<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - MARCH MADNESS 2026 RP BOARD]]>

<![CDATA[X-treme Wrestling Federation - MARCH MADNESS 2026 RP BOARD]]> https://xwf1999.com/ Tue, 02 Jun 2026 19:48:25 +0000 MyBB <![CDATA[Ennui Clown in... "No Clowntry for Old Clowns"]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49950 Sat, 28 Mar 2026 07:53:13 -0700 Schadenfreude Clown]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49950 This story begins like so many others before it.

With a clown finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Clown City
Shorty’s Dive Bar
Past bedtime

As we enter Shorty’s Dive Bar, a clown in speedos performs a series of complex somersaults into the pool from the diving board and scores almost a perfect 10 across the judges, except for that one Clownadian judge who only gives 8s! What’s his deal anyway!?

But that’s a story for another time.

Right now we go to the bar, where we see a gymnast riding that thing like a rodeo bull… Wait, this isn’t a dive bar! This is the Olympics! This isn’t where this story takes place!

The camera and narrator make a quick 180 and leave the olympics, head out onto the street and go next door to Shorty’s Dive Bar but for real this time, you can tell it's a real dive bar as there’s a lifeguard ignoring everyone and working on his tan from the fluorescent lights.

Slumped at the bar is a series of clowns, not to be confused with a season of clowns, that’s different and usually has more episodes. One clown, frazzled in a suit, rests his elbow on the bar furious scribbling on some paper as his drink sits untouched beside him.

The bartender heads over, cleaning a glass with an endless length of rags tied together. “What ya working on, bozo?”

The clown in the suit looks up at him, “I’m Pending Lawyer Clown, and if I don’t pass this bar exam I’m screwed!” He looks back at the paper, “What bar usually serves their drinks in novelty glasses resembling Polynesian deities!?”

“That’d be a Tiki Bar, bub.” The bartender replies, handing over a drink in a coconut to a fellow patron, a sparkler sticking out fizzing fire everywhere.

“That’s it!” Pending Lawyer Clown lets out, scribbling the answer with much joy! “I’ve done it! I can’t wait to set murderers free!”

The clown hops, skips and jumps out of the bar as Bartender Clown chuckles to himself, “You did it again, Bartender Clown.” He murmurs to himself looking out longingly, “... You fell in love…”

“Hey…” A sad, pathetic and frankly disgusting voice meekly raises, “Could I get another drink please? … It’s fine if not…”

Bartender Clown sneers at Ennui Clown whose body is at the angle of the letter “L” but tipped over and leaning across the bar like this “⌐”. He slams the glass down and it shatters into pieces as Bartender Clown pulls out another and begins wiping it clean before heading over to Ennui Clown.

“Listen here ya bum! You’ve been sulking in this bar since I opened this morning! You’re depressing my customers!”

Bartender Clown grows a third arm out of his back as his other two arms are preoccupied and he signals to the other clowns who are too busy doing gags to be a part of his bit. Bartender Clown looks confused for a moment. “Oh wait, not that section, that’s the fun section.” He looks to his right to the Sad Alcoholic Section and points to a bunch of drunken sad hobo clowns.

Ennui Clown uses all his strength to move a single eyeball over to the section, “Isn’t it always that bad?”

One clown wearing a boot for a hat replies, “This used to be the family section *hiccup*” before he grabs Ennui’s eye and throws it back over in frustration.

“Papa!” The fully adult clown across from Wears-a-Boot-for-a-Hat Clown asks like a little British orphan, “Will we ever see Mummy again?”

A tomb opens beside them and a full-ass mummy lurches out, “I’M HERE SON, NOW SUFFER THE CURSE OF RA!”

A sandstorm brews and screams come from the section formerly known as the family section as scarabs begin to attack the patrons, Bartender Clown spits in the glass and looks back at Ennui Clown.

“Now gone and look what ya did!” He says angrily.

“... My bad…” Ennui Clown says, depressingly putting his eyeball back into its socket.

“Look at ya! You’re soaked!” Bartender Clown says before a whistle is heard and Lifeguard Clown throws a rubber ring around Ennui Clown. “You’re a loser, Ennui! All ya do is bring misery wit ya!”

Ennui Clown holds up his VHS copy of Misery starring James Caan and Kathy Bates, “It’s a good movie… I guess…”

“Get outta my damn bar!” Bartender Clown barks as a large shepherd's crook comes in from the side and yanks Ennui Clown out onto the Clown City streets in a tasteful scene transition.

Ennui Clown lands on his butt with a sigh before slowly slumping down like he has no bones in his pathetic little body.

A crash sounds out from the alley beside Shorty’s and Ennui’s ears perk up, literally, they both hold tiny cups of coffee and throw them down his ear canals. Ennui, with more vigor and curiosity than Curiosity Clown begins to move down the street like a hungry caterpillar looking for a big leaf until he reaches the alley. Footsteps echo between the buildings, each followed by loud honks that drift into the night sky, Ennui Clown sighs as he looks at the sorry state before him.

“Who put this mirror here?” He says looking back at his reflection before turning his head slightly to look at the murder scene before his eyes.

A baker’s dozen of clown corpses litter the alley, as well as a crashed clown car, its blinkers lighting up the area in a rhythm. Ennui Clown inflates himself like a wacky waving inflatable arm tube man and gets to his feet, his shoes honking quietly as he inspects the area with a frown.

“Poor guys…” He says to himself, reaching the clown car and peeking at a large bag in the passenger’s seat. “... I always thought they shouldn’t have named this Crime Scene Alley… Just spells trouble.”

“It actually spells Crime Scene Alley.” A voice comes from behind him and two police officers stand at the entrance menacingly holding batons and smacking them into their palms.

One of them, Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown spits on the ground, “Well, well, well, look’a what we ‘av ‘ere!” He says, Irishly! “A lone babby takin’ a wee stroll down a murda scene, looks mighty suspicious, wouldn’t ya say' Can’t-Tell-When-Clowns-Are-Being-Literal Clown?”

“More than suspicious.” He speaks as the two encroach on Ennui, “It looks like he murdered 13 clowns and decided to just hang around, classic murderer tactics.”

“Erm… I didn’t do this,” Ennui Clown gestures around him, “I just wanted to see what happened…”

“Oh!” Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown lets out, jovially, “Well if that’s the case, we’d best be on our merry way then!”

Can’t-Tell-When-Clowns-Are-Being-Literal Clown does a 180 and leaves, Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown double takes before sighing.

“I really need to watch what I say.” He pays close attention to each speech bubble leaving his mouth until shock crosses his face, “Oh my Clown God! I’m Irish!?”

“Did somebody say thirteen?” A voice comes from behind Ennui Clown.

“A few sentences ago, yeah!” Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown says as he spots Triskaidekaphobia Clown coming up behind Ennui Clown , “I oughta knew you two wee ner’do’wells t’would be up to some business ‘t’or another! Gonna have to shut ya both up fer good!”

SCI Clown smirks as Triskaidekaphobia Clown tuts, “It’s clowns like you that give the Clown City Police Department a bad name.”

“Hey… Can I just go?” Ennui asks as he slumps down on the Clown Car hood.

“Yeah! TO HELL!” Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown pulls out a Tommy Shillelagh and opens fire on the pair, bullets ricochet across the alley as Triskaidekaphobia Clown ducks into cover and Ennui… Just kinda lays there. Triskaidekaphobia Clown pulls out a revolver and fires back, SCI Clown pulling up himself by the crotch of his pants to dodge bullets going under him.

“Damn, he’s good.” Triskaidekaphobia Clown remarks as he loads another 6 shots into his revolver, “Ennui! Do… Something!”

Ennui Clown sighs and stands up reluctantly and heads into cover with his partner as bullets spray all around him leaving an Ennui-shaped outline in the wall behind him that follows his movement like a flipbook. A sad flipbook. Triskaidekaphobia Clown empties his chamber as SCI Clown runs out of magical bullets.

“I know yer out, Trisk! You shot 12 times and if you load one more bullet that’ll make it thirteen! And we all know how ya feel about that!” Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown mocks as he pulls out a box of Lucky Charms and empties the context over his Shillelagh to reload it with a rainbow of crunchy goodness and soft marshmallows.

“He’s right, Ennui. We’re fucked.” Triskaidekaphobia Clown sighs.

“Oh you’re more than fucked, laddies! You walked in on the worst case of yer lives! Full of deceit and corruption! An unsolvable murder mystery spanning tree promos! Ya, should’a stayed home, Ennui Clown!”

“I wanted to… But I started this thing in a bar for some reason.” Ennui sighs, “Hey, Trisk… Why don’t you put 2 bullets in your gun at the same time? That way you’ll skip thirteen.”

“Gah!” Triskaidekaphobia Clown winces, “Stop saying that word, ya mook! Wait! I just had a brilliant idea!”

Triskaidekaphobia Clown grabs two bullets and loads his gun and pulls the trigger, the bullets fire in a row, ass to mouth as it were, and when Stereotypical Corrupt Irish Officer Clown dodges one, he gets hit by the second!

“Oh faith and begorrah!” He exclaims extra Irishly as he falls to the ground throwing out red ribbons to symbolise a dramatic blood spray.

Triskaidekaphobia Clown stands up and looks at his firearm before throwing it down on the ground in a panic, he runs his palms down his face, wiping away the sweat and whipping his hands. Buckets of sweat splash against the alley walls and a whistle comes from the side as a rubber ring is hurled over Triskaidekaphobia Clown.

“I pulled the trigger thirteen times…” Triskaidekaphobia Clown remarks to Ennui who does not car, slumped face first into the floor. “C’mon Ennui, we’ve got a case to solve and we’re gonna need all the help we can get, isn’t that right, fellas?”

A spotlight shines down on the alleyway showing!

An alleyway!

It inches to the right with a creak showing!

Noir Clown and Southern Gentleman Detective Clown!

“Indeed!” SGD Clown gestates, “A regular ol’ baker’s dozen, minced into a menagerie of death and for h’what!? This will be a most curious case to crack.” He ponders smoking an exceedingly long cigar.

“Hmmm.” Noir Clown runs a finger across his chin looking down at the deceased, “This looks like a set-up. Like shooting clownfish in some kind of container that holds water, the only thing that ain’t holding water is the dame’s story who sent me here.”

“I’ve been itching for another mystery.” SGD Clown responds, taking a step back and visualises the scene, “The clown car must’ve entered the alley at speed, perhaps chasing down someone? And when it got so far the ten clowns inside were riddled with bullets.”

SGD Clown ponders this as he inspects the casings and follows them down the alley.

Noir Clown points intensely down the alley, looking more like Willem Dafoe Clown than Willem Dafoe in clown makeup, “So a few were waiting for them to enter and there was a firefight!!!” Noir Clown mimics getting hit by bullets as he visualises the scene intensely.

“But the question remains,” Triskaidekaphobia Clown adds, “Why did they come down this alleyway? Who was waiting for them? And how many licks does it take to get to the center of a tootsie pop?”

“Thirteen.” Both Noir Clown and Southern Gentleman Detective Clown reply in unison.

Triskaidekaphobia Clown throws up. “This job, fucking hate this fucking job… Fuck!”

“...Hey…” Ennui Clown says as he holds up a candle in a sleeping gown and nightcap, “... I’m gonna go…”

“H-what!?” SGD Clown exclaims, “Ennui like it or not you’re entwined in this web now! Corrupt police will knock on your door, if anyone recognizes you it’ll be… Knives Out!” Southern Gentleman Detective Clown jims the camera with a smirk.

“... That’s fine…”

“Listen, kid.” Noir Clown points a finger, “You walk away from this, it's gonna follow you the rest of your life. Like a lost puppy of traumatic recursions.”

Ennui shrugs, “Whatever…”

Triskaidekaphobia Clown sighs looking at the others, SGD Clown splutters his lips with his hands on his hips. “This guy is bumming me out!”

Ennui slowly and painfully scoots his feet out of the alley but before he leaves he turn to the others, “Oh… Someone ran off to the left at the end of the alley…”

“Did you see their face?” SGD Clown steps forward, intrigued.

“Yeah… White face, red nose, silly hair and had heavy makeup on.” Ennui replies.

“Hm.” All three of them think.

“Sounds like White-Face-Red-Nose-Silly-Hair-with-Heavy-Makeup Clown.” Noir responds.

“Nah,” SGD shakes his head, digging his hand in his pockets, “Her and Adultery Clown have been locked in ridiculous intercourse in that sleazy motel over there.”

He nods across the street to a set of bleachers with a huge audience of clowns watching the bonking through a lit window as Adultery Clown jackhammers the fuck out of WFRNSHWHM Clown. He wipes the sweat from his brow and lifts up his safety goggles as the jackhammer stops running, “Oh boy, I love cheating on my wife!”

The camera pans down to the jackhammer, “It’s a living!”

Back to the alley.

“Oh…” Ennui throws a thumb at the cop lying on the ground, “And that guy pretended to die… He’s fine… He probably knows everything.”

“An excellent deduction, Ennui.” SGD Clown strolls southerly over to the cop, “Wake Up, Dead Man!”

He jims the camera again, with an extra spice of jimming!

Ennui walks out of the alleyway, but Noir stops him.

“Ennui Clown, hold up!” Noir’s arm extends and he places the bag from the car into Ennui’s backpocket that fits snugly. “Ya forgot your bag!”

Noir pats Ennui’s back and kisses his forehead before going back to business.

And Ennui just leaves!

… This is his promo and he walks away! With vital evidence!

What a bunch of clowns!

“Say,” Triskaidekaphobia Clown turns to Noir, “You got the time?”

Noir lifts the cuff of his trench coat and looks at the cat wall clock attached to his wrist, “Er, 1am.”

“1am huh?” Triskaidekaphobia Clown places a cigarette in his mouth, “If it was 1pm that’d be 1300 in military time… Thirteen…” He lights the cig, “This fucking town…”

STARWIPE to Ennui’s sad little home.

“I wish I was a regular little home,” his house sighs.

“Quit complaining!” A firehouse across the street screams at it, “I’m literally in flames right now!”

As the fire roars, a firetruck enters the scene and the clowns exit screaming as the truck is on fire because it was a firetruck- You get it, it’s stupid.

Inside that shitty house, Ennui lays face down on shag carpeting, the bag beside him. Ennui looks up, his bones creaking like a haunted house as he gives a quizzical eye to the bag. He forces himself up and unzips the bag.

A golden glow emits from inside.

Ennui looks deeply into it, “... Huh.”

And zips it back up and lies back down.

…

We sit in the room for an extremely long time.

Listening to the clock tick as Ennui buries his face in the floor.

“... Sigh…”

Ennui Clown turns his face and lies on his cheek.

“It’s exhausting being so ennui all the time…”

“But someone’s gotta do it.”

“Everyone in Clown City has a role to play… Oversized Clown Shoes to fill…”

“I’m the clown that got this part…”

“And I do it well… I guess…”

“But look outside…”

Ennui throws his arm out and pats around the ground until he reaches the blind and pings it open showing a solid brick wall.

“Oh… Right…” He sighs again and his hand flops around until it hits another window and he opens the blind on that one showing the scarce street outside. His hand forms into a point.

“See that guy?”

That guy looks real depressed, wearing a basketball jersey as he sits at a bus stop watching the Clown-trotters absolutely devastate the Washington Generals.

“At arms, men!” One of the generals announces and pulls out a rifle equipped with a bayonet but one of the Clown-Trotters places the basketball on top of the bayonet and spins it around as Sweet Georgia Brown plays in the background.

Somewhere, a handsome and brilliant lawyer pulls down his newspaper and looks up while listening, “Hey, that one song I know!” A disclaimer comes on screen.

//This joke is for like 3 people. Sorry if you feel left out. Maybe try making more friends?//

Back at the bus stop, the lonely guy sighs.

“See… That’s Norm Grekin.”

“He was a professional basketball player with a total playtime of 1 minute in his entire NBA career.”

“He wasn’t born a clown.”

“He became one.”

“And that’s the saddest thing I could ever imagine…”

“And I’m in a match with that Rowan Vance guy…”

“He’s gonna suffer the same fate…”

Ennui does something he’s never done before.

And smiles.

He pushes himself up and is filled with a newfound energy.

“Maybe I don’t need to be so miserable all the time!”

“Maybe… Maybe I can be useful!”

“If the Clown-Trotters can dunk on Norm Grekin, I can dunk on anyone too!”

“I can actually be a productive member of society!”

“I can help crack this case!”

“I can return this bag!”

“And show everyone the secrets it holds and maybe make the universe a better place!”

“Right after I show Rowan Vance the true meaning of despair!”

Ennui Clown laughs, for the first time in forever.

“This is it! A new beginning! I can be something new!”

“Something good!”

“Someone help-”

“You missed the deadline.” Triskaidekaphobia Clown walks into the room and walks straight past Ennui who slumps at the news, “Also I’m taking this bag, this is evidence you idiot! Why would you take it?”

“But-I … Uh… I missed the deadline?” Ennui sighs as he slumps further down.

“Yeah!” Triskaidekaphobia Clown tsks, “If you weren’t so busy feeling sorry for yourself you could have helped catch a serial killer too and blow an underground cult wide open! We arrested the fucking mayor today, Ennui!”

“Oh… Could you… Er…”

“No, I never want to relive the dangerous and sexy adventures we all had today, and no one will ever see them!”

“Oh…”

Triskaidekaphobia Clown leaves the house, slamming the down behind him.

Ennui Clown falls to the ground, his body coiling into a sad, sad slump.

“Sigh… It’s a living!”

]]> This story begins like so many others before it.

With a clown finding themselves in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Clown City
Shorty’s Dive Bar
Past bedtime

//This joke is for like 3 people. Sorry if you feel left out. Maybe try making more friends?//

]]> <![CDATA[Scoops McGee in... "The Legend Will Never Die"]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49949 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 23:58:55 -0700 Scoops McGee]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49949 Above all else, live every day as if it is your last. Let your soul's burning desire etch your legend that will never die.

3988 words on Wordcounter.net | ZeroGPT scores: 14.6% | 0% | 18.2% | 0% | 3.6% | 0%]]> Above all else, live every day as if it is your last. Let your soul's burning desire etch your legend that will never die.

3988 words on Wordcounter.net | ZeroGPT scores: 14.6% | 0% | 18.2% | 0% | 3.6% | 0%]]> <![CDATA[The Final Cut: Blood Ties]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49948 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 23:53:55 -0700 Charlie Nickles]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49948 “This moniker was only ever a means to an end.

An end that is finally in sight.

With this moniker I built a weapon that has run roughshod over Anarchy. But more importantly, I carved a path to you, Sebastian. Do you think I merely wanted your attention? No.

I wanted it all.

Your tag titles, your pride, your lineage, and hmm…do you really have a plan to use that briefcase of yours?

I want everything you have, Sebastian:

I’d rip your face off and wear it for myself if I could.

Of course, you aren’t the only one on the other side of that ring. No, there’s also your stooge.

Isaiah, when was the last time you were really relevant? Was it January of last year? Before the downfall, when you went by a different name, you were Universal champion.

Something you share with your partner.

Sure, you guys joined forces and won the tag titles, but the division has long been pathetic. What began as two former Universal champions joining forces, quickly digressed into something that should be studied.

Months of you both putting your singles careers on the line not to defend the tag titles, but to argue over whose father loved them less. Months of you ducking challenge after challenge, just so you could stroke your own egos.

But each and every time you faced each other, it was the same result. You aren’t equals; Isaiah is Boy Wonder to Sebastian’s Batman. He beat you twice to keep the titles for himself and instead of choosing a new partner, he still let you sleep inside the batcave. How does it feel to know that you didn’t earn that spot? You literally lost your way into it. Now we’re supposed to believe that you’re actually friends? Don’t make me laugh.

I never much liked Corporations, despite growing up with one as a second home. But this is more than that. Call it a brotherhood or a family if you must, but mostly it was a group that needed direction.

That’s where I come in.

People think that Charlie Nickles can’t be trusted and they’re right. Just ask Solomon Kline or Holly Cambric…you remember her, right? She and some valet beat The Exiles for those titles once upon a time. But you can say one thing for sure about Charlie, he’s loyal to a fault when it comes to family.

So when dear, sweet Jennie pleaded with him to spare poor little Zay, he almost went along with it.

Almost.

I spent years on the sidelines, plotting a potential comeback. I wasn’t coming back as the kid who wanted it all. I came back as the man who knew how to get it- and I wasn’t going to let someone’s “baby sister” foil the plan.

Sebastian: our Director’s Cut match was just a preview. I was gauging how much you wanted this. I was testing you, trying to see if you could recognize your own shadow when it’s staring back at you.

A test you failed. If you want to be proud of beating me in our first meeting, that’s fine, but know that it was all part of my grand plan.

A plan that ends with your championship title around my waist-

And with your legacy completely erased!”

Directly Following Anarchy

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

The heart monitor affixed to Jennie Nickles chirps incessantly, the sound bouncing off the hard walls of her hospital room. She lay there lifeless: or at least, as close to lifeless as the living can get. Her breath is slow and unsteady, her eyes closed shut, and her face covered in freshly stitched scars.

“Why, God, why?! Why did you take away my baby sister!”

Jennie’s brother is clutching the sheets at her bedside, wetting them with wailing sobs. He trembles as he screams to the heavens, shaken and confused, as his sister rests comatose before him. The Nickleman pounds the table next to Jennie’s bed with a fury so righteous, it shakes the entire room!

“You should’ve taken me instead!”

Just then, there is a knock at the door. Charlie turns to see who it is-

But the Director steps through without bothering to wait for a response. Charlie wonders why his new tag-team partner seems to be popping up around him and his sister so often. Charlie wondered if the Director was merely coming to pay his respects…or did the masked man have a more sinister intent?

Charlie shook that treacherous thought from his mind as the Director spoke.

“Hey Charles…may I call you that?” says the Director, cautiously.

Charlie’s face was pale, and his eyes glazed. He turned back towards his sister as if he never even heard the Director’s question.

“My poor, baby sister…she’s barely breathing.”

The Nickleman throws himself on top of his sister’s body with a wailing sob as the Director watches the scene unfold from behind his mask…as the Director watches his puppet dance on the string, as if this was all part of his plan.

“Right. Well, I suppose I’ll just leave these on the table...” He sets a vase filled with three dozen roses down. He starts for the door and then stops just short- turning back towards Charlie like a viper closing in on its target.

“...Or, we could chat about the elephant in the room?”

Charlie slowly cocks his head towards the door, raising a curious brow at the Director’s words.

“Or are you too busy wallowing in grief to do what your sister would want? To get vengeance, the way The Scarlet Verdict would have wanted you to.”

“You don’t know what she would have wanted, you don’t know how pure in soul she was…”

“The purest, of course. She’d skin a man alive without hesitation if she knew he was a woman-beater. I admire her…dedication to the craft. Sadly, it seems some nefarious group sought to cut short your reunion. It’s a shame, really. What she could have done for our little brotherhood and you specifically. What kind of heartless bastard would do such a thing? I have a theory.”

Charlie shifts his entire body towards the Director, a hopeful yet nefarious look spreading across his face. Charlie was ready to fire a bullet at his sister’s attacker…he just needed a name. A name that, seemingly, the Director could provide.

“You know who did this?”

The pause is brief, but deliberate. Just long enough for hope to take root. The Director smirks from behind the safety of his mask.

“I thought that would pique your interest. I know you hand-picked me to join your group because you needed someone like me. Someone with resources, with cunning- someone with a plan.

Someone who knows that the simplest answer is usually the right one.”

The Director waves for Charlie to follow him through the door.

“Come, Charlie…walk with me. Let’s give Jennie some peace and quiet, for I fear you and I have much to discuss.”

The Nickleman takes one last, loving gaze at his sister- before walking through the curtain behind the Director…like a pitbull being pulled on an invisible leash. The pair walk out the hospital, towards the backseat of a chauffeured car.

“Where are we going?”

The Nickleman asks as a masked chauffeur opens the backseat door.

“Back to where it all began.”

The camera fades to black as Charlie and the Director duck into the car.

“The Director doesn’t believe me.

He tells me I’m being paranoid.

He says I’m making up connections in my mind, that just don’t make sense in reality.

But he doesn’t know what I know; he can’t see what I can see!

He says there’s no way Isaiah could pull off an attack this elaborate on his own: that he just doesn’t have it in him….but I know the truth.

I can smell it in the air.

Isaiah blames my sister for his downfall, and of course, why wouldn’t he?

She couldn’t carry him across the finish line at War Games, and like a butterfly effect, it set off a chain of events that led to Isaiah’s ultimate humiliation.

That led to the lowest point of his once storied career.

That led to his complete and total debasement, at the hands of his own tag-team partner no less!

And Isaiah, knowing that he could never challenge Seb’: had to find a new outlet for his rage.

An outlet, in the form of the Nickles girl, who couldn’t save him from his fate.

I was there when you were the Sole Survivor: when you ‘Captained’ a team to a War Games victory.

You don’t have to admit it on camera, but:

We both know I was the workhorse for our team. I was the one who rallied the troops, and carried them across the finish line.

The biggest achievements you’ve ever had in this company…

I was always there.

I was always the cause!

When you beat Sebastian and Bacchus to win the big one at Snow Holds Barred, I was there…

I was the cause!

If I hadn’t come down to the ring and gifted you a victory over Seb’ that night, you never would’ve gotten one.

You haven’t had one since.

Every peak in your career has someone else’s fingerprints on it.

So of course…

You drafted my baby sister to your next War Games team- because you knew you needed a Nickles to win!

But Jennie’s no NICKLEMAN…

Just like Isaiah’s no KING…

So when the bell rung at War Games-

Seb’ rang your bell, because Charlie wasn’t there to save you. Charlie wasn’t there to win the match for you!

And ever since that moment?

You’ve settled comfortably into your new role as Seb’s gimp-slave bitch!

Because Seb’ can win matches FOR YOU, just like ol’ Nickles used to do!

But recently?

Your tag-team daddy’s been winning more matches AGAINST you!

What a fall from grace. How sad, how fuckin’ pathetic. Where’s your pride? Where’s your confidence? Where’s your righteous self-indignation?!

You’ve just swallowed it all, gritting your teeth and forcing a smile as Sebastian does whatever the fuck he wants to your legacy.

I know you’re angry.

I know you’re PISSED.

I know you took it out on my baby sister!

A mistake you won’t even have the chance to regret.

A mistake you won’t even realize you’ve made until you’re staring up at me from HELL!

Because unlike Zay’, I never misdirect my anger!

My chairshots always find their target.

My bullets always have a name on them!

And at March Madness:

Isaiah’s crown is in my iron sights.

I’m going to rip away the last shred of legacy Zay’ has left: that tag-team title Seb’ so mercifully lets him wear!

That tag-team belt Zay’ keeps trying to tarnish, every time he lets his own partner drag him through the mud!

The Director can have Seb’s belt- for some reason or another, he seems to really want it.

But my bloodlust won’t be sated until Zay’s gold, his crown, and his hide are mine!

And if Sebastian tries to get in my way?

THEN HE CAN DIE, TOO!

The Scarlet Verdict demands vengeance…

And only I can be her harbinger!”

The Eve Before Madness

The midnight moon howls in the sky as two pairs of boots march along a familiar path. The camera follows the boots as they come upon a rosebed, glowing unnaturally in the darkness. The roses have been arranged meticulously into three rows, divided by color: red, white, and green.

While these colors might not mean much to the Director, they once meant everything to the Nickleman.

“Why did you bring me back here?”

“To fulfill your purpose.”

The camera zooms past the men and onto an XWF-branded briefcase resting peacefully in the rosebed, directly in front of a tombstone. It’s the briefcase that Peter Principal gifted Charlie Nickles when he first joined The Corporation: the briefcase that contains the universal title Sebastian Everett-Bryce introduced into the XWF. The universal title that Charlie retired in favor of ‘Big Gold’.

A pair of withered hands reach down into the darkness, unclasping the case. As the case opens, the belt inside sparkles.

“This championship belt…it was supposed to fulfill my promise to my late daughter, forevermore...”

The camera zooms out as we see Charlie and the Director standing atop the grave of Robyn Gonzalez. Charlie’s eyes are staring at his daughter’s tombstone, but the Director’s eyes are locked onto Sebastian’s belt.

“I don’t care what people say about you, Charles. You’re a good man- a family man, even. It’s a great sentiment…but you left that belt here for a purpose that you can only now begin to understand.”

Charlie turns towards the Director with a crazy look in his eye. It’s the look of a man who’s been sent over the edge, the look of desperate flailing- the look of a man willing to latch onto anything for hope.

“I had already found my purpose in life- it was caring for and protecting my innocent baby sister. And now…she’s gone. Gone just like Robyn.”

The Director struggles to hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry. Are we talking about the same Jennie Nickles? The one who cost you a chance at the Universal championship? The one who went to prison for murder is your sweet innocent baby sister? What happened to the other killer in the Nichols clan? Where is the legendary Nickleman?”

Charlie looks down at the grave of the daughter he slaughtered.

“The other killer? Funny. I promised Jennie I’d never go back to being that person…”

“You and I? We’re not much different. We would do anything for family. Even at our own expense. I gave up my wrestling career to take care of my father. I recently learned something else that changed everything for me. I know you love your sister. No one is doubting that, but Charlie God Damn Nickles won the Universal championship without his sister. Face it, since Jennie showed up in the XWF, you’ve been distracted. You let the Universal title and your wrestling career as a whole fall by the wayside.

You became a shell.

But shells can be reloaded and used.

Shells can be aimed at the right target and they can kill.

Are you hearing me?”

Charlie appears tantalized by the Director’s words, but he looks away with guilt in his eyes.

“You live your life behind the safety of a mask. You wouldn’t understand…”

The Director sighs. “Always about the mask. People are so caught up on this identity thing that they forget that sometimes people have good reasons to hide their faces. Some scars we wear proudly, but others…”

The Director unties the mask in the back and turns to reveal a scar in the shape of the word “VOID” engraved on his neck.

“And it’s not only the scars. When I left wrestling, I thought I was unique. I asked father repeatedly about the scar. Never got a clear answer and then there was the curious other thing. Perhaps it’s easier to show you.”

The Director lifts the mask, his back still turned toward Charlie. He slips it off and lets it drop to the ground. He turns toward Charlie, revealing his face at last.

It’s unmistakeable. The Director, unmasked, is the spitting image of Sebastian Everett-Bryce.

“You see, I was here before he even entered a ring. I had this dream and when I left, I just kept seeing my face on the TV. XWF, UGWC…it didn’t matter, he was everywhere and it made no fucking sense. Worse yet, my father was gone. So I did some digging. One Halloween, two boys were born to the Everett-Bryce family. The golden child, given the third of his name and me, the bastard they didn’t want. There were complications. I was breach and they thought I wouldn’t survive the night. My mother in perhaps post-partum psychosis, wanted nothing to do with a useless child and borrowed the doctor’s scalpel to do the deed. Then, she gave me away. Spent my whole life under a different name, no idea that I had been ripped from an entire other bloodline.”

The Nickleman’s jaw slacks as he takes a step back from the bombshell being dropped.

“Sebastian is….YOUR LONG-LOST BROTHER?! Just like, Jennie was my long-lost sister…”

“Bingo! Hi, nice to meet you. My name is Jordan Penn. Born first, by the way. Everything that belongs to my brother was mine by birthright. I should have been Sebastian Everett-Bryce III, but because they couldn’t be arsed to give me a fighting chance, I grew up alone, abused and lied to. That belt you gave your daughter? Technically it should belong to me.”

Charlie looks between the belt and Jordan Penn, clearly torn.

“But, I gave this belt to Robyn to fulfill my promise to her…that one day, I would make her a universal champion.”

“Shoe on the other foot, what would Jennie do in your position? If it was you lying in that bed and she knew that The Exiles put you there, would she cling to the promises of the past: or would she make a new alliance to get revenge?

You and I need to do to my brother what he did to your sister!

So give my brother’s belt to me, Charlie- and let us give no mercy to Jennie’s assailants.”

The Nickleman stood quietly for a minute, pondering Jordan’s words. After a short reflection, a savage grin spread across his lips. Then, Charlie handed the old universal championship over to Jordan Penn.

“You’re right…The Latina Submission Machina doesn’t need GOLD…when The Scarlet Verdict demands RED!”

With the belt over his shoulder, his mask still on the floor and Charlie Nickles following the plan, Jordan grins like he got away with murder.

“For too long my brother and his sidekick have had a stranglehold on those titles. Now, it’s time for us to put a stranglehold on their necks!”

Jordan and Charlie share a wolfish grin as they step away from the gravesite- and towards their date with destiny at March Madness.

Sebastian Everett-Bryce…

Jordan told me all about you.

And the more I think about it…

The more I think he’s right.

Zay’ could never be the Mastermind of this plot.

Of this vicious attack...

Zay’ is a consummate professional. He takes it on the chin from you all the time, and he always swallows his pride- among other things.

Because for him, this world isn’t about egos, it’s about getting others off, or over- or whatever.

But you, rich-boy?

You’ve never met a brother you wouldn’t betray-

Or a sister you wouldn’t send to the grave!

I’m booked across you for gold, and no less than 24 hours later-

My precious Jennie is in a coma?

I don’t believe in coincidences, and I damn sure don’t believe in accidents!

It looks to me like you’re trying to get down to some gang-bangin’, set-reppin’, suicidal nonsense!

But you never should’ve pulled my G card.

Taking out my baby sister doesn’t intimidate me, it doesn’t make me shiver in my boots, and it damn sure don’t rattle my mental!

It just means that your girl is next.

And trust me, lil’ rich boy- I’m CUMMING for her- and there ain’t a damn thing you can do to stop me!

I know where your bitch is gonna’ be on the 29th- and I’m getting my vengeance back in blood.

Betsy’s blood.

Or did you forget to ask that little slut just who the fuck I was?

In case you didn’t know, I’m the demon that chased your bitch out of this federation the first time!

I’m the demon who took everything Betsy had, while she screamed in front of thousands! I’m the one who took her blood, and freed it from her flesh- and I’m the one who took her gold, and freed it from her waist.

It wasn’t that other demon- he didn’t make her run away…she LOVED him!

But she never could bring herself to love me…and so, I ripped her entire career away.

Or maybe, you did ask Betsy who I was-

And she just lied to you.

But that’s what you get, for trying to turn a WHORE into a housewife!

Like the time that you asked Betsy if she was still fooling around with James Raven- and she played in your face.

We all saw the tapes from last Warfare, where Betsy’s heart ached and her pussy quaked for her ex-love…

But did she show you the tapes they filmed in secret, where his cock was slapping across her face?

IMPOSSIBLE TRAVEL, INDEED!

The way James Raven’s nuts brushed across the same lips you kiss, every night before bed.

But hey, who am I to judge?

Maybe you’re into that, Seb- you dirty fuckin’ dog! You one-round, one-pump chump!

I mean, you love humiliating your tag partner-

Maybe you like some other kinky shit, too!

…..

You never should’ve dragged my sister into this- because now SEB, you’ve made our match personal.

AND I DON’T HANDLE MY PERSONAL ISSUES VERY FUCKING WELL!

But I’ll handle you, rich-boy…you can be damn sure about that.

Because if you can’t beat Scoops McGee, you damn sure can’t beat me!

Scoops treats you like you treat Zay’: just pounding your ass, just EMBARASSING you in front of the entire XWF universe, everytime you share a ring!

But Scoops stops at embarrassment…

And The Nickleman doesn’t stop until dismemberment.

So in an X-treme rules match, SEB?

You’re nothing more than a VIRGIN PUSSY, just waiting to BLEED!

Men like SEB think family is blood…but me and Jordan know family is the chain that binds you.

The chain that reminds you, anything is worth it for vengeance…

ANYTHING!

Directly Before The Tag Match

Jordan Penn sits in the locker room, gazing at himself in the mirror, with Sebastian’s universal title laid out in front of him. He feels naked without his mask, yet free.

“March Madness is set to be a historic night. Jordan Penn finally returns home to the XWF without the need for a moniker. I get to be who I’ve always been. I have a fired up Charlie Nickles at my side, hell-bent on channeling and taking all his anger and frustration over Jennie’s attack out on my brother and his sidekick.”

Jordan grins as he leans forward, his teeth bared like fangs.

“I always have a plan. When XXXVI made his choice, I knew what I had to do. A Charlie Nickles held back by his blind devotion to his sister was no use to the former Corporation or himself. I did what I needed to do to forge a new, better weapon. One not concerned with silly things like morality or restraint.”

He runs his fingers across Sebastian’s old title while he stares into the mirror, eyes focused on the scar that sets the brothers apart.

“Want to see what it’s like when Charlie doesn’t hold back? When I don’t? I’ve waited years to come back to this place, but I couldn’t just walk in. How would I explain being a doppelganger to one of the most beloved figures in professional wrestling? It had to be this way and it has to end here. The Exiles won’t be facing Corporate puppet or the Director, they’re facing the combined force of Jordan Fucking Penn and his new weapon: Charlie God-Damned Nickles.”

As if on cue, someone knocks on the door. Then, Charlie walks into the locker room without waiting for an answer.

“5 minutes til’ showtime.”

Jordan Penn takes one last gaze into the mirror.

“Only one thing’s for sure: tonight is going to be a bloodbath.”

Without another word, Jordan grabs his brother’s old title and flings it over his shoulder.

Fade to black.

]]> “This moniker was only ever a means to an end.

An end that is finally in sight.

With this moniker I built a weapon that has run roughshod over Anarchy. But more importantly, I carved a path to you, Sebastian. Do you think I merely wanted your attention? No.

I wanted it all.

Your tag titles, your pride, your lineage, and hmm…do you really have a plan to use that briefcase of yours?

I want everything you have, Sebastian:

I’d rip your face off and wear it for myself if I could.

Of course, you aren’t the only one on the other side of that ring. No, there’s also your stooge.

Isaiah, when was the last time you were really relevant? Was it January of last year? Before the downfall, when you went by a different name, you were Universal champion.

Something you share with your partner.

Sure, you guys joined forces and won the tag titles, but the division has long been pathetic. What began as two former Universal champions joining forces, quickly digressed into something that should be studied.

Months of you both putting your singles careers on the line not to defend the tag titles, but to argue over whose father loved them less. Months of you ducking challenge after challenge, just so you could stroke your own egos.

But each and every time you faced each other, it was the same result. You aren’t equals; Isaiah is Boy Wonder to Sebastian’s Batman. He beat you twice to keep the titles for himself and instead of choosing a new partner, he still let you sleep inside the batcave. How does it feel to know that you didn’t earn that spot? You literally lost your way into it. Now we’re supposed to believe that you’re actually friends? Don’t make me laugh.

I never much liked Corporations, despite growing up with one as a second home. But this is more than that. Call it a brotherhood or a family if you must, but mostly it was a group that needed direction.

That’s where I come in.

People think that Charlie Nickles can’t be trusted and they’re right. Just ask Solomon Kline or Holly Cambric…you remember her, right? She and some valet beat The Exiles for those titles once upon a time. But you can say one thing for sure about Charlie, he’s loyal to a fault when it comes to family.

So when dear, sweet Jennie pleaded with him to spare poor little Zay, he almost went along with it.

Almost.

I spent years on the sidelines, plotting a potential comeback. I wasn’t coming back as the kid who wanted it all. I came back as the man who knew how to get it- and I wasn’t going to let someone’s “baby sister” foil the plan.

Sebastian: our Director’s Cut match was just a preview. I was gauging how much you wanted this. I was testing you, trying to see if you could recognize your own shadow when it’s staring back at you.

A test you failed. If you want to be proud of beating me in our first meeting, that’s fine, but know that it was all part of my grand plan.

A plan that ends with your championship title around my waist-

And with your legacy completely erased!”

Directly Following Anarchy

The Eve Before Madness

Directly Before The Tag Match

]]> <![CDATA[Revelation of the Method]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49947 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 23:50:20 -0700 Matthias Syn]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49947

“There is a door. I am the door. I am the door to the darkness. I am the door to the light. I am the door to the night.” - Aleister Crowley

Barcelona breathes differently than most cities. Not the buildings. The feeling. The air. Like something already happened here and nobody will talk about it anymore.

I stood in front of the Sagrada Familia, watching people stare up like they're expecting answers. Phones out. Heads tilted back. People waiting for something to speak to them. Something bigger. Something that will never come. Faithful lemmings.

Nobody looks down. Nobody ever looks down. But that's where the truth sits. In foundations. Not in ceilings.

And so it goes with wrestling too. You look at the lights. You stare at the entrances. You look at the champion holding gold in the center of the ring. But you don't look at what keeps him there. You don't look at who decides when his time is up.

That's the part that stays hidden. And right now, all of it points to Centurion.

25 years. Big moment. Big spotlight. Everything built for him. I already know how this goes. Ladder match first. Anarchy title on the line. Miss Furry standing across from him. No shortcuts. No protection. Every step up that ladder costs something.

You’ll feel it in your legs. You'll feel it in your back. In those hips that just don't feel like they did before. You’ll feel it in your grip. You’ll feel it when you fall.

Win or lose, it doesn't matter. Not to me. Either he's celebrating with another title over his head, trying to prove that he still belongs.

Or

He's laid out, staring at the lights, wondering when it all slipped.

And just outside of that moment of realization, it happens.

My music hits. No break. No reset. No time to breathe. I'm already there. Waiting. That's the part that he isn't thinking about. That he isn't considering. What comes after the moment.

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes to once again protect that TV Title like it actually means something permanent.

I walked inside with the crowd. The light spilled through the glass. Red. Gold. Blue. Beautiful. But that's the point, isn't it. Beauty's entire purpose is to hide what's underneath.

Everything here was planned. Carefully constructed. Same as a wrestling company. Same as a career. Nothing that lasts is random. My head started buzzing the second I stepped in. It's that same feeling I get before a match. Right before that bell rings. Everything tight. Everything clear.

Fifteen minutes. That's what they're giving him. Fifteen minutes to survive. That's all he needs. Or so he thinks.

I move through the aisles. Counting without even trying. 33 steps. Always the same. I sit down. Close my eyes. The hallway comes back. Same black walls. Same clean floor. And the door at the end. No handle. No hinges. Just waiting. Like it knows I'm coming. I open my eyes. Someone is sitting next to me.

Gray suit. Clean. Well kept but no presence. The kind of man you forget while you're still looking at him. The kind of man who it feels like shouldn't be here. Something about him feels wrong. Too calm. He doesn't look at me right away. Just sat there like he's been here longer than I have.

You took your time, he says.

That's because I don't rush the things that matter.

He nods like he expected that answer.

Good. He doesn't like that.

He. Not a name.

You know why I'm here.

I know why you think you're here.

That shifts the air around us. He pulled an envelope from his jacket pocket. The paper was heavy. There was a triangle pressed into the surface. Inside the triangle, a sun. I noticed the sun immediately. He holds onto it for a moment before handing it over.

You moved past the Black, he says. You started asking about the Grey.

I take the envelope.

No name?

He knows who you are.

I open it. Coordinates. A time. And one line.

I heard you were looking for me.

That hits. Like a brick. Because that's not an invite. That's control. That flips the whole thing. While I thought that I was chasing him, turns out, he’s been watching me.

You don't find him, the man says as he stands. He decides when you're worth being found.

Then he was gone. Just like that. I just sat there for a second. I had that feeling rush over me that I always get in the moments before a big match. Not nerves. Something else. Like this moment matters more than usual. Like it all connects to something bigger. That's what this feels like.

Night falls. Same building. Different entrance this time. No crowd though. No noise. Just a door. I push through. The room is small. Stone walls. A table and some candles. Another fucking ritual. I take a breath to take it in. The scent of matches hanging in the air. He's already there.

Gray robe. Check. Mask. Check. His eyes locked on me.

You took longer than expected.

I was told you were hard to find.

I am.

He gestures to a chair. His invitation. A power move to show who is actually in control. I'll play his game.

I sit. This is what I've waited for. What all of this was all about.

You've been following the pattern.

I've been surviving the pattern.

That's why you're here.

I look at him.

You're the one I've been looking for. The one running all of this.

He studies me before answering.

No.

Simple. No hesitation. Maybe he's telling the truth. The truth is a funny thing though. It hides in shades of black and grey.

I was wondering when you would notice. He said.

That's where the tone shifts. That's when I know he isn't lying. I could see it in his cold, blue eyes. There's something ancient about them.

But you have authority.

Yes.

And you're careful.

Silence.

You didn't say it was yours. A slight pause.

Very good.

I lean forward.

You guard it.

For someone who spends his time in a ring, you see things clearly.

That's because if you miss something in there, anything, you lose.

In here, he says, people lose before they even understand why.

That sits with me. Hangs heavy.

So you're not at the top?

No. But you're close. Closer than most.

I nod. So what are you then?

He looks straight at me now.

Most people have no idea who I am. They don't even know that a Grey Pope exists.

I don't look away.

Yeah. I know.

And because you know who I am, what does that tell you?

That you're not at the top.

That's right. Real power is what you're looking for. It's what you've always been looking for. And you know that the ones with real power, you don't know their names unless they want you to.

He's right.

Silence. That's all that remained.

He slides a piece of paper across the table.

You asked who built it.

I look down. Coordinates.

So this is much bigger than you?

Yes.

But you maintain it.

I keep the doors closed. And the wrong people out.

I tap the paper.

And this?

The next door.

Where?

Astana.

I unfold the paper.

“Palace of Peace and Reconciliation”

I look back up.

So that's where this goes?

No. He says. That's where it begins.

I don't move right away. Something clicks.

You said you keep doors closed.

Yes.

For who?

For those who haven't earned it.

I smile a little.

That's what this is?

He doesn't answer right away.

A staircase.

Then silence.

I can't help but stare at the paper again, thinking about doors. What it takes to get through them.

Every match. Every opponent. Every loss. Every win.

Oz. A pause. Scoops. Another. I think about that one for a second.

I lost to Scoops. Everyone saw it. Old. Slower. Beat up. Still beat me. Still better when it mattered. Still sharper in the moments that decide everything.

Do you think that broke me?

No.

That loss won't break me. That match sharpened me. That match showed me where the gaps were. That match showed me where I was weak. That match showed me what experience looks like when it's real.

Centurion isn't that. He's closer to Oz than he is to Scoops. Closer to the illusion than the truth.

And now he stands before me like he's the final step. He's not. He is just the next one.

You're not picking them, I say.

No.

But you're stopping them.

No.

I take a breath.

Because this is the test.

Everything is a test.

I nod.

Yeah. I figured.

I look down at the paper again. Then back at him.

So what happens if I fail?

Then you were never meant to reach the top.

I stand up. That's it. That's the answer. Centurion isn't the answer. He's the door.

Before I turn, I stop. I had to know.

The blackouts -

He watches me. Waiting.

They started before all of this. I lose time. I wake up in places I've never seen. I always thought that I was losing control.

He shakes his head.

You were never losing control, Matthias.

Then what? Why does it happen?

Because you were being moved.

That hits different.

Moved where?

Exactly where you need to be.

That wasn't me.

But it was. He says.

I stare at him.

That version of you doesn't hesitate. Doesn't question. It follows the pattern without doubt.

So I've been guided this whole time. Since I was a child?

Yes.

By who? Just fucking tell me, I think to myself.

The same ones waiting for you in Astana.

Silence again.

They don't speak to you directly. At least not yet. So they use what you are. They remove the parts that slow you down. The hesitation. The doubt. The second guessing. They built you for this.

So every blackout - he cuts me off

Was another step forward.

I nod slowly.

You weren't lost, he says. You were right on schedule.

There it is again. Scheduled.

I walk out. The hallway feels shorter now. Like I've already done all of this. I step outside. Everything looks normal. People walking. Talking. No one sees it. They never do.

I look east. Toward Astana. Toward the next door. Toward the next level. 33 hundred miles. I've already counted.

But before that. Centurion.

He climbs the ladder. He takes the damage. He either celebrates or he breaks. And then I'm there. No illusion of control.

15 minutes for the rest of his life.

That's all he gets. He thinks the clock protects him like it's done before. It doesn't. It never did. Because every second that passes is one less that he can hold onto. I don't need time. All I need are cracks. And Cent is full of them.

25 years of pressure does that. Creates fault lines. Invisible until the moment they break.

Because he's not the destination. He's the test. And I don't stop at tests. I pass them.

“As above, so below; as below, so above.” - Hermes Trismegistus

You sound tired, Andy. You don't sound dangerous. At least not anymore.

25 years and still not the guy. 25 years and still explaining to everyone why that's okay. 25 years of grinding just to end up being the answer to a trivia question nobody ever asks.

You're respected, Andy. No one can deny that. I won't deny that. But you're only respected because you've been around. Not because anyone ever feared you.

Almost three decades in this industry and you have never held the Universal Championship. Not once. Not even by accident. That's not bad luck. That's ceiling.

Do you understand how loud that is? Do you understand what that says about you? That's not backstage politics. That's not bad timing. That's not the front office holding you down. That's the company that you bled for looking at you for almost three decades and deciding, yeah, not him. Not Andy.

And yet you stayed. That's the part that I love.

You stayed and you just took it.

Year after year after year of being almost good enough. And you never snapped. You never demanded more. In fact, you became the coward that you truly are and told the world that you'd never try to reach the summit of this industry again. Swore off ever fighting for the Universal Championship. Not because you didn't want it. No, you swore it off because you didn't want the answer.

You thought, as long as you can't challenge for it, you'll never have to discover the truth. Because the truth is cold and painful and brutal. And the truth is, Andy, you were never meant to be the man. So you came up with a built in excuse. You're sharp, I can give you that. They won't see through it. That's what you kept telling yourself. But I do. Because if you never take the shot, you never have to find out that you were never good enough to win it. Isn't that right, Andy?

That's why you never demanded more. You just adjusted. Lowered the bar and then pretended you cleared it. It's obvious. It's laughable. That's not resilience. No matter how hard you try to believe that it is. That's surrender.

So you turned yourself into something safe. Something easy to book. Something nobody had to worry about. You became a utility player in your own career. The man who chose his own comfort over high risk. The man who decided somewhere around year five that good enough was good enough.

And now you walk around pretending that we should all respect you. Demanding respect even. Like somehow that still makes you dangerous. Like that fucking means anything to me. It doesn't. What it means is that you got comfortable being second rate. You got comfortable being a B+ player. That's your secret. You didn't survive because you were great. You survived because nobody cared to kill you.

Well I do.

You don't win the big one. You orbit it. Always good enough to keep on the roster but never good enough to build around. You were the guy that they trusted to lose clean. You don't have the most wins in this company's history because you were the best. You have the most wins in this company's history because you never fucking left.

You were the guy they trusted to make someone else look like the future. Well, Andy, the future is fucking here and it will be standing across from you when my music hits.

Truth is, you lasted, Andy. That's your legacy. Durability. Not dominance. Never dominance. You didn't lead. And now you don't even get to last anymore. Not after March Madness. Not after Me.

You'll stand there and speak in that calm, measured, this matters more than it does voice. Like every sentence needs to be carved into something. Like if you slow it down enough, people won't realize that there's nothing behind it. You'll end your promo the same way that you always do. Something something, boring boring, meet your Final Fantasy. Two and half decades later and you're still screaming that same line.

I guess when you never become the Main Event, you have plenty of time to rehearse the catch phrase.

So you rehearse. And you polish. And you hope that it sounds right. I don't. That's the difference. I just start talking and people like you run out of things to say.

Do you know why they're giving me a shot at the Television Title, Andy? At your Television Title? Because every time that I open my mouth, people stop changing the channel.

You've become comfortable being the step before the top. Comfortable knowing that no matter how hard you worked, you were never going to be the one.

You can feel that, can't you? That shift. That seismic shift. That feeling deep inside your bones. That moment where it stops being about Andy and starts being about Syn. Tell me that you feel it. I know that you do.

And the worst part is that you know it's true. While you're out there trying to prove something. Anything. To yourself, to the company, to anyone who will just stop and listen, I'm just doing it. Without thinking. Without effort. Without the desperate need for anyone to believe in me first. I can smell the desperation, Andy. You think you wear it so well.

Let's talk about the part that you're trying not to picture. You've got a ladder match right before you step into the ring with me.

Miss Furry doesn't care about 25 years. That ladder doesn't care about 25 years, Andy. It doesn't care about how long you've been here. It has no respect for you or her or anyone else. Just impact. Just gravity. Just your body reminding you exactly what it is now. Broken.

You're gonna feel it. In your knees when you climb. In your back when you fall. In your hands when you try to hold on and realize that you don't have the same grip anymore. And you're still gonna do it. Because that's what you do. I'll give you that. You survive. You push through. You pretend the pain still means something.

It doesn't.

You win? Well then congratulations. Andy two belts. After 25 years this is what you have to become just to feel relevant. But what if you lose? Then there's no speech to save you. No lesson. No meaning behind any of it. Just you, Andy. And the terrifying realization that this is all that's left. And either way, you walk into me used up. I don't need you at your best. Because your best, Andy, was never good enough anyway.

Because I don't beat you. I expose you. I take everything you spent 25 years building and I strip it down to the part you've been hiding from. The part that knows why you were never chosen. The part that knows why you never held the Universal Championship. The part that knows you were always just next.

Your legacy is what, Andy? Being reliable instead of being great. A man who stayed so long that he forgot he was never the destination. That you were nothing more than the step before it. The guy, someone like me, passed on the way to something better. And now you have nowhere left to go. No more special shows that bear your name, so that the company can bleed out one more profitable night of Andy. It's done. It's over.

And these brainless puppets in the crowd that wear your merch and quote that juvenile catch phrase of yours, will clap for you. No matter what happens. They always do. Trained monkeys.

When it's over, they'll still call you a legend. A cornerstone of the XWF. But we both know what that really means. It means you were never dangerous enough to scare them.

They don't love you, Andy. They trust you. Trust you to show up. To shut up and to do your job. To not ruin their night.

I ruin it. That's what the fuck I do. I take their comfort and I break it over your body. Because you're not a legend to me. You're what happens when someone stays too long and nobody has the heart to tell them it's over.

Fifteen minutes, Andy. You think that's protection. You think that's safety. It's not. It’s a countdown. Because I don't need 15. I don't need 10. I don't even need 5. I just need you to step into the ring with me. Already tired. Already cracked. Already carrying everything you don't want exposed.

When that bell rings there's nowhere for you to go. No more controlling the situation. No more composure. No version of Centurion that can survive what I am. This is what happens when something overrated, overstays and finally runs into the truth. The truth that you've spent your entire career denying.

You didn't fall short of greatness, Andy. Greatness just never even considered you. I'm just the part where the illusion finally fades.

STATIC

]]>

“There is a door. I am the door. I am the door to the darkness. I am the door to the light. I am the door to the night.” - Aleister Crowley

I heard you were looking for me.

“As above, so below; as below, so above.” - Hermes Trismegistus

STATIC

]]> <![CDATA[Come Back | Second Death]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49946 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 23:44:55 -0700 Game Girl]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49946
“You actually came back.”

The words fall from his mouth, a whisper that is carried through the ash and wind until it bombards Game Girl’s skull. Rattles her physically with the slightest hint of curiosity behind fanged teeth.

He looks at her through a cold glare. His eyes wide. Too wide, not in surprise, not shock. But in an eerie, unhinged way. Like they couldn’t close if he tried. His pupils slide over to Gretchin, the sword over his shoulder sings as it is drawn down his pauldron and meets his side.

His eyes go back to Game Girl. She stood still, her feet dug into the earth. The rain and ash mixed across her face, drenching her in black and muting her color.

Game Boy exhales deeply. “You’re too late, Paige… I killed Mordekaiser, I took from him the power you stole from me and now I’m the hero Narfinex needed.”

“Where’s Princess and Pepe!?” GG shouts, sweat dripping down her face.

Game Boy takes one step forward. A cloud of dust bursts from his footfalls, small shockwaves ebb from his steel boots.

“They’re dead.” He states, plainly and simply.

GG’s eyes widen, a gasp leaves her as her heart tenses. Gretchin beside her falls to her knees, a quiet “no” exiting her mouth.

“Y-you killed them?” Game Girl questions, the sadness turning to anger as she leans forward.

“They killed themselves, Paige.” He squints at her, a sneer crossing his face as the words hit her. “Just as you have.”

There’s a moment.

A quiet, distant moment when she looks at him.

Her breath shudders as her nails curl into her palms and she looks at him.

He looks the same as he always did, the same but… Different. Her friend, her comrade, her enemy... The enemy. Behind the mask of madness, of this corruption around him, he was still Game Boy and Paige knew that.

A small, fragile moment of hesitation crosses her mind as Gretchin looks up to her.

“Game Girl…” A meek whisper comes from her, looking up with those sad yellow eyes. “Don’t do it.”

Game Girl closes her eyes tightly as her shoulders heave with each large breath.

Before they shoot open and she lets out a roar, dashing over the arid ground. Before she can get halfway Game Boy is there. Moving faster than her eyes can register, his dark blade inches from her face but she manages to throw her body to the side and dodges the edge.

Her body rolls onto the ground and she skids up to a knee looking at him, his eyes almost bulging from his skull as he looks down at her.

“Do we have to do this?” He says towering over her, “We both know how this is going to end.”

Game Girl collects herself and looks up and down at the awful greatsword in his gauntlet. She reaches out a hand to the side and concentrates. Game Boy looks at her quizzically for a moment and follows her arm down past the barren wasteland.

A cloud of dust trails behind something flying through the air, whistling as it gets closer and closer until Paige’s Warhammer, worn and plain, reaches her hand-zZZzzTtt The air around her turns to static as the sound warps into pure noise.

No.

Until Paige’s Warhammer reaches her but Game Boy throws out a single hand and stops it before GG can wrap her hands around it. Game Boy breathes a laugh and begins crushing the head of the hammer in his grasp, GG’s eyes widen for a moment before she ducks in low and throws her robotic fist into GB’s j-zzzZZTT-

NO!

-jaw but he barely dodges it, her fist grazing the air and Game Boy kicks her back with terrific force! Spit flies from her mouth as she tumbles back over herself and lands on her heels digging into the dirt.

Game Boy breaks apart the Warhammer with a smirk, the debris of steel and wood crumbles to the ground at his plated boots, he lowers his stance and faces the greatsword toward her. Game Girl spits on the ground, her brow furrows as determination grows and she puts up her fists in defiance.

“Just give up, Paige.” He sighs, almost bored. “You can make this easy for yourself. No matter what you’re either going to lose or run away again… You can’t win this-”

“Will you shut up?” Game Girl lets out, Game Boy’s brows fall as he glares at her, “You weren’t able to kill me at the waterfall, you couldn’t save Narfinex. You think now that you’re the big bad you have a chance!?”

There’s a moment as the wind whips the two.

“I’m not the bad guy, Paige.” He sneers.

Game Girl laughs at him, “Have you heard yourself? Look at you!” A shaky smile sets on her face, her lip quivering which she bites down. “You’re pathetic, Guy, another story of die a hero or live long enough to see yourself become the villain.”

GB hands writhe below the hilt of his sword as GG shakes her head.

“You’re a hypocrite and a cliche. You couldn’t take back your powers from me so you stole someone else's. This whole scheme of killing Mordekaiser and taking his place seems unoriginal and too stupid even for you. What’s your next plan? Build a death star and stop the hobbits from reaching Mordor?”

Game Boy scoffs, “You’ve been spending too much time on Earth.”

Game Boy rushes in with great speed, his sword slicing the ground under him as he begins to pull it up and slashes horizontally. Game Girl dodges back in the nick of time and plants her feet firmly, a blue aura shines from her as she rushes in, energy leaving her feet as she slides across the ground and goes for an uppercut into GB’s jaw but Game Boy steps back and twists his sword around, thrusting toward Paige’s midsection.

GG holds her breath as the sword goes through her afterimage and she teleports behind Game Boy and throws a palm into his spine-zzzZZZZTRTT!!

Throws a palm towards his back but GB deftly flips his sword behind himself, the blade cuts into GG’s skin briefly and she reels back with a hiss of pain as blood trickles into the air.

Game Boy spins around and swings the sword against GG’s head but she manages to duck low but Game Boy telegraphs her movements, his leg kicking out and belting Game Girl in the face!

Paige is sent barreling over herself, bouncing along the ground but manages to dig her hand into the soil as she roars, her nails digging into the dirt and a pillar of energy blasts from underneath Game Boy’s feet, who manages to side-step it and quickly vanishes from sight for a moment.

Paige gasps, her pupils search her surroundings frantically but she is flung into the air as a fist digs into her stomach and lifts her off her feet. Spit flies from her mouth as she is sent upward and Game Boy throws his sword down, the pommel hitting her spine and a wretched crack comes from her back followed by an ear-piercing scream of agony.

As she is pushed down to the earth Game Boy reels back a leg and boots Game Girl in the ribs. She crumples to the ground, shaking in intense pain, the scream from her mouth doesn’t come as all the wind in her lungs is forced out from the impact.

Game Boy stands over her, looking down with a slight turn of his head, “Are we done?”

GG shakily raises her robotic arm as she grits her teeth. He laughs at her.

“What? You want a fist bump? Is this a way of saying good game? Hahahaha!!!”

As he laughs, the fist of her arm shoots off, expelling fires and smoke, like a rocket flies through the air towards him.

And when he simply shifts his head out of the way, the fist spiralling into the sky.

Game Girl’s body drops, a weak sigh leaving her.

He turns back looking at her, “Cute trick.” He leans down and grabs her robotic arm, inspecting it. “You know, I never asked why you have this? Courtesy of another me from another time?”

Game Girl doesn’t reply, simply staring a hole through him.

Her pupils burning like coal.

He looks at her for a moment, a slight smile on his face as he twists the arm and GG winces in pain, sucking air through her teeth.

He places the edge of the sword against her throat, “I want you to know, Paige.” He looks at her, deeply. “I do care about you. I have a love for you, you could never know.” He pulls her arm closer to him, the blade digging into her throat further as a slight line of crimson forms. “You were something so unique, so special. You weren’t supposed to be in this world. You were a placeholder for something else, a vessel for my power maybe. You shouldn’t exist and yet you had the willpower to persist.”

She looks at him with a frown, disgust and hate in her eyes as a single tear rolls down her cheek.

He gives a soft smile looking her up and down, “I found you… Admirable.” The smile turns to a sneer with a shaky breath, “But you were always too soft… You had this power to save the world, to help us all! And instead you acted like a child.”

“You’re fucking pathetic, Paige.”

GG’s eyes grow wide for just a brief second as Game Boy pushes in with the sword.

And everything moves slowly.

Like the pair were stuck deep under water.

As the pain grows.

The blade inches in deeper.

Her throat about to be clogged with blood.

She closes her eyes tightly.

And the sword runs through.

Cutting through the air as Game Girl teleports out.

And the edge hits the dirt.

Game Boy kneels up, he looks around his surroundings briefly.

But nothing.

Just the ash around him, the mountain and the dispersing clouds letting through a burning sun.

“Typical.” He grunts, “She ran away, again…”

…

…

…

A gasp.

As Game Girl sits up clutching at her throat, breathing heavily. Her chest heaving.

Her eyes dart around at the black space around her.

That familiar void, the stars dull ebbing in and out of the vacuumous darkness.

She tries to speak but chokes on the words and a ragged breath leaves her as she hyperventilates.

She exhales heavily wafting air into her face with her one hand.

A light hits her face.

Not a star or the nebulas she once saw.

But a deep green.

She looks up to see odd symbols in the space.

Cryptic runes appear as though they’re being typed out one at a time.

She squints, trying to register the alien language.

“What… What is this?” Her words echo into the void, falling sweetly and delicately.

The runes stop.

Pausing as if registering her.

Hearing her.

They slowly vanish one by one.

And the words come in one by one.

H E L L O ?

Game Girl gaps, pushing herself up in shock.

“H-Hi?” She stutters, her mouth agape, “I-I’m Paige…”

There’s nothing for a moment.

The words fade again and before coming back anew.

H I - P A I G E. . . I M. . .

They stop.

Hesitating.

Paige stands with a groan clutching her ribs.

W H Y - A R E - Y O U - H E R E ?

Her eyes follow the question through the space, she clears her throat. “I-I… I um… I was in a fight and I tried to escape back to my home but I came here instead…”

Paige awaits a response, but it feels like it never comes. She raises an eyebrow.

“Did you save me? Are you my… My creator? A guardian angel?”

Another moment passes.

N O .

“Oh… Yeah, stupid of me to think so.” GG looks down at her boots, her ruined clothes and her missing hand, inspecting the wrist where Game Boy gripped it. The indents of fingertips pushed into the metal.

Y O U - N E E D - H E L P ?

“Ha.” She forces a laugh, “Yeah… I guess I do…” She looks down at the ground again before sucking in air and cracking her neck, “This… Monster I was fighting… He’s evil… And I felt like he could read all my moves, no matter what I tried he was one step ahead of me. He’s going to destroy my world. He’s going to kill everything and swear it was for a just cause. I need to stop him but…”

GG chokes for a moment with a slight sniffle upwards.

“I don’t think I can win…” Another tear falls from her eye as she quickly wipes it away. “I always thought I was strong enough on my own, but I realised I needed people to help me be better. Scoops, Noah, Dolly… On my own… I can’t do anything…”

She rubs her eyes dry, forcing the tears back as the drops fall off her face and warble into the void away from her.

The words return with a soft glow.

I M - S O R R Y . . .

Paige doesn’t respond. A tremble of smile pushes the corner of her mouth but quickly disappears.

I - W I L L - H E L P

Game Girl gasps, her pupils looking over the words over and over.

“What? H-how!?”

I - W I L L - F I X - M Y - M I S T A K E S

Game Girl takes a step back. “I-I … Don’t understand? What mistakes? Who are you!?”

D O E S N T - M A T T E R

I - W I L L - F I X

Y O U - W I L L

C O M E - B A C K

S T R O N G E R.

Game Girl peers at the words, mouthing them under her breath. “Stronger how?”

::::save_state_loaded::::

Game Girl gasps as her back digs into the arid ground.

The sun almost blinding her as it reflects from Game Boy’s sword.

The blade digging into her neck.

He looks up at him, his cold eyes having a slight glimmer of humanity as his words come, “I do care about you. I have a love for you, you could never know.”

Paige sneers and spits into his face, a glob of saliva landing on his cheek. He looks down at her with a frown, “Really? So unbecoming of you.”

As he pushes down a voice rings out, “Get the fuck off her!” And a knee appears over Paige’s vision and nails Game Boy in the nose.

GB is forced off Paige as the grizzled form of Scoops McGee stands above her and lets down a hand to pick her up.

“Scoops!?” GG exclaims, partly in delight as Scoops pulls her to her feet, “What are you doing here?”

“Beats me, kid.” Scoops grips her shoulder tightly look over the damage with soft eyes and the lump in his throat being swallowed, he puts a worn hand to her cheek briefly before chewing his lip and looking back at Game Boy “Who the fuck is that guy?

GB sits on the ground putting a thumb against his nose and inspecting the trickle of blood, his pupils flicker as he looks at the pair with a growl, stepping up to his feet.

Game Girl pushes away from Scoops “Game Boy.”

“Tsk.” Scoops stands beside her, “What kind of dumb fuck name is that?”

“Oh…” GB smiles, “Is this the old man that’s been caring for you, Paige?”

“I’m the old man that broke yer fucking nose, ya jackass.”

“Lucky hit.” He sniffs up, “Won’t happen again.”

He rushes the pair and GG pushes Scoops to the side to get him out of the way of the sword strike; Game Girl jumps into the air and throws her leg down into the back of Game Boy’s neck-zzzZZZZZZZzzzTTTTt

Throws her leg down but Game Boy quickly darts back and throws a hand to catch Game Girl’s throat but Scoops is right on him, hitting his temple with a nasty right hook and knocks Game Boy to the side.

GG lands on her feet and looks between both men as Game Boy covers his temple with a grimace. “... He can’t read your moves…” She mumbles to herself, “Scoops he can’t read YOUR moves!”

“I was told I’m unpredictable.” Scoops puts up his fists as he circles Game Boy, “That like his weakness or some shit? Thought you kids had like, giant glowing weak spots or something.”

“Doesn’t matter, just keep hitting him!” Game Girl lets out before rushing in with Scoops at her side.

Game Boy throws up his sword to block a strike from Game Girl but Scoops catches him off-guard as he throws another punch into Game Boy’s cheek; Paige teleports behind GB to strike-ZZZZzzzTTttTT-But Scoops is at his front and grabs his sword arm, wrenching it back, the armor creaking as he does.

Game Girl punches with a fist of red energy into Game Boy’s spine-zzZZZZTt Game Girl goes to punch but Game Boy throws his elbow back to stop her!

But Scoops pushes down on the arm and wrenches Game Boy forward, making him immobile in the heavy armor and Game Girl’s punch goes through--ZZZZ.zhzzztt!!!

Game Girl’s punch goes through-zzzZZZZZtTTTTT!!!!

Game Girl’s punch goes through and rips away steel as her fist connects with Game Boy’s spine who lets out a blood-curdling scream as he slumps forward.

Scoops tears at the arm as Game Girl teleports to Game Boy’s front and a pushes out a palm, energy collecting in the center as a beam begins to emit.

His pupils quake in fear.

“Wait- … Paige! Please! I’m sorry!” He cries.

Game Girl looks at him, a slight tilt of her head. Scoops looks at her with a raised eyebrow.

“I-I-I just wanted to be strong, like you and th-this thing took over me! I swear it wasn’t me, Paige! Please! Please!”

Game Boy breaks down in tears, begging over and over under his breath as drool falls from his mouth, mixing with the tears staining the ground.

The energy collecting in GG’s hand ceases as she lowers it to Scoops dismay, “The hell are you doing, girl? Don’t fall for this shit.”

“He’s given up, Scoops.”

“The fuck he has! He’s just trying to pull some shit! If you don’t end it, I will!”

Paige scoffs, “You don’t even know him, Scoops! He hasn’t done anything to you, it wou-”

“It don’t matter if he ain’t done nothing to me!” Scoops yells, “He hurt you! That’s reason enough.”

Scoops bends GB’s arm back further.

Game Boy cries out in agony and his sword finally falls from his grasp, clattering to the floor.

Paige hesitates looking between the two and swallowing a lump in her throat before letting out a sigh.

She wants to say a million different things, all running through her mind at once but none coming out.

End his suffering.

Maybe we can save him?

I can’t do it.

Running through her mind over and over.

But she can’t make the choice.

So Scoops makes it for her.

As he gives her one last look he reaches down to grab the sword.

The corrupt, dark greatsword.

That isn’t there.

As Game Boy’s other hand deftly grabs it from under Scoops’ legs and tears through his achilles heel.

Scoops hisses in pain as he releases his grapes and falls back as GB pushes him to the ground. The sword raised above him driving down into Scoops chest.

Game Girl lets out a scream as she dives into to save Scoops, her robotic arm reeling back for the blow but the blade drawing in quicker.

Until…

A small pebble, coated in runes, lands over Scoops’ heart and the blade can’t pierce through it no matter the force.

Game Boy’s eyes widen as he looks up at Gretchin, her shoulders heaving with heavy breaths.

GB looks back, throwing up his sword to block Game Girl’s strike.

But he’s just too late.

His eyes meeting hers, the anger and fury coursing through her.

As the stump of a robotic arm flies in to him.

Into his nose.

The cold, heavy metal driving in deeper and deeper.

Pushing past skin.

Past sinew.

Pasts muscle and bone and brain.

And leaving the back of his skull.

Game Girl shudders in horror, Game Boy clinging onto her arm.

As blood drips down what was once his face.

One eyeball hanging from a tendon as the other glares at her, a spluttered and visceral noise coming from his ripped maw.

He finally falls limp.

Scoops pushes himself away from the sight and looks to GG who is stood frozen.

He gets to his feet as Game Girl backs away looking at what she’s down and GB’s body falls from her arm into a heap.

His body bubbling into black ooze that lets out hisses of static before becoming a rainbow of sharp pixels that erupt but stick into the ground.

Scoops gets to Paige and puts a hand on her shoulder, “Paige.” He says softly, “C’mon… Let’s go home.”

GG stands there, looking down at the mess before her, her arm stained in the black liquid.

“I-... I didn’t mean to…” She whispers, tears streaming down her face, “I thought he’d… I didn’t.”

Scoops wraps her into a hug as she breaks down into tears.

“It’s okay.” He pats her back gently, “You’ll be okay.”

And the two hug.

In the barren wasteland.

In front of the mountain.

In the harsh sun.

No game over.

No “You Win.”

No credits.

Just… An end.

Several days later.

Paige sits at the table in Scoops home drinking a cup of tea.

She looks down at her mug and glances at the nasty scar on her arm stump, before looking up at Noah who is behind his laptop clicking away.

He takes a sip of tea and looks to her with a smile, “You doing okay?”

Game Girl smiles sweetly at him, “Yeah.” She lies, “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re tough, Paige, and y’know if you ever need to talk we’re here for you.”

“I know, Noah.” She sips her tea, “Thank you.”

There’s an awkward silence after that.

“So.” Noah perks up. “Bobby Sales, huh?”

“Yup.” GG nods. “Huuuuge match.” A rather large hint of sarcasm comes from her.

“Ah, you can’t be fighting bosses all the time. Sometimes you gotta beat the shamwow guy.”

“Yeah, I guess it’ll distract me for a bit. Plus, nice and easy, Wall Street Kid match… Very cute!”

“Hey,” Noah chuckles to himself, “Bet you wish you had a shamwow after what a happened with Game Boy, huh?”

Paige cocks her head as Noah’s joke does not land and there is a longer and more awkward pause then before.

Noah clears his throat and goes back to his laptop. “Sorry.” He mumbles hiding behind the screen.

GG nods, tapping the table with her finger before getting up and leaving the room with her tea.]]>
“You actually came back.”

The words fall from his mouth, a whisper that is carried through the ash and wind until it bombards Game Girl’s skull. Rattles her physically with the slightest hint of curiosity behind fanged teeth.

He looks at her through a cold glare. His eyes wide. Too wide, not in surprise, not shock. But in an eerie, unhinged way. Like they couldn’t close if he tried. His pupils slide over to Gretchin, the sword over his shoulder sings as it is drawn down his pauldron and meets his side.

His eyes go back to Game Girl. She stood still, her feet dug into the earth. The rain and ash mixed across her face, drenching her in black and muting her color.

Game Boy exhales deeply. “You’re too late, Paige… I killed Mordekaiser, I took from him the power you stole from me and now I’m the hero Narfinex needed.”

“Where’s Princess and Pepe!?” GG shouts, sweat dripping down her face.

Game Boy takes one step forward. A cloud of dust bursts from his footfalls, small shockwaves ebb from his steel boots.

“They’re dead.” He states, plainly and simply.

GG’s eyes widen, a gasp leaves her as her heart tenses. Gretchin beside her falls to her knees, a quiet “no” exiting her mouth.

“Y-you killed them?” Game Girl questions, the sadness turning to anger as she leans forward.

“They killed themselves, Paige.” He squints at her, a sneer crossing his face as the words hit her. “Just as you have.”

There’s a moment.

A quiet, distant moment when she looks at him.

Her breath shudders as her nails curl into her palms and she looks at him.

He looks the same as he always did, the same but… Different. Her friend, her comrade, her enemy... The enemy. Behind the mask of madness, of this corruption around him, he was still Game Boy and Paige knew that.

A small, fragile moment of hesitation crosses her mind as Gretchin looks up to her.

“Game Girl…” A meek whisper comes from her, looking up with those sad yellow eyes. “Don’t do it.”

Game Girl closes her eyes tightly as her shoulders heave with each large breath.

Before they shoot open and she lets out a roar, dashing over the arid ground. Before she can get halfway Game Boy is there. Moving faster than her eyes can register, his dark blade inches from her face but she manages to throw her body to the side and dodges the edge.

Her body rolls onto the ground and she skids up to a knee looking at him, his eyes almost bulging from his skull as he looks down at her.

“Do we have to do this?” He says towering over her, “We both know how this is going to end.”

Game Girl collects herself and looks up and down at the awful greatsword in his gauntlet. She reaches out a hand to the side and concentrates. Game Boy looks at her quizzically for a moment and follows her arm down past the barren wasteland.

A cloud of dust trails behind something flying through the air, whistling as it gets closer and closer until Paige’s Warhammer, worn and plain, reaches her hand-zZZzzTtt The air around her turns to static as the sound warps into pure noise.

No.

Until Paige’s Warhammer reaches her but Game Boy throws out a single hand and stops it before GG can wrap her hands around it. Game Boy breathes a laugh and begins crushing the head of the hammer in his grasp, GG’s eyes widen for a moment before she ducks in low and throws her robotic fist into GB’s j-zzzZZTT-

NO!

-jaw but he barely dodges it, her fist grazing the air and Game Boy kicks her back with terrific force! Spit flies from her mouth as she tumbles back over herself and lands on her heels digging into the dirt.

Game Boy breaks apart the Warhammer with a smirk, the debris of steel and wood crumbles to the ground at his plated boots, he lowers his stance and faces the greatsword toward her. Game Girl spits on the ground, her brow furrows as determination grows and she puts up her fists in defiance.

Several days later.

Paige sits at the table in Scoops home drinking a cup of tea.

She looks down at her mug and glances at the nasty scar on her arm stump, before looking up at Noah who is behind his laptop clicking away.

He takes a sip of tea and looks to her with a smile, “You doing okay?”

Game Girl smiles sweetly at him, “Yeah.” She lies, “I’ll be fine.”

“You’re tough, Paige, and y’know if you ever need to talk we’re here for you.”

“I know, Noah.” She sips her tea, “Thank you.”

There’s an awkward silence after that.

“So.” Noah perks up. “Bobby Sales, huh?”

“Yup.” GG nods. “Huuuuge match.” A rather large hint of sarcasm comes from her.

“Ah, you can’t be fighting bosses all the time. Sometimes you gotta beat the shamwow guy.”

“Yeah, I guess it’ll distract me for a bit. Plus, nice and easy, Wall Street Kid match… Very cute!”

“Hey,” Noah chuckles to himself, “Bet you wish you had a shamwow after what a happened with Game Boy, huh?”

Paige cocks her head as Noah’s joke does not land and there is a longer and more awkward pause then before.

Noah clears his throat and goes back to his laptop. “Sorry.” He mumbles hiding behind the screen.

GG nods, tapping the table with her finger before getting up and leaving the room with her tea.]]> <![CDATA[Chapter XVIII: Us]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49945 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 23:18:55 -0700 XXXVI]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49945 The dim lights of the Tablao de Carmen restaurant set the mood. XXXVI and CIX, masked as always, but dressed up, in a suit and flamenco dress respectively, take their seats at a table, draped in a red tablecloth.

“X, this is so nice! Doesn’t it feel good to do something a little touristy for once?” Cierra asks.

“I don’t know if I can answer that honestly. One, I haven’t seen this flamenco performance nor tasted the cuisine and two, it’s been so long since I’ve done normal human things that I kind of can’t remember what it’s like.” XXXVI says.

She laughs. “Ok, well at least you clean up nicely.”

“Yes, I shaved and everything,” he says. “Can’t you tell? You’re not so bad yourself.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so not funny. You know me, I like to get all dolled up from time to time. How are you holding up?”

She is referring to the attack by the Director’s goons. The Director came to the compound and challenged him to a match with the fate of the compound on the line. Though XXXVI won, the Director sent his masked men on the attack afterward, leaving XXXVI beaten and bruised.

“Everything hurts. Pain killers only do so much and I’m afraid to take more than the recommended dose.”

“Because of your history?” She asks.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m in a better place now, more centered, but I was an addict. That potential is in me.”

“Well, if it helps, I can not drink tonight out of solidarity,” she offers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cierra.” He said. “I’ll be fine.”

A pause. They both know it’s a lie.

“So, how are you feeling about your match at March Madness? We had quite the adventure with Betsy heading into last Anarchy.”

“Understatement of the century. She’s tough. One of my biggest challenges yet for this title. Perhaps the biggest.”

“And? That’s it? All you have to say?”

“Hola! Señor y Señora.” The waiter appears at their table. “Welcome to Tablao de Carmen. May I offer you any hors d'oeuvres? Perhaps a soup or salad? I must say your masks are simply magnificent! Are you here to perform in some festival? I hadn’t heard of anything going on this weekend.”

“Of sorts.” Answers XXXVI.

“Right, what he means is professional wrestling! Yes, we’re here for March Madness!” Adds CIX.

The waiter looks confused. “The American college basketball tournament is here?”

XXXVI shakes his head. “Nevermind that. I’ll have the gazpacho and she’ll have the salad. Bring us some croquettes too, please.”

The waiter nods. “Right away, señor!”

XXXVI catches Cierra staring a little too long at him. “What?”

“You ordered for me. It was…nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, I mean, after all we’ve been through lately, it’s nice to have something just for us. We should be celebrating after all. You’ve had that title for months now and we never did anything. We just stayed cooped up, planning, following orders. For once we should do something just for us.”

XXXVI smiles as the guitarist starts to pluck the strings. Flamenco dancers take the stage before them and the night feels alive. He thinks about that word and what she meant by it. Us?

“Well here we are, Miss Granger. The title opportunity you earned at Snow Pain Snow Gain is finally here. It was an honor to team up with you on Anarchy and I dare say we made a hell of a unit. Perhaps one day we can run it back, but this weekend is all about us. No gimmicks. No special stipulations, just a simple wrestling match. Kind of refreshing, if I’m being frank.”

“I hear congratulations are in order. You recently joined the Coalition and got a big victory against Yelena Gorgo. You have certainly proven over the years that you can secure big wins, but here we are not pals. We are not friends. I used our tag match to study your movements. That slight hesitation before lifting for a suplex. The seconds you take before extending your legs on a dropkick. Every second counts. If I can be quick enough, I find an opening. When you rush, I wait, time my strikes just right. This is how I operate. Every match, no matter the opponent. Precision. No wasted movements. I do the calculations in my head. I see it from every angle. I’m basically Doctor Strange.”

“There’s a thrill in the chase. I pursued this title once. I walked in your shoes. I was considered the underdog, given no chance to win, but I did. I found that second gear. I locked in. I dethroned the great Thunder Knuckles. I silenced the noise. I even beat him a second time to win the Anarchy tag titles. Again I find myself facing criticism. I hear the whispers; that I can’t beat the Impossible Traveler. They say that March Madness will be the end of my reign. Perhaps. I didn’t come here with a chip on my shoulder. Life chipped away at any possibility of an ego ages ago. I still won matches early on. With each win, my confidence grew. I became comfortable with the knowledge that I’d made it. I belonged. What was a second chance for me, in life as much as a career, is a success. Even if that dream was over tomorrow. I have cemented my place in the XWF. Star of the month, longest reigning current champion and I earned every bit. So if you want this Betsy, you’re going to have to take it from me. Forget the thrill of it. Forget the chase. Arrive. Stay a while. Don’t run like you’re wont to. Bring all the knowledge from your travels. Bring your years of experience. You’re going to need all of it and it still won’t be enough. I won’t bend. I won’t break easily. I may be bruised, but I won’t misstep. I won’t let anyone take what I’ve built. Not yet.”]]> The dim lights of the Tablao de Carmen restaurant set the mood. XXXVI and CIX, masked as always, but dressed up, in a suit and flamenco dress respectively, take their seats at a table, draped in a red tablecloth.

“X, this is so nice! Doesn’t it feel good to do something a little touristy for once?” Cierra asks.

“I don’t know if I can answer that honestly. One, I haven’t seen this flamenco performance nor tasted the cuisine and two, it’s been so long since I’ve done normal human things that I kind of can’t remember what it’s like.” XXXVI says.

She laughs. “Ok, well at least you clean up nicely.”

“Yes, I shaved and everything,” he says. “Can’t you tell? You’re not so bad yourself.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re so not funny. You know me, I like to get all dolled up from time to time. How are you holding up?”

She is referring to the attack by the Director’s goons. The Director came to the compound and challenged him to a match with the fate of the compound on the line. Though XXXVI won, the Director sent his masked men on the attack afterward, leaving XXXVI beaten and bruised.

“Everything hurts. Pain killers only do so much and I’m afraid to take more than the recommended dose.”

“Because of your history?” She asks.

“Yes,” he says. “I’m in a better place now, more centered, but I was an addict. That potential is in me.”

“Well, if it helps, I can not drink tonight out of solidarity,” she offers.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Cierra.” He said. “I’ll be fine.”

A pause. They both know it’s a lie.

“So, how are you feeling about your match at March Madness? We had quite the adventure with Betsy heading into last Anarchy.”

“Understatement of the century. She’s tough. One of my biggest challenges yet for this title. Perhaps the biggest.”

“And? That’s it? All you have to say?”

“Hola! Señor y Señora.” The waiter appears at their table. “Welcome to Tablao de Carmen. May I offer you any hors d'oeuvres? Perhaps a soup or salad? I must say your masks are simply magnificent! Are you here to perform in some festival? I hadn’t heard of anything going on this weekend.”

“Of sorts.” Answers XXXVI.

“Right, what he means is professional wrestling! Yes, we’re here for March Madness!” Adds CIX.

The waiter looks confused. “The American college basketball tournament is here?”

XXXVI shakes his head. “Nevermind that. I’ll have the gazpacho and she’ll have the salad. Bring us some croquettes too, please.”

The waiter nods. “Right away, señor!”

XXXVI catches Cierra staring a little too long at him. “What?”

“You ordered for me. It was…nice.”

“Nice?”

“Yeah, I mean, after all we’ve been through lately, it’s nice to have something just for us. We should be celebrating after all. You’ve had that title for months now and we never did anything. We just stayed cooped up, planning, following orders. For once we should do something just for us.”

XXXVI smiles as the guitarist starts to pluck the strings. Flamenco dancers take the stage before them and the night feels alive. He thinks about that word and what she meant by it. Us?

“Well here we are, Miss Granger. The title opportunity you earned at Snow Pain Snow Gain is finally here. It was an honor to team up with you on Anarchy and I dare say we made a hell of a unit. Perhaps one day we can run it back, but this weekend is all about us. No gimmicks. No special stipulations, just a simple wrestling match. Kind of refreshing, if I’m being frank.”

“I hear congratulations are in order. You recently joined the Coalition and got a big victory against Yelena Gorgo. You have certainly proven over the years that you can secure big wins, but here we are not pals. We are not friends. I used our tag match to study your movements. That slight hesitation before lifting for a suplex. The seconds you take before extending your legs on a dropkick. Every second counts. If I can be quick enough, I find an opening. When you rush, I wait, time my strikes just right. This is how I operate. Every match, no matter the opponent. Precision. No wasted movements. I do the calculations in my head. I see it from every angle. I’m basically Doctor Strange.”

“There’s a thrill in the chase. I pursued this title once. I walked in your shoes. I was considered the underdog, given no chance to win, but I did. I found that second gear. I locked in. I dethroned the great Thunder Knuckles. I silenced the noise. I even beat him a second time to win the Anarchy tag titles. Again I find myself facing criticism. I hear the whispers; that I can’t beat the Impossible Traveler. They say that March Madness will be the end of my reign. Perhaps. I didn’t come here with a chip on my shoulder. Life chipped away at any possibility of an ego ages ago. I still won matches early on. With each win, my confidence grew. I became comfortable with the knowledge that I’d made it. I belonged. What was a second chance for me, in life as much as a career, is a success. Even if that dream was over tomorrow. I have cemented my place in the XWF. Star of the month, longest reigning current champion and I earned every bit. So if you want this Betsy, you’re going to have to take it from me. Forget the thrill of it. Forget the chase. Arrive. Stay a while. Don’t run like you’re wont to. Bring all the knowledge from your travels. Bring your years of experience. You’re going to need all of it and it still won’t be enough. I won’t bend. I won’t break easily. I may be bruised, but I won’t misstep. I won’t let anyone take what I’ve built. Not yet.”]]> <![CDATA[In the beginning there were... Two brothers!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49944 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 22:52:51 -0700 Isaiah King]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49944 Welcome to a new age of The Exiles ]]> Welcome to a new age of The Exiles ]]> <![CDATA[A REVIEW OF SIR LIONEL'S FIVE-STAR VIDEO GAME!]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49943 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 22:43:43 -0700 Sir Lionel Pennyfarthing]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49943 ]]> ]]> <![CDATA[A NEW CHALLENGER APPROACHES]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49942 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 22:18:50 -0700 ELON MUSK]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49942
Suddenly, he gets an advertisement for…

DWAYNE ‘THE GROK’ JOHNSON: THE GAME!

…He shrugs and clicks ‘Downlo-

WHAM! THE SECOND HE DOES, THE SIX-FOOT-FIVE MACHINE THAT JIVES BURSTS FROM HIS PHONE!

SHARDS OF GLASS FILL THE CHILDS’ EYES AS GROK SPINS TOWARD THE SCREEN!

“FINALLY! THE GROK HAS COME BACK TO THE GAME!”

“ALL YOU FAT PIECES OF SHIT SITTING IN THE LOBBY, PLANNING YOUR LOADOUT… WHILE THE GROK SPREAD HIS CYBERNETIC LOAD ALL OVER YOUR MOM’S APPLE STRUDEL!”

Note: Strudel is a euphemism for your mother’s pu-

““IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT STRUDEL IS A EUPHEMISM FOR, NARRATOR! YA DISEMBODIED BITCH!”

“YA THINK THE GROK CAN GO TOE-TO-TOE IN A GAME OF VIDEO?”

“YOU PEASANT FUCKS ARE SITTING IN THE BATTLE BUS WHILE THE GROK RIDES TO BATTLE IN A STRETCH TESLA CYBERTANK LIMOUSINE!”

“NAME A VIDEO GAME CHARACTER MORE ICONIC THAN THE GROK!”

“MARIO? I’LL STICK MY FOOT STRAIGHT UP YOUR WARP PIPE! YOUR ASS IS GONNA FEEL LIKE YOU SHAT OUT A FIREFLOWER WHEN I’M DONE STOMPING!”

“SONIC? YOU ENDANGERED BITCH! YOU CAN’T GET HIT AFTER YOU DROP YOUR RINGS? GROK GOT A HAND WITH FIVE RINGS ON IT AND HE’LL BACKHAND YOU SO FAST IT’LL MAKE YOU SPIN!”

“LINK! FAIRY ASS BITCH!”

“MASTER CHIEF! SERVANT GRUNT!”

“FORTNITE! IT’S BEEN MORE THAN A FORTNITE SINCE ANYONE PLAYING THAT SHITTY GAME HAS HAD A WOMAN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THEIR SMALL DISHEVELED PENII!”

“AND SHE WAS A WORKING GIRL! NOW THAT’S WHAT THE GROK CALLS A MICRO-TRANSACTION!”

“YOU WANNA PLAY WITH THE GROK! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO GO UP-UP-DOWN-DOWN-LEFT-RIGHT-LEFT-RIGHT-B-A-B-A-SELECT-START, CUZ GROK IS TAKE EVERY LIFE IN THAT RING UNTIL THE ONLY ONE STANDING IS THE GROK!

IF YA FOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOW!

WHAT THE GROK!

IS!

REASONING!”]]>
Suddenly, he gets an advertisement for…

DWAYNE ‘THE GROK’ JOHNSON: THE GAME!

…He shrugs and clicks ‘Downlo-

WHAM! THE SECOND HE DOES, THE SIX-FOOT-FIVE MACHINE THAT JIVES BURSTS FROM HIS PHONE!

SHARDS OF GLASS FILL THE CHILDS’ EYES AS GROK SPINS TOWARD THE SCREEN!

“FINALLY! THE GROK HAS COME BACK TO THE GAME!”

“ALL YOU FAT PIECES OF SHIT SITTING IN THE LOBBY, PLANNING YOUR LOADOUT… WHILE THE GROK SPREAD HIS CYBERNETIC LOAD ALL OVER YOUR MOM’S APPLE STRUDEL!”

Note: Strudel is a euphemism for your mother’s pu-

““IT DOESN’T MATTER WHAT STRUDEL IS A EUPHEMISM FOR, NARRATOR! YA DISEMBODIED BITCH!”

“YA THINK THE GROK CAN GO TOE-TO-TOE IN A GAME OF VIDEO?”

“YOU PEASANT FUCKS ARE SITTING IN THE BATTLE BUS WHILE THE GROK RIDES TO BATTLE IN A STRETCH TESLA CYBERTANK LIMOUSINE!”

“NAME A VIDEO GAME CHARACTER MORE ICONIC THAN THE GROK!”

“MARIO? I’LL STICK MY FOOT STRAIGHT UP YOUR WARP PIPE! YOUR ASS IS GONNA FEEL LIKE YOU SHAT OUT A FIREFLOWER WHEN I’M DONE STOMPING!”

“SONIC? YOU ENDANGERED BITCH! YOU CAN’T GET HIT AFTER YOU DROP YOUR RINGS? GROK GOT A HAND WITH FIVE RINGS ON IT AND HE’LL BACKHAND YOU SO FAST IT’LL MAKE YOU SPIN!”

“LINK! FAIRY ASS BITCH!”

“MASTER CHIEF! SERVANT GRUNT!”

“FORTNITE! IT’S BEEN MORE THAN A FORTNITE SINCE ANYONE PLAYING THAT SHITTY GAME HAS HAD A WOMAN THINK ABOUT TOUCHING THEIR SMALL DISHEVELED PENII!”

“AND SHE WAS A WORKING GIRL! NOW THAT’S WHAT THE GROK CALLS A MICRO-TRANSACTION!”

“YOU WANNA PLAY WITH THE GROK! YOU’RE GONNA HAVE TO GO UP-UP-DOWN-DOWN-LEFT-RIGHT-LEFT-RIGHT-B-A-B-A-SELECT-START, CUZ GROK IS TAKE EVERY LIFE IN THAT RING UNTIL THE ONLY ONE STANDING IS THE GROK!

IF YA FOLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLOW!

WHAT THE GROK!

IS!

REASONING!”]]> <![CDATA[META (Chapter 9)]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49941 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 22:10:44 -0700 gorgo]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49941

⠀
⠀

META

PREFERRED LINK FOR READING

https://thespiraleffect.net/chapter/meta/

GOOGLE DOCS ACCESSIBILITY LINK

For viewers with impaired vision and for simpler copying.

JOURNAL ENTRIES = PUBLICLY POSTED

EVERYTHING ELSE = SUPER TOP SECRET

]]> <![CDATA[Schadenfreude Clown in "Making New Friends!"]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49940 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 21:54:17 -0700 Ennui Clown]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49940 “Hmm.”

“What is it, sir?”

“Curious, isn’t it?”

“How many licks it takes to get to the center of the Tootsie Pop?”

“I keep thinking they’ll ask someone besides that fool, Mister Owl! He takes three licks and then just bites it! That’s not an accurate way to measure licks at all! There’s no conversion rate on bites to licks!”

“Um… Mister Principle? I think Mister Musk isn’t concerned with commercials about candy from the 1960s.”

“He isn’t?”

…

“I mean, of course he isn’t! He’s a busy man! He obviously doesn’t wonder, wonder, wonder what’s in a Wonder Ball.”

“Right, sir?”

“Both of you stop talking.”

…

“What I find curious.”

“Is that my… partners… in the XWF ownership group…”

“Appear to be gathering… resources…”

“Raising armies of sorts…”

“Zuckerberg has been spending quite a bit of time in his little Metaverse…”

“And that snake Bezos is getting all chummy with that… Yelena Gorgo individual.”

“Oh sir, I wouldn’t worry about them! They’re just a hoot!”

“Mister Principle, isn’t Gorgo the one that waterboarded you into a comatose state?”

“…Oh! I was thinking of ‘Yakov Smirnoff’…”

“In that case, I would worry about them! And DO worry about them! And am actively worrying about them as we speak!”

“…Hmm.”

“If you’re concerned about your fellow co-owners seeking champions, perhaps you should recruit a champion of your own, Mister Musk?”

“Nadine, please. Don’t embarrass yourself. Mister Musk is a business genius! He knows exactly what to do to secure his interests, without help from anyone.”

“…Hmm. Perhaps I *shall* recruit a champion of my own.”

“Brilliant idea, sir!”

“…”

“Yes. A champion.”

“And one more loyal than that union king stooge, Kieran King!”

“But whom, sir? Or should I say… whomst?”

“…Mister Principle, you said whomst like it was something smart and implied you had some great idea, but whomst is just… grammatically incorrect.”

“SILENCE!”

“…There is a clear choice! One that pulled off a surprise upset over Kieran.”

“…Oh. Oh! That’s brilliant, sir! Not only has this man defeated Kieran… he’s declared an undying loyalty to you over your fellow trillionaires.”

“Really! How perfect! I was unaware!”

“…How? He’s been… VERY vocal about loving you!”

“Then that settles it. My champion shall be…”

“Micheal Gr-“

“Schadenfreude Clown!”

“…What?”

“The Captain who led Clowns R Us to a shocking upset victory over Kieran’s Kingsguard!”

“…You don’t wan-“

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!? GO TO CLOWN CITY! RECRUIT MY CHAMPION!”

“Oooh, Clown City! Shotgun in the limo!”

“Hohoho… you won’t be taking a limo to Clown City…”

***

[Image: spacex-1.0.gif]

Elon sips a glass of wi-…wait, nope. He’s injecting a syringe of ketamine in his arm.

A trickle of blood runs down his nose as he watches his underlings blast off beyond the stratosphere.

“The time for fun and games… is over.”

***

CLOWN CITY BALLPARK

“Folks, it’s a great day for Clown Baseball! I’m your clown Play-by-Play man, Play-by-Play Clown. And with me as always is my color commentator, Color Commentator Clown!”

“The sky is blue, the field is green, and Furious Baseball Manager Clown’s face looks Beet Red, Play-By-Play Clown!”

The Scoreboard displays the score between the two teams of Clown ballplayers…

The Valuers of Entertainment have eight runs on the board!

Meanwhile, the Relev Ants are at ZERO.

Scorekeeper Clown politely feather-dusts the Relev Ants’ score ticker… It’s been a while since he flipped anything to denote them successfully scoring.

From the mound, one of the Valuers of Entertainment has a glove in one hand and itches the inside of his belly button with the other.

The fans chant! “HEY! WE WANT A PITCHER! NOT A BELLY ITCHER!”

…The clown on the mound blushes.

"Oh, I’m so sorry!” Belly-Itcher Clown apologizes profusely before dashing off the mound, being subbed for by Pitcher with Non-Itchy Belly Button Clown.

From the side, Furious Baseball Manager Clown claps his hands (they honk as he claps).

“Alright, c’mon! No batta!”

“No batta!”

“No batter!”

“No… No batter! NO BATTER!”

“There’s… THERE’S NO BATTER! NO BATTER IN THE BOX! STOP TH-”

Pitcher with a Non-Itchy Belly Button Clown throws a pitch right down the middle while the batter’s box is empty!

“STEEEEEERIKE THREE!” Calls Umpire Clown!

“GOD CLOWN DAMMIT!” Furious Baseball Manager Clown throws his hat to the ground with dismay, turning to his batting coach clown… “I TOLD YOU TO PUT WHOEVER WE HAVE THAT CAN GET A HIT!”

Batting Coach Clown checks his clipboard. “Yep, you did and that meant…” Batting Coach Clown flips through his roster… before looking up at FBMC. “None of them!”

“GRAGH!” FBMC then spins on the ump! “HOW COULD HE HAVE THROWN IT IN THE BATTER’S STRIKE ZONE WHEN THERE’S NO BATTER AT THE PLATE! ARE YOU BLIND, UMP?!?”

Umpire Clown looks up and taps around his walking stick around home plate!

“Who said that?!?”

“Another rough inning for the Relev Ants, huh, Color Commentary Clown?”

“Their manager certainly looks BLUE out there! And you’d think the fans of the Relev Ants would be GREEN with disgust at their home team…”

“First off, not fans… but FAN. The Relev Ants have a SINGLE season ticket holder… and, in the team’s defense, he seems to be having a great time!”

“OHOHOHOHOHO!”

Indeed, on one side of the arena is a packed stadium full of clowns going absolutely bonkers for the Valuers of Entertainment…

But on the side of the Relev Ants is a single-clown.

As German as he is delighted by the misfortune on the field.

“Ohhhhhh, isht so emBarasshing! Ze Manager Wantsht Hist Team to Succsheed… And yet shey fail! OHHHHHHH, how degradingly delicioush! How deliciously degrading!”

Furious Baseball Manager Clown looks up at the stand occupied by a single very German clown, his cries of delight louder than the screaming capacity crowd on the other side of the ballpark… He grits his teeth.

“I fucking hate that clown so goddamned much…” He spins back toward his team in the field. “C’MON, YOU CLOWNS! GET THREE OUTS!”

Quick-Trip-to-the-Grocery-Store Clown pulls out his list and rapidly starts nodding as he adds ‘three outs’, under ‘whipped cream’, ‘banana cream pies’, and ‘hilariously small condoms’...

“The Relev Ants have taken the field… Here’s the windup…”

Wind-up Key Clown winds up a key on a giant animatronic pitching monkey… He finishes windup and the robotic monkey PITCHES!

““Fastball down the middle!”

“And SMACK! Contact is made by Expert-at-Hitting-Off-Robot-Monkey-Pitchers Clown! You gotta think a better Manager Clown might have thought of a substitution there…”

“OHOHOHOHOHOHO! How trah-GIC!”

Furious Baseball Manager Clown tears his hat off his head… But he sees the ball in the air!

“POP FLY! POP FLY!”

The second-baseman, a clown with the head of a fly dressed in a sweater vest and loafers suddenly snaps to attention!

“Oh God! I’m a Pop?!? Why am I playing in a baseball game when my hideous fly clown wife is giving birth!” He dashes off! The ball bounces past second!

As the clown batter is rounding first, Left-Fielder Clown scrambles forward! The ball bounces off the ground and he scoops it into his glove as the clown batter is approaching second!

“SHORT STOP!” Furious Baseball Manager Clown CALLS OUT! “SHORT STOP!”

…Left-Fielder Clown shrugs and pulls out a lawnchair and a tanning screen.

“NO! DON’T TAKE A SHORT STOP! THROW IT! BEFORE HE MAKES IT HOME!”

The Clown Batter parks his car, dashes up to his front door and pecks his clown wife on the cheek.

“SAFE!” Calls the Umpire from their Dinner Table.

“And the Relev Ants allow ANOTHER inside the park home run!”

“OHOHOHOHOHOHO!” Giggles Schadenfreude Clown! “Ze Manager meant to shrow ze ball to ze clown PLAYING schort schtop, but ze clown playzer mishtunterschtood and took a short break! How macabre! How AW-FÜHL! Ohohohohoho!” Schadenfreude Clown fans himself with a floral hand fan!

“YOU SON OF A CLOWN BITCH!” Furious Baseball Manager Clown throws his hat on the ground again, before pointing at the stands! “Did you bring a hand fan just to be extra catty with your schadenfreude BULLSHIT!”

“Nein! I purchased it from ze schtadium!”

“FLORAL HAND FAAAAAANS!” Calls out Food Cart Clown, waving three floral hand fans as he wheels his cart around the stadium! “GETCHA FLORAL HAND FAAAAAANS HEEEEEEEEERE! PUNCTUATE YA SNIDE INSINUATIONS WITH A FLORAL HAND FAAAAAAN!”

Schadenfreude Clown takes out a shiny red nickel and purchases a second hand fan! He fans himself with both fans simultaneously *and* coquettishly!

“Hohoho, isht too bad… which makescht it too good…”

“Man, I don’t know why people say Clown City isn’t a great place for tourists! Did you notice how many backslaps I got walking down the street?”

“Sir…” Nadine sighs, swatting a nearly impossible amount of ‘Kick Me’ signs of the back of Peter’s suit jacket… “We need to find this Schadenfreude Clown fellow and bring him to Mister Musk ASAP!”

“Yes, of course!” Principle nods determinedly, before retrieving a telescope from his pocket with a winking clown on the side. “We’ll use this scope I was given by the Clown City welcoming committee! They say looking through it reveals one’s heart’s desires!” Peter looks through it.

“Sir, don’t…” Nadine pinches the bridge of her nose, seeing this bit coming, it happens literally every time someone in Clown City lifts any visual enhancement device to their eyes…

…

“Aha! I see him!”

“Wait, really?”

“Yes, he’s that guy sitting on the top row of the baseball stadium!”

“Wow!” Nadine’s eyes widen in surprise. “The scope worked! I guess not everything those clowns do is a prank…”

“Then, Onward we go!” Peter pulls back the telescope.

He has a black ring around his eye.

“Haha, ya just can’t beat the classics.” Chuckles Loves-the-Classics Clown.

“WHADDYA WAITING FOR?!? STEAL SECOND! STEAL SECOND!”

Thief Clown slips by Security Guard Clown undetected, picks up second base and drops it in a sack labelled valuable items!

“NOOOOOOOO! NOT LIKE THAT!”

“And that’s going to make it even harder for the Relev Ants! How are they supposed to run the bases when Second Base just got pilfered off the field!”

“Ohohohoho, how abshtolutely groteshque! How hideoush! How…”

“Oh my!” Calls out a voice from the innards of the stadium! “I just got this suit pressed for the big dance tonight! I sure hope nothing messes up my outfit… Like for instance, that girl walking my direction, holding a comically tall stack of ice-cream in a humorously narrow ice cream cone!”

“Yes!” Replies a voice, coming from the same vicinity… “This was the last ice-cream cone my recently-departed grandfather made before we lost him at sea! It was his last wish I enjoy this precariously engineered ice cream cone! It would be a disappointment I would harbor the rest of my days if, instead of consuming this ice cream, it were to fall and ruin the suit of the man that is walking my direction, such that I could not consume it AND my grandfather loved suits while living!”

“...Hohoho?” …Schadenfreude Clown’s unibrow wriggles with intrigue. He dashes deeper into the stadium’s innards…

In a hallway within the stadium, Peter Principle is wearing a fresh-pressed baby blue prom suit…

“Nadine, are you sure this is gonna work?” Peter strokes his chin skeptically. “I mean, why would Schadenfreude Clown be attracted by something like human suffering, misfortune, and humiliation?”

…

Nadine, currently dressed like a schoolgirl, holding an ice-cream with six precarious scoops stacked vertically onto it, tilts her head sideways at Peter…

“Mister Principle… and don’t take this like an insult, sir, I’m genuinely just trying to understand… do you ever think before you speak?”

Peter laughs, like that’s a ridiculous question. “That’s silly! If I did that, I wouldn’t speak as fast, now would I? I’d be too busy thinking!”

…Nadine shakes her head.

“Trust me, sir. This is exactly how we cat-”

The sound of shoes honking down the hall.

“Oh! That must be him! Quickly, sir! The plan!”

“Ah right! Of course!” Peter adjusts his suit so it looks very nice…

As creeping down the hall, watching like a creep around the corner… It’s Schadenfreude Clown! That creep!

“Ohohoho?” Schadenfreude Clown peers curiously as this baby-blue suit wearing dork approaches a young schoolgirl.

“Eck-SCUZE me.” Peter says, sounding very much like a third grader participating in a school play with his very first speaking role… “Did I HEAR you correctly that THAT ice cream was the last cone your grandfather made before he passed away? Tragically and in the prime of his life?”

“Yes!” Nadine nods, slightly more competent at acting. “His dying wish was that I eat it and it not end up on someone’s suit.” Nadine gestures with her hand as she speaks… The ice cream begins tilting back and forth…

…

“Hmmmm…” Schadenfreude Clown remains far back at the corner of the hallway… His unibrow knits with disinterest… This is hardly schaden at all, let alone freude!

“He’s not buying it, Nadine…” Peter whispers.

Nadine exhales. “Then, I think we’re going to have to up the ante a little bit…” Nadine reaches into her pocket and retrieves…

An urn?

“Ohohoooooooooooo.” Schadenfreude Clown murmurs curiously.

“THESE.” Nadine raises the urn. “Are the ashes of my grandfather! They’re the last thing I have to remember him, besides his last ice cream! He was cremated, even though he spent his whole life in ice cream freezers! Which is a kind of irony!”

Peter scratches his head confused… “Wait, is Schadenfreude irony? Should we be doing ironic things? Oh, we should do the one about rain on your wedding da-”

Nadine stumbles forward… She goes to protect the ice cream cone… but loses her grip on the urn! “GRAND-DAD! NO!”

SMACK! It hits Peter in the face and mouth!

“Oh… NO!” Peter is still a bad actor. “My SUIT! It’s rui-*cough*... wait… *keraugh*...NADINE, ARE THESE ACTUALLY ASHES?!?” Peter rubs his tongue! “Oh god, this tastes like death!”

“GRANDPA!” Nadine cries, as she tries to brush the ashes off the suit and back into the urn… As she does, the ice cream tilts over… AND ONTO PETER’S SUIT!

“Ohohohohooooooooo.” Schadenfreude Clown giggles delightedly, clapping his hands, which make little honks…

“Ohhhhhhhh…” Peter is now covered in ashes and ice cream… his face has been rockied and roaded and grandpa’d… His expression is one of disgust!

“NOOOOOO! GRANDPA! HE WANTED SOMEONE TO EAT THAT ICE CREAM!” Nadine squeals horrified, as she scoops some of the ashy ice-cream off Peter’s face. “It was his dying wish…”

“JESUS, WHAT THE F-” Peter screams just before Nadine shoves two scoops of neapolitan octogenarian into his gullet.

“Oh mein gott, yesssssshhhhhhh…” Schadenfreude Clown fans himself, scurrying forward, eager to get closer… “Isht der best! Schimply schublime!”

SF’s a few feet away as Peter is dry-heaving, trying to evacuate the contents of his stomach onto the ground…

When suddenly, Nadine tosses the urn away!

And catches SF in a big butterfly net, swinging down on him!

“GOTCHA!”

…Peter helplessly spits ash on the ground.

“...Nadine… couldn’t… couldn’t we have just… used prop ashes?”

“Could have, sir! But you’re not a good enough actor to fake getting hit with ashes! So we had to use the real stuff!”

“Ohohohoho!”

THE CLOWN CITY WHITE HOUSE

“Mister President Clown.”

A number of President Clown’s military advisor clowns are making a presentation before him…

“At oh-nine-hundred hours…”

…

General Clown turns back to his assistant. “Oh-Nine-hundred, correct?”

“Ohhhhhhhhhh…” Double-Checks the Time Clown double-checks his watch. [color=#7ff6a2“Nine-hundred, yep!”

“Schadenfreude Clown was kidnapped by two humans from Planet Earth!”[/color]

“Egads!” President Clown gasps…

General Clown nods. “I’ve prepared to send Clown Team Six to go on a suicide mission to recover him! It will be as dangerous and hilarious a mission as we’ve ever set out on! I imagine knees will be slapped, guts will be busted and not a single side will go unsplit.”

“Also, they’ll almost certainly all die painfully.”

…

President Clown strokes his chin.

“And this is all… to retrieve Schadenfreude Clown?”

“Yessir!” General Clown salutes. “Don’t worry! At the end of this mission, Schadenfreude Clown will be back in Clown City.”

“..Oh. Uh…” President Clown clears his throat. ““No, that’s okay. No thanks.”

…

“Pardon, sir?”

““That’s alright.” President Clown raises a newspaper in front of his eyes, a copy of the How to Non-Chalantly Show Disinterest Quarterly. ““Thanks, though for… uh… letting me know!”

…

The Clown Generals look at each other confused… before departing.

President Clown flips a page of his newspaper…

““Fucking hate that guy.”

[amatch]MEANWHILE… BACK ON EARTH[/anatch]

Elon approaches a cage…

In it… Schadenfreude Clown.

“Magnificent.” Elon strokes his chin. “A marvelous specimen. Now, I’d like to make a deal with you, Clown.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhhh?” Mewls SF Clown in a German fashion.

“I wish to have you as my champion. Fight my battles for me… I could use someone as determined to make others suffer as you see fit to do so.” Elon steeples his fingers before his eyes intensely. “I watched your match against the Kingsguard… You could have defeated Kieran’s lackeys by simply consuming pie. But, that was never your goal was it?”

“Your goal was… pain. Humiliation. Agony.”

“Defeat those who see fit to stand in my way. And all your worldly desires I shall deliver unto you, Clown.”

…

……

Elon looks over at Nadine and Peter. “Can… can he understand me?”

“I canst understand you, Musk.” Musk spins back toward the caged clown… a chill runs down his spine…

“Butsht… do you untershtand me? I sthinkt not.”

Schadenfreude Clown leans against the bars, his smile as wide as his face allows.

“You speak of worldly desiresht? I haft none.”

“I do not consume or imbibe. I care not for love, nor money, nor fame, nor anyschting a man such as you could unterstant.”

…

SF Clown extends his hand…

…Elon peers at it curiously, before extending his own.

“So… do we have a de-”

Elon wraps his hand around SF’s…

BZZZZT! Elon’s hand jolts back!

“AH! FUCK!”

“Ohohohohoho, yesssssht!” Schadenfreude Clown coos with an ecstatic sort of delight! “Ohohoho, how embarrassing for de richest man in der world… to fall victim to a buzzer gag! Ohoho, the shame!”

…Elon sneers furiously! “You… cretin! You FOOL! What if I see fit to leave you in there forever! ROTTING away in a cage! Slowly starving to death as my prisoner...”

…SF Clown sneers comfortably.

“Who ist whose prisoner, Mishtah Musk?”

“I feed on schadenfreude… And if you are fool enough to keep me? I shall be well-fed on your misery…”

AH!

Miss Korvayne!

How macabre! How droll! How grotesque!

A woman protesting the authoritarian regime in Dubai…

JAILED! Ohohohohoho! How delicious…

You break all der rules of der local sultanate…

And act surprised when der law of der land isht applied!

Ohohohohoho!

My fellow artist of reaction! My kindred spirit in sheathing the world how it is…

We both haft sheen the beauty in der shuffering…

Your own career emerging from a schpring of lossh…

Your Wicked Sisters… Slain like Der Wicked WItch! Crusht by your poor driving, ohohohohoho!

Unt now you are here… Competing against me!

Schadenfreude Clown!

And your suffering has just begunt!

What shall follow shall leave you begging for the death that was a gift to your shistersh!

Your entrance music shall be a cover of the song you’d actually prefer to come out to!

You shall trip awkwardly on der ramp and everyone will see!

You shall enter der ring… And you shall leap towardsh me! But ze bell will not have rung!

OHHHHHH! How embarrasshing!

Then, we shall dance! You shall trip over your own feet as I maneuver you about der ring! My plaything!

You may be an artist.

But upon you I shall paint a mashterpiesht of human suffering…

The likes of which no one could imagine.

Ohohohoho.

I cannot wait.]]> “Hmm.”

“What is it, sir?”

“Curious, isn’t it?”

“How many licks it takes to get to the center of the Tootsie Pop?”

“I keep thinking they’ll ask someone besides that fool, Mister Owl! He takes three licks and then just bites it! That’s not an accurate way to measure licks at all! There’s no conversion rate on bites to licks!”

“Um… Mister Principle? I think Mister Musk isn’t concerned with commercials about candy from the 1960s.”

“He isn’t?”

…

“I mean, of course he isn’t! He’s a busy man! He obviously doesn’t wonder, wonder, wonder what’s in a Wonder Ball.”

“Right, sir?”

“Both of you stop talking.”

…

“What I find curious.”

“Is that my… partners… in the XWF ownership group…”

“Appear to be gathering… resources…”

“Raising armies of sorts…”

“Zuckerberg has been spending quite a bit of time in his little Metaverse…”

“And that snake Bezos is getting all chummy with that… Yelena Gorgo individual.”

“Oh sir, I wouldn’t worry about them! They’re just a hoot!”

“Mister Principle, isn’t Gorgo the one that waterboarded you into a comatose state?”

“…Oh! I was thinking of ‘Yakov Smirnoff’…”

“In that case, I would worry about them! And DO worry about them! And am actively worrying about them as we speak!”

“…Hmm.”

“If you’re concerned about your fellow co-owners seeking champions, perhaps you should recruit a champion of your own, Mister Musk?”

“Nadine, please. Don’t embarrass yourself. Mister Musk is a business genius! He knows exactly what to do to secure his interests, without help from anyone.”

“…Hmm. Perhaps I *shall* recruit a champion of my own.”

“Brilliant idea, sir!”

“…”

“Yes. A champion.”

“And one more loyal than that union king stooge, Kieran King!”

“But whom, sir? Or should I say… whomst?”

“…Mister Principle, you said whomst like it was something smart and implied you had some great idea, but whomst is just… grammatically incorrect.”

“SILENCE!”

“…There is a clear choice! One that pulled off a surprise upset over Kieran.”

“…Oh. Oh! That’s brilliant, sir! Not only has this man defeated Kieran… he’s declared an undying loyalty to you over your fellow trillionaires.”

“Really! How perfect! I was unaware!”

“…How? He’s been… VERY vocal about loving you!”

“Then that settles it. My champion shall be…”

“Micheal Gr-“

“Schadenfreude Clown!”

“…What?”

“The Captain who led Clowns R Us to a shocking upset victory over Kieran’s Kingsguard!”

“…You don’t wan-“

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!? GO TO CLOWN CITY! RECRUIT MY CHAMPION!”

“Oooh, Clown City! Shotgun in the limo!”

“Hohoho… you won’t be taking a limo to Clown City…”

***

[Image: spacex-1.0.gif]

CLOWN CITY BALLPARK

THE CLOWN CITY WHITE HOUSE

resist and disorder
WORDCOUNT: 3981
ZEROGPT: 10.3%

]]> the weight of the world, the price of a fighter
when i decide where you'll make your stand
hate for the world, the birth of a soldier
when i decide if you live or die
rise up

resist and disorder
WORDCOUNT: 3981
ZEROGPT: 10.3%

]]> <![CDATA[Of All The Challengers]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49938 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 19:34:37 -0700 Centurion]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49938 He was expecting a visit. He just didn’t know who was going to show up.

We open up on the front porch of Centurion’s luxury cabin in the Poconos. Standing there is Centurion, smoking a cigarette, with Nellie standing next to him, smoking her vape. Neither say a word, as they stand in their collective silence, the sound of the breeze rustling through the dormant trees surrounding them being the only thing that interrupts them.

This does not last, however, as the sound of driving cars can be heard down Centurion’s driveway, getting closer to the home.

“Here we go.” Centurion says as he lifts his foot and puts out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe.

Three black Escalades pull up to the front of the cabin, parking themselves in a row as close to the front porch as possible. The two cars in the front and back open up, and uniformed, masked ICE agents step out. The middle car opens, and out steps Pier Hess Graf, the tall, blonde, controversial district attorney of Lebanon County. Neither Centurion nor Nellie move. In fact, Nellie doesn’t even stop smoking. Centurion, meanwhile, looks at ICE agents - four in total - before turning his attention to Graf. “Cute.”

“Mr. Cortinovis.” Graf quickly speaks, not acknowledging Centurion’s dismissive attitude. “I’ve been attempting to get a hold of you over the phone. It appears as if the service out here may be a bi unreliable.”

“My service is great.” Centurion coldly responds. “I’ve been ignoring you. Though, don’t feel bad - I didn’t even know it was you. I’ve been ignoring anyone who thinks they can intimidate me after what I did to Elon.”

“So you know why I’m here…”

“No, I don’t.” Centurion cuts Graf off before she can begin to speak. “I know why SOMEONE is here. What I don’t know is why YOU are here. This isn’t Lebanon County. A crime didn’t take place in Lebanon County. You have nothing to do with this, Frau Hess.”

“I’m here on behalf of my friend and client.” Graf says as she folds her arms in front of her. “And I don’t appreciate being mocked. A serious crime has occurred, Mr. Cortinovis. A crime that was witnessed by all of America, and the fact that you’re so lackadaisical about it just says so much more about your character than words could ever do.”

“A crime implies something illegal has happened.” Centurion says, standing upright and becoming more serious. “The law is very clear, thanks to Thesz Vs Indiana. “Anyone who enters or approaches a combat ring assumes the risk associated with it and therefore forfeit their punitive action in the case of injury.” The moment Elon stepped in that ring, he was no longer your “friend.” He was no longer Elon Musk, the billionaire. He was Elon Musk, the owner of the XWF and combatant, and therefore neither HE nor YOU have a leg to stand on.”

“Elon didn’t know of this law when he approached the ring.” Graf quips back. This response is immediately met with laughter by Centurion and Nellie, the latter of whom releases a cloud of smoke when she does.

“You mean to tell me that the OWNER of a WRESTLING COMPANY didn’t know the rules involved in a WRESTLING match?! Because if what you tell me is correct, that means Elon Musk signed the agreement to purchase the company without reading the contract. And that sounds like negligence. Doesn’t that sound like negligence, Nellz?”

“Sounds like negligence to me.” Nellie responds back, nodding.

“You’re WAY too damn cocky for your own good.” Graf says, her voice becoming angrier. “You may get away with this on a technicality, but let me tell you - we are NOT the people you want on your bad side. You could save yourself a lot of headaches if you were to publicly apologize for your actions, and offer some kind of compensation.”

Centurion clears his throat as he steps forward, closer to Graf. This causes the ICE agents to step closer to him, their thumbs in their flack jackets, ready to act in case Centurion decides to get physical. Centurion, meanwhile, smiles as he looks at all four agents. “You think bringing your uniformed goons with you would scare me?” Centurion looks one of them up and down. “Boy, the Gestapo uniforms have really gone downhill over time.”

“Back up, sir.” One of the other officers from the opposite side of Graf speaks up, causing Centurion to change his focus to him.

“You got something to say to me, Six Cheeseburger Danzig?” Centurion’s quip gets the agent, who does indeed look like the rockstar Danzig if he had laid heavy into the fast food, to step in front of Graf and get nose to nose with Centurion. “Do it. Go ahead, do it. I WANT you to do it. I have cameras all over this property, and the moment that film airs, I become a front runner for the Democratic nomination. Try me. All of you. Try. Me.” Centurion’s intensity stares daggers into the one agent, who does not move and does not blink. The other three, meanwhile, glance over to Graf, with concern on their faces. Even Nellie, who has stood back and looked completely nonchalant up until now, has a look of concern as the situation becomes more heated.

“Take a step back, boys.” Graf says in a low tone, causing the ICE agents to reluctantly back up. “We’re not here to make an arrest anyway. We were here, hoping to make things right. I can see by your demeanor, however, that you have no intentions to do so. If that is the route you wish to take, be my guest, but understand something - we’re in power for a reason. You want your job, your reputation, your entire career to be sullied in an instant, then please, go ahead and continue down the path you’re going down.”

“My reputation?!” Centurion snarls back. “You assholes have been slandering me for nine ten years. What could you possibly say or do to me that you haven’t already been doing? Your cult hates me. The owners of the company I work for want me dead. I’m getting every punch thrown at me from all angles, and you’re telling me you’d ruin my REPUTATION?! Do me a favor, since you didn’t come with a warrant - take your soldiers here and goose step your ass off my property.”

Centurion’s eyes pierce through Graf, his steely gaze unwavering as she takes two steps backwards. She points at him as she continues to back up.

“We’ll see you soon.”

With that, Graf turns and gets back in the car. The three ICE agents linger for a moment, causing Centurion to do a dismissive wave, before they return to their vehicles and the cars begin to pull back around and up the driveway. Nellie walks up to Centurion, who continues to stare at the cars as they drive out of sight.

“…I think that went well.”

———You Don’t Get To Pray For Me———

“Ladies and gentlemen - ‘Generic Bad Boy Number 540’!”

The sound of cheering and applause is heard as the camera opens up on a stage. He raises his arms around and poses for the crowd…but there is no crowd. Instead, Centurion walks over to a podium and pulls out a tape recorder, which he shuts off, causing the sound from the “crowd” to instantly stop.

“I hope you enjoyed that, Matthias…because it’s the only reaction you’re going to get.

I’m currently engaged in a 20 year feud with Michael Graves, and let me tell you…it’s exhausting. And there’s a lot of things I can call that man, which I’m sure I will in the upcoming days and week, but let’s just say none of those words are positive. There isn’t a single word I can say about him that doesn’t drip with disdain.

With one exception…he certainly isn’t boring.

His presence, however grotesque it may be, has a purpose. He makes me feel something, even if all those feelings are disgust. But you, Matthias?

You make me feel nothing.

And that’s a shame, because this match is supposed to be super important. After all, it’s coming immediately after my Anarchy Title match against Miss Furry, which I’m sure will include all kinds of hijinx and tomfoolery. Furry, Graves, Musk, and an army of Nazis are probably going to be next to that ring, beating me, bloodying me, and leaving me for dead. They’re going to stand back, with giant grins on their face, thinking they accomplished their ultimate goal by weakening me to the point where I’ll be forced to drop my Television Title. The crowd is going to boo, the champagne will be flowing, it’s going to be a huge moment.

And then your goofy ass is going to walk down to the ring, and all the energy will be sucked out of the room.

You’re the most basic ass human being ever conceived. Your entire existence screams “I’m a character in someone else’s story.” You look like the first bad guy that gets beat up in a superhero movie. You repulse women by telling them how much of an alpha male you are. You derail conversations by talking about how underrated Morrisey is. You tell people you're a “Slytherin” unironically - you see what I’m saying here?

And what really pisses me off is what could have BEEN. Scoops McGee and I battled to a draw the last time we were in a match together. He has earned another opportunity at the Television Title. Betsy Granger took me to the limit, proving a lot of what I said about her was complete bullshit. Ken Davison BEAT me, at my own anniversary show. Granted, he had some help, but it was still impressive enough to earn him a title shot if he wanted it.

And yet, I’m stuck with Bunk Ass Gerard Way.

And here’s the thing, I don’t even know WHY you’re here, Matthias. Usually, I can figure out why someone gets a title shot. Obviously, if they earn it, the mystery is solved. If they didn’t earn it, then you can usually make some assumptions - either someone knows their dad, or they’re sleeping with someone important, or the management thinks they are controllable. Something along those lines.

But you, Matthias - I have no idea how you got here. Are you Jeff Bezos’s nephew? Did you work catering on Epstein Island? Did you win a bet? I’m serious, I have no clue here.

I’m asking a lot of questions, and I don’t know why. I honestly don’t care. It doesn’t change the situation I’m in. I have the weight of the XWF’s financial backers on my ass, and I have the opportunity to walk away with two XWF titles in one night. I know my motivation, Matthias. And I know how this story ends…it ends with me, holding two belts, and you, laying in the center of the ring after just meeting your…

FINAL FANTASY!!!

]]> He was expecting a visit. He just didn’t know who was going to show up.

We open up on the front porch of Centurion’s luxury cabin in the Poconos. Standing there is Centurion, smoking a cigarette, with Nellie standing next to him, smoking her vape. Neither say a word, as they stand in their collective silence, the sound of the breeze rustling through the dormant trees surrounding them being the only thing that interrupts them.

This does not last, however, as the sound of driving cars can be heard down Centurion’s driveway, getting closer to the home.

“Here we go.” Centurion says as he lifts his foot and puts out his cigarette on the bottom of his shoe.

Three black Escalades pull up to the front of the cabin, parking themselves in a row as close to the front porch as possible. The two cars in the front and back open up, and uniformed, masked ICE agents step out. The middle car opens, and out steps Pier Hess Graf, the tall, blonde, controversial district attorney of Lebanon County. Neither Centurion nor Nellie move. In fact, Nellie doesn’t even stop smoking. Centurion, meanwhile, looks at ICE agents - four in total - before turning his attention to Graf. “Cute.”

“Mr. Cortinovis.” Graf quickly speaks, not acknowledging Centurion’s dismissive attitude. “I’ve been attempting to get a hold of you over the phone. It appears as if the service out here may be a bi unreliable.”

“My service is great.” Centurion coldly responds. “I’ve been ignoring you. Though, don’t feel bad - I didn’t even know it was you. I’ve been ignoring anyone who thinks they can intimidate me after what I did to Elon.”

“So you know why I’m here…”

“No, I don’t.” Centurion cuts Graf off before she can begin to speak. “I know why SOMEONE is here. What I don’t know is why YOU are here. This isn’t Lebanon County. A crime didn’t take place in Lebanon County. You have nothing to do with this, Frau Hess.”

“I’m here on behalf of my friend and client.” Graf says as she folds her arms in front of her. “And I don’t appreciate being mocked. A serious crime has occurred, Mr. Cortinovis. A crime that was witnessed by all of America, and the fact that you’re so lackadaisical about it just says so much more about your character than words could ever do.”

“A crime implies something illegal has happened.” Centurion says, standing upright and becoming more serious. “The law is very clear, thanks to Thesz Vs Indiana. “Anyone who enters or approaches a combat ring assumes the risk associated with it and therefore forfeit their punitive action in the case of injury.” The moment Elon stepped in that ring, he was no longer your “friend.” He was no longer Elon Musk, the billionaire. He was Elon Musk, the owner of the XWF and combatant, and therefore neither HE nor YOU have a leg to stand on.”

“Elon didn’t know of this law when he approached the ring.” Graf quips back. This response is immediately met with laughter by Centurion and Nellie, the latter of whom releases a cloud of smoke when she does.

“You mean to tell me that the OWNER of a WRESTLING COMPANY didn’t know the rules involved in a WRESTLING match?! Because if what you tell me is correct, that means Elon Musk signed the agreement to purchase the company without reading the contract. And that sounds like negligence. Doesn’t that sound like negligence, Nellz?”

“Sounds like negligence to me.” Nellie responds back, nodding.

“You’re WAY too damn cocky for your own good.” Graf says, her voice becoming angrier. “You may get away with this on a technicality, but let me tell you - we are NOT the people you want on your bad side. You could save yourself a lot of headaches if you were to publicly apologize for your actions, and offer some kind of compensation.”

Centurion clears his throat as he steps forward, closer to Graf. This causes the ICE agents to step closer to him, their thumbs in their flack jackets, ready to act in case Centurion decides to get physical. Centurion, meanwhile, smiles as he looks at all four agents. “You think bringing your uniformed goons with you would scare me?” Centurion looks one of them up and down. “Boy, the Gestapo uniforms have really gone downhill over time.”

“Back up, sir.” One of the other officers from the opposite side of Graf speaks up, causing Centurion to change his focus to him.

“You got something to say to me, Six Cheeseburger Danzig?” Centurion’s quip gets the agent, who does indeed look like the rockstar Danzig if he had laid heavy into the fast food, to step in front of Graf and get nose to nose with Centurion. “Do it. Go ahead, do it. I WANT you to do it. I have cameras all over this property, and the moment that film airs, I become a front runner for the Democratic nomination. Try me. All of you. Try. Me.” Centurion’s intensity stares daggers into the one agent, who does not move and does not blink. The other three, meanwhile, glance over to Graf, with concern on their faces. Even Nellie, who has stood back and looked completely nonchalant up until now, has a look of concern as the situation becomes more heated.

“Take a step back, boys.” Graf says in a low tone, causing the ICE agents to reluctantly back up. “We’re not here to make an arrest anyway. We were here, hoping to make things right. I can see by your demeanor, however, that you have no intentions to do so. If that is the route you wish to take, be my guest, but understand something - we’re in power for a reason. You want your job, your reputation, your entire career to be sullied in an instant, then please, go ahead and continue down the path you’re going down.”

“My reputation?!” Centurion snarls back. “You assholes have been slandering me for nine ten years. What could you possibly say or do to me that you haven’t already been doing? Your cult hates me. The owners of the company I work for want me dead. I’m getting every punch thrown at me from all angles, and you’re telling me you’d ruin my REPUTATION?! Do me a favor, since you didn’t come with a warrant - take your soldiers here and goose step your ass off my property.”

Centurion’s eyes pierce through Graf, his steely gaze unwavering as she takes two steps backwards. She points at him as she continues to back up.

“We’ll see you soon.”

With that, Graf turns and gets back in the car. The three ICE agents linger for a moment, causing Centurion to do a dismissive wave, before they return to their vehicles and the cars begin to pull back around and up the driveway. Nellie walks up to Centurion, who continues to stare at the cars as they drive out of sight.

“…I think that went well.”

———You Don’t Get To Pray For Me———

“Ladies and gentlemen - ‘Generic Bad Boy Number 540’!”

The sound of cheering and applause is heard as the camera opens up on a stage. He raises his arms around and poses for the crowd…but there is no crowd. Instead, Centurion walks over to a podium and pulls out a tape recorder, which he shuts off, causing the sound from the “crowd” to instantly stop.

“I hope you enjoyed that, Matthias…because it’s the only reaction you’re going to get.

I’m currently engaged in a 20 year feud with Michael Graves, and let me tell you…it’s exhausting. And there’s a lot of things I can call that man, which I’m sure I will in the upcoming days and week, but let’s just say none of those words are positive. There isn’t a single word I can say about him that doesn’t drip with disdain.

With one exception…he certainly isn’t boring.

His presence, however grotesque it may be, has a purpose. He makes me feel something, even if all those feelings are disgust. But you, Matthias?

You make me feel nothing.

And that’s a shame, because this match is supposed to be super important. After all, it’s coming immediately after my Anarchy Title match against Miss Furry, which I’m sure will include all kinds of hijinx and tomfoolery. Furry, Graves, Musk, and an army of Nazis are probably going to be next to that ring, beating me, bloodying me, and leaving me for dead. They’re going to stand back, with giant grins on their face, thinking they accomplished their ultimate goal by weakening me to the point where I’ll be forced to drop my Television Title. The crowd is going to boo, the champagne will be flowing, it’s going to be a huge moment.

And then your goofy ass is going to walk down to the ring, and all the energy will be sucked out of the room.

You’re the most basic ass human being ever conceived. Your entire existence screams “I’m a character in someone else’s story.” You look like the first bad guy that gets beat up in a superhero movie. You repulse women by telling them how much of an alpha male you are. You derail conversations by talking about how underrated Morrisey is. You tell people you're a “Slytherin” unironically - you see what I’m saying here?

And what really pisses me off is what could have BEEN. Scoops McGee and I battled to a draw the last time we were in a match together. He has earned another opportunity at the Television Title. Betsy Granger took me to the limit, proving a lot of what I said about her was complete bullshit. Ken Davison BEAT me, at my own anniversary show. Granted, he had some help, but it was still impressive enough to earn him a title shot if he wanted it.

And yet, I’m stuck with Bunk Ass Gerard Way.

And here’s the thing, I don’t even know WHY you’re here, Matthias. Usually, I can figure out why someone gets a title shot. Obviously, if they earn it, the mystery is solved. If they didn’t earn it, then you can usually make some assumptions - either someone knows their dad, or they’re sleeping with someone important, or the management thinks they are controllable. Something along those lines.

But you, Matthias - I have no idea how you got here. Are you Jeff Bezos’s nephew? Did you work catering on Epstein Island? Did you win a bet? I’m serious, I have no clue here.

I’m asking a lot of questions, and I don’t know why. I honestly don’t care. It doesn’t change the situation I’m in. I have the weight of the XWF’s financial backers on my ass, and I have the opportunity to walk away with two XWF titles in one night. I know my motivation, Matthias. And I know how this story ends…it ends with me, holding two belts, and you, laying in the center of the ring after just meeting your…

FINAL FANTASY!!!

]]> <![CDATA[RV Tapes | 003]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49937 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 15:56:53 -0700 Rowan Vance]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49937 Click for the RP]]> Click for the RP]]> <![CDATA[Stormborne: Chasing Fate]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49936 Fri, 27 Mar 2026 15:38:35 -0700 RemiStorm]]> https://xwf1999.com/showthread.php?tid=49936 Remi Storm stands in the grand hall of her family estate.

Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Towering windows.

Perfect.

Quiet.

Deceptive.

Then…

The doors explode open and Griffin staggers in.

Not the untouchable man she knows as father, but armored and bloodied. Barely standing on his own.

“Remington..” his voice crackles.

She rushes towards him. “What’s happened!?”

“The Wards… failed…” he chokes out, dropping to his knees. “The Shield is falling…”

Her breath catches. “No!”

His hand grips her wrist, urgent. Voice desperation laden.

“The fate of the world… is yours now.”

His form glitches.

Flickers.

Breaks into light.

And then… he’s gone.

Only his sword remains, clattering against the marble.

Silence again, heavy and final.

Tears sting as Remi stares at the sword.

There was only one choice.
She steps forward and grabs it. The moment her fingers close around the hilt….

LIGHTNING CRACKS!

Pink, violent, and alive.

It strikes her, wrapping around her body.

Her dress tears away within the energy, replaced by combat gear. Boots, wraps, armor forming piece by piece.

She lifts the blade to the sky and the lightning surges upwards, splitting the ceiling in an explosion.

NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED!

Remi exhales. Grounds herself. Steady… ready… and then she runs.

Out of the house…

…. And into chaos.

A shadow lunges.

She doesn’t hesitate.

One clean swing.

The creature shatters into fragments.

FLASH!

LEVEL UP!

Her sword ignites, glowing pink.

She spins, swinging low as another creature seeks her end,

She looks up. The horizon darkens as the horde bent on ending the world surges forward.

Endless.

Relentless.

Remi rolls her shoulders and tightens her grip.

A faint smirk..

“Alright.”

She twirls her sword.

“Let’s see what you’ve got.”

Was that to them, or herself? Who knows…

And then…

She runs straight at them.]]> Remi Storm stands in the grand hall of her family estate.

Marble floors. Crystal chandeliers. Towering windows.

Perfect.

Quiet.

Deceptive.

Then…

The doors explode open and Griffin staggers in.

Not the untouchable man she knows as father, but armored and bloodied. Barely standing on his own.

“Remington..” his voice crackles.

She rushes towards him. “What’s happened!?”

“The Wards… failed…” he chokes out, dropping to his knees. “The Shield is falling…”

Her breath catches. “No!”

His hand grips her wrist, urgent. Voice desperation laden.

“The fate of the world… is yours now.”

His form glitches.

Flickers.

Breaks into light.

And then… he’s gone.

Only his sword remains, clattering against the marble.

Silence again, heavy and final.

Tears sting as Remi stares at the sword.

There was only one choice.
She steps forward and grabs it. The moment her fingers close around the hilt….

LIGHTNING CRACKS!

Pink, violent, and alive.

It strikes her, wrapping around her body.

Her dress tears away within the energy, replaced by combat gear. Boots, wraps, armor forming piece by piece.

She lifts the blade to the sky and the lightning surges upwards, splitting the ceiling in an explosion.

NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED!