles (still lost though, lol). The freaks, the deviants, the creeps! My boy Kris may not always be down to clown with the darkside but I sure am! Even my mother used to be a literal fucking NAZI before this place watered her down into oblivion.

Well I’m not watering myself down for SHIT. And if some generic pretty boy narcisisst like Kieran King has a problem with that he can get fisted with a hand full of razor wire. Samael Dyson is SEX, DRUGS, and ROCK AND ROLL and that ain’t changing for an instant.”

Samael wheels back around on Steve Sayors, and his cock swings wide and generates a wet slapping sound when it hits his thigh.

“Now Steve, why aren’t you fucking?!”

“M-m-me?!” Steve stammers.

Just then, two more Rollerwhores sidle up on either side of Steve. It’s Nelly and Byrthdeigh from Sam’s last promo, and they’re both fully decked out in Rollerwhore gear!

“Wait, what’s going on?!”

That’s when Nelly and Byrthdeigh take hold of Steve from either side and launch him towards the heart shaped bed.

“Hold on! Whooooooaaaaaa now!” Steve cries out, but his exclamations are cut short as these two voracious sex addicts leap on top of Steve! Sam laughs uproariously before returning his attention to the camera.

“Focus on my junk!”

The camera man hesitates.

“I SAID FOCUS ON MY JUNK!”

Finally, unwillingly, the camera zooms in on Sam’s sizable penis.

“BASK IN MY GLORY AND DESPAIR KIERAN! AT SNOW PAIN, SNOW GAIN, A GROSS INJUSTICE WILL BE RECTIFIED, AND THE ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS COME BACK HOME TO TEAM DYSON”

Sam brings his penis even closer to the camera.

“NOW CHOKE ON IT, HO!”

Sam smacks his genitals against the camera lens and the feed abruptly cuts to static, and then to sweet merciful black.]]> “Steve Sayors here coming to you from the self proclaimed “Biggest Orgy in Town”! It even says so on the sign out front. And right now I’m just trying to not touch anything because EVERYTHING is sticky.”

Steve gamely plunges forward into the shadowy building, which is a catacomb of side rooms and darkened niches where literally everybody be fuckin’! Steve is clearly overdressed wearing his customary suit and tie, as people pass by him wearing lingerie, g-strings or even nothing at all.

“Sam said someone was supposed to….”

“HELLO MR SAILORS!”

“GAH!”

Steve damn near jumps out of his skin as one of Sam Dyson’s Insignificants sneaks up behind him. Steve recovers quickly, consummate professional that he is.

“Did you call me Mr. Sailors?”

The Insignificant is wearing a customary brown paper bag over his head, but aside from that he’s nude except for some leather chaps.

“How do you like my chaps, Mr. Sailors? Hey! Did you know that it’s redundant to say “assless chaps” because all chaps are assless?! The more you know!”

“Yeah, fascinating, can you please just take me to Sam Dyson so I can get this over with.”

“My master is in the showers! Shall we go join him?”

“Great, I’m sure nothing perverted will happen there. How about if I just wait for him to be done, okay?”

“Oh my master won’t mind, he’s a very free spirit you see.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “That’s what I’m worried about. But fine. Whatever. Let’s go.”

Steve and the chaps that are redundantly assless Insignificant continue through the building until they pass through double doors leading to a spa area. Their steps are accompanied by the sounds of water sloshing and the grunts and exultations of coitus. Headed into the locker room, the Insignificant calls out, “Master are you still here?”

“Yeah I’m….ufff…..here…..oh God…..” A voice calls out from a shower stall.

“Can….can I approach?” Steve speaks hesitantly.

“Yes! Goddammit Steve, I want him to see!”

“See….see what?” Steve approaches with the camera man in tow despite himself, and what he finally sees in the shower makes him gasp and avert his eyes!

“Oh god WHY?!”

“YES, STEVE! YES! I want Kieran King to see me in all my masculine sexual virility! I’m….uhhh….Kieran don’t you dare look away! DON’T YOU FUCKING DARE! You look at me as I speak to….oh yeah, ugh….you!

Yeah, you boys thought you had me all figured out. Dead in a ditch. Like mother like son. And all that other crap Kieran spoon fed that Coors chugging, local sports team cheering, tiny dick like a turtle head poking out of a thistle of pubes having nitwit, because we all know he was too stone cold stupid to cook up a promo like that without a whole shit ton of help.”

Sam’s body bucks as he continues to pleasure himself while cutting a promo. Which just might be a first in XWF history.

“Dead in a ditch. Just another cautionary tale. Just another pathetic junkie. Jesus fucking Christ did you morons do an ounce of research on me?! Uh….yessssss…..uh….do you know what I’m capable of?! Of course not. You think I’m just another shock jock. Another C-A-R-V-E-R (although the man was damn good at his job, I’m still a fan!).

Well tell me this. Would “just another shock jock” have the power to take over the whole asylum that I was imprisoned in, gradually turning the entire staff to my will? Would “just another shock jock” have been able to send those creatures against you on that last episode of Anarchy? And don’t bullshit me…mmmmmm….you guys were pissing your pants at the sight of them! Would “just another shock jock” have a fucking VAMPIRE and a HORDE OF SULTRY BARBARIAN ROLLER SPORTS ENTHUSIASTS in his rolodex?!

Oh fuck I’m gettin’ close….

No! You idiots! The answer is NO! Because I’m not some piece of wayward white trash from Bumblefuck, USA! I am the heir to Anton LaVey….a new age Alesieter Crowley. Those fuckers walked so I could RUN! And run I have! I am in league with powers beyond your wildest imaginings! Old ones. Those who live in the impossible angles. Those beyond the stars who were here when here was just a vast plain of nothingness. In short…I AM POWER UN-UN-UN-OH GOD HERE IT COMES….

UNLEASHED!!!!!!

Sam, well, there’s no tasteful way to put it, he explodes everywhere.

“Oh God it’s on my shoe! IT’S ON MY SHOE!” Steve wails.

“Dude, look at my fucking camera!” shouts the camera operator as he’s forced to….ah-hem….clean the lens.

“Behold my sexual power! Bow in awe of my legions upon legions of spent children!”

“I think I’m gonna barf.”

“Steven, I do declare you seem a bit overdressed for this party.”

“I….I would like to keep my clothes please.”

“Nonsense. Insignificants!” Sam primly claps his hands twice and within seconds a cavalcade of nude and semi nude Insignificants start to undress Steve in a whirlwind of profanity and tossed clothing. When all is said and done, Steve is clad only in his tighty whities. He places his hand over his groin to try to preserve some dignity.

“Please…please just let me go….” Steve whines.

“Go? GO?!! You haven’t even met my Rollerwhores yet! Come, Steve. Heh heh….”come”. That has double meanings doesn’t it?”

“Yeah…I...uh.... noticed….”

The Insignificants jostle Steve into action and they head down another labyrinthene hallway to a grand old black and gold elevator in an art deco style. The entire group piles into the elevator. A subtle jazz muzak is playing, but there are already two couples rutting away in the elevator which drowns out the calming tunes. The entire ride is punctuated by the sounds of sex, light jazz, but otherwise awkward silence. When they finally, mercifully reach the penthouse suite, Sam steps off the elevator first and gestures for everyone else to follow.

The suite is massive but done up like a tawdry loveshack, with a red and pink motif, a heart shaped bed and racks upon racks of sex toys of every size, shape, and variety.

But the eye is most naturally drawn to a set of sex swings hanging from the ceiling. And in each of those swings is a bound Rollerwhore: Violet and Elektra. Both women seem to be trying to swing their swing closer to the other, but they’re having little success.

“Hey, hey, HEY!” Sam cuts in, standing between the oscillating sex swings. The Rollerwhores attention is instantly and obediently on Sam. “What did I fucking say, huh?! I said NO SEXUAL CONTACT UNTIL YOU BEAT THE KINGSGUARD!”

The Rollerwhores wordlessly mime their despondency, shaking their heads and holding their hands together entreatingly.

“Oh no, I don’t care how much you beg and plead! NO SEX UNTIL YOU GET ME A WIN!”

Elektra and Violet look at each other forlornly, but ultimately accept their master’s edict. That’s when Steve Sayors cuts in.

“You know Sam, I think we’re long overdue talking about the topic of Clutch Cassidy and the heinous, reprehensible thing you and the Rollerwhores did….”

“Oh fuck Clutch Cassidy! And not in the fun way. You wanna talk Clutch? Fine. Clutch was weak! She was a weak partner and a weak competitor. She is the reason we lost to the Kingsguard. Which is why she has been replaced. You see Steve, Clutch was only human, with all the little foibles and liabilities that come with that. But the Rollerwhores? They’re the next step in human evolution. They’re something far beyond the Clutch Cassidy’s of the world.”

“Well, they look pretty human to me.”

“Ah, but looks are often deceiving, are they not? Imagine if you will a being stripped down to their purest ID impulses, stripped down to that caveman, or caveWOMAN, thought process that only values fighting and fucking. Purestrain animals who are only out to satisfy those basest of urges, and who will stop at nothing, NOTHING to get them satisfied. That’s what a Rollerwhore is! And be me denying them the chance to fuck, denying one of those base drives, I’m turning them into indestructible fighting machines fueled on pent up rage and sexual frustration.”

Sam looks directly into the camera. He is also, by the way, still completely nude, so we’re subjecting Kieran and the Kingsguard to that as well.

“Or maybe KIeran, JUST MAYBE, I’ll unleash the full power of these whores on your thugs! Maybe I’ll let them go sex wild on your boys. You think these guys, with their dumpy wives and sexless existances would be able to combat that? You think they could withstand the full throttle sexual fury of a ROLLERWHORE?! They’d be flopping on the canvas like dead fish, ready to do whatever Elektra and Violet tell them to do! Hell, they’ll be so busy creaming their armor that they won’t even notice the 1-2-3!

And I already know what you’re gonna say. That they’re just another patented Samael Dyson tawdry gimmick. Another attempt at grasping the limelight as shamelessly and perversely as possible. And you know what I say to that?

YOU’RE GODDAMN RIGHT!

I mean, we all remember that the X in XWF stands for XTREME, right? We all remember that this used to be the most shocking, over the top spectacle in sports history, right? So why should I feel ashamed for paying homage to the XWF’s roots? Why should I LIMIT myself to the standards and practices of banality and “good taste” just because the rest of you don’t have the balls to push the envelope anymore? This place used to be built off the backs of guys like Michael Graves (still gonna lose though, lol) and Charlie Nickles (still lost though, lol). The freaks, the deviants, the creeps! My boy Kris may not always be down to clown with the darkside but I sure am! Even my mother used to be a literal fucking NAZI before this place watered her down into oblivion.

Well I’m not watering myself down for SHIT. And if some generic pretty boy narcisisst like Kieran King has a problem with that he can get fisted with a hand full of razor wire. Samael Dyson is SEX, DRUGS, and ROCK AND ROLL and that ain’t changing for an instant.”

Samael wheels back around on Steve Sayors, and his cock swings wide and generates a wet slapping sound when it hits his thigh.

“Now Steve, why aren’t you fucking?!”

“M-m-me?!” Steve stammers.

Just then, two more Rollerwhores sidle up on either side of Steve. It’s Nelly and Byrthdeigh from Sam’s last promo, and they’re both fully decked out in Rollerwhore gear!

“Wait, what’s going on?!”

That’s when Nelly and Byrthdeigh take hold of Steve from either side and launch him towards the heart shaped bed.

“Hold on! Whooooooaaaaaa now!” Steve cries out, but his exclamations are cut short as these two voracious sex addicts leap on top of Steve! Sam laughs uproariously before returning his attention to the camera.

“Focus on my junk!”

The camera man hesitates.

“I SAID FOCUS ON MY JUNK!”

Finally, unwillingly, the camera zooms in on Sam’s sizable penis.

“BASK IN MY GLORY AND DESPAIR KIERAN! AT SNOW PAIN, SNOW GAIN, A GROSS INJUSTICE WILL BE RECTIFIED, AND THE ANARCHY TAG TEAM CHAMPIONSHIPS COME BACK HOME TO TEAM DYSON”

Sam brings his penis even closer to the camera.

“NOW CHOKE ON IT, HO!”

Sam smacks his genitals against the camera lens and the feed abruptly cuts to static, and then to sweet merciful black.]]> <![CDATA[Kieran King in: YESTERDAY'S KING - The White]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49667 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 13:52:57 -0800 Kieran King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49667 No matter how far he voyaged, Kieran King was still bound by earthly limitations. Each step he took created a new past, and each new past that was created pursued him with an unyielding vigour.

(word count: 7,719)

]]> No matter how far he voyaged, Kieran King was still bound by earthly limitations. Each step he took created a new past, and each new past that was created pursued him with an unyielding vigour.

(word count: 7,719)

]]> <![CDATA[Thirteen Honks.]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49665 Fri, 23 Jan 2026 07:38:53 -0800 Ennui Clown]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49665 Clown City
Saturday, January 24th, 4:05 AM

Thirteen.

Thirteen.

It always goes back to thirteen.

The body of Corpse-o the Clown was discovered at 1 AM… The Witching Hour.

Some would call it Thirteen o’clock.

Corpse-o was working on perfecting his clown-y craft that night…

Of course, the same way a group of geese is called a gaggle, a group of clowns is called…

A giggle.

This giggle of clowns was practicing the ol’ “Everybody Pile Into a Very Tiny Car and then Get Out and It’s Like Whoa How’d They Fit All Those Clowns Into That Tiny Car” schtick.

Guess how many clowns were in the car?

Fourteen.

And with Corpse-o a corpse…

Oh.

Yep.

That leaves thirteen.

Corpse-o’s eyes stare lifelessly straight ahead.

…Apparently, that’s also how his eyes looked when he was alive.

He also didn’t move or talk, and his heart didn’t beat.

…But! He didn’t have an arrow sticking through his skull. That’s a change.

That’s the mystery that lay before us here… Who would want to kill a clown whose whole shtick is being dead?

I stare into the backseat of the clown car… my gloved finger ghosts ever so carefully along the arrowtip.

HISSSSSS, I suck in air, sucking on the tip of my index finger… The arrowhead is real.

My fingers trace the soft flesh of our victim’s neck….Corpse-O’s skin is cold… Like a frozen banana

But unlike a banana, the killer isn’t gonna slip me…

”Triskaidekaphobic Clown!” One of the thirteen suspects, hands pressed against the wall.

”That’s DETECTIVE Triskaidekaphobic Clown to you!” I mutter, as I spin around, my polka dot trenchcoat blowing in the breeze… I flash my badge in their direction.

I squeeze my badge. A honk sound comes out. My badge is made of rubber and has a squeaker.

In Clown City, that’s how you demonstrate a police badge is authentic.

Badges that don’t squeak? Those are funny business.

And there are thirteen letters in "funny business".

”...Right. Um…” Suspect #1, Trepidatious Clown, stammers nervously, tugging at his bow tie, which naturally makes it spin whimsically around his collar. ”Not to second-guess your investigation. It’s just… um.. Well… your partner… Should he… I mean…”

“SHOULD HE BE LYING ON TOP OF THE BODY LIKE THAT?!?” Shouts Suspect #2, Outburst Clown.

…I spin backwards.

…My partner, Ennui Clown, is lying facedown…

Right on top of Corpse-O’s lap in the backseat of the clown car.

”EC!” I hiss irritatedly. ”You’re contaminating the crime scene!”

”...Am I?” Ennui Clown exhales disappointedly, looking up at Corpse-O’s dead form… "Sorry…”

”That’s so unsanitary…” Mutters Suspect #3… As his hands hover, just barely not touching the wall.

”Somebody doesn’t like getting their hands dirty…

”Of course I don’t like getting my hands dirty! I’m Germaphobic Clown!” muttered Germaphobic Clown, as he quickly breathed on the wall and rubbed a spot of dust with his elbow.

”And I’m sure you hated working with a working stiff like Corpse-O! Having a dead guy off your crew would certainly make it a little cleaner around here wouldn’t it?”

”Wait, Corpse-O’s dead?” Suspect #4, Inattentive Clown looked up from her phone suddenly. ”When did that happen?”

”So! Maybe you paid one of these other clowns to knock off Corpse-O, Germaphobic Clown!”

”Gross!” Germaphobic Clown would suck air in horror if it didn’t have microparticle-sized germs in the air. ”Do you know how many germs are on money? I’d NEVER carry cash on me!”

”Mmmm. A clue.” I grunt. ”Make a note that says that, EC.”

”Okay…” Ennui Clown reaches into his pocket for his diary labelled ‘Ennui Clown’s Sad Thoughts’...

He pulls out a pen from his diary and draws…

A picture of a cartoon note with a speech bubble that reads…

Quote:Mmmm. A clue.

”This is a massive waste of time!” Grunts Suspect #5, Time-Anxious Cop. ”Shouldn’t you actually be trying to extract clues instead of letting us talk one at a time until you reach the thirteenth one! Comedy has a rule of three’s! Not thirteens!”

”One golden rule of comedy. The rule of Threes.”

”One. Three. Makes thirteen.”

”Don’t one and three make four?” Pondered Basic Addition Clown.

NOTE: Basic Addition Clown is not a suspect, he was simply walking by the Apartment where the murder took place and has an excellent sense of comedic timing.

”EC!” I clap my hands.

My hands squeak when I clap them… My hands have squeakers in them.

All clowns have squeakers in their hands.

It would actually be sillier in Clown City if your hands didn’t squeak when you clapped them.

If you showed a group of clown residents of Clown City stock footage of an audience of humans clapping their hands and it sounding just like clapping?

They go fucking nuts and start clapping their squeaky clown hands.’

”Check the body for clues!” I reach into my pocket and retrieves…

A set of tweezers…

[Image: giant_tweezers.jpg]

Humorously large. As required by Clown City law.

I gently squeeze the tweezers.

They compress, my hands lowly and slowly squeak, the sound of a dying animal.

And that animal is this city’s innocence.

I toss the tweezers to Ennui Clown…

…

Ennui Clown makes no effort to catch them, they clatter loudly against the clown car interior’s side door.

The thirteen suspects on the wall all jolt in surprise.

When they jolt, they all quietly squeak.

There’s a lot of ambient squeaking in Clown World, basically all the time.

If you’re mentally picturing this scene in your mind’s eye, and you’re only imagining two or three backgrounds squeaks a second, that’s not nearly enough squeaks.

I sigh, leaning over my partner.

“EC. You doing okay there, bud?”

EC sighs, lying facedown against the lap of the dead body.

“...I don’t feel like doing anything…”

…Sigh.

I try to use a bit of that mandatory training I was assigned a few weeks ago.

How to Be Empathetic as a Clown That Also Despises the Number 13

I was in the class with two other people.

Neither of them despised the number 13, they just needed quarterly training credits.

Posers.

I empathetically lean a little closer, hovering over my partner’s head.

“EC… Do you wanna… talk about why you don’t feel like doing anything?”

“...No…”

“Why not?”

“...Because talking about it would be doing something… And I don’t feel like doing anything…”

“You can’t keep us here forever!” Demands Suspect #7, Attorney Clown! “The Clown Constitution clearly states seizures of a clown person have to be REASONABLE… and HILARIOUS! This is neither!”

NOTE: Suspect #6 is Deaf and Mute Clown and he will not be speaking in this story.

“Comedy is subjective!” I bark back… before exhaling and bending on one knee to get down to EC’s eye level.

“EC, I totally get your whole deal is being vaguely listless and weary with the world and feeling like you can’t do anything to fix it…”

“But!” I point a clown finger in the air! (It sounds rubbery like waving a balloon animal around)... “You and I are solving an actual clown murder! This is literally among the most direct ways to effect positive change! Taking a killer off the streets!”

…EC’s eyes widen about one-thirty-second of an inch, which is the most he’s moved in a long while. “...Do you think maybe it’s my mission to solve this murder? My mission is to find out my mission… Maybe *this* is the mission?”

“Could be!” I grunt, trying to be encouraging.

“Wait, so if we’re still doing the ‘mission to find a mission’ story, does that mean he’s still an alien? Are we all aliens?” Ponders Suspect #8, Continuity-Focused Clown.

“Oh! If we are, that must mean Clown City is ON the Clown Planet, right? So that’s where we are currently!” Excitedly Shares Suspect #9, Intuitive Clown.

”...Wait, but isn’t Clown Planet hundreds of thousands of lightyears from Earth? How would Ennui get to and fro for his matches in weeks. Lightyear literally means the distance you would travel moving at the speed of light for one year.” Informs Suspect #10, Neil deGrasse Tyson.

Not a clown version of Neil deGrasse Tyson. The Neil deGrasse Tyson is suspect #10.

Aside: He also has a motive. Corpse-o was having an affair with his wife.

“WHAT?!?”

“Stop talking to the detective’s internal monologue!” Complains Suspect #11, Clown-Who-Thinks-Fourth-Wall-Breaking-is-Hacky.

“And we're twins!” Share Suspects #12 and #13, the Clown Triplets Becil and Decil.

(No one has the heart to tell them their third triplet, Fecil, died in the womb.)

“EVERYONE SHUDDUP OR YOU’RE ALL GOING TO SPEND THE NIGHT IN THE POKEY WHILE WE SORT THIS OUT!”

If you’re picturing the pokey as not a jail for clowns, but a small room with a big hand that pokes the people in the room, you’re one-hundred percent correct.

I kneel back down to EC.

“Partner. I ain’t gonna lie to ya… Maybe helping me solve this crime is your mission… maybe it isn’t… But, I can tell you this.”

“Your mission? Probably ain’t lying facedown on the floor, not moving. If you want to find your mission? You should do… something.”

“...I guess you’re right…” EC sighs…

His clown hands scoop up the large set of tweezers.

He wraps them around the arrow lodged in Corpse-O’s skull…

“Here we go… The murder weapon. This will tell us everything we need to know… Pull it off.”

EC pulls the arrow…

…

Up?

[Image: arrow-through-head-headband-68dee75b-7fd...dition.jpg]

…

“Oh… It’s a gag arrow!”

“Corpse-O isn’t dead at all!”

EC sighs, lying face down on Corpse-O’s lap. “Ohhh… I could have told you that…”

“...Wait, you knew Corpse-O was alive?”

“...Yeah.”

“How? Corpse-o doesn’t move or blink! His heart doesn’t beat!”

“...Yeah… But since I’ve been down here, he’s had an erection.”

EC lets his head sink…

And Corpse-O’s penis honks.

Thirteen.

It all comes back to Thirteen.

Mister 6-1-9, El Landerson. The Bit Luchador.

6 - 9? Is -3

Which leaves -1 and -3.

Negative thirteen.

Appropriate given what a negative impact you’ve had on the sport of wrestling.

I’m a fucking clown and I’m taking this more seriously than you are, Señor Bit Luchador.

All your promos you talk about your best friend, Razor Blade.

The man who’s outshone you every single time you’ve shared a ring.

At the Spirit Halloween Anarchy, Razor kicked your ass up and down the aisle.

At War Games… Razor single-handedly bailed your flailing team out, rescuing you from a 2-1 deficit.

You couldn’t even beat Ace Sky.

Some would describe your run thus far in the XWF as…

Unlucky.

But, luck is a product of hard work and effort.

Something you’ve failed to show and may simply be completely incapable of.

And now, my partner will cover Latoya Hixx.

...

Sigh…

...C’mon, man. We said we’d each take one of our partners this match to do trash talk on.

Don’t you have anything to say about Latoya? The Storm.

...I like storms.

Rain is nice.

Do you want to mention how she lost against Captain Future and YKW? Maybe the only two guys on the roster that are bigger clowns than us?

...I’m taller than both of them. They’re not bigger clowns than us.

...

Sigh.

My partner didn’t write any gags for Hixx.

Because we aren’t joking around this week.

And we may be all funny business when solving crimes…

But in the ring? With a shot at the Anarchy Tag Titles on the line?

It’s no laughing matter.]]> Clown City
Saturday, January 24th, 4:05 AM

Thirteen.

Thirteen.

It always goes back to thirteen.

The body of Corpse-o the Clown was discovered at 1 AM… The Witching Hour.

Some would call it Thirteen o’clock.

Corpse-o was working on perfecting his clown-y craft that night…

Of course, the same way a group of geese is called a gaggle, a group of clowns is called…

A giggle.

This giggle of clowns was practicing the ol’ “Everybody Pile Into a Very Tiny Car and then Get Out and It’s Like Whoa How’d They Fit All Those Clowns Into That Tiny Car” schtick.

Guess how many clowns were in the car?

Fourteen.

And with Corpse-o a corpse…

Oh.

Yep.

That leaves thirteen.

Corpse-o’s eyes stare lifelessly straight ahead.

…Apparently, that’s also how his eyes looked when he was alive.

He also didn’t move or talk, and his heart didn’t beat.

…But! He didn’t have an arrow sticking through his skull. That’s a change.

That’s the mystery that lay before us here… Who would want to kill a clown whose whole shtick is being dead?

I stare into the backseat of the clown car… my gloved finger ghosts ever so carefully along the arrowtip.

HISSSSSS, I suck in air, sucking on the tip of my index finger… The arrowhead is real.

My fingers trace the soft flesh of our victim’s neck….Corpse-O’s skin is cold… Like a frozen banana

But unlike a banana, the killer isn’t gonna slip me…

”Triskaidekaphobic Clown!” One of the thirteen suspects, hands pressed against the wall.

”That’s DETECTIVE Triskaidekaphobic Clown to you!” I mutter, as I spin around, my polka dot trenchcoat blowing in the breeze… I flash my badge in their direction.

I squeeze my badge. A honk sound comes out. My badge is made of rubber and has a squeaker.

In Clown City, that’s how you demonstrate a police badge is authentic.

Badges that don’t squeak? Those are funny business.

And there are thirteen letters in "funny business".

”...Right. Um…” Suspect #1, Trepidatious Clown, stammers nervously, tugging at his bow tie, which naturally makes it spin whimsically around his collar. ”Not to second-guess your investigation. It’s just… um.. Well… your partner… Should he… I mean…”

“SHOULD HE BE LYING ON TOP OF THE BODY LIKE THAT?!?” Shouts Suspect #2, Outburst Clown.

…I spin backwards.

…My partner, Ennui Clown, is lying facedown…

Right on top of Corpse-O’s lap in the backseat of the clown car.

”EC!” I hiss irritatedly. ”You’re contaminating the crime scene!”

”...Am I?” Ennui Clown exhales disappointedly, looking up at Corpse-O’s dead form… "Sorry…”

”That’s so unsanitary…” Mutters Suspect #3… As his hands hover, just barely not touching the wall.

”Somebody doesn’t like getting their hands dirty…

”Of course I don’t like getting my hands dirty! I’m Germaphobic Clown!” muttered Germaphobic Clown, as he quickly breathed on the wall and rubbed a spot of dust with his elbow.

”And I’m sure you hated working with a working stiff like Corpse-O! Having a dead guy off your crew would certainly make it a little cleaner around here wouldn’t it?”

”Wait, Corpse-O’s dead?” Suspect #4, Inattentive Clown looked up from her phone suddenly. ”When did that happen?”

”So! Maybe you paid one of these other clowns to knock off Corpse-O, Germaphobic Clown!”

”Gross!” Germaphobic Clown would suck air in horror if it didn’t have microparticle-sized germs in the air. ”Do you know how many germs are on money? I’d NEVER carry cash on me!”

”Mmmm. A clue.” I grunt. ”Make a note that says that, EC.”

”Okay…” Ennui Clown reaches into his pocket for his diary labelled ‘Ennui Clown’s Sad Thoughts’...

He pulls out a pen from his diary and draws…

A picture of a cartoon note with a speech bubble that reads…

Quote:Mmmm. A clue.

Delilah (Firewatch 2016)

[Image: Pngtree-detailed-full-moon-rendered-in-20857846.png]

As the full moon hangs in the night sky.

The waterfall crashes against the rocks below.

The sound of a sword peeling away from flesh.

As Game Girl looks into her best friend’s eyes.

A flash of remorse fades as quick as it comes. The slightest quiver of his lip is bit upon as Game Boy watches her fall over the edge into the river below.

And he is alone.

A ragged breath exits him as he falls to a knee and pushes a hand to his mouth stopping the vomit from exiting. He shakes; holding back a tear before wiping the blade into the grass to erase the blood.

He looks down at the crimson scar he left on the earth, his hands trembling before he tries to compose himself.

After some time.

He steps back to his feet and returns quietly to the camp, placing his sword in its sheathe and laying down by the fire. His wide eyes reflecting the embers dancing above the crackling wood until the sky fills with the sun.

His eyes, tired. Bloodshot.

He finally blinks when he hears Princess yawn and move out of her tent. “Good morning.” she says with a smile to her compatriots.

Gretchin grumbles as she moves to the fire hoisting a cauldron above it to prepare breakfast, while Pepe the Mouse Knight hops down from his cot.

Game Boy feigns a yawn while he stretches before rubbing his eyes. “Morning.” he replies.

Gretchin looks at him, peering behind a veil of darkness, the brim of her hat barely concealing the yellow pricks of light glaring at him.

“You seem tired.” She says turning back to the cauldron. “Busy night?”

Game Boy scratches at his pale neck with a weak cough. “I think I’m coming down with something. Couldn’t sleep.”

“Hm.”

Silence lingers for a moment.

“Where’s Paige?” Princess questions looking around the camp. “Don’t tell me she’s gone back to Urf while we’re on a mission!”

With a croaked groan GB replies, “I- …She went to get some firewood last night, but I fell asleep soon after.”

Gretchin stares a hole through him. “She probably got caught up in something else.” She adds, her eyes unmoving from Game Boy. “Away with the fairies, that one, probably got distracted with some other shenanigans.”

“Great!” Princess throws her hands up with a sigh before her fists dig into her hips. “Guess we’ll carry on and hope she can catch up.”

“Oh you know her, Princess.” Gretchin finally moves her glance from Game Boy. “No matter what happens she’ll always come back.”

You couldn’t see Gretchin’s smile under her cloak.

But Game Boy could hear it.

A wiry, lip splitting, malicious smile.

A slight eye flick.

A sickening, knowing look.

His heart thuds against his chest as the hot swell of bile inched up his throat, with a spluttered cough he beats it down before standing up and grabbing his belongings. “Yep.” His hand rasping around his sheath as he ropes it over his shoulder before turning to the two with a forced smile. “She always comes back.”

Scoops McGee groans as he kneels down in the hay, lifting the horse’s leg and scraping the muck from its hoof. Game Girl, our hero, stands at the horse’s mouth holding a bucket in her hand which the horse greedily eats from. Paige has a slight smile on her face watching the creature methodically dip in and out, chewing with muffled grunts.

“You’re quiet.” Scoops mumbles.

“Hm?” GG glances over briefly meeting Scoops' eyes before going back to the horse.

“I said you’re quiet. Usually chewing my ear off by now.”

Paige doesn’t respond, simply giving a shrug. Scoops sighs, dropping the hoof and standing up, wiping the blunt knife with a rag.

“Listen, I know last week was rough. For all of us. Kicking ya self ain’t gonna fix shit. Hell, if I cried every time I lost a match there wouldn’t be enough water in my body for me to piss ever again.”

Scoops gives a slight smile as GG snorts a laugh before placing the bucket down and stroking the horse’s snout.

“I just feel like I let Amber down.”

“Don’t you say that.” Scoops moves a little closer to her. “She’s a grown woman, she can take accountability. You tried! You got knocked down, you got back up! Hell you put up a fight! And I know you, you always do your best after getting knocked down. Puts the wind back in ya.”

Scoops shuffles slightly awkwardly as Game Girl’s wide eyes fix on him with a smile.

“Thanks, Scoops.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Scoops flips the knife around and offers it to her. “Let’s switch places, my back is killing me.”

GG delicately takes the knife, thumbing the blunt edge as she moves to the rear of the horse. Giving a pat on its side the horse raises its back hoof and GG kneels to clear out any debris.

“Maybe I do try harder after getting some reality knocked into me. But if that's the case.” Her eyes flick to Scoops. “Why did I not return to Narfinex after what happened with Game Boy?”

Scoops scratches at the horse's mane, picking some dirt and flicking it away. “You mean for revenge?”

“Maybe?” She shrugs. “I dunno. Just why did I run like a coward?”

“Y’know girlie, escaping ain’t a bad thing. Running away is simply the best option you have.”

“But you seemed proud of me for picking myself up and fighting back! For trying!”

Scoops hesitates. “Yeah I am. But there’s a huge difference between a fight on a show and what you had to deal with.” He scoffs a laugh. “Why do you think I ain’t angry with ya? Or myself? Or Dickie or Amber! Sometimes ya lose fights, it ain’t the end of the world. You’ll come back. You always come back.”

Paige nods with the words before taking in a deep breath and finishing up on the hoof.

“You’re right, Scoops.” She smiles kindly. “Sorry for being so melodramatic, not sure what's got into me.”

“I’d be sad too if I was kneeling in shit.” He points down with a smirk as GG who steps up with a look of disgust before cracking a giggle.

“Lol. I should go wash up.”

“Go ahead, I’ll finish up here.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Scoops thumbs his nose as he walks over and puts his hand out for the knife. “Grab some firewood on your way back to the house, gonna be cold tonight.”

GG smiles, placing the knife in Scoops' palm. “You got it.”

She leaves the barn. Tapping the threshold of the door as she does.

Scoops drums the handle of the knife in his palm, watching as she walks over the hard dirt, her breath visible in the air. Wrapping around her cheeks and whispering into the wind.

Grabbing some logs of wood from the shed nearby, she heads over to the house.

Noah’s silhouette walks past the windows as music faintly falls into the dimming sky. Game Girl runs a thumb along the bark in her arms, feeling the grooves and rubbing away the thinnest layer of ice clinging on.

A long exhale comes from her.

The sky turned black as the void, as sound and the earth beneath her leaves, letting her slowly tumble into a vacuum. The ends of her blue hair flow as she floats.

Her face barely lit by dots of stars.

A slow inhale.

And out.

“I’ve dealt with repetition more times than most.”

Her words echo softly into space.

“Exiting a world I knew to be thrown back into another with the same memories, same people around me and the same outcome.”

“Over and over.”

“Watching those I love get hurt. Die. Betray me.”

“Over and over.”

“But I always came back.”

“The same, but different.”

“I tried and yeah, I failed a lot. Failure is to be human. Something I want to be.”

“But I tried.”

“Vaas said, “the definition of insanity is doing the exact same thing over and over again and expecting different results.””

“I don’t think that’s insanity. I think that’s hope.”

“It’s determination!”

“It’s wanting to break the cycle!”

“And that’s exactly what I plan to do, Jenny.”

The logs of wood she carried fall from her arms, creating steps that she gracefully hops between going further up into a starry sky.

“You’re like me, in a way. You come and go at random and you try the same things over and over again to the same result.”

“Soul-crushing failure.”

“And when you finally have the chance to escape the cycle of mediocrity you made, you simply run somewhere else and become the same champion you were last time, with the same 2017 look, with the same soulless promos and use the same terrible graphic designer. Or use AI to make them look like crud which I feel as a person of code that’s cultural appropriation or something” :P

“Do you not bore yourself?”

“Do you not look at yourself in the mirror and realize you need to change? Improve? To actually BE something?”

“Do you not feel insignificant when Samael Dyson does everything you and Chris Chaos tried to be but actually makes it work? Actually can be seen as a threat?”

“Do you not feel embarrassed when Jennie Nickles did a better impression of you your entire career in a month?”

“Heck, I feel embarrassed that I lost to you once! My own fault for not taking you seriously, shame on me. Fool me once blah blah.”

“What do you feel when you have been a wrestler since 2017 who loves to lord over others with their wins and title reigns but has had more losses than most anyone, with title reigns that end in disappointment, how many X-Treme titles have you won only for them to be taken away with a carefree pin from the likes of John Black days before you go on a show?”

“Is the repetition gonna carry on here? Can’t wait to find out!”

“What do you feel when you, a wrestler since 2017, with so many titles calls herself a queen but has never EVER come anywhere close to winning a crown?”

“What do you feel when you’re mocked endlessly? When people make pictures of you being bald? When you’re still the butt of the joke years after you left the XWF? When people laugh about how well you used to do in matches only for them to end in an abrupt and disappointing loss?”

“What do you feel when everything you hold important in your life means nothing to anyone else?”

“And I know what you’re going to say; “Oh GG, *insert childish curse-filled line* you’ve been here LONGER than me! *content of a graphic nature* And you’ve done less! *eats dog food for the shock value?*”

“And yeah! You’re right! I’ve only held the one title here who I beat Sebastian Duke for. I’ve been in the XWF waaaay longer with not that many matches to show for it. My win/loss record isn’t stellar, honestly kinda mid.”

“But I’ve also been on the winning team of War Games three out of four times and through that I’ve made amazing friends that I love dearly.”

“People seem to really enjoy having me around, which is lovely.”

“I do my best in matches, I put on a show!”

“In my last fight, one of the commentators had a genuine, nice reaction to seeing me.”

Paige smiles sweetly, lost in thought for a moment. Her grin fades and a look of concern and worry grows.

“When has that ever happened to you?”

“I’m here to help people and beat up bad guys. I want to make people smile. I want to have a positive effect!”

“I don’t need titles. I don’t need to win.”

“I just want to try my best.”

“And in a world of Samael Dyson's, Wicked Witches and Micheal Graves’s. I think that’s a pretty good cause.”

“And kicking your flat butt and stripping you off the Xtreme Championship to deflate your ego is just the cherry on top.” :P

She gives a quiet giggle making her way up the logs until the nebulas expel blaring lights of color around her. The constellations resemble eerie figures.

“You live in your loop, hearing the things you want to hear, believing the things you want to believe. Doing the same things you always do with a smug sense of satisfaction. I want to untie that loop.”

“I don't want to beat you because I want to win, I want to beat you to get rid of you for good. I want to break a cycle that keeps repeating, one of senseless repetition with no room to grow, one of teenage angst clinging onto a fully grown adult, one of a mediocre wrestler refusing to adapt.”

“Instead of trying, you latch on to others in the hope of making yourself somewhat relevant. Lording around a title you never won that gets passed around more than-”

A voice shoots through the void.

“More than Jenny at a key party.”

GG blinks following the voice.

“Thank you, Amber.”

“And change the title to resemble your meme of the moment to a thunderous groan of eye-rolling. Same with Meat Clowns. Same with anything about CHAOS. Same as always, Jenny.”

“Repetition.”

Game Girl taps her head with a wink. With her next words a star in the distance glows brightly before imploding into an empty hole in space, drawing pricks of light near.

“And like a collapsing star, you draw in these people around you like a black hole of anti-charisma and crush them under the immense weight of being not only a cruddy wrestler, but a boring and uninspiring, lifeless homunculus. Recycling the same lines since 2017 and plagiarizing yourself to the point it becomes parody.”

As the stars shoot into the expanding black hole in the far distance, the void grows larger and larger. Game Girl hops closer and closer to a range of colors and a familiar shape in the constellations.

“You are a stagnant cancer, Jenny. One that consumes but doesn't have the mercy to kill the host. It stays and infects before subsiding only to return and remind people of the pain and misery that is your existence. You're something I want to rid, a corruption that leeches from others but can't do a darn thing themselves, something that causes headaches and fatigue. I want to erase you for good.”

“I want you gone forever.”

Game Girl sees the form in the stars, a young man with a sword on his back throwing out a hand to her.

“But sadly, a cancer…”

She reaches out a hand for it.

“...Can always come back.”

Her hand hits the doorknob to Scoops’ house.

She freezes for a moment, jostling the wood under her arm and looking around at the farmland. The music behind the door comes to an end as she opens and a new one plays; Noah looks up with a smile from behind his laptop and Game Girl gives a hearty wave with her free hand before nudging the door close with her foot.

“Hey!” She says sweetly heading over to the fireplace and dropping the logs.

“Hey , Paige.” Noah responds, returning to his screen. The acoustic guitar plays from Noah’s laptop accompanied by the tapping of keys before he sniffs up with an eyebrow. “Can you smell shit?”

“Oh.” GG looks down at her ruined jeans, the brief thought of her going through space and talking to Jenny with horse poop on her knee crosses her mind. “That’s embarrassing.”

Noah snickers with a shake of his head, continuing his work as GG moves into the kitchen and hops on the counter, turning a tap on the sink and grabbing an already stained cloth. She begins scrubbing her pants with a wrinkled nose and upturned lip, all the while listening to the song playing in the back.

I’m gonna crack a rib when I get home.

I’m gonna bury you~ in my favorite hole.

“This song is sad.” Paige turns to Noah who looks up briefly.

I made a bloody mess

In the kitchen sink

“Yeah, I guess.” He responds. “I dunno, kinda endearing I think.”

I tried to fix myself~

But I didn’t think

“How?” Paige stops the flow of water and is just listening at this point.

“Well, he’s alive to sing it.” Noah says matter-of-factly.

They said, “We just want to talk with you.”

“We just want to walk you though~”

Game Girl bops her head slowly as the melody plays out. Noah looks at her squinting and chews his lip before lowering the screen of the laptop slightly and paying full attention to her.

“He lived through trauma, through bad times. But he’s on the other side now and he can share his story in a way that’s natural to him. It’s sad, yeah, but he-”

“He came back.” GG interrupts looking at the tiled floor beneath her.

Noah gives a side smile with a nod. “He came back.”

The song continues quietly. Game Girl throws her head up with a sniffle, blinking rapidly before brushing a finger under her eyelid. Noah watches her, fingers scratch the table once as he shuffles in his seat to move up but GG turns to him with a warm smile.

“It’s a nice song.” She says, a slight croak in her voice.

She puts her foot in the sink and continues scrubbing away at the muck on her jeans, removing the mess but leaving a smear. With a sigh she throws the cloth back in the sink and hops down, beginning to clean the cloth and then her hands with soap. Noah watches her, his hands drumming the table.

“Hey…” His voice breaks. “Is everything okay?”

“No.” Paige responds, softly and plainly. She turns her head to him with a sweet grin. “But it will be, eventually.”

Paige whips her hands dry and heads off to her room, humming the song under her breath as Noah watches her and gives a shake of his head opening the laptop back up.

“What are you working on by the way?” She shouts from the other room.

Noah lifts his head, his eyes focused on the screen. “Editing. Scoops has a big match at Snow Pain Snow Gain.”

A giggle is heard that drones off with a giddy sigh, “Love that name, so silly.”

“Yeah.” Noah responds with a laugh. “Good ol’ XWF… Hey, do you need me to work on your stuff? … Do… Do you actually need editing at all?”

Paige returns in an over-sized shirt and comfy pants, her hair mussed up. “Erm, nah, don’t think so anyway. Things just tend to happen.” She places the kettle on the stove, “You want some tea?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Noah looks back to the laptop and double takes. “What do you mean it just happens?”

GG shrugs, “I dunno what to tell you, dude. I do things and people see them… Kinda creepy if I think about it.” She looks up to the ceiling as the kettle begins to boil.

“Hm.” Noah nods his head to the side. “You nervous about your match at all?”

“Kinda, yeah.” She nods. “I mean, first it's pretty cathartic letting go of some anger on someone who really deserves it. But it’s been a long time since a title has been on the line for me, I know they’re important to people and if I win I want to be a good champion. Someone to look up to. Someone that is remembered for doing a good job.”

“You’d be great, Paige.”

“Thank you, Noah, that’s kind.” GG smiles going back to the whistling kettle lifting it off the stove.

She grabs two mugs and places them on the table, returning to the kettle and heading over.

“I want to say, with everything that’s happened… I’m glad I landed here with you and Scoops.”

Noah smiles widely, “We’re glad you came here too.”

With a twinkle in her eye, she pours the tea into the cup as we focus on the liquid hitting it.

A gauntleted hand grabs the cup.

And Game Boy feverishly brings it to his mouth.

He looks to Princess neatly packing her things in cases and ordering her guards to take them to the horses. Game Boy’s tired eyes flick between the ongoings before landing on Gretchin beside him who stirs the cauldron over the dying fire.

He leans in and whispers. “What do you know?”

Gretchin scoffs at the question, her eyes focused on the brew. “What ever could you mean, my dear?”

“You-...” Game Boy bites his tongue, looking around before lowering his tone, “You know Paige isn’t coming back.”

Gretchin turns her head slowly and methodically to meet Game Boy’s gaze.

“I never said that.”

“It doesn’t matter what you said.” He hisses. “You know! I don’t know how you know but you know!”

“Cycles are funny things.” She murmurs, going back to the cauldron. “They don’t care about guilt. Or fear. Or regret. They just… turn.”

The brew swirls with Gretchin’s movements.

“She said it herself, Game Boy, she’s lived countless lives seeing the same things over and over again, the same things, the same outcomes but… Different.”

The logs crackle under the dying red embers, Game Boy jumps at the noise before looking back to Gretchin her head turned to him.

Those tiny slits of yellow glaring at him.

“You did what you always do,” she whispers. “And she’ll do what she always does.”

GB’s pupils move side to side rapidly before he stands up with a gruff sigh. His fist clenched he storms off from the camp; Princess jolts as he walks away.

“The heck is up with him? Where’s he going?”

Gretchin gives the faintest of laughs.

A dry, old cackle.

“He’ll be back.” She responds, almost in a song. “He always comes back.”

The universe is no narrow thing and the order within it is not constrained by any latitude in its conception to repeat what exists in one part in any other part. Even in this world more things exist without our knowledge than with it and the order in creation which you see is that which you have put there, like a string in a maze, so that you shall not lose your way. For existence has its own order and that no man's mind can compass, that mind itself being but a fact among others

]]> "You are here, and it’s beautiful, and escaping isn’t always something bad."

Delilah (Firewatch 2016)

“More than Jenny at a key party.”

I’m gonna crack a rib when I get home.

I’m gonna bury you~ in my favorite hole.

“This song is sad.” Paige turns to Noah who looks up briefly.

I made a bloody mess

In the kitchen sink

“Yeah, I guess.” He responds. “I dunno, kinda endearing I think.”

I tried to fix myself~

But I didn’t think

“How?” Paige stops the flow of water and is just listening at this point.

“Well, he’s alive to sing it.” Noah says matter-of-factly.

They said, “We just want to talk with you.”

“We just want to walk you though~”

]]> <![CDATA[Words of One...]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49659 Wed, 21 Jan 2026 18:23:06 -0800 Reggie Estrada]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49659

Its been awhile since War Games, and I had some time to move outside of America with the whole ICE thing and what not, I moved to Tijuana to start a new life here. Although I have some relatives who are based there, I managed to find a small apartment and do some part time work in a supermarket on my spare time, I guess being a civilian is what came to me after War Games had past, and I decided to find other ways to pass my time. The Pay is shit, but its something to keep money in pocket to do bigger things. What things? I have no idea, but its something.

I also cut my teeth in the Lucha circuit as well, and not winning much belts or something to that in the grand scheme of things, you see people as I moved down to Mexico it gave me the space I need to change my life, because life in the states mostly in Florida was getting too much to deal with, my family went away, my spirit went away, hell almost the idea of the American dream had fleeted away quicker than a Charlie Nickels special off a shitty dive bar out west.

Now, the reason why I cut this shit is simple, I decided to take a chance to return into the ring for one chance, a chance of redemption, a chance of a new beginning; I know it sounds very same and cliché, but I mean this shit from the bottom of my heart. Being away from the XWF ring, had made me realize that there’s still fire that burns in me, even if I have to freeze to death to feel it.

You see people, I signed up to be in a “Icebox” Challenge, for the same title that JB had managed to be the first person on the Anarchy scene to make it worth a damn. When I found out im taking on XXXVI for it, I was happy. I was happy to get that belt off someone who needs to be locked in an icebox and freeze away its own relevancy. Yes im taking a shot at that CULO XXXVI, who managed to make the belt less important that it once had.

I might not be wearing a red hat that says “Make Revolution Great Again!” And having ICE agents shooting a non threat person in broad daylight to make my points clear. Beyond that, this match is more than just a belt, it's a way to show the world that I have still got it. Even if the roster is loaded with top tier wrestlers, and tides shifting more than a walking advert for Elon Musk’s feud with chica Myst that none is to pleased to witness.

As I March into that cold ass tundra, and put my feet on the snowy and cold ground, I will dig up the snow until I see the waters itself and dump the ICE’d out champ underneath the water, and make him feel what global warming is like, maybe he’ll or it or whatever it’s pronouns are will feel that disappoint of those ice caps melting off like it’s reign with that belt. That person will feel how much heat that I left back in England, they will have to deal with what is to come from me; and nothing will stop me from doing what I need to do this coming PPV.

XXXVI, you might be the champion and think you are above it all, but to be you aren’t worth two pesos out of grande taco ese, donde estas no strongos de en la ringa. Yes, you might have the title, clout, prestige and whatever the world may have blessed you with. But what is all comes down to is this….

Do you have guts?….

Are you willing to sacrifice for something you love?….

Thats what I will beat you and place you into a icy coffin where you will lay there or in this case “freeze” where you will be at as you look above the cold skies and question all your life choices to be the one to sacrifice the one thing you love, which is the same belt that you carry with all your heart and might.

Aunque tenga que ser yo quien esté en el ataúd de hielo, mirando al cielo helado, sé que mi energía se desbordará en el PPV.

Prometo que, incluso si no gano el cinturón, he entregado mi alma a los fans para que vean quién todavía lleva ese espíritu de luchador dentro.

Todavía tengo esa pasión dentro de mí, cueste lo que cueste. ]]>

Its been awhile since War Games, and I had some time to move outside of America with the whole ICE thing and what not, I moved to Tijuana to start a new life here. Although I have some relatives who are based there, I managed to find a small apartment and do some part time work in a supermarket on my spare time, I guess being a civilian is what came to me after War Games had past, and I decided to find other ways to pass my time. The Pay is shit, but its something to keep money in pocket to do bigger things. What things? I have no idea, but its something.

I also cut my teeth in the Lucha circuit as well, and not winning much belts or something to that in the grand scheme of things, you see people as I moved down to Mexico it gave me the space I need to change my life, because life in the states mostly in Florida was getting too much to deal with, my family went away, my spirit went away, hell almost the idea of the American dream had fleeted away quicker than a Charlie Nickels special off a shitty dive bar out west.

Now, the reason why I cut this shit is simple, I decided to take a chance to return into the ring for one chance, a chance of redemption, a chance of a new beginning; I know it sounds very same and cliché, but I mean this shit from the bottom of my heart. Being away from the XWF ring, had made me realize that there’s still fire that burns in me, even if I have to freeze to death to feel it.

You see people, I signed up to be in a “Icebox” Challenge, for the same title that JB had managed to be the first person on the Anarchy scene to make it worth a damn. When I found out im taking on XXXVI for it, I was happy. I was happy to get that belt off someone who needs to be locked in an icebox and freeze away its own relevancy. Yes im taking a shot at that CULO XXXVI, who managed to make the belt less important that it once had.

I might not be wearing a red hat that says “Make Revolution Great Again!” And having ICE agents shooting a non threat person in broad daylight to make my points clear. Beyond that, this match is more than just a belt, it's a way to show the world that I have still got it. Even if the roster is loaded with top tier wrestlers, and tides shifting more than a walking advert for Elon Musk’s feud with chica Myst that none is to pleased to witness.

As I March into that cold ass tundra, and put my feet on the snowy and cold ground, I will dig up the snow until I see the waters itself and dump the ICE’d out champ underneath the water, and make him feel what global warming is like, maybe he’ll or it or whatever it’s pronouns are will feel that disappoint of those ice caps melting off like it’s reign with that belt. That person will feel how much heat that I left back in England, they will have to deal with what is to come from me; and nothing will stop me from doing what I need to do this coming PPV.

XXXVI, you might be the champion and think you are above it all, but to be you aren’t worth two pesos out of grande taco ese, donde estas no strongos de en la ringa. Yes, you might have the title, clout, prestige and whatever the world may have blessed you with. But what is all comes down to is this….

Do you have guts?….

Are you willing to sacrifice for something you love?….

Thats what I will beat you and place you into a icy coffin where you will lay there or in this case “freeze” where you will be at as you look above the cold skies and question all your life choices to be the one to sacrifice the one thing you love, which is the same belt that you carry with all your heart and might.

Aunque tenga que ser yo quien esté en el ataúd de hielo, mirando al cielo helado, sé que mi energía se desbordará en el PPV.

Prometo que, incluso si no gano el cinturón, he entregado mi alma a los fans para que vean quién todavía lleva ese espíritu de luchador dentro.

Todavía tengo esa pasión dentro de mí, cueste lo que cueste. ]]>