X-treme Wrestling Federation - Relentless Day 2 (August 23rd) PPV RP Archive

Focus, my friends. Do not turn away.

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 11:57:05 -0700

"The key to success is to focus on the things we desire, not the things we fear."
-Brian Tracy

August 22, 2014
9 P.M.

Interstate 17 begins in Flagstaff, where the Doctor finally stepped off an Amtrak that took him from one side of the country to the other. The interstate takes you south to Phoenix, where it ends and merges into Highway 10.

The Doctor sits quietly in the passenger seat of a semi-truck hauling different merchandise. The driver picked him up a couple miles back, when he seen the him walking along the side of the highway alone.

Driver- So where you headed, old timer?

Since when has it become part of common courtesy to refer to someone by their age...

Doctor D'Ville- Phoenix, my good sir. I have a very special appointment.

Driver- Appointment, huh. What sort of appointment sends someone walking the highway alone in the middle of the night? There's all kinds of crazies that travel these roads at night, you know?

Doctor D'Ville- Thank you for the warning. I'll be sure to be careful.

Driver- So... What did you say brings you this way? An appointment?

Doctor D'Ville- That's right.

Driver- Hmm. Must be important, huh?

Doctor D'Ville- Indeed it is. Eleven patients await the arrival of their doctor. Eleven patients await their cure.

Driver- A doctor! My stars! Doc, I'd hate to bother you with this but I've had this weird rash on my back for weeks, and--

Doctor D'Ville- I'm not that kind of doctor, friend. I study and treat the mind.

Driver- Oh! You're a shrink! Well, let me tell ya Doc, I've seen some fucked up, pardon my French, shit here as a driver. You might think I've seen the same thing over and over again, since I only travel here in the state of Arizona... But the desert can be a weird place.

Doctor D'Ville- I'm sure it can. And I'm sure you've seen your fair share.

Driver- You have no idea.

The Doctor sits back in the bucket seat and sighs. The cab of the truck looked like a tiny apartment. Clothes, food, and jugs of what was probably urine decorated the inside. The driver obviously lives out of his truck for the most part. Strangely enough, it kind of reminded the Doctor of one of his patients.

August 23, 2014
3 A.M.

The Doctor sits in a small diner just outside of Glendale, Arizona. The driver decided he wasn't going all the way through the state tonight, and pulled off the road to take a short nap. Impatiently, the Doctor left the man to his slumber and began to hike down the interstate as he started earlier in the night.

A radio plays in the background behind the thin walls of the kitchen. One cook, of hispanic decent, dances through the kitchen as he preps for the following day. The waitress, could've passed as a teenager, wears your common pink dress and apron. Your stereotypical waitress for a stereotypical diner.

Waitress- You sure you're not hungry there, handsome?

Doctor D'Ville- I'm sure, my dear. I'm just stopping for a breather if you don't mind.

Waitress- Stay as long as you like. You don't look like your from around here, sweetheart. You a tourist?

Doctor D'Ville- Not quite. Just a lonely traveller.

Several emergency vehicals zoom passed the diner heading in the direction the Doctor had just came.

Waitress- Wonder what happened? Probably an accident...

Wrong again.

The Doctor remains in his seat. Behind him, the young waitress and cook press their faces against the large window. An orange glow appears over the horizon along with blue and red flashing lights. It looks like it's pretty close.

About an hour ago the driver decided he was too tired to continue. The Doctor plainly understood, for it must be a hard life. The driver explained his hard work schedule to the Doctor as he pulled off the side of the road.

Driver- Sorry about your luck though, old timer. You might have to walk the rest of the way. Unless you can talk me into keep going. You are a shrink, right? Any cash in that briefcase your carrying with you?

The Doctor smiles.

Doctor D'Ville- Only information regarding my patients, friend.

The driver removes a gun from under the driver's seat and points it at the Doctor.

Driver- Well, I think after driving you well over a hundred miles you owe me something. So, hand it over and get out of the truck.

Doctor D'Ville- Careful my friend. You, yourself, said you've seen many unexplainable things happen in your travels. Don't let tonight be an example.

Driver- What the fuck are you talking about?

The driver grabs the briefcase from the Doctor's hands and shoves him out of the truck. The Doctor carelessly walks around the front of the semi, out into the middle of the road. He watches. The driver opens the briefcase and almost immediately screams out in agony as three black snakes spring out of it striking him in the cheek, neck, and forehead. The driver throws the briefcase out the window, throws it in first gear and speeds off as fast as he can. As he slowly pulls away, large amounts of liquid pour from the bottom of the truck. Lighting up a cigar, he throws the still burning timber into the puddle on the ground. A large flame begins chasing the truck as it slowly picks up speed travelling away from the Doctor. He walks over to his briefcase which lay on the ground. Picks up a few papers which fell from it, organizes it a bit, and begins to walk.

Waitress- Probably drunk.

Cook- Probably.

The two turn around to face the Doctor, but the seat where his sat before was empty. They look around, call for him, but no answer. He just disappeared.

Waitress- I hate this graveyard shift.

6 A.M.
August 23, 2014
2 miles outside of Phoenix

The Doctor continues walking along the side of Highway 17 towards his destination. He carries his leatherbound briefcase in one hand. A lit cigar in the other. Taking his time and obviously in no hurry. He stops and smells the air.

Doctor D'Ville- It will not be long now, my friends. Today is finally the day where the Doctor comes to town. Are you ready for your diagnosis? Are you ready to clear your mind? I certainly hope so, because I am. I've been looking forward to this day for well over a week. I relentlessly travelled thousands of miles. Relentlessly spoken to my patients about this day. I hope they're ready.

The Doctor begins to walk again, throwing his cigar aside.

Doctor D'Ville- I know that one certain patient of mine is dying for some attention. Mr. Luke Gunner, my friend. Are you as confused as you're making it out to be? You refuse my help, you call me crazy, and you're fighting outside of our business. It seems to me that your condition is far worse than I had expected. Aimlessly walking around the city for days, starting bar fights, and it doesn't seem that you're eating right. The mind needs food too, Mr. Luke. You have obviously not been thinking straight. You sound much like the broken record, repeating to me your past. Repeating to me that all you care about is being paid. You will get paid, my friend. Stop heckling yourself. Tonight, I will finally, first-hand, show you what my purpose here in this company is all about. Fear not. I know you're not looking for friends here, but please, atleast let me open your eyes and show you that your true potential is far more than what you expect. You are looking for a fist fight. That is because it is all you know. You have fought to survive your entire life. It may seem like it is working, you are still here with us. But there are other ways, my friend. You will see. You will all see.

The Doctor continues his path towards the city. Only hours from his debut, the sun begins to rise over the flat horizon. Relentless- Day 2. The first of many sessions in line for the Doctor of the XWF.

The Day Has Finally Arrived And I'm Feeling Relentless

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 11:43:54 -0700

The Day Has Finally Arrived

And I'm Relentless
♥
♥
♥

The day has finally arrived. The wait is finally over. The scene fades in at Tempe Park Beach in Phoenix, everywhere completely jam packed with people as they swarm not only for the luxuries offered but to meet and greet some of the XWF stars. Flashes from cameras light up all over, interviewers, fans and staff rushing about as the time counts down towards the second day of Relentless. Smack bang in the middle of the crowd is none other than Kristen Silver, a smile firmly planted on her face as she laps up the attention of the cameras. As always, her assistant Erin Williams can be seen standing firmly by her side. The two look on as Kristen continues to be questioned, nearing the end of an interview with one of the many reporters.

Interviewer: One of our sources claim that you were involved in a bit of an embarrassing altercation on your first day back with the company...with a vending machine...?

The smile on the face of Kristen quickly disappears as she scrambles to find the words to respond.

Kristen: I've already told you, it was Erin!

Interviewer: You're blaming your assistant?

Kristen: I mean she just lost it, she started screaming something about a packet of jelly beans. Why Erin? Why would you do something like that?

Erin: Wait...what...errrr!

The assistant of Kristen looks on, this time it's her scrambling to find some words, not really knowing how to reply. She's suddenly helped out by the reporter though.

Interviewer: But there's CCTV footage of you. You punching away at the machine. Even you screaming, and I quote "GIVE ME MY JELLY BEANS!!!"...

With a look of shock and horror on her face, Kristen stands in her spot in sheer silence for a moment, clearly caught out on the spot.

Kristen: Well...I...NO COMMENT!

Becoming annoyed, Kristen turns to Erin, begins to pull at her arm and then begins to walk away from the cameras and reporter.

Kristen: Come Erin, I'm tired of feeding this lower class liar!

Erin let's off an almost apologetic look towards the team as Kristen begins to tug away at her top, forcing Erin to follow behind her. The two ruffle through the crowd, walking behind the barricade that's been set up and making their way to the section that's cut off from most of the fans.

Kristen: Who the hell does that idiot think he is? I mean seriously, would I ever do any of the stuff he said I was?

Erin: Yes! Actually, you did everything he said! And then you tried to blame it on me!

Kristen: Yeah...well...oh be quiet Erin!

Kristen begins to walk ahead of Erin and to nobodies surprise does it in a complete strop. It's at that point she's approched by one of the cameramen, moving straight up towards her and pointing the camera at her.

Cameraman: With the XWF Kristen, any last words before tonight's show?

The strop disappears for a moment as Kristen begins to smile away again, her bad mood clearly disappearing due to the fact that she loves the attention of the cameras.

Kristen: Royalty has arrived. I love that you all love me. Tonight I'll have some fun, are you ready XWF? Let's get Relentless. Men, control your excitement...ladies, eat your heart out...game time baby!

Kristen let's off a cheeky wink as she turns her back on the camera, knowing she's given them everything she needs, very few words but still so memorable. She continues to walk on, finally reaching a convertible Bentley Continental. By now Erin has finally caught up with her, walking around the side of the car, opening up the door and sitting firmly in the drivers seat. Kristen plants herself in the passengers seat, her fingers once again firing away on her mobile phone.

It's game time baby! Everything that you know changes tonight. You ready? #XWF #GameTime
— Kristen Silver (@KristenSilver7) August 23, 2014

Erin: You ready to do this?

Kristen: I was born ready!

Despite having one of their usual tiffs, the two share a smile as Erin fires up the engine and begins to reverse out of the parking spot. Kristen puts her phone away before pulling out a diary from her bag. Opening it up just a few pages in, Kristen begins to put pen to paper as the two drive out into the open, Kristen's hair swaying from side to side as they drive off into the sunset heading for the University Of Phoenix Stadium.

Dear diary,

So the time has come. I've come a long way. The spotlight is all on me and tonight it's time to shine. I'm better than this and I'm better than all of them. They won't give me what I deserve, so I'm going to take it.

Funny, beautiful, witty, smart and simply the best at what I do. They all love me. They're all coming to see me tonight. They paid to see me, so tonight, they're going to get me.

Tick, tick, tick. Time's almost up for all of them. I'm coming to take my crown, I'm coming to sit on my throne. Damn I'm cool.

It's Game Time Baby
♥♥♥
♥♥
♥

Liz, don't talk out loud. You lower the IQ of the whole street.

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 11:38:20 -0700

Seriously.

You just don't listen. You really, really don't.

You don't know what words mean, and you don't even know who you are, you fucking hypocritical snake. Claiming that I should contemplate what I say before saying it? What, where did you hear that one from? I ask, because there's no way in Hell that you even know what the word contemplate even means. So, please. Where did you rip that line from? Come on, if you're going to steal put downs from other people, at least have the fucking common courtesy to cite your sources. Or you can keep bashing your head into a wall, desperately trying to distance yourself from just how fucking moronic you are.

Though, that isn't the only time she demonstrates she doesn't know anything about what she's talking about. I mean, she's calling out Peter Gilmour and Dimallisher. You know, Team Special? Right, they don't even know what name corresponds to the teams they're facing so of course they don't have the mental capabilities of making a half decent point. Silly me! I thought after her teammate was called on the same gaffe that maybe, just maybe, Liz would be smart enough to, I don't know, not stumble into the exact same pitfall. Though, obviously my hopes were dashed as she sunk even lower into the Kristy Jackson level of stupidity.

Next thing you know, she'll point out the stalling comment-- wait a second she did. Bravo. Brilliant. Yes, I was stalling because the prospect of listening to you talk as if you know anything when it's become so obvious over the course of this week that you know less than nothing was enough to make me vomit. Though, ultimately I did get on with it, thus rendering your "without getting on her topic of discussion" comment moot. Seriously, it's like you didn't listen at all. Did you get Kristy to give you the summary or something? Because if so, there's your problem and likely why you made the mistake of calling Azrael and I "Team Special".

Oh, and again because you're dumb and don't listen. I'm one year younger than you, moron.

Also, again. I know I'm going to retain, Liz. And when Azrael and I do, I'll be thinking "that was easy" because it will be.

Oh hey! You finally cite your source! Too bad you quoted your fucking idiot of a partner.

And you still don't know what the world illiterate means. Come on. Words aren't that hard. It's kind of a shame that you're as stupid as you are. All that'll happen is that when you lose, you'll cry and claim conspiracy like you did when you screamed to anyone that'd listen about how corrupt Shane was like it was some kind of grand revelation. Only now you don't have Dean Moxley McGovern to fall back on.

And as such, you're falling over yourself in any attempts to stand on your own two feet.

And then there's BlizZa. The team I've forgotten to talk about all week, due to the lack of necessity. Not fear, not ignorance. Just because The Za hasn't said anything all week and Blizzard had just recently said something. After publishing a letter where he vomited a bunch of words on a page without any actual substance behind them, he finally got on to saying something. Granted, he spent most of his time poking at the black holes of logic that are Liz Hathaway and Kristy Jackson just like I have, but he did say something to me. The spark that gave me the inspiration to respond.

Because he's wrong. I really don't respect him. He hyped himself up so hard that when he inevitably failed to defeat Eli James (someone I've already claimed a victory over), he crashed hard. And while he'll claim conspiracy, and claims he was screwed, I only think about the words he said and how if he was only half as good as he claimed himself to be, no amount of screwjobs and conspiracy would've stopped him.

So now he's trying to divert the failure from himself into the hands of spiteful outside forces to soften the blow.

Sad. Really.

The returning faces both fall so flat in their grandiose re-debuts that they've been left empty husks going through the motions. Or in Za's case, not doing anything at all.

Pathetic. The whole lot of you.

Final words for Team Special and BlizZa.

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 09:58:58 -0700

I....... I just don't understand.

I mean I may not be the brightest person in the world, but even an Einstein couldn't comprehend the amount of idiotic shit that was just put on display by the hands of Azrael Erebus and Kendall Savannah Sawyer.

Honestly, did it ever occur to you two to shut the fuck up, and actually contemplate what you're going to say before saying it.

Let's take Kendall for example, young, naive, confused with life because she doesn't understand that she is so fucked when she has to meet Kristy and I in the match later tonight. So what does she do? She rambles on and on without ever getting on her topic of discussion because she is in fact, stalling.

Stalling because she knows that her fate is inevitable. Stalling because she knows that in the end, when she's laying on her back in the ring after I outwrestle her, she will have nothing but a lost chance.
Kendall, tell me something, do you feel like you have any chance at retaining? Tell me, how long do you think you'll last? Tell me, when I personally kick you in the fucking throat, what will you be thinking?

"What the fuck have I gotten myself into?" Or "I should've waited to cash in."

Or will you just sit in the fetal position and ball your sad ass eyes out, because you got your ass handed to you like you owed us money.

Last line courtesy of Kristy Jackson.

But hey Kendall, you sure do talk a better game then your partner.

And to think, once I respected you.

Azrael, you dull minded idiotic weak ass fucktard, man oh man I can't wait to fucking murder your ass in the ring tonight. I swear, I'm going to beat you so bad, you'll contemplate returning to your days as Mr. Satellite, but we all know that'll never happen.

You want to talk about the past? Fine by me, your last match saw you LOSE the Trois Championships, just like I predicted. Just like you will lose the Tag Team Championships just like I predicted. Loss after loss after loss, and you talk about me losing.

Bitch, practice what you preach you washed up piece of trash. I'm sure Kendall could've made a better choice of partner then choosing a has been ass dumb ass bastard.

You even proved it when you basically said everything in regards to Blizzard that I said. Be original bitch.

Speaking of Blizzard, the fucked up illiterate bitch he is, I thought he was the weak part of his team, but no, it's actually The Za, hell at least Blizzard did have the decency to cut a promo, if you call that piece of shit he produced a promo. The Za on the other hand didn't even put out a simple "fuck you."

You're the type of person that makes me wish I was facing Gilmour and Dim instead. Shit at least the two of them knew how to show up.

Blizzard, you fucked up combination of shit and vomit, you are the exact thing I hate.

You come in, make a few slick remarks then

BAM!

You fuck it all up by saying that you respect Kendall.

You fuck tard, even Peter, as idiotic as he is, will never say he respects an opponent. That screams weak ass bitch right there.

If Kendall doesn't use that to her advantage, she just proves that she's a illiterate cum bucket.

Ugh between the four of you, I don't know which one I want to destroy the most.

It doesn't even matter, I'm sure you four will find a way to fuck your chances of winning up before me and Kristy even make our entrances.

Team Special with their " I'm better than you, but lost my titles before I even had a chance to defend them," ways.

BlizZa with their, well Blizzard with his "I'm gonna say this to sound cool," attitude.

You four are all
fucking despicable.

I'm sure we'll win before we even lace up our boots.

Psychedelia, Portlandia

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 09:20:15 -0700

Brrrring!

That's the sound of my phone's stereotypical ring tone as it vibrates along the coffee table it was left at. Ringing constantly and continuing to do so as I leave it be, hoping that it vibrates its way off the table and crashes onto the floor. Meanwhile, I sit on the couch of this hotel room (I think), head tilted backward enough to look up at the ceiling, and swim in the vast sea of colors surrounding me. Numb to anything else. No tangible figures cross my eyes no, just vague outlines in black contrasting against the vibrant whites, greens, and blues swirling around on the ceiling though as I continue to watch them, I start to think back and realize something.

I have no idea how I got here. How the fuck did that happen?

I start to blink rapidly, hoping that if I do, the colors would fade and that would somehow get me closer to solving this new mystery. Now, of course when it came time for execution neither thing happened; if anything the colors grew brighter and thicker, seeming to swallow the black border lines whole in a matter of milliseconds.

Where was I?

My brain still wracks itself trying to come up with the answer to that question without any progress. All I know is that I'm here and the colors are definitely going to attack. That's what they're doing, swirling around the ceiling like vultures around the rotting corpse of a deer. Vultures eat dead deer, right? Of course they do, why wouldn't they? They're waiting for me to turn my head, for me to lose my concentration for a single moment and when I do, they'll swarm. Converge on me with intention of ripping my body to shreds.

I raise my arm up to the ceiling, as if ready to fight back against sentient colors, only to feel like something's stuck in it. Arching my arm so that I can see both it and the swarm of my impending demise, I see sticking out of the flesh; a needle. A fucking syringe jammed up in my arm, which is likely the cause for the numbness and memory loss, though what it has to do with the colors is beyond me. Normally, I'd think that was connected too, but there's something about them that makes that theory seem, unlikely. I can't quite put my finger on what it is, though it's definitely there and incredibly prevalent.

Then it starts to speak.

Yes, the mass of colors begin to speak some incomprehensible gibberish. All in unison, hundreds of voices join as one to speak in a low, demonic rumble that tenses me up and makes me yearn to get up and leave. Their swirling intensifies, almost if they were forming a tornado right above me, making the walls shake violently and almost forcing me off the couch. In response, I grip the cushions as hard as I can, hoping that it doesn't get any stronger than it already is.

However, the voices begin to get more powerful, splitting into four groups, each spouting out one syllable.

Jay Dead Sigh Sus.

Over and over and over again. Boring into my brain through my eardrums and making me scream. However, as the twisted round continues, I start to make out what it is they're saying.

Jay Dead Sigh Sus.

Jaded Sigh Sus.

Jaded Seises.

I know what that means.

And so, I shake my head and reach for the phone, looking up all the while, just to make sure the colors were benign. Bringing it up to my face, I see the messages reading one missed call and new voicemail, and after a few assorted clicks and swipes, I press it up to my ear to hear the message left for me.

"I hope you weren't enjoying your vacation too much, Jessie. There's something we need you to do."

And end. That was it.

I place the phone in my lap and continue looking up as the colors begin to fade, yanking the empty syringe out of my arm and laying it on the coffee table.

It looks like I'm not completely off the hook. Yet.

Say my name say my name

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 08:17:34 -0700

The entire lead up to this match has been like an exercise in disrespect. Through all of the promos leading into the PPV, I’ve seen absolutely zero effort from my opponents to address myself or The Za. Sure, Liz Hathaway cut a promo against us… if you consider that a “promo”. From my perspective, as one of the best trash talkers this industry has ever seen, I really think you need to insert something interesting in order to call it a promo. Mindless exposition and lazy insults a fucking third grader could come up with doesn’t make a compelling promo. What it makes, is something that makes me change the goddamn channel. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised because Liz dresses like a dumb ass tramp so I guess that’s one book that should be judged by its cover.

Azrael Erebus is supposed to be some fucking hotshot here but all I heard from him was parroting exactly what Liz said. Here is a guy who is the supposed leader of the team who’s supposed to win this whole match, if you listen to the boys in the back, and he just repeats the words of someone he also called . This is just more confirmation of my theory that the current XWF is just a bunch of poseurs going around smelling their own farts. What better confirmation than the FACT that on Madness, Eli James (who will soon be our Universal Champion) needed Paul Heyman to save him from losing to me. I’d usually say that’s indicative that Eli James is blowing Paul Heyman backstage but Heyman’s so fat that I highly doubt he can even sport a stiffy. Dude does not have the blood circulation to pop a boner.

At least Azreal and Liz said our names in the course of cutting promos. Kendall and Kristy seemed to forget that this was a 3-way tag. Why people in today’s XWF think it’s okay to completely ignore opponents for long periods of time, I have no idea. Maybe it is arrogance, it’s definitely a lot of ignorance, and it’s absolutely fear. By even acknowledging myself, you recognize that I exist. If you recognize that I exist, you recognize that I’m about to kick all of your asses because just fucking look at me. I might as well be sculpted out of marble. I’m the Zeus of getting dat poose, I’m the Thor of boning whore, I’m da Loki of Pokey-pokey.

What kind of name is Azrael Erebus anyway? I’m sure he’d respond that he’s heard that a million times, as if that isn’t confirmation that his moniker is atrocious. I’m absolutely positive that if you search his name, you’ll pull up a bunch of separate involuntary celibate nerds who use that name when they play World of Warcraft or some other equally autistic video games. This is also a dude who spends entirely too much money on special effects in his promos. I think he’s trying to say he’s an alien of some sort right now but it kind of just seems like he’s cosplaying as Doctor Who. What I do know is that while aliens probably exist somewhere, they do not exist on planet Earth. So what we have is a fucking dweeb with a terrible name, pretending to be something that he’s not, and still thinks he’s cool even though he steals ideas from Liz Hathaway. Liz Hathaway, who is a fucking mong and total mouth breather every second she isn’t trying and failing to deepthroat cock.

As contrived as Azrael is, he has mountains of depth over the poorly drawn-up male fantasy that Kristy Jackson is. Usually I’d look at a pair of tits like she has and want to motorboat them sons a bitches but then I hear her talk and my penis retracts halfway into my body (leaving it “only” twice the size of a normal penis). In fact, I’m ninety percent sure that Kristy Jackson is a tranny. It’s not the hoarse sound of her voice, nor her giant hands, but the fact of how fucking phony her entire personality is. Listen, in this sport, there’s a massive epidemic of women being written by men (as in these bitches have writers because they’re too stupid to think for themselves), and maybe that’s the case with Kristy. She basically seems like a character in a porno, a manifestation of some poorly thought out representation of male desire. Basically, some men are too beta to consider women intelligent because it threatens them... so they envision women as nothing more than prostitutes when they write them in their novels or when they write women wrestlers promos for them. If Kristy isn’t a man taping her cock into her asscrack, then there’s some shitty writing team behind her that has the imagination of Terry Shiavo.

It makes sense she’s teaming with Liz and I’m sure that Liz is carrying that dead weight around as a way to make her look less pathetic. Every female has a fat friend to make them seem thinner and, in this case, Liz has found a dense slut to take the heat off the fact that Liz is also a dense slut. Liz is at least intelligent enough to form coherent thought, unlike Kristy, but she is nowhere intelligent enough to actually say something interesting. I can’t stand wrestlers who just stand in the ring and describe shit and think they’re cutting a promo. If there isn’t punchlines, I might as well punch lines (with my nose). This ho might as well just rename herself Lunesta not only because Lunesta sounds like a dumb slut caked up with mascara like Liz but also because Liz puts a motherfucker straight to sleep.

Of course, her being boring isn’t the reason why she’s ineffective as a wrestler because some boring motherfuckers hit hard. The reason she’s ineffective as a wrestler is because I have more muscle in one bicep than she has in her entire body. She honestly looks like she’s addicted to ketamine with how malnourished she is. If she wants me to get her pregnant, I might have to decline because I doubt she has the strength to carry a baby to full term. So maybe I’ll just send her to The Za because a woman who can’t get pregnant is his dream.

Kendall Sawyer is the only female in this match I can say that I respect and I think the feeling is mutual. It’s no coincidence that she hasn’t mentioned BlizZa in her promos, that bitch is just playing hard to get. Being around that effeminate beta Azrael has made the mere thought of boning an alpha male like Aidan Collins so intimidating that she can’t afford to say my name in a promo. Even saying the syllables A-DAN together will make her hose her panties spontaneously. In the end, the desires of her ovum will likely over take her and I have a strong suspension that she will literally try to rape me in the ring at Relentless. So remember, every time Kendall throws a punch at me, she’s trying to knock me out to take advantage of me. If she tries to pin me, she’s just doing it to get on top with the hopes that my dick gets hard, bursts out of my trunks, and enters her slippery love cave. That’s what I call romance but it’s also sexual assault that needs to be condemned. #JusticeForAidan

In the end, all these motherfuckers are about to face the firm reality that BlizZa ain’t nothing to fuck with.

Truth Until Death

Griffin's nest episode 4:relentless

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 07:46:13 -0700

The screen is black as a voice whispers, "sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

The screen changes as you see Griffin standing in the Empire conference room with the logo behind him. The camera pans out to show the entire table full of beautiful redheads with Griffin smiling like a cocky bastard. "Good morning Mystica, tonight is the night, we're gonna main event night two of relentless. This is my debut match, but here's the thing Mystica," Griffin said, his eyes cold and calculating as opposed to their usual crazy and bloodshot. He was wearing a suit with a tie decorated like cookies.

"I don't have to win my debut match, of course I want to, of course I want to hold onto this title and earn a U.S title shot soon, but if I do lose tonight, it's not the end of my career. Tonight after relentless I'm coming back to the Griffin's nest to see all these lovely ladies, here courtesy of Vinnie Lane, thanks for that by the way. Then after tonight I have a ladder match with Cain at Madness whether I'm champ or not. Then I have a match with the other Griffin at some point. The point is I have a future here, I'm hot right now in XWF, I've made a name for myself. This is not a must win for me, rather, it's a can't lose for you. Think about it Mystica, no matter what kind of respect people have for you, if you lose to a rookie who is making his debut, and a title defense at that. Where do you go from there, you'd be shoved to the bottom of the totem pole. Even if you ever made it back up to main eventing, you'd have to claw and scratch your way up to the top slowly but surely. I don't know if you have enough in the tank to make it back to the top from the bottom of the barrel. Tonight I don't need to win, but Goddamnit I'm gonna put you through so much hell that even if you do win you may have to forfeit the title. You on the other hand can't lose tonight Mystica, who has the greater pressure?"

They cut to a commercial for Griffin's autobiography, "egg to x-treme:the Griffin story" and when they came back Griffin was in the ring surrounding by people wearing Empire t-shirts. "time for your XCW history lesson," Griffin said, back to his usual crazy self. "This is the XCW empire. Let me introduce you to Wishmaster, the atomic crab, the icon Phil Henderson, Jason Cordova, Judge and Chris Storm. At one point or another all these men stood with me and fought beside me as the Empire. They will all be in the crowd tonight at Relentless to cheer me on. Why? Because they know what it means to be XCW born and raised, they respect it because they all went through the same hell as I did. If you want me to respect you Mystica then tonight you prove you deserve it. Whether you win or lose if you prove to me in the squared circle that you deserve my respect then you'll get it. Tonight's match is extreme rules as they call it. every match in XCW was like this, basically tonight you're in my home element. I put myself on the line in matches like this because I have a passion for this industry. You only want to hurt people but I love the game, that's how you can earn my respect tonight, prove to me you love wrestling, put me through a table not because you hate me, but because you want to put on the best damn show you can. I live for the roar of the crowd, show me that you do too."

As Griffin stands there with the Empire, Terry climbs into the ring.

"Today I've decided to do a special pre-ppv what the weapon. Today I'm gonna show you how I can make you hurt with the XCW championship." Griffin gives a signal and the Empire members tie Terry up in the ropes so he can't get out. Griffin come up behind him and begins whipping him with the belt. Terry's screams are drowned out by the smack of the metal and the sound of the screws holding the belt together ripping his back open. Streams of blood gush down his back as Griffin steps back and looks at his handiwork. He holds up the bloody belt and looks at the camera. "See you tonight Mystica," he says before the feed goes dark.

The Bitten Tool Saga (6) Pizza Party 101: Healthy Pizza.

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 05:41:54 -0700

“So, Guppy, what kind of pizza is this? It better not be a shit kind.”

“It’s supreme with pineapple.”

Stevil powerfully poked the slice of pizza with his fork of corruption, “So it is,” Stevil smiled sadistically, “Where are the party hats, Guppy?”

Guppy was puzzled by the question but he answered it anyway, “I didn’t get any party hats.”

“Oh, you don’t care for them either,” Stevil smiled again, this time it was wickedly, “And do you have any other festivities planned for this spur of the moment pizza party or are we just going to sit around and talk about your feelings again?”

“I was going to show you the Family Matters episodes with Stevil in them because your parents must’ve liked them a lot to name you after them.”

Stevil tenaciously tensed up, “God damn it. How are you so fucking good at throwing pizza parties and a complete inept fucking at everything else? Supreme with pineapple, no party hats, and your guest’s parents’s favorite television show; it almost like you read my Perfect Pizza Party Essentials Check-List and planned your entire party around it.”

“I did read you Perfect Pizza Party Essentials Check-List and I did plan the entire party around it. When the week started I wanted to celebrate our awesome promos with a pizza party you gave a perfect out of ten.”

Guppy bit one of the prongs on his fork.

“That’s cheating!” Stevil sickeningly wiped a tear from his eye, “That’s like studying before a test!”

“You said anyone who wants to throw a pizza party that is worth going to should use your check-list.”

Stevil took another evil bite from the pizza.

“I can’t believe it. You really pulled it off.”

“Stevil, you have to understand that you’re the most important singular person in my life. You live here in Gotham. It’s important that credit is given where it’s due. One promo where you hire a bunch of actors to do something silly and sink the entire budget isn’t going to change any of that, Stevil. We’re still a team and sometimes we will disagree, but we can’t let that destroy what we’ve done here. We ma-,”

“We made contributions to the art world that will change the way people do promos for years. I know. You were the star and I tugged the strings of control. I was being a bit overzealous before because I thought you didn't get me. I'll make it up to you.

I won’t be wanking alone anymore Guppy. You were right. We should release that promo. People need to see The Metaphor of The Human Toilet, I didn’t understand what that promo meant until now. At the time I had you shit in my mouth because it was a fetish of mine, but I was wrong. It was a dream coming to life. Walt Disney is in heaven right now, Guppy. Do you think I’d go to the same place if I deprived the world of such an amazing story?”

“Um, we-”

“No I'd go to hell, and so would Walt if he kept Snow White to himself,” Stevil relentlessly bit the slice of supreme with pineapple, “Do you still have that shiny napkin?”

“Yes,” Guppy handed Stevil the RTX Championship and Stevil used it to smear the tomato sauce on his mask and mix it with the other tomato sauce on his mask. Stevil demonically handed the belt back to Guppy.

“Thanks.”

Guppy bit one of the prongs on his fork.

“Have you watched any of Joy’s promos yet?”

“I couldn't subject myself to that. Her promo director is an amateur, Guppy. It’s kind of pathetic to sit through cliché scene after scene so I only watched bits and pieces.

What kind of promo director would green light a clip from Holy Musical B@man? Not to mention the fact that dream sequences died the day I shot the first promo with sound. Dreams are meant to be seen not heard. When she should have come off honest she seemed incredibly deceptive. The whole thing reeked of the promo director trying to fit every relationship cliché there was into five promos. Of course Hunter took her to the hospital, of course she showed up on Hunter's date, of course Hunter couldn’t stoop to cheating, it wouldn’t really be a series of boring and dated relationship promos if he didn’t.

I guess we have to think about what people want to see in a promo. Do they want a mediocre romantic comedy with needless gay bashing, or do they want the promo director that has directed countless Frodo Smackins and RaYne promos and single handedly made being gay acceptable to raise the bar that has been significantly lowered since their absences? There are two things I know, Guppy. That’s pizza, which, despite popular belier, is extremely healthy with a balanced diet and promos. I know for a fact that I would take me over a shitty rom-com with a forced hand job scene that we all knew was going to happen when the promo started - 3/10”

“I’ll give them a miss then.”

“Anyway I feel like I should let you in on something, Guppy.”

“What? Is it a promo?”

“Sort of, it’s a-,”

“Is it a movie? Is it another thing for you to watch later? Do we need more money to hire actors?”

“That wasn’t an invitation to make guesses, Guppy, but I digress, it’s a little video my friend is making over there,” Stevil perilously points at the camera that is filming this promo. “Wave at the camera, Guppy!”

Guppy waves at the cameraperson. We can’t see it on camera, but he or she might’ve waved back. “Who’s that?”

“It’s the person I hired to make a behind the scenes video of this.”

Guppy felt like he missed something.

“Sometimes I have reality TV-like outbursts over pretty much nothing and I thought it might be nice to have someone there to record it in case it would make a compelling promo.”

“Is this a promo right now?”

“Yes, this is a promo. I call it the Bitten Tool Saga. It has the same initials as behind the scenes.”

Then something clicked in Guppy’s brain.

(08-15-2014, 11:14 PM)Stevil Said: “I have a better idea. How about you’re trying to write a letter to a loved one in pencil and you bite the tip of your eraser?

“When did you think of this behind the scenes promo?”

“I had the cameraman or camerawoman start filming you when I saw you at the pizza parlor and I wanted to collect on the pizza party you owed me.”

“Why did you say that about me biting a pencil? I’ve been biting stuff all week and now I’m confused. I just bit my fork a moment ago!”

“A good director tells his actors to do things and doesn’t explain why. A good director merely plants the seeds for his vision and it’s up to the actor to make it grow. I’d know because I’m a great director, unlike Joy's. That’s what made me so mad when you were trying to ask Dominic why he wanted you to lay down; I didn't what to make a watered down promo that felt the need to explain the cliches to the audience.”

“It’s just kind of scary that you got me to start biting things. I’m a superhero, people shouldn’t be able to get in my head and control me so easily.”

“It made the scenes better. No one has ever bit a pencil or a fork for any other reason than the fact that they were deep in thought. I just made you think Guppy; that’s what promo directors are meant to do. Luckily there’s no one out there who is as good at directing promos as I am."

"I just didn't realize I was being watched all week. I don't mind though. What's all this for?"

"Since you threw this great pizza party for me I’ve decided to stick around. We’ll release the six part behind the scenes series as promos for the big pay-per-view fight and then The Metaphor of The Human Toilet will be a theatrical release in the Summer of next year.”

“If you’re alive that long,” the voice cackled with the waves of the beautiful ocean waters. The sun was set on this beached whale of death.

"I'm going to be in two movies?"

"You're the hero in both of them, kick Superman's ass for me."

"Okay! :-)"

“Oh, and thanks for your services in the Gotham riots, Guppy. Don’t believe the papers and Miss Joy. The people of Gotham need a hero after the passing of The Third Wheel’s Ben Affleck. Thank you for being that hero,” Stevil nastily turned toward the camera again, “And thank you for watching The Bitten Tool Saga! I’ll see you next year!”

Guppy waved goodbye while Stevil destructively waved.

I'm always happy with a surprise. A close friend and underling showed me the most respect anyone has ever received. I was adorned with the Perfect Pizza Party Essentials. I wasn't sure if the cameraperson identified as male or female, but I didn't need to. I still felt linked to everyone within the city limits. I even got to use Gotham to wipe my face! The Stevil episodes of Family Matters were a hoot and a half. I didn't have to struggle to fit a party hat over my mask, which was very considerate of the host. The pizza was supreme with pineapple which can't be desecrated, however after tasting the host's shit I could only call it the 2nd best meal of the week - PERFECT/10

Guppy fin.

A Joyous Road To Relentless (Part 5)

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 03:22:52 -0700

As the sun sets in Gotham, the ground below begins to tremble violently. The crowds of people start to scatter. A small crack in the concrete widens and widens until a green vine rises up from out of the earth, eventually reaching the size of a skyscraper. Any botanist will tell you it was a Gigantic Venus Fly Trap.

Suddenly, the Venus Fly Trap opens up! Revealing an evil temptress inside. Dressed in all green. The plant Goddess began to speak to the new victims of Gotham that have crowded around her enormous plant.

Poison Joy: Nature... It's a beautiful thing... Much like the wonderful worm... Some may see an ugly slimy creature... But the worm waits... Buys itself time... And poof! One cocoon shell later, that once ugly worm turns into a beautiful butterfly!

I am Poison Joy!

I'm seeking the Billionaire Playboy known as Bruce Payne!

And I am willing to destroy Gotham in order to find him!

Oh if only Gotham had a hero! A hero that could save you!

But you don't!

You all thought you did...

But as it turns out, he would rather eat pizza and cut some of the shittiest promos I've ever seen (Literately shit)! Like some sort of awful mix between the Chuck E Cheese and Mr. Hankey.

+

=

Now we are close up on Poison Joy because she's got a very personal message to deliver.

This entire time I thought I was dealing with a champion.

But now I know it's all a façade.

Guppy Parsh is hiding who he truly is behind that mask.

A NOBODY!

See, Guppy puts on his wittle tiny mask so he can pretend to be powerful.

Because he knows that without the mask, he is just some nerd with a doctorate.

Then there's Stevil. Ha! What a joke he is!

I really don't care what kind of German sexual shitting thing you two fags are into, but must you record it for the world to see?

I just don't understand.

Is Stevil going for an Oscar? With what?

A rendition of an even gayer Broke Back Mountain? (2005)

Shakespeare in Shit? (1998)

Gay Forest Gumppy? (1994)

Black Shit? (2010)

The Butt-Hurt Locker? (2009)

The Curious Case of Guppy's Gonorrhea? (2008)

The Great Gay Guppy? (2013)

I could go on forever, but the point is, Stevil is horrible at his job.

Now, Guppy Parsh! After Relentless, that RTX Championship is coming home with me! And there is nothing you can do about it! Hahahaha!

Plus, I kinda already got streamers and balloons for the Championship celebration party, so we really can't go back now...

But, to show you that I really am a kind person, I wanna help you realize a few things Guppy Sweetie...

-Your dad is dead. Forever! Deal with it.

-You don't stand a chance at Relentless. Sorry.

-Stevil is gay... If you didn't already know.

-Pizza is terrible for you. Not to mention those damn cardboard boxes! They're destroying our precious envirnment!

- You're a terrible superhero! And doctor! You should just go and be a crossguard or something... You know, a job that will make you feel important, yet in reality, you can be replaced by common sense and a stop sign.

Guppy Parsh, you are so obessed with protecting this city that you forget one very simple truth...

Poison Joy returns her attention to the crowds of people beneath her.

What your Caped Crusader fails to realize is that the real threat to his city is the people that dwell in it!

That's when a colorful mist releases from the Gigantic Venus Fly Trap, covering every spectator below. Once the mist clears, all of Gotham's spectators become hypnotized by that mist Poison Joy unleashed upon them.

Now go! Do my bidding!

Bahahahahahahahahahaha!

BEEP!

BEEP!

BEEP!

Joy?! Can you hear me?!

From darkness, light starts to flicker. More and more, until the vision becomes clear.

Hunter Payne standing above Miss Joy's hospital bed. Joy barely coming to after her incident at the restaurant. Hunter has a look of... joy in his eyes after seeing that Miss Joy woke up.

Joy: Was that a dream? Where am I?

Payne: You're in the hospital.

Joy: For what?

Payne: Alcohol poisoning. You had to get your stomach pumped. How are you feeling?

Joy starts to recall the drunken mess she was before passing out. From there, she slowly sits up and responds to Hunter.

Joy: I've been better. I'm sorry for ruining your date Hunter.

Payne: It's fine. I'm just glad you're okay.

Joy: Where's Cece?

Payne: Yeah, we sorta broke up.

Joy: Really?!

Joy says with a surge of excitement in her voice, before realizing she should probably tone it down.

Joy: Really?

Payne: Yeah. She thought because I didn't leave your side the entire time we were here, that I must have unresolved feelings towards you or whatever.

Joy: Oh.

Payne: Yeah.

Joy: Well... Do you?

Hunter doesn't respond to Joy's question, but instead kisses Joy on her forehead. How romantic! Before Joy can properly respond to that, Hunter heads for the door.

"Yay! He's single again! I may have a few new scars, but all in all, mission accomplished!" Joy thinks to herself.

Before exiting, Hunter turns back to speak to Joy.

Payne: Oh, and good luck tonight at Relentless! I'll be watching.

"Fuck! I forgot I have to wrestle Guppy Parsh tonight! I gotta start getting ready..." Joy said to herself.

JOY FIN

SEQUEL?

Throwing rocks at a man with a machine gun... (Gunnar RP 3)

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 00:53:39 -0700

There's a certain atmosphere among people in the dirty Southwest. Heat can drive people mad, drugs and booze and drive people madder. Despite all this, Luke Gunnar decides to settle for a pub to get a meal in after searching endlessly for a cheap meal. The patrons already start to get on his nerves as he walks past leather vested, tattooed, macho macho, men in their 40's and 50's. All of them loud and rowdy. Luke works his way to the bar and sits himself in a stool elbow on the bar, face in his hand, a kid in his twenties working the bar walks up to him as he eyeballs the food menu

Eyy, what can I get you to drink buddy?

Don't sweat it kid, just get me your flame grilled burger, hold the fries.

Sure thi- wait a second.. Aren't you Luke Gunnar?

Luke lifts his head up and looks at the kid

Yeah, now how's that fucking burger coming?

Oh, sorry. Sure thing, coming up

The bartender walks to the back kitchen and Luke places his head back into his hand. The atmosphere seems to change when the people around him drinking start to recognize him as one of the XWF wrestlers. One bearded and ink'ed man sitting with his obese wife looks at him with a snarky expression.

Yeeeah man, you're Luke Gunnar, that guy Doc' D'Ville was just giving you more shit on the TV before ya came in

Some nutjobs just don't know when to quit eh?

Hey I mean he seems like he means well, it's your first match after all, maybe you should let him off easy, it's top three winners anyway

His head lifts again and his looks towards the man eyeballing him from his leather boots to his American flag bandanna on his head.

Top three doesn't mean the same thing as "Spare two guys." This Doctor guy is looking too deep into shit like all Doctors. I don't care what he thinks of my life. I don't care what he thinks of me. I don't think shit about him. He's another body. Another man with a target on his back. Another head to crack open. What he doesn't seem to know about me, is I'm a guy who doesn't give a fuck. I was raised with nothing to brag about, I don't give a fuck. I had to keep my family above the waves by sticking my head in the water and fighting with the sharks, I don't give a fuck. That's life. I have 11 people that want the same thing I want, I don't give a fuck. The difference between Doctor D'ville, Urebay, that fucking birth defect Kaiser, and myself, is that I know how to keep a level head. I know how to remain disciplined. And when need be, I know when to shut up, put my cards on the table, and fight for what's needed in my life. Right now that's keeping my job, getting paid, going home and repeating until I can't do it anymore, and I'll do it proudly. This Doc can try and psychoanalyze me all he wants. He doesn't know how little mind games and brain teasers matter in a fist fight. He doesn't know that when I grind someone's head against a brick wall to make their face flood over red, I don't think about my past, I think about the present. All that is important at Relentless, is Relentless. All that will be on my mind while I'm taking a boot to this guy's head, is just that.

Pfft yeah okay whatever man. Say all you want but my moneys on that Doc D'Ville guy. Hell a guy like you would probably get tossed out by that girl Kristen Silver

Luke takes a look at the mans 200+ pound wife, face caked in make up, body barely covered in clothes. He rolls his eyes and puts his head back down as he mutters to himself...

Yeah I bet you know a lot about getting tossed around by that fat fucking sow...

The biker shots out of his stool and stands over Luke's body sitting at the bar. The other bar patrons go silent.

What.. the fuck.. did you just say about my girl.

What, that's the new thing to do before a fight I guess is to talk shit right?

The man pushes Gunnar off of his stool onto the wooden bar floor.

Oh so you wanna fuckin' fight huh?!

Luke works his way up to his feet and faces the man head on.

Don't twist my words bud..

Bud?! Ohhh shit, you don't know what the FUCK you just got yourself into.

One by one, more bikers start to leave their chairs and stand behind the leader, all 10 of them staring down the one wrestler. Luke stands silently beginning to back away. Suddenly he lets out a yell and charges at the big man in the middle, tackling him into the back wall of the pub. He throws fists left and right at the mans stomach as the rest of the gang jumps in to attempt to put a stop to Gunnar. Inevitably the other men are too late after Luke knocked their leader out cold with a left hook to the scruffed up jaw. One of the men grabs Luke by his shoulders and pushes him against the bar. Ever with 200lbs of force on him Gunnar manages to muscle out and behind, grabbing the bikers hair by the roots and slamming his skull into the bar overtop 6 shot glasses now shattered. Two men pull Luke off their friend and throw him into the pool table, they go to grab billiard sticks to use to fend off the brawlers fists. As the reach for the sticks, Gunnar starts to work up to his feet grabbing for a cue ball. As one of the men starts to swing at him with his pool cue, Luke manages to grab hold of it mid swing to block it, using his free hand to hurl the billiard ball at his face. Hitting him in the bridge of the nose the man backs away and falls to his knees while the other man comes at him with his stick. Luke grabs and deflect this one with both hands, using it to snap the cue in half and taking the jagged wooden end to jab into the biker's stomach, causing him to collapse and writhe in pain. Three of the bikers flee the bar due to probation violation fears leaving three left, two of which come charging at Gunnar. Luke manages to take a slight charge and a quick left arm to one of the men clotheslining him to his back, head hitting the corner of a table. The other begins to take shots at his stomach, working him against the bar. Luke reaches behind with one hand grabbing the closest bottle he can find, a half full bottle of Jim Beam Ghost, Swinging back he slams the bottle over the biker's head leaving cuts on his face now covered in whiskey and blood as he falls to the floor. Holding the neck of the broken bottle in one hand Luke's empty yet evil eyes turn their sight towards the final man, as a slight smirk comes to Gunnars face. The young biker petrified runs out of the bar almost immediately after making eye contact with him. The bottle neck is dropped on the floor as Luke reaches for his wallet, pulls out a twenty and places it on the bar.

I'll just find a vending machine, Jesus Christ guys. Can't a guy just get some goddamn food?

He chuckles a little with his arms raised to the sides looking over the bodies laying on the floor as if to be awaiting an answer to his rhetoric remark, he continues out the door still with a smirk on his face to head back to the motel and rest for the night for his match.

As Thick As You Are

Sat, 23 Aug 2014 00:09:26 -0700

"You

Have

Not

Been

Paying

Attention."

These words, like ice, clung to the cold iron walls of the empty train car. All was wrapped up in a blanket of dark, with the only sliver of light coming from the slightly ajar sliding door to one side of the car. For a brief moment, a malancholic calm hung in the air, like the last sigh of a man who has finally given up. The entirety of the world stood encapsulated in an instant of passing regret. But all beautiful sorrows must end, and the sun must rise and leave the lost behind. The calm erupted, violated by the screeching sound of the metal door of the car being slowly pulled open. Bathed in the light of the outside world leaking in, he climbed up and into the car, being careful not to dirty his carefully-chosen outfit.

"Oh, you are not a bright one, are you?"

His words reverberated around the car, turning his every turn of phrase into a mad cacophony of several tones, each metallic and cold.

"Good lord, man, you must have been dropped on your head repeatedly and intentionally when you were an infant. I mean, you have the look of it, don't you, Griffin? Like a neanderthal was viciously assaulted with a pipe wrench by an entire team of Welsh rugby players. But really, at the end of the day, it's not about who's prettier, is it? Let's examine your mental capacity..."

The Ancient began to pace in place, hands clasped behind his back as he went over the facts in his head. It was a simple process; not much to really organize. A simple matter of reciting the obvious. And my, how obvious it truly was.

"Well, hate to be the one to break the bad news...no, actually, I love doing that...but according to my expert opinion on the matter, you're utterly mad. You'd have to be, knowing that you have ME as your opponent, but you waste your time on the biggest blowhard in this company. I mean, really. Gilmour is as much a threat as a sick chihuahua puppy nipping at your ankles. Meanwhile, directly across from you is a very angry Caucasian Ovcharka.

But really, let's get to the thick of the matter, shall we?"

Now looking rather amused, he slipped a hand into the inner pocket of his sport coat, withdrawing what appeared to be a miniscule remote control. Holding back laughter, Mystica aimed the remote at one end of the rail car and pressed a button.

There was a pause, followed by a guttural, metallic series of crunching noises. After a moment of these sounds, two slits on the metal wall opened up, and from between them slid the lens of a projector. However, in sheer defiance of Mystica's increasingly giddy facial expressions, the lens flickered once...twice...and then projected the last image the Old One needed to see at this moment.

"Blue screen?!" exploded Mystica in sheer rage.

Without so much as a warning, he leaped across the car with an inhuman, almost feline gait, landing next to the sliding door. He slammed his fist against the wall and called to the outside.

"Dammit, Zahra! I told you to update the OS!"

There came the timid, albeit still defiant response.

"Hey, it's not exactly easy to program some piece of technology no one's ever seen on Earth!"

Giving a grunt of disapproval in response, Mystica returned to his routine pacing, albeit this time, he moved with a sort of heaviness in each step, and held his fists clenched in white-knuckle grip. Then, after a few rounds of pacing back and forth across the train car, he seemed to loosen. His grimace of frustration was soon replaced with his usual crooked, uncomfortable smirk.

"See, I was going to show you Griffin's uh...his "response" to my harsh words, but someone forgot to do a little IT tinkering...and, well...I guess we'll be doing this the ol' college way. Verbal."

He turned to and fro for a moment, trying to constitute himself. He had to catch the proper moment; feel the mood. When all finally seemed well in order, Mystica turned back to the view of the camera, his hands held behind his back in a formal manner.

"Oh, Griff. You almost amused me, actually. Might I recommend that, after I end your heavy-handed play at being a wrestler, you look into comedy? Because goodness, when you referred to me with the words "voodoo magic," I thought this body was one for the recycling bin. I nearly bust my sides."

He gave a weak, faux-chuckle, and wiped an absent tear from his eye. But then, as the air shifted once more, he returned to his bold-faced visage. A harsh wind rolled by outside the train car, rattling the sliding door in its track. Metallic groans bounced around the inside of the car, though Mystica seemed unfazed.

"Do you really understand what is going to happen to you, boy? You claim not to know who I am, but if you really want to know the fate that awaits you, ask anyone in this entire federation. The wise will cower at the mention of my name. The foolhardy will scoff, but nevertheless, they have come to know and respect me. Certainly they owe me that, as I have stayed my hand from them.

But you don't have to go that far, even. You know who I am. You have seen me in brief glimpses, hiding at the corner of your eye, watching from the quietest corner of the room. You have heard me in your dreams, and felt me in your nightmares. The greatest human fear is of the unknown. And if you wish to remain ignorant of me, then I shall simply become the unknown you instinctually will to the back of your imagination. And I shall grow stronger.

Believe me, boy: you are insignificant. In the grand scheme of this universe, amid the endless multitudes of celestial bodies, one man is less than an ant. You are invisible to the rest of creation. I shall do this universe a favor by wiping you from it. One rebellious ant does not an uprising make.

And thus, I shall skip to the inevitable: what I will do with that pathetic, piece of trash belt you take such pride in. When I pluck it from your breathless corpse, I think I'll destroy it. I have no desire to uphold its duties. I'm a busy man...well, not a man, but...I'm busy, and let's be honest. What I do outside of this little hobby of mine is far more important than fending off raves of mindless, starving lunatics to protect the prestige equivalent of a hubcap tied around my waist. Or hell, I'll willingly hand it over to whoever pleases me first. To anyone listening: bring me a tin of earl gray or a liter of top shelf vodka, and you win a free title.

Or just help me smash this ridiculous Johnny-come-lately's head into the concrete. That's fine, too. Save me the effort. I have limited energy in this body, and it is better put to effort on something more challenging. Perhaps, Griffin, you can take comfort in nostalgia, like you do now. But just remember: the glamour of your past is obfuscated in the fires of today. Nothing you have done matters. Nothing you will ever do matters. You...do not matter."

With that, the Old One turned for the door and marches toward it. But before he leapedout of the car, he glanced back over his shoulder at the camera, that same age-old menace dripping from the fangs of his grin.

"I will show you oblivion."

SLAM

And the dark ate away the visible world.

Do you even listen to the words coming out of your mouths? Because I do.

Fri, 22 Aug 2014 22:51:36 -0700

Seriously, I think that when it comes to the idiotic drivel that spews out of their mouths, both Liz Hathaway and Kristy Jackson are completely and utterly deaf. Either that, or they lack the basic mental processes to realize that everything that they said has been devoid of any logic. Instead, they were the delusional ramblings of two mentally deficient histrionics who believe that holding onto the belts will give them the divine intervention they'll need to have the slightest bit of a chance at actually earning those belts they hold hostage. Though, even with God on their side, they're going to find themselves incapable of lacing up their boots right, let alone getting in the ring and beating Azrael and I. Between them, they can't even form a defense to anything I said. It boiled down to desperately repeating; "Ha! Well, we have the belts and you don't!" or in Kristy Jackson's case, sounding legitimately . Obfuscating stupidity? No, just her average level of intelligence on display for everyone to see and gawk at. Exposing just how empty her head is, much to the delight of idiots everywhere, who look at your level of notoriety as a godsend. An excuse to make, echoing across the reaches of the world: "At least I'm not as dumb as her".

It's almost sad. Almost.

Let's start with you, Kristy. Seeing as how I did just bring you up and how the gray matter soup you have sloshing around inside your head will cause you to forget and be confused if I started with Liz and worked my way back to you.

How about we take it from the top? Okay, that means from the beginning. Try your hardest not to swallow your own tongue if you understand.

No one's wondering why you did it. Everyone knows, you don't have to poorly explain yourself. It's because you wanted the slightest bit of validation, to prove to yourself that you can do something. Not earn anything mind you, not win a match because you know as well as I do as well as everyone else does, that you aren't capable of that. Especially not with myself and Azrael Erebus as opponents. But anything that doesn't require actual skill to pull off. Then you parade it around like it's an accomplishment because you know you have to. You have to because no one's thinking that. No one else aside from you thinks you accomplished anything, because you didn't. You "picked your spot" and you walked out with possession of the belts, yes. However, the history books won't record that. In a couple of months, if you two are still around, barely scraping by on the scraps pushed off the table, sustaining yourself on the carcasses of those who, just like you couldn't make it; you're going to have to scream to the heavens that you for one week had the tag belts in your possession. Though you'll never be able to accurately say that you were champions. Everyone will forget your moment of glory. Because you couldn't back it up. I know this for a fact already because you're, if I may be so bold, idiots. Both of you. Failing to learn from history and claiming you're in the position of power.

Pathetic. It really is. This whole situation, your desperate attempts at gaining credibility through theft is pathetic.

Though maybe not as pathetic as your listening comprehension, Kristy. Azrael and I call ourselves Team Special? Are you deaf or, are you just stupid? Seriously, I can't quite tell but let me explain it for you slowly. Team Special, a moniker that really could apply to you and Hathaway at this point, is the designated nickname for the former tag champs; Peter Gilmour and the Dimallisher. A team consisting of a and a . Again, not unlike your own team, but not myself and Azrael. Oh, and then she does my job for me. Insulting herself and Liz by laughing at us after stealing our belts, claiming that we "are supposed to be some super badass team" and how you took our belts. Wow, Kristy. And I thought Liz was terrible at making you guys sound like a threat. Though, she does herself much worse as she continues to speak. First by going at Azrael, which I won't get into because he's a big boy and can dissect that monument to stupidity on his own.

No, let's go back to her claim, her infallible yet ultimately irrelevant claim that they hold the belts. A situation you only got with the aid of weaponry. Weaponry that'll be illegal come our match, leaving you literally shit out of luck. Seriously, you pair needed weapons to power down a pair that had already gone through a match just moments prior! Again, pathetic! When Azrael and I cashed in, we didn't attack the champions prior to the match. We didn't need to. You however, will need every advantage to make up for the gaping hole in talent.

Just facts, doll.

Like how I'm going to face someone so "unpredictable". Well, I'll just look back at Calamity Trigger, who put you on the shelf. Or maybe Super Mutant Dogerlord, who you also failed to defeat. Or the myriad of others you've fallen to, and see just how your unpredictability is formulaic. You aren't unpredictable. That's just a word you give yourself to seem more hard to plan for than you already are. The only bit of you that's unpredictable is what stupid thing will fall out of your mouth next.

Which, I'll give you credit where it's due, you did go above and beyond with your closer. The last thing that people will hear, and boy do you give them a doozy. I almost expected something scatterbrained and idiotic enough to become a meme. Something that would look funny accompanied by a picture of you looking you forgot how to breathe the first couple times I see it, but would get old really fast. What I didn't expect however, was something so unforgettably awful that it serves as a screaming tribute to just how low a human mind could sink.

Quote:To bad and so sad that you guys because you are going to be the first ones to be fall to us.

I, just, don't. I don't have an answer for this other than her having even more brain damage than I initially assume, and seeing as I already said her brain was basically liquefied as is, I don't even know how much worse that can get. I think she literally may be and I feel like I should feel awful for poking at her inability to form an argument or form sentences that convey any semblance of a rational thought. Yet, I'm not. It's not my fault she chose this profession, though it will be the fault of myself and Azrael when we deny her an actual title reign and take her only claim to fame back.

Sorry. Oh, wait. No I'm not.

Which brings me to Liz Hathaway. The slightly more intelligent of the pair and trust me, calling her intelligent in any capacity is a soul crushing experience I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy and I actually feel like vomiting everything I even so much as think about how someone could make her look smart in any context. So, I'll be moving on so I can keep some of my lunch down. Though, I don't think that after somehow managing to maintain my composure (for the most part) during Kristy's promo, where I did contemplate jamming a wire coat hanger through my ear drums to shelter my own brain from her IQ dropping rant. The overwhelming aura of failure and stupidity will no doubt crash hard on my delicate psyche and I don't think I can handle that again.

Right, I'm stalling.

I'm stalling and it's about as obvious as the fact that Liz Hathaway doesn't quite know how idioms work. The chips weren't stacked against you; you weren't in the game. You had no chips and no need to have chips. You weren't the plucky underdogs trying to get their shot, you were the afterthoughts, the lost fossils of a primitive era, dug up and crudely pieced back together in an attempt to see how long human beings can function with cream of mushroom soup in lieu of brains.

The truth of that conclusion is backed up in her use of quotes. From myself. Without adding anything or commenting on them, just sticking them in for the sole purpose of what? To throw them back in my face, hoist me up by my own petard, and hang me with a rope made of my own inadequacies? Because, you know if you want to do that, you have to do something with them, right? Not just regurgitate them back at me like an infant spitting up on their shirt. Right, that's a concept a little too advanced for you, because you still think that holding the belts themselves makes you a champion. Like a little league participation ribbon.

Fact: The record books list Azrael and I as champions, and none of them will ever mention you and Jackson taking them. That's because you won't win them from us in a wrestling match.

Yes, a wrestling match. The thing you're a failure at. With your seven and eleven title and all. No wonder you're so quick to assault someone and take their belt because you're a talentless carcass lacking in skill. It takes no skill to assault someone with a baseball bat. But it does take skill to win, and that I have, and you don't.

Though, I'll humor you a bit, and answer your inquiries.

First off: Yes, I am a true champion.

And you're one to talk about being a true champion, considering you've never been a fucking champion in your life. Come on, if you're going to rant about the honorable qualities of a champion, then at least have the god damned common courtesy to know what the hell it is you're talking about. Otherwise, you end up looking like, well yourself.

For fun, let me just show you the kind of nonsense I'm dealing with here from Liz:

(08-20-2014, 09:45 AM)Liz Hathaway Said: Oh, that’s because you let a team of females whom have shown a “dry spell of failure and absenteeism,” take your titles from right under your noses.

And not even a minute or so later:

(08-20-2014, 09:45 AM)Liz Hathaway Said:
And it’s not like we stole them under your noses either!

I'm sorry, I didn't think I was facing Peter Gilmour but if you're going to pull the same kind of cockamamie, inane bullshit as him, I guess you really aren't as clever as you think you are. Seriously. I don't even know if I can continue, this little bit of failure is overwhelmingly hilarious and I think I need a break to catch my slipping sanity.

Oh, and on the topic of trying to outwit these two. I'm not trying. I don't need to. A broom could outwit these two combined with half of its bristles violently plucked off.

For the record; "young Kendall"? You're a year older than me you slack jawed, rambling moron. The whole, "doing things that Peter Gilmour would" thing is kind of ridiculous.

Though to answer the most important question of all: I plan on beating you in a wrestling match because you won't be afforded the luxury of a cheap shot or weaponry; your equalizers. Once in the ring without any supports on your side, you'll fall by the wayside faster than you can ask: "Who's Liz Hathaway again?"

Lastly, since you're in the business of showing replays, let's see how your last wrestling match ended, shall we?

Quote:Hathaway puts her opponent down with a dropkick and then limps over and tries to lift her opponent but Minxs counters with a kick to Hathway's weakened knee. Just as Liz bends down to grab the knee Minxs plunges the piece of broken glass into the side of Liz Hathaway...red drops of blood start to fall and land into the mud.

The ref is now signaling for the bell.

Winner: Minxs

And that was in your environment, considering you reliance on weapons and all. And you still lost to Minxs. Glorious, bloody glorious just how much of a failure you are and how easy it'll be to beat you. Thanks for this. Really.

Oh, and by the by, some advice:

Learn what the word illiterate means, you stupid fucking cunt!

No need to hide, my friends...

Fri, 22 Aug 2014 22:36:11 -0700

"We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them."
-Khalil Gibran

August 21, 2014
11:59am

Ah, Chicago. The windy city. It's been a long ride from Atlanta. It's been a long time since the Doctor has seen Chicago. The streets bustle during your everyday twelve o'clock, Friday afternoon rush. On West Jackson Street sets a small corner tavern. Inside sits everyday business man, your usuals, your travelers. For noon, it was a happening place.

In a corner booth sits our doctor. Dr. D'Ville sits sipping his iced beverage alone watching the patrons go about, what would seem, their everyday business. Some here to relax. Some here to vent. Some here to forget. The Doctor stepped off the train at approximately 8:47 A.M. this morning. He awaits the next ride which arrives in three hours, taking him to Flagstaff, Arizona. Oh, how close he will be then. The anticipation for Saturday's events continues to hold a special spot in his gut. Is it butterflies perhaps? That funny feeling you get in the bottom of your stomach when excited for something? Or nervous? Perhaps, the physical sensation of "fluttering" in the stomach caused by a reduction of blood flow to the organ releasing adrenaline in response causing increased heart rate and blood pressure. Perhaps. But why?

Ben the bartender approaches the Doctor.

Ben- Another one, old timer?

Old timer. If he only knew. The Doctor slowly slides his small empty glass to the edge of the table. With a smile he says:

Doctor D'Ville- Please.

Ben snatches the glass from the edge of the booth table and walks across the room behind the bar to prepare another drink.

Doctor D'Ville- It's been a long ride, my friends. Here I sit only days away from my first session. Not only my first, but yours as well. This Saturday should not be something that just the eleven others should focus... But, the entire XWF. This is only the beginning. After these eleven chosen for me fail, I'll have to move on. Luckily for me I have lots to chose from. That is, unless I am chosen for again. I would be more than happy to take anyone under my sessions. As I stated previously, I'm here to help. Those who wish to free their minds of suppression, aggression, aggravation... Please come see me. I'm not hard to find.

Ben returns with the Doctors drink on cue.

Doctor D'Ville- Tell me my friend, the drinks you stir seemed to have stirred my memory. Which direction back to Central Station?

Ben looks at the Doctor confused.

Ben- A bus passes through here about every twent-five minutes. I'd hop on that.

The Doctor nods in appreciation.

Doctor D'Ville- You're knowledge of the convenient transportation here impresses me. But a direction would suffice just fine.

Ben scratches his head, looks around for a moment, and blindly points to the East. The Doctor nods, thanks him again, and Ben is back to bartending.

Doctor Louis D'Ville- Looking back the past few days it seems we've had a few misunderstandings. Maybe there wasn't much clarity in my sayings... Allow me to elaborate. I will address Luke Gunnar, for example. My friend, Mr. Luke... I do believe you are quite depressed. I did not at first. In fact, it was I who was depressed from learning of your hardships though life... It's no wonder you're such a mess. Forced to leave school. Forced into jobs at such a young age. Forced to fight. You see now we are only just beginning. Soon we'll be able to harvest from all the digging we've done inside that hollow space above your shoulders. Please, tell me more of your hardships. Tell me more of your terrible upbringing. Tell me more! You're doing everything just right. As we continue our sessions, your mind opens wider and wider. Before long, you won't need me anymore. Our goal here is for you to know you could be something better. You don't have to fight, my friend. Take three steps back. A deep, deep breathe. And look around you. You've always been in control of your life. If you did not chose it, then who did? If you cannot chose it, then who can? The only person you are destined to become is the person you decide to be. What will you choose in a few days? Will you choose to fight? Fight the inevitable? I'm sorry for so many questions, but I'm still in search for so many answers. I reached out to you once, yet you denied me. But again, I blame myself for I've misguided you. It is not partnership in the fight I desire. It is submission. By joining me, I do not mean joining hands. By joining me, it will save us much, much time. By joining me... And again, I use my words loosely, you'll find yourself. Just look back Mr. Luke. Look back and see that little boy that had to fight to survive. He still haunts you today, does he not? Rid him from your mind. You no longer need to fight.

The Doctor finishes his drink, picks up the briefcase set beside him, and slowly exits the tavern. He looks around outside and there isn't a soul insight. No cars, trucks, taxis. No pedestrians, beat cops, or solicitors. The Doctor walks alone between two buildings, east towards Central Station to await his next ride .

**Song Master of Puppets originally by Metallica, covered by Apocalyptica.

Making my stand

Fri, 22 Aug 2014 18:33:47 -0700

Life had a way of working out for you. That is if you let it. Take me for an example. I was once in love but that got complicated. At the time I had a boyfriend, just like every other girl my age, my problem was that I wasn't in love with him. It just things didn't work out and we thought it was better for us to be friends.

It was then I started to get back into the independent circuit and challenged some of the best wrestlers to ever grace a wrestling ring. But now I am back in XWF the first company to ever give someone like me a chance to be apart of a bigger vision which is the XWF.

That is what lead me to comeback to XWF. Now I am currently signed to an open contract to XWF and I am here to show everyone why they should remember my name!
______________________________________________

Camera fades backstage to a houseshow as the crowd is just getting back to their seats following intermission. "DEV - In The Dark" cues up as I make my way out smiling as I get in the ring but not alone but with one-half of the tag team titles that she helped her self to on Warfare.

I am handed a mic as I brush a hair out of my way.

Kristy Jackson: Ladies and Gentlemen, let me introduce myself. My name is Kristy Jackson and I am sure everyone witnessed on the last Warfare Liz and I attacking the tag team champions after their match. I am sure everyone is wondering why at that time we decide to take the titles.

Kristy smiles as she looks at the title on her shoulder.

Kristy Jackson: Why not? We picked our spot and guess what it was an epic success. We are holding the titles while the champions are just sitting there in disbelief over this fact. Now we have a match at the PPV for the gold we just helped our self too.

It was cute though.

Oh you don't know?

The claim of us being thieves by Kendall or us being pathetic. And you call yours selves Team Special like it should mean something. This is the same Team Special that got their titles taken way from them. But you know its not you guys fault. But let's be serious here you guys are supposed to be some super badass team. But right now I am slapping my knee and laughing my ass off when we took your belts from you.

Kristy begins to lick her lips and smiles.

Here I was looking up to Azrael Erebus he is a top guy that changed the face of XWF. But that was before he transformed into a vampire, zombie, and now guess what?

Kristy has a surprised look on her face.

Yeah that's right a human?

What are you going to transform into next, huh?

Are you going to pull a John Madison and turn into a female? I would really like to know because I am disappointed in you now Azrael but all you are now is just a bump in the road for me glide over to being a tag team champion you and Kendall. But I am sure she will grace us with another promo of how pathetic we are, but we are the ones that are holding the fucking titles. We are that so called lack luster talent that beat yours ass like you owed us money.

This PPV is my first match back in XWF and I plan on showing everyone what I can do the same way I did before. I am going to walk out there in front of that huge crowd and throw everything on the fucking line in that match. How are you going to face someone that's so unpredictable and willing to risk her body to make sure you don't walk out as champions?

That's fucking right their is not a damn thing you can do. Just when I thought we were going in as the under dogs but in reality this match was in the fucking bag as soon as we showed up, ran down that ramp, whipped your ass and took your fucking belts the same belts you won.

God Damn that shit felt shit felt so good. You guys just don't know. But Liz and I have trained for this return back to the ring. I am sure you guys are like us and want to win. Yes this will indeed be fun. I am just getting goose bumps just thinking about Liz and I making an impact just like we did on warfare. I want to make my name the top of this federation and we plan on keeping the Gold and we will step up to anyone to get what we desire.

To bad and so sad that you guys because you are going to be the first ones to be fall to us.

I throw down the mic as "In The Dark" cues back up as I leave the ring and the camera fades back out.

The Darkstar Conspiracy Pt 4 - Still Conspiring?

Fri, 22 Aug 2014 18:30:51 -0700

The knocks on the door came heavily and forcefully, almost as if Kara decided she wanted to wake up every person on our floor. Which of course strengthened my urge to smack her upside the head once she stepped inside. Though, it's not like I didn't already want to smack her; mainly because I know once I tell her about Azrael being a fugitive from a fake law enforcement agency and currently laying unconscious in my bedroom, she'll probably slap the taste out of my mouth and scream about how stupid I am for not kicking him out right away, and I'd rather be proactive than reactive. An action that will alert everyone on the floor that yes, we are harboring a fugitive (because that's how she'll interpret it) and someone wanting to play hero will call some anonymous tip line and land us all in a whole mess of hot water that I'd rather avoid. I could lie and say he just wanted to stay the night or something like that, though that'd bring with it some odd implications that I'd rather avoid as well. So, in a sense I'm damned either way.

I make my way through the darkened labyrinth that is my apartment with eyes closed, trying to remember the layout which should come easily to me. With all the travelling I've had to do as a result of my career, the details come across rather hazy, and it isn't until I walk face first into the corner of a wall that I realize I should be paying attention to my surroundings instead of vaguely recalling them.

Rubbing the site of impact, I try to shake loose whatever cobwebs that may or may not have taken refuge in my head after that nasty collision. Something, that when combined with me simultaneously trying to access my basic motor skills, almost results in me stumbling over and falling face first into the carpet, though I catch myself at the last second and save myself the spill. Blinking twice rapidly, I continue my path to the door as the knocking drug on without hope of ceasing. I really should make her squirm, see how long it takes her to devolve into yelling at the door for me to hurry up. Though at the same time, the spectacle that would attract really isn't worth it. So, I make my way to the door, unlocking it and pulling it open, only to see a sight I wasn't expecting.

No, Kara wasn't standing in the doorway, ready to explode in and list off every single word deemed unfit for television in a fit of rage. Instead, in her place stood a pair of men way too well dressed for this neighborhood. And as I got a look at them, a weight fell into the pit of my stomach and almost brought me down with it.

"Kendall Sawyer, I take it?" asked the one closer to the door and me by association. His voice carried an odd mixture of monotone overlaid with authority that puzzled me in the moments following his question, until I remembered that he asked me something and struggled hastily to make a reply.

"Yes... sorry but who are you?"

"Detective-"

Truman Strong.

"Truman Strong."

Of course. My eyes widen for a second with shock, but before I can even react he puts his hand on the door and tries to force it open. He succeeds to an extent before I start to shove the door back into place, leaving us in an awkward stalemate.

"May we come in?"

"No."

"It's part of an ongoing investigation, ma'am. About an Azrael Erebus. I'm sure you know the name."

I also know right where I want to put my fist right about now.

"Get a warrant then. If you want to talk, you can do it from the hallway."

There's absolutely no way he'll be able to do that, but I don't want to let on that I know he and his manservant are frauds. That might kill whatever ruse I try to build before I even have a chance to lay the foundation.

"Very well."

Holy shit that actually worked. Yeah, I was expecting him to be a little more forceful than that, though I guess having an ultimatum to acquire a piece of paper stating that you're legally allowed to be poking for possible fugitives from arbitrary justice does put a damper on one's aggression. I sigh a little bit in relief, and look through the crack of open door into the hallway, waiting for the first question.

"What are you hiding in there?"

"What?"

"You looked relieved when I told you that I wasn't going to come in--"

"And that means I'm hiding something?"

"Typically..."

"Do I look typical to you?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fair enough. Well, if you know of any possible connections I'd have to Azrael, then you know my profession. I just got in tonight, and haven't really had time to clean anything up. My roommate is of no help there, let me tell you. So yeah, I'm hiding a dirty apartment."

"And this is important?"

No.

"Yes. It really, really is."

My voice wavers on that, as I try my hardest to keep myself from laughing. I shake my head and then rest it on the corner of the door, keeping close care to run my already bruising forehead into it.

"Sorry," I say with a forced, phony yawn. "Jet lag."

"Anyway, Mr. Erebus is suspected of being involved in the explosion at St. Dionysus Hospital, I'm sure you heard about it."

What a liar! Then again, I'm lying to him too, so I guess it's a mutually assured spree of dishonesty and manipulation. Like a chess match only with more dire consequences, because if they're planning on killing Azrael for whatever role they think he played in this explosion, and other assorted crimes, I doubt they'd think twice about putting a bullet inbetween my eyes for aiding and abetting. That grave possibility starts to make me wonder two things: everything his "lifetime of ill deeds" entailed, and why they didn't pull the trigger right away if they had a sniper trained on him.

"Can't say I have," I say after a brief spell of silence.

"I find that hard to believe."

"Well, that's obvious. Otherwise, you wouldn't have added the 'I'm sure you have' to the end of your spiel to subconsciously jog my memory. Too bad for you though, that I have no idea what you're talking about in the slightest, other than Azrael might be involved with it and that it exploded, both things you told me. Until right then, I had no idea. I didn't even know there was a St. Dionysus hospital anywhere. Seems kind of odd, doesn't it? A hospital named after the Greek God of--"

"I get it, motormouth."

"Winemaking. I was almost done. In any instance, I can't give you too much on Azrael and where he might be, though if he reaches out to me, I'll give you a call right away; wait I don't even have your number. That could be a problem."

"That it could," he says, as the man behind him, Cecil if I remember his name right, pulls a notepad from the breast pocket of his jacket and hands it over to Strong, who scribbles a series of numbers on the front page before ripping it out and handing it to me. I take it from him and nod my head as a form of farewell before muttering something along the lines of "good night".

"One more thing," he says, stopping dead in his tracks before walking too far down the hall, "what was with the noise?"

"I saw a spider. May have overreacted."

I didn't wait for a response of any kind before I slammed the door shut and spun the lock into place. Turning around so that my back was up against the door, I slide down it until I end up sitting with my knees tucked into my chest and my left hand still clutching onto the handle. After a few deep breaths, and the subsequent regaining of my composure, I immediately break it again to burst out into laughter. I did it! I actually, seriously did it! Though I'm certain that I'm not completely in the clear, especially with my pledge to report any information I get to them and not giving myself an excuse to do otherwise. Either way, I rip the piece of paper in half and then into quarters, still keeping a hold of the scraps. They might be important sometime later, for what I don't know.

Finally starting to breathe again, as opposed to laughing my way to depriving my lungs of oxygen, I stand up and make my way back to my room and the unconscious former alien that at this rate was going to be the death of me. Though on the way back, my eyes had fully adjusted to the darkness, making the trip much easier. And also afforded me less headwall moments. Successes all around.

I push open the door, to find Azrael beginning to come to, writhing around on the floor where he passed out. It's kind of funny to watch, honestly. I suppress a laugh by pressing my hand against my mouth and only when I'm sure he can hear me, I utter something that ensures I have his utmost attention, as I bend over to pick up a shirt that I'm sure has been washed and slide it on over my nightgown for no other reason than to keep up the illusion for a few seconds.

"Last night was uh, interesting."

Now, if only my trying-too-hard-to-be-seductive voice could be a little more convincing, that'd be great. Or if my word choice didn't reek of on the spot thinking. That too.

"Wait, what?"

Or, maybe in the mind of an alien turned human with a hard on for me, currently recovering from a drug induced coma at the hands of a fake detective, even the poorest of acting jobs is enough to get the job done.

All glory to raging hormones!

"Come on, you're acting like you don't even remember!"

I'm going to mess this up, I know it. But before I do, I'm going to have as much fun as I can, milking this invented scenario for all it's worth.