X-treme Wrestling Federation - High Stakes (May 25th) PPV RP Archive

I really hope you guys don't get the wrong idea about me, but...there's this thing.

Sat, 25 May 2013 19:15:26 -0700

High Stakes and Hot Bites

Time: Around lunchtime
Date: Unconfirmed
Location: Somewhere outside in a heavily populated metro area

The sun shines bright in the eyes of onlookers as Dean Moxley McGovern walks down the boulevard, stark raving naked of course.
(like it!)

“Coming through! Hot package coming through! Don't say I didn't warn you!”

Dean covers his privates with an issue of XWF magazine-{if there even is such a thing? If not then his junk's just hanging out}

“Hey boo you like what you see? I see you starin' proper at mah cherry popper.”
(love that!)

He says this to a very young looking girl, probably in the age range of 'holy shit this pedophile should be in jail' to 'well she might be legal in some countries' but Dean doesn't really care either way. The girl has makeup on. !BLAM! Done deal right there she's fair game as far as Dean is concerned and he's not shy about making it known.
(confidence is key in this business!)

A man who appears to be the girl's father takes exception to Dean's rambunctious comments and gestures toward the girl. The man steps between Dean and the girl and shoves Dean back, (rude!) so hard in fact that Dean falls back flat on his naked ass in the middle of the street. A Honda Civic is coming down the street fast and the driver slams those breaks but to no avail! The Civic skids about 10 feet......

Screeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeech

! CrRrRrAaAaAaAsSsSsSsH !

The front of the car rams right into Dean and sends him flying straight into a hospital bed.
(dislike this :( !)

“Excuse me for asking, nurse, but can you pump me with some morphine for the pain? I wanna get fucked up.”

“You've already been given the maximum amount, Mr. McGovern. You won't be able to receive anymore until Dr. Wily has a look at you. He'll be in shortly.”

“Dr. Wily? What the fuck?”

Sure enough Dr. Wily himself floats into the room and greets Dean.

“So you're Dr. Wily? Can I ask you a question and get right to the nitty gritty? Can I get more morphine? I was just telling the nurse here how bad my leg and hip and back and arm and neck and foot all hurt. Hook it up, doc!”

“Silence! You're going to help me build eight robots. These eight robots will help me accomplish two things.”

Dean's just got this horrified look on his face. You could say his entire face is just dripping in what the fuck.

“Number one! These eight robots will help me finally destroy that blasted arch nemesis of mine, Mega Man.”

Dean looks left and right but there's nobody else around. The nurse is long gone and it would appear Dean is at the mercy of this Dr. Wily fellow.

“Number two! These eight robots will help me finally take over the world. Don't worry, Mr. McGovern, I'll give you a nice place by my side once I am supreme ruler.”

Dean looks around and starts to feel like he's floating. He just goes with his instincts here.

“Well that's all fine and dandy Mr. uh, Dr. Wily and I can understand you wanting to select me for this mission because I am straight up da bomb, but what would you do if I told you I have no clue what the fuck you're talking about? And can I get some morphine? My head's just killin' me, doc.”

“But az I have said before, zhere's no doctor with ze name Dr. Vily on record that's ever vorked at zat hospital, Mr. McGovern. 'Tink harder and tell me - could zis have been another hallucination?”
(it's Dr. Drake Mallard/Dean's psychiatrist!)

“It wasn't Dr. Vily; the guy's name was Dr. Wily.”

“Zat's vhat I said - Dr. Vily. No doctor on record by zat name.”

“Then how do you explain Mega Man busting into my room and blasting Dr. Wily with that arm cannon thing he has? He shot up the doc so bad that his floating chair exploded into white dots.”

“Interezting...and vhat happened to ze doctor avter zat?”

“He popped up into the air and then landed on the ground begging Mega Man for mercy. That's the last thing I remember before seeing a bunch of Japanese names for some weird reason.”

“Hmmmmmmmm...could it pozzibly be zat you've been playing a video game?”

Dean springs up from Dr. Mallard's couch and looks him in the eye.

“You mean to tell me Zayne Vyper is a video game character?”

Dr. Mallard gets a cockeyed look and puff puffs on his pipe a few times.

“I zink you're zinking of your opponent zis week at ze High Ztakes extravaganza.”

“Yeah exactly. This guy has been going around and running his mouth about me and it's about to land his ass in a bed.”
(love it!)

“I presume you mean a hospital bed, Mr. McGovern?”

“Well I certainly don't mean my bed; would you look at that man's ugly hair and misshapen face?”
(true dat!)

“Ok, now tell me about vhat else you remember from your stay at ze hospital. Tell me about ze young girl - Shannon.”

“Mmmmm, mmm, mmm Shannon. I'll tell you a thing or two about Shannon.”

“Remember ve're talking about ze 14 year old girl you are being accuzed of attempting to molezt and have zex vith. Please be honest but careful in your chosen vording.”

“Well it was the daughter of that man who pushed me into the street before. She felt bad about what happened so she looked me up and found out which hospital I was staying at and everything. This chick knows how to do her research on a muh'fucker. She came to see me and brought me flowers and candy. We talked for a few minutes and decided to start sharing some of the candy she brought. I asked if she wanted to sit on the bed with me.”

“And at zis point you vere in ze hospital bed, laying back?”

“Well I had the back propped up you know how they adjust, but yeah doc I was all comfy and feelin' good in the bed after all that morphine I was given. I asked Shannon if she wanted to sit on the bed and she said sure. We shared candy and watched the TV for a while and then I guess I just got the wrong idea somewhere along the way. I could swear that she fell asleep with her head on my arm and that I dozed off too. I thought that later she woke me up to ask me to lick her in dirty places but my memory is so fuzzy. All I know is I am innocent of any wrongdoing and she was the one with weird thoughts on the brain.”
(sounds legit!)

“Except you vere blatantly hitting on her and making zexually explicit comments to zat very same girl earlier vhen her father pushed you into ze street, yes?”

“I can explain that.”

“Pleaze don't, Mr. McGovern. Ve only have a few minutes left together today. Vhy don't you tell me a little about how your experience vith ze XWF is going so far, please.”

“Good idea, Doc. Help get my mind off these false accusations n' shit. I think my XWF experience is a great one so far. I managed to pick up a big win on the Shove It Saturday show and now I'm heading to pick up another big win at their May pay per view. I'm pretty sure I'm the opening act but hey, you've got to start somewhere. I've got this egotistical prick Zayne Vyper talking about how I wouldn't even be on the pay per view if it weren't for him or some whackass malarkey. I guess his ego is so fat that it pushed his memory right out of his brain because otherwise he'd remember that it was MY hot_damn_thankyou_ma'am idea to have our match at High Stakes! You should have seen his weak, corny ass throwing out an open challenge to the entire XWF and everybody just ignoring his stank ass. I walked past him about 10 times while he waited for somebody to answer and I kept telling myself not to do it. I am always a sucker for a guy in need so I finally gave in and I talked some light smack to him so he wouldn't know he was just a charity case. I felt bad for ol' boy. I really did. If I hadn't finally come along and answered his little challenge he would still be all alone barking into the wind and putting up his dukes to fight his own shadow, and I'd probably be facing somebody a little more prominent at High Stakes.”

“Do you zink it's very vize to azzume you vill defeat him?”

“Ha ha ha I'm sorry doc but what in the blue blazes did you just say?”

“I mean do you believe it iz a good idea to azzume zat you vill vin?”

“Well if I don't win there's a big fuckin' problem, doc! This guy is nothing but a sleaze ball and a shit talker who has a bloated ego. He's the type of guy you WANT to see get beat at a big event like this. I'm the good guy in this; fuck I'm the good guy in most situations when it comes to the XWF and that's really hard to believe but it's true. The fans are going to be backing me just like they were on Shove It and I really don't see anything standing in my way that's going to pop my bubble. I'm about to float right up past the likes of Zayne Vyper and up the ranks like nobody's business. These muh'fuhs are going to soon realize that the Moxley Virus is spreading and this shit is too legit to quit so I'm gonna make it fit.”

“Can you tell me vhat zat means more specifically? Zhat lazt comment particularly?”

“You'll just have to wait and see like everybody else, Doc. I'm about to pop some bottoms at the crib to get myself primed for Mr. Vyper. I'm counting on that snake having one hell of a hot bite if you know what I mean.”
(Ow!)

Dean bites the air fiercely.

Chopping and (Not) Changing

Sat, 25 May 2013 12:21:17 -0700

It's not always as simple as who is the good person, and who is... Well, not one of the good ones.

I'm me. I'm Ann Thraxx. I'm an embodiment.

Of Extreme

Ann's in a bar, talking to a young, drug-fucked woman. She pulls out two huge wads of cash.

This, little Miss Panda-Makeup, is $25,000.
How would you like to win it?

The woman nods.

Great. Now's the bit where the smart people back out.... You smoke, right?

Got a Zippo?

The woman laughs and pulls out a green Zippo lighter.

Always!

Alright, well the bet is basically just that you can't strike the lighter ten times in a row, successfully. If you can, you get the money. If you can't, you're fucked. I'll be chopping off your pinky finger with a meat cleaver. Literally

Why?

Ann shrugs.

I dunno. Just an a-typical case of too much money, and a sadistic heart. Trust me, they never go well together. For other people, I mean.

Ann and the woman go into an area out the back of the bar. They come across some wooden crates and Ann casually empties some thin rope and a meat cleaver from her pocket. She convinces the woman to place her hand down on a crate, and ties the hand down with the rope. Ann makes sure that the knot's tied tightly, so as to keep the hand in place.

Remember, WHEN I win, don't clench your hand shut or move the fingers closer together. All that does is mean that I'll end up doing more damage and making it hurt a lot more for you. So, take my advice. Or don't. Either way, it'll be entertaining.

The woman pulls her Zippo lighter back out of her jacket pocket. Much to her own surprise, as she flips the lid open, she begins to feel afraid of the bet.

What's wrong?... Already? Geez, you people can be mindlessly stupid!.... Hurry up, will ya?

The woman finally musters up the strength to strike the Zippo lighter.

ONCE!

TWICE!

THRICE!

FOUR TIMES.

A FIFTH

Sweat, and an expression of fear begins to fill her face.

A SIXTH

A SEVENTTH

AN EIGHTH

A NINTH

A TENTH!!!!!!!

Huh? What the fuck!?!?!?

I..... I WIN!

BZZZZZZZZT! WRONG!

Oh, god! Ann, please! No!
AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!

Metal chops through bone and flesh.

I am Ann Thraxx. I am The Deevil. To a degree, I am an actress. And lately, I've had you believing that I really care about somebody or something. And I do. I care about one things. That I snap EVERY unbroken bone in CM Punk's body, and stomp on any that are already broken.

He finally dies.

I am not going soft, and I am not showing anyone any mercy ever again.

He finally dies.

End this shit for me!

Sat, 25 May 2013 11:59:21 -0700

Last we saw of Mister Mystery, he was having doubts about continuing on in the XWF as an active competitor and coming to terms with the fact that his "last run" might be coming to its inevitable end soon. Most people don't realize that Mister Mystery has three times more wrestling experience than Sid Feder, and that when Mister Mystery stepped in to take Sid Feder's place in the XWF it was a decision made in haste -- Mister Mystery was never originally supposed to become an XWF roster member. His time in the wrestling business is long since past; or so he had thought. All it took was a motive and some assistance from a man named Donathan De Sade -- the man who took Mister Mystery under his wing and was attempting to use him as his own personal wrecking machine. Donathan's goal was to continue pumping Mister Mystery with various drugs -- including mind control serums -- so that in the end Mister Mystery would forget who he even is..

So that he'd forget he was a Feder.

We all know that plan failed and Mister Mystery subsequently destroyed Donathan's vision by turning against him, eventually leading to Donathan's downfall.

There's a problem with this story though.

Remember how Donathan was including anabolic steroids in the "cocktails" he kept injecting Mister Mystery with?

Remember how after a person stops taking steroids, their body begins returning to its weaker state?

Without Donathan's intervention and serums along the way, Mister Mystery may have never been the unstoppable beast he appeared to be during his first few months in the XWF. There was a reason Mister Mystery stopped wrestling; stopped putting his body on the line -- his time had come and gone long ago.

We're no longer looking at the same Mister Mystery that we saw destroy endless victims in his path; he's not the same anymore and that can be said about both his mental state and his physical state.

We're looking at a man who has lost his last two matches in the XWF; a man who just this week, instead of training, tried to commit suicide right in front of Sid Feder.

This is what Peter Gilmour has to look forward to -- he'll most likely be the one carrying the team this weekend, even though nobody else in the entire match has paid enough attention to realize it. They're still all going on about how Peter Gilmour is just riding the coat tails of Mister Mystery and how Peter would be hopeless without him.

Nice way to bury yourselves; you blind fucking idiots.

Have you seen Mister Mystery's performances lately? Have you looked at his record for the month of May? Are all of you guys so wrapped up in how amazing it is to finally get a Tag Title shot that you're failing to notice anything the current champions are going through? They're both a wreck right now!

This is the part where we should be shown a funny graphic that depicts Crimson Cobra sitting in the middle of a scene where there is snow all around him, but he's too oblivious to that fact because he's still reading the newspaper from a few months back when it was hot out. That's how stupid you'd have to be to think that right now we're in a situation where Mister Mystery is carrying Peter Gilmour.

Sure, that may have worked a couple months ago but seriously guys -- have you opened your eyes at all since being signed to this Tag Team Championship match? Mister Mystery fucking sucks now, idiots.. yet he's carrying both Tag Titles on his shoulders?

Smart.

Thanks for making this sooooo easy on Mister Mystery that he doesn't even have to say these things to you himself. Much like the week of Gauntlet City, here we find ourselves once again hearing Mister Mystery's narrator talk down Mystery's opponents for him -- why? -- because it's just that simple. Right now if you asked Mister Mystery how he felt, he'd probably have mixed reactions and he might not even be too sure of himself. Ask me though? Ask Sid though? Ask Flo? Ask anyone close to him, who knows who his opponents are tonight? Ask any of us and we'll tell you right to your face how KnightMask, Cobra, Vyper and Bryce have already defeated themselves just by agreeing to this match.

Mister Mystery's dead body could fall from the rafters at High Stakes tonight and he'd still leave the building as Tag Team Champ!

Thanks for making this easy on us, guys -- especially you, Cobra.

When we last saw Peter Gilmour, he had just been trying to cope with the fact that "something" seems to be taking over his mind. His dreams have become more than just dreams and Peter himself can't even believe that he almost killed his own friend Kevin Anderson and his fiance Rose Smith.

After receiving a phone call from Mister Mystery, Peter went to meet with his partner. With Peter's current state of mind and with all of Mister Mystery's own issues, this was sure to be an interesting encounter.

:MM 17 31707 1:
Take this and pull the trigger for me.

No hello.

Ho handshake.

Just a simple request from Mister Mystery.

Gilmour:
What? No! I'm not going to take that gun and shoot you! Is that why you called me to meet?

Mister Mystery shoves Peter up against the wall of the building they're talking outside of.

:MM 17 31707 1:
I don't remember any part of my statement being a question of whether or not you want to do this. You will do this for me, Peter. End my fucking life!

Mister Mystery shoves the handgun into Peter's face.

:MM 17 31707 1:
Now you take this gun and you end my misery. I am no friend of misery and I want the fuck out!

Mister Mystery grabs Peter's wrist and plants the gun in Peter's hand. Mystery backs up a few steps and holds his arms out to his sides with his head tilted back.

:MM 17 31707 1:
Send me home to the lord, Peter! It's time for me to go home. I couldn't do this in front of Sid so it's all up to you -- my loyal partner -- to take me home. Something has gone wrong inside of me after what Donathan put me through. Something's...not right. The more time that passes, the less and less I become myself. I don't know what the fuck I'm becoming but it's weak, it's pathetic, and it's got to go! So do it, Peter! Pull that fucking trigger right now!!

Peter appears to be going through his own mental turmoil as Mister Mystery is shouting at him. Peter is shaking his head back and forth rapidly with his eyes closed tight, screaming "no" over and over.

Gilmour:
I'm not a killer! I didn't mean to do whatever the fuck I did to Rose and Kevin. I have to stop whatever evil is growing inside of me. I won't kill you. I won't do it!

Mister Mystery lets out a primal roar and charges!

:MM 17 31707 1:
Then you'll die!!!

Peter's eyes shoot open and lock onto Mystery coming toward him.

...and then.

BANG!

The bullet somehow knocks Mister Mystery's mask off!

Peter drops the gun, unable to believe what he sees!

The face of Mister Mystery, roaring so furiously at Peter that it almost sends him back!

Support Group.

Sat, 25 May 2013 11:50:13 -0700

Snakes.

Sharks.

Demons.

Aliens.

The scene opens to a group of people seated in a circle. Each person is visibly shaking and twitching, most have dark bags under their eyes and have their hands firmly clutched around coffee mugs. At one point in the circle a sharp dressed man sits holding a clipboard, relaxed, and nodding along as the neurotic looking group each list their personal fears. A sign at the door reads ‘Sleep deprivation support group.’ The man with the clipboard leans forward, revealing a name tag with a smiley face sticker and the word ‘Mark’ written next to it.

Mark: Those aren’t irrational fears at all. I think your nightmares are caused by a deeper, less obvious reason. Have you been suffering any additional stressors in your everyday life lately? Stress is often the culprit in episodes such as the one you’re having.

A shaky man leans forward, slightly nodding. His nametag reads ‘Omar.’

Omar: Well... I guess work has been kind of--

Before Omar can finish, a large man leaps into the middle of the circle. He is wearing blood stained overalls and a rather generic looking hockey mask. He swings a large machete, covered in what appears to be blood, around. He lets out a large, guttural growl as the members of the support group jump and shriek, sending their hot coffee flying all over each other. Several members of the support group run straight for the door, while some are too shocked to pry themselves from their chairs. The man stops and eerily turns his head toward Mark, who appears uneasy yet unimpressed at the same time. The man in the mask slowly turns his entire body towards Mark, who never breaks his gaze. The masked man slowly puts the machete under his chin and lifts the mask off his face using the blade, revealing a panting, yet smiling John Samuels.

Samuels: Hi! I’m John and I have a Nightmare problem.

Mark: Do you really think that was the best way to introduce yourself? This is supposed to be a fear free zone where we can come together to discuss what keeps us awake at night.

Samuels: Sue me, I’m a wrestler. We make big entrances.

Mark: Waving a fake machete at people who are already terrified is not a proper introduction. A nice handshake would suffice.

Samuels: Fake?

Samuels looks at the blade and throws it to the ground. The blade sticks into the wooden floor, sending a shiver up Mark’s spine. Samuels chucks and walks over to Omar and extends his hand to Omar. Dropping his head to stare at the floor, Omar extends a shaky hand to Samuels. As the two hands meet, Samuels smiles and grips it tightly, pulling Omar to his feet and face-to-face with Samuels. Samuels laughs in Omar’s terrified face. He pushes Omar away, sending the man running toward the door. Samuels grabs Omar’s chair and places it in the middle of the circle, directly across from Mark. Samuels sits in the chair and crosses his leg.

Samuels: So... Mark, is it? Let’s chat. I seem to have a problem with a particular Nightmare and I would like your expert opinion.

Mark: I don’t think I’ll be able to help--

Samuels: So this isn’t your typical nightmare. This isn’t one of those cute little dreams where you imagine you’re standing in the middle of the capitol building wearing nothing but black socks and your ex-wife’s favorite nightgown. No, this one is much less terrifying. This one is a giant brute of a man, with the IQ of half eaten baby possum. And this man is going to try to tear me limb from limb tonight. I know what you’re thinking: How is that not as bad? Well firstly, my ex-wife had terrible nightgown patterns. Tulips. Seriously, tulips. No wonder I hired all my staffers from the local strip joint--if you catch my drift. But secondly, I know for a fact that this particular Nightmare can’t do anything to me. And frankly, I don’t see why I should be afraid.

Mark: So what’s the problem?

Samuels: Well, the problem is one of morality.

Mark: I highly doubt that, but continue.

Samuels: How can I justify beating up a poor, obviously man? I mean, I’m half tempted to just not show up tonight.

Mark: You mean not sleep? I don’t recommend that.

Samuels: Oh no, I’ll sleep just beautifully. My bed cost more than your car I’m willing to bet. This isn’t fancy queer-speak, Mark, this Nightmare is a real man, not a dream. And I feel bad for even thinking that I could beat and batter one of the members of society who has so obviously fallen through the cracks... but then I think, so what? It’s not my fault this mongoloid picked this profession, or that he chose me of all people to target in cowardly sneak attacks. And then all that moral mumbo jumbo goes right out the window. Why shouldn’t it? I have a title to defend, and or no , I’m going to protect what’s mine when I get the chance. So actually, I think I just answered my own question. Hell, maybe I should start doing your job Mark, I’m clearly better at it. How much do you get paid?

Mark: I volunteer my time.

Samuels: Of course you do. This is what I’m talking about, I’m just too smart. Too crafty to fall for this giant wall licker’s tricks once more. I’m the smartest champion the XWF has ever seen, and I’m going to show that to everyone, especially Nightmare, tonight. I’m going to beat the giant potato with the only muscle of mine that’s bigger than his: My brain. Unless the penis is a muscle. Is it? Because then I have two muscles bigger and better than him. But I won’t be using that one unless his mother jumps in the cage and tries to help him out. But I digress. I’m too smart, I have too much guile. I just don’t see how I could possibly lose this match!

Mark: I just don’t see how you could possibly gain anything from being here. Did you just come here to promote a wrestling match?

Samuels: Pretty much.

Mark: Get out.

Samuels: Fair enough.

Samuels stands and walks out, smiling. The rest of the group focuses on the machete still planted firmly into the floor as the camera fades to black.

15 Is a Nice Round Number, Right?

Sat, 25 May 2013 08:54:38 -0700

Friday, May 24, 2013 - 11:25 PM EST

I stand in the middle of a graveyard just outside the city limits of Las Vegas. The air warm, dry. As it usually is in the desert. I walk between the head stones until I'm dead center between two 6 foot tall monuments.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Mr. Satellite, in under 24 hours, you.... like those rotting away six feet deep in the Earth around me...."

Someone from the camera crew says hello and cuts me off. I look around at my XWF camera crew and notice one man on his cell phone. Naturally, I get a little pissed that this insignificant little piss ant just ruined my promo. He looks at me with the phone still to his ear.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Don't mind me. I'll wait."

Sarcasm.

Obviously.

I'm a bit surprised the smallish man would be walking toward me with right now. I mean, we're in a graveyard in the middle of the fucking desert. I could end him right here and no one would ever know.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Let's go! Hurry it up!"

CREW MAN: "Actually, Mr. Duke, it's for you."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "What the hell do you mean it's for me?"

The little crew man hands me his cell phone.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Who the hell is it?"

CREW MAN: "It's Wallace Witasick, General Manager of..."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "I know who the hell he is!"

I take the phone and hit the speaker button.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "What the fuck do you want, Wallace?"

WALLACE WITASICK: "Is that any way to treat your boss?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Yeah, actually. It is. Seeing as how I have zero respect for you and would love to squash you like I'm going to squash Mr. Satellite tomorrow night."

WALLACE WITASICK: "That remains to be seen."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "What do you want?"

WALLACE WITASICK: "I just called to let you know you're out of time."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Out of time? What the hell are you talking about?"

WALLACE WITASICK: "Your allotted time has expired."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Come on, man! I have a promo to shoot here!"

WALLACE WITASICK: "See, therein lies the problem. You are allotted so much time each week to cut your promos. You've run out. In fact, you're over your time by a large margin."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Why is this the first I've heard of this? Are you trying to fuck me over?"

WALLACE WITASICK: "Sebastian! I'm offended! Would I do something like that to you?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Yeah, you would actually. I'm going to call Shane and have him override this rule."

WALLACE WITASICK: "Hmmmmmm, yeah I don't think that's going to work, big guy."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "I'm not following."

WALLACE WITASICK: "Well, this ruling is coming from the Administrator Network and you know as well as I do, no one can override the Network."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "I know you had something to do with this, you little son of a bitch! Sooner or later I'm going to get my hands on you, and when I do...."

WALLACE WITASICK: "It's in the interest of fairness to the others on the roster, Duke. You've used up so much time poor Franklin Fresh wasn't able to air much at all. It's not fair to the fans, or the other competitors!"

He hung up. I throw the phone against a gravestone and it shatters into dozens of little pieces.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "I'm going to kill him! I'm going to rip that little bastard to pieces! I'm going to strangle that Mother F.........!"

END TRANSMISSION

Fade to Darkness.

Flying to Vegas

Sat, 25 May 2013 08:07:23 -0700

As I sat on the flight to Vegas I took a moment to reflect on how things had been going for me since joining the XWF. When I pinned Shocker for the UFO title, I never really took a second to think that I was making an enemy. To me it was just about business. This business is about getting noticed and getting titles, I decided to kill 2 birds with one pin. You can't not notice a guy winning a title before his initial debut. Do I regret making an enemy so soon? Not really. It was always going to be easier making enemies than it was going to be to make friends. Keeping a low profile in the back hasn't really endeared me to many people. In fact other than my title win, I'm not sure if many folk have actually noticed me as much as I'd have hoped. I suppose it's hard to make any sort of impact if you don't actually win. The loss to Shawn Hero was merely a set back. Did I deserve to lose? Damn straight I deserved to lose, I wasn't fully prepared for just how big a step up this would be from the Indies.

I leant forward in my seat and opened the zip from my hand luggage bag, reaching inside I pulled out the magazine that I had brought along to read. I opened the magazine and flipped through it not really reading anything in it, with a sigh, I closed the magazine and stuffed it back into my bag, I couldn't concentrate, my head was spinning as I realised that I was mere hours away from my first ever PPV match and I didn't even have an official win on my record yet. I'd always been confident in my ability, thus was really the first time that I'd ever began to second guess myself. I'd always been a big guy and was always able to handle myself but the competition in the XWF was far superior to anywhere else that I had been. All I could do was give it my best shot, but I wasn't even sure if that would be enough anymore. I was always able to rely on my brother Cole before, if I'd ever needed to have someone to back me up, it was a different story now though, I was a bit of a lone wolf at the moment and already making enemies. Maybe it was about time to try and look for some friends. I tried to rack my brains and see if there was anyone obvious that would be someone I could rely on, someone who got me, knew what I was all about. I hadn't really spoken to many of the guys in the back, so aligning with a big name was definitely out of the question, my best bet was to try and find a friend in the same position as me, someone me, someone with good intentions, someone who hasn't exactly had a flying start, then I remembered Wednesday night. After the show when I was leaving I passed that Norwegian dude, Heironeous. We didn't actually talk to each other but there was that look between us, we shared the same feeling that night, we'd both lost in our debut's but had given a good account if ourselves. Maybe it was about time for us to actually have a conversation and watch out for each other.

I looked at my watch, it wouldn't be long before we arrived in Vegas. I decided to close my eyes and get some sleep before my long busy schedule ahead of me. Win or lose, after tonight, things could begin to get interesting, all I needed to do was to make sure I could get the Scandinavian on board. As I lay there with my eyes closed I finally drifted off to sleep. I'd land in Vegas in about an hour and head to my hotel room, dump my stuff and find Steve Sayors, if anyone could get in touch with Heironerous, it would be Steve, the two of them seemed to have struck up a friendship since the arrival of the little Norwegian. After what only seemed like 5 minutes of sleep, the air steward gently tapped my shoulder to inform me that we had arrived. This was it, it was go time.

Fathers and Sons

Sat, 25 May 2013 00:35:02 -0700

PROLOGUE: THE DEAL

In a dark corner of the bar, he spoke in hushed, fearful tones as the huge black giant, who whose shoulders spanned nearly the width of their booth, nodded his smooth, bald head. His face was impassive, uncaring as the man explained to him how desperate he was to atone for what he’d done, how badly he yearned to make things up to his son. How he wanted to do all he could to help him redeem the family name, even if it had to be from the shadows…given how much his son had come to loath him over the years. How he had determined that eliminating or injuring his opponents for the coming tag-title match was the most effective means of aiding the son that wouldn’t speak to or acknowledge him in his victory.

“S-s-s-so, I picked Crimson Knights…you know, because of course, I know the most about those guys. I mean, we practically come from the same worlds…I was in Rio when KnightMask won the ADCC submission wrestling world championships…I was even in the audience at that Pan-Ams where Crimson Cobra--”

He realized then that the black giant could care less about the details of the thing.

“So anyways…here’s the money…half now…and half after--“

The giant leaned forward.

“Just remember our bargain, Shaw. The woman is mine. I don’t know shit about this KnightMask punk, but the girl used to be in Sparta City...back when her fruit was still green. She’s ripe now. And I’ve waited a long time.”

With that, the hulking, ebon-skinned man got up and walked away without a backwards glance. The man shivered as he watched him go. He had not always been a good man, but he felt as though he had just made a pact with the Devil himself.

Sparta City, Michigan, 1981

Arlan Gunder hated the baby. He hated the fact that it hadn't died when it was supposed to, that the abortionist had somehow failed to kill the damn thing when he'd paid him good money to get rid of the runt. The doctor tried to tell him that the thing had fought him and as bullshit as that story was, it had given him a sliver of hope. Maybe, just maybe, the kid was like baby Hercules, you know, how he strangled the three-headed snake or whatever the hell it was when he was still fresh from the womb?

Those hopes were dashed when he laid eyes on it. And that's when he found what he hated about the baby most of all. Even as a day old mass of vaguely shaped flesh, it looked like him. Somehow, some way, that tiny, weak, grasping, pathetic...thing...looked like him. It was as if he was looking through a fun house mirror...one that shrunk him down, shriveled away his strength and will.

It was as if he'd come face to face with his worst nightmare.

He was Arlan Gunder, damn it! 6'4, 300 pounds of pure muscle...three-time NCAA wrestling champ, All-American defensive lineman! He was strong, he was powerful! He was made of iron! The seeds he'd sown, the countless women that groveled before him, the strength of his line--each son, even the bastards, had taken home state titles in wrestling and gone on to further accolade in pro-wrestling or some other combat sport--it was all proof of his potency as a man, as a warrior!

And yet, there he was, it might as well have been him, tiny enough to fit in a f*cking hand...weak and helpless. There was no way, no chance...no possibility that he could've produced something like that. There was no way that inside of him, there was something as small, weak and frightened as that blasted child....!

A red rage surged through Arland, venting itself in a savage backhand to the face of the woman in front of him. She went sailing against a wall, ricocheting off like a ball. The baby dropped to the ground with a thump.

Arlan surveyed them, mother, laying stunned on the floor, blood trickling from her lip, infant laying on his back, his hands clutching up at something. Sure, he couldn't kill it now. As much as he wanted to stomp on it, that chance had past, thanks to that incompetent doctor. But he would never, ever acknowledge the thing. Of all his harem of women, he'd never yielded such an utter disappointment...!

Douglas and Dark Carnival, Sparta City, The Present

"You're a disappointment. I don’t like easy money."

The ebony giant's voice was deep and rumbling, as if it'd bubbled up from the recesses of some bottomless pit. There was no note of recognition in it, merely casual derision, such as one might harbor for a nick or scratch. As he bent to look down at KnightMask, his smooth bald head silhouetted against the lights of the fair ground. The black giant's huge hand came down, taking up his field of vision. With that single hand, he lifted KnightMask up into the air and began to squeeze the life from him.

He never should have come back. But he supposed it was instinct that guided him. Having lost one home—Slam Master’s gym—wasn’t it only natural that he’d returned to an earlier one? Of course, he was what he’d always been, a stranger in Sparta. And the fact was that most of the dojos and gyms were ran by family members, which meant…well, it meant they were probably cruel places where bullies fashioned and molded more bullies. He hadn’t rolled on the mat with any family members since he’d left, all those years ago, but he knew that, save for one (and he was long gone from Sparta), none of them were the sorts that you could actually train with. Not when you were playing with toys as deadly as those that KnightMask wielded.

So in the end, after driving halfway across Michigan for a new gym, he’d ended up simply training with Natalia on the floor of their hotel room. Of course, as a traditional Brazilian jiu jitsu practitioner, she’d thought that everything he did, as a pure catch-wrestler, was completely wrong. And of course, he hadn’t really argued with her, but mostly nodded his head. Apparently, his policy of appeasement had worked, because she’d suggested that they check out the travelling carnival that was passing through Sparta.

He still wasn’t sure where he stood with Natalia, whether she was still intent on killing him to avenge her family honor…or whether she wanted to be friends, lovers or what. One thing was certain. She was worried about him. It wasn’t that Natalia doubted his ability to pull off the win Saturday. She didn’t seem to find it very likely that he was going to leave the arena alive.

Well, they’d always have the carnival, or they would’ve, but for the interruption of 6’4, 300-pounds of steely muscle, apparently intent on killing him. There was no anger in his assault, only cool, determined precision. Ironically enough, given who their attacker was, it didn’t seem to be personal.

Looking over his shoulder, KnightMask saw Natalia, slumped unconscious against the wall of a carnival tent, blood tricking from the corner of her mouth. Her silken hair hung over her face like a black veil, her sleek, nimble body limp and still. The sight jolted his muscles to action. His legs swung around the massive arm that held him, at the same time hooking around his head.

"Gonna armbar me, boy?" the giant bounced him off the concrete as if he were a child's ball. Pain shot up his spine, then replaced by a tingling numbness. His mind struggled to assert itself over his body, to will himself to stand, to do something, as the giant walked towards his prone form.

Bystanders either went about their business as if nothing was happening, or stood and watched. Some of course, cheered the black Goliath on. It was no surprise to KnightMask.

After all...his father essentially owned Sparta City. Nobody stood up to Vlad the Impaler in Transylvania. Mongolians didn't raise objections to Genghis Khan. And in Sparta City, nobody messed with Arlan "The Dragon" Gunder.

Sparta City, 1988

It wasn't like Tyrone hadn't tried. He struck back, just the same way that he'd seen Batman, Spiderman and so many others do. But before he could finish his swing, Roland had jabbed his fist into his head three more times. And with each impact, those explosions of stabbing pain shot through him, overwhelming his senses. Roland had grabbed him and suddenly, for some reason, he'd gone flying through the air and landed with Roland directly on top of him, so that he could see nothing but his cousin's head. His hair was divided into corn-rows, his face twisted into a scowl.

"You ain't a Gunder! You ain't a Gunder!" the boy had chanted as he pounded on Tyrone.

That was when he'd first learned that he was weak. And it was around that time that he declared to one of his older brothers--he hadn't realized back then how unusual it was to have so many of them --that he too, wanted to be a wrestler. His Brother had looked long into his eyes, saw something and decided to help him.

Before he’d told him that, he’d always been nice to him, his Brother. He’d even played action figures and drawn with him. Where the other males in the family seemed to him like moving, marble statues, existing in world distant and unbridgeable by him, his Brother had been kind.

But then…then he’d become his tormentor. Everyday, he took him to the park, to the track. He’d chased him across the track to force him to run faster. When the youth wrestling team held races amongst themselves, his Brother would wait for him at the finish line. Before Tyrone could cross it, he would knock him down, not letting him pass.

He couldn’t finish a pull-up. He’d simply dangle from the bar, his arms hanging. He couldn’t complete what his brother called a real push-up. He’d taken hundreds of shots, doubles, singles…with no notion of what it might be like for it to finish. His Brother would yell at him, command him to do things that his body simply…couldn’t…do.

THE PRESENT

KnightMask floundered on the ground as the giant loomed over him. The giant raised up a huge foot to stomp him. Move, blast it! Move!

Somewhere in the past, a young Tyrone Gunder, alone at the park, slowly, inch by inch, pulled his body closer and closer towards the bar.

The boot came down, falling like a great anvil down towards his head.

In the darkness of a wrestling gym, Tyrone caught a single-leg and struggled, struggled to pull it in, to finish it. A guttural cry he didn’t even realize he was going to utter escaped his mouth as he lifted the leg off the ground.

The boot was close now, enough so that he could feel the wind from it on his face.

Wind whipping his face, a teenaged Tyrone sprinted towards the finish line at the annual Bull’s Run race, held to determine the team captain for the coming wrestling season. Neck and neck with him, his cousin Roland had elbowed him in the face and for a moment, overtaken him. Tyrone’s father had risen up in the stands, in anticipation of Roland’s victory. Tyrone had surged, snatched Roland and hurled him aside. And there was his Brother, standing before the finish line, blocking his way as he’d always done before. Picking up speed, he blasted into a double-leg.

The boot came crashing down with shattering impact, but only on empty pavement. KnightMask willed himself to his feet.

Arlan slammed into him with a double-leg, lifting him off the ground and smashing him against the side of one of the carnival’s structures. They tore through the flimsy material of the wall, crashing into the midst of a maze of fun house mirrors. KnightMask locked on a double wrist-lock, but was unable to move his father's even slightly. Equally futile, was his attempt to leverage the hold into a means to sweep the giant off of him and on to his back. With his free hand, Arlan pounded one sledgehammer after another into KnightMask's side and face. KnightMask realized that he could break the hold anytime he wished...he was simply toying with him, a predator reluctant to end his fun.

For a moment, KnightMask considered transitioning the hold into a short-arm scissor or arm-bar. A spasm of back pain called to mind the power-bomb he’d received in response to his last arm-bar attempt. He was running out of options…it was time to gamble. Keeping the hold, he used it as an anchor of sorts, by which he spun out from beneath Arlan and, still maintaining the lock, used it to flip himself around to the giant's back.

At last! He’d finally gained an advantageous position! Now, at last he could—His triumphant thoughts were short lived, as he suddenly he found himself swinging through the air, to come crashing into one of the funhouse mirrors. He did a kip-up to get to his feet, but once getting there, found his legs wobbly. Arlan took him by the throat and hurled him forward, to smash into another mirror. KnightMask had just regained enough equilibrium to balance on two legs and an arm when a swipe of Arlan’s backhand knocked him into yet another mirror. This time, Arlan didn’t wait for KnightMask to get back up. Grabbing him by the ankles, he slammed him into one mirror after another before finally releasing him. In his flight, KnightMask smashed into and destroying the last remaining mirrors.

And yet he still rose up…his body lined with cuts, his consciousness flickering…and his face, at last, unmasked. Somehow, when he collided with the last mirror, it had fallen off. Arlan, having grown bored with the one-sided battle, planted his feet and clenched a fist. This time, he was actually going to put some real power into the strike.

Arlan liked to look into a victim’s eyes, either before he killed them or as they died. In a universe he deemed to be accidental in its existence and void of real meaning, the only beings that could truly be elevated to godhood were murderers in the moments they carried out their kill, when their victim looked upon them with full knowledge that they and they alone held the power of life and death. And being a god was something he enjoyed. Thus, before he delivered the blow, he sought for the battered little man’s eyes.

On finding the burning red orbs that were KnightMask’s eyes, he gave up a horrified gasp. Here was a man twisted by some awful force, to wear the features of a monster. A man who had been beaten and battered pillar to post, yet refused to yield, all for the sake of what…? A woman…? One woman…? And yet still…still, still! He went on. Behind the blazing crimson fires of his eyes, there lurked nobility…a goodness that had endured through all the worst of life’s suffering…that even now, shone through, despite his monstrous aspect. And the greatest horror of all was that, twisted and bloodied though it might be…the face upon the man’s shoulders…was his own.

His face! Then, all this time…he was wrong! It wasn’t his biological nature that created inside of him irresistible, inexorable appetites that he was forever enslaved by, unable to resist. He had agency, choices….potentials! He was imbued with the ability to be as the man who stood before him, brave, noble…charitable! He had the ability, he had the choices…and he made them! For the first time, he experienced guilt, not as a distant, abstract concept, but as something wrenching, powerful and damning. There, before him, was the man he could have been. He had made himself into a monster…he had, again and again, thrown water onto the sparks of nobility within him.

As Arlan retreated back, KnightMask looked through the piles of shattered glass that covered the ground. Though it was little more than a piece of black cloth that he drew from beneath the shards, Arlan felt a sense of growing dread as he raised the mask up…and slowly, purposefully, pulled it down over his face…their face. It was the final horror…that Arlan Gunder, murderer, rapist, thief, criminal, loan shark, drug lord, fighter, wrestler and champion…could have been something more than all those things. That Arlan Gunder’s face…could have bore the mantle…of a knight.

Arlan Gunder retreated, stumbling out from the hole he’d made in the Funhouse structure earlier. He found Natalia awaiting him, three-pronged daggers in each hand. Her sharp features no longer stirred desire in him. Her beauty was now not unlike that of the blades she held within her hands. The blaze of her brown eyes burned with menace. Arlan raised a hand to strike her down when from doorway of the Funhouse catapulted the powerful form of KnightMask. Twisting as he sailed through the air, he collided, upside down, against Arlan’s knee. Upon impact, KnightMask’s legs latched around Arlan’s thigh, while his hands wrapped about his heel, pulling it the side of his head like a strange telephone.

Extending his leg into a knee-bar was like bending back steel. And yet, it did begin to bend, slowly, subtly, before Arlan scrambled out of the lock, only to find himself then entrapped in a step-over toehold. And thus it went, Arlan fighting free of one hold after another, each escape seeing to lead him into another attack. Finally, he managed to disengage with the masked wrestler, to get to his feet. But rather than finding a reprieve, he seemed to only worsen his predicament. There seemed to be no limit to the means by which the masked man could leap, flip, roll or spin his way into a submission position. One minute they were face to face, the next minute, he was upside down, wrapped about his leg, working to torque or hyperextend it. To clinch with him, to even touch him, was to find one’s self fighting out of a hold only an instant later. It was as if Arlan’s body was a jungle-gym that the masked man was intent on destroying, piece by piece.

At least that’s how it seemed to Arlan. The truth is that his son had shifted in his approach. He’d been trying to defeat Arlan. And in fighting to win, he’d submerged that which made KnightMask most dangerous. It was his mastery of the impractical, the unorthodox that stood him out from other grapplers—his determination to be a master of all that was cool, flashy and acrobatic in grappling. It was a fool’s errand, some might say. But KnightMask had pursued that fool’s errand unrelentingly, in pursuit of becoming the most exciting submission-grappler he could be. And in mastering maneuvers that so many others had discarded as useless flash, he’d gained a set of weapons that only the very few had the means to defend against. And more importantly, in focusing on being ever more dynamic and acrobatic in his grappling, he’d emancipated himself from the fear of losing and freed himself to attack and attack…and attack.

In one, single convulsive wrench, Arlan broke free from a hold KnighMask had caught him in and bounded off. Wherever he went, KnightMask did not follow. He had no interest, he realized, in battling an unwilling foe. Not even…him. The crowd of onlookers that had gathered was silent at the sight of Arlan, the legend of Sparta City, fleeing thus. And owing to the silence, the whimpering, though soft, became audible.

“Tyrone…,” Natalia got KnightMask by the shoulder and gestured to a man in his 40’s, who had the look of a once great physique weathered and decayed against the rigors of alcoholism and hardship. There was something about the man that was strangely familiar.

“That’s not…I think I know that man…he…he fought my father! I can never forget the face any of Jorge’s opponents…at least, not the faces of those few that defeated him…they’ll always haunt me…”

KnightMask tried to ignore the fact that he was among those few and focused on placing the face. Natalia must have made the connection at the same time as he did, because she gasped just as the name sprang up in his brain. Zayne Shaw…how could he forget him…? The parallels between the two of them were eerie…just as KnightMask had won the ADCC in Brazil, against Natalia’s father, Jorge, only to have the championship taken away on steroid allegations, Shaw had, on the eve of his battle against Julio Piazon, been disqualified for essentially the same reasons. The charges against KnightMask were trumped up, but he wasn’t sure about those against Shaw.

Was that really Shaw…? Wasn’t he supposed to be dead…?

“I…I…I just wanted…to help my son…to make up for everything…I had to try…to help him. I…”

His son…?

Suddenly, he realized that the man…whoever he was, didn’t merely resemble the disgraced MMA legend…but suddenly, KnightMask could see, in his high set eyes and long, narrow chin…the face of Zack Vyper!

“Hey, who was the Big Bad Leroy look-alike, man?” KnightMask turned to see Crimson Cobra at his side. Natalia wheeled on him, her eyes spitting fire. “How long have you been here…? Why didn’t you help…?”

“Relax lady. I was going to, but you know, double-teaming one guy just isn’t our style. Besides, I had faith. What, you didn’t think KnightMask could take that guy? I never doubted it for a second…well, maybe for a minute, when he was using KnightMask like a baseball bat to smash those mirrors…”

KnightMask looked back for the man, only to find him vanished from the crowd. It couldn’t have been Zayne Shaw….that was impossible. But regardless of the man’s identity, KnightMask knew, now, that the first thing he was going to do when he had a computer at hand, was to go to Sherdog’s fight finder and look up Zayne Shaw’s picture…to match it up with Zane Vyper’s.

Was he going into battle against the son of one of MMA’s greatest legends on Saturday…?

“Hey,” Crimson Cobra nudged him, “You didn’t answer me…who was that guy that you were fighting…?”

KnightMask shrugged his shoulders. He was nobody he knew...not really. His mother had been one woman among thousands...and he, one of her children. Children? No...that wasn't the right word. It was too personal...and there was nothing personal about it. He was Arlan's progeny. That was all.

“Just some stranger….?” Cobra asked. KnightMask nodded. A stranger. A stranger with my face.

Always Clean Up After Working Hard

Sat, 25 May 2013 00:24:32 -0700

I walk up from my slumber, realizing that I dosed off. I was so tired after my trip to Red Robin, Thraxx went home and I crashed on the couch to watch Arrested Development. As I wiped the drowsiness from my eyes, I noticed I was early Saturday morning.

Man, I have to be at the airport in like 5 hours. I need some real sleep.

I grab the remote and shut off the TV, and head upstairs to my bedroom. As I walk into the nearly pitch black room, I walk towards my bed without using a light. Throwing up the blanket, I dive onto the bed as the blanket falls gracefully on top of me. Within mere seconds, I pass out and drift into a deep sleep...

THERE'S ALWAYS MONEY IN THE BANANA STAND!

Quote:Bane: Wow, that's really cool little man, I hope your going to have me kick some ass on this game

Nate: I sure am. Hopefully you'll make it into one of the DLC packs soon though because I couldn't quite get the hair right and it's really annoying.

Bane: Well I think it's awesome. Maybe you could make Cole too and you can recreate ETWOW's greatest ever tag team.

I get up and look at the clock. It had only been an hour...

Fuck this. I might as well just head to the airport now. That way I might be able to sleep on the plane.

I head downstairs and grab my bag. It was lighter then normal, since I had lost my title. That won't be for long, because I have every intention on getting it back. I know that this new guy came in a blind-sided me, but I can bet it won't happen in Vegas. The only thing staying in Vegas is going to be Williams title reign. I know I'm up against some immense odds, because he is no small guy. He could probably destroy the ring if he fell from one of those overhead wires. That's is my advantage, and I plan to exploit it like George W. Bush during the Iraq War. I head out the door, and find an interesting surprise in my driveway.

So I take it you couldn't sleep either.

Did you ever leave?

Yeah, I went to a bar down the road and got into a fight with this guy that looked like that one guy from that other company.

The PG one or the old farts one?

The first one.

Alex Riley?

How did you know?

He visits his mom every other week. I see him at the store buying soap and some cheese. Don't know why, nor do I want to.

Anyways, you need a ride to the *hic* airport?

No, I think you need a ride.

Yeah, your pro *hic* ably right. You can...

Suddenly, Thraxx turns to her side and just projects vomit all over my driveway. I just look at this now growing puddle as it goes from the size of Frisbee to taking up the space for a small car.

WOW! Now that's something I would expect from Andre the Giant.

Thraxx attempts to collect herself, before looking at me. She wipes her mouth with her sleeve, and runs her hand through her hair, to get it out of her face. See then looks dead at me, as if she's going to smack me.

You know, I would love to agree with you. Unfortunately, I'm in no condition to kick your ass right now.

Do you wanna go take a shower in my house before we leave?

With you? NO!

No not with me. Just so you can get cleaned up and maybe clear your head a little.

Yeah, I guess...BUT YOU STAY DOWNSTAIRS!

Oh yeah sure.

I help Thraxx into my house, while she tries to keep herself upright. As we walk in, she sits on the stairs.

Can you get me some water?

You want some Aleve?

Yeah, that might help a little.

I walk into the kitchen and reach into the cabinet. I pull out a glass....before changing my mind and getting a plastic cup. I grab my bottle of Aleve and head back towards the stairs. To my surprise, Thraxx is nowhere to be seen.

Where the hell did she...

Suddenly, I hear running water upstairs. Now as far as I remember, I think I was suppose to stay downstairs. I'm sure she'll want this when she gets done.

OK, well I guess I'll go play something...

After about a half an hour, I hear Thraxx coming downstairs. She stops at the bottom and looks at the table nearby.

Is this for me?

Without actually looking up from my online match on Modern Warfare 3, I answer...

Yeah, you can take three since your gonna have a hangover.

I go back to my game, while Thraxx takes the pills and drinks the water. She sets the cup back onto the table and walks over towards the couch. She takes a seat the opposite end of the couch and looks at me, while I'm still in the middle of a match.

Thanks Scott.

Huh...oh yeah no problem. So you ready to get going?

I don't know, what time is it?

I look down from my game for a split second to get the time off of my cable box. Before looking back at the TV, I take a quick look to my side. For some reason, Thraxx has not made a point of actually getting dressed, but is in her towel.

Well, we will probably need to leave within an hour to make our flight.

Well it sounds like we have some time then...

Thraxx moves slowly towards the other end of the couch. The entire time, I'm still focused on the game. Yet, with every inch that disappears between myself and an almost completely reveled Thraxx, I start to lose my concentration.

Time for what?

Thraxx comes within mere inches from my face, and reaches behind my back. Her chest coming into slight contact with mine. I can look down and see more then I would have figured I would see...

Well, how about we play some WWE 13.

I go from a overly stimulated state, and shut my eyes and spread a smile across my face.

Sure, but I doubt you'll have a chance.

We'll see about that.

I get up and change the game, and get ready to show Thraxx how much fun it will be to get her ass kicked in a video game. Although I might let her win a match or two............

Some Late Night Work

Fri, 24 May 2013 23:47:25 -0700

One step at a time....or in this case, one wire at a time.

It was getting late on a Friday night. I would normally be out on the town and hitting the clubs...OK, that's just some bullshit I tell people on my Twitter and my Facebook. Honestly, most nights I have free, I tend to relax at home and watch TV or play some video games. Regardless, tonight is not one of those nights. I was in my back yard digging a hole, which was taking just a little too long to do.

I wish I started this earlier in the day.

Are you done yet?

What? No, I've only been out here for like an hour. How the blue hell would I be done already?

Well your the one who wanted to go do something tonight. Why did you wait until so late to start this stupid project?

Stupid project? It was your idea!

Oh right, I forgot.

The other person I was talking to was my new acquaintance, Ann Thraxx. She and I have been getting to know each other lately, and was more apparent at Madness. Obviously, in the ring there is no friends. Yet, as time has gone by, we have been spending more free time together.

You know, I'm only doing this because I plan on putting a pool back here next month.

Perfect! We can always use something to cover it up.

I love how evil you are...too bad this seems more like pure bullshit from you.

Well, like I said, I was under the impression we were going to get some food.

Sure lets get some Wendy's.

Ah...no. I think we can do something a little more...you know?

Oh...Red Robin it is.

Thraxx crosses her arms while giving me one of those "Fuck you" stares. Which was fine, because we all know she would be happy with anything anyways. It was just fun to fuck around with her a little bit.

They do serve beer you know.

Yeah, well I guess it will have to deal.

Well, can we get going then?

Yeah, these should be deep enough. What do you think?

Thraxx walks off the back porch and over towards the holes on the ground. She looks satisfied, but her expression turns to a confused look. She looked back at me, pinching her lips together before she spoke...

Those two look fine...but your other one looks kinda small, don't you think?

Oh....I guess your right. I didn't think I would really need it anyways?

Why is that?

Well, he is a really big man. I don't see him scaling some wire to grab "his" title.

How was he even able to beat you for it to begin with?

Beginner's luck. I always get caught off guard by these new guys. Nice thing is this Ultimate UFO works in my favor.

I guess your right. I just don't get why your so worried about a damn title?

Easy, I'm a guy. We need something to say "I'm better then you". Were not like chick where we can shake our tits and ass around and get more attention. Have you ever seen a guy swing his dick around other guys?

Well actually...

As much as I wanna assume your talking about a movie you saw...I'm thinking otherwise...

Ann looks dead at me and a smirk comes across her face.

Well maybe you'll find out sometime...

I raised my eyebrows while shooting my own smirk her way. I then turn around to look at the four holes I've dug in my backyard. I noticed that there seems to be something missing.

Oh wait, I forgot these. Can you help me with them.

Yeah.

We both walk over towards my shed. We grab one of the objects and carry it to the end of one of the holes....

There we go, just needs a name.

C M PUNK!

I was thinking more of Williams....Bane Williams.

We both share in a sickening laugh as we head towards the house to get ready to eat some burgers at Red Robin......

YUM!

Vegas baby.

Fri, 24 May 2013 20:08:41 -0700

Uh oh.

What?

I done turned the boy stupid.

The scene opens to John Samuels standing next to Fairchild, both of them fixated on a large television screen mounted to the wall. The camera moves behind the pair, showing Nightmare and his apprentice on the screen. Fairchild crosses her arms, seemingly annoyed by Samuels’ constant chuckling. With every word, Samuels seemingly grows more and more entertained. As Samuels’ laugh grows to it’s loudest level, Fairchild throws her arms down to her sides and turns toward Samuels.

Fairchild: Do you mind? This could be important!

Samuels: Are you kidding me!? This is the funniest damn thing I’ve ever seen! I’ve already knocked this boy !

Fairchild: He could be setting a trap for you. That’s why we need to listen, to see if he accidentally gives something away that can help you beat him this Saturday.

Samuels: There’s no trap here. There’s nothing to strategize. This is just... A sad, yet hilarious, collapse. Are you catching this inane drivel? What happened to the big, eloquent brute that I was supposed to be facing? Apparently he shriveled up and died and was replaced by this self-contradicting, mouth-breather. I get why he wears the mask now! It’s to protect him from injury when he trips and stumbles over his own poorly formed words.

Fairchild: How am I supposed to listen when you’re laughing as loud as you possibly can?

Samuels: I’ll break it down for you: First Nightmare goes ‘Hurrr de durr durr arrogance derrr’ and then his apprentice goes ‘derr what?’ and then they repeat! It’s hilarious! My favorite part is where he says that I don’t deserve to be confident, and then half a second later says that I have a right to be confident. Which is it!? I bet he has no idea. Do you get why I’ve been so relaxed this week, Ms. Fuddy-duddy? Because I knew this was going to happen. He starts out all big and scary and then once the moment draws closer, he fades just like the rest of them. He’s not the smartest crayon in the toolshed, so I can’t really blame him for overlooking it, but I guess he didn’t consider the pressure that comes with being in a high profile title match. He didn’t even consider it, and now he’s officially cracked. Do you think it’s easy to step into that ring as a champion? It takes more than strength and a can-do attitude to survive in this business as a champion, and being the challenger is even harder. I’ve been there once, and the pressure is enough to make your head pop. And that’s what separates champions from challengers. Take a look at what I did when it was my time to shine and challenge for the European title, I raised my game and I took the pressure in stride. Nothing could stop me from winning the title. Now look at Nightmare, see how quickly he’s wilting? That’s a classic case of fear taking over. I didn’t even need to rip the mask off his stupid head to see his true colors. Not only is he a coward, but he’s a big ol’ chicken shit to boot! He even said it himself, that my ability -may- be rivaled by him. Not is, not definitely, not unquestionably, but may. Call me arrogant if you must, but this is a major event for a major title... a lack of confidence is going to leave him bloody and embarrassed in the middle of that ring. I’m confident because I have the skill, strength and know-how to back it up, I’ll concede that to the Elephant Man. I wonder though, what is his excuse for not believing in himself? Surely, you’d figure the mongoloid with his shiny new apprentice would be chomping at the bit to get into that ring with me, but here he stands lurking in the shadows, slowly descending into a world of self-doubt. But no, he’s hanging out with his new little bitch talking about spiders and avoiding what should really be on his mind: A Texan with an attitude and a serious thirst for some payback.

Fairchild: Oh... Oh dear God, you’re right. This is absolute gibberish. Who allowed this guy to have a camera?

Samuels: Gotta love the times, EVERYTHING we do is recorded and available to the public. And unfortunately for him, Nightmare is no exception. I love it. He really thinks he knows all there is to know about me? That’s funny, because he doesn’t seem to know that I’ll be walking out of High Stakes with my head held high and, more importantly, this title belt still fastened around my waist. The only ‘weakness’ I have is that I have nothing to study about Nightmare’s past. He’s seen me in action, which is obviously the reason he couldn’t engage me like a man when he attacked me and stole my title belt. He’s afraid. He didn’t think this one through enough. He thought he could get into my head with his cheap little guerilla tactics, but he failed. And now he’s stuck in a very real, very brutal match against me and the fear in his eyes just keeps on growing. He started this game, but I’m showing him how to play it. And boy am I winning. He can tell all the little stories he wants, Hell, maybe after Saturday he can start writing children’s books and sing-a-longs where he and his little apprentice belt out some tunes on the ukulele. But when the time comes, I’m going to separate narrative from reality for him. And that reality is that I’m the European champion for a reason, just like he’s nobody for a reason. I’ve been at the top of my game for months, and this moment belongs to me. I deserve this! Not some emotionless marionette who drones on about the same thing while putting the boots to a very, very dead horse. The little dog can keep barking all he wants, but come Saturday I’ll show him who his master is.

Fairchild: Speaking of masters, what do you take from all this apprentice stuff? Anything that you might need to concern yourself with?

Samuels: Blind leading the blind, my dear Ann. Apparently the apprentice isn’t even welcome to accompany Nightmare to the ring, which is probably for the best. As if Nightmare could look any worse, imagine him walking down to the ring with another mentally challenged idiot walking behind him with his finger hooked to his belt loop. I’d pay to see that. No, the apprentice is nothing for me to worry about, he’s just a device Nightmare is using to distract the people from noticing that he has no clue how over his head he is. It’s just a smokescreen, but I can see right through it. Nightmare thinks that by parading an even bigger bumbling idiot in front of the screens that he’ll retain some of his mysterious aura, but that’s not the case. It’s just another sad attempt to pull the wool over the eyes of the XWF. I’m going to take such pleasure in beating this delusional whack job down until he’s just an empty husk. And then I’m going take that mask of his, and shove it straight up his apprentice’s ass.

Fairchild: You seem rather relaxed for this one, what’s going on?

Samuels: I just came off one of the biggest victories of my career, I’m one of the greatest champions in the history of the XWF, I’m by far the greatest European champion this place has ever seen--and yet, the questions about my confidence are incessant. If you were me, wouldn’t you have a little extra pep in your step? I’m on a roll, and there’s nobody around here who can stop me.

Fairchild: I hate to remind you, but the only time you’ve lost since joining the XWF was at the previous pay-per-view, aren’t you kind of--

Samuels: Shut up! I was robbed at Gauntlet City! Twice! Don’t you dare try to make me re-live that. Besides, this is different. This is a one-on-one match and I’ve become exponentially better than I was when I stepped into that ring against Ronnie Wilkins and Kinwrathi, and Unknown Soldier later on. I refuse to be cheated again! Not this time. There’s too much riding on this match, and I have too much to lose. Being European champion actually means something to me. I never thought it would, representing a continent full of Godless homosexuals and sissy-boys, but it has meaning to me. It’s a symbol that I’ve shredded all my so-called competition since entering the XWF. Sure, whoever wins the match between Duke and Satellite is going to hold more gold than I will, but does the TV title and the US title combine into something more important than the European title? No, they’re two titles from two vastly inferior shows. And seeing as how Queen Madison won’t defend that cute little tiara of hers, unlike the other sisters of his Bitch Circle, I don’t think the ‘King’ of XWF is anything more than a glamour title. Where does that leave us? With the European championship--MY TITLE--at the top of the hill. I’m the greatest thing this company has to offer and if you don’t believe that you just need to take a gander at this big shiny thing hanging off my waist. There’s no better proof, no better reason to brag, than that. And I’ll be damned if you think I’ve got some kind of Pay-Per-View jinx that’s going to cost me my title. There’s no cheating me out of my belt inside of that cage. With all the pressure on Nightmare, frankly I can’t picture him doing anything other than laying down and sobbing once that bell rings and he realizes that he can no longer sneak up behind me to attack. Face-to-face, I’m the much more dangerous of the two of us, and I’m going to prove that to him. And then I’m going to hold that title up in the air, because I deserve it and he doesn’t. We’re in Vegas baby, the house always has the best odds to win. Always.

Samuels reaches down into his office and pulls out a cigar and a remote control. Samuels places the cigar in his mouth and Fairchild lights it for him. He bows his head and turns off the television before taking a long drag from his cigar. He lifts his head and stares off into the distance, chewing on his cigar as the camera fades to black.

the afterparty

Fri, 24 May 2013 17:53:59 -0700

The scene continues right where Bryce left off with Vyper and the girls in the limo, the following song is playing on the sterio in the car

Bryce: Now even I got to admit, that was hilarious back there

Vyper begins as he begins making out with Jennifer

Zayne: Now you're talking, see I knew I would eventually break through, damn the only ones I feel sorry for are those two ladies, they must be ambarassed to know their boyfriends got their asses handed to them.

Bryce begins chuckling himself as Crystal goes in for a kiss, almost reluctently by the looks of it, he lets her.

Bryce: I will never understand why you can't be more serious, I mean really, we have a match in what, almost 24 hours, and you want me to be able to party, I just don't get it with you, do you ever take anything seriously?

Zayne:Nope

He laughs again and Bryce just shakes his head. Vyper takes a bottle of wine and begins to gaulp it down, Bryce continues to shake his head.

Bryce:Seriously dude, take an easy on the boose. Can you do that for me? Cause it doesn't matter what your record is, if you go to the arena drunk you are not going to be veryuseful in the match at all.

Zayne: See what I'm talking about girls, so tense, you seriously need to sit back and relax bro.

When Zayne doesn't slow down, Bryce takes the bottle and hurls it out the window.

Bryce: I aksed nicely, now I'm demanding it, take an easy on the boos.

Zayne: Ok ok, easy, just stop throwing away everything I have, I mean after all you are the guest in this limo you know.

Bryce finally relaxes as this song begins playing

Bryce: Ok I am calm, ok, does that make you happy.

Zayne: Good to hear, cause stress is just as bad as alcohol my friend

Crystal giggles again and puts her head on Bryce's chest

Crystal: Are you two boys done yet? tehe.

Bryce:Yes Crystal, we're done. Sorry you two had to be around this, trust me we are not normally like this.

The limo finally stops at Bryce's place

Bryce: Well, this is my crib. Shall we go

Zayne: Sure, come on girls, let's get out of this car.

They leave the limo finally and begin to head toward the house, Zayne's driver rides off as they enter the house.

Bryce:Finally, some well needed rest and relaxtion.

Zayne:Tell me about it

They both laugh it off and enter the house as the scene

FADES.............................

TO

BLACK!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Teaming up with The Beast

Fri, 24 May 2013 16:48:14 -0700

08:30 AM
Mirage Hotel's Penthouse Suite

I woke up early this morning. For some weird reason, I didn't feel like sleeping, even though the king sized bed felt good after months of sleeping in cheap hotels After taking a quick bath, I decided to order something for breakfast throught the room services. Damn, this suite was huge! I still couldn't belive it. Usually XWF would book us some cheap rooms, but since they wanted us to be at our max for High Stakes, they got us some big suites. After quickly eating, I went outside to enjoy some free time by the poolside.

09:30 AM
Mirage Hotel’s Pool

When I got outside I decided to sit in a table near the pool. I ordered a pinacolada and turned on my laptop. I quickly checked my e-mails. Most of them were spam. I just hate spam. Fortunately I had one message from the XWF Board.

From: X-treme Wrestling Federation’s Board
To: Brian Campbell

After a long meeting, the XWF Board, decided to book you in a tag team match for our next Pay-per-View, High Stakes. You will be teaming up with Jason E Smith against John Austin and FREAK. We hope you put up a great show for the fans. Remember that happy fans are paying fans. We are already discussing your new T-Shirts and posters for our XWF store.

Just great. Now I had to wrestle a tag match. I was hoping to get a Ladders Match or, atleast, a no DQ match. But no! Now I was stuck in a tag match against two new rookies I had never heard about. Atleast my partner wasn’t that bad. Even though we weren’t friends, I had a great amount of respect for “The Beast”. I had won a Triple Threat match against him and one other wrestler, and I knew how powerful he was. But for that match, we had to forget the past and focus on the future.

11:00 AM
Mirage Hotel's Gym

Later that day, I went to the gym. After all, I had to keep fit for my match. It isn't that easy to do those top rope moves. Most people think everyone can do them, but a 450 splash or a Springboard Moonsault takes years of practice to be able to perform. When I entered the gym, I went to the Weight Lifting room. It was empty except for some bodybuilders on the back of the room. I did a quick warm up and I started lifting some weights. After some time, two young, beautiful women that entered the room looked at me, and after a while, they approached me.

"Hey, aren't you Brian Campbell, the XWF wrestler?"

"I am indeed."

"Please, give me your autograph! I waited for this moment for years! I am your fan since the first moment I saw you wrestling on Europe."

"I feel flattered. Now, if you excuse me, I have to keep practicing. I will have a match this week. Even though my opponents don't stand a chance, I still have to train if I want to get better matches... Two rookies... I still can't belive it...

03:00 AM
Las Vegas Strip

What a night! I went to a bunch of bars and casinos, I danced with lots of good looking girls and in the end I still won ten thousand dollars in the slot machines. After leaving the casino, I decided to go for a walk. I heard that the Las Vegas Strip was beautiful at night. And it was indeed. Just when I was about to call my driver, two street thugs appeared out of nowhere. One of them was short and had a knife. The other one was large and had a baseball bat.

"Give me your wallet now!"

"What? Do you even know who I am? I am Brian Campbel! I am a 4th Dan Karate Black Belt. Are you sure you want to rob me?"

"Shut up! Give me your wallet now! Your wallet or your life!

The short one tried to attack me with the knife. I quickly reacted and hit him in the head with a strong kick. The second one quickly tried to hit me with the bat, but I dodged and punched him in the face. That punch wasn't very strong but it caught him by surprise. He fell and dropped the bat. I grabbed it and started hitting him with it. He started screaming and blood came out from his broken nose. When I felt that he wouldn't be able to walk again, I went to punish the other one. After breaking the other one's arm, I stopped to look at them. They were a bloody mess. Suddenly, the small man's cellphone started ringing. I picked it up and threw it to a nearby fountain. Although I knew that both those thugs were probably never going to wak again, I didn't feel any guilt. I actually felt good. I then looked at my hands and my T-Shirt. There was blood everywhere.

"I just hope FREAK and Austin know who they are dealing with..."

Acceptance (aka: Mister Mystery tries to jump out of a window and commit suicide)

Fri, 24 May 2013 16:07:19 -0700

Acceptance.

Sometimes it's hard to accept the inevitable. Time creeps up on us faster than we'd ever seen it coming. Those winds of change can sweep in and change an entire landscape in the mere blink of an eye. Every road comes to an end and that final stretch can be a very unstable experience.

Sometimes it's just too much to handle.

Mister Mystery 17 31707 1 sits alone in a dark room, dazed and dreary looking. He's leaning back on a couch and staring at a television that has only white fuzz and static coming from it. Some flies are circling the area he is sitting and appear to be feeding off of some old hamburger that Mister Mystery has on a plate next to him. His clothes are dirtier than usual and his mask is completely filthy; not only is it blood stained (just the way Sebastian likes it) but it's also caked in mud and possibly even shit but the camera isn't getting close enough to distinguish that.

An orange and white cat enters the room and hops up on the couch; opposite side of where the hamburger is. The cat sniffs around and paws at the cushion of the couch a little before taking position and squeezing a fresh log of crap out of its ass. Mister Mystery finally realizes what's happening right next to him and he swats at the nasty feline-

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
No! Not again!

Mystery cracks the cat right in the ass and sends it flying across the room. He looks next to him on the couch and sees the cat shit so he grabs it in his fist and whips it across the room at the perpetrator -- and score! -- he nails the cat right in the side of its head with its own lump of shit.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
Now remember that, Bryce! Don't show your face around here again or it will just be smacked with your own shit.

The cat scurries off and is out of sight in no time flat. It's starting to become obvious that we aren't in the Feder household like most times we see Mister Mystery but instead are inside of some run down, nearly empty apartment. Remnants of food litter the floor and garbage is just thrown all over the room. Mister Mystery lets out a heavy sigh and leans forward with his head down in his hands. A rat can be seen creeping along the wall and Mister Mystery grabs a phonebook from on the floor next to him and whips it across the room at the rat.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
Not another one of you sneaky Crimson Knights! I'll kill every last one of you!

Mystery raises his clenched fist into the air as he shouts at the critter that he completely missed with the phonebook. The rat disappears around the corner of the doorway -- another lucky break for that filthy, sneaky Knight. Mystery leans back in the couch and looks at the camera, shaking his head in disgust.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
You see this shit? Can you believe this? They're walking all over me -- me; Mister Mystery 17 31707 1.

He takes the plate next to him that has some hamburger left on it and he flings it across the room. The plate shatters and the remaining bits of that burger fly every which way. It doesn't take long for the roaches to come out of the woodwork and find the waiting meal.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
Would you look at that -- the Vypers and Cobras are everywhere this week. We really need an exterminator around here, don't we? Every last, worthless piece of shit you can imagine is creeping out of the shadows to try and snatch up anything they can get their claws on. How ideal that my living conditions have been matched up with the conditions that the XWF has put in place for me to deal with. I mean, Bryce? Is he truly in this match for the Tag Team Titles or am I just suffering from the effects of the lightning storm brewing inside of my body? I feel like I should have so much to say right now-

-so much to say about Zayne Vyper's incredible decision making skills in agreeing to be teamed with Bryce of all people. Oh, how I could go on and on about that. Welcome to the XWF, buddy.

-so much to say about the merging of mediocrity that brought us the genius name "Crimson Knights" -- oh, what a gem.

-so much to say about how Peter Gilmour alone could successfully defend our titles against all these guys, so imagine what a blood bath it's going to be when I march out to the ring with him and we slaughter these pests.

-and could you imagine if I started taking quotes from the recent comments these poor fucking saps have made? Oh my god. They've given up so much to me and they don't even know it.

That's the thing though -- I should have so much to say about all of that.

And yet-

Mystery drops his head and lets out another long sigh. He begins to shake his head very slowly.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
I have nothing to even say and they've made it so, so easy for me this time. Just viewing a promo by Zayne Vyper, Crimson Cobra or Knightmask fuels you with endless amounts of ammunition to use against them both physically and verbally. It's like Peter Gilmour and I won the fucking lottery; we couldn't have asked for an easier match while these four clowns get all riled up and anxious about their big shot. I should be able to spend hours talking about this shit and just verbally ass-raping these four young pricks before I step into the ring with them, but-

He hesitates and rests his head in his hands.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
...but-

He smacks himself in the side of the head.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
..but I've got nothin'! I guess my opponents just aren't worth it to me to really dig into because look at who they are again. Why am I even doing this anymore? I'm spent; I've been doing this goddamn shit for too goddamn long. Look at me -- I'm burnt to a fucking crisp over here. Sid was right..

Most men would not have survived the electrocution that Mister Mystery suffered during his match with Knightmask on Warfare. Most men wouldn't still be breathing, let alone preparing to enter a Tag Team Championship match at High Stakes this Saturday -- but sometimes just breathing isn't enough. Is there something.. missing now?

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
I had a hell of a run.

Mystery slowly pushes himself up off the couch and brushes some unidentified filth off of his clothing. He walks over to the windowsill and looks at both of his championship belts.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
I'm a mother fucking XWF Tag Team Champion and I'm a mother fucking XWF Trio Tag Champion, even if the XWF is too slow and dysfunctional to ever put the XWF Trio Titles on their main website.

He reaches down and picks up his 24/7 briefcase. He wipes the front of it with his hand and gets it dirtier than it already was by doing so.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
Ah, my shot at being "king of the mountain" as they say. Passed to me by Sid Feder who won it after winning the entire Lethal Lottery tournament last year. This briefcase; my key to being a triple champion instead of just a double champion.

With but a shrug he releases the briefcase and it bounces off the hardwood floor, knocking into the wall and finally landing on top of a roach.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
Well as far as I'm concerned...... that roach is the new official holder of that briefcase now.

The sound of a pair of boots coming to a halt at the doorway.

Mister Mystery's eyes dart toward the source of the sound.

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
What the F U C K did you just say about that briefcase?

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
Sid!

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
That roach can have the briefcase? I had to go through hell and high water to win that thing. I really hope you snap the fuck out of this bullshit phase you've been in lately; losing to the likes of The Senator and Knightmask in consecutive showings. How pathetic; that's not the Mister Mystery we all know and love! Stop being a pussy and bring that raging beast out from deep within you -- unleash it on those four twat licks this Saturday and prove that the Feder name will always reign supreme.

Sid steps into the room as Mystery picks the briefcase up and flicks the squished roach off of it.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
But you don't understand. I think you were right about it being time for us to switch roles again.

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
I'm not ready for that to happen yet and you need to defend those titles you've got in the meantime. When I'm ready to step in we've got to con the XWF and Shane into letting me take over as holder of those titles and briefcase so you don't have to just forfeit them all.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
That shouldn't be too hard. Shane is an easy guy to manipulate if you clamp John Madison's head into a giant vice grip and start cranking. Shane will give you the world if it means saving his "king" in the process.

Sid nods as he walks over to where that hamburger landed earlier, kicking the pieces around a little, watching the various sized roaches and ants scatter in random directions.

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
Jesus, man -- how the fuck've you been living like this? All this just to avoid the media?

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
I convinced myself that for as long as I'm still on the XWF roster, I'm going to live in conditions that I find comparable to the current state of the XWF. I want to be completely fucking miserable as I wallow in my own filth so that if I get a chance to take a life in that ring, I'll just do it; I won't even give a fuck anymore. I've had one hell of a career as a whole and you know that because you saw most of it first hand, but this is my last run and it has come to an end. I want to go out like a piece of shit because that's what I feel like the XWF has become if guys like John Madison and Sebastian Duke have major championships here. I'll be honest with you, Sid -- I really feel like by this point in time the XWF should have just given me all of its major singles titles and its crown. Why am I defending gold that I've already proven I deserve and own? I should be receiving more and more and more just by having my name on the fucking XWF roster.

Sid's eyes widen as he looks at the camera for a second, unsure of how to react.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
I've proven I'm the best -- by an alarming margin -- and yet I'm still being booked in matches that involve Bryce? This is all because I'm not a part of Shane 's Black Circle. If I would have joined up with him then I'm sure I'd be able to sit back and do absolutely nothing just like King Madison is doing for this Pay Per View. Why is there no King match? Why does it appear that the main event of this show is going to be Mr. Satellite taking on Sebastian Duke in a double title match? What about the fucking crown? I've come as far as I'm ever going to get in this blatantly biased organization and I've more than proven that I'm the dominant force nobody can stop. Not a single man in this company can measure up to me.

Sid's jaw is hanging in astonishment by this point as he gawks at Mister Mystery.

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
Holy shit have you got a 3 x Better ego. It's like you don't even acknowledge that you've lost your last two matches. Not only that but you claim nobody's got your number? Well to me it looks like The Senator has gotten over on you not once but twice; knocking you out of the Gauntlet City main event and getting another win over you on Monday Madness this month. Now you're heading into a match that involves Knightmask and he's the guy who just beat you on Warfare. What now; are you going to let him claim a second victory over you too? Why don't we just start a fucking club here? The "Who can beat Mister Mystery not once but twice" club! For fuck's sake, man! Why don't we go all out and make it a-

--wait for it--

-THREE times club? Maybe since my specialty is being three times better than the competition, your specialty can be getting beat by the same guys three times over!

As soon as Sid says that he takes a step back because he knows he's crossed a line. Mister Mystery cracks his knuckles and his neck twitches as he stares at Sid.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
You..

He brings his hands up to the top of his head and screams; his voice muffled behind that mask as Sid watches him intently. Sid is ready for anything at this point-

-anything except Mister Mystery to rush toward the window, headbutt it, and begin trying to crawl through it and leap to his death -- they're on the 13th floor for fuck's sake!

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
What the fuck are you doing? Get back in here!

Sid grabs a hold of Mister Mystery and starts trying to pull him back in. Mystery is halfway out the window and screaming down at people walking by below.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
I'm coming for you mother fuckers! Here I come! Here I come, you fucks!

With a few good tugs, Sid manages to pull Mystery back in and both of them collapse to the floor. They both breathe heavily as neither man tries to move or get up.

::::MM 17 31707 1::::
What the fuck am I doing, Sid? What the fuck's going on?

Sid remains on his back, on the floor, and wipes some sweat from his forehead and face.

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
Your emotions are getting the best of you but that's something you can work through. You're a legend in this business and the XWF is nothing more than a small notch in your belt; realize that but also realize you're not done yet. You and Peter Gilmour are going to violate those poor sons of bitches Saturday night when they come for those Tag Titles. You're going to bounce back from this short slump you've been in and you're going to shock the world again. Your recent losses to The Senator and to Knightmask were both in highly questionable singles matches; forgettable contests in which nothing was on the line and nothing mattered. Now you return to your realm -- the tag team environment. You've got this shit, Mystery; I'd bank on it.

The low rumbling of laughter emanating from deep within Mister Mystery gives off no clue as to his true thoughts. He sits up and rises fully as Sid continues to lay on the floor with that "fuck all" attitude written all over his face.

::::3 x Better Sid Feder::::
Just remember if it absolutely comes down to it we've got that backup plan. All it would take is one e-mail being sent..

Death of the Darkness

Fri, 24 May 2013 15:43:24 -0700

He is here. No more mind tricks. No more bullshit. This isn’t a drill, the man that could pierce Cobra’s mind easier than the demon, his father, had just crossed Crimson Cobra’s path for a second time. This was no demonic trick, and there would be no angels coming to save him from this crazed lunatic. Cobra would be forced to finally stand with his father, and go toe to toe with his own flesh and blood.

It’s not like it was going to be a boxing match, in which case his father would hold the experience becoming the Colorado teens golden glove champion for 155 pounds and holding that title from the age of 16 until he was 18 and could compete with the adults. But on the other hand this wouldn’t be a Brazilian jiu-jitsu match in which case the former purple belt Crimson Cobra would be holding the upper hand in experience. Nor would this fight be a mixed martial arts bout, in no way did Cobra intend to keep things legal in this fight, he was ready to go to any extreme to rid himself of the man who tried to kill him many times before. It is finally time to settle things.

It seemed as though the two men were surrounded by darkness, no outside world could be seen. The black and purple clouds twirl in all directions above, below, and surrounding all sides of the men. The floor had seemed to have disappeared yet Cobra and his father seemed to continue to stand on something.

Crimson Cobra is the first to dash towards the opposing man. His father follows! The two reach a full out sprint before Crimson leaps into the air and drives his fist directly into his father’s mouth, easily avoiding the counter attack. Blood has already been drawn yet this only angered his father. A kick to the groin sent Cobra back and away from his attacker. The time allows for Russell, Crimson’s dad, to get back to his feet. His feet planted firmly on the nothingness that was below him he was ready to take on his son who he was positive that he could beat.

Cobra recovered from the low blow runs back at his father swinging away with a barrage of punches. To his own surprise his father’s head movement is quite speedy. The elder man is able to not only keep up with the punches that are flying towards his face but he is also able to dodge them. Dipping back and forth, left and right his head is untouchable.

“IMPOSSIBLE!” Cobra thinks to himself. He has no idea how the old man is moving like a young boxer again.

Dipping, Dodging, and Ducking all of Cobra’s punches the old man finally has Cobra starting to sweat and think more about what punch he wants to throw. Instead now it’s now Russell’s turn, he smiles with nothing but evil intentions and throws a stiff jab that smacks Cobra in the face.

This has Crimson Cobra aggravated and starting to cloud his mind with anger. The rage isn’t the only thing filling Cobra’s head as another punch connects from his father. Cobra is done with this and takes the Muay Thai stance that he learned so long ago, with his hands held high by his head and his legs and knees ready to go to work he sends a leg kick flying in the air!

SNAP!

The kick slaps his father directly on the leg and even stumbles him a little, the former boxer wasn’t expecting a kick in this fight. He doesn’t know much about the much more decorated martial art of kicks, knees, and elbows but he has seen Cobra check a kick before when spying on him as he fought in the amateur Thai club.

A spring in Cobra’s step now that he has finally landed a kick he is sending another flying leg. Russell sees the shin coming directly for his head and has no time to react with how fast it is. Another connection, another time stumbling his father, and again his confidence grows in this fight that is taking place in some dark dimension.

Cobra’s father looks around and notices the dark power waiting to be harnessed. He holds out his right hand with a somewhat clinched fist and a shadow fills his hand. Cobra looks confused as he watches the magic that his father is preforming. The shadow fills out into the shape of a bowie knife and the darkness slowly converts to color. The knife had just materialized into his hand!

Now Cobra was the idiot who brought his fists to a knife fight so he attempts to harness the power of darkness just as his father did and reaches out his hand. Nothing happens, and Russ is now ready to stab the life out of Cobra. Russ did not share the same code of ethics that the ninja like nemesis of KnightMask had as she only wanted to fight weapon on weapon. This fight had just turned one sided in Russell’s favor.

Cobra again stuck his hand out in the darkness the surrounded him and concentrated let the anger leave his mind even with his dad getting closer to him with the huge knife. Still nothing and Cobra gives up, he is ready to try and take on this fight with a huge disadvantage. It’s not like Crimson Cobra hasn’t been in a disadvantage before. Recent weeks on Madness proved that Cobra actually seemed to do better under the disadvantage side, getting beaten to a pulp by Brock Lesnar but still being able to jump of multiple ladders and win the triple threat special guest referee match! Even weeks ago when Cobra overcame the two on one handicap match and proved to Paul Heyman that there would be nothing keeping Cobra from the main event status again.

His mind has been set and he is ready to fight, the knife slices the air headed for Cobra’s throat, a blocking fist connects with Russell Cobb’s hand and catches him off guard. Cobra grabs hold of the knife and brings the arm down low. He locks the arm out straight and sends a knee directly to the elbow.

CRUNCH!

Crimson Cobra had just broken his own father’s arm and the man drops the knife that seems to fall to oblivion. Russell is screaming in pain but still wants to continue the fight showing the same type of heart as the maniac David. He renders his right arm useless and sticks out the left hand into the abyss that is upon both men. He channels the dark powers again and again his hand fills with the shadow that will form into whatever material he wants. A shadow shoots out of both sides of his hand and a much longer weapon is being formed.

Cobra has the idea of interrupting the formation of this weapon and sprints at his father, getting a good pace he leaps into the air and sends both of his feet outwards towards Russ’s chest. His breath gets taken out of him and he is sent flying back a few feet.

“Nice try boy, but this will be the end of you.” His dad speaks to him after quickly making it to his feet with a staff in hand fully formed out of the shadow.

With one short swing the bo staff is still long enough to connect with Cobra’s head and topple him. The staff is raised into the air and sent downward but Cobra is able to roll out of the way. Up to his feet he notices that something has formed and is lying by his feet, a ladder? What was he to do with this? Cobra didn’t pick it up but instead jumps over the staff that was making its way towards his legs. A tuck and roll places him right by his father and Cobra eats a left handed punch as the man dropped the staff just to do so. Cobra stumbles back and sees the staff in between him and his father. This weapon didn’t fall into the depths of the darkness like the knife did. The staff was floating just as Cobra, Russell, and the ladder all were. Cobra just remembered the ladder and slid it towards himself using his leg to kick it up. The end of the ladder is jabbed into the gut of his dad.

Cobra does a leaping roll to grab the staff before his father and he whacks Russ over the head with it. Down to his knees is where he goes and he looks up at the man who was once at the disadvantage. Cobra drops the weapon as he seems to be growing fond of KnightMask’s vision on the world, not using weapons when they are not needed. Cobra knew his own body was more than powerful enough to end this man right here and right now.

Cobra grabs the back of his dad’s head and their eyes meet.

“I’ve always loved you, no matter the fact of you leaving, you were my father, you raised me for eight years. Rest in peace….. Bastard.” Crimson Cobra’s seemingly nice words to his father take a turn in the end.

While Cobra holds his father’s head there he winds a knee back and sends it through the man’s skull. Instead of crushing it like a normal skull would be from the vicious knee, it seems that Cobra shatters his father’s head. With this the darkness that was surrounding the two men begins to disperse Cobra looks relieved and yet saddened knowing that he was the one to end his father’s life.

“It had to happen… Right?” Cobra asks himself the question out loud.

Just as he finishes talking a brilliant light explodes and makes the rest of the darkness disappear. Cobra has seen this light before. The misty whiteness is oddly familiar to Cobra as he waits to see what it is.

The woman, the beautiful goddess steps through the portal to heaven and she looks down at her son. She smiles and it warms his heart to know that all this time she really had been watching over him. He knew she was there he just wished for one last good bye and that is what he was being granted now.

“You ARE right Dakota, you were the only one that would have been able to take out your father in his dark realm. Thank you for ridding the world of one more evil.”

“Mom….Thank you…I miss you so mu-“

Cobra is again cut off as she waves to him and the light slowly gets dimmer and dimmer until Crimson Cobra is sitting in the darkness of the real world. A sidewalk street lamp is all that is lighting the area and Cobra believes that he is finally at peace being satisfied with his last good bye.

I Ran Out of Creative Names: RP 14 - vs Mr. Satellite

Fri, 24 May 2013 15:12:05 -0700

Friday, May 24, 2013 - 11:11 AM EST

I slept in today for the first time in a very long time. Yesterday, I know I woke up feeling lost and confused. I'm still wondering if I was suffering a nightmare or if it was just the stress finally getting to me. It'd been a long grueling few months with Jonathan on the loose. He's gone now and even still, I have some lingering, mixed thoughts on that subject. I just... I just don't know why.

After rolling out of bed, feeling very well rested, I make my way downstairs to have my coffee in the library. Eager to get things back to normal. Although, some thing will never be the same. Lucas was gone for good and never coming back. Stephen, too. Now that the nightmare of the last few months is finally behind us, our losses can be reflected upon.

I enter the library and I'm happy to see my father along with the absolute best friend I've ever had in my life enjoying their coffee with smiles on their faces. Laughter in the air. I would like to think that everything was getting back to normal.

I take a seat in my chair without saying a word and I stay silent with my thoughts for minutes. Jacob and my father continue to chat and laugh. Something is on my mind and I can not, for the life of me, figure out why.

Croaton.

Is it a place? A city or a town, maybe. A person? What? Who? Where?

It never even occur to me that I’d heard the name before until I saw it scrolling on the big new ticker in Times Square when I was watching the news yesterday morning. Why do I know it? Where did it come from. It’s bugging me so much, I just have to say something.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Does the word Croaton ring a bell to either of you?”

JACOB: “No. Should it?”

Asmodeus excuses himself from the conversation and walks toward the outside wall. He leans, staring out the window.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I don’t know. Yesterday morning I was watching the news and I saw the name Croaton. I’m not sure if it’s a place, person, or what.”

JACOB: “Why does it matter?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I guess it doesn't really. There’s just something inside of me telling me I should know the word.”

JACOB: “You okay?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Yeah, why?”

JACOB: “You look pale.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “I’ll be fine. Asmo?”

Asmodeus never looks away from the window.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “What about you?”

ASMODEUS: “Never heard it before in my life.”

I stand up and begin to head to my office. I have an important phone call I need to make. Something is peculiar about Asmodeus right now. Something tells me he has an idea of what I‘m trying to find out. For now though, I let it rest.

I enter my office and take a seat behind the desk. I hit the speaker phone and dial up a number. Someone on the other end picks up, but says nothing. All I can hear is crunching and chewing.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Shane?”

No answer. Just more chewing.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Shane mother fucking !”

SHANE : “I know who I am, asshole!”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “What the hell are you eating?”

SHANE : “Snyders Pretzels.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Snyder of Hanover?”

SHANE : “Is there anything else?”

The guy loves his pretzels.

SHANE : “So, I’ve been thinking. When you beat Mr. Satellite tomorrow, I’m thinking we change the title.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “To what?”

SHANE : “A potato.”

Huh?

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “You want me to wear..... a potato.”

SHANE : “Yeah. You wear a cape and guyliner. And you’re going to complain about wearing a potato?”

Oh.... oh, no he didn’t. More crunching.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “How’s your eye?”

SHANE : “Fuck you.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “About the title. It his a stipulation I’m not liking.”

SHANE : “What’s that?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “The time limit.”

SHANE : “You can’t beat Mr. Satellite in 15 minutes?”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Oh, I can. I just don’t want to. I want to take my time and rip him apart piece, by piece, by little piece. I want to show him just who the Angel of Darkness really is.”

SHANE : “What does that mean, anyway? Angel of Darkness.”

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Shane, I’ve explained this to you like thirty times.”

SHANE : “Did you ever get the secrets of the ya ya brotherhood figured out over there? Or whatever the hell you call it.”

He’s much more incoherent then usual. I need new friends.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Yeah, it’s fine. Anyhow, I need you to change that ruling so when I win after the time limit, I still get awarded the television title.”

Silence.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: “Hello?

“Shane?

“You there?”

Son of a bitch hung up. I hit redial. After a ring:

VOICE: “The person you are trying to reach has a voice mail box that has not been set up yet.”

Mother fucker.

As I sit there shaking my head I receive a text from Caitlyn.

CAITLYN: "HEEEYYYYYEYEYEYYEYYYYYY!"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Hey, what's up?"

CAITLYN: "Am I going to see you again today?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "I have some things to take care of first. I leave tonight for Vegas."

CAITLYN: "You have a match?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "It's not much of a contest seeing as I'm the best there is, but yeah."

CAITLYN: "Who are you facing?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "A man by the name of Mr. Satellite."

CAITLYN: "Is he any good?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "In his own mind."

CAITLYN: "Motel again?"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Nah. You're much too classy a lady for that. Just come here."

CAITLYN: "K."

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "See you later ;)"

CAITLYN: ":-*"

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "It has occurred to me that Mr. Satellite is a delusional little man living in a fantasy world. For this, we'll have to start at the beginning. Not only is he delusional, he'd also like us to be delusional as well. He'd like us all to believe that he is not a human being but some kind of entity from another world or realm. Evidence of that can be seen by his great special effects lighting and that terrible actor portraying the role of Orion.

"Men appearing from a ray of light? Women becoming invisible by wearing a belt? Devices that would survive being submerged in lava? Come on Satellite. Do you really think anyone believes that shit?

"I mean for you or that whore Liz Weinberg to suggest that Sebastian Duke belongs to anyone - or is anyones property is mind numbingly ridiculous! I am a man that makes my own choices, I take action on my own accord. I'm not a puppet on a string.

"Another piece of evidence to suggest Mr. Satellite is indeed delusional, one must look at his first promo released. Via text message to that whore Liz Weinberg, Mr. Satellite claimed to be on the roof of my Compound.

"If you were to believe in his special powers you might believe this to be true. Except for one simple fact. On the top of my Compound, stands armed snipers. If Mr. Satellite were really on that roof, he wouldn't have survived to release a second promo.

"Let me guess... He used that "magic belt" to remain invisible. Man, give me a break.

"One small detail about his visit from the actor... excuse me... man named Orion. He pointed out that he thought Mr. Satellite had a 'thing' for that gutter rat Donathan De Sade. I don't think anyone else made that connection. Is there something about his personal life he's not telling us? In fact, in a recently released promo he even physically came out of the closet. You be the judge."

I give a Mark Flynn inspired pause for effect before continuing.

SEBASTIAN DUKE: "Relax, people.

"It's just a joke.

"I was also somewhat shocked to learn there would be a casket in the grave Saturday night. He's so delusional he's actually taking it upon himself to combine two different types of matches. Since there will be a casket in the grave, then after I like him in that casket, I may just set it on fire and watch it burn before I bury him alive.

"It's a good thing he states he's not in this business to strike fear into anyone, because you see, that is a feat he is just ill-equipped to handle, regardless of what he'd like us all to believe. No one on this planet fears Mr. Satellite. A one-armed man full of delusional science fiction fantasies. No one fears that.

"Orion is most certainly wrong about one thing though. Mr. Satellite is not a wannabe human. He is in fact, after all, human. What he is though, is a wannabe professional wrestler in addition to a wannabe champion. A failure at it, most decidedly.

"Since he's supposedly not human, Mr. Satellite, I hope you're listening. That other whore hanging around you lately. Violet or whatever her name is. Allow me to teach you a little something about the human female persuasion.

"When they tell you not to worry? That's when you worry. When they tell you they're harmless? They're not harmless. When they tell you they don't have secrets? Trust me, Satellite, they do.

"Just for the record, you didn't have to have your robot show us what an ax looks like. We kind of already know what those are. I'm also surprised that the 'out of this world' Mr. Satellite didn't know all that there was to know about his own damn robot.

"I do find it troublesome that the man I work for, a man I consider a friend is consorting with the likes of Mr. Satellite. Although, if he is as delusional as the facts have proven to be so far, then it was probably an actor hired by him to portray Shane .

"Though I can give him credit for one thing. Shane wanting another mans package seems logical, plausible, and in all likelihood, probable. What can I say? Shane is very odd man.

"Again, I hope you're listening, Mr. Satellite, because just for you, allow me to explain what makes me the Angel of Darkness.

"I am a man that hears and sees all things. I lurk in the shadows and I wait.

"I wait and I watch and I stalk.

"Until I find it necessary to strike. You know how they say there is a fine line between good and evil? I am that fine line, Mr. Satellite. I swing like a pendulum, back and forth between good and evil and I take out the good and the evils of the world.

"It seems pretty cut and dry. Pretty straight forward, wouldn't you say?

"I take out each and everyone of those that dare to stand in my way. One worthless piece of shit at a time.

"Its High Stakes on Saturday, Mr. Satellite. You are the next worthless piece of shit on my list.

"After the dust has settled and all the smoke has cleared over Las Vegas, I'll be standing there with my title and yours, thanks to Shane Carvers ruling he has yet to announce, and you will be...

"Buried alive....

"Trust me..."

Fade to Darkness.