Meltdown XXXV & Fallout 035 || Promo Thread

[Jimmy King]

Promo deadlines:

Sunday 12th November, 23:59PM Pacific Time.
Monday 13th November, 03:00AM Eastern.
Monday 13th November, 08:00AM UK.
Monday 13th November, 18:00PM Melbourne.

There will be no extensions! None! Ha!

Good luck.​

 

[Tig]

Tig & Cap
~presents~
Jay Kenny & Xavien Marshall
~in~
-NO EMPATHY | NO MERCY | NO CONCERN-

!!!CLICK THE ABOVE TITLE TO READ THE INAUGURAL COLLABORATIVE EFFORT FROM FUTURE TAG TEAM CHAMPIONS, HALL OF FAME INDUCTEES, AND MORTAL FRENEMIES JAY KENNY AND XAVIEN MARSHALL!!!

​

Spoiler: PLEASE DO NOT READ THIS SHITTY VERSION OF THE PROMO. HONESTLY. DO NOT DO IT TO YOURSELF

Tig & Cap
~presents~
Jay Kenny & Xavien Marshall
~in~
-NO EMPATHY | NO MERCY | NO CONCERN-

Sweat glistens on the furrowed brow of Thomas Princeton as he tightly holds a curved kick-pad close to his body, absorbing the ferocious kicks that Jay Kenny is firing in his direction. It’s true what they say about Jay: he’s got one of the most powerful kicks in all of combat sports and Princeton winces upon impact despite the protection of the body-length pad he raises in front of his body. Princeton raises his voice as a weaker kick connects with the pad.

“COME ON, JAY! You think Cyrus Truth’s going to even flinch if you kick him like that?”

Jay’s jaw clenches tightly at the remark and he takes a step back and absolutely drills a kick towards the center of the pad, imagining it to be the head of Cyrus Truth. Princeton’s face goes red, winded by the impact of the blow, but he manages to smile at Jay and squeak out a shout of encouragement.

“That’s more like it! Don’t let up.”

Jay rapidly lashes out a flurry of quick kicks to the bag before spinning and thrusting the sole of his foot into the bag sending Princeton flying across the ring into the turnbuckle. Jay quickly pounces across the ring to help his sponsor, offering a hand to the downed Princeton and uttering an apology.

“Sorry, fam.”

Princeton playfully slaps Jay’s outstretched hand away and gets up of his own accord, grinning at the young fighter.

“Don’t be sorry, Jay, that’s exactly what I need from you. You’re going to be a champion, kid.”

“Innit.”

“Indeed it is.”

“I got this tag ting on lock, my guy. Man’s gonna win bare championships and this is just the first, trust.”

Jay extends a closed fist for a knuckle touch, Princeton happily reciprocating but carrying a look of concern on his face. Jay raises an eyebrow at Princeton and suspiciously looks at him.

“Wagwan?”

Princeton sighs, running a hand through his bountiful hair and assessing the situation. He rolls under the frayed bottom rope of the ring and sits on the apron, motioning for Jay to join him. Jay kicks off his footpads and sits down beside Princeton, looking out at the bare-bones warehouse where he had been training under the tutelage of Princeton. Princeton taps his fingers rhythmically against his own thigh, not making eye contact with Jay. Jay says just two words but he says them assertively.

“Fam… wagwan?”

“Listen, Jay… you’re not going to like this but it’s for your own good… have I steered you wrong yet?”

Jay could feel his stomach start to flutter, he was certain he wouldn’t like where this conversation would go but he would give Princeton the chance to speak - he was right, he hadn’t steered him wrong. In fact, it was Princeton who pushed Jay to enter the Gunfire Battle Royal at Lights Out, a move that had given Jay a golden chance to bypass the whole developmental system and potentially earn a contract with FWA proper. Princeton had bought more than a little good grace with Jay for that move. Jay shakes his head.

“Then I’ll just come right out and say it: I don’t think you should show up to the Tag Championship match.”

The reaction is predictably irate, as is to be expected. Jay leaps off the apron and starts waving his hands around and shouting.

“Fuckin’ what, fam!? Have you gone crazy, man?? You must have a fuckin’ madders goin’ on in that head, man - are you mad!? Are you fuckin’ mad???”

“Listen, listen, listen! Jay, just take a breath for a second! You can’t trust him! Xavien is going to do you over as soon as he gets the chance!!!”

“The World Tag Team Championships, man! Are you fucking MAD!? Man’s gotta take a chance, that’s guaranteed dough, fam, that’s a guaranteed FWA contract, innit?”

“Yes, yes, but-”

“NO buts man, none!”

Jay quickly runs his hand across his throat to illustrate his point. He begins pacing up and down the outside of the ring in front of Princeton.

“Listen, fam, man don’t mean to be on a freak-out ting but what is you thinkin’ man? Don’t show up?”

“I just think you’d be better served concentrating on the Gunfight One Ring and the X Championship, kid. This tag game… it isn’t worth it.”

“Man can do it all, innit?”

“Against Konchu Hao? One of the best the X Championship division has ever known? The man with the most vicious finisher on the whole roster? Against Cyrus Truth? The most decorated wrestler in professional wrestling? The man who was winning championships when you were a kid? On your own?”

“Fuckin’ right I can. Man’s gonna get all these championship tings - man can beat The Dark Roads Alliance by myself!”

Thomas chuckles a little bit, impressed by the confidence displayed by Jay but knowing he has to bring the twenty-one-year-old back down to reality.

“Look, I admire your moxy, but you’ve got to seriously think about this. Xavien doesn’t trust you, it’s not going to work, you’re walking into a trap or a beat-down. Either way, Xavien’s going to have the upper hand going into Winter Wasteland.”

“Man’s gotta try! Man’s no bread… I’m on a development contract ting. NGW, innit? That ain’t puttin’ food on the table, fam, no offence. Man needs the big-league contract, I need that bare cash.”

“I do not doubt your ability… nor indeed, that of Xavien’s… but it just won’t work, Jay. He’s never going to trust you.”

“Then man’s gonna have to charm him, innit? I’ll find a way to win him over…”

Thomas says nothing and simply purses his lips together, resigning himself to the fact that Jay’s mind is made up.

“... even if it is just to fuck him over.”

Thomas laughs aloud and claps Jay on the back.

“That’s more like it, kid, now you’re thinking like a champion. Go on, hit the bricks, I’ve to get on to my lawyer about a cease-and-desist involving one Alyster Black.”

Jay nods his head and makes his way to the dilapidated locker room at the back of The Warehouse. He zips open his gym bag and removes a pair of black Nike trainers, allowing his eyes to gaze at the brown block of heroin they were concealing. A man’s gotta make money somehow, right? Jay zips the bag back up and throws it over his shoulder. He turns around and nearly leaps out of his skin, yelping loudly as three shadowy figures approach him. He panics, looking for a way out of his cornered position, but they are coming from the only entry point to the locker room. He throws the bag down and raises his fists, gulping as the three figures who are at least 6’5” tall continue to advance, the light in the room eerily fading. About five meters from Jay, the trio stops, too far to make out their faces but close enough for Jay to ascertain that they are wearing suits. One - or perhaps all - of them speak. A robotic voice, certainly not human.

“You wish to win over Xavien Marshall. We come bearing advice on how to do that. We can guide you to that goal. Xavien has a darkness inside of him… win over that darkness… and you may win over Xavien… and stand some chance of dethroning The Dark Roads Alliance…”

**********************************************

Jay adjusts the strap on his black Adidas chest bag and unzips it slightly as he sees a small, young woman approach from the distance. After his training session with Princeton and his run-in with the shadowy figures, he quickly returned to his derelict apartment block to break down some of the heroin, meticulously weighing it out on a small scale and putting it into discreet individual wraps. The tiny pellets - or ‘pebs’ - of heroin went for fifteen bucks a pop in this neighbourhood; a concrete jungle crawling with junkies and with a reputation so bad that even the local police enforcement opted to steer clear of it. Jay sighs to himself wondering how he had once again found himself pushing junk to bugged-out fiends to get by. Admittedly, he’d swapped Birmingham for the United States not by choice but when he’d done so he thought his dealing days would be over. Princeton took him in, training him in The Warehouse, bountiful promises that he’d get him signed with the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance and he’d make so much money he’d want for nothing… Yet he still finds himself standing in the trap in the cold November air, waiting for lowlifes to come and spend their ill-gotten money on his ill-gotten goods.

While it was true he had made a splash in the Gunfight Battle Royal and had earned himself a chance to potentially capture three accolades in quick succession, his pay cheque did not reflect that; he was pulling in a developmental wage and in between his rigorous training found himself forced to go trapping in the slums of the city. He outwardly groans as the once-pretty, young girl approaches him. Her blonde hair was matted with dirt and her grimy face belied what Jay believed must’ve at one time been an attractive face. She was rake-thin and couldn’t have aged more than eighteen. Penny.

“How’s it going, Jay?”

“Wagwan, Penny?”

Jay felt his stomach churn slightly, he felt worse about dealing to some people than others and Penny was one of his marks that he didn’t like selling to. Still, her money was as good as anybody else’s… when she had it. She smiled and despite her haggard, drug-addled appearance she still looked quite nice - not yet as weather-beaten as the older women who Jay supplied.

“Just looking for a hit on tic, man.”

Tic - or ‘til I’ve cash’ - was a term used by druggies when they were looking to score without paying. The idea was they’d get you the next time they saw you and was usually a desperation tactic when someone was fiending out and couldn’t get their hands on any money. Despite the nature of the transaction and the questions surrounding most junkies’ integrity, it was usually a risk-free endeavour for most pushers. Junkies are creatures of habit and they tend to score in the same traps which meant that giving a regular a little something on tic wasn’t that big of a deal as the chances were high they’d come looking again the next day. The problem was, Penny had gotten her last three scores on tic and Jay wasn’t exactly flush.

“Tsssk, you serious, man? You owe man for three pebs already, innit?”

“Awh, please, Jay. This is the last one, I swear. I just need one little hit.”

“It’s always just one likkle hit though, innit?”

“Jay, please…”

Penny reaches out and softly places her hand on his arm. Jay instinctively, and rather roughly, swats her hand away.

“Get your filthy, fuckin’ hands off me! Enough’s a fucking ‘nuff, fam! Man ain’t layin’ you no more dirt ‘til you pay up!”

Penny looks rather startled by Jay’s change in demeanor but the thing with junkies is… they’ll do anything for a fix and all logic goes out the window. She immediately tears up and falls to her knees begging.

“This is the last time, I swear! Please, please, PLEASE!!! Just one, Jay, even a little rock, please! I’ll make you all good tomorrow, I swear.”

“Where the fuck are you going to get sixty quid from by tomorrow?”

“I-I-I don’t know… but I’ll get it, I promise, Jay!”

Jay sucks air between his teeth looking at the tiny, wailing mess on the ground in front of him. There could’ve only been a couple of years between them and Jay knew to be in the position she was, she must’ve faced hardship growing up. He had to. She was like him, but, she ended up using instead of pushing. It was a coin-flip when you came from the same sort of ends they did. Seeing Penny’s shaking hands and tears flowing freely down her face caused Jay to start feeling sorry for her. He shakes his head and begins unzipping his bag, fishing around for a wrap inside. Suddenly, the light dims causing the gloomy street to grow even darker. Jay pauses and slowly turns to his right, seeing one of the shadowy figures from earlier appear beside him. He could see that the figure wore a mask that resembled a dark human skull with tendon-like growths covering the mouth and pitch-black eyeholes. A complete juxtaposition to the smart suit the figure adorned. Jay’s breath catches in his throat and when he looks down at the crying Penny, he realizes she cannot see the figure.

“What exactly do you think you’re doing, Jay?”

Jay initially struggles to find words but then defensively spits out.

“You mean, fam?”

“Are you going to give in? Are you going to give this pitiful excuse for a woman some drugs just because she’s upset? Because she’s had a hard time? Because you feel sorry for her?”

“Tsssk, it ain’t a big deal, man. It ain’t no big-dough ting. It’s a couple of quid.”

“That’s not the point, Jay. It’s yours. She owes you. Take what’s yours. How do you expect Xavien to trust and team with a man who can be rolled over by a sad, little tale? To think he can count on you to take what you want if you’re going to be put off by feeling sorry for somebody. If you two are to be successful, The Dark Roads Alliance are going to lose their Tag Team Championships after nearly killing themselves to obtain them. The first time of asking. You will cause upset. You will cause sadness. You will cause more than snots and tears if you are to be successful. Can you do that? Can Xavien trust you to do that? Or are you going to cower away because you don’t want to upset anybody and take pity on The Dark Roads Alliance?”

“Tsssk! Man ain’t no bitch, bruv, of course I can fucking do it! This tag match - that’s a war ting, innit?”

“And pushing drugs, trying to make a living the only way you can… is that not a war? Is that not a war on society? War on conforming. War on the system? You say you can do it… then do it. Take what you want and don’t let the pitiful story of the people you are taking from stop you. Show no empathy.”

Just like that, the darkness fades and the shadowy figure is gone leaving Jay standing above the sniveling Penny. There is a hopeful glint in her eye as she looks at Jay with his hand in his bag. Jay feels something shift inside him and anger bubbling to the surface. He takes his hand out of the bag and Penny immediately makes a forward motion but gets sent flying onto her ass by way of a vicious backhand from Jay. She screams as blood trickles from a busted lip and Jay immediately follows it up with a punt to her stomach. He kicks her again, even harder, so hard that he hears a crunch - likely a couple of ribs. She wails in pain as an infuriated Jay leans over and grabs her by the scruff of her stained white shirt, pulling her in close to him.

“Listen here, you likkle bitch. Man’s owed fucking money. I fucking want that tomorra and you fuckin’ best show up. You fuckin’ hearin’ me? I want my fuckin’ money and man don’t care what you have to do to get it, you listening?”

Between uncontrollable sobs, a bloodied Penny nods her head, hyperventilating as she does so. Jay roughly kicks her in the side one more time as she lies on the concrete, a crumpled mess.

“You do whatever you fuckin’ have to, Penny. If you’ve to rob your own fuckin’ Nan, I want my fuckin’ bread. This is only the start of it, you best pay up you dirty, fucking junkie.”

Jay goes to kick again but Penny throws her hands up and shouts out.

“I’LL GET IT, I’LL GET IT! I PROMISE, PLEASE STOP!!!”

Jay pulls short of the kick, opting to spit on the worthless trash in front of him instead.

“Tsssk, fuckin’ junkie, man. Swear down.”

With that, Jay steps over the cowering teenage girl and begins walking towards another part of the trap. There’d be plenty more wasters to push to.

—----

—----

—----

It is much darker than before, undoubtedly late at night. Penny had tried her best to conceal her bumps and bruises from her run-in with Jay but the make-up only partially covered her wounds. She wears a short skirt, a cheap corset, and high heels. With tears in her eyes, she leads a much older man down an isolated alley. She stops in between two industrial-sized waste bins, one of which a rat scurries out of. She backs the older man against the wall of the alley and holds out her hand. He places a fifty-dollar bill in her palm and as she pockets it, a tear rolls down her face. She slowly sank to her knees and began to unbutton his jeans…

A shadowy figure watches on from a distance.

**********************************************

Jay tries to push aside the feelings brewing inside him as he jogs up a busy street lined with stalls and vendors pushing their wares. He would stop short of saying that he regretted his actions with Penny the previous night; though he felt a little remorse for slapping her around… it had worked. She met him that day and paid him the money owed and even paid cash for a couple of pellets. She only ever had enough to buy one wrap but that day had bought three - on top of what she owed. He didn’t strain himself any further by trying to deduce what she must have done to get the cash, he just took it and sent her on her way. Still, her meek and scared expression as she approached him to make the payment was ingrained in his mind’s eye.

You’d be mistaken for thinking Jay was jogging for the fitness benefits - though he was incredibly fit - the purpose of his hastiness was due to an entirely different reason. Jay had received a call to say that a rival drug dealer was pushing on his turf. He was furious, he despised somebody else trying to take what he had worked for. That may seem hypocritical seeing as how Jay was intending to roll up on The Dark Roads Alliance at Meltdown and take their Tag Team Championships, perhaps a situation that many found unfair given that Xavien and himself had only recently debuted with the company, but Jay wasn’t expecting to simply show up and snatch the gold away, he knew he’d be in for one hell of a fight. Xavien and Jay would literally have to be on the top of their very games to have any chance… and even then, people’s best often fell short of the standard required to take down the likes of Konchu Hao and the fabled Cyrus Truth. Despite his anger, if Jay got turned over by the rival drug dealer, there’d be nothing he could do except accept defeat and concede the ground, just like he’d have to if he and Xavien couldn’t get on the same page for their match with The Dark Roads Alliance.

Rounding the corner of the main street and cutting up an alleyway, Jay can see a tall, caucasian man standing on the corner - his corner - palming something into the hand of a junkie. The dealer had a diamond ear-ring pierced in one ear and upon seeing this, Jay spat on the ground in disgust. Jonny DeLacey, or as he was more informally known, Jonny The Lock. Jonny got his nickname from his alleged ability to pick any lock and was a well-known thief and dealer, a reprobate Jay had previously warned about dealing around here. Jay felt extremely pissed off that Jonny had not heeded his advice, had not deemed him a threat, and had ignored his warning. As far as Jay was concerned, that disrespect simply couldn’t stand. Jay breaks into a sprint and when he is about ten meters away from Jonny, he furiously shouts out.

“OI! The fuck are you doing? Man fuckin’ told you already!”

Jonny turns around and upon seeing an on-rushing Jay, flicks him the middle finger and responds with a shout of his own.

“FUCK OFF, you limey motherfucker!”

Jay jumps from about two meters out, sailing through the air and punching Jonny full-force in the face, knocking him on his back, before landing on his feet. He immediately tries to mount Jonny but Jonny kicks up, his Timberland boot catching Jay just under the jaw. Jay staggers back, clutching his jaw, and Jonny darts into the square.

“FUCK! Get back here, you likkle bitch! These fuckin’ Yanks and their Timbs, man.”

Jay shakes the cobwebs loose and sprints after Jonny, his hours upon hours of conditioning in his teenage years paying dividends, as he finds himself catching up to him in no time. Scores of junkies watch on in awe as Jay spears Jonny and himself through a brittle, wooden door beside the public toilets. With splinters of wood going everywhere, Jay finds himself groaning in pain as several punctures his skin. Jonny got the worst of it, going face-first into a mop bucket. Jay gets on top of Jonny, pummeling his face with a closed fist, imagining Jonny is Cyrus Truth and the cleaner’s closet they were in was actually an FWA ring.

“What did man fuckin’ tell you, fam?”

Jay smashes Jonny in the face with a left hook.

“These are MY ends, bruv, my fucking ends!”

Jay viciously plants Jonny with an elbow just above his brow, instantly drawing blood.

“Don’t let man catch you creeping around here again, ya fuckin’ hearing me, man?”

Jay picks up Jonny's head and smacks it down hard against the floor. Jonny’s eyes gaze over and he meekly mutters something. Jay slaps him hard, a stinging open-palmed strike that leaves a red welt on his cheek.

“The fuck you saying, man? Speak up, bruv.”

Jay digs a knee into the sternum of Jonny. Wheezing, Jonny gasps out a few words.

“S-S-Sorry, Jay… sorry. Y-Y-You got it… I’ll stay away.”

“Too fuckin’ right man, don’t let me catch you in these ends again… you’ll be stabbed up next time, swear down.”

Jay pushes himself off Jonny and dusts himself off, satisfied with his handiwork. Jay pivots around and as he does, things suddenly get much darker. Jay can feel his heart beating in his chest, hell, he can hear his heart beating in his chest as one of the shadowy figures approaches him, engulfing the doorway to the cleaning closet, blocking his way out.

“Really, Jay? Is that it? Sure, he took a few licks… but did he really get the message?”

The robotic voice unnerves Jay, but he tries to conceal that fact with a show of bravado.

“Are you serious, fam? Man slapped the piss out of this bloodclaat. Look at him, he’s fucked.”

“Nothing a couple of weeks rest won’t heal… and then he’ll be back. I’m not sure he knows exactly who he’s messing with. You’ve beat him up… but I don’t think he’s completely finished. This is a job half done, Jay. Xavien needs to know there won’t be any half-measures. He needs to know you will be relentless. That you won’t stop until Konchu and Cyrus have stopped moving. If there is even a sliver of fight left in The Dark Roads Alliance you can be sure that they will end you. Rapustin’s Revenge. Journey’s End. They finish every one. The only chance you have is to make sure they are completely and utterly destroyed. You can’t give them a chance to retaliate. Xavien knows this. Do you?”

“Man ain’t on no dumb ting. Man’s not just got hooks and kicks, man’s bare smart you know?”

“Then finish him. Make sure there can be no blowback. Do not give him a chance to get back into this fight. Show no mercy.”

The lighting returns to normal as the figure disappears in front of Jay. Jay feels an evil and vicious urge rush through his body. Tingling, he turns around and sees Jonny trying to wipe the blood away from around his nose and face. Jay steps towards him and he immediately shuffles away on the ground, holding up a hand.

“Jay, please, man, please! I’ve had enough, I’ll stay away.”

Jay ignores the pleas and leans over Jonny, picking up a bottle of bleach from beside the mop bucket. Jonny’s eyes widen in alarm and he tries to back away even further but it is futile. He quickly finds himself with his back against the wall of the cramped closet, Jay closing in on him as if he were a cornered rat and Jay an exterminator. Jay grabs him by the throat and whispers menacingly.

“You should have put some respeck on man’s name, you likkle bitch.”

Jay yanks off the cap of the bleach and pours the entire bottle over a screaming Jonny’s face. His agonizing screams meant nothing to Jay.

—----

—----

—----

A heavily bandaged man is in a seated position in a hospital bed, and a doctor in a pristine white overcoat stands in front of him, a clipboard in hand. The wounded man’s mind is completely blank. You’d think a hundred different thoughts would be racing through his head but he finds himself completely devoid of any emotions. He feels absolutely nothing. He’d have rathered he died than this. The man’s head is covered in bandages, his eyes covered by large cotton pads held in place by medical tape. What looks like burn marks are scattered around his forehead, nose, and mouth. In a sympathetic voice, the doctor speaks, his gravelly tone bouncing off the whitewashed walls of the ward.

“We’ve tried everything we can but it pains me to say you have permanently lost your vision. We will do all we can to make things as comfortable as possible for you but… I’m afraid you will never see again, Mr. DeLacey. I truly am sorry…”

A shadowy figure watches on from a distance.

**********************************************

His cracked and scabbed knuckles sting badly in the blistering, November wind but Jay simply grimaces and tries to disregard the pain, as he makes his way around the ‘hood he deals in. In an ideal world, Jay would be in his dingy apartment icing the wounds, making sure his hands weren’t tender ahead of the Tag Team Championship match with The Dark Roads Alliance the following week but today is Sunday and Sunday is collection day. Jay tells himself that he’s going to be in pain when he faces off against Xavien and Cyrus, he’s going to have to withstand his fair share of hurt if he wants to walk out of Marrakech with a championship strap around his waist and a big, fat FWA contract in his hand. A little bit of pain can’t be an obstacle when there’s a job to do, and doing the collection round was no different.

Jay was undoubtedly the most notorious and active dealer in his little corner of the city but his rigorous training schedule - especially in the wake of his Gunfight Battle Royal success - took up a lot of his time. He’d a group of youths - or ‘youngers’ as he called them - pushing for him when he himself couldn’t be in the trap. Despite the glorification of dealing in pop culture and television shows, unless you were moving weight or dealing in a fancy neighbourhood, there wasn’t really a lot of money to be made. Jay was just about scraping by when all his expenses were taken into account but aside from this and fighting… he doesn’t know any other way to turn a buck. Every Sunday, Jay would bounce around from younger to younger, collecting what they had earned from pushing the previous week. He’d pay them their cut and pocket the rest himself. Some weeks were good, some weeks were bad. He didn’t hold it against them. Once they showed up and turned over the money and leftover product, it was all good.

Jay had made four or five collections when he rolled up on one of the youngest lads he had out on the road; a fourteen-year-old boy of Mexican heritage called José. José’s awkward stance and sheepish expression caused Jay to click his tongue against the roof of his mouth, a lifelong tick of Jay’s that occurred whenever he got the feeling he was about to be pissed off. Staring at José from a distance, Jay can see him shift his weight from foot to foot, his thick, gold chain dangling to and fro, undoubtedly extremely tense and uncomfortable. Jay slowly struts up to José, lips pursed, stopping a few yards in front of him. José’s face quickly reddens and the young teenager averts his gaze to the ground.

“Wagwan, José?”

José’s breathing quickens and he opens his mouth but no words come out. Jay was long past the mood for playing around, he’d been out for a couple of hours already and he was hoping to get a session in at The Warehouse. He gently pushes José’s shoulder with his hand. He feels José’s whole body stiffen in fear upon contact. In his rough, Brummie accent, Jay repeats the question.

“Man said: wagwan, José?”

José either finally finds the strength or deduces that not saying anything yielded a potentially more dangerous outcome, looking up with tear-filled eyes and muttering a weak greeting.

“‘Sup, Jay?”

Coldly, with his eyes still locked on José, Jay replies.

“You tell man what’s up, innit? You got somethin’ for me?”

José gulps, a sizable lump forming in his throat.

“Are you deaf, fam? Man’s here for his money. Where the dough at?”

For the first time, Jay notices the bruising around the left eye of José and just before José confesses, Jay twigs what has happened.

“I-I-I got jumped, Jay. Three of them. Older boys, down by the bridge.”

“And?”

“A-A-And well, they, um, they didn’t just jump me… they robbed me.”

Jay runs both his hands through his hair, shutting his eyes. He takes a deep breath and slowly asks a question.

“Bread… or pebs?”

“Uhhh…”

Jay harshly shoves José backwards, his anger growing and his temper lessening. He advances towards the youth, shouting aggressively,

“DID THEY TAKE THE FUCKIN’ MONEY OR THE DRUGS, MAN?”

José looks absolutely petrified and tears freely run down his face as he sobs.

“They got both, Jay, they got both! I’m s-s-s-s-sorry!”

“Fuckin’ IDIOT, bruv! Fuckin’ both? Man fuckin’ told you about that. Never have bloody both!”

“I-I-I know, I wasn’t thinking. My grandmother has dementia you know and-”

“Are you serious!? Man don’t give a fuck about your fuckin’ grandma, bruv!”

Snot-nosed and stuttering, José tries in vain to explain.

“It’s- just- that-”

“Shut up, SHUT THE FUCK UP CRYIN’ LIKKLE MAN! Man’s tryna think, innit.”

José stands glued to the spot, petrified, as Jay rubs his temples with his fingers.

“Well, you’re just gonna have to pay up, innit younger? What’d man give you? Ten pebs? 150, innit?”

Jay holds out his hand, waiting for José to pay him the money. José’s mouth opens and closes a couple of times, reminiscent of a puffer fish.

“What? What fuckin’ is it?”

“I… I haven’t got that sort of money. They stole my wallet too when they jumped me.”

“Doesn’t matter to me, man, you need to pay up. Now.”

Jay reaches into his pocket and pulls out a switchblade, flicking the knife from his holding as he does so, to illustrate his point and how serious this is. Upon seeing the blade glistening in the midday sun, José gasps a little and takes a step backwards, Jay matching it with a step forward. Jay places the blade under José’s thick, gold chain that bears a crucifix pendant and scoops it towards him, pulling José towards him by the necklace.

“Jay p-p-please, I haven’t got it.”

“Well then, run on home to your mum and get it off her, bruv.”

José begins tearing up again, a pained look across his face.

“M-M-My mom’s in a nursing home, Jay. She was in a crash a couple of years ago… she’s paralyzed from the neck down. I live at home with my grandmother…”

“Fuck, man… the one with dementia?”

José nods.

“I look after her but… but recently she’s gotten real bad. She’s forgetting everything, Jay, everything! She even forgets that she has already eaten… we never have any fucking food, Jay. T-T-That’s why I started doing this.”

Jay feels a twinge of guilt. He had also started dealing in Birmingham to provide for his nan and his mum. People look down on pushers, but all too often they don’t know the story behind it. Very few people do it for no good reason, especially at this level. Jay slowly feels the anger ebb away, this kid’s after getting beaten up and all he was trying to do was make things a little easier for his family. He is only fourteen and has already gone through more than most fully-grown adults ever do. Jay could probably let this one slide and- the creeping darkness begins to dim the midday light, an unnatural occurrence that plunges the vicinity into near-total darkness. Jay steadies himself. By this stage, he knows one of Xavien’s shadows is about to appear to him. To assess him and to see if he is worthy of Xavien’s trust. Like clockwork, a robotic voice begins talking from behind Jay. Jay turns to face the suited, masked, shadow.

“How very disappointing.”

“What’s it now, man?”

“You’re going to let this slide, aren’t you? You’re about to let… this sniveling, little child away with it. He lost your money. He lost your product.”

“Oi! The younger’s had a tough fuckin’ time, man. Man’s worried about him; it’s too fucking much for a youth his age. His mum and his nan are fucked, what’s he going to do to get that money? It’s too much pressure, man, the youth’s gonna cave. Man ain’t being responsible for that.”

“That isn’t something you should be worried about. It’s going to happen anyway. Do you actually think if you let him go, that he isn’t going to run into another situation like this?”

“Maybe, but man ain’t fixing to be the one that delivers the death knell, you know?”

“Why not? You and Xavien are going to have to deliver the death knell to The Dark Roads Alliance.”

“That’s different, fam. That’s a wrestling ting, that’s a fight. They know what’s at risk.”

“So does this young boy. He knew the risks when he took your drugs and took your money. Everyone who steps into that world knows the risks, just like everyone who steps into the ring knows the risks. You say it’s just a fight… that’s the problem. That’s why Xavien doubts you. This isn’t just a fight; not for Konchu and not for Cyrus. If The Dark Roads Alliance lose this match… they don’t just lose their belts… they lose a lot more. Konchu fades back into obscurity and doing special events for a quick payday, forgotten about. Cyrus… well, Cyrus will probably retire in the wake of his most recent failure, finally accepting that he just isn’t what he used to be. You will be responsible for ending a legend. You will be responsible for fans being extremely upset. Does that bother you?”

“Fuck no, man. It makes man want to do it even more.”

“Then it is no different here. What will happen because of your action is not something to dwell on. Other’s plights are not yours. Remember that. Show no concern.”

The lighting returns to normal and Jay wastes no time in immediately grabbing hold of a whimpering José. He brings the blade to his throat, drawing the faintest bit of blood with a slight nick.

“Man don’t give a fuck about any of that. They’re your problems, innit? Man wants his cash or his pebs. Don’t care which. But man wants one of ‘em. You fuckin’ sort it… or man’ll cut you up.”

Jay drops a terrified José to the ground and begins to walk away. He stops and turns back, flashing the blade of his knife one last time at the inconsolable José. Jay grits his teeth and utters one last threat.

“And man’ll start with your fuckin’ dick.”

José begins loudly sobbing, his head buried in his hands. A massive, wet stain can be seen on the front of his grey tracksuit bottoms. A pitiful sight, for sure, yet Jay feels nothing. He simply doesn’t give a solitary fuck.

—----

—----

—----

A teenage boy with sallow skin emerges from some shrubbery and onto an empty train platform. He looks at a digital clock hanging above the notice board which hosts the various train schedules. The displayed time is 11:54 and given the full moon that is visible in the starless night sky, it is easy to deduce that it is PM. The adolescent’s face bears numerous cuts and bruises; a black eye, reddened cheeks and a nasty gash above his forehead. His eyes are lifeless and tell the tale of a boy who has had to deal with far too many trials and tribunals in his short time in this world. His face is expressionless and remains stoic as he takes a couple of steps towards the edge of the platform. He looks down at the train tracks and can make out the faintest of vibrations. There is a shrill whistle and then a growing rumble as the midnight express train ploughs closer and closer. A deafening beep of the train’s horn serves as a warning that the train is approaching the platform. The train emerges from a tunnel at a frightening speed. The midnight express does not stop at this particular station. The boy takes another step forward, blesses himself, and kisses the crucifix that is attached to his thick, gold chain. He takes one glance at the speeding train, an emotionless look etched into his face, and jumps right in front of the onrushing locomotive.

A shadowy figure watches on from a distance.

**********************************************

A lone, roaming camera focuses on Jay Kenny sitting on the edge of an unbranded ring apron. The shot is in a sepia tone and a small ‘FWA’ logo is visible in the right-hand corner of the screen. Jay stares deeply into the camera for a few moments before speaking.

“The mandem will say we haven’t got a chance. Forget about whether Xavien and I can get on the same page, that’s a non-factor for most people, the simple fact of the matter is most wrestling fans can’t wrap their heads around the idea of two newcomers taking down The Dark Roads Alliance. Nobody can picture Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall holding the FWA World Tag Team Championships above their heads at the end of Meltdown. They’ll say this is a token defence, a stopgap for The Dark Roads Alliance as they wait for the winners of The Buddy Bowl to emerge, a way to fill some television time and give the champs some time. They think even the most well-oiled version of Jay Kenny and Xavien Marshall wouldn’t stand a chance against Konchu Hao and Cyrus Truth. Man don’t blame them, you know? They’ve every reason to think that, but they’d be wrong, innit?”

Jay hops off the ring apron and takes a few strides towards the camera.

“That’s what they said about either of us winning the Gunfight Royal. That’s what they said about Xavien going one-on-one with Konchu. You all saw what happened there, fam. See, this is the thing that people are going to have to very quickly realise: we are good enough. It don’t matter none if Xavien doesn’t vibe with man, it don’t matter none if we’re in our early twenties and new to this game, it don’t matter NONE if we work together or not… both of us can knock either of you out in a fucking flash. All it takes is Xavien to stomp on the back of your head or for man to kick you in the face and it’s over. It don’t matter who you are or what you’ve done. All your X4 tournaments, all your merchandise sales, all your fanfare, all your Carnal Contenderships and World Championships… none of it fuckin’ matters, bruv.”

Jay sucks air between his teeth and shakes his head.

“You mandem like to call yourself The Dark Roads Alliance but really, you tell me who’s traversed up and down the dark roads? The real dark roads, the streets of Cleveland and Birmingham, doing anything we bloody can to survive. We’re the real men, the real guys who have been on the darkest of paths. Man ain’t talking about some stupid mask and gimmick, you know? Man ain’t talking about some made-up lore that was crafted up to make your character intriguing. The Long and Winding Road wouldn’t have made it through where Xavien and I come from, and your twisted sense of morals and justice wouldn’t have lasted pissin’ time in Small Heath, swear down, man. You both have ten years on Xavien, and fifteen on me, yet, when you look at you two and you look at us… you can see who has been through the real shit. You can see who has the real hunger. You can see who fucking needs this more.”

Jay slaps his chest a couple of times and takes another few strides.

“See, Konchu, Cyrus… you’ve mistaken our inexperience, our youth, our… lack of chemistry and camaraderie as a sign of incompetency. A sign that we aren’t good enough. That’s a mistake that’s gonna bite you in the arse.”

Jay takes another step towards the camera.

“That’s a mistake that’s gonna result in you losing your Tag Team Championships that you fought tooth and nail for.”

Another step.

“That’s a mistake that’s going to make you complacent.”

One more step.

“And that’s a mistake… that’s gonna cost you your life.”

Jay bares his teeth and furiously looks directly into the camera, an anger unbecoming of such a young man evident for all to see.

“Aaaaand CUT! That’s a wrap, we got it, Jay.”

The camera cuts off and we return to normal colour, Jay easing up after shooting his first promotional video for FWA. He glances at the director behind the camera, an expectant look on his face. The director gives him a thumbs-up and a wink.

“One take, kid, pretty good stuff. We can work with this, I’ve got to fly over to Cleveland now to shoot Xavien’s part. Damn shame we couldn’t get you both to do the shoot together.”

Jay nonchalantly shrugs his shoulders, playing off that it doesn’t bother him as the production team begins to pack up. As they start leaving The Warehouse, a thought infiltrates Jay’s mind - why the hell didn’t Xavien want to do the shoot with him? He was a little worried, he thought he’d won over Xavien’s shadows and gained the trust of his partner ahead of their Tag Team Championship match but he hadn’t heard a peep from Marshall’s camp… nor the shadows. Grunting in frustration, Jay begins to viciously unload on a heavy bag swinging idly from the rafters of The Warehouse. He’s only thrown a couple of punches and kicks when the darkness creeps in and Jay feels a tingle run up his spine. Cautiously, he turns around and comes face to face with the three shadowy figures who stand before him in their skull masks and pressed suits. The robotic voice rings out, seemingly emitting from all three at once.

“Jay… we are extremely pleased with your developments. We couldn’t be happier with how far you’ve come, the decisions you’ve made, and the actions you’ve taken. You have truly appeased the darkness.”

Jay carefully nods his head, still wary of the figures despite his run-ins with them.

“So did man do enough or what? Does Xavien trust me? Does he think we can do the job against The Dark Roads Alliance? Is he gonna fuckin’ fight with man or not?”

The shadowy figures begin cackling, a cruel excuse for a laugh echoing off the roof of The Warehouse creating a horrid cacophony.

“And… how… would we know?”

Jay looks slightly taken back but recovers and spits out his words.

“The fuck do you mean? How wouldn’t you know? You’ve been testing man all fucking week. You’ve been pushing man to do things. Of course, you know if he’s going to fight with me or not. You have to know. You know because you’re his shadows.”

They croak out their horrific laugh once more before all three sets of eyes are trained on Jay. The darkness is suddenly penetrated by a sinister red glow.

“Oh, but Jay… we aren’t Xavien’s shadows… we’re yours…”

—----

—----

—----

The screen, momentarily lost in a chaotic dance of static, flickers for a brief three-second interlude before the camera transitions, with an abrupt, jarring cut, to a scene of stark emptiness. A solitary shaft of light slices through the all-consuming darkness, casting a ghostly, luminescent aura that brings a solitary whisper of life into the otherwise forsaken room... This haunting tableau is captured in a sepia tone and the FWA logo presents itself at the top right of the picture.

Suddenly, the scene shifts and Xavien Marshall begins to materialize, inching forward with deliberate slowness into the embrace of a soft, diffused light. The camera lingers on him, capturing the nuanced contours of his face, yet Xavien's gaze remains averted, his eyes steadfastly refusing to meet the lens. Instead, they are anchored to the ground, lost in a world unseen and thoughts untold. In this moment, time itself seems to pause, the air heavy with a palpable, enveloping silence, as he stands there, the very center of the frame, an enigma wrapped in stillness.

He hastily jerks his head upward, his eyes reflecting a deep, impenetrable void, revealing a psyche precariously balanced on the edge of madness.

“If you want the tag titles, Jay Kenny… win them your fucking self.”

 

[Willis]

A Willis & AON Thing.

​

The scene opens up inside a hotel room exudes opulence, bathed in a soft, warm glow from the elegant chandelier hanging from the ceiling. Deep, plush carpets run underfoot, silencing the sound of footsteps. In this lavish haven, Brooklyn Steiner finds himself during an FWA house show tour. The room is dimly lit, creating an atmosphere of both comfort and intrigue. Heavy curtains are drawn, shutting out the city's neon lights. The only sources of light are the laptop screen in front of Brooklyn and a sleek, minimalist bedside lamp casting a gentle glow on a nearby nightstand. Brooklyn is sprawled on a king-sized bed that's adorned with crisp, high-thread-count sheets and a mound of plump, inviting pillows. He's hunched over his laptop, the soft illumination from the screen accentuating the subtle features of his face.​

​

Engrossed in an online poker game, he's in the company of his friends from Hollywood, the likes of Ryan Reynolds, Hugh Jackman and Tom Holland. Their voices reverberate through the room, laughter and playful banter creating an almost palpable camaraderie.​

​

Brooklyn, sporting a vintage CWA Indy Club shirt, embodies the epitome of casual comfort. His attire comprises black sweatpants that allow him to sink further into the luxurious bedding, signifying a much-needed break from his intense FWA schedule.​

​

As the laptop's speakers resonate with their lively exchanges, Brooklyn is lost in the moment. This virtual reunion with his friends, whom he sorely missed due to his rigorous wrestling career, is a cherished respite from the grueling world of the FWA.​

​

Ryan Reynolds: So, Steiner, still wrestling with the FWA, huh?​

​

Brooklyn smirks, anticipating the teasing he's about to receive from his friends. He takes it all in stride.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: Yep, still at it.​

​

Hugh Jackman: Man, we thought this wrestling thing was just a phase. You're really sticking to it, huh?​

​

Brooklyn's friends can hardly believe that he's fully committed to his wrestling career. Brooklyn doesn't offer a lengthy response; he's used to being the butt of their jokes regarding his unconventional profession.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: You know me, guys. Gotta give it my all.​

​

The banter and laughter continue as the group enjoys their virtual poker night, despite the miles and worlds that separate them. Amid the laughter and poker chips clinking virtually, Ryan, ever the inquisitive one, couldn't help but delve into Brooklyn's wrestling world.​

​

Ryan Reynolds: So, Brooklyn, tell us about your next match. I mean, you're teaming up with a barber, man! A barber? That's a first!​

​

Brooklyn chuckles, appreciating the light-hearted ribbing from his A-list friends. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts, ready to regale them with the details of his upcoming match.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: Yeah, it's pretty wild. We've got an eight-person tag match coming up. I'm teaming up with The Undisputed Alliance – Jackson Fenix and Nate Savage, and... Jack the Clipper. Guess they needed a haircut before the match.​

​

The room erupts with laughter at the absurdity of it all. They're all having a great time, with the poker game serving as a backdrop to their jovial conversation.​

​

Ryan Reynolds: A barber on your team? Man, this wrestling stuff really is something else!​

​

Brooklyn leans in, fully embracing the opportunity to share the unique nature of his next match.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: You won't believe who we're facing, guys. The Coven – Kleio De Santos, Celestia Ravenwood, Blair Ravenwood, and Grandma Ethel. They're witches, or at least that's their whole shtick. It's like a Halloween show in there.​

​

The mere idea of witches in wrestling sends the room into another fit of laughter, the camaraderie between friends palpable. Amid the hilarity, someone raises a question that's been on everyone's mind.​

​

Tom Holland: So, what sets this wrestling world apart from Hollywood, Brooklyn? Witches, barbers... it's a bit surreal, don't you think?​

​

Brooklyn shrugs, recognizing that he's living a life that defies explanation but determined to succeed nonetheless.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: I don't know, man. It's crazy, but I'm here to win.​

​

The group takes a moment to ponder the stark contrast between Brooklyn's current life in the FWA and their glamorous Hollywood projects. Brooklyn's face betrays a hint of nostalgia, a longing for the world he once knew but is reluctant to admit to his entertainment industry friends.​

​

As the poker night continues, the room is filled with laughter and the banter of old friends. However, an unexpected knock at the door interrupts the merriment. Brooklyn Steiner rises from the bed, a puzzled expression on his face, and makes his way to the door.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: Hold on, guys. There's someone at the door.​

As he opens the door, the unexpected guest standing in the doorway leaves Brooklyn Steiner visibly shocked.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: What are you doing here?​

​

Jack The Clipper: Well, I just thought since me engraved fookin' invitation was lost in the mail, I thought I might swing on by."​

​

The hulking and brooding frame of Jack The Clipper stood in the doorway, clad in a black leather jacket and matching jeans, he looked at Brooklyn Steiner with no small amount of disgust before he pushed by him. and into the room.​

​

Almost instantly, any cheer was crushed by the mere presence of The rugged barber from a foggy London town. ; the temperature dropped abruptly even while casually entering the room. The extremely menacingly aura of Jack The Clipper seemed to come off the man in powerful waves, even when quietly walking into a room; just that simple motion was enough to send everyone on edge; they seemed nervous like a wild tiger had just been let loose in the room, a tiger that could spring forward and attack anyone at any given moment, Jack The Clipper seemed to relish this role, the already tall figure of Jack The Clipper seemed to grow in inches as if the very fear he inspired empowered him. He enveloped the entire scene in a cold stare, taking it all in before he slowly strolled into the room, smacking gum obnoxiously in his mouth. His eyes scanned the big fancy room ignoring Brooklyn who clearly had swallowed down all his evident discomfort being around a man who prowled the world like a man looking for an excuse to lash out at any moment, for any reason, at any person.​

​

Jack The Clipper: "Evenin' gents"​

​

Jack looked behind him as if only now noticing a free chair for the first time. Blinking somewhat, he let out a snort of amusement as if the idea of a comfortable chair was a novel one to him. Despite that, he slowly leaned down and stretched out all comfortably like.​

​

Jack The Clipper: "Well, ain't this grand...."​

​

Another snort of bitter amusement escapes the clipper as he looks around the room a cruel smirk on his face.​

​

Jack The Clipper: "I don't suppose you fellas would know a face like mine, but I know yours; I see em all the time staring out at me on magazine covers and ad boards, ya big fat smug rich pretty faces looking down at people like me selling ya fancy projects."​

​

No one seems to want to speak, even if these guys don't seem to know this man, but they know he's a threat.​

​

Jack The Clipper: "Guess, this is a right big honour for me. Here I am, humble ol' Jack Noble from the east end of London, rubbing shoulders with a-listers—Hollywood royalty. Hey Brooklyn. I always wondered, so many of your friends can answer this for me....what's it like knowing that your shit doesn't stink."​

​

As he waits for his answer, Jack reaches forward and snatches a half-finished beer, which he happily slips, but after a moment, he frowns and shoves it down to the ground. ​

​

Jack The Clipper: "This fookin' country and beer...Bud...Coors....Miller..All taste like fooking water; what do you wankers have against a decent pint? I guess that's what you get when you buy American. That's hollywood imma right? It's all dressed up real pretty, but when you're really get into it? It's all shit. But if they paid you six figures to drink piss, all you wankers would do it with a big smile on your faces wouldn't ya?"​

​

A shift of discomfort goes over the group as Jack leans back a little and barks out a laugh.​

​

Jack The Clipper: "Relax, lads, I'm joking. I thought we were having a good time here, cracking jokes at ol' Jackys expanse for having to make a living in a run down, shitty barber shop. Thought we were making jokes. Being funny."​

​

Jack frowns thoughtfully ​

​

Jack The Clipper: "It is hard to come across as funny, ain't it? Especially when you're surrounded by stupid thicks, at least I always found anyway...That said, I notice that even though I do appreciate a good sense of humour as much as the next bloke, I never actually come across as funny meself." ​

​

Ryan Reynolds: Well, I think-​

​

Jack The Clipper: Shut the fuck up!"​

​

Jack suddenly whipped and lashed out emotionally. That would shut anyone up...and just like it never happened, Jack goes right back to his thoughtful, introspective tone of speech. ​

​

Jack The Clipper: "See, even when I try to be funny...I come off as...scary. I come off as intimidating, I suppose; that's my lot in life ain't it. You gents get to live in your big fancy mansions and get everything handed to you on a nice sliver fooking platter and I spend me life grafting and working hard...and being menacing when I try to be funny.​

​

Jack turns to Brooklyn with a snark.​

​

Jack The Clipper: What chu reckon Brook? You think I'm funny?​

​

Ryan Reynolds, still feeling the awkwardness in the room, chimed in​

​

Ryan Reynolds: "You know, maybe we should leave Brooklyn and Jack to their... bonding time, or whatever it is they're doing. I mean, Brooklyn, you're more like an acquaintance than a friend these days, right?"​

​

Brooklyn's expression turned serious as he slammed his laptop shut and stood up, closing the distance between him and Jack The Clipper. He stared into Jack's eyes, his voice low and filled with irritation.​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: I don't appreciate how you interrupted my personal time," Brooklyn muttered, the tension between them palpable. "You should leave now.​

​

Jack The Clipper, seemingly unfazed, swaggered over to the mini bar in Brooklyn's hotel room, nonchalantly helping himself to a drink. He took a sip and then carelessly tossed the bottle to the floor, the shattering glass accentuating the rising hostility in the room. He leaned in close to Brooklyn's face, a defiant smirk playing on his lips.​

​

Jack the Clipper: What are you gonna do, Steiner?​

​

As the room grew heavy with tension, the air itself seemed to thicken. The atmosphere became so charged that you could practically feel the sparks crackling in the room. The hostile standoff between Brooklyn Steiner and Jack The Clipper had reached a breaking point, and it was only a matter of seconds before something gave.​

​

In the midst of this impending clash, the laptop, left partially open, unwittingly played a snippet of Ryan Reynolds and Hugh Jackman's voices. Their casual conversation about the wrestling business drifted through the room like a ghostly whisper, serving as an eerie backdrop to the mounting hostility.​

​

Brooklyn's face tensed with the realization that the situation was spiraling out of control. He swiftly reached for his laptop and reestablished the connection, determined to silence the voices and diffuse the volatile atmosphere that had settled in the room. The abrupt disconnection provided a momentary reprieve, but the tension still lingered, a volatile storm threatening to erupt at any moment. ​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: Maybe, I’m not speaking stupid fluently enough, Jack, why the fuck are you in my room? ​

​

Clearly, the time for playing games has passed. Even Jack The Clipper can tell that was the case, so his false, playful nature vanished. With a deep sigh, Jack stands up to his full and imposing height, looming over Brooklyn Stenier, staring him down; he waits until the silence gets a little too awkward and then​

​

Jack The Clipper: ...I don't like you. I don't like your face. I don't like your vibe. I don't like how you fight. I don't like your pretty boy face, and I don't like your shitty little A-list friends. I don't like how you got fast-tracked towards something I've had to work for all my life. But most of all? Most of all...​

Jack gestures upwards, jabbing his finger forward.​

​

Jack The Clipper: I hate your stupid fooking hair.​

​

His face folds in clear disgust.​

​

Jack The Clipper: I bet you can imagine what a bloke like me does to hair I don't like....​

​

He didn't need to elaborate, after all. The hint is in the name Jack The Clipper. ​

​

Jack The Clipper: But I ain't. I'll ignore some of my baser instincts. That's all I came here to tell ya. You don't gotta worried about me, this week at Fight Night. I'm more than happy to play my part and deal with those freaks...I gotta reputation to protect, you know? So you shouldn't worry...Ol' Jackie will be there to carry the weight off your pampered little shoulders.​

​

The standoff in the hotel room continued, the tension hanging in the air like a thick, suffocating fog. Brooklyn Steiner wasn't backing down, his determination etched across his face in bold lines. His finger, like a dagger, dug into Jack The Clipper's chest, marking the boundary of their disagreement.​

​

Jack The Clipper: I really don't care what you think," Brooklyn declared, his voice unwavering, "about me, or really anything else. Just do your job as my partner and come to Winter Wasteland."​

​

The impending clash between the two was abruptly interrupted by the appearance of room service, the hotel room door swinging open to reveal a waiter with a lavish cart of delicious, untouched food. The intrusion served as a much-needed pause, reminding them that no innocent room service worker should become collateral damage in their heated exchange. The waiter carefully left the cart in the midst of the room, feeling the palpable tension but wisely choosing not to comment.​

​

Brooklyn, taking a step back, continued with a slightly lowered intensity, his voice filled with determination, ​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: "Come Winter Wasteland, the TV title is mine. And that will be just another thing my privileged life will have that yours won't." ​

​

The confrontation had reached a temporary standstill, but the underlying conflict was far from resolved.​

​

At first Jack doesn't seem like he was going to back off, closing and opening his fists it seemed like he was ready to go right there....​

​

But instead, he stops and just happily pats Brooklyn on the shoulder...​

​

Jack The Clipper: "I want you to enjoy this tag match. I want you to enjoy this whole lifestyle. I want you to live it up, make the most of your wonderful little life...and your shitty little haircut...because at Winter Wasteland...I cut it all away."​

​

With no small amount of malice behind it, he slowly makes a scissor sign with his hand before bumping past the room service guy....Before stopping...and going to the cart of food​

​

Jack The Clipper:"but first, I'm taking your food...go cry about it to Ryan Gosling."​

​

Brooklyn Steiner: "Reynolds"​

​

Jack The Clipper: "Same thing."​

​

​

​

 

[Jimmy King]

Witchcraft


“Are you sure this can’t wait?”

Jackson Fenix asks Nate Savage as they stand outside of a local barber shop in Marrakesh, Morocco, the location that will be the site of Meltdown XXXV. It’s where Nate and Jackson will team up with Jack the Clipper and Brooklyn Steiner to take on The Coven.

“Why don’t you have Jack the Clipper do it for you? He’s our partner, and he cuts hair, right?”

“Have you seen that guy? I’m hesitant about having him as a partner already, but there’s no way I’m letting him get near me with scissors!”

Jackson shrugs, nodding in agreement.

“Good point, although you should never judge a book by its cover.”

“Yeah, fair enough, but he’s still not cutting my hair.”

Jackson clutches a book underneath his arm before he and Nate enter the shop, and right away, something seems a bit off about the place. There’s an old, beat-up-looking radio playing “No Sleep Till Brooklyn” by The Beastie Boys. Soon enough, a gruff-looking man walks into the lobby and motions for Nate to sit.

“I think you would’ve been better off with Jack cutting your hair.”

Jackson whispers to Nate; the barber must’ve heard him because he glares at him.

“Hey, no offense, I’m sure you’re a wonderful person!”

Jackson says in defense as Nate takes a seat. The barber puts a cloth over Nate and prepares for work.

Jackson sits down and starts to read the book he brought along on the trip, the Britney Spears memoir “The Woman In Me.”

“How many times have you read that book now?” Nate asks.

“This is my tenth time,” Jackson replies.

Nate shakes his head, but the barber silently scolds him for moving his head while trying to work.

“Since you’ve read that before, you should probably research our partners while you wait.”

“Fair point.”

Jackson puts the book aside and looks up Brooklyn Steiner’s most recent match from Meltdown XXXIV, where he faced Vengador. Jackson watches the match with intent and awe at the ability Brooklyn Steiner shows.

“Hey, this Brooklyn kid is pretty good for a guy who hasn’t been wrestling for long!”

“He’s been training with Jonathan McGinnis, so I’m unsurprised. Hey! Watch it with that thing!”

The barber ignores Nate’s complaint while Jackson remembers Jonathan McGinnis from CWA. They never had any significant run-ins with each other, but Jackson was well aware of who he was. McGinnis quickly carved out a legacy in CWA and became a household name. Brooklyn Steiner couldn’t have chosen a better person to show him the ropes in wrestling.

Jackson looks up Jack the Clipper’s last match against Trevor Walker on Fallout 034. Jackson quickly takes notice of Jack’s raw power and hard-hitting strikes.

“I’m glad this Clipper guy is on our team.”

“Given this guy’s track record, I’m not sure if I can trust him, but I’m willing to let it go for the sake of the match.”

Jackson continues to research their partners when the door to the barbershop opens, and a sweet old lady enters with three little girls. Two little girls are dressed like witches, while the other dresses normally, but something about her seems off. The old lady sits down next to Jackson; she looks over at him and smiles at him. Jackson is polite and returns the smile, but something about this old lady doesn’t seem right.

“What are you watching?”

Jackson looks up from his phone in confusion.

“Oh, um, just researching something for work.”

“Are you one of those wrestlers?”

“Um, yeah. I’m Jackson Fenix, and that’s Nate Savage.

“Oh, I know who you are! My granddaughters and I are big fans of FWA!”

Jackson can tell right away that the granddaughters are fans of The Coven.

“Let me guess, you like The Coven, correct?” Nate asks the lady.

“Oh my yes, my granddaughters especially love those girls. That’s Claire, Celeste, and Khloe. I’m Edith, but you can call me Grandma!”

Jackson wasn’t going to call this lady grandma. He had a Meemaw, and this Edith lady is certainly no Meemaw of his. Jackson also thought it was odd that their names were similar to that of The Coven, but maybe it was a strange coincidence.

“I bet you’re rooting for The Coven to put a whooping on us and our partners, right?” Jackson asks the two witch girls.

“I hope they put a curse on you!” Celeste says.

“Can witches cast curses?” Jackson wonders.

“I think they mean spells, and that isn’t happening. Not on my watch,” Nate replies.

“Well, yeah, no curses or spells or whatever it is they do will be happening. I’m sorry, but The Coven won’t be defeating us.”

Claire pulls out a wand and waves it at Jackson. Celeste does the same to Nate.

“Heh, sorry, but your little spell isn’t going to work on me,” Nate tells Celeste.

Jackson begins to worry about a spell being cast on him, though. He jumps out of his seat and trips as he walks out of the shop.

“Jax, are you okay?”

“I think their spell worked on me. I feel different all of a sudden.”

“Jax, don’t be silly. That one tripped you.”

Khloe glares at Nate and kicks him in the shin.

“Ow! Hey, stop that! Lady, get these brats under control!”

Grandma Edith doesn’t say anything and laughs at her granddaughters.

Nate jumps out of his chair without finishing his haircut and chases after Jackson outside the shop.

“Jax, are you okay?”

“I don’t know, I feel weird, dude. Maybe they casted a spell on us, and now we’ll lose!”

Nate puts his hands on Jackson’s shoulders to reassure him that everything is fine.

“Jax, there is no spell. There is no witchcraft or curse or whatever. It’s your mind playing tricks on you. You’re fine, don’t worry. We got this, okay? Those witches aren’t going to know what hit them when we’re through with them, got it?”

Jackson nods in agreement.

“Good, let me pay the guy and get your book.”

Nate returns inside the shop to see the little girls and old lady are gone. The gruff-looking barber is still there, waiting for his payment.

“Hey, where did that old lady and those little girls go?”

“What are you talking about, pal? Pay up and get out!”

Nate didn’t see them leave the store when he was outside. He doesn’t try to think about it, pays the man, grabs Jackson’s book, and rushes out of the store.​

 

[Cyrus Truth]

“Thievery and Brigandry In the Face of Darkness”

“I’m telling you, this is a massive opportunity that we have on our hands. I don’t see why you’re not as jazzed about it as I am.”

“Just shut up.”

“Listen! I’m serious! My uncle’s…”

“And shut the fuck up about your uncle, too.”

Hushed voices, lingering smoke, and the pervasive sound of chatter over viscous drinks.

The ever-present feeling that, at any moment? A stray word, a passing glance, or even just the random roll of fate’s dice may result in knives being drawn and blood being spilled.

This establishment, a rustic and dark tavern, plays host to all sorts of roughnecks and brigands. It’s obvious that this place is a meeting ground and hall of respite for the thieves and cutthroats of this sprawling city, here in the middle of the Shadowlands. Around this city is…nothing. Those who come to this settlement seek fame, fortune and glory. Those who leave? They risk obscurity, a slow demise until nothing remains but a fleeting memory.

The creeping doom changes some men. Makes others far more desperate to not become more victims, or something less than that.

Our focus is on two figures, young men with hungrier eyes if not completely different attitudes.

One with fair skin and a rat’s nest of hair exudes an aura of unearned accomplishment, the kind of arrogance brought on not by what he has accomplished but by who he is associated with.

The other has a darker complexion and an even darker expression. This one has felt chains on his wrists and ankles, and has tasted blood, whether it be someone else’s or his own.

The dice of fate have brought them to a crossroads, brimming with opportunity and pitfalls. And it seems as if there isn’t quite the point of agreement between them.

“Look, just hear me out, okay? Treasures like what the Magi and the Pariah hold? They’re worth a fucking mint. Just holding onto the Bracers of Fraternity can make men into icons overnight. Taking it from those two? That’s enough to take us from the gutter to the top of the heap.

“That’s not the prize I’m after…”

“Yeah, yeah, I know! You and I are after the same thing. Dwelling on that doesn’t do us any good with the opportunity we have in front of us. Look, you want to kill me and claim the Idol of Extreme Desperation, you’re more than welcome to do that. But to just…ignore this chance at the Bracers is foolish, and deep down, I know you know that.”

The darker man growls at that, but only for a second. He didn’t need the fair one to point this out to him. He knew.

He knew the second that this opening, this opportunity fell into his lap. He knew when he managed to fend off a pre-emptive assault from the Magi and escape relatively unscathed. The current holders of the Bracers were vulnerable, weakened from a war against another duo over the prize.

And despite the fact that he had begun the descent into the shadows to find his strength, his purpose, and direction, despite the hardness fostered by his previous criminal activities and prison sentences? This particular prize couldn’t be attained by him alone.

The dark one didn’t need the fair one for anything other than another body. Securing the Bracers would be a coup in and of itself before he smashes his skull into the pavement like an overripe melon.

“...Fine, whatever.”

The fair one smirks at that, satisfied.

“Excellent! Now, I have a…”

“Before you spout off about some damned plan, I suggest you save your breath and listen for a change. I’ve already run into one of our targets and came out on top of the exchange.”

“Barely…”

“Excuse you?”

The fair one continues to smile, but there’s no warmth behind it. The dark one might have aspirations of treachery after this heist is complete, but it’s clear that he’s not the only one.

“Am I wrong? The Magi’s a killer. Had he gotten one good hit on you, I’d be having to scrape your brain off the walls.”

“The Magi isn’t shit, mate. All smoke and mirrors. And the Pariah’s old news. They don’t even register us, and that’s all I need to put them down easier than I’ll put you down if you keep pushing me.”

“Just listen, would you? If there’s anything I’ve learned from my uncle, it’s that killing your enemies isn’t the only way to win. All we have to do is steal the prize. Avoid a prolonged fight, cheat and steal if we have to. It never mattered to dear Uncle Tommy how he got the prize so long as he got it.”

It’s at that when the dark one favors a sly smirk of his own. A moment of weakness, a taste worth savoring.

“What’s the matter? You scared?”

“Scared?”

“Yeah, scared. Scared of what happens when you actually have to fight? To put up and shut up and not have your past-his-prime uncle coddling him and keeping him safe from what lurks on the streets at night? Don’t think for one moment that I don’t know about the shady stuff you got into in your younger years. Wasn’t much different from the shit I got thrown into that rathole prison for when I was a boy. But you didn’t serve any time, did ya? Didn’t have to chafe under chains?”

The fair one looks indignant at that. His confident smile doesn’t leave his face, because doing so would be an admission of weakness. But it’s a mask hiding his true anger at being questioned by his erstwhile partner.

“Sure, mate. Wear that prison stint like a badge of honor if you think it makes you harder than me. But when it comes to actually fighting instead of just whatever skullduggery you got involved in? Only one of us sitting at this table was actually properly trained in combat. I’m the deadliest son of a bitch in this town. And having someone to watch my back and make sure I didn’t spend time rotting in a oubliette doesn’t make me soft. It makes me smart. Shame you didn’t have that.”

Again, the smile doesn’t leave his face. But that twitch on the corner of the dark one’s lips is indicative enough that he’d love nothing more than to show the fair one just how much his so-called “combat training” matters.

Still, he stays his hand and just takes another sip of whatever foul brew he’s been nursing.

Let him think whatever he wants. Combat skills and self-important uncles be damned. The dark one’s got ghosts in the shadows looking out for him. Darker entities that have promised him fortune and glory…and more importantly, the power to move beyond his past and his scars.

“Sure, mate. Whatever. Are we going to do this shit or not?”

The fair one looks like he wants to continue egging the dark one on. But, he holds back. Maybe he’s decided that it’s best to try a more diplomatic approach with his unlikely partner. Maybe he’s satisfied with having made his point with no rebuttal.

Or maybe he’s just too stoned to care. The fair one’s no stranger to such vices, and what’s life without a bit of pharmaceutical recreation?

Either way, he gives the dark one a nod as he motions to the door, to head out to the street and presumably continue plotting what is sure to be the heist of the century…

Spoiler: In Another World…

“You all right, Konchu?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. No, actually…scratch that. I am far from alright. I shouldn’t have let that caitiff defeat me. My apologies, Truth.”

“Don’t stress over it, Konchu. It happens.”

In a small warehouse just on the outskirts of Timbuktu, we find the Dark Roads Alliance after the most recent episode of Fallout. The warehouse is rotted and windswept, sand outside is swirling in a forceful desert wind. Most of the FWA team and wrestlers have left for refuge within the city limits itself.

But Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao have spent plenty of nights haunting worse places than this. And for denizens of the world of shadow, few places provide more comfort. Here, they could speak honestly and without the worries of wayward ears listening in on affairs that they neither needed to know nor could possibly understand.

Konchu, still steaming from Xavien Marshall’s sneaky pin to win almost literally at the buzzer, is pacing, still dressed in his ring attire. The cold desert night air threatens to freeze the sweat from his aching muscles as the masked wrestler, one half of the FWA World Tag Team Champions, lets out his frustrations as The Exile, his partner, listens with a patient ear.

“‘It happens?’ Truth, you know damn well that such attitudes are unacceptable given the nature of our upcoming title defense. FWA titles change hands to the unworthy all the time thanks in no small part to random happenstance and fortunate pins like what just happened tonight, and I WILL NOT let our title reign end just because of some…some…FLUKE!”

Cyrus sighs as he stands up and stops Konchu pacing by putting a hand on his shoulder.

“It won’t.”

“You say that now…but you of all people should know that there are no guarantees on that. How many times have lesser wrestlers gotten to crow about defeating you because of a simple pin?”

“Plenty.”

“Then WHY are you not as incensed about this as I am?”

“Because we’re not going to give them a chance to get a lucky pin, that’s why.”

The statement seems so simple, but the way The Exile says that is…forceful. Imposing. And it’s enough to get The Mad Wizard to calm down and stop pacing.

“Xavien fought well, but he damn well escaped with his life. I imagine he’s got a lot of confidence. Princeton’s nitwit nephew probably does too. So…let them. Confidence won’t save them from the armageddon we’re about to unleash upon them.”

Cyrus’s expression darkens. Despite his earlier words espousing calm and reason, it’s clear that The Exile is just as upset about the outcome of the match as Konchu is. That anger isn’t directed at his partner; rather, it’s at the young ex-gangbanger who clearly hasn’t learned a damn thing and the toe-fungus of nepotism that is Jay Kenny.

Cyrus has worked too damn hard to be a champion in FWA again. And he’s not about to let a couple punk kids take that away from him and Konchu.

“We weren’t taking them seriously. That’s well and truly done, now.”

The frustration immediately evaporates from Konchu as he hears Cyrus say this, this affirmation that he knows what needs to be done. Konchu nods and practically purrs:

“Yesss…I concur.”

“So, we kill them. We beat their asses on Meltdown as badly as we demolished FTN. We give them our complete, undivided, and murderous attention and show them how much they have to lose.”

Konchu smiles, a wicked grin befitting his twisted brand of insanity.

“I do enjoy it when you talk like that, Truth. Oh, I enjoy it tremendously.”

“That’s because you’re a sick and twisted persona who has a fetish for ultraviolence.”

“And you don’t?”

“Only when someone really deserves it. Or when someone’s trying to take something from me. Or if I’m angry.”

“So…basically all the time?”

“Funny. Now, we’re going to need to…”

“JUBAKARA! VARZOS!”

The chittering, incoherent garbled voice of Epsilon rings out, cutting into Cyrus and Konchu’s conversation as the diminutive homunculus comes barreling through the abandoned warehouse until he’s reached the Tag Team Champions. He seems out of breath as he’s very frantically holding up his tablet.

The Exile looks at Konchu confused as the Mad Wizard takes the tablet from his faithful minion’s hands. He scrolls through whatever was pulled up on the device and studies it intensely for a few minutes as Cyrus, somewhat impatiently, chimes in.

“Hey, Konchu? Mind telling me what’s got Epsilon so riled up?”

“Hmm? Oh, right, yes. Well, I asked Epsilon to do some research on those young reprobates prior to my match against Xavien. Simple competition intel, you know.”

“Makes sense. But why’s Epsilon so adamant? It’s not as if we don’t know their past brushes with the law.”

“True, but that’s not what I asked Epsilon to look into. As with many of my adversaries, I go through…other channels just on the off-chance that my opposition has dealings in the world of shadow.”

“And?”

“And…well? See for yourself.”

Konchu passes the tablet over to Cyrus, and points to what looks to be a document that had been sent to Konchu’s secure inbox. The Exile looks it over as, eventually, his eyebrow raises in curious realization as he turns to his tag team partner.

“Is this true?”

“It would have to be. The source this came from has never disappointed me before.”

“Interesting…you know who these “Shadow” people are that Xavien’s been in contact with?”

“That’s a bit less clear, unfortunately. Could be some outfit that rose from the ashes of the Church of 9 that finally decided to make their move. Could be Twilight Cabal apologists that are looking to settle the score with me after that whole horrid business in Estonia.”

“Hmm, I doubt it’s Cabal. This crew seems more my side of the world of shadows than yours.”

Konchu considers that and nods, acceding the point to The Exile.

“Regardless of who they are, the important thing is that they are clearly world of shadows denizens. Whether they’re trying to pull some shit like the Church did with Eli Black and gain a foothold in FWA, or they’re some alliance trying to prime someone to get back at you or me is a question I don’t have an answer to yet, but at the moment it doesn’t matter.

“What matters is that you and I stop Xavien and Princeton's dumbass nephew from ending our title reign before it begins. We do that, and we nip this in the bud before it can become another Eli Black situation.”

“So…crushed skulls and shattered dreams?”

“It is what we do best.”

“Kehahaha! Indeed.”

Cyrus hands the tablet back to Epsilon.

“Thanks for that, buddy. Well, we’re not going to get anything done or preparations made standing out here in the middle of the desert. We need somewhere where we can do some more research into these shadow people and get training in.”

“Ah! I know a place in Egypt with a lovely gymnasium owned by a descendent of the ancient pharaoh Amenirdisu’s court mage. She’ll be able to provide us with contacts and informants that can provide us the information on these interlopers while we focus our efforts on demolishing those nitwitted miscreants.”

Cyrus nods in acceptance. The duo, along with Epsilon, now laser-focused on the task at hand, head out of the sands of Timbuktu to catch the first flight out and prepare for the battle to come…

In the streets of the city, the dark one and the fair one make their way through the throngs of denizens. Many of them are no different from them…thieves, brigands, cutthroats seeking the same prizes and fortunes, all of them with hungry eyes and hidden blades.

In this crowd, the dark one and the fair one are just a couple faces in the mob. Still, both young men carry themselves with this sense of…destiny, of glorious purpose, of dreams of power and glory.

All the while, each of them takes what few chances to share glances at one another while the other isn’t looking. The same hunger leading them to this particular heist is the same for a prize that they cannot share.

Eventually, as the sun sets and gas-lit lanterns illuminate darkened streets, the duo of young burglars arrive at what looks to be an old, seemingly long-abandoned leatherwork shop. This is a part of town that was once a bustling market square, but has fallen into disrepair and now resembles more a graveyard of past enterprises.

“This the place?”

“Of course! Pariah’s been out of sorts for years now. He holes himself up in here, and my guess is that he’s made himself a bit of a home out of it. Away from the action, but close enough to keep an eye on it. Probably thinks he’s primed to swoop in at any given time and take over the town again, despite him coming up short time and again. Old timers should learn to step aside when new, younger, better competition rolls into town.”

The dark one gives the fair one a side-eye that says more than his words:

“Not just the old timers, either.”

“Hmm? You say something?”

“No. If we’re going to do this, let’s fucking do this and be done with it.”

Night has fallen, and in this section of town, there are no lanterns, no lights. No one who considers themselves to be worth a damn would ever delve into this neighborhood. The only thing standing between the dark one and the fair one is the master of this ramshackle domicile and his partner in crime.

As the duo approach the building, they find the front door locked. They take their time circling the leatherwork shop until they find what looks to be a thick vine of ivy that leads to a window that’s cracked open just enough to slide a hand in. The fair one takes the initiative, testing his weight on the vine and climbing up. With the path inside secured, the dark one follows behind him.

Inside, there’s little light, just the flickering of candles and dancing shadows along walls lined with various leather belts, tools, and other memorabilia from heists and conquests. What was once just a shop or a storage attic has been converted into a den, a refuge with bookshelves, curtains, and a large velvet chair resting in front of an unlit fireplace.

“That’s…weird.”

The dark one, taking in the whole of the room, turns to his partner.

“What?”

“It’s just…my uncle told me that thieves in this town are always trying to do everything they can to keep others from stealing what they’ve already stolen. Traps, hidden weapons…you know, that sort of stuff."

“And?”

“And…there’s nothing. Either Pariah’s really good at hiding his gimmicks, or…he doesn’t have any.”

The dark one shrugs. He doesn’t even bother telling the fair one that he doesn’t care as he starts tossing the room, carelessly trying to dig through the various paraphernalia. The fair one is about to say something until…

“Found it.”

In a crate underneath a stack of books, the dark one produces a pair of shimmering gold bracers. There’s writing on them, etching of past owners and a historical record of countless battles. Amongst the various treasures in this room, these stand out as something unique, something absolutely wonderful.

As the fair one beams and goes to join the dark one in admiring their ill-gotten treasure…

“It never surprises me how foolish people can be when they think they have the advantage.”

Immediately, both men turn to face the source of the voice, coming from the velvet chair.

A roaring fire now resides nestled in the fireplace, and sitting in the chair is a man dressed in heavy leathers, a hood pulled over his face to where only his clenched jaw can be seen, the beginnings of a smirk curling on his lips.

As he swirls a glass of a dark liquor, this figure, this Pariah doesn’t turn to face the young thieves who have invaded his domicile, but it’s clear that their presence is intolerable. Their arrogance in daring to take from him is unconscionable.

Both the dark one and fair one tense up as if they’re ready to fight, and their expressions are that of anticipation and confidence. After all, why wouldn’t they be? It’s two against one, after all.

“You two don’t fully understand what you’re doing, do you? No, rather…you think you understand, but you don’t. How could you? You two are…young. Impressionable. Arrogant. Talented, maybe…but untested, untempered.”

“Save your breath, Pariah. I’ve already beaten your partner, and it looks as if he hasn’t bothered to show up.”

Pariah chuckles at that as he downs his liquor and tosses the glass into the fire, shattering the glass. He stands and cracks his neck as he says nothing. He looks at his young adversaries not with fear, and not even with anger. It’s…disappointing. Disgust.

But then, Pariah’s expression changes. Changes to one of smug admiration.

And the focus of his gaze turns from the duo…

…to right behind them.

*CRACK*

A blow to the back of the fair one’s head is enough to stagger, but not to knock out. It comes from seemingly nowhere, as a figure in pitch-dark robes and a similar shrouding hood drives an elbow into the fair one. The dark one doesn’t even flinch at this as the fair one turns to face the robed assailant, shaking the pain as he squares up, falling back to his boxing training.

“You think that will save you?”

The voice of the Magi, a figure known to be unbalanced and unhinged, a cackling mad maniac…is cold. Focused. Razor sharp as he regards his young adversary.

“Listen, you insect. I’m a dangerous man, and my uncle…”

“NOBODY! CARES!”

The fair one is shocked by the sudden outburst and, as if in reflex, goes to swing for the head of Magi…and misses wildly, hitting only shadows. Dark tendrils of night swirl around the fair one as the voice of the Magi calls out, sourceless and echoing.

“I’ve had my fun ruined by the actions of your associate, young fighter. And I’ve determined that it’s time to show you just how out of your depth you truly are. Combat skills alone can’t save you. And your dear uncle, a meaningless pawn with minimal glories and a legacy of treachery and deceit is ALL you have to hang your hat on? You are WORTHLESS TRASH! The end product of a series of nepotistic avoidances of consequence, and you have the TEMERITY to try and take what we have fought so hard for?”

More lashes of darkness shoot out, wrapping themselves around the fair one’s arms, legs, and neck. The bindings of shadows coil like fingers, tightly and unrelentingly. The fair one tries to struggle, tries to break free…

He cannot.

He tries to shout for assistance, from the dark one or his uncle, anybody…

His pleas fall on deaf ears.

No training, no pedigree, none of his past can save him from the present, or reclaim his future as the shadow tendrils drag him into the dark, where the Magi holds court.

“Kehahahahaha…what’s the matter? Where’s your patron? Your confidence? Your skill? What’s left, when none of those things will save you or your…’partner’ from the terrors that I will unleash upon you for the humiliation you have inflicted me with. Maybe after I’ve listened to the symphony of your screams…maybe then, I’ll be able to have fun again. Kehahaha…”

Screams.

Blood-choked gurgling.

The sound of flesh ripping and bones breaking.

We hear nightmares. We see none as the dark one continues to face down Pariah, all the while not lifting a finger or moving a muscle to aid his own partner.

“You, uh…you want to do anything about that?”

Pariah’s all-too casual question is in stark contrast to the continued sounds of nightmarish, gruesome sounds that are starting to become fainter and fainter as light returns to that section of the room.

“Guess not. After all, this ‘team’ of yours isn’t the endgame for you, right? Truth is, I get it. I never gave much thought to teamwork myself until recently. The Bracers were never something I felt compelled to chase after. Hells, I really only wanted them because the scuzzballs holding them needed to be taken down several notches.”

“Spare me the lecture. I beat your partner and I’ll…”

“‘You’ll…what? Beat me? Hmm, I suppose it’s possible you could’ve gotten a sneaky win against me like you did Magi. But, that time is past. You made sure of that when you managed to avoid Magi ripping you apart. If I’m being honest, it would’ve been better for you to just take your beating and move on to the Idol you’re really after. You’ve made it clear that mine and Magi’s Bracers are not what you REALLY want. You haven’t even looked at them since you got here…not really.”

To Pariah’s point, the dark one drops the Bracers, disregarding them just as the older thief loosens up the muscles in his neck. The dark one continues to stare down Pariah, ignoring the whispers of torment from the fair one, being consumed by darkness.

“You’re not unstoppable. And I’m so much more than…”

“Yeah, I know who you’ve been talking to. And you think that makes you stronger? That your new ‘allies’ will give you what you want? Shadows can conceal, can provide information and knowledge beyond what you can find in the light…but they always have a price. More importantly? Where do you think those shadows of yours go when they want to hide, when they need to seek refuge?”

THAT causes the dark one’s stoic, confident expression to falter. He stands his ground as Pariah gets up close, face-to-face.

“I have endured the dark roads and shadowy haunts ever since I was a boy. I’ve seen what wonders and horrors await beyond dawn’s light. And you think that a gutter wretch like you, a lowlife thug who thinks the world owes him for his suffering and believes he understands what dark forces he deals with is enough? Enough to achieve glory? Enough to rise up and defeat us?

“Boy…you tread upon paths you’re not prepared to walk. You’ve stumbled into an opportunity you’re ill-equipped to take advantage of, nor do you have to desire to grasp it. And the most damning thing of all is that, for all your shadow dealings, you’re chosen to challenge men who call those shadows home."

Pariah closes the distance. Nose-to-nose with an increasingly agitated dark one, Pariah casually and dismissively brushes some dust off the younger man’s shoulder. Flicking the debris away, just as easily as he would brush him away.

“You should’ve stayed away. Kept your head down and focus on your own ambitions instead of trying to step to us. You were a diversion. Now, you’re a sacrifice. An example. A victim, yet again.”

The dark one is the first to crack. A violent attempt at a headbutt.

But his skull hits nothing but air.

Pariah circles around, grabbing the dark one’s arm and twisting it as muscle fiber tears and bones bend. The dark one attempts to spin and swing, reverting to a street-fighting instinct to get some distance.

All he gets is his head smashed into the wall, leaving behind a crater where his skull connected with the plaster. Fury, rage, indignation, and a sense of arrogant entitlement for the suffering he’s endured due to his own poor choices continues to fuel the dark one as he staggers and tries to keep fighting.

It’s pointless.

It was never meant to be.

Three straight punches to the dark one’s nose cause it to erupt in blood as Pariah grabs him by the throat. The almost cocky assurance is gone, replaced by a murderous glower.

Playtime is well and truly over.

“You should’ve kept your head down. Should’ve stopped pretending that you were good enough to achieve more than your limited reach was prepared to grasp. Magi and I fought too damn hard for our prize to let a couple up-jumped thugs like you take them. So, if you want to be treated like the big time threats you think you are? I’ll go ahead and grant your wish. And we’ll deal with you as thoroughly as we would any other. Best pray that there’ll be enough left of you and your ‘friend’ to kill each other over the Idol after Magi and I are done with you.”

Mercy was never an option.

Not when such a valuable prize was at risk.

The dark one overestimated the influence of his shadows.

And is about to burn in even darker shadows.

Without even a hint of hesitation or remorse, Pariah condemns the dark one to the fire.

We don’t see the burning. We don’t see flesh rendered into ash, fat burn and bubble.

But we do hear the screaming.

We hear the symphony of pain.

And the revelation of fear beyond the arrogance…

Spoiler: In Another World…

Outside of the Marrakech Stadium, we see three figures approach.

A man with short-cut black hair, dressed in a long black coat.

Another man whose face is shrouded by a locust mask, his long robe mirroring his partner.

A squat figure, his body covered head-to-toe.

“It’s almost time. Are you ready for this, Truth?”

“Yeah. Have to be. There’s no tomorrow.”

“We cannot afford to lose our championships to them.”

“We won’t. Even if we have to end those two.”

“Whatever it takes?”

“Whatever it takes.”

Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao, the FWA Tag Team Champions, share a nod. A light breeze causes their coat and robe to flutter.

The Dark Roads Alliance walk to their first title defense.

They do not walk to their last.

 

[Jazz Wolf]

HALLOWEEN KNIGHT​

TRASH MAMMAL​

AND

JUAN TOTHREFOR

ARE

TR1CK OR TR4SH

IN

“HEY! YOUR WRESTLING SCHOOL SUCKS!”

Smash cut to The Lucha Cave (It's just a disused classroom that no one else was using; look, it was either that or a dumpster or a haunted house. None of those were good options, so here we are.) Where we see Halloween Knight and Juan Tothrefor deep in a discussion as they slap cards down onto the teacher’s desk.

"So that's how I would personally rank all the Friday movies, the beginning, of course, with Jason going to space." Halloween Knight declared, slapping his palm on the desk in triumph.

"Man, that's so interesting." Juan Tothrefor noted, gazing attentively. "Not the scary movie stuff. I couldn't really care less about that stuff, but I enjoy hearing people counting down numbers. I love countdowns. Someone should do a countdown of people’s favourite wrestling matches of all time…"

“Don’t you mean ‘best’ matches?”

“No, amigo. ‘Favourite’. They’re not the same thing.”

Halloween Knight looked like he might want to debate that, before reconsidering. "So anyway, numbers are kind of your thing…?"

"Si. Spooky scary movies are kind of your thing."

"Si. Do you think we can have an interesting conversation without talking about spooky things or numbers?"

Juan stared at him, as if he had spontaneously grown a second head, and the second head was chanting Gregorian hymns slightly off-key. "Why would we do that?"

"I mean, we can try, right?"

Juan shrugged. "Sure."

A long, uncomfortable silence ensured. Even the hypothetical Gregorian hymn chanting second head would've fallen quiet out of the sheer awkwardness.

“Have you seen Saw-”

BOOM-! With as much force as an oversized rodent can muster, which is both surprisingly less and surprisingly more than what one would assume, Trash Mammal kicked in the door, getting the attention of his fellow luchadores.

"A ROIGHT FUCKIN' TRAVESTY, LADS."

"Oh, thank God." Juan sighed.

Saving them from an actual conversation, Trash Mammal stormed into the room and hurled over a few chairs with ANGER; he then looked around for another but found none, so he just gently and with no small amount of care placed it back upright...and then flipped it over again.

"OH, I'M MAD, I'M A FIERY HOT FUZZ BALL OF ANGER." Trash Mammal declared, verbally stating his emotions as if it were a shitty broadway play.

Juan slammed his hands on the desk in horror. "WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING YOU MOTHER FUCKER-! YOU NEVER MESS WITH A TEACHER AND A CLASSROOM. THAT'S TOO FAR."

Trash Mammal squeaked a halfhearted apology, as Juan rushed forward and took the time to fix every chair in the room, all the while counting, and then he crouched down low and held one of them close to his body. "Don't worry, mi amor. The raccoon can't hurt you anymore."

"I ain't a racc- nevermind, sorry Juan, I'm just… Gawdamnit!" Trash Mammal slammed what appears to be a flier for a wrestling school on the desk. Immediately, Halloween Knight and Juan recognised the ugly face emblazoned across it. It was one of their opponents for their upcoming debut match as a Trio. Trevor Walker.

"And this is.. ?" Halloween Knight asked, gently prodding the flyer.

"A SCAM, SKELLY!" Trash Mammal shrieked indignantly, shaking a fist impotently. "A dirty, dirty fraudulent scheme, created by a liar and a cheat!"

Juan nodded, following along. "Because he's scamming gullible idiots out of their money to teach them wrestling."

Trash Mammal suddenly fell silent.

"Oh, right. Yeah, I've seen these flyers, only an absolute buffoon would fall for them."

Trash Mammal looked incredibly nervous.

"What kind of moron would fall for this?" Juan asked, chuckling. Halloween Knight snickered. Trash Mammal brayed with laughter, a bit louder and more visibly forced.

The laughing slowly quietened down, as Juan and Knight stared at Trash Mammal, who found the floor to be very interesting to look at right now.

Eventually, Trash Mammal cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. "Look, the flyer looked real convincing-like at the bottom of the dumpster."

Halloween Knight bit back a smirk. "How much did you give him?"

"12 dollars and 50 cents." Trash Mammal grumbled beneath his breath.

"Oh, that's not so bad-"

"IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF THE THING!" Trash Mammal exploded. "STOP LAUGHING, THE FLYER WAS REAL CONVINCING!"

"He's right, Knight!" Juan said, as Halloween Knight stopped trying to hide his laughter. "12 dollars and 50 cents?! That's a lot of money. That's like one....two...three....four..."

"You see what you've done now? You've started off Juan."

"I WILL NOT APOLOGIZE FOR MY ART."

"I mean, I could just give you 13 dollars right now." Halloween Knight started fishing around in the pockets of his Lucha gear, trying to find his wallet and tossing out various fake spiders and emergency Halloween candy. Trash Mammal quietly scooped a bit of expired Halloween candy and shoved it into Juan's gullet, thereby stopping the counting but briefly starting a mild bout of asphyxiation.

"Sure, we COULD do that…" Trash Mammal began, rubbing his hands together. "Or we can pull off THE HOIST OF THE CENTURY AND GET MY MONEY BACK FROM THAT LYING BASTARD!"

"Yeah, no, that seems to be the only sensible option in this situation."

-=-=-=-

DAY ONE

So, the boys headed off to WWE, the Walker Wrestling Experience, to get Trash Mammal’s money back. They stood outside the front of the rundown building on the nondescript street and studied the sign which was hanging on to the front of the building for dear life. Juan stepped forward with Trash Mammal a couple of paces behind, but Halloween Knight grabbed both of them on the shoulder.

“What’s the problem, amigo?”

“We can’t just go in there dressed like this! They’re going to know who we are! No, we need disguises…” Halloween Knight said as he reached into the trick or treat basket in his left hand. He produced a leather jacket, a surgeon’s scrubs and a number of other items of occupational clothing spilled onto the ground.

“How much stuff can you fit in there?” Trash Mammal idly wondered, picking up a cheerleading pompom.

“We don’t need disguises. We’re already wearing masks!” Juan protested, but already Trash Mammal had begun to rummage through the various costumes on the ground.

Trash Mammal brandished a comically large pirate hat and quickly found the accompanying eyepatch, plastic sword, frilled shirt and inflatable parrot. “Arrrrrr! Llámame El Capitán de la Basura!”

“I’m Chad Bradley. I’m a jock with a heart of gold and coach says if I keep practicing like I am, then I’m going to be playing college ball next year.” Halloween Knight blurted out, wearing a leather jacket and smoking a cigarette, before Juan could even process what was happening. “What about you, amigo? Who are you going to be?”

“Ummm… how about I am just a luchador?”

“No, no. You can’t approach this in this way, Juan. This school, it’s terrible but who knows? We might actually learn something about ourselves here. The only way to do that is to step outside our comfort zones a bit. So come on, pick something from the costume pile. You can do this, amigo.”

Juan paused for a moment and looked at the mess of fabric at his feet. Before he thought about what he could be, he placed a hand on Halloween Knight’s shoulder and nodded. He was grateful to have someone watching his back after his ordeal with The Great Maru and the feeling that no one cared about him. Something stood out to him and he pulled up a red, white and blue jumpsuit and a helmet. “I’m a daredevil. Thanks, Hall-”

“No, no. I’m Chad Bradley. Come on, let’s do this.”

"... Ain't that whatshisface's jumpsuit? The friend of the karate fella?"

Halloween Knight shrugged. Once all three were dressed in their customized outfits (whilst they were wearing outfits of a jock, a pirate and a daredevil, all three still wore their own very personalized and very recognizable wrestling masks), they entered the training facility. The reception area was dingy and bare. A chipped wooden table was the only real sort of furnishing other than the decaying plant in the corner of the room that had clearly not been attended to in some time. Almost as decayed was the middle-aged woman sitting behind the table, who refused to look up from her notepad even as the three approached her.

“Names?”

“Chad Bradley.”

“Juan Knieval.”

“EL CAPITÁN DE LA BASURA!”

“Registration fee?”

“Huh?”

“Que?”

“Twelve dollars and fifty cents.”

It had not dawned on them that even with these disguises, they would have to pay to gain access to the course. Begrudgingly, the three luchadors reached into their costumes and extracted the required funds and placed the three bills and fifty cent coin into the woman’s hand. Juan and Halloween Knight then walked through into the main training area out of the foyer. The receptionist glanced at Trash Mammal, noting his defeated posture. "You already fell for it, didn't ya? Get in there, or don't, I don't really give a rats ass."

Grumbling, Trash Mammal entered the training area as he threw down his pirate outfit and left it in the reception area, offended by the mention of rat’s asses as well given his bond with the creatures. He walked through the same door as his friends and was greeted with the familiar setting from the ten minutes of class he had previously attended. Juan and ‘Chad’ were waiting for him.

“What happened to your costume?”

“Shuddup!” Trash Mammal said, in a hurried whisper. He motioned with his head towards a door at the back of the room, on the other side of the ring and next to the toilets. “That’s his office where he has the safe and the money. We need to get in there and get my money back. Let’s-”

“ROLL CALL!”

A loud bellow emanated from the same door that our heroes were looking at and it swung open to reveal an out of shape man bordering on sixty years old who marched towards the ring in the middle of the room. He rolled into the ring with some difficulty and motioned for all of the trainees present to surround the ring. The Tr1ck or Tr4sh members noted some of their fellow trainees; a large man loomed over a number of smaller men and stood with his arms crossed, a young man was wearing blue trunks with letters all over them, Ground Zero alumni Lou Cha and then a dozen other very generic-looking men and women of all ages and athletic backgrounds.

“Now listen here, maggots. Welcome. My name is Tony Carnt. I’m the guy that’s in charge and I’m the guy that’s going to give you a chance to actually make something of your worthless and pathetic lives.

You might think that you’re in the big leagues now, but you’re not worth shit in this business until you’ve accomplished everything that I have in this ring. None of you - not one of you - are my equal. And you want to know why? It is because I’m more experienced than you and I know what works and what doesn’t. So what’s going to happen here is that you’re all going to shut your damn mouths and do what I say and maybe someday you might actually be more than the disappointments that I see in front of me right now!”

Carnt seemed deathly serious and was not playing the role of a drill instructor, however his talking down to multiple-time Art of Lucha Television Champion Juan Tothrefor (who had undoubtedly had thrice the career of his new trainer) caused our three heroes to stifle laughs and Halloween Knight’s attempt to do so was not as good as the other two because he blurted out a loud guffaw.

This of course drew the ire of Carnt from in the ring and he pointed at ‘Chad’. “You think you’re some sort of big shot because you’re an athlete? You’re no athlete!”

“Ahem.” Juan cleared his throat loudly. “Are you going to actually teach us something or just stand there and insult us all day?”

“Daredevil? You’re some sort of tough guy, huh? You’re no tough guy! I’ll prove it, too! I’lll teach you a damn lesson as well. At the end of this three day crash course I’m going to fight this daredevil in this ring and you’ll see… you’ll see.

But for now? Your first lesson is one of discipline. There’s a whole line of cars outside and they all need washing! You head out there, get a sponge and a bucket and you make those bastards shine!”

Juan stood with his hands on his hips as he realized that this ‘wrestling school’ was most likely a way for Carnt to get free labour for his car washing business, but he was already relishing the chance to fight this idiot in the ring in two days’ time. Halloween Knight caught up with him and Trash Mammal as they retrieved their equipment. “Hey, I was just talking to Lou Cha - he’s done this course eight times… what a chump. Anyway, there’s a couple of people we need to look out for that could cause some trouble for our plan.”

‘Chad’ first pointed to the very tall man who was the only one that could reach the roof of the Land Rover at the front of the line without a ladder. “That’s Elliot Vega. Big guy. Mean.”

He then put their attention towards the younger man with letters on his wrestling gear. He was laughing with a group of other trainees, clearly very popular. “That’s Alphabet Man. Not only a wrestler but he fancies himself as some sort of superhero, too. Wants to bring the world together in harmony or some caca. Anyway, any ideas of how to get Basura’s money back?”

“Si. This fight that I’m going to have with him will be the perfect diversion. Whilst that is going on, you two sneak into the office and get the money back.”

Halloween Knight and Trash Mammal both nodded and laughed as the plan began to come together…

“QUIT LAUGHING AND GET SCRUBBING.”

-=-=-=-=-

DAY TWO

“Why do we gots ta wait until day three? Why not… Just go for it roight from the start?”

“Because we gotta earn this guys’ trust.”

“Because I wanna kick that guys’ ass.”

“That too.”

Our three heroes boldly approached the training facility of this wrestling school, passing the decrepit old reception lady who looked like the invisible hands of hell were doing their best to drag her down into their grasp. She idly glanced at the trio, doing a crossword puzzle.

“Afternoon, Knieval.” The receptionist rattled, blinking dryly.

Juan politely nodded. “Afternoon, miss.”

“Afternoon, Mammal.”

Trash Mammal dismissively waved a hand. “Yeah, yeah, mornin’ Sharon.”

“Afternoon… Chad.” The receptionist greeted, slowly taking her glasses off.

Halloween Knight shivered, and abruptly pushed past Juan & Trash to get into the gym and away from the receptionist as fast as possible. The trio scurried into the gym, taking some seats on one of the many empty bleachers, as in the ring, Tony Carnt stood, prized student Elliot Vega next to him.

“-Which is why I’m no longer allowed in the country of Monaco. Anyway, for today’s lesson, we’re going back to the basics. We’re going to something that excels at STORYTELLING. None of this flippy-floppy-hippity-hopping bullshit, none of this cinematic superhero faceoffs that always get a bazillion clicks. No, we’re going with something everyone can see, everyone can do, and everyone can appreciate - CHOPS. I need a volunteer!” Tony Carnt shrieked.

Exactly zero hands went up.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to pick… RANDOMLY.” Tony stated. “Eeenie, meanie, miney, mo…”

“Wait, eenie meanie miney mo isn’t random.” Juan noted, as Tony pointed a finger, one by one. “It’s a numbers game, simple as that, giving the illusion of randomization. Just don’t be the sixteenth person in line and you won’t get picked.”

“Roight, roight. What number are we, then?” Trash Mammal asked.

Juan quickly did some calculations, then stared at Halloween Knight expectantly.

“Why are you staring at m- oh.” Halloween Knight blinked, then quickly glanced around. “Hey, Lou, come sit with us for a minute!” He said.

Lou Cha, surprised that someone knew his name, raised his head. “What? Oh, h-hey, Chad!” He greeted, voice wavey and cracking, as the local bad boy with a heart of gold waved him over. “W-wow, Chad, you’re looking cooler than usual today.” He nervously said, somehow completely not recognizing his fellow Ground Zero alumni.

“Uh-huh.” Knight nodded impassively, effortlessly picking Lou up and depositing him between him & Juan. “We good?”

Juan nodded.

Immediately, Tony Carnt pointed at Lou. “MO! Lou Cha, come on down!”

“Oh boy!” Lou cried, waving his flabby arms. “My time to shine! Wish me luck, guys!”

“Good luck, Lou.” Halloween Knight mumbled. Lou swooned.

“Thanks Chad-”

“I really don’t want to be Chad anymore.”

Lou Cha stumbled into the ring, with all the grace of an entirely drugged out sloth. Tony motioned for him to move towards a corner, arms out, chest splayed, as Elliott Vega wound up for a chop.

“Now! Elliott here is going to chop Lou Cha’s chest until I say so, in order for Lou to build a resistance to pain, and in order for the rest of you lot to appreciate the effort that goes into chops.” Tony decreed. “Any questions?”

Lou raised a hand. “Mr. Carnt, uh, I did this demonstration last week. And the week before that. And the week-”

-SLAP-

“OUCHIE MAMA-”

“Now, notice how Lou’s chest is already bleeding.”

“That’s because I have fragile skin, Mr. Carnt. My doctor said I-”

-SLAP-

“HOOoooooooooOOOO.”

“In order to toughen Lou’s body up, we’ll need to callous his skin to be thicker, more absorbent. We don’t hold hands and play nice. Wrestling is a killer violent sport! Don’t be afraid to concuss someone and take their spot.”

“But-”

-SLAP-

“MY EPIDERMIS.”

Tony suddenly glanced at his phone, and began shaking, turning red. “Someone just @’d me saying I was mid! This must not go unanswered.” He mumbled, stopping away from the ring towards his office. “You lot just stay the course, I have to RATIO this motherfucker.” He shouted over his shoulder, disappearing behind a door.

There was a beat of silence.

-SLAP-

Lou made a noise that sounded akin to a dying whale.

“So… We’re just supposed to watch this for…” Knight glanced at the other two, who collectively shrugged.

-SLAP-

The sound that came out of Lou’s mouth was a lot like the sound a bird makes when being sucked into a jet turbine.

“Well, we can’t rob this guy when he’s locked himself in his office to yell at people on Twitter.”

“It’s called X.”

“Eh?”

-SLAP-

Lou sounded like his soul was fighting to stay within his own body.

“Twitter. It’s called X now.”

“That’s fuckin' stupid, I ain't calling it that.”

“So, what can we do?”

-SLAP-

Lou’s ribcage sounded like it was violently protesting being part of his skeleton.

“How’s about we get a scope of the big bad competition.” Trash Mammal declared, getting up and stretching, before moving towards the ring. “Dis is moi time to shine! Pay attention, lads.”

Juan & Knight exchanged a glance, before collectively shrugging, and following. Trash Mammal climbed onto the ring apron, as Elliott Vega reeled in for another big chop at Lou Cha’s chest. Elliott paused, glancing dismissively at Trash, who leaned on the ropes, idly watching. Lou, his chest a dark blue mass of bruises, exhaled a sigh of relief for the temporary reprieve from chops.

“... Can I help you?” Elliott asked, hand hovering in midair whilst Lou quivered beneath him.

Trash Mammal shrugged. “Nah. Jus’ takin’ notes.”

Elliott nodded sternly. “... Right.”

-SLAP-

“AEUIO.”

“He makes some pretty rad noises when you chop him.” Trash noted, as Juan & Knight joined him on the apron. “So, big tall and mysterious, where’ya from?”

Elliott stared once again, gazing somewhere up and to the left. “Somewhere, where your petty laws and civilization, are unbound.”

“Florida, gotcha.” Trash nodded.

“NO, NOT FUCKING FLORIDA.” Elliott snarled. Must be a sore topic. Trash Mammal withered, and likely shrunk an inch underneath Elliott’s icy gaze.

“Don’t make him upset, his chops are notably harder when he’s angered!” Lou cried.

-SLAP-

“MY NIPPLE-”

“Oh wow, that’s a color you don’t normally see on a human body.” Juan noted, taking a picture.

“Roight, roight, aaaaan’ what brings ya to this here…” Trash Mammal waved a hand dramatically at the shitty gym around them. “... Foine establishment.” He said, saying the words ‘fine establishment’ the same way one would say ‘hemorrhaging sewerage pipe.’

Elliott dramatically exhaled, staring pensively into the distance. “Ah. I was worried you wouldn’t ask me about my tragic yet badass backstory.”

“Nah, I don’t mean justification fer why you’re such a piece of shit, jus’ why you’re here. In this gym. Playing pattycake with Lou’s chest.” Trash Mammal clarified.

-SLAP-

“AWOOGAH.”

Alas, it seems Elliott didn’t hear Trash’s clarification over the sound of his palm tenderizing Lou’s chest. “It all started when I was very young. For you see, I was friends with a little boy. We traded Pokemon cards. Then one day, he moved away.”

There was a brief, tepid silence. A single tear fell from Elliott’s eye, as somewhere, a violin wailed.

“Is… Is that it?” Halloween Knight asked, audibly disappointed.

Elliott blinked, taken aback. “What? No, wait, I didn’t tell it right.”

“I mean- did you not know how to write letters, or-?”

“No, no, just- hold on, let me explain.” Elliott scrambled, flustered. “Alright, just -this might sound really a bit weird, so you’ll have to let me finish. For years, I lied awake at night, dreaming of that little boy-”

“We’re talking about a kid in this context, right?” Juan noted, taking a visible step back.

“This is why I said you have to let me finish. Now, I picture him as an adult now - See?” Elliott stared pointedly, until our heroes rolled their eyes and gestured for him to continue. “And I imagine that he still has those Pokemon cards of mine he traded, so when I’m finally able to track him down, I can beat the stuffing out of him, retrieve my cards, and walk into the sunset, secure in my delivery of JUSTICE.”

Juan squinted. “There are just… Cards, right? Bits of paper. They’re pretty replaceable, y’know.”

“But… No, he was like a brother to me. The betrayal-”

“Brothers are also replaceable.” Trash Mammal helpfully offered.

“Yeah, there’s really no need to travel, like, everywhere and anywhere, hunting down this guy. Just go to your local hot topic and grab a pack for eight dollars. Boom, job done.”

“Well… Hm.” Elliott sagged. “There goes my motivation.”

“Yup. Sounds like you need a new motivation.”

Elliott glanced at the three luchadors, then hitched a breath. “Do you… Do you think I could…”

“No.”

“Aw.”

…

-SLAP-

“GAWD WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME-”

-=-=-=-

DAY THREE

Before entering the school for the final day of their beginner’s wrestling course, the three professional wrestlers congregated outside the training facility as they had done on their first day. Passers-by were confused as to why a jock wearing a Halloween mask, a masked stuntman and a man dressed as a giant rat were huddled in the middle of a busy walkway, but these guys were scheming. A huddle was absolutely crucial.

“So, we’re all set on what the plan is, amigos?”

“Si. I finally get to show that idiot what real wrestling and real lucha is whilst the two of you sneak into his office and get Basura’s money back. I can make this exhibition go for as long or short as I need it to. In fact, the longer the better. I will make him suffer.” Juan slowly nodded his head and spoke with gusto, but his random outpouring of bloodlust seemed to unsettle his companions somewhat.

“Maybe tone it down just a scratch, Juan…?"

“Sorry, amigos. Just after we made a fool out of Vega yesterday, there’s a spot for a ‘ruthless badass’ open in the group.”

“IT’S GONNA BE ME!”

They had not noticed that Lou Cha had joined their huddle. Although they would have been forgiven for not recognizing him considering he was covered in bandages from head to toe after what happened during the previous day’s demonstration.

“Have you guys had a chance to reconsider, or…” Another head poked in, politely towering over the others.

“Vega? Get the fuck out of here! What’s the point of having a private huddle if anyone can join it?" Trash Mammal hissed. "Lou, move along as well.”

Tr1ck or Tr4sh tutted and shook their heads in disgust as Lou and Vega left them alone and returned to their huddle with just the three of them.

“Why are we back in the huddle? We don’t have anything else to talk about?”

The three of them entered the reception area and greeted Sharon (Trash Mammal did so with an agitated grumble) and saw that in the main training room that Tony Carnt was already waiting in the ring. He pointed in the direction of Juan Tothrefor.

“Knieval! Are you ready? I can count on one hand the amount of times that you’re going to be able to catch me!”

“Oh, I love counting, senor.” Juan said with a smirk. He turned to his partners and nodded. “You know what to do, amigos. See you on the other side.”

Juan stepped into the ring and began to tussle with Carnt as ‘Chad’ and Trash Mammal backed towards the wall of the gymnasium and shuffled slowly around it. This was of course an attempt at stealth, but by doing this instead of simply walking to their destination - the door to Carnt’s office - they actually drew more attention to themselves. It didn't help that Halloween Knight was loudly humming the Mission Impossible theme, and off-key at that. Eventually, they reached the door and watched as already Juan was contorting the trainer’s body in ways that it had never been done.

“You ready?”

“Uh-huh. Are you ready?”

“Si. You sure?”

“Go inside!”

Trash Mammal turned the knob and slinked into the room whilst Halloween Knight took one final cursory glance to make sure that the coast was clear before he followed TM inside.

“Here to break into the safe, gentlemen?”

The voice took them both by surprise and they saw that Alphabet Man was sitting behind the desk waiting for them, slouching on the desk, as if it were a particularly comfortable couch. Trash & Knight nearly leapt out of their skin, and they both acted very sheepishly, as if they weren't openly and blatantly intruding.

“Safe? What is safe? No hablo ingles.” Trash Mammal mumbled, avoiding eye contact.

“I feel safe, if that’s what you’re talking about, amigo.” Halloween Knight offered, casually waving a hand.

Alphabet Man rolled over on the desk, kicking his legs on the air as he gazed at the two intruders. “I heard the three of you talking in your little huddle earlier on. You’re going to use the massacre happening out there as a distraction to come in here and get your money back, right?”

“Whose idea was the huddle because it really fucking failed?” Trash Mammal hissed in dismay.

“Do you… have a problem with that?” Halloween Knight raised an eyebrow, noting The Alphabet Man's slack, casual, relaxed posture.

“Well, stealing… is inherently wrong. But I’m sure an argument could be made that we have been the victims of theft ourselves as this course has been nothing but a waste of time and money. It is a moral conundrum and one that is going to take some thought. Who is right? Who is wrong? Is anyone right? Is anyone wrong? So, so many questions with so many different answers…”

Alphabet Man leaned back in the chair and looked up at the ceiling. Conversely, Trash Mammal and ‘Chad’ stood still, perplexed. Trash Mammal glanced at the ceiling, wondering exactly what was so eye-inticing about it.

“Why does it matter?”

“You think too much, amigo.”

“What are you talking about? How is it possible-”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Am I?”

“Yup.”

“How-”

“Stop asking so many fuckin' questions! Live in the moment! These hypotheticals and what ifs… if you spend too much time thinking about all of that, how will you get anything done, Alphabites?”

“You know… because you’re in here, talking to us, when out there Juan will be showing everyone else the first thing that you could actually learn something from. So if I was you, I’d be out there and turning a blind eye to whatever may or may not be happening in here, amigo.”

As if hypnotised, Alphabet Man rose from the seat and exited the office to witness Juan in action against their trainer. As the door swung open, Carnt’s screams of agony could be heard. Shrugging at how easy that was, Trash Mammal crouched down in front of the safe in the corner of the room and was joined by Halloween Knight.

“How are we going to open it? It has to be locked, right?”

“Does it have to be?”

Halloween Knight pulled on the handle and the safe swung open. Neither of them were sure what they were expecting to see, but Trash Mammal’s gasp proved to be premature as there was no more than a couple hundred dollars in the safe. Carefully he began to count out twelve dollars and fifty cents.

“Juan will be so upset that he’s missing this.”

“That’s it. Let’s get out of here.”

They closed the safe, pocketing Trash Mammal's money with a high five and then walked back through the door. Alphabet Man and the rest of the students were absolutely enthralled by Juan as they watched him move around the ring and inflict punishment on Carnt. ‘Chad’ gave Juan the signal and he then nodded before knocking Carnt down with his Counting Stars signature move. After the final kick, he stood over the trainer and held his arms in the air.

“Now, amigos. The final thing you must learn is that all opponents, regardless of what they’ve said and done to you… must be shown respect. I have known disrespect before and I have been told that I am not good enough or not worth someone’s time. Now, I think I have proven to you all that our trainer here is not good enough. He is not someone who should be trusted to teach others. He lacks ability, humility and most of all, he lacks respect.

Whilst he does not show me the respect I show him now, in just a few short moments I assure all of you that he will. Because even though he is not on my level and he does not appreciate how I like to conduct my business in this ring, I will treat him like I would any other.”

With that, Juan positioned himself and then trapped the hapless trainer in his Mexican Surfboard finishing move. Within seconds, Carnt shrieked in pain and shook his head.

“ALRIGHT! I ADMIT IT! I WAS WRONG! JUST STOP, PLEASE! PLEASE!”

Juan dropped the trainer and then met with Halloween Knight and Trash Mammal on the outside of the ring. Juan and ‘Chad’ then removed their disguises to reveal their true visages. Lou Cha still did not recognise either of them, nor Trash Mammal who looked exactly as he did when on Ground Zero with Lou. Disappointingly, this reveal did not do anything for the rest of the students either, who quickly went back to their business.

“What was the point of the disguises if we were going to take them off anyway?”

“Well, we got Basura’s money back!"

"Yeah! Eat my ass, Walker Wrestling Experience! I got my money back!" Trash Mammal declared, triumphant as he flipped te bird to the aching Tony Carnt.

Several of the students blinked. "Walker Wrestling Experience? That shitheap of a school?" Elliot noted, tilting a head. "You must be confused."

"Indeed." The Alphabet Man nodded. "This is the school of AEW. Average Everyday Wrestlers, I believe he said?"

Our heroes paused, quietly exchanging glances.

"Y'know, I did wonder why we didn't see Trevor Walker teaching here." Trash Mammal noted.

"Did… Did we spend three days at the wrong school? Did we rob a school that didn't even take your money?" Halloween Knight pointed out, incredulous.

There was a brief pause.

"It's the principle of the thing, I've decided." Trash Mammal replied.

The three laughed and high fived before leaving the facility together. Trash Mammal and Halloween Knight led the way and Juan looked on at them approvingly. He was pleased to have made some friends at long last in the FWA after his first few months had been filled with disappointment.

It was also at this moment that he realised that, even though they got Trash Mammal’s money back, that he and Halloween Knight also had to pay to get in, so this training facility was still up... Plus, technically, Walker still had Trash Mammal's money, soooo…

Eying his oblivious celebratory partners, Juan pondered whether to bring this to his partners’ attention, but decided not to. It was time to focus on their first match as a team.

They were going to win.

Juan was counting on it.​

 

[THEDEVILHIMSELF]

Blake Taylor is driving camera on the dashboard, as he is frustrated after his unsuccessful efforts in his previous contest.

Blake Taylor: The Prodigal Son





Death Walker, Im a man of many words, and I back up every word that Ive ever said, last time I fought Sawyer Xavier he beat me, the time before that, I choked him out with the Dream Inducer choke hold.Death Walker, I promise you that I will make you tap out within 2 minutes of our match, you don’t have the heart and the backbone to be in a ring with a legitimate gangster, Im not what you are accustomed to I will bring the punish to you and hurt you 5 different ways.
Im tired of this company always overlooking me and not giving me what I want, FWA is a sleezeball organization just like you’re a sleezeball wrestler Death Walker. I promise that you have never faced anyone quite like me a man who can knock you out and choke you out, which ever one I decide on that given night, your just another Madison Gray and Sawyer Xavier, a victim, a victim of circumstance and some whos walking into a match with the most danger man on the planet.



Blake chuckles and begins to smile as he begins to clear his throat before he talks again.


Blake Taylor: The Prodigal Son​

Death Walker, your facing a man who has loads of desperation and wants nothing more then to inflict pain onto you, when I put hands on you it might be the last time you ever walk into a FWA arena because Im going to hurt you and hurt you really, bad, what kind of a name is Death Walker any way? Sounds like a Zombie to be quite honest, or it sounds like exactly what you are a man whos gonna be walking Death when the most dangerous man on the FWA roster gets ahold of you, Death Walker I don’t have much to say to you as Im going to let my in ring performance do the talking for me, Im a very pissed off man right now and the desperation isn’t gonna make it anymore better for you. I can promise you that, between wanting to rip Madison Grays throat out, to wanting to choke Xavier until he dies in my clutches I promise you this isn’t a match you want to take,.



Blake Taylor chuckles one last time as he whipes his brow and smiles and turns the camera off angerly in disgust.​

 

[Death Walker]

If_I_Told_You_Once.mp4

“...So I showed them the way.”

Words that were stated with a growl…

“...yeah, I showed them and then…”

The male voice takes a deep breath then pauses.

“...and then there was nothing else… left unclear.”

The scene does a fade-in along a profile shot of Death Walker… under softbox lighting. And he appears to be sitting… in someone's photography studio and talking from within his demon skull mask. But (at the moment) remaining calm, the demented creature goes on to speak while discretely being filmed.

“Right now… there are different people… mostly fans asking, ‘Why? Oh why, oh why? Why did you attack our returning hero, Death Walker?’. And I don't know what the fuck they want me to say.”

Suddenly, Death rotates his head to the right, after making these remarks. The view pans out to reveal more in the surrounding area such as a green screen backdrop where he sits, photography equipment aligned in front and a photographer… whose neck is wedged between the concrete floor and the demon’s boot. In which, Walker keeps plenty of pressure applied while sharing his one-sided conversation.

“...But perhaps… I should try… to add more context. Which can be done afterwards… after we chat about… my next opponent of the week.”

Taking another deep breath then exhaling…

“This… Blake. Taylor. And these absurd delusions… DELUSIONS OF GRANDEUR! That’s what they call them.. but I call them… failed dreams… and false realities. Your desire to be the first to succeed in 3 combat sports… is just… preposterous. Blake… you are not and never will be the 1st, 2nd… or 3rd in a mental battle within your own head, let alone the best in any of these sports. I do find it very interesting that since Darius-... well, since I have appeared in FWA that all these other ‘monsters’ and ‘super evils’ have popped up as of late. And then, they declare themselves as the most evil creature to walk this Earth. But they still end up beaten down and less convincing about their desire to dominate it all. At some point, they give up the charade and return to their ordinary, pathetic lives. The lives that they were born into, the lives that they were born to be. However this here, who I am… it is not an act. It is not something that I just put on and wear because it looks cool. I do not head home to a suburban neighborhood and lifestyle when the cameras aren't rolling. I don't meet up with relatives (wherever the hell those fuckers are) for holidays and social gatherings. No, no… instead I CREATED MY OWN FAMILY… and what we celebrate… each and every day is the birth of a new era. One covered in darkness… unstoppable carnage… and dismay. The madness that rips away at our souls and we are the ones who answer the voices in our head. And when some of you cannot find your way or figure out what those voices are and how to handle them. That's where I step in. Me… for I am the frontrunner to ‘all HELL breaking loose’, a servant to the throne but also potential heir to it and the Gates of HELL. But more importantly, I am the hybrid… designed by both humanity and evil destruction. A wicked child… who understands… that although there are many who emulate being horrible, they are nothing like me. So it is because of this truth that I don't have to boast or explain about how much more evil I am compared to the likes of someone… well, like you. Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”

The demented laughs echo around the masked lunatic as the camera slides to the right while keeping The Dark Traveler as the main focus. The mystery operator continues to capture their fearless leader as he's still comfortably using the photographer as a footrest. Eventually Death Walker gets up from his seat, stepping on the lower back of his victim to walk away. Standing up and stretching his arms, he stares off into the distance for a couple of seconds. AND THEN… for no reason at all, The Death Walker grabs the photographer by an ankle and drags him across the floor.

Photographer: “Hey! Hey, man I did what you said! I did everything you asked!”

“Did you really, though?!? I mean… really?”

P: “I swear that's… that's everything… everything that I know. Just, please don’t hurt me.”

“Hurt you? I'm not trying to hurt you, I promise. No no no… but… the pain… I’ve gotta be honest with you. The pain… that's exactly what's going to hurt.”

Within a few seconds, this monster snapped one of his new victim’s legs in not one, not two but in three distinct places. However, the camera only showed the first snap before turning away in sheer horror from the erratic behavior taking place. And then the hollering and screaming began… from the excruciating agony that was dealt by your favorite demon. So… cutting over to the outside of the studio in broad daylight, The Death Walker comes out the front door. Wearing specks of blood now visible upon his mask, bare chest, knuckles, etc. Death pays no mind to his appearance as he cheerfully stroll down the block.

“There's nothing like taking a trip or two… back down memory lane. It always provides you with the proper solutions to your situations. Whether for something you did or gonna do, it gives you the necessary answers. So let's take a glimpse at another one of my memories from back in the day. Check this out…”

And almost instantly the visual of Death Walker slowly fades out while he’s treading the pavement and an image of a young Darius Wright walking this same street fades in. There's a bunch of other boys trailing behind him as Darius seems to be pissed off about something. Face frowned up with rage in his eyes, the 19 year old Darius was on a mission.

Boy #1: “...Nah, you tell him! I ain't gonna tell him shit!”

Boy #2: “Why I gotta tell him?! If he wanna do this then we got-”

DW stops right there in his tracks and turns around to the others to find out what's going on.

Darius Wright: “WHAT THE FUCK IS THE PROBLEM?! HUH?”

Boy #2: “Oh nothing! Nothing, D-Dub…”

Boy #1: “Well except… I mean… have you, I mean… um or have we…”

DW: “WHAT?!? HAVE WE WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK IS IT? SPIT IT OUT!!”

Boy #3: “I think they were gonna ask… why are we doing this? Does he even deserve our… help?”

DW: “The fuck you mean, does he deserve our help? He’s one of us, right? RIGHT?! He's paid his due, right? He’s put in his own work, am I right? So what's the real issue? Because the last time I remember, he's a part of this gang. OUR clique and if we abandon him then we're abandoning this gang shit. And that makes us nothing more than a bunch of bitches. We won't be shit! Now one of our homies need us as backup… and we're gonna fuck some shit up. For the gang, for our namesake… and for the hood. Let's rush these muthafuckas!”

And with those last words, Darius’s gang (sporting baggy clothes in mostly black as well as other colors) charged at the rival gang (who wore mostly green as their gang color). The boys threw fists after fists even adding some stomps to any fallen enemies. Battered, bloodied and beaten, laid one of their own on a set of porch steps. He was a scrawny, little shit who could only watch with a smile as his crew defended him. After a half hour of scrappin’, Darius and gang had gained the advantage over the other who retreated in fear.

DW: “YEAH! YEAH! AND KEEP Y’ALL BITCH ASSES FROM AROUND THIS SIDE OF SOUTH CENTRAL, FUCKIN’ PUSSIES!”

The gang in black takes time to recover from their wounds and battle scars. Wright approaches his fallen brethren in concern but…

DW: “And you… WHAT THE FUCK HAVE I TOLD YOU ABOUT PICKIN’ FIGHTS?! Huh? Your dumb ass never wanna listen”

The kid: “Look, D… I was just gon-”

Just as the little boy was giving his explanation, an elderly man shouted out from his front door where the gang was standing around.

Elderly man: “What in God’s name is going on out here? I’m gonna call the cops! You damn heathens get on my damn nerves! Get out of here with that riff raff!”

A furious Darius instantly reacted by taking steps towards the old man but the boys held him back.

Boy #3: “Don't do it, D. Come on, let's roll.”

Boy #4: “Yeah let's just head out.”

The whole gang (including the little kid) agrees with similar sentiments.

Gang: “COME ON!!! LET’S GO, LET’S MAKE A RUN FOR IT! D? D, COME THE FUCK ON! D??”

Not so easily persuaded, DW stared into the soul of the old man. As he snarled, still attempting to get within inches from the civilian. But then, he realized the outcome of this current situation if he didn't listen to his friends. So they all scatter down the block from which they came. And in a matter of minutes, none of the boys were seen anywhere.

The gang did meet back up in the safety of their hideout and a serious conversation had to be had, mainly between Darius and Lil’ Man.

DW: “...So you're tellin’ me there was no other way to handle that shit?! Uh uh, I ain't going for that bullshit. You know better, Lil’ Man!”

Lil’ Man: “What you mean, ‘I know better’? I was doing what needed to be done, I was doing what you would’ve done.”

DW: “But Lil’ Man, the problem is you're not me! You don't know what I know. You ain’t lived what I’ve lived. You ain't been what I’ve been through. Just like I don't know everything you've been through. I can respect the initiative and all but there's a whole protocol that WE’VE ALL agreed upon. That's how a real gang lasts for years and years and years… decades, muthafucka! You gotta think not just for yourself but on behalf of the muthafuckin’ gang. I could have left a lot of them lames dead but I chose to whoop their asses instead. But you see how the homies helped to calm me down!”

Lil’ Man: “Calm you down? Or just back you down?”

DW: “What? WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU SAY TO ME?! YOU WANNA DO SOMETHIN’? BITCH, BUST A MOVE!!”

The fellas now get in between the two of them as an altercation was on the rise. Most of the guys were holding Darius back because they knew what Darius was capable of doing with his hands and feet. Lil’ Man makes his way to his feet in an act of defiance towards his mentor and leader.

DW: “Ay, Lil’ Man… you're not ready. You're not prepared to do the shit I’ve done. Which ultimately means… you're not ready to be down with the gang.”

Lil’ Man: “What?! Not ready? Why the fuck not? Is it because I'm small or my age? Because I'm growing as fast as I can and I’m not even that young. I’M GODDAMN 13!!”

DW: “Yes… and at age 13, you are not ready to be in a gang. At least, not this muthafuckin’ gang. And that's because you're too damn reckless, immature and hardheaded! So you are indefinitely… benched… until further notice.”

Lil’ Man: “Man, Fuck you and fuck this gang! A bunch of sorry ass bitches!”

That's when Darius snatched his arms away from the grips of gang members. Then he held his hand up to signal for nobody to do anything as he would try to alleviate the issue himself.

DW: “Listen… I understand that you look up to me. You’ve studied me, you've imitated me. You’ve done it so much that got yourself believing you're me. Just look at the way you rock your hairstyle, the way you dress, the way you walk and talk… with the same attitude as me. However… you're forgetting that it's that same attitude that has gotten me in trouble, deep trouble. It's just that I’ve been fortunate to dig myself out of it. I don't want this for you, I do not want that for any of y’all.”

Lil’ Man: “...But I-”

DW: “But nothin’! This is not a negotiation or choice in this gang. Which is why… I wanna thank all of you… for the times that… you’ve kept me level headed and focused on the bigger picture. So for that, I thank you.”

The entire room is silent while the young guys try to avoid making eye contact or responding.

DW: “...Do y'all fuckin’ hear me?”

The whole gang: “...mm yeah.”

DW: “I SAID DO Y’ALL FUCKIN’ HEAR ME OR NOT?! Shit!”

The gang’s energy is lackluster with a resounding…

The gang: “YEAH! Yeah… we hear you, D-Dub…”

DW: “Ok then… So Lil' Man, let the situation with you and our enemies be over. Otherwise… the next time… I won't just kick your ass but I will be sure… to finish the job. You understand me?”

Death Walker's narration takes over for a moment while everyone else is hardly speaking.

“You would think… that someone who has tried to prove they were just as great if not greater than Darius Wright, would take heed to his advice. But not long after their discussion… did the little asshole intentionally agitate the gang leader. By pulling out a Ruger pistol and taking a shot…”


…


…


…


“...at Darius's head, Lil’ Man had sealed his fate for good. Because this is when you begin to crap yourself (ok maybe not literally). For Darius had masterfully dodged the incoming headshot in the nick of time. And now came the frightening part… it wasn't the fact that he had tried to kill someone. And it wasn't the fact that he was scared after firing a gun at someone no matter if his motive was fueled by anger and/or jealousy. No, the biggest fear right now for Lil’ Man… was the thought of what Darius Wright was gonna do.”

DW: “Well it looks like you've made your choice as a man. So now… you must deal with the consequences… as a man. Don't say a word. Just put your hands up. Put your fuckin’ hands up, Lil’ Man.”

As the other members watched in awe, knowing that there was nothing to stop the wrath of Darius Wright. He was in the mood to fight, so fight is what he would do. But you had to give credit where credit was due. The small boy had put up a tough exterior but deep down everyone knew he wasn’t gonna be a match for Darius Wright. And while they circled back and forth in their own fighting stance, Lil’ Man went for the first punch and it didn't connect. This left his guard wide open and because of that Darius landed 2 heavy body shots to Lil’ Man’s ribs. Wincing and wheezing possibly from having cracked ribs, Lil’ Man tries to stay in the fight. But then 2 left hooks and a right cross rattles the underdeveloped pre-teen and he damn near collapses to the floor. Lil’ Man isn't giving up that easily though, he remains fearless from the look on his face. He takes another chance and runs right at his former mentor. Wright ends up putting him in a chokehold and socking him repeatedly in the head. The sounds of fists to flesh made for an uncomfortable time for all who were around.

Getting back to the story…

The scene cuts back to Death Walker sitting on the edge of a tall building.

“So Darius had beat the living shit out of the kid. Well until… the others pulled him off and sent Lil’ Man home. And I wish that was the end, I wish that I could sit here and just tell you that nothing else happened. The truth is…”

Taking another deep breath and a sigh.

“Darius tracked Lil’ Man down, pulled him out of bed in the middle of the night and proceeded to bludgeon the kid as well as his parents. For a couple of hours… the noises ignited an unhealthy emotion inside DW. He couldn't be stopped, he didn't want to stop. Some say imitation is the biggest form of flattery. But Blake, the way I see it… it's just another way to piss off the wrong kind.”

The Dark Traveler hops up to his feet, balancing his walk along the edge.

“Because sooner or later, you will have to face what is real. And for your sake… you better be strong enough to survive what comes with the territory.”






Or it’ll beat you to death…

 

[Doc Sulliday]

The Fountain of Youth

This isn't going to be one of those adventure promos where The Coven goes on some big long search for The Foutain of Youth. Why? Because they already found it.

Kleio De Santos, leader of The Coven, realized that there was no way Grandma Ethel was going to have a chance. I mean, she really wasn't that great of a wrestler when she was alive...the first time.

Now Ethel is being asked to compete again? The Coven clearly were being handicapped in this one. It was typical of the FWA really. Anything to sabotage them. I mean everyone in The Coven were champions, so perhaps a simpleton would suggest giving them a handicap. Even with Grandma Ethel at her current stage, they were clearly the stronger team. But Kleio wasn't taking any chances with handicaps, and she was determined to make The Coven as strong as possible.

So she and her girls sought out The Fountain of Youth. You know the one that is impossible to find? Well they found it. Pretty easy I might add.

Now the four of them are standing over it in awe. They each dip a vial into the fountain and fill it up with the mysterious bright blue liquid inside.

Kleio De Santos: This fountain will make all of us stronger...healthier...wiser. Some of us don't need that exactly, but Ethel...drink up girl.

Grandma Ethel: Oh how I've longed for my younger days..

But not everyone in the group was as confident in the fountain's abilities.

Celestia Ravenwood: Kleio, aren't you worried about the possible ramifications this thing could have?

Kleio De Santos: What do you me Celestia?

Celestia Ravenwood: I mean from a narrative perspective this thing could go many different ways.

Blair and Kleio both look towards the younger member of The Coven with raised eye brows, but in more of an annoyed raised eye brow look. Not a surprised or curious raised eye brow look. I figured I should clarify that, as there are many different possible interpretations of raised eyebrows.

But anyway...

Kleio De Santos: Oh yeah? Well my oh my Celestia, please go on...why don't you tell us of all these possible narratives?

Celestia Ravenwood: Wouldn't that potentially spoil the story? What if I give away what the narrative for this one will be?

Kleio De Santos: The narrative for this is simple Celestia. Ethel drinks the fountain liquid, she becomes stronger, we win the match. Why are you making it more than it has to be?

Celestia Ravenwood: Because I've seen plenty of fables with The Fountain of Youth, and it usually always goes wrong. That's what I am trying to tell you. And if we were natually having a specific narrative, you would think that one of those would come into play and we'd up in a dilemma of sorts.

Kleio De Santos: So, if it's going to be a dilemma for us anyway, why not tell us what's going to happen? We could be proactive about it, who cares about spoilers.

Blair Ravenwood: A ton of people do actually. You'd be surprised how seriously people take them. Like holy shit, they take it sooo seriously.

Grandma Ethel: Eh, I could care less about spoilers. I usually forget them anyway by the time I watch whatever I'm watching.

Celestia Ravenwood: We're getting distracted...ok look. The Fountain of Youth never is what it seems. Drink it and you could end up way younger than you're intending. Like, Ethel could end up a baby. Then that's even worse, we're wrestling with a baby...

Kleio De Santos: No that'd be perfect. You think those guys would punch a baby?

All four look at each other nervously realizing that perhaps they would.

Celestia Ravenwood: Or maybe it doesn't do anything to our bodies at all, and it makes our brains younger. Or maybe it's poison, left her by the native tribes of this land as a defense. Or maybe we find out it's not even real, and it's just normal water, and the real fountain of youth was the journey that we had together.

Kleio De Santos: Or maybe it is real, Ethel drinks it and becomes a rockstar again, and we win our match. Why can't it be that Celestia?

Celestia Ravenwood: Fine, if that's the narrative you're comfortable with it can be that...

Kleio De Santos: Perfect. Let's drink up...

Celestia Ravenwood: OR...we all drink it, and it's a hallucinogenic. We all have flashbacks to our youth, and each one connects to a different opponent.

Blair Ravenwood: Oh I like that one sister. That sounds like a good promo honestly.

Grandma Ethel: Yeah I agree. It definitely has a lot of potential for character development.

Kleio De Santos: Or we just give Ethel the fucking fountain water, she drinks it, she's young and strong, and we win our match. Why can't it just be that simple?

Celestia Ravenwood: I don't know Kleio, everyone else seemed to like the whole flashback idea.

Kleio De Santos: Celestia if we were going to do something that complex and layered we would have set this whole thing up differently. You see, the three of you may think this would work, and sure maybe it would, but there's a reason why I'm the leader and you're not. And it's because you probably would go ahead and waste some big great idea like that on a match like this. Do you know what this match is ladies? It's filler. These giant 8 person matches always are. Throw a bunch of characters all in the ring together.

Blair Ravenwood: It doesn't mean that we can't try...

Kleio De Santos: Oh no I'm not saying don't. I'm all for trying, that's what I am doing right now. We're making Ethel younger...but you all want to do some big giant thing, that first of all we don't have the time for, and secondly...it just, for this match, it isn't worth it. Look you two are facing those Undisputed bastards at Winter Wasteland right? So why would you go out and use all your material against them in one blow for this match that means nothing? Likewise, I'm facing Steiner and Jack The Clipper. Do you think I want to go out there and show them all my cards, and then have nothing for my title match?

Celestia Ravenwood: I mean Kleio, it doesn't have to be like that. You could totally do a whole promo on an opponent, and then do a totally different fresh one. You've done it before. So I don't know where all the pessimism is coming from.

Blair Ravenwood: Usually I am supposed to be the negative one.

Kleio De Santos: I don't know guys...maybe I'm just finding myself to have a lack of motivation. You're right, at my highest level, I would take you guys all out and we'd do that whole big flashback thing. But to do something big like that, your mind has to be in it, and right now my mind just isn't. It happens...it is what it is really. But it doesn't mean we can't do SOMETHING with this fountain thing. I mean Ethel needs it right? And we could still do flashbacks at literally any point. Just maybe not when there's fucking four of us to do them for.

Celestia Ravenwood: Yeah, four is a lot...

The rest of The Coven all nod in agreement, seemingly agreeing with Kleio and conceeding.

Kleio De Santos: Great. Now, let's move on. Ethel drinks the liquid, we don't do any flashbacks...no crazy cliche Fountain narratives occur. This isn't about friendship, or the journey, or any other Disney life lesson. Ethel drinks it, she's young again...the perfect age with no twists, and we move on.

Everyone nods.

But just before Ethel drinks the liquid...

Celestia Ravenwood: WAIT!

Ethel stops, and Kleio lets out a sigh.

Kleio De Santos: WHAT...What is it Celestia?

Celestia Ravenwood: Shouldn't we figure out what happens after this? If Ethel drinks it and is young...is she staying young? Or does she revert back to Grandma Ethel after the match or whatever?

Kleio De Santos: Dammit Celestia, you're overthinking this again...

Celestia Ravenwood: I think we have to overthink it...

Kleio De Santos: No we don't. It's a simple narrative. She drinks it, she's young, we win.

Celestia Ravenwood: Right, but...I mean...for future narratives don't we want to figure out where to go from here?

Kleio De Santos: Can't we just figure that out when we get to it?

Celestia Ravenwood: I mean...I guess if that's the way you want to do it, but people will ask questions.

Kleio De Santos: And I'll answer them the same way...worst case we could just retcon the whole thing. We've done it before.

Grandma Ethel: That would require us to go to The Fountain of Retcon.

Blair Ravenwood: Are we changing Grandma's base pic or is she still Betty White?

Kleio De Santos: No, she's still Betty White. She's Grandma Ethel...

Grandma Ethel: Aw, so I'm not going to be younger?

Kleio De Santos: Ok, jesus christ. Fine...here's the narrative. Grandma Ethel is like a zombie right now right? She was dead, you idiots reincarnated her without asking me, and now she's back but she's supposed to be all Zombie Gipper looking right? She drinks the liquid, and it works and she goes back to looking like NORMAL Betty White....Ok? Does that work for everyone?

Celestia Ravenwood: Yeah that seems fair.

Blair Ravenwood: Works for me.

Grandma Ethel: I wanted to be a hot super model again...

Kleio De Santos: The best I can do is like...Golden Girls era.

Grandma Ethel: I'll take it.

Kleio De Santos: Perfect. We have it all figured out then? Finally?

Celestia Ravenwood: Well....

Kleio De Santos: OH MY GOD. WHAT?

Celestia Ravenwood: That narrative works well and all, and I know you went on the whole rant about how we have to save stuff for Winter Wasteland, but I still think we need to incorporate the four guys we're facing somehow.

Blair Ravenwood: Can't we just go on a monologue about how much they all suck?

Grandma Ethel: Ooh, can I do the monologue?

Kleio De Santos: No, we can't do a monologue. They hate those.

Blair Ravenwood: Who's they?

Kleio De Santos: Nice try Blair, but we've toed the line with the fourth wall breaking enough as it is. No, we don't need to talk about them. Not every promo has to be a whole big focus in on our opponents girls. This is an us promo. We mentioned the match enough, it's not like we're not mentioning the match. It's all there in the forefront. We're doing this whole thing with the fountain so that we can win the match. I think that's good enough. Sure we could all go ahead and go on a big long-winded monologue about how each of them suck, but I think at this point that's just a waste of time.

Celestia Ravenwood: No, you just want us to save it for Winter Wasteland.

Kleio De Santos: If I'm honest I'm pretty sure I've pointed out enough times how at least three of them suck. At this point it'd be redundant.

Grandma Ethel: Who's the other one?

Blair Ravenwood: Brooklyn Steiner.

Kleio De Santos: Right, Steiner. I honestly wasn't expecting him to beat El Vengador if I'm honest. But I'm glad he did, because at least my opponents are fresh. But enough about them, this is about us. So Ethel, drink the damn drink and let's move on...it's almost 3 AM.

Celestia Ravenwood: Wait hold up...

Kleio De Santos: I swear to god Celestia...

Blair Ravenwood: I swear to Lillith...

Celestia Ravenwood: If this IS about us, what's our arc? Where's the character development? Because this entire time you've basically been bossing us around, swinging your hypothetical dick around, and we've basically just conceded and said fine. All we've really established is that you're the bossy boss, and we're all submissive. I don't think that's a very good approach at character development if I'm honest.

Kleio De Santos: We'll put some cheesy quote at the end, it'll be fine...ugh. You're right. I'm sorry...I guess I sort of get carried away with this stuff. I know I'm not the best leader, I'm not perfect. I admit that. But I'm trying. I think if there is a takeaway from this it's that I should really value your input more. You've all made great points, and I need to be more open minded about them. The whole point of The Coven is that we're strongest together. This isn't just about one of us, it's about all of us.

Blair Ravenwood: Right, in fact there really isn't a leader. We're all leaders. Equal Democracy!

Kleio De Santos: Nice try Blair, but too far.

Blair Ravenwood: It was worth a shot.

Kleio De Santos: Now that we've shoehorned some development in, now...finally...let Ethel drink the damn drink. Unless of course Celestia has anything else to add...because you know...I appreciate her input and all.

Celestia Ravenwood: Well...since you mentioned it....

Kleio forces a smile as she grinds her teeth.

Celestia Ravenwood: I'm pretty sure at the beginning you sort of inferred we'd all be drinking the drink, and then you sort of changed it once I started going over all the narrative possibilities, to where just Ethel is drinking it. So, for the purpose of consistency...I think we should all drink it.

Kleio De Santos: Ok...yeah, you're right. Great point Celestia, awesome feedback. We'll all drink it, Ethel gets the benefits...she goes from Zombie Betty White to normal Betty again, and she's just strong enough to help us win the match. Boom. We got it. Let's end this shit.

Everyone clinks their little vials together as they all chug the elixor.

Everything turns into a fog.

Kleio rubs her eyes.

And she can't believe it. When she opens them, she finds herself back in Miami! She looks at her arms and realizes that she is a child again. It's a flashback!

Kleio De Santos: OH GOD DAMMIT!
​

“There is a fountain of youth: it is your mind, your talents, the creativity you bring to your life and the lives of people you love. When you learn to tap this source, you will truly have defeated age.”
― Sophia Loren

​

 

[The Golden One]

The flowers wilted before him.

He had neglected them. And now they were falling apart.

Not unlike Vengador's run so far in FWA.

Once beautiful and luscious. He had won Ground Zero and started out with an impressive victory over Juan Tothrefor. He got the chance to compete on the grandest stage of the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance against his Ground Zero coach.

But he lost.

And then he would lose again. And again.

Withering away with each passing loss.

Much like those flowers before him.

Who was this XYZ and why was he giving him flowers?

Perhaps an attempt to form an alliance?

Vengador was uneasy about the idea. He has certainly seen the benefit of allies in the FWA. So many teams and allegiances. So many discussions about buddies and friendships. But none of that ever mattered to him.

He only ever really had one friend. His brother was his friend. The one person he trusted more than anything in the world. The person he knew would have his back. The person who would take a bullet for...

Nevermind, that's a touchy subject for him.

But of all the worlds he has visited, this one was the strangest. Sometimes the most peculiar with the strangest traditions but at the same time one that was quite dangerous as well. And the closest thing he had to an ally in this realm was currently in a hospital in Japan.

So maybe... just maybe...

His brother would've scoffed at the idea. He would've told him to not be weak. You can handle this world on your own. But that was Dominic. Dominic was stronger. Dominic was the fearless one. James was the weak one hiding behind his older brother. He took up his brother's mask and mantle after he died... but he's a poor substitute.

Perhaps it was time he stopped trying to pretend.

Stop trying to pretend that he's his brother.

Stop trying to pretend... that he's Vengador.

The masked man reached over to wilting flowers, pushing them aside to reveal a small white envelope with "his" name written on it. He pulled it off the night stand as he sat down in the room of his temporary dwelling. He ripped the paper and pulled out a smaller piece of paper.

"Hello my fellow traveler of space and time. Did you enjoy my gift? I hope you are learning to stop and smell the flowers. It appears as though my acts of generosity have not gone unnoticed as we have been aligned together for a match up of the trios variety. Perhaps it would be good for us to spend some time together and it just so happens that October 31 is one of my favorite days of the year on his planet. So I cordially invite you to The Hall on October 31 for a night of festivities!

-XYZ

P.S. Don't forget your costume!"

Such a peculiar individual this XYZ was.

What kind of person has a favorite day? I suppose in this realm and many other realms he has visited, most people's favorite day if they had to choose was their day of birth. In this realm, they celebrate it with gifts and delicious iced treats. Perhaps October 31 is XYZ's date of birth?

But reminding him to wear his costume?

First of all, this wasn't a costume. It was a uniform.

And why wouldn't he be wearing his uniform?

In any event, despite all his reservations, Vengador decided to give this a chance.


****

XYZ stands inside The Hall with decorations aplenty all around him and the rest of The Menage: Wild Jerry, Frank, PacMan Bert, Christian Howard, Sierra, and Lizzy, who is now 11 years old.

“The last thing we need … is pizza! Can’t have a party without pizza,” Frank says gleefully.

XYZ nods his head and pauses what he’s doing to think about how he could acquire a pizza quickly – and cheaply. Before he can say a word or ask for help …

“I got you covered, X. Got them Domino’s Rewards points sittin’ pretty,” Wild Jerry responds with a smile on his face.

This is the first extended amount of time with The Menage since … well … since the last time we saw them right before XYZ lost to Tommy Bedlam for the X Championship.

The energy on Mars that day felt … desperate. It felt like there was a need for a win.

And when they didn’t win, it felt like The Menage could crack and crumble. It felt like the dream was dying, even though it never will. It felt like flowers were wilting away. It felt like the soil of the earth was turning into flaky dust that evaporates in the air. It felt like the soul of the world was rotting.

XYZ, as you’d expect, took it on his shoulders. He felt he let everyone – The Menage and all the XYZites – down. He felt he let the dream down.

He expected disappointed faces. He was met with

Instead …

“No shame in losin’, amigo. Just shame in not tryin’, and you tried everythin’ tonight. Tommy’s just real good.”

This is what XYZ always says to everyone else, albeit in his own unique way. XYZ and Wild Jerry have had their differences – especially in focus and leadership style – but they’ve been in-sync lately.

Wild Jerry feels some new blood in The Menage would help, so even though he wouldn’t recruit in the way XYZ is with the flowers, he’s aligned with the move in general.

X has built a strong rapport with everyone in The Menage, and in the days since the loss to Tommy, it has grown stronger. The elephant in the room is XYZ cannot challenge again for the X Championship. That was a stipulation X asked for. When he returned to the whole group, it was a look ahead.

“If I couldn’t get it done this time, then I need to move on,” he said to everyone moments after he got back to the locker room.

“I respect it, X,” Wild Jerry said, somewhat of a surprise to others in the group.

“There’s more out there,” Sierra added. “You can do more. You can still be who you want to be for all the people you’re fighting for.”

It was comforting for X to know he wouldn’t lose this family he has built in the aftermath of Big Al’s death. The Menage has been a sturdy piece of tape keeping his broken heart together in one, and, if anything, he was on the doorsteps of growing it.

He might even get a new member tonight.

****

The bustling streets of New York were aglow with the eerie glow of pumpkins that for some reason had been carved up into various looking faces. Vengador cautiously headed down the sidewalk, seeing tall and small creatures in the streets. Witches, vampires, werewolves, ghosts... people in capes and armor... it was like nothing he had ever seen before in this realm. He could only imagine that there was some sort of Satanic ritual going on that involved these glowing pumpkins.

The monsters seemed unphased by each other, carrying ritualistic sacks and buckets around from door to door... perhaps looking for sacrifices from the homes in exchange for their lives being spared.

"Nice costume," he overheard one regular human that was accompanying two little yellow creatures with mouse-like ears that were oddly humanoid in nature.

"It's a uniform," Vengador corrected.

The man seemed offended by Vengador's response and took his little creatures along, heading to the next doorstep. Humans and monsters... working together? It was unlike anything he'd ever seen in this realm or any other one he has been on before.

As he approached the entrance to "The Hall," the headquarters of his potential new ally, the confusion deepened as he saw even the location he saw a small witch filling up her ceremonial sack with sacrifices left out in a bowl on the front steps of the building.

Vengador quickly remembered his recent run-in with The Coven, specifically Kleio De Santos. One of his many recent losses, this one eliminated his chances at acquiring one of the coveted championship belts that would help establish his stature in the organization. He could only imagine that The Coven kept tabs on him and were following him to the Hall. Perhaps hoping to learn of its super secret location.

"You!" Vengador called out to the little witch. "Not so fast! I know who you are! I know what you're doing here!"

The young witch was startled as she turned around and pointed to herself, as if to ask if the masked man was talking to her.

"Yes you!" Vengador's voice raspy with vengeance. "I know The Coven sent you!"

"What? I don't know what you're talking about mister."

"Don't you play dumb with me! Where are they?! Where are the rest of them?!"

Fueled by his frustration, Vengador grabbed the witch and lifted her up into the air as she began to cry.

"Help! HELP! HELP! HEEEEEEELLLLLLLLPPPPPPP"

"I knew it! Calling for help from Kleio I see!"

"AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!"

The witch resisted against Vengador's grips, surprising him with the strength given her smaller stature. The child's tears flowed as she whimpered, not understanding why she was being confronted by a larger-than-life wrestler who lifted up his fist...

However, just as Vengador was about to make a grave mistake, XYZ emerged from the entrance of "The Hall."

"Vengador! Unhand that little girl!" XYZ commanded with a calm and rhythmic cadence. His words floated through the air like musical notes.

"No! She is a witch!"

"Ah ha! So she is!" XYZ replied, seemingly with admiration.

"Very nice costume, little girl! Now, please, Vengador, as a man of honor, I request that you release the girl from your clutches! She is merely a sand urinal in the vastness of the woods."

Vengador scoffed, but relented. "Fine... I suppose she is but a miniature witch anyways, and can do no harm. ... I should not punish a lost soul captured by the Coven for the sins of the Coven itself. Run along, miniature witch." He placed the sobbing girl back on the ground.

She thanked him with a swift kick to the shin.

"JERK!” the girl shouted out as she ran off crying back into the streets.

"That little heathen!"

XYZ chuckled. "Oh to be a child again on the Weens 'o the Hall! It is like being a gaggle of hornets within a cooler of wine."

Vengador rubbed his shin from where he was kicked by the girl.

"Halloween? Is that what all this is?" Vengador asked, putting a name to these unholy rituals.

"You are a funny character, Vengador! And what a wonderful Occisor costume! Though I think you got the color wrong.”

The masked man shook his head and replied, "What? Oscissor? What are you talking about little man?"

XYZ once again just laughed at Vengador's confusion.

"Quite the jokester you are, I see. But we're going to need to get serious ahead of our matchup. Come inside as we have a joyous evening head!"

Placing his hand on Vengador’s back, XYZ led him into The Hall.

****

The Hall is empty of lots of people, but not empty of lots of flair. There are Halloween – or, as X calls it and as it's written on the banner hanging from the roof above the stage, "Weens 'o Hall" – decorations everywhere. Shall we go through them?

There are six skeletons set up in two rows of three to greet people beyond the entrance in a funnel-type setup. There are approximately 20 Jack-o-lanterns along the outskirts of The Hall. There is about 30 feet-by-10 feet of fake cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. There are at least seven – from a quick count – and maybe as many as 10 plastic tombstones scattered in the general middle area of the space.

There are also four blow-up aliens – each about 4 feet tall – a fake Michael Myers, a fake Freddie Krueger, a fake Jason Voordhees, and a fake Custos. There is also fake blood on one of the walls that spells out, "Death comes for us all."

Oh, and there is a table – set up along the wall without fake blood – with a plate of soft-baked chocolate chip cookies, a bowl of single candies (specifically Twix, Reese's, and pink Starbursts, aka the best Halloween candies), a pitcher filled with green juice that is labeled "Beetle Juice", and a pizza from Domino's because Wild Jerry has Domino's Rewards Member points for days.

"Howd you make the 'Beetle Juice'" Vengador asks.

XYZ gives a puzzled look Vengador's way as they walk past the final of the skeletons.

"I killed some beetles and squeezed our their juice," he says with a hint of a question at the end. "How do you make your Beetle Juice?"

Vengador swiftly looks away and dodges answering the question. His mind is still giving energy to the miniature witch he met outside, and whether he expects to see more members of The Coven tonight, especially since it is Halloween.

And if he does see more, how will he handle it? Will he confront them like he did the miniature witch? Will he take it a step further? Will XYZ stop him again, or will he help this time?

"Would you like some 'zaaaa? It is pepperoni."

"It looks small."

"No, it is medium. That's what Wild Jerry's Domino's Member Rewards allowed him to get for free."

"I'm saying it looks small."

"I can speak nothing to the quality of your eyeballs. I stopped pursuing an eye doctor career when I was 11 years old."

There’s a pause as Vengador walks over to the table with the food and grabs a slice of pizza.

“Is there supposed … *chews on a bite* … someone else here? Are others … *finishes the bite* … supposed to come?”

XYZ grabs his own slice of pizza but answers before he takes a bite.

“There should be. I don’t know where the rest of The Menage is. Maybe they’re out trick-or-treating. Or maybe they’re in the Magic School Bus. Regardless, I was hoping more people would show, but maybe they are out enjoying the nice weather.”

They each enjoy their slices, and then a second slice. The silence isn’t awkward. It’s an understood energy of hunger.

“This place will look a lot different when you come back,” XYZ says.

“When I come back? I don’t intend to come back.”

“You won’t be coming to the Open Tryouts to join The Menage and become an XYZite?”

“The Open Tryouts?”

“You received a bouquet of flowers. What other offerings would you want?”

XYZ grabs the poster for the Open Tryouts and shows it to Vengador.

“The date says September 19th. This has already passed.”

XYZ looks at the flier and his eyes get wide.

“Oh! I guess I missed it.”

X crumples up the poster and sticks it into his pocket.

“Well, you should still consider joining The Menage! We can help people who are in need of help, offer people a family when they’re in need of friends.”

“Hmmm. Let me ponder and see how we do in the match. Speaking of the match, I feel we should discuss some stra…”

“Let’s get out of this room and find the rest of the crew. Maybe they will have some fun to get into on the Weens ‘o the Hall!”

X doesn’t wait for a proper response to his suggestion before he is moving to the exit of The Hall. Vengador quickly snags a third slice of pizza and a handful of pink Starbursts before following along.

As he leaves, he takes one last look at The Hall and softly nods his head.

“With some work, this could be a good lair for mischievousness.”

****

Out on the streets in the block outside of The Hall, XYZ and Vengador immediately run into the rest of The Menage. Wild Jerry is dressed as a sailor, Sierra and Lizzy are astronauts, Frank is a Pikachu, PacMan Bert is not dressed up, and Christian Howard is a businessman, which means he’s just more suited-up than usual.

“Shall we explore, comrades?” XYZ says.

“You gotta see this, X,” shouts Frank. “They got some people dressed as FWA people!”

First, they see a small child dressed as a “Juan Tothrefor”, which is stunning for the holiday.

“XYZ. Look!” Vengador says. “It’s Juan Tothrefor. We must attack.”

XYZ puts his hand to his chest and calms him down.

“Do not fear. It is a mere child dressed as Tothrefor of the Juans!”

Vengador then looks away and gasps quickly. He sees two teenagers dressed as Trick or Trash, the tag team joining with Juan Tothrefor. One is a noble knight of Halloween, and the other is a mammal with trash covering his head.

“X, it is Trick or Trash! Let us get the upper hand as we go into Meltdown.”

“No, no. They are just kids, Vengador! Small children. Miniature people. They mean no harm and can do no harm. They are not the Treats who Trick!"

XYZ grabs the mask of the knight and removes it, revealing the face of a pimpled-up teenager. Then, he removes some of the fake trash of the mammal, and it’s the pimpled teenager’s lady friend.

“Vengador, we have no worries here. Let’s have a great time and worry about Meltdown … on Meltdown.”

XYZ moves along as The Menage has progressed two blocks forward. Vengador, however, is not in a place of comfort. He sees XYZ with his cape flowing in the wind and remembers the bouquet of flowers – an unwanted offering.

As Vengador steps forward, ready to strike XYZ down, the caped hero turns and offers a warm smile back to his partner. Vengador pauses.

What he sees is a friendly smile. He had only ever had one friend: his brother. Could he have another one? We'll see. Vengador isn't sold, but he also is refraining from his usual temperament of not trusting anyone, even children dressed in costumes.

“What type of candy do you like, my good ally Vengador?”

“I don’t know of any candy I like.”

“Well, you should hope for some pink Starbursts. They’re delightfully pleasant!”​

 

[Dubble J]

Trixie & Aaron Harrows (Two Wrongs Make a Right) - Buddy Bowl Promo

Spoiler: Plain Text

Bellatrix Bordeaux and friends in...

Featuring Aaron Harrows.

Chapter 1 - Fly on the Window

The scene opens in a particularly windy hotel room, where Trixie Bordeaux,
who looks all grubby and dirty and wet, looking as though she’s been
through quite the ordeal, and her Coven friends, Blair and Celestia
Ravenwood. Along with them, we have Millie Harrows, who’s a contestant
from Ground Zero Season 5, and two men who are tied up on the floor,
which is covered in glass from the window, which is why the hotel room is

windy...we’ll get to that.

Blair and Celestia, but mostly Celestia, is trying to comfort and console
Trixie, whilst trying to find out what happened to her on this horrible

night...

Celestia Ravenwood: “Why don’t we start at the beginning, okay?”
Trixie, still a little shaken up from the whole thing, tries her best to

recount her story....

Trixie Bordeaux: “O-Okay, umm...well, once upon a time, my mommy and
daddy fell in love, and then one day, they boinked each othe-”
Celestia Ravenwood: “OOOOOOOKAY, maybe let’s not start quite THAT FAR

BACK, eh?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Oh, okay...sorry.”

One of the tied up men, who looks a lot like Millie Harrows, and who looks

to be a little battered and bruised, speaks up.
Aaron Harrows: “Wait, I wanted to hear the rest of the stor-”

Blair Ravenwood: “You, shut it.”

Celestia Ravenwood: “How about we start earlier in the night, just before
this whole ordeal happened. What were you doing before it happened, okay

Trix?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Oh, umm...well, I was laying in bed, scrolling through the

Twitting machine....”

The scene currently being described fades in, revealing a cozy-looking hotel
room. Made visible by a desk lamp situated on a small table beside the bed,
we see Trixie, in all her dottiness, her head and arms poking out from
beneath the blanket, with her eyes glued to her mobile phone. She seems a
little distraught as she scrolls through her Twitter feed, reading a selection

of tweets by her Coven counterpart Blair.

Trixie Bordeaux: “I was reading the Twits that Blair made where she was
shouting at my YDS friends and poking fun at how big their feet are, and
calling them big meanies and stuff, and I was just wishing everyone could

just get along and be friends....”

The scene fades back to the room where Trixie is telling the story, as she is

interrupted by Blair....

Blair Ravenwood: “HAHAHAHAHAHAHA, that’s hilarious.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “What’s so funny?”

Blair Ravenwood: “Oh, just the idea that I would EVER be friends with those

YDS nerds. That’s some genius comedy right there.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “But, why not? I think y’all will really like each other if you

just hung out one time...”

Blair Ravenwood: “Yeah, that ain’t ever happening. I’d rather melt to death
in a vat of acid than hang out with those insufferable weebs.”
Celestia Ravenwood: “Blair, will you shut up and let her tell the story?”
Blair Ravenwood: “Fine...go on, Trix, continue with your riveting tale.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “O-Okay, umm...where was I?”
Millie Harrows: “You were lying in bed on your phone.”
Trixie Bordeaux: “Oh yeah...okay, well, as I was scrolling through the
Twitting machine, I saw a news Twit that said that Katsu was in the
hospital, and that Cali and Ririko were gonna be staying in Japan with her.
I was gonna call them and see if they were okay, but before I could, I
heard a strange sound and some voices coming from outside....”
And once again, we travel to Trixie laying in her bed, when all of a sudden,

a strage sound invades her privacy....

SHLAP
SHLAP
SHLAP

SHLAP

Aaron Harrows: “Ugh...WHO KNEW BEING TOM CRUISE COULD BE SO TIRING!?”
Patty Reynolds: “I did tell you, the more efficient way would have been a

ladder!”

Aaron Harrows: “LADDERS ARE BORING, PATTY! TOM CRUISE ISN’T BORING!
AND I HAVE HIS MISSION IMPOSSIBLE GLOVES SO BY LOGIC, I’M NOT BORING

AND I GOT THIS! OWWWW MY SUPER BIG MUSCLES!”
Patty Reynolds: “Are you there yet!?”
Aaron Harrows: “GETTING THERE!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “I got outta bed and went to investigate when outta
nowhere, this weird magical toilet plunger slapped the window and made
me jump! I kept my distance from the window, in case the toilet plunger
tried to suction my face off or somethin’, when all of a sudden, another
magical toilet plunger appeared, and this creepy dude was holding onto

them!”

Aaron Harrows: “....Wait, am I the creepy dude?”
Patty Reynolds: “Yes, quite obviously.”
Aaron Harrows: “Aw man...”

Trixie Bordeaux: “I was staring at the creepy dude, and he was staring back
at me. I knew exactly what he was up to, and he picked the wrong person
to play this game with. See, I am the undefeated Baton Rouge Staring
Contest champion. I’M THE BEST! I even beat Blair...although the match did

last so long that I forgot how to blink for a week.”

Blair Ravenwood: “You didn’t beat me. The urge to sneeze did, not you. Go

on.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Bull poop. You just ain’t on my level...anyway, so then I
stared at him, and he stared at me, and then I stared at him some more,
and so he stared at me even more! It was really intense! He put up such a
great fight! I was well impressed! But in the end, he blinked and I won, and

I kept my title!”

Aaron Harrows: “You got lucky. The wind blew into my eyes.”
Trixie Bordeaux: “DID NOT! I BEAT YOU FAIR AND SQUARE!”

Millie Harrows: “Can everyone stop interrupting her!? I would like to get out
of here at one point if we could but we can’t if 5 people have to interrupt

every time.”

Aaron Harrows: “You just interrupt-”

Millie Harrows: “Aaron, I love you, but I swear to God....go on, sweetie.”
Trixie Bordeaux: “Okay, so, after I beat his keister in the staring contest, I

said....”

Trixie: “Who-...who are you?”

The creepy man doesn’t budge an inch, seemingly hoping that if he remains

perfectly still, then he will become invisible....

???: “......................................buzz.”

Trixie: “Oh, h-hello, Buzz...um...are you a stalker?”

Buzz: “What?! No! I mean buzz! Dammit, Don’t mind me! I’m...a...I’m just a

fly! Just chilling! Just a normal fly. BUZZ BUZZ....”

Buzz blinks nervously as he slings to his magical toilet plungers, hoping
that Trixie doesn’t see through his ruse. Meanwhile, Trixie examines the man

up and down and scratches her head, confused.

Trixie: “That can’t be right...you’re WAAAAAY too fat to be a fly! YOU’RE A

LIAR!”

Trixie points at the self-professed “fly”, glaring at him accusingly.
Buzz: “WOAAAAAAAAAAH! I’ll have you know, I was the Tenth Tank
Commander on Kelly’s Heroes! I deserve more respect than to get

fat-shamed over here!”

Trixie lowers her accusing finger and dips her head slightly, ashamed in
herself that she was so mean to this poor, innocent, abnormally large fly

stuck to her hotel window.

Trixie: “I-I’m sorry. Oh, I’m such a big meanie...I didn’t mean it, honest. I

just...I’m so sorry.”

Trixie’s head sinks in complete shame. The creepy fly, seeing this, sparks an

idea...

Buzz: “Well, you’re right. You are a meanie...but I know a way you can
redeem yourself! See, it’s really cold and windy out here, quite annoying
for an Australian fly, as you can imagine. So, how about you open this
here window and let me drop inside to warm my little fly wings up a bit?”

Trixie stares at Buzz, unsure.

Trixie: “Oh, I dunno...Bret always says to ‘never let strangers into the

house’.”

The creepy “fly” schemes for a moment, before...

Buzz: “Well, you know my name right? So really, you’re the only stranger

here. So, what’s your name?”
Trixie: “My name’s Trixie.”

The creepy “fly” smiles brightly showing off his perfect teeth, knowing that

his plan is slowly coming to fruition.

Buzz: “Nice to meet you, Trixie...And with an alakazam, now we ain’t

strangers no more!”

Trixie: “Soooooo, we’re friends now?”

Trixie’s eyes light up in the hopes of making a new friend, for making new
friends is her favorite thing in the whole world to do! And so she waits,

eagerly awaiting Buzz’s answer...
Aaron Harrows “Yes. Sure. Let’s go with that.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “YEY! OMG I've never made friends with a fly before! This is

so cool!”

Trixie jumps up and down giddily, clapping her hands in sheer excitement
as she imagines all of the fun she and her overwhelmingly large fly friend

will have together.

Aaron Harrows: “WOO! I’m extremely happy about this. Could you now

please let me in, ‘friend’?”

....

Blair Ravenwood: “Trixie, please tell me you didn’t let some pervert, who’s
gangling from your FOUR-STORIES HIGH hotel room window, into your

room...”

Trixie Bordeaux: *Chuckling nervously* “Uh, hehe...yeah?”

Celestia Ravenwood: “Oh, Trixie...”

Trixie Bordeaux: “BUT HE SAID WE WERE FRIENDS!”

Blair Ravenwood: *sigh* “Jus-...just carry on with the story. We’ll have a
VERY LONG chat later about your tendency to trust CLEARLY VILLAINOUS

PEOPLE!”
Trixie Bordeaux: “But-...”

Celestia Ravenwood: “Just continue with the story, Trix. We’ll talk about it

later.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “O-...Okay. Well, umm...so....”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Of course! You must be so cold and scared sitting out
there in the dark. Here, let's open this window and get you warmed up!”
With a heart as big and as kind as a warm spring sun, Trixie walks towards
the window and opens it wide, giving more than enough room for her

gigantic “fly” friend to climb through, however.
Aaron Harrows: “A-HA! SUCCESS!”

The totally not creepy “fly” exclaims in triumph, as he reaches through the
window and shoves Trixie’s slender body backwards, sending her stumbling

and tumbling!

Trixie Bordeaux: “WAAAAAAAAAH! What the heck!?”

As Trixie crashes butt-first to the floor, the suddenly aggressive “fly”, one
hand still holding onto a magical toilet plunger, reaches into one of his
pockets and pulls out something that looks terrifyingly like a...grenade?

A GRENADE!?

Aaron Harrows: “HA! You fell for the classic blunder! You’ve been diddled!

DIDDLED! WHOOP WHOOP!”

The confusing “fly” laughs triumphantly, as he lobs the FUCKING GRENADE
through the open window and shuts it. A look of complete horror falls
upon Trixie’s soon to be blown to pieces face as the GRENADE lands at her
feet. Tears run down her cheeks as she closes her eyes, awaiting the end...

PTSSSSSSSSSS

The grenade goes off, but instead of a massive, Trixie disintegrating
explosion, a weird green grass sprays out from the canister! The sheer
strength of the smell sets Trixie into a coughing fit as she attempts to

cover her nose!

Trixie Bordeaux: *cough cough* “EEEEEEEEEEW! IT SMELLS LIKE FARTS!”

*cough cough cough*

Aaron Harrows: “Fart jokes? Really? This felt like a big massive dramatic
moment and you’re doing a-...okay! Doesn’t matter! I still did the thing! I

did it, Patty!”

Trixie climbs to her feet and attempts to run towards the door to make
her escape from the vile stench, however, the sheer strength of the smelly
ass-gas begins to make the young woman dizzy and nauseous, and as a
result, she stumbles back down to the floor. She crawls, desperate to
escape as the seemingly never-ending supply of farts sprays from the
canister, but unfortunately, the smell is too much, as she chokingly cries...
Trixie Bordeaux: “HEEEEEEEeeeeelp...” *cough cough cough*

Patty Reynolds: “AARON!”
Aaron Harrows: “Yeah?”

Patty Reynolds: “Why did you close the window?! You need to get in

there!”

Aaron Harrows: “Ohhhhhhhh. It’s fine! It’s all good! I have a plan...I’m

gonna need a cutaway though.”

Patty Reynolds: “For the last time, cutaways can’t happen in real life!”
...the characters continue to bicker as slowly, but surely, Trixie slumps to
the floor and passes out as the scene fades, along with her consciousness.

Millie Harrows: “Wait, how did you get in?”
Aaron Harrows: “Don’t worry about it, we’re moving on.”
Millie Harrows: “Nah, nah, nah. Answer me, Aaron.”

Patty Reynolds: “The moron shoulder barged the window for 40 minutes

before the glass gave in.”

Millie Harrows: “WHAT THE FUCK, AARON!”

Aaron Harrows: “Oh, I’m sorry, it totally would have looked better if I just

showed up, gassed her and then left!”

Millie Harrows “Yes, because then you wouldn’t have kidnapped someone!”
Aaron Harrows: “She’s an adult, not a kid, and naps are not a bad thing, I

don’t see your point!”

Millie Harrows: “And, why were you helping, Patty!?”

Patty Reynolds: “He had been pleading with me for ages and I didn’t think
he would make it this far. I thought this would have been half an hour at

best before he gave up!”

Aaron Harrows: “I never give up, I’m the best!”
Trixie Bordeaux: “Except at staring contests.”
Aaron Harrows: “FACE ME AGAIN, RIGHT HERE AND NOW!”
Blair Ravenwood: *Sighs* “Right, I’ve had enough of this idiot. C’mere!”
Blair stands up from her seated position on Trixie’s bed and marches
towards the corner in which Aaron is tied up, alongside his friend Patty.
Blair grabs the duck tape that she likely used to bind the two men, and

attempts to tape Aaron’s mouth shut!
Aaron Harrows: “Hey, hey, hey back off Halliwell!

Patty Reynolds: “Reagan already used the Charmed reference on them!”
Aaron: “More than one person ca-...what are you doing! HEY BACK OFF!

SHOO! PLEA-AHMMMMPH! MMMPH!”

A few moments later, and Blair is walking back towards the bed and takes
her seat, a job well done, as Aaron’s muffled voice is barely audible.
Blair Ravenwood: “There, that’s better. Tired of hearing his dumbass voice.”

Aaron Harrows: “MMMPH!”

Celestia Ravenwood: “So, Trixie...what do you remember from when you
woke up after you nearly choked to death on Aaron’s ass gas?”
Trixie Bordeaux: “Umm...I woke up in this dark, creepy room. It was very

cold....”

Chapter 2 - The Dark Dark Room

...and given that Trixie is only wearing a baggy “Hex Girls” vest and a pair of
black and gray plaid short shorts, having just been snatched from her
warm and cozy hotel room, the near-freezing cold temperature feels all the
more grueling for the scared young woman as she regains consciousness.
The light blonde hairs on her arms stand on end, and goosebumps cover
her from head to foot as she calls out in a shivering, scared voice...
Trixie Bordeaux: “He-...Hello? I-Is anybody th-th-there?”

There is no response. She is seemingly alone in this dark place. The room
itself is all but empty, save for a small table situated directly in front of
the chair in which Trixie sits, with a small desk lamp sitting atop it.
Trixie attempts to get up off the chair but is unable as she discovers that
her hands and feet have been tied to the chair with dirty, damp rope.

Trixie Bordeaux: “What the heck!?”

Growing increasingly uncomfortable in her current predicament, Trixie
struggles relentlessly to try to free herself of her binds, but it is to no
avail. Whomever tied these knots had clearly been a boy/girl scout in
his/her youth. Nonetheless, Trixie hasn’t admitted defeat yet...
Trixie Bordeaux: *grunting and growling as she struggles* “HEEEEEEEEEELP!
SOMEBODY HELP ME! I’M STUCK! HEEEEEEEEEEEEELP! PLEEEEEEEEASE!!!”
To make matters worse, directly above Trixie’s head, small drops of
freezing cold, dirty water drips from the ceiling onto her blonde hair, and
trickles down her face, making her stay in this horrible place that much
more uncomfortable. The leak seems to have been dripping for quite some
time before Trixie’s arrival, as a relatively large puddle sits directly below

her chair, with Trixie’s bare feet freezing cold as they sit, bound to the

chair and dipped in the puddle.

Trixie Bordeaux: *still struggling and on the verge of tears*

“HEH-EH-EH-ELP! PLEASE!”

Having worn herself out trying to break free from her binds, Trixie’s
struggles become labored, and as the realization sets in that she can’t

break free, she begins to sob, terrified and alone...

...or so she thought.

Suddenly, the door to the room flies open, startling Trixie, but filling her

with hope!

Trixie Bordeaux: “Oh, thank God! Help me, please! Some evil fly-person
threw farts at me and trapped me here! He could be back any minut-”
Trixie is immediately interrupted by a sudden whip of paper against steel as
a file crashes in front of her, being held by someone who is now partially
blocking the way of the one light source Trixie has. The shadow casting
over the guy’s face is almost purposeful as we can only see the jaw of the
mysterious figure as he looks down on the folder, studying it. Trixie’s
optimism about this stranger slowly saps a bit as she sees how this person
isn’t quite focused on her for some odd reason, when suddenly, we hear an
annoyed exhale coming from the stranger’s nose as, instead of
acknowledging Trixie, he just takes the file off the table and walks back
out. Once again, Trixie is on her own, as the water keeps dripping, now

making a mess of her makeup.

It’s only a short time before the door opens once more, and emerging into
the room once again, the mysterious person, with what seems to be the
same folder as before, but looking significantly heavier with more paper
inside. He slams the folder on the table with a force that makes Trixie
immediately jump out of her skin. The man grins at the results of his work
as Trixie grows more unsettled. The guy seems more content with his folder
now, taking a moment to revel a bit before sitting down opposite Trixie to

reveal himself as none other than Buzz the “fly”, wearing a mean mug as he

bites down on his toothpick.

Aaron Harrows: “Hey, sunshine, how are you doing?”

Aaron’s voice crashes through the scenery with a southern twang, almost
like he’s trying to replicate Sam Rockwell’s vocal performance from Three
Billboards Outside Ebbing, Missouri, but it’s still recognisable for Trixie to
immediately realize that the man who has just walked in is the same person
who got her into this situation. Upon hearing the voice again, a wave of
emotions and feelings, ranging from hatred, rage and terror, to mild
indigestion, shoots through Trixie. In the heat of the moment, it is her rage

and hatred that takes charge...
Trixie Bordeaux: “YOU!!!”

Aaron Harrows: “Nice to see you finally awake! You’ve been out for hours. I
thought you died at one point, but then you started snoring!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “...lemme go. Now.”

If Trixie’s eyes were lasers, they would have blasted the creepy “fly’s” head

off.

Aaron Harrows: “Uh...nah, I’d rather not. I need to ask you some ques-“

Trixie Bordeaux: “LEMME GO!”

Trixie struggles with all her might to escape her binds so that she can
squash this massively overgrown bug, but alas, she remains confined to her

chair.

Trixie Bordeaux: “WRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH! LEMME GO, YOU BIG

UGLY MEANIE!”

Aaron Harrows: “Oh come on! How are you always so quick to insult? First
the fat shaming and now I’m ugly? My mother says otherwise, thank you

very much!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Sorry to hear that your mommy is blind. Now LET. ME.

GO.”

....

Celestia Ravenwood: “Damn, Trix! That was actually really good trash talk!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Re-really? You really think so?”
Celestia Ravenwood “Yeah! You got ‘em good! Great job!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Wow, thanks!”

Blair Ravenwood: “Please don’t encourage her trash talk, Celestia. She’ll be
running around trash-talking everybody. Let’s just find out what this
pervert did to our Trixie, so that I can plan my massacre accordingly.”

Aaron Harrows: *Gagged* “MMPH, MMMPH-“
Trixie Bordeaux: “Anyway, so then he said....”

Aaron Harrows: “Nuh-Uh, not gonna happen. Now could you let me do my

thing or are we doing more unneeded insults?”

Trixie gulps as the creepy fly drums his fingers impatiently on the table

waiting for a response.

Trixie Bordeaux: “Look, please just let me go. I can help you find what you
want...please don’t kill me, I don’t wanna ‘swim with da fishes’...”

Aaron Harrows: “I just wanna ask you a few questions! Where is this killing

talk coming from?!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Be-Because you’re an evil, kidnapping fly?”
Aaron Harrows: “.......wait, you genuinely think I’m a fly?”

Trixie Bordeaux “Yo-...you’re not a fly!?”

Aaron Harrows: “......AM I THAT GOOD OF AN ACTOR THAT I CONVINCED YOU
THAT I’M A FLY!? See, now this is swell. I love this. Alas, I am not a fly.”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Well then, w-what are you?”

The creepy NOT fly stares at Trixie dumbfounded, as though he has never

encountered anybody as stupid in all his life.

Aaron Harrows: “Human....”

A lightbulb lights up in Trixie’s mind at this revelation...

Trixie: “SO YOU ARE A BIG FAT LIAR!”

Aaron Harrows: *Slams fist on the desk, furiously* “STOP CALLING ME

NAMES! I’M NOT FAT!”

Trixie flinches and jumps out of her skin as the creepy human slams his fist

on the table.

Trixie Bordeaux: “Don’t hurt me, please! I’ll stop calling you names, I

promise! Please, just don’t hurt me!”

The creepy human smirks at Trixie’s willingness to comply.

Aaron Harrows: “Well, I tell you what... if you answer my questions
honestly, then I won’t hurt you. Buuuut, if you lie to me, or refuse to give
me what I want, well then who knows...accidents happen, after all.”
Trixie gulps wracked with nerves and fear. The creepy man smiles

cheerfully...

Aaron Harrows: “SO, you wanna get started?”
Trixie looks at the creepy man with pleading eyes.

Trixie Bordeaux: “Ca-Can I at least have a coat and some shoes to warm

up? I’m f-f-f-freezing...and my tootsies are numb.”

Aaron Harrows: “Yeah, we don’t have any coats at the moment, there were

some upstairs, but I can’t remember which floor.”

As Aaron gestures upstairs, he accidentally hits the light and causes it to
sway, revealing several hooks containing a selection of coats and jackets
behind Harrows. Trixie stares longingly at all the potential warmth she

could have.

Aaron Harrows: “Plus, I’ll be honest with ya, I need you to be as
uncomfortable as possible so that you will want to leave quicker, and if
you want to leave quicker, you will want to answer my questions! That’s
why I drilled the hole in the ceiling so that water would leak through. See
how it all works, it’s so fun. Anyway, questions... First, state your name for

the record, miss.”

Trixie Bordeaux: *Nervously* “Umm, B-Bellatrix Bordeaux.”
Aaron Harrows: “Okay...” *Writes a note on a piece of paper* “B-Bellatrix

Bordeaux. Got it, good....”
Aaron shuffles through his papers.

Aaron Harrows: “You understand your rights and your lefts and

everything?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Uh, my right is this way,” *looks to her left* “and my right

is that way.” *looks to her right*

Aaron Harrows: “I think that’s good enough? Sure. Now....”
Harrows shuffles more through his papers, more analyzed now as he
gets more into his role, going through a lot of blank pieces of paper
that he clearly added when he left the room earlier, before finally
finding what he’s looking for, and bringing out a picture of someone

very familiar to Trixie...

Aaron Harrows: “Who’s this lad right here?”
Trixie Bordeaux: “Uh...I-I dunno...w-why’d you ask?”
Clearly recognising the man in the photograph as her very own
brother, Bret Bordeaux, Trixie is reluctant to give this kidnapper any

information on him.

Aaron: “Come onnnnnn, you know who that is, you gotta know. It’s
your brother right? You're gonna forget your own sibling?”
Trixie squirms slightly in her chair as she tries to think of a way to
get out of talking to this evil man about her brother.
Trixie Bordeaux: “N-No it’s not...y-you got the wrong guy.”
Aaron Harrows: “You think you’re better than the guy in the picture?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Nobody’s better than Bret!-”

Trixie, realizing what she just said, tries to catch herself, but is a

touch too late.

Aaron Harrows: “And the truth has arrived! You do know him! See, I
knew you knew, I’m quite smart. Now...If nobody is better than

Bretty Boy, why wasn’t he signed to FWA?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Uuuh, I-I d-dunno...they really should. Me and Bret

were the best team in the world!”

Aaron Harrows: “And yet they only signed you. Also, that’s a lot of
compliments for someone you think is a nobody. You’re the one that
didn’t even recognise him at first, right? Maybe you’ve got a little high
on your ego and forgot the people who got you to this position?”
Trixie, trying her hardest to understand what the creepy man wants
so that she can get out of this room, looks completely confused.

Frustrated, she responds...

Trixie Bordeaux: “B-But...you put me in this position! What are you

even talking about!?”

Aaron Harrows: “Your position in FWA, Bellatrixie.”
Trixie’s confusion and frustration escalate.

Trixie Bordeaux: “What about it!? You’re not making any sense!”
Aaron Harrows: “I’m making perfect sense, thank you very much! You
were chosen to be a judge on the recent season of Ground Zero,

right?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Y-Y-Yeah? What about it?”

Aaron Harrows: “So they clearly want more people like you, right? So
you’re clearly doing something right because they want you to train
the next big star like Chris Peacock and Reagan Cole right?”
Trixie scowls at these names. Chris Peacock, someone she thought
was her friend until he slapped her in the face...and Reagan Cole, the
single biggest piece of scum she has ever come across, who bullied
her along with his friends Jeffry and TYLER, and who has proven
himself her biggest rival. Comparing her Ground Zero students, and
friends, to those two men, doesn’t sit well with Trixie whatsoever...
Trixie Bordeaux: “MY STUDENTS WILL NEVER BE LIKE THOSE BIG
MEANIES! MY STUDENTS ARE NICE AND COOL, AND MY FRIENDS!”
Aaron Harrows: “OH YEAH? YOUR FRIENDS HUH? IS TONYA SCOTT

YOUR FRIEND?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “YEAH, SHE IS! SO WHAT?”

Aaron Harrows: “THE SAME PERSON WHO LITERALLY SAID THAT HER
MAGIC ISN’T REAL, THAT SHE’S A CONMAN, SOMEONE NOT TO BE
TRUSTED. The same person who doesn’t like what your other friends
are doing to the world of magic, that’s your student? That’s the
person FWA want more of instead of people with actual talent?”
Hearing this, Trixie’s lip quivers, looking betrayed. Aaron, himself
getting frustrated just having to mention Tonya Scott.
Trixie Bordeaux: “No...no, that can’t be right...Tonnie’s my friend. She

would never say these things...”

Trixie pauses for a moment, trying to think of a reason why her
friend would say such things. After thinking for a moment, Trixie’s

eyes lock onto the creepy man’s eyes.

Trixie Bordeaux: “Wait, NO! YOU’RE LYING AGAIN! First, you told me
you were a fly, and now you’re lying about my friends! TONNIE
WOULD NEVER SAY THOSE THINGS! YOU’RE A DIRTY, ROTTEN LIAR!“
Aaron Harrows: “I AM NOT A LIAR, I AM AN ACTOR, AND I AM THE

TOP STAR! Every time...”
“I need a minute.”

Aaron leaves the room again, rushing out the door in frustration but

this time it’s different. Trixie can still hear him.

Aaron Harrows: “AHHHH. She just won’t quit! I just need an answer!”

Patty Reynolds: “Hey, calm down. Are you good?”

Aaron Harrows: “No, what part of this should feel good? I need to go

back in there.”

Patty: “Maybe this isn’t a good idea, maybe we should just let her go?
She doesn’t know anything. Literally. She doesn’t know anything.”
Aaron Harrows: “But she must know something! She’s gotta know
something, she’s the one FWA signed, right? Just jump straight to the

main roster, right? I just....don’t get it!”

Patty Reynolds: “Why are you so obsessed?? You know we can get
you into any wrestling company in the world, we just nee-”
Aaron Harrows: “EXCEPT FOR THIS ONE. Because they are knobheads
who let anyone in the door apparently, other than me! I...I’m going

back inside.”
Patty Reynolds: “Aaron!”

Trying to take in and process all of the information that the creepy
man’s incessant yelling is giving her, hoping to find out what exactly
this bumbling lunatic wants, Trixie slowly begins to put some of the
pieces of the jigsaw together as Aaron rampages back in for the third

time, collapsing in his chair opposite Trixie....

Trixie Bordeaux: “Uuh, I think I known what’s goi-
Aaron Harrows: “What do you think makes you special, Trixie?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Wai-...what?”

Aaron Harrows: “Just answer the question....”

Trixie looks completely dumbfounded by the creepy man’s question.

Trixie? Special!?

Trixie Bordeaux: “I-...I’m not. I-I’m just Trixie...”

Aaron Harrows: “You’re not just Trixie though, are ya? You were the
one that got signed instead of your super-talented brother, right?
You were the one who skipped Ground Zero, a feat not even allowed
to people who are WAAAAAAAY better than you in every possible
way. Hell, Ground Zero then chose you to train the next generation
of their roster, including the woman who beat my own sister with a
fucking card trick! And if that wasn’t enough, you were the one that
was targeted by my fucking mentor because he saw something in you
that he clearly didn’t see in me. Hell, you have a championship
because someone picked you to be a part of their cult! So tell me,
Trixie. What am I missing?! Why are you so special?!”

Trixie Bordeaux: “I’M NOT!...”

Trixie snaps, her emotions...all of them. Her fear, anger, frustration,
her hatred for herself, her mild indigestion...they all come rushing to

the surface, and she snaps...

Trixie Bordeaux: “THEY FUCKED UP, OKAY!!!”

Aaron’s eyebrows raise as this childish blonde bimbo who uses words

like “meanie”, actually curses.

Trixie Bordeaux: “I DUNNO WHY THEY CHOSE ME OVER BRET! Maybe
they’re just stupid, I dunno! Bret’s like the bestest ever, and I...I’m
just...I just suck. They should have chosen Bret! He would be the
bestest World Championship person EVER, but instead they chose me,

and I can’t win unless people help me!”

All of Trixie’s doubts and fears come pouring out, mainly from her

mouth and eyes, as she begins to tear up.

Trixie Bordeaux: “I dunno what everyone sees in me! I DON’T GET IT!
I dunno why Kleio, Blair and Celery let me team with them! There are
so many more better people to be friends with than me, and they’re
so good that they helped me win Goldie! I keep trying to tell myself
that I deserve to be a champion, but deep down in my tummy, I
know that without Blair and Celery, I would never be a champion,
because I’M NOT GOOD ENOUGH! I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING!
Every time I get into the weird box thingy, I get my butt kicked! Ray
Gun Cole beat me up, Shawn Summers beat me up, Jeffry beat me up,
MvHie beat me up, that weird carnival man beat me up...every time I
fight someone without someone’s help, I LOSE! I LOSE OVER AND

OVER AGAIN!”

Trixie’s hands ball up into fists, wanting so badly to punch something
and let her anger out, but alas, she is unable. All she can do is talk...

Trixie Bordeaux: “And to make things worse, the FWA asked me to
teach people, when I don’t even know what I’m doing myself! Maybe
they just hated the people on my team, and wanted them to lose so
badly that they gave them my dummy head to teach them! But now
they’re all gonna lose, and all their hopes and dreams are gonna get
squashed, and it’s ALL MY FAULT! Tonnie, Moony, Iris, Paige and
Josie all wanted so badly to be wrestlers, and now because I’m so
damn stupid, they’re gonna fail! They’re gonna fail like I woulda
failed if it weren’t for Kleio taking me under her wing, or Blair and
Celery for having my back and dragging me through fights that I
wouldn’t win without them! So STOP CALLING ME SPECIAL, Because
I’M NOT! I’M NOTHING WITHOUT ALL THE PEOPLE WHO HELPED ME!
They are the special ones, NOT ME! Go and take them from their
rooms and try to tie them up! YOU WON’T! Because you’d get your
butt kicked! The only reason you came after me is because I’m so
stupid and weak that you knew you’d win! Why don’t you go to
Kleio’s castle and kidnap her, huh!? See what happens! She’d squash
you like the BIG, FAT, UGLY BUG YOU ARE! Go try to kidnap Kleio, and

LET. ME. GO. NOW!!!”

Whatever sanity Trixie had left has seemingly left her presence, as in
sheer rage and hatred, she once again attempts to break free of the

ropes that hold her down, screaming all the while.
Trixie Bordeaux: *Flailing back and forth violently*

“WRAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! LET ME OUT OF THIS
FUCKING ROOOOOOM! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT! LET ME OUT!”
Aaron Harrows sits there in complete silence, a new thing for the
normally overly charismatic actor who was the voice of Dalmatian
#69 in 101 Dalmatians, studying the now-gone crook Trixie as she
rampages back and forth, struggling to really say the words that he

needs.

Aaron Harrows: “.....Well at least your students get a shot. At Least
they can say at the end that they were on television fighting for the
biggest wrestling promotion in the world, you don’t know how good
you have it, think of the millions of people who can’t say what you
can! I’ve never been given my shot! They won’t let me but they’ll let
in the clowns! Lou Cha, Sauce Man, Ramjam, a literal clown! I’ve
worked my butt off and I’ve sent in applications for ALL FIVE
SEASONS. And you know what I got in return? DENIED, DENIED,
DENIED, DENIED, DENIED. I put on a mask and call myself Arriba
Estrella, denied. I threw in me and my friend Patty as a team, denied.
And then I threw in my sister, Millie Harrows. The only applicant that
didn’t include me. No wrestling experience to speak of and she got in.
And I was so proud of her, she’s amazing! But also so annoyed at
the FWA because at that moment, I knew the problem. It was me.
They just didn’t want “The Top Star” to have an opportunity
because....Well, that’s the problem. I DON’T KNOW WHY THEY HATE ME.
I’m the best technical wrestler on the planet, in my first promotion I
went undefeated for 7 months and won the European Championship
only to lose it, by the way to someone who is now a freaking tree, I
think? I DON’T KNOW. The point is...FWA didn’t like me but they
accepted my sister, who...didn’t even know I signed her up, I didn’t
think it would work, why would it? Nothing else did.”

Harrows runs his fingers through his hair, clearly going through some
stuff, right now. Trixie, meanwhile, has stopped her rampaging and is
slowly calming down while listening to Aaron tell his story.
Aaron Harrows: “....telling her was a bit chaotic, obviously. She wasn’t
pleased, let’s just say that. I don’t blame her for being mad...getting
thrown into something you’ve never done before, all because of your
brother’s obsessions...that’s enough to send anyone into a frenzy. I
just thought that maybe, if Millie did well and got a contract, that
the FWA would be more willing to sign me too...oh, who was I

kidding...”

Aaron drops his face into his palms, utterly defeated. A long sigh

follows before Aaron decides to keep going.

Aaron Harrows: “....You got an opportunity here, not everyone has.
Who cares if you need other people to help you? Patty, outside the
door is my friend, accountant, chef, waiter, bag carrier, shoe cleaner,
driver, cleaner, therapist, engineer, bodyguard, translator, accomplice

and servant.”

Trixie: “That’s...a lot of stuff.”

Aaron Harrows: “It is, I pay him a lot. And those are the roles I
remember. Trixie, I didn’t target you because I thought you were
dumb or whatever, I got you because you helped take out my sister.
Like I said, it was rough at the beginning, but she’s my sister. She
could have threatened to sue this entire company and got out of
Ground Zero quite easily. But she didn’t. She started training and she
got really good. Surprisingly good. And I helped and we bonded more
than we ever have...because for once we had a common goal. Win
Ground Zero. For once I didn’t feel like this was about me, it was
about her, and she got 3 wins in a row! We really thought she had a
shot...until Tonya took it away with a card trick. Tonya, I got, that’s
competition for ya, but you.....you managed to encapsulate
everything that I had failed to do. You skipped Ground Zero and
became a champion, beating Cole in the process. You are on, like,
stage seven of what would have been my plan and yet I can’t even
get past stage one...shit, I’m sorry. This was a bad idea. I should have

listened to Patty on this one.”

Aaron Harrows gets out of his chair and steps towards Trixie, who

instinctively flinches at his approach.
Trixie Bordeaux: “Wha-What are you doing?”

Aaron approaches Trixie, and much to her surprise, begins untying

her.

Aaron Harrows: “To quote the average movie, “Shallow Hal”, I’m
rescuing you. And now you say “From what?”, so I can say “From
what? From a pack of stampeding buffalo, that's what!”....Again it’s a

very average movie.”

Completely stumped that the creepy man is actually releasing her, but

grateful nonetheless, Trixie responds...

Trixie Bordeaux: “...I thought it was funny. Thank you so much for

letting me go...”

Aaron Harrows takes a moment to pause and reflect, people don’t
normally get his movie references. This is a nice change of
pace...unfortunately for him, the pleasantries were about to end, as
from seemingly outta nowhere, the just mentioned contestant of
Ground Zero Season 5, Millie Harrows storms into the room.
Millie: “For fucks sake, Aaron. Sorry but you deserve this one, GIRLS!

THEY’RE IN HERE!”

And immediately following her into the room, Blair and Celestia

Ravenwood!

Celestia Ravenwood: “GET AWAY FROM HER, YOU CREEP!”
As Aaron’s eyes fall upon the pair of extremely angry witches

charging towards him, he can only say...

Aaron Harrows: “Hey, aren’t you two the commentat-AAAAAAH!””

...before being dived on by Celestia, who tackles him to the ground
and begins to lay punches and kicks into his face and sternum, while
Millie, who followed the Ravenwood sister’s into the room, looks on,
quite disappointed. Through all of this, Blair continues the job that
Aaron had previously been working at, as she unties Trixie as the

scene fades....

Chapter 3 - You Got a Friend In Me

We return to the room we’ve been in a couple of times by now as the
past and present finally merge into one. Aaron Harrows and Patty
still remain tied up, but there is an update in their predicament since
we last saw them...Aaron has duck tape over his mouth, yet the
emotion on his face tells you that even without the duck tape, I
don’t think he would want to speak as he stares at the floor still
feeling guilty about the whole ordeal. He doesn’t even dare to look
his sister in the eyes because of his monologue that Trixie somehow
managed to recite from memory perfectly. Meanwhile, we have the
other three of this situation, Celestia has her arm around Trixie,
comforting her, all the while Blair stares at Aaron with murderous

intent.

Millie Harrows: “You realize I can’t actually let you kill him, right? He

unfortunately counts as OneFuture property.”

Blair scoffs at Millie.

Blair Ravenwood: “What, you think you can stop me, rookie? Trust
me, I’ve literally seen every fight you’ve ever been in, and I know for a

fact that I would stomp you into the dirt without even breaking a

damn sweat, so go right ahead, try and stop me...”

Blair rises to her feet and moves in Aaron’s direction. Millie, full of
courage and bound by blood to protect her brother, steps between

them, smile beaming similar to her brother,

Millie: “That may be true but I doubt Kleio would be pleased with her

castle being repossessed, would she?”

Patty: “Oh no..”

The two women stare down one another but before the two women
come to blows, they are interrupted by the one person in the room
who should want to see Aaron put down more than anyone...

Trixie Bordeaux: “STOP IT!”

Everyone turns to see Trixie, looking like a damp dog, standing on
her feet with her fists clenched, and a serious look in her eyes.
Trixie Bordeaux: “Nobody is killing anyone, and nobody is taking
Kleio’s home away! I’m sick and tired of everyone fighting because of
me! First it was us and YDS, and now you guys...please, JUST STOP!”

Blair Ravenwood: “Trixie, don’t be so stupi-”
Trixie Bordeaux: “Blair, SIT DOWN AND SHUT UP!!!”

Celestia’s eyes widen in complete shock as Trixie and Blair stare holes
in each other, neither budging as Millie backs up to be with her

brother and boyfriend.

Celestia Ravenwood: “Oooooookay, let’s all just calm down. Blair,

please...don’t.”

Blair and Trixie continue the rematch of their aforementioned staring
contest, before thankfully, Blair gives off a small, impressed smirk to
Trixie, and backs away, back towards her seat on the bed. On the
other side of the room, Millie rips off Aaron’s duck tape.
Aaron Harrows: “Owwwwwwwwww, should have just left it on! Oh
that’s definitely taken off some facial hair, okay...ahhh.
Millie Harrows: “You’re a real idiot sometimes, you know that?”
Aaron Harrows: “Shocking revelation there....still hurts.”
Millie laughs a bit and shakes her head before all three turn their

head to Trixie...

Aaron Harrows: “Let me just repeat my apology real quick, I have
some real deep-seated problems, I’ve accepted that. But we’re good
right? Hopefully? Maybe? Pretty Please with a cherry and sprinkles on

top?”

Through all of the tension in the room, and the sheer hell that she’s
been through on this night, Trixie can’t help but giggle at Aaron’s
apology. Noticing this, even Celestia can’t help but question Trixie...
Celestia Ravenwood: “Wai-...Like, not killing him is one thing, but
you’re not actually thinking about forgiving this lunatic, are you!?”
Patty Reynolds: “I don’t like that I’m somehow agreeing with witches,

but I’m with her on this one.”

Blair Ravenwood: “Are we 100% sure that murder is not still on the

table?”

Blair looks around the room to see many disapproving eyes fall upon

her, and just chuckles to herself.

Blair Ravenwood: “Boooooooring...well, in that case, yeah Trix, you

ain’t forgiving this wacko.”

Trixie looks around the room at everyone, and then stares at Aaron,
who stares back at her with pleading eyes, looking as pathetic as a

cowering dog.

Trixie Bordeaux: “But look at him! He clearly knows that what he did

was wrong...and he did say sorry!”

Aaron Harrows: “And I am, I am really, really, really, really, really,
really, really quite sorry for what I did to you, Bellatrixie....”
Trixie gestures towards Harrows as though she’s presenting exhibit A.

Trixie Bordeaux: “SEE!”

Celestia Ravenwood: “Yeah, fine...he’s sorry. But feeling “really, really,
really, really, really sorry” doesn’t get you pardoned from KIDNAPPING

CHARGES, isn’t that right, Lawyer Bitch?”

Millie Harrows: “IF it wasn’t for me, you two would have never found

them, so watch it.”

Celestia scoffs at the sheer gall of this Ground Zero contestant,
before giving her a shit-eating grin, knowing full well that Millie

doesn’t have a leg to stand on, right now.

Aaron Harrows: “Yeah, I assume we don’t get a storytime with

whatever happened with you three?”

Millie Harrows: “Aaron, please. They do actually have a point.”

Aaron: “She’s awake!”

Millie Harrows: “That’s not what kidnapping is! But also, no charges
have been put forth as of right now...only Trixie can make that call.”
Once again, the eyes of everyone in the room falls upon Trixie,
especially Aaron’s. They stare at each other once more, with Aaron
giving it his best puppy- dog eyes...in that moment, Trixie makes her

decision.

Trixie Bordeaux: “You don’t have to go to da slammer, creepy guy...”

Aaron exhales, relieved beyond belief.

Aaron Harrows: “Oh okay, okay, okay, cool, cool, cool, cool, cool,

thanks Bellatrixie! Appreciate that!”

Trixie smiles at Aaron, as relief flows through both Millie and Patty as
well. Blair and Celestia, however, look as though they’re about to
throw up with all the niceness...and it’s about to get a whole lot

worse for them, too....

Trixie Bordeaux: “Oh, and I’ve also had an idea about how to get you

a job in the FWA too!”
Aaron Harrows: “I’m SORRY WHAT!?”

Everyone, once again, stares at Trixie, completely dumbfounded. Blair

and Celestia especially look completely outraged.

Blair Ravenwood: “I never thought I’d say this, but my sentiments
exactly...I’M SORRY, WHAT!!!? YOU’RE ACTUALLY HELPING THIS

WACKO!?”

Patty Reynolds: “.....How long do you have to be kidnapped before

Stockholm syndrome is a possibility?”

Trixie Bordeaux: “Look, I know he did a really, really bad thing, but
everyone deserves a second chance...and he never even got a first
chance in the FWA! And I wanna help him get that chance...”

Celestia Ravenwood: “But...WHY!?”

From the looks on the faces of everyone in the room, nobody can
seem to fathom the inner workings of Trixie’s mind, and are

completely baffled.

Trixie Bordeaux: “Because he deserved a chance a whole lot more
than I ever did, but he never got it...and there have been so many
times where people have helped me on my journey, from Bret getting
me into wrestling, and teaching me, and teaming with me in (WORD
CENSORED), to Cali and Katsu being the first people to make friends

with me in, basically forever...”

Blair and Celestia scowls at the mention of two of the YDS girls as
Aaron whispers to his sister confused why she just called a chicken

curry, a person?

Trixie Bordeaux: “To Kleio, Grammy Ethel, and you guys...” *looks at
Blair and Celestia* “...for letting me join The Coven, and helping

me...ME! Become a champion!”

Celestia Ravenwood: “Trixie, you don’t need our help to be a champ-”

Trixie Bordeaux: *In a nice way* “Celery, please...lemme finish...”
Celestia looks at Trixie, before smiling and nodding.

Trixie Bordeaux: “There have been so many people who have helped
me make it in FWA. I was a failure before I started wrestling, and
without y’all’s help, I wouldn’t be standing here, still with a job, and
with Goldie under my pillow! And well...I wanna help somebody like

y’all have helped me.”

Trixie stares back towards Aaron, smiling.

Trixie Bordeaux: “Look, I read on the Twitting Machine that my friend
Katsu is in the doctor's place, and that Cali and Riririko will be
staying with her in Japan. See the thing is, is that I had signed up to
the Buddy Bowl thingy in FWA so that I could make a new friend,
and instead of giving me a new friend, the FWA gave me Cali...but
since Cali is staying in Japan, I don’t have a partner for the Buddy

Bowl!”

Aaron Harrows: “....You telling me, you need a Buzz to your Woody?”

Trixie points at Aaron, excited.

Trixie Bordeaux: “YEAH! Like Buzz and Woody!! You can sign up to
the Buddy Bowl as Cali’s replacement, and me and you can team up,

and you can show the FWA how great you are!!”

Aaron, just as excitedly goes to point, forgets he’s tied down and

falls on his face.

Aaron: “LET'S DO THIS! YEAH! Can someone untie me now so I can

celebrate?!”

Aaron looks around for some help, and his eyes momentarily land on

Blair.

Blair Ravenwood: “Yeah, you got no chance, wacko.”

Millie Harrows: “I got ya, big bro.”

Millie Harrows unties Aaron and while she’s at it, Patty. Aaron

Harrows jumps up.

AARON HARROWS: “FWA, I’M FINALLY ARRIVING WOO!”
Aaron and Trixie jump together in celebration, the excitement from
both of them bouncing like a ping pong as everyone around them
looks on, slightly concerned at the duo that has been formed from

this madness as we slowly come to an end.

toy story - you've got a friend in me music

THE END

P.S.: Whoops, sucks to suck, Buddy System. YOINK! Our gimmick now!

 

[Dubble J]

Randy Ramon & Chris Crowe (Rock Show) Buddy Bowl Promo

“TWO TICKETS TO THE ROCK SHOW”​

Prologue

Back in Business XVI
July 2022

Rod Sterling: Randy doesn’t care. For the love of god, send someone out there - referees, officials, anyone. This has gone far enough. This was never a match, this was never a fight. There was only ever going to be one outcome. This was a prolonged slaughter.

Randy Ramon: We... Are not... Done... Yet...

He pulls Krash up, by the necktie, screaming in his face.

Randy Ramon: GET. UP.

Krash weakly paws at Randy’s grip, breathless, his voice barely above a whisper/

Krash: Randy-

Randy: I said get up!

Krash: Randy... I give up.

It’s so quiet, you could hear a pin drop. Randy squints in disbelief, his voice horse.

Randy Ramon: What?

Krash: I... give up... I surrender... I forfeit... I give up, Randy.

Randy stares incredulously, his head shaking ever so slightly.

Krash: I’m done, Randy... It’s over. You win.

Rod Sterling: Thank Christ. This is over, folks. Send in some officials to help these two men back to the arena. Someone’s gotta be injured.

The words don’t seem to have an effect on Randy, as he stares at the man he has fought for so long at this point. Krash’s bleak, exhausted eyes stare into his, as Randy lets loose on his grip, his hands falling to his side. There is no feeling of victory. The feeling is hollow. Empty. Randy slowly sits himself down on the lakebed, barely feeling the water caressing his being. On his hands and knees, Krash coughs.

Krash: I hope... You found... What you were looking for.

There is a long pause. Randy squints. His face is troubled, unsatisfied.

Randy Ramon: ... No. I don’t think I did.

A shadow of an emotion flickers over Krash, unreadable in the dark of the night. It could be pity. It could be dismay. It could be understanding.

Depending on what side of the fence you sit on, it could even be devious. In the night, it's too dark to say for sure.

Krash: ... Ah. I guess... I guess we’re not over, then.

Jean-Luc Watkins: No-!

Before Randy Ramon can react, Krash throws himself, and locks in the Discordant Serenity! Randy splutters, as Krash cinches it in tighter and tighter!

Krash isn’t letting go!

Rod Sterling: What is this?!? I thought it was over!

Jean-Luc Watkins: Randy issued this challenge to find a very specific answer, one that he hasn’t found yet. If he hasn’t found it, then it’s not over... And Krash knows that.

The two struggle! Randy flailing, Krash tightening his grip with all he has left! Randy loses his balance, stumbling into the water!

There’s a startled cry!

A splash!

Then silence.

The murky waters of the lake of Quinta da Boa Vista slowly settle, gently lapping at the lakebed of the park.

Seconds, then minutes pass.

No figure emerges from the deep.

We cut to black…

Randy (internal monologue): “Hold my breath as I wish for death; oh please god, help me.”

…


…or at least, we did. But little did we know, there was a commotion brewing under the water.

After a beat, Randy is able to break free of the hold. He has taken a beating, and his lungs ache for oxygen. Desperation set in as he struggled to maintain his composure, but in that moment he knew that he would not be able to make it back to the surface in time. He couldn’t give up, he wouldn’t, but he was about out of options.

He flailed his arms in panic, praying for a miracle. Just as it seemed he would succumb to the relentless weight of the water, his fingers brushed up against something unexpected. There, on the river floor, he felt a metallic object. With the last reserves of his strength, he seized it. It was a trident, an ornate weapon with an otherworldly aura.

In the heat of the moment, the trident felt strangely cold to the touch. Without fully comprehending what was happening, he clung to it. In that instant, a surge of energy coursed through him, and the trident began to glow with an ethereal blue light. His eyes lit with wonder as he took what he imagined would be his final breath.

But as he held the trident, a powerful whirlpool materialized around him, swirling with increasing intensity. The water that had been his foe moments ago now appears to be his panacea, obeying his every command. With a thunderous roar, the whirlpool consumes him, creating a vortex that extends from the floor and engulfs him.

In the blink of an eye, he has vanished. Hours and days would be spent searching for his corpse, but none would be found. None would be found, because there was no corpse to leave behind. Some believed it was an elaborate stunt, a “pull back the curtain” moment that Randy had used to disappear from the public eye. Others assumed he slipped out of the river when no one was looking.

But the truth was far stranger than anyone could have imagined. He had not drowned; it was not an elaborate ruse. Instead, he had been teleported to an unknown place. The trident he had clung to was more than a mere prop; it was a conduit to powers beyond human understanding.

Chapter 1

Parts Unknown
The Year 20XX

The scene is dark. A bleak and desolate era marked by the ravages of a never-ending war. Skies heavy with smoke cast a pall over the landscape, and the crumbling ruins of once-thriving cities bore witness to the relentless conflict that had plunged the world into chaos. In the midst of this grim tableau, a figure materializes, seemingly out of thin air, disoriented and bewildered.

Randy Ramon finds himself standing in the heart of a war-torn city, his bright, soggy clothes a jarring contrast to the grim reality that surrounds him. He had been enveloped by a strange, bluish glow while locked in an underwater battle with Krash, and now he was here, transported, disoriented and out of place. His hands are empty, no visible signs of the trident that brought him here.

He stumbles through the debris-strewn streets, the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions filling the air. Everything around him seems alien, and the eerie silence that follows the sounds of battle only deepens his disorientation.

Where is he? Where is Krash? Assuming that trident created that whirlpool and led him to this place, is Krash here too? If not, then does the fact that he’s in this place and Krash is still in the river mean that Randy… won? Though he’s been removed from the time and place of his epic battle, the urges of rage and hate and vengeance still flow through him as thick as the blood that keeps him alive.

The only thought that keeps running through his mind is an unmitigated desire to return to that place and make sure that the job was finished. He may not have found the closure he was looking for, but he could be damned sure that Krash didn’t find what he was looking for, either.

As he fumbles along the desolate street, a sudden shout from behind makes him freeze in his tracks. He turns to see a group of heavily armed soldiers emerging from the shadows, their faces etched with weariness and suspicion. They encircle him, their weapons trained on the bewildered intruder. It is at this moment that he realizes the reasoning for their hostile approach: he resembles a soaked rat in the middle of a desert. He does not belong here.

“Who are you, and how did you get here?” demands one of the soldiers, edging on hostility.

“I… I don’t know,” he stammers. “I was… underwater, and then… here?”

The soldier’s eyes narrow, and it seems he’s about to give an order. An order that would likely be fatal for Randy. But at that exact moment, a voice rings out from the back of the group.

“Hold on!”

A tall, imposing figure steps forward, his face concealed by a mask, and his uniform tattered and worn. He carries himself with an air of authority that makes the other soldiers snap to attention. “What’s your name?” he asks, his voice cold and calculating.

“Randy… uh, Randy Ramon,” he replies, still bewildered by the unfolding events.

The leader studies him for a moment, then suddenly removes his mask, revealing a rugged face with piercing eyes. He steps closer to Randy, and there is a glimmer of recognition in his gaze. “Randy Ramon? As in, the Rockstar? This isn’t at all what I expected, but your name rings a bell. I’m Chris Crowe, the fourth.”

Randy’s eyes widen in surprise. “Chris Crowe? Like, the Showman?”

The soldiers exchange glances, and the atmosphere seems to shift from hostility to curiosity. Chris nods, his eyes now gleaming with a glimmer of hope and nostalgia. “That’s right, my great grandfather, ‘The Showman’, spoke of your legendary battles. With, and against him, in the old days - before everything…” He gestures vaguely at the hell around them. “...went to shit.”

Randy’s memories begin to stir. He knew of a Chris Crowe - he was a relatively new figure in FWA at the time of Randy’s battle with Krash… Krash...

Randy’s eyes dart around, trying to comprehend all of this. “Did you see another guy run through here? He kind of looks like a piece of shit with a mustache? A literal turd with a mustache?”

The soldiers all shake their heads from side to side. Randy shakes out the cobwebs and returns his mind to the questions at hand.

Randy had never faced Chris Crowe, never been in the ring with him, never even met the guy in person. What was this large person talking about, and how could it be the Showman’s great grandson standing before him, a fully grown man?

And why does he speak of things that never happened? And where was he? What broken city was this?

And better yet, a more poignant and pointed question rests on his tongue, threatening to question every fiber of reality that he’s ever known.

“When am I?” he asks, slowly coming to the realization that the trident may not have merely moved him out of the water and to something reasonably approximating safety..

“It’s 2085, Randy. I don’t know how you got here, and I won’t pretend to know why you look the same as you did in my family’s old pictures, but you’ve arrived in a fucking shitstorm. If you’re willing, we could use your help. We’re in the middle of war… a war for our very freedom, and we’re struggling. But… you’ve obviously been sent here, and now, for a reason. You might be exactly the sign we’ve been waiting for.”

The other soldiers exchange glances, unsure of how this newcomer fits into their ranks. Randy, however, sees an opportunity to make sense of this strange world he has landed in. He nods in agreement. “I may not be a soldier, but I’m willing to help. If it means a chance to find some answers? Then I’m in.”

CCIV’s eyes sparkle with gratitude. “Then welcome to Deathswitch.” He smiles. “You’re going to play a part in a fight for freedom and justice, just this time, the stakes are higher than any wrestling match...”

Randy’s journey for revenge has taken an unexpected turn, leading him to a time and place he does not recognize. For better or worse, he is now part of this militia. With the shadow of war looming over their shoulders, Randy and Chris stand side by side, ready to forge a new destiny.

“The Rockstar” is now an unexpected hero in the fight for freedom… and… time?

Chapter 2

The cold late Autumn wind whips through The Badlands Trailer Park as we cut in and see “The Showman” Chris Crowe and his best friend/manager Crazy Harry taking in the last few rays of sunshine before winter on the front lawn. Both men are sprawled out on their respective green lawn chairs. A cooler of cold Miller Lite sits between the dynamic duo as they sip away the day.

Crowe reads from an envelope his FWA itinerary for the upcoming show. He decided to throw his name into the Buddy Bowl, although he and his other best friend Tommy fucking Bedlam have taken the Tag Division by storm. The dangerous team now just known as “Deathswitch” was hoping to cut the line of number one contenders for the FWA Tag titles with the hopes of being paired up in the Buddy Bowl. However, fate doesn’t always work the way you want it to, as such was the case here.

Crowe looks down and is surprisingly excited about who he is teaming up with…

“Is it Tommy? Please tell me it’s Tommy…you’re excited…it must be Tommy…”

Harry is hanging onto every facial expression Crowe makes while reading the itinerary.

“Nope. Not Tommy…”

Harry puts his head in his hands and lets out a sigh.

“Fuck. Then who is it? I hope it’s none of those crazy witches from The Coven! My balls still hurt from them!”

“It’s…It can’t be…Well, it does say it right here. It doesn’t look like a typo. It’s…The Rockstar Randy Ramon!”

Harry’s eyes light up with excitement.

“The fucking ROCKSTAR RANDY RAMON?!?!? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? That guy is a legend!”

Crowe and Harry high five each other before knocking beer cans to a toast.

“It’s not Tommy. He’s not Deathswitch…but…he is a fucking legend! We’re gonna take this entire Buddy Bowl!”

Crowe is happy for a brief moment, before anxiety kicks in. Although Crowe is bursting with excitement about tagging with an FWA legend, the wear and tear of the road has once again consumed him. He is not as hollow as he was when he bolted the first time around, but the agonizing, grueling every-day life is starting to take its toll. He tries his best to let the positives outweigh the very minor negatives.

He is teaming with a FWA Legend! He should be thrilled! No. Not with “The Showman” and his fucked up way of thinking. He sees teaming with Randy Ramon as added pressure to perform at a high level. He now knows he can’t fuck this up, and has to stay laser-focused. Randy Ramon has been gone for over a year and on his first match back is tagging with Crowe? This is insanity!

He’s afraid of the unknown. He’s paranoid. About what? About life. Not knowing what’s around the corner. Not knowing if his knee will give out just walking down to the ring. The fear of failure parallels the unknown in lockstep harmony. The fear of letting down not only himself and Harry, but letting down the entire Badlands Trailer Park once again. This feeling is nothing new to Crowe, however these feelings have intensified over the past few weeks.

Harry doesn’t sense anything, as Crowe plays his poker face masterfully. Recently, Crowe has been making fires in the front yard. Staring deep into the flame soothes his soul. It nourishes his mental state. The crackling sound of the fire fades away the fear and anxiety Crowe is currently feeling.

Crowe tries his best to hide his anxiety and changes the subject.

“You know what, Harry? Let’s make a fucking fire!”

Crowe heads over to the side of the yard and gathers a bunch of wood, sticks, and moss. Off to the side of the pile of wood is an old guitar, leaning up against the side of Crowe’s trailer.

“Oh shit, I remember this thing!”

Crowe says to himself before picking the guitar up. He has never been one for instruments, so we can rule out Crowe purchasing a guitar with his own money. “The Showman” shrugs his shoulders and grabs the guitar along with the firewood.

“Harry, were you jamming in the yard and never told me?”

Crowe tosses the guitar to Harry who laughs. Harry is just as musically declined as Crowe.

Crowe strikes a match and tosses it into the makeshift firepit, igniting the flames. He takes the guitar from Harry and fools around, making pretend he knows how to play it…

“You know how to play that thing?” Harry asks.

“Fuck no! But how cool would it be if I could rip some chords like Metallica?” Crowe replies.

“So where in the fuck did you find an old guitar?” Harry is inquisitive about this guitar. Seemingly because he’s lived with Crowe for as long as he can remember and Crowe never once picked up a guitar.

“Don’t know. One night I passed out on the front lawn. I woke up. There was this guitar leaning on the side of the trailer.”

Crowe strikes a few chords, testing it out. He doesn’t know how to play guitar.

“Alright, Harry. What do you want me to open with? One or Enter Sandman?”

Harry scoffs at the question. Being a Metallica aficionado, Harry already knows the answer.

“You always CLOSE with Enter Sandman. Send the folks home happy.”

“Then ONE it is..”

Crowe looks down at the guitar but before he does, he notices a cold piece of metal at the end of the guitar.

“What the fuck is that?”

Crowe touches the piece of metal. In an instant, a surge of energy courses through his veins, and the piece of metal begins to glow with an ethereal blue light.

Crowe’s eyes light up like he just did an 8-ball of cocaine. Harry notices it as well.

“Damn, Showman. It’s like that piece of metal has some sort of magical powers…”

Crowe looks down at the guitar, strums his fingers along the strings, and begins to play “One” by Metallica in perfect harmony…

“Whoa. Holy shit!”

Crowe looks down at his guitar and continues to string along. Although he’s never played a guitar in his life, he is strumming along perfectly to the beginning guitar rift of “One” by Metallica as if he is Kirk Hammett.

“Holy shit is right, Showman! Ride the fucking lightning baby! Keep it going!”

Harry begins to nod his head up and down to the guitar riff.

Crowe continues jamming away on his guitar as he begins to sing the lyrics of “One”. For this particular moment in time, Crowe lets go of all of his built up stress and anxiety. He feels like a million bucks, AND he can jam the fuck out just like his favorite band, Metallica!

Chapter 3

Parts Unknown
The Year 2085

“I can’t remember anything. Can’t tell if this is true or a dream.
Deep down inside I feel to scream, this terrible silence stops me…”

The night air is crisp, a solitary campfire flickers, casting a warm glow on the faces of the resistance fighters who gather around it. Among them, Randy and Chris sit on makeshift logs. The atmosphere is charged with anticipation, for tomorrow, they face a battle that could reshape the destiny of this land.

But in the midst of it, Randy cannot pull his thoughts fully to this time. The world he left behind was one of chaos, though different from this chaos. Things with Krash had finally escalated to the point that Randy was willing and ready to do anything to end them - even dying. But yet, he sits here on this log, very much alive. None of it makes any sense.

Amidst the subdued conversations and the distant hum of the city’s underbelly, Randy and Chris found themselves in a reflective mood, though each for their own reasons. Chris’ mind, as it should be, is fixated on the battle at hand. This is his time, his battle, his war. The ‘how’ and ‘why’ of Randy’s existence in this time and place are nothing more than footnotes on one page of a chapter of a compilation of books that would be passed down as the history of the new world… if they are victorious.

Meanwhile Randy, while paying the proper respects to the challenges that lie ahead, allows his mind to wander back to the water. Mere seconds left to live, he was plucked from certain death, to this time and place. Why? Who wanted him here? Where did that trident come from? Where did it go? Where does the Crowe family fit into all of this?

Chris breaks the silence, his gaze fixed on the fire. “Randy, tomorrow’s battle - it’s not just about this place. There’s a connection between you and this time, a destiny that stretches beyond the horizon of our understanding.”

Randy, looking off into the distance, nods. “Chris, I can feel it too. There’s a purpose to all of this, something that goes beyond a simple fight for freedom. I was chosen for a reason, and I want, I need, to understand why.”

Chris leans in, his eyes reflecting the dancing firelight. “There are legends, in this time, that speak of an ancient power that will shape the course of history. This trident you speak of could be the key, but only if we can figure out where it came from and how it did what it did in bringing you here. Tomorrow’s battle may unveil more than just the opposition - it might unveil the roots of our own destinies.”

The night becomes a canvas for their thoughts, a space where contemplation mingles with the rustling pitter patter of scurrying creatures and distant sounds of crumbling civilization. The trident that brought Randy here, while gone, seemed to resonate with their shared sense of purpose.

As they delve into conversation, the campfire becomes a crucible for forging strategies and sharing dreams. They discuss the challenges ahead - the tactical intricacies of the battlefield, the shadows that lurk in the unknown, and the delicate dance between fate and free will.

Randy, his eyes catching the glow of the fire, speaks with a quiet intensity. “Chris, I can’t shake the feeling that tomorrow isn’t just another battle. It’s like my entire existence has led me to this point, and The Showman’s legacy is somehow intertwined with it.”

Chris nods, his gaze steady. “Destiny is a complex tapestry. The trident, your connection with The Showman, your… turd with a mustache… this place - they are all threads woven into the narrative of our lives. Tomorrow might unravel some of those threads, but we can only see a fraction of the full picture.”

As the night wears on, a distant light flickers on the horizon. It’s subtle, like a beacon summoning them towards an unknown destination. Randy, feeling an inexplicable pull, stands up.

“Chris, do you see that light?” He points to the distant glow.

Chris squints, his brow furrowed. “That’s strange. There shouldn’t be any settlements in that direction. It could be the enemy, or–”

Before Chris can finish, Randy’s eyes widen with realization. “No, Chris, That light… It's the key to understanding all of this. I can feel it.”

Driven by an unspoken understanding, Randy moves toward the light, leaving the campfire and the hushed conversations behind. Chris, fueled by a curiosity and a shared sense of destiny, follows closely.

As they approach, the light reveals itself to be emanating from a concealed cavern nestled against a rocky landscape on the outskirts of the city. The cavern, hidden from plain sight, seems to hold secrets that beg to be unearthed. Randy, feeling an inexplicable connection, steps inside, Chris at his side.

The cavern’s interior is bathed in a soft, mysterious glow. Strange symbols adorn the walls, and in the center, atop an ancient pedestal, rests a pool of liquid silver, shimmering with a radiance that defies explanation.

Randy approaches the pool, and as he gazes into its depths, visions unfold before his eyes. He sees an ancient civilization, a once-prosperous realm torn apart by power struggles and the misuse of the very trident he believes led him here. The trident, created by the hands of those who sought dominion over time and reality, became a force that transcended its creators, seeking individuals across the ages to bring balance to a fractured world.

Chris, witnessing the visions alongside Randy, speaks with awe. “This is the trident you saw?” Randy nods. Chris continues. “I think - it sought you out, Randy, to rewrite the course of destiny.”

As the visions fade, Randy feels a profound connection. He senses that the trident is not merely an artifact, but a tool of redemption that seeks out individuals whose destinies are intertwined with the salvation of this world. He knows what he needs to do.

He steps forward and plunges his arm into the silver pool. His arm feels as if bolts of electricity flow through it. A familiar cold sensation flows through his fingers as they grasp what cannot be seen. Randy lifts his arm from the pool, and with it comes the trident, glowing with the same blue aura that he saw in the river.

Though he now holds the physical weight of the trident in his hand, and the metaphorical weight of the world in his mind, he feels lighter than he has in some time. The negative energy he has carried with him: the hatred, the jealousy, the anger, the lust for vengeance - have all vanished. As if baptized by the silver waters of this basin, the sins of his old self have been washed away.

Randy’s eyes are lost in the glow. “I understand now,” he whispers. “I was chosen because my destiny is entwined with the fate of this world. But there’s more to uncover. Not just in the past, but also in the future.”

Chris nods, a sense of reverence in his gaze. “Randy, you are a bridge between past and present, a conduit for destiny itself.”

Randy smirks. “A hero of time.”

Their revelations echo in the cavern, and as they emerge into the night, Randy feels a profound sense of purpose. Something he has not felt since the early days of Golden Rock. This is why he was spared. The intense anger and hatred he felt for Krash actually had nothing to do with the man himself. No, the battle - the kicks, the punches, Reagan Cole’s car, all of it, was leading to this moment. A greater purpose. The trident, now more than ever, has become a beacon of a destiny that transcends the limitations of time.

Back at the campfire, the resistance fighters continue their preparations, unaware of the revelations that have unfolded in the hidden cavern. Randy, holding the trident high, joins the camaraderie. His heart and soul resonate with the rhythms of destiny, and as the night continues, he and Chris stand side by side, ready to face the challenges that await them.

The campfire, now a symbol of anticipation and newfound knowledge, burns brightly against the canvas of the night. Destiny, like the flames that dance before them, flickers with possibilities yet to be unraveled.

Chapter 4

“Hold my breath as I wish for death
Oh, please, God, help me”

We follow Crowe’s footsteps as he enters “Bad to the Bone”- a local bar down the street from Crowe’s trailer. It is a beaten down dive bar, one in which the patrons of The Badlands Trailer Park make up about 99 percent of the clientele. Crowe shakes a few hands, pats a few shoulders, and gives a few “hello’s” as he finds an open seat at the bar.

“Showman! Nice to see you, brother!”

The bartender, Jake greets Crowe. Crowe and Jake go way back. The two used to boost car stereos throughout middle school. Much like everybody else from The Badlands, Jake had a gift as a talented writer and producer, yet finds himself tending bar in The Badlands.

“Jake, give me a strong one tonight. Tough day.”

Jake pours a triple shot of Jack Daniels, neat- Crowe’s drink of choice…

“Where’s Harry? I thought I’d see him tonight. Is he still selling? There’s a few things I need from him?”

So, where is Harry? Right before we cut into the scene, Harry solicited two of the prostitutes that line up outside “Bad to the Bone” and of course, his solicitation skills are second to none…

“Knowing him, he will be in any second…”

Crowe and Jake share a laugh as Jake knows exactly where Harry is. Crowe guzzles down his triple shot of Jack Daniels and asks for another. A garage band plays in the corner of the bar while everybody tries to drown out their noise. They’re a group of high school kids trying their best, but all it sounds like is clanging metal as if somebody is building a house.

Crowe usually comes here to chase tail, but tonight, he is extra paranoid. Ever since he picked up that guitar- the feeling that ensued – was like nothing he had ever felt in his entire life. Crowe is still at war with “The Unknown” and the mental albatross he carries around is really eating at him.

On top of the usual anxiety and paranoia that comes with being Chris Crowe on a normal Tuesday, the mounting pressure of teaming with an FWA Legend like Randy Ramon weighs heavily on him. He can’t let the fucking Rockstar down. He can’t be dead weight. He can’t…he can’t stop thinking about that guitar.

“BOO! Somebody pull the fucking plug! My ears are bleeding!’

One of the very happy patrons of “Bad to the Bone” shouts out as the garage band has reached its peak.

The Badlands regulars are exceptionally cranky tonight, and they’ve about had enough of the garage band. They shower the teenage kids trying their hardest with beer bottles, peanuts, and anything else they can get their hands on.

“Ah fuck man, not again. This is the fourth time this week.”

Jake shakes his head as he politely asks the unhappy patrons to stop yelling at the garage band, as one of the members begins to cry.

“Making kids cry and crushing their dreams in the same breath. That’s The Badlands for ya!”

Crowe says as he is now on his fifth glass of Jack Daniels. He looks over at the garage band as they begin to pack up their instruments. Somewhere in the parking lot is a set of proud parents waiting to pick their kid up, only to be disappointed. Disappointment- another stronghold of The Badlands and Chris Crowe…
Although the music has stopped, the other patrons now grow frustrated that there is no music…

“Boo! No music? This place sucks!”

Crowe shakes his head…

“Have your fucking cake and eat it too? You can’t have it both ways. Wanting everything, hating it, then getting pissed when you shut it off- another trait of The Badlands…”

Crowe says to Jake. Jake, who also happens to own this joint, begins to panic…

“Chris, somebody’s gotta do something. I can’t lose any more business.”

Suddenly Crowe looks over at the corner where the band just left. Surprisingly (or not, Crowe is so fucking supernatural at this point it really isn’t THAT surprising) is his guitar. Crowe may be 7 glasses deep in Jack Daniels, but he definitely can recognize the guitar that made him feel superhuman the other day.

“How in the fuck did that get there?”

Crowe mumbles to himself. Harry finally bolts into the bar after his escapades.

“Why are there five crying teenagers on the sidewalk outside?”

Crowe catches him up on the garage band leaving. Harry also spots the guitar.

“Whoa, wait, is that?”

“Yep!”

“How in the fuck?”

“Yep!”

Harry gulps down the rest of Crowe’s eighth glass of Jack Daniels before pointing to the guitar…

“Chris, now is your time to shine! Pick that fucking thing up and ride the lightning!”

“Harry, you know I have no fucking clue how to play that thing!"

“You didn’t know the other day, and I saw James Hetfield’s soul come through your body. Pick that damn thing up and give us a damn show. You are “The Showman” after all!”

“Ah fuck it. Here goes nothing. You got my back once the beer bottles fly my way?”

Harry nods in agreement as Crowe goes over to the guitar and begins to test out the chords. He garners the attention of a few townfolk, who are just waiting for some sort of excitement. Nobody wants another bar fight because they usually don’t end well.

Harry downs another glass of Jack Daniels as he holds his glass up towards Crowe…

“Fucking grip it and rip it, Showman!”

Crowe touches the cold metal at the top of the guitar as he feels like a million volts of the purest electricity known to mankind jolt through his body.

More and more patrons begin picking up on the masterful guitar playing ability from “The Showman” as he feels his hands disconnect from his mind…

Crowe begins to play the only song he knows – “One” by Metallica. He jams away as The Badlands townsfolk are in awe of his performance. James Hetfield could be singing right now and nobody would know the difference.

As Crowe finishes up the song, he is met with a standing ovation.

“Holy shit, Showman! When in the fuck did you learn how to play guitar?”

Jake asks as Crowe looks down at his hands in amazement.

“Long story, Jake.”

“I don’t care how long this story is, you’re hired to come back whenever the fuck you want, Showman!”

Jake and Harry pat Crowe on the back as he sits back down at the bar. Soon, every patron listening to Crowe’s performance comes over and pat him on the back. The Badlands people are tough to please, but Crowe’s rendition of “One” has most of them in shock and awe.,,

For a brief moment in between rocking the fuck out, Crowe felt a sense of peace. He wants to bottle this feeling for the rest of eternity because he knows the minute his hands come off his guitar he’s back to fighting his war with “The Unknown…”

Chapter 5

“Now the world is gone, I'm just one
Oh, God, help me”

Parts Unknown
The Year 2085

The battlefield has become a symphony of clashing swords, roaring war cries, the pop pop of gunshots, and the relentless pounding of boots on unforgiving terrain. The resistance fighters, invigorated by Randy’s presence and the newfound alliance with the mystical trident, surge forward with a determination that defies their earlier despair. They’ve come face to face with the forces that have controlled these lands for too long.

As the sun dips beneath the horizon, the sky transforms into a canvas of deep crimson and shimmering gold. The battlefield becomes cast in the surreal glow of twilight. Battle cries fill the air as the Rockstar becomes the focal point of the resistance’s relentless assault. His sheer determination mixed with the powers of the trident has rekindled the spirits of the fighters, instilling in them a determination they had long thought gone.

What had been a battle teetering on the precipice of defeat has now become a defiant spectacle of resilience and destiny. It has become clear that Randy’s presence on this battlefield is not a mere coincidence; it is a manifestation of the intricate tapestry of fate that wove its threads around him and this world. It is his destiny.

The opposing forces, once indomitable, now find themselves pushed to the edge of surrender. Randy, armed with his new trident, has unlocked powers beyond his comprehension, and has become a beacon of hope for the resistance fighters. The trident’s glow has enveloped him, imbuing him with an aura of invincibility.

The tide of battle has turned from the darkness of despair to the dawning light of hope. The trident, a distant relic from an ancient origin, has proven Randy as its chosen wielder. With every movement, he can feel a connection between his original timeline and this foreign, future hellscape.

The enemy’s leader, an enigmatic figure shrouded beneath black spiked armor and a menacing mask, holds the fate of this battle in his hands. He brandishes a great sword, known across this land as the “Blade of Truth”. It’s a menacing instrument of destruction that gleams malevolently in the fading light. Randy, approaching his destiny head on, confronts this adversary with absolute resolve, a determination that reverberates through the ranks of the resistance.

The clash is a breathtaking display of power from all sides, a dance of combat skills and raw, unmitigated might. The master of the blade moves with calculated precision, delivering strikes that could shatter mountains.

Randy’s experience in the ring has given him unexpected prowess in close combat. When melded with the otherworldly powers of the trident, this creates a fusion of combat techniques that is nothing short of spectacular. Their mighty weapons clash, sparks erupting from their contact, and the ground beneath them trembles in response.

The enemy leader, realizing he has encountered a foe of unparalleled skill, unleashes a devastating strike, hoping to end the confrontation once and for all. But Randy sees it coming. He swiftly dodges the attack and executes a violent parry, seizing the turning point of the battle. He thrusts the trident deep into the ground.

A seismic shockwave rips through the battlefield, his destiny becoming more clear. The ground quivers, and the Blade of Truth is violently wrenched from the hands of the enemy leader. The oppressive forces, disarmed and disoriented, face their ultimate reckoning. The tide of the battle, orchestrated by the destiny that linked Randy to the trident and to this exact moment in time, has irrevocably shifted in favor of the resistance. Victory, like the glow of the trident, now belongs to those who have fought for freedom.

The enemy leader, unmasked and defeated, gazes upon Randy with a complex mixture of bitterness and intrigue. “What is this power you possess?” he demands, his voice shaking with defiance.

Randy raises the trident as it shimmers with radiant energy. He knows what he must do. He takes a half step back before thrusting his foot forward into the enemy leader’s chin, eliminating him with a devastating Remix. The leader’s jaw shatters as he hits the dusty ground. Randy stands valiantly over him. “My density is my power… for some reason, this is where I was meant to be.”

The enemy forces, bereft of their leadership, surrender, and the city is reclaimed. As night descends over the battlefield, the resistance fighters celebrate their hard-earned triumph. Campfires crackle back to life, and stories of the battle are exchanged with fervor. The sweet scent of victory fills the air, and the warriors enjoy their new sense of liberation.

Amid the jubilant festivities, Chris Crowe IV approaches Randy, his eyes filled with a potent mix of determination and curiosity. “We have accomplished something truly incredible today. The power of the trident, your connection to this place, and the destiny that led you here… I get the sense that it’s all part of some bigger puzzle that we need to continue to unravel.”

Randy nods, purpose flowing through his veins. “You’re right Chris. We won this battle… but there has to be something bigger at play here. Why was this exact trident in that exact spot at that exact time? And why did the cavern suddenly… appear? And if it originated in this timeline, how did it get to the bottom of the river?”

Chris looks at him knowingly, as if he just uncovered one of the biggest secrets of the universe. “It’s clear, isn’t it?” Randy returns only a blank stare. “For it to end up in your time, someone from this time would have to put it there.”

Randy knows what this means. Perhaps it’s something he always knew was coming, but wasn’t ready to accept.

Chapter 6

“Hold my breath as I wish for death,
Oh, please God, wake me!”

After a long night filled with Jack Daniels and a masterful guitar session, Crowe’s head hits the pillow for sleep around 4:00 in the morning. He came home empty handed in the woman department tonight, but his guitar playing ability surely moved him up the rankings on most of the Badlands Baddie’s sheet.

Although Crowe had an overall fun night, his mind has reached a breaking point. He can’t stop thinking about the guitar. The high he feels while playing it is accompanied by the lowest of lows he’s ever felt. He’s in a very bad “low” right now, just before sleep. A very bad “low” just before sleep almost always leads to some fucked up dreams for “The Showman” and tonight is no different…

Deep in dream mode, Crowe finds himself in an arid desert. He notices how fucking thirsty he is, due to the fact that his mouth is completely dry to the point where he can barely open it. His body screams for water. He frantically searches for it, but he is in the middle of a desert-no water! The thirsty feeling gains increasingly painful with each step he takes. The hot sun bakes off his neck. He realizes at this moment that all he has on is his wrestling gear. No shirt, no hat, no sunglasses. Just a green pair of wrestling tights, knee pads and black boots.

Off in the distance he can hear what appears to be a stampede of horses. He slowly climbs up a small foothill and looks down- only to see over a million faceless men, all wearing the Grim Reaper getup, charging right towards him on their white horses.

“What the fuck did I get myself into now?”

Crowe says as he tries to hide underneath a big rock.

“You need a place to hide?”

A soft-spoken voice says to Crowe. He looks around, but there is nobody in sight. Crowe decides to look up at the sky and answer.

“Uh, yeah, that would be nice. Seeing that there’s an army of a million grim reapers coming for me…”

He looks down for a better spot to hide, but all he sees is an old walkman CD player.

“Use this. Listen carefully. Expand your thinking. After all, this is your fucking dream…”

The voice says to Crowe…

Crowe quickly picks up the walkman and puts the headphones on before pressing play.

The CD player skips, and skips, and skips, as a small digital reading comes up on it- “Error”.

“Fuck! It’s not working! What do you want me to do?”

Crowe shouts as the stampede steps are drawing closer and closer by the second. He smacks the CD player and finally begins to hear music…

“Now, do what you’re told, Showman.”

Crowe obeys this soft-spoken voice above him with every command. He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and does his best to “expand his thinking” as the voice told him to…

"Get yourselves together…Rise!...Stand up and live your life…”

Crowe gets himself together, rises, stands up, and is ready to live what’s left of his life as the grim reaper army is within fifty yards of him and gaining fast.

“Stand up to the devil slowly rising. Clear your throat now, you can call for their demise!”

Crowe looks off to the side and finds an oasis has been next to him this entire time…or has it? It doesn’t matter. Crowe has stood up to the devil slowly rising, which in this case is a million man grim reaper army. He clears his throat with ease after gulping down a large amount of water. He looks to his left and wouldn’t you believe it? The guitar is leaned up against the side of the oasis!

“Because of fucking course it is!”

Crowe shouts as he picks up the guitar. The grim reaper army is within ten yards of him now. He quickly grips the magical metal piece at the end of the guitar…

“This is your world, just put the fear back in their eyes!”

As Crowe’s hand is still on the magical metal, he hears a loud war-calling horn behind him. He looks back, expecting to be surrounded on all sides, but instead, sees a familiar face.

It’s INSANE LARRY- the brother of Crazy Harry – the leader of The Ghosts of All Souls Past Army- and the man that saves “The Showman” every time he is in one of these situations…

The Ghost Army – skeletons with black top hats – led by Insane Larry charge past Crowe and right into the teeth of the Grim Reaper army. There isn’t much bloodshed, in fact, none at all. The Grim Reaper army simply vanishes into thin air.

Crowe races ahead to meet up with Insane Larry, but this time he and his skeleton army are miles ahead.

“Did I just witness a Ghost driveby?”

Crowe shouts up to the soft-spoken voice…

“Yes. You listened. You expanded your thinking. Always remember to stand up and live your life…and always remember to rise…”

“RISE! RISE YOU FUCKER!”

Crowe quickly awakens from his dream to see Crazy Harry standing at the foot of his bed.

“Oh thank God, Showman! You’re back!”

Crowe, still not knowing what is real and dream, reaches out and grabs Harry’s arm.

“Where the fuck was I?”

“I don’t know, but I have two companions in the other room and you were snoring like a fucking elephant! I can’t concentrate with that noise!”

Crowe looks at Harry and begins to laugh. He vividly remembers every detail of his dream, and is sure to remember the wise words given to him by the soft-spoken voice of the unknown man in the desert.

“All I gotta do is rise, huh?”

Chapter 7

Parts Unknown
The Year 2085

The aftermath of the battle paints the landscape with a mixture of triumph and melancholy. The once-battlefield, not a testament to the resilience of the resistance, echoes with the sounds of soldiers celebrating their hard-fought victory. Fires burn low, casting flickering shadows on the weary faces of the fighters who have gathered to share tales of the day’s events.

Randy and Chris sit on a weathered log near the edge of the camp, their eyes reflecting the glow of the dwindling campfires. The trident, still cradled in Randy’s hands, emits a subdued radiance, as if acknowledging the pivotal role it played in the day’s victory.

The silence between Randy and Chris carries the weight of shared experiences and unspoken sentiments. The trident, a silent witness to their journey, seems to resonate with the unspoken connection that had bound the three together.

Chris, again breaking the silence, speaks with a mixture of exhaustion and satisfaction. “Randy, we did it. Against all odds, we have reclaimed our land. The opposition is scattered, and the people are again free.”

Randy, his gaze fixed on the trident, nods in agreement. “Chris, it’s been an honor. I never thought a quest for revenge could lead to all of this, but I’m grateful for the experience.”

Chris chuckles, a tired but genuine smile on his face. “Revenge or not, destiny has a funny way of bringing people together. The trident chose you for a reason, and the honor is mine to have fought alongside you.”

As they reflect on the battle and the events that unfolded, a sense of camaraderie and understanding envelopes them. The trident, its glow ebbing like a heartbeat, seems to echo the rhythm of their shared experiences.

“The trident,” Chris continues, “holds the key to our past, present, and future. But its purpose in this time is fulfilled. I can sense it.”

Randy runs his fingers along the trident’s intricate design. “I feel it too, Chris. It’s time for me to return to my own time, to where this all began. I need to ensure that the cycle continues.”

Chris looks at Randy with curiosity, sensing the gravity of his words.

Randy stands up, the trident in hand. “I need to place the trident where I’ll find it… or, he will.. Or… my past self. You get the idea. This is all a little confusing. It’s a loop, or a cycle, and I have to close the cycle for it all to make sense.”

Chris nods, understanding drawing in his eyes. “So, you were always meant to find the trident in the river, weren’t you?”

Randy smiles, a blend of nostalgia and determination. “Exactly. It’s a loop that brings everything full circle. I’ll leave this trident in the river, where I once thought I’d drown. That’s where the journey begins.”

As Randy prepares to leave, the campfires around them burn low, casting long shadows on the ground. The fighters, weary but content, continue their celebrations, unaware of the quiet exchange taking place between Randy and Chris.

Before departing, Randy turns to Chris, gratitude etched on his face. “Chris, you’ve been more than a friend on this journey. You’ve been a companion in the face of the unknown. I’ll never forget this battle.”

Chris clasps Randy’s shoulder with a firm grip. “The pleasure was mine, Randy. Our destinies may lead us down different paths, but the bond we forged will endure. Go back to your time, and may destiny guide your steps.”

With those words, Randy steps away from the campfire, trident in hand. He walks towards the riverbank, the memories of battle and camaraderie lingering in the night air. The trident’s glow intensifies as if bidding farewell to a companion.

As he reaches the edge of the river, he pauses, taking in the surroundings one final time. The moon reflects on the water’s surface, creating a scenic tableau. He looks down at the trident, its glow now vibrant, and with a sense of purpose, he gently touches it to the river’s edge.

The trident, once again one with the river’s currents, emits a final burst of brilliance before fading, along with Randy, into the night. Randy, his heart heavy with the weight of goodbyes and the mysteries of destiny, turns to Chris as he shimmers away.

“Take care, Chris. Perhaps our paths will cross again in another time, or another place.”

Chris, his gaze fixed on the river, nods. “Farewell, Randy. May your journey be as extraordinary as the times we’ve shared.”

Randy and the trident have disappeared. The glow lingers in the water, a last testament to the extraordinary journey that had unfolded. Only the echoes of a time-traveling professional wrestler remain in a realm forever changed by the currents of destiny. The river flows, the campfires burn low, and the fighters continue their celebrations, unaware of the intricate tapestry of time and wrestling and revenge and mustaches that had woven their destinies together.

Chapter 8

Back in Business XVI
July 2022

The transition between realms feels like a seamless dance, a swirling current of energies guiding Randy through the fabric of time. As he emerges on the familiar riverbank, the moonlight casts a silver glow on the water's surface. The air smells of damp earth and nostalgia, a stark contrast to the battlegrounds of the future era he had just left.

Randy takes a moment to ground himself. The echoes of the past and the future reverberate in his mind, creating a surreal symphony of memories. He casts a cautious glance around, ensuring he is alone on this moonlit night.

His gaze falls on the trident clutched in his hands. It emits a subdued radiance, a testament to the journey it has undertaken across time and realities. Randy, mindful of the delicate dance of time, knows that he must tread carefully in his actions.

The river, where he once believed he had met his end, whispers ancient secrets. It was the birthplace of this time-traveling odyssey, the stage for the intricate interplay of fate and free will. Randy, with a sense of purpose, moves toward the water's edge.

As he stands at the familiar spot, memories flood back—the confusion, the disbelief, and the discovery of the trident. He felt a connection to his past self, the version of him who had unknowingly set this entire journey in motion.

Randy glances around, ensuring the coast is clear. He doesn't want to encounter his past self, for the consequences of such an encounter are unknown. Satisfied that he is alone at this moment, he kneels down and gently places the trident at the river's edge.

The trident, bathed in moonlight, seems to recognize its origin in our story. It emits a soft glow, mirroring the shimmering surface of the water. Randy, his fingers lingering on the trident's intricate design, whispers words that echo across time.

"May you find your way, just as I once did."

With a measured breath, Randy releases the trident, allowing it to descend into the river's depths. The water embraces the artifact, and as it vanishes beneath the surface, Randy feels a sense of closure—a circle completing its loop.

The river, ever the keeper of secrets, accepts the trident with a subtle ripple. Randy watches as the currents carry it away, downstream, perhaps toward a future where it will once again find its way into the hands of the younger version of himself.

As Randy stands there, a profound stillness settles over the riverbank. The moon, a silent witness to the intricacies of time, bathes the scene in a soft, ethereal glow. The echoes of his time-traveling journey linger, a chorus of whispers carried by the night breeze.

However, as Randy prepares to leave, a thought crosses his mind—a subtle deviation from the established timeline. He glances at the trident, a glint of determination in his eyes. With a swift motion, he unscrews a small section from the trident's handle—a piece that went unnoticed in the grand design of its structure.

This small fragment, a souvenir from a journey that defied the constraints of time, now rests in Randy's pocket. It’s a subtle keepsake, a memento of a tale only he fully comprehends. The trident continues its journey downstream.

As Randy steps away from the riverbank, the night embraces him with a quiet serenity. The past and the future coexist in his mind, two strands of time interwoven into the tapestry of his experiences. The moon, casting its silver glow on the water, bears witness to the enigma of a wrestler who had traversed the currents of destiny.

Randy, with a final glance at the river, turns away, blending into the shadows of the night. He moves onward and upward, knowing that the man who went into the water is gone. Randy Ramon did not die in the river that night, but he was born a new man on the other side.

The echoes of his journey linger, carried away by the breeze, leaving behind a river that flows ceaselessly, unaware of the temporal ripples that will grace its waters.

And so, the night resumes its quiet vigil, the river continues its journey, and Randy, absolved of the weight of past grudges, all in the name of destiny, and carrying a piece of the trident in his pocket, steps into the currents of his own, new, timeline.

Free of hatred and revenge, now an enigma of time and wrestling and of rock and of roll. A new tale has been woven, leaving behind subtle hints and echoes that will transcend the boundaries of past, present, and future.

Epilogue

“Rockstar” Randy Ramon steps around the corner, butterflies in his stomach, as he’s about to RISE for the first time in a long time. He’s reached the entrance way, and now stands shoulder to shoulder with “The Showman” Chris Crowe.

Crowe begins to feel anxious as he finally stands next to Randy in person. This is their first ever interaction, but both men lock eyes and nod, feeling as if they’ve been tag team partners for the past sixty years. Both of their journeys have prepared them for this moment - Randy through time and space, Chris through his own mind.

Everything happens for a reason.

“You ready to do this?” Randy says, taking a deep breath and channeling his nervous energy into unmatched focus.

Crowe nods. His anxiety quickly dissipates as he lets out his pre-match animalistic roar. He’s more ready than ever. It’s fucking go-time – Crowe and Randy are about to engage in the biggest fucking Rock Show anyone’s ever been to…

“Let’s do it,” Crowe returns.

“Let’s grab our fucking destiny...”

…

…

…

RISE!!!!!!!!

 

[Dubble J]

Bell Connelly Buddy Bowl Promo

Bell Connelly: We're going to win-BOOP-!"​

 

[Dubble J]

Tommy Bedlam & Jeffry Mason Buddy Bowl Promo​

Jeffry Mason & Tommy Bedlam

Spoiler: Plain Text Version

Tommy drove to the address in the text message, unsure of what he was going to find. He had grown accustomed to that sort of thing, especially after his impromptu meeting with Lucien several months ago. As he pulled into the parking lot, he quickly figured out that this probably wasn’t Lucien’s doing. No, the seedy motel that he found himself in the parking lot of looked more like something off “Breaking Bad.”

Randi had tried to convince him to get someone, anyone, to go with him, but Chris Crowe was busy, and Tommy wasn’t sure it would be safe for Rocco, so he went alone. As he put his black Toyota Tundra in park in the small parking lot that was riddled with potholes, he instinctively checked to make sure the Ruger 9mm that he always carried was tucked away in the holster that he wore in the back waistband of his Wrangler jeans.

A light mist was falling from the grey sky, as the temperatures in Texas dropped to their lowest point of the winter. It wasn’t cold yet, but it was certainly getting cool, and a shiver went up Tommy’s spine. Was it the weather, or was it trepidation about whatever this was?

The text message he had received from an unknown number didn’t give a lot of insight. “Davey Crockett Motor Lodge: Room 12.” Tommy approached the elevator to the small, dank, two-story roadside motel, and quickly decided that he would just take the stairs. The buttons on the elevator were busted through, exposed wiring dangling from the holes where they once resided.

The pungent odors of cheap marijuana and stale cigarette smoke filled the cramped staircase, as Tommy made his way to Room 12. The door was slightly ajar, but he knocked anyway. He looked around, waiting, wondering if someone was setting him up. That sort of paranoia had been ever-present in his life since the night of the Bobby Ray Gallimore incident. No answer, so he knocked again, the faint rain covering his Carhartt jacket in a light mist.

He placed his hand on the gun in the waistband of his jeans and pushed the door open slightly.

“Hello?”

There was no response, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Still, he pushed the door open just a bit further and called out again.

“Anybody in here? Hello?”

He slipped the pistol out of its holster and raised it slightly. What was he going to do with it? Was he really going to shoot someone? He could see the headlines now: “FWA X Champion Arrested.” Frustrated by the entire thing, he shoved the gun back into his waistband and stepped into the room.

What he saw looked like something straight out of a movie about rock stars. The room was completely destroyed. The lamp had been knocked from the nightstand, the phone looked like it had been smashed against the wall, where the wallpaper was peeled back, revealing some sort of mold. The TV was broken, and the room smelled terrible. Tommy stuck his head into the bathroom and caught a glimpse of his reflection in the cracked mirror.

Tommy stepped back from the bathroom door and made his way through the pile of empty beer bottles and cigarette ashes that littered the room. That’s when the open pizza box in the middle of the bed caught his attention. Most of the pizza was gone, but there on the lid was another address scribbled in black marker.

Club Kaos
227 mcdermott street
South oak cliff

Tommy was growing more annoyed by the moment. Maybe this was another idea from the demonic mind of Lucien. South Oak Cliff was not the kind of place that Tommy liked to hang out. Prostitutes openly worked every street corner while their pimps dealt drugs right under the nose of the local police force, most of whom received a cut in exchange for looking the other way.

He pulled out his phone to take a picture of the address and saw a text from Randi. She had been vehement that he shouldn’t go to some motel on his own, but she also knew that there really was no way to stop him. Ever since Walker’s birth, she had been pushing Tommy to try to slow down a little bit, but after winning the FWA X-Championship, slowing down wasn’t an option. There were more media appearances, there were more matches, and those matches were more violent.

This excursion was just the most recent example of something she didn’t want him to do that he did anyway. As he snapped the picture of the address to Club Kaos, she sent him a text to check in. He quickly fired off a response to let her know that he was still alive and safe. He would spare her the details about the condition of the room and the fact that he was now going to South Oak Cliff.

The rain was picking up, pooling up in the potholes that filled the parking lot as Tommy made his way back to his truck. He climbed in, and his phone buzzed again. This text wasn’t from Randi. No, it was from the same number that had sent him to the Davey Crockett Motor Lodge. It was from the same number that wouldn’t respond to Tommy’s requests for a name.

“Guessing you’re on your way. Your ticket is at the front desk.”

He knew better than to ask who had sent the message. It was pointless. The sender wasn’t going to respond. Tommy slowly backed out of the parking spot, flicked on his windshield wipers, and set out for Club Kaos. He had heard of the place, but it was certainly not the kind of place where he would hang out.

The rain was picking up as the radio softly played an old George Strait song, “Blue Clear Sky.” As the miles ticked by, Tommy found himself further from the Texas that he knew, sinking further into the parts of the state that he simply wasn’t comfortable with. Discomfort has become a common theme in the last year for Tommy, and this rainy Saturday was no different.

Despite being aware of the reputation of Club Kaos, he had never actually seen the place. This fact made it doubly as shocking for Tommy as he pulled into the parking lot of what appeared to be a bowling alley. Tommy had no trouble finding a spot and was just about to double check the address, and that’s when he saw it. There over the double doors was the sign that said CLUB KAOS, though calling a decal haphazardly slapped over an ancient cave painting of a “Buddy Bowl Lanes” logo a sign was being generous. Eager to get to the bottom of whatever the hell this is, Tommy exited the truck and made sure to lock it. After a brisk walk to the entrance through the cold November rain, Tommy tried peering through the glass doors, but all he got was a gloomy reflection.

He swung the door open, not sure what to expect but ready for anything. Before his imagination could run too wild, Tommy took one glance around and calmed down quite a bit. The lobby was just a small room which had tarps covering most of the walls, some black, others blue, but all of them covered in tears, dust, and graffiti. Tommy noticed two things that set his mind more at ease though. The first being the tattooed punk rocker chick sitting behind the counter. She was probably in her mid-twenties, and way too occupied with her phone to even notice someone walk in. He strode to the desk and cleared his throat to get her attention.

“Oh, um, yeah. Hi. Tickets are twenty bucks, show will start at eight.”

The girl spoke without even the slightest glance away from the screen. The second comforting thing Tommy noticed when entering was the distinct sound of slams of a wrestling ring coming from beyond the tarps. A quick look at his watch to double-check, and yes, the show had been going for over thirty minutes and the ticket girl had no clue. He decided against correcting her, realizing it would get him nowhere, opting instead to simply ask about the tickets mentioned in the mysterious text.

“My name is Tommy Bedlam, I was invited here on the phone and told you would have my tickets. Though I’m not sure who it was from.”

The girl rolled her eyes in the most over dramatic way before putting the phone on the counter and reaching into a drawer to pull out a plain white envelope with TB scribbled on it with black Sharpie. She hands it to him and resumes her scrolling, desperately trying to make up for the last 18 seconds that she missed. Tommy pulled out a pocket knife and used it as a letter opener. Inside the envelope was one neon green wristband, which were acting as tonight’s tickets, and yet another note, in the same handwriting as the pizza box.

”Meet me after the main. Enjoy the show. Oh, and feel free to have a drink at the bar!”

This day kept getting stranger and stranger, but at this point, Tommy was just going with the flow. How bad a time could watching wrestling at a bowling alley bar be?

Tommy mumbled a quick thank you, knowing the polite gesture would fall upon deaf ears, and walked through the opening in the tarps to the left where all the slam noises were coming from. Once inside the main area of the bowling alley, the name Club Kaos suddenly made a lot more sense. While the thirty or so fans in attendance might have seemed far from chaotic, everything else about this place made up for that. The place was clearly still a bowling alley, with the ring setup even being set up in the middle of the lanes.

Through the stagnant cloud of smoke that had probably existed in that building since the eighties, Tommy could see several “renovations” whoever had taken this place over had installed. At the end of several lanes where the pins would normally go, stripper poles and dancing cages now occupied that space. In one cage a girl even danced while a python wrapped itself around her nude body. What looked to be a still functioning arcade off to the side acted as an entrance curtain and backstage area. Off to one side of the large hall behind the fans against a wall was an area blocked off by caution tape, containing what was quite a large assortment of tables, lighttubes, and various violent arts and crafts projects that were either for tonight’s matches, or someone’s very odd idea of how to decorate.

Not wanting to draw attention to himself, even in this dim of lighting or with this few people, Tommy opted to make his way over to the bar. Taking a seat upon a stool at the middle of the bar, he is somewhat grateful this show didn’t draw a good crowd, or he probably wouldn’t be able to see the ring. He peers out over the mostly empty folding chairs and finally takes a glimpse at the action.

There were two guys he’d never seen before absolutely brutalizing each other with pizza cutters and razor blades. There was a time in his life when Tommy refused to watch this brand of wrestling, but now, as the FWA X-Champion, he had no choice but to at least appreciate it. He had come from a different wrestling background. Jerry Jenkins, the old owner of Longhorn Championship Wrestling, believed in old-school wrestling. Outside of a chair and some occasional brass knuckles, there were no weapons in LCW.

“What can I get you to drink, pal?”

The bartender catches Tommy by surprise, as up until a minute ago no one stood behind the bar. The large hulk of a man finishes wiping some blood from his forehead with a white rag as Tommy turns to him.

“I’ll have- whoa. What happened, are you a wrestler too or something?”

“Yeah, actually, I fought Ray-Ban Dan in the opener. Fucker cut me with his knockoff shades, can you believe it?”

“I can’t imagine anyone being able to afford the real thing working in front of, what is this, like 30 fans? How often do shows run here, anyway? Oh, and I’ll take a Jack and Coke.”

The bartender works his magic with the bottles and glasses while he speaks.

“Ha, you ain’t kiddin’. Why do you think I’m working the bar in this dump on the side? This is actually the first show like this. Usually, the only wrestling we get here are those no-ring shows that were hot for a minute, but lately, it’s been mostly just the girls putting on the titty shows while the same handful of guys come to drink and do whatever seedy business they gotta take care of. Ask no questions, tell no lies, y’know, Tommy?”

Tommy’s eyes dart up. He knew he hadn’t told the bartender his name.

“Yea, I know who you are. Don’t worry; I won’t draw any attention to it. I’m sure most of the people in here know you.”

“Thanks, buddy. I appreciate that.”

Tommy still wasn’t used to being so recognized, so he pulled his black ballcap down lower over his eyes.

“So, what brings you out to this thing anyway? Don’t take this the wrong way, but this isn’t exactly the kind of show that attracts a lot of guys from the big companies like you.”

“I’m not sure you’d believe me if I told you. Let’s just say I was invited.”

“By who?”

“Fuck if I know. Just got a note telling me to be here.”

Tommy’s brief conversation with the bartender was interrupted when a raspy voice came over the cheap sound system. The man sounded like he had just finished off his fourth pack of Pall Malls of the day when he made his announcement.

“It’s time for the main event. Introducing first, accompanied to the ring by Southeast Championship Wrestling legend, Sammy Bedlam, it’s Jason and Timmy: The Bedlam Brothers!”

Spoiler: Hold on Loosely || .38 Special

Tommy felt his stomach hit the floor. Was this all some ploy by Sammy to get him to the show? Were The Bedlams really so hard up for bookings that they were doing deathmatches in a roach trap like this? Tommy wanted to get up and leave, but some more people were filing in the door, and he was hoping to not be recognized. No, he would sit through this last match and then skip out. He hadn’t spoken to Sammy since the day before his back surgery, and he was in no hurry to start.

“And their opponents, TYLER and Skuzz!”

Spoiler: STREETS OF LONDON || ANTI-NOWHERE LEAGUE

The bell sounded as both teams tore into each other. TYLER, a name which Tommy had still never understood was always presented in all capitalized ladders, immediately unleashed a fury of punches to Jason’s head. He quickly went to the cache of weapons at ringside and picked up a bundle of light tubes. With a svelteness that Tommy had rarely seen anywhere before, TYLER began swinging light tubes, bashing them over each of his half-brothers’ heads.

That’s when it dawned on him. The Buddy Bowl partners were being sent out, and he had yet to receive a name. Maybe TYLER had signed up and was his secret texter. He didn’t really know the guy, but Tommy certainly appreciated the violence. He certainly seemed to be enjoying it more than Sammy, who was standing at the side of the ring with his mouth gaped open, wondering just what he had gotten the sons he cared about into.

TYLER tags out to Skuzz, the grungy scrawny little guy who couldn’t be more than 120 pounds soaked in his own blood. The Bedlam Brothers finally began to mount some offense on the smaller opponent, while TYLER rolled out of the ring and shockingly walked to the back. Timmy and Jason lifted Skuzz over their heads and launched him over the top rope and over their own father, his body crashing like a meteor into the giant pile of the weapons and sending plastic, wood, and glass shards everywhere. This got a standing ovation from the barely existent crowd, but their noise was soon drowned out by another sound.

TYLER IS BACK OUT AND HE’S GOT THE WEEDWACKER!!!

Sammy’s jaw immediately hits the floor upon seeing this. He didn’t care if his sons were willing to go through with this or not, this crossed the line into not being wrestling anymore and is certainly not what he signed his boys up for. He desperately beckoned his sons to his side, and after seeing the lawn equipment get closer to them, they didn’t hesitate much to obey. Tommy chuckles a little seeing the rest of the Bedlam clan cower away like this.

With a small sigh of relief now realizing it must not have been Sammy who had invited him here, Tommy downed the last of his Jack and Coke and watched as the small crowd furiously booed and threw garbage into the ring at this non-finish main event. Skuzz crawled his way back into the ring and started picking up whatever trash he could and started licking it. With a small pile of trash held to his chest, Skuzz turned to TYLER and looked to offer to share some of his filthy findings. With little emotion on his face, least of all remorse, TYLER gave the trigger a good hard squeeze and thrusted the spinning line right at the Dirtuoso’s gut, creating the visual double whammy of having both a spray of blood AND a comedic toss-up of papers, bottles, and half-eaten food. The crowd did an immediate 180 and finally seemed satisfied that they got the bloodshed they had so desperately deprived of. They no longer cared that this deathmatch had just ended in the winning team disbanding after a countout victory. They simply had bloodlust.

Tommy remained seated as fans filed out of the former bowling alley. With his father and half-brothers out of the building and probably halfway to the state line by now, he figured it couldn’t hurt to at least meet up with TYLER and find out if he’s the new friend he had been assigned. He had spent all that time driving and sitting through what was easily the least professional wrestling show he had ever witnessed, what was a few more minutes? Besides, that just HAD to be the reason he was invited there to the former Buddy Bowl Lanes while waiting to find out who his Buddy Bowl partner was.

“That show sucked more than Reagan Cole, eh?”

A bit startled to hear someone besides the bartender speak to him, Tommy immediately spun around on his stool toward the speaker. He should have put the pieces together sooner, but seeing “The Savior of Death” Jeffry Mason seated next to him at the bar still came as a small surprise to Tommy. Mason wasted no time lighting a menthol Camel Crush, squeezing the little ball in the filter until the small satisfying pop to ensure he is inhaling the most amount of chemicals possible.

“Ha! Fuck Reagan Cole! I thought that was your boy now though?”

“He is. He still sucks though. I gave that dude the greatest motivational speech of all time, marked up my body and all that good shit, and he blew it big time. A dead cell phone would’ve done better in that match than Reag did.”

The deathmatch legend reaches out his hand toward the reigning X Champion.

“I don’t think we’ve properly met yet by the way. I’m Jeffry Mason.”

Tommy extends a hand.

“Tommy Bedlam. So, the text messages, the motel, the pizza box, all of that. Was that you, or am I just running into more people who know who I am than I had expected to?”

“Oh yeah, that was all me. I got some invitation from Jeremy telling me you were my partner and all that, but I kind of forgot about it until today. Been busy getting everything settled for this first show.”

“This is your show? So you had plenty of time to call my dad but not me?”

“Look man, I had them booked for this show way longer than I knew we’d be partners. I knew your father a little from back in the day. He was working some shows in Texas when I would come down and work for Dean Richards in OXW. I needed a couple big Texas names to face TYLER and my newest project.”

“Who, that guy over there?”

They both glance over at the ring. The fans had all left at this point, but Skuzz still laid a bloody mess in the center of the canvas, not moving since the end of the match, and no one seemed to particularly care.

“Like I said, he’s just a project for now.”

“So why are you running a show here, anyway?”

“Many reasons. The main one though is me getting ready for retirement. Like, a real retirement, not this come back and do a match every once in a while shit. Sure, I can still go out there and kick some ass. But I’m obviously not as good as I used to be. Every year it gets harder keeping up with the younger talent. That’s just what happens though when you’ve been wrestling for longer than most of the newer generation has been alive, you know?”

“Wait, retirement? So why sign up for this Buddy Bowl thing if you’re trying to get away from being a wrestler? Especially from the guy who has made it clear to everyone that he doesn’t give a shit about titles.”

Jeffry looks at Tommy and pats him on the shoulder.

“Because you have something that belongs to me, Tommy, and I simply won’t finish my career until I get it. You see, I might not care much about titles. But everyone else in the world seems to care a hell of a lot. My legacy will speak for itself, sure, and if any of these rookies I’m giving guidance to actually end up listening to me, it will live on through them and my shows, too. Call it a flair for the dramatic or what you will, but I really want that perfect moment to go out on. And I can’t think of a better moment than winning King of the Deathmatch, throwing that X Title into a burning trash can, and riding off into the sunset forever. Just like what SHOULD have happened at this year’s.”

“I get that, I guess. But why sign up for a tournament for a shot at the Tag Titles if all you want is the X Title at King of the Deathmatch? Help me out here, because I’m failing to see the connection.”

“To be honest with you Tommy, I needed to get in the ring again to make sure I can even handle King of the Deathmatch. This fucked up knee isn’t getting any better as the years go by. Reagan’s not around to train with, and getting in the ring with someone like TYLER whose mind is linked to mine doesn’t really help me any. I needed a tag match, just to get in there and get physical enough to know what my body can still take. But I couldn’t be bothered going around asking people to be my friend for a night. Then this Buddy Bowl thing kinda fell into my lap, and here we are.”

“Well see now, that’s great and all. But how does that help me? Because it seems an awful lot like I’m gonna be doing most of the work in this team. And I’ll be working twice as hard when I have to keep an eye on you at all times, considering your tag team history with Cole, and the fact that you just told me you’re doing this to get ready to fight me.”

“HA! I told Reagan not to sign me up for that stupid trios bullshit. He had that one coming. And I never said I’m getting ready to fight you specifically. Me wanting your title doesn’t mean I hate you. It’s just how the cards have been dealt. I’ve got no issue with you. Hell, a guy who’s embraced the violent style like you, and he’s doing it all for his wife and kid? I’ve got nothing but respect for you, Tommy. As long as you don’t cross me, I don’t cross you. You’ve got my word on that.”

“What, and I’m just supposed to trust you? Just like that?”

“Do you have much of a choice? My track record of keeping every promise I’ve made in my entire career should speak for itself. What kind of snake do you take me for?”

HISSSSSSSSSSSSS

The stripper’s snake from earlier sticks its head between the two of them, keeping the rest of its body clung to her body.

“Hey Jeff, so sorry to interrupt you and your new cowboy friend here. I was just wondering if you would watch Lucien here while I go get dressed.”

“Oh hey Mel. Yeah of course I will, you already know that, give him here. It’s been a minute since I got to hang out with Lucy, anyway.”

The snake uncoils itself from Mel’s body and begins to wrap itself around Jeffry’s shoulders as she hands him off.

“Oh my god, Jeff, you’re the absolute best. I’ll be as quick as I can, promise. Hey we’re still on for dinner later, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world. And take your time. I can handle him for a bit.”

The tall and skinny Mel gives Jeffry (and Lucien) a big hug before scurrying off toward the back. Jeffry handles the python with great care and affection, but while he’s focused on the serpent, the snake seems to keep its attention locked on Tommy.

“What’s the matter, man, not a fan of snakes? He seems to like you a lot.”

“No, I’m fine with snakes, it’s just… nevermind, it’s nothing.”

“So we’re good then? Partner?”

Tommy continues to stare Lucien dead in the eye and contemplates his situation, before dismissing it as a coincidence and paranoia from his past dealings. He doesn’t know Jeffry well enough at all, but he knew going into this thing he could be partnered with just about anyone. Motivations aside, he had little reason to trust Jeffry any less than if he drew someone else.

“Yeah, we’re good.”

“Sweet. Consider those tag team belts as good as yours then, my friend. And I do mean yours, because I’m certainly not going through the headache of taking one of those things through airport security.”

Tommy lets out a small laugh at this, unsure whether it was even a joke or not.

“So what made you sign up for this thing, anyway?”


“Crowe and I decided to sign up together. Figured it was worth a gamble to see if we could get paired up, save ourselves the time of climbing the tag ranks the traditional way. Didn’t work out. Now, I guess I’m in it for the same reason I do the rest of this. I like the money, I’m kinda getting into the fame. Making a good living doing the only thing I’ve ever been worth a shit at.”

“Who’s he teamed up with?”

“Hell if I know. I just found out who my partner was about 30 minutes ago. Listen man, if you meant what you said earlier about respect and not fucking each other over, you’ve got an ally in me. You and me will go out there and kick ass and take names, and I’ll have your back as long as this thing’s rolling. But let me make something real clear. When King of the Deathmatch rolls around, and you try to take my title, you’re gonna run into the toughest sumbitch that you’ve ever had to deal with. Until then, we’re partners. But the day you swing at me, that game’s over.”

“HAHA. That’s cute, Champ. We’re partners for now, but you have what’s mine. It’s nice how you went through Summers to take it, and beat XYZ a couple times to keep it, but you’re in over your head now. This whole no rules, deathmatch scene? That’s my wheelhouse. I’ll handle you when it’s time to handle you. Until then, we got no problems.”

Mel, the tall, leggy stripper who had just made her way off stage came back with a large glass terrarium for Lucien. A shiver went up Tommy’s spine as the snake kept its eyes locked on him as he slithered back into his case.

Jeffry stood up and extended a hand toward Tommy once more. As Tommy stood up from the bar, they shook hands.

“Guess I’ll be seeing you for the Buddy Bowl. I’m not sure how you usually prep for stuff, but I just like to show up and hurt people, so don’t worry about scheduling anything. You show up and do your part, and I’ll do mine.”

“Works for me. I’ll see you there.”

Jeffry and Mel went one way at the door as Tommy went the other, back toward his truck. He had seven unread texts from Randi, wanting to make sure he was OK. Somehow, now that she was a mother, she seemed to want to keep an eye on Tommy, too. He quickly let her know that he was not only alive, but he was on his way back home.

As Tommy reached for the door handle, a slip of paper on his windshield caught his eye. He slowly unfolded it.

Hey Son,
Saw you at the show tonight.
Gimme a call some time.

-Sammy

 

[Dubble J]

Sawyer Xavier & Princess Nova (Incandescent) Buddy Bowl Promo

Incandescent

CAIRO
A MOTEL IN AL KIT-KAT

The rustling of papers could be heard in the lobby of this smaller motel in one of the many neighborhoods of Cairo. Oliver Kemp sat across from a determined Sawyer Xavier, who found a faded pen in his travel bag. However, before he could put pen to paper, Kemp placed his palm under the pen of Sawyer, giving him a look of slight annoyance.

XAVIER: Got something to say? Then say it. You always have this look of confusion on your face, so why? What about me confuses you?

KEMP: Well … for one, you complain too much. Like, relax yourself a little. I get it, these letters … they’re a voice for you. But that’s not your only voice, you gotta go talk to someone eventually.

XAVIER: These letters are working though. I mean, I feel like something is getting across now. Blake, as much as I hated to do it, was just a pawn in my game. He had to suffer in the short-term, so we can all win in the long-run.

KEMP: That’s … you’re being childish about this. I mean, what the hell was that with Randall? You wanted time, so why take someone else's? I mean, this is what you’re fighting for, equality. You want Randall to be equal to you, so why did you go out there and take his time?

Sawyer laughed a little, before brushing Kemp’s hand away from his paper. Meanwhile, the door of the motel opened up, but neither Kemp or Sawyer seemed to mind this.

XAVIER: Points have to be made, Kemp. Randall grew soft, he just didn’t realize it. You had to be cutthroat, didn’t you? Nobody makes it as far as you did without removing the floor from others. Right now for me, it’s a dog-eat-dog world, and I gotta keep tearing down the others. It all starts with a voice, and that voice echoes throughout the world. If nobody is willing to make their presence heard, then nobody rises up in the world. So, until I can get in front of whoever is holding us down, these letters are my voice.

Sawyer would look back down at his paper … which had disappeared. When looking around the table for it, his eyes darted up. Now standing in front of him, with eyes a solid marbilized white, is Princess Nova. Her soulless demeanor and limp body are a stark contrast to how she usually carries herself… because she no longer carries herself.

Keres: Hello, Mr. Xavier.

Keres’ voice surprises them from behind. Sawyer would jump slightly in his seat, as Kemp simply stared into the dull eyes of Nova. He would scamper out of his seat, leaving Sawyer alone.

XAVIER: Well, look who it is. Nova …

His voice would show a hint of disdain when mentioning her name, before he turned to the figure in the shadowy background of Nova.

XAVIER: And you are … Keres. What brings you two here? We were just in the middle of something.

Keres takes a step out of the shadows and walks over to the table the duo of Xavier and Kemp had been sitting at. Nova, at the motioning of Keres’ hand, mindlessly takes a seat in a nearby chair.

Keres: It’s a pleasure to formally make your acquaintance, Xavier. You’re quite the interesting character… When I discovered that my dear Princess had signed up for this nonsensical tournament without notifying me, I must admit, I was hoping you would end up as her partner. One with no voice, and one with writ voice, teaming together? Fate does sometimes lend itself to a tad bit of comedy at times.

Keres starts to circle around them and takes a piece of paper out from her pocket. The very same paper that Xavier intended to write on was now in her hands. Sawyer stared at the paper, squinting his eyes as he dropped the pen he still held on the desk.

XAVIER: Am I supposed to be intimidated by you? I mean, you casually waltz in, interrupt a very important conversation … and you mock me?

The last line was delivered while Sawyer chuckled, as he got out of his chair.

XAVIER: Listen, the last person I wanted to team with was your so-called “princess.” I don’t forget those who have done me wrong, and she snatched my returning moment out of my hands.

Keres smirks and continues to stare at the blank paper in her hands.

Keres: I have no intention of intimidating you. If I did, it would have already happened. My reason for being here is actually the opposite of what you say. I intend to help you… spare you from further suffering at the hands of my beloved sister. After the disagreement between my sister and I, I could have pulled her from participation as your partner… but that would do no good for anyone…

Keres turns her attention to the pen in Sawyer Xavier’s hand.

Keres: Nova, retrieve that, please.

Keres snaps her fingers and, like the puppet she’s been made into, Princess Nova stands from her seat and walks over to the desk. Before Sawyer could react to what was going on, the writing instrument had left his grasp, leading to a look of sadness towards the demeanor of Sawyer.

XAVIER: So, what good does coming here and stealing my shit do for anyone? I’ve had that pen since one of my first gigs back in 2010, it’s a very sentimental object, y’know. If I have to work with your “sister” to win this, I don’t think pissing me off is going to help any of us. Contrary to what people believe, I know what’s going on around this company, so this win for me is just as big for you.

Sawyer got in the face of Keres, shooting a side-eye at Nova who was now wielding his veteran pen. Keres, in kind, looks directly into the eyes of Sawyer Xavier. Her cold stare can unnerve just about anyone, yet she spares Xavier from a moment of weakness and instead offers reassurance.

Keres: Correct, Mr. Xavier. Pissing you off, as you say, does nobody any good. I wouldn’t want you to self-destruct, now would I? Like you, I am abundantly aware of everything that happens here, and I would like to help push you along. Give me your hand.

The eyes of Sawyer widened at the self-destruction remark, cutting him deeply with that remark. His hands began to shake a little as he moved his eyes back into Keres’ own.

SAWYER: I don’t have plans on joining your little cult today, so if I take your hand, give me some promise that I won’t have my mind taken over like your darling princess over there.

Keres: You have my word. Besides, I don’t want you… You would know if I did. I do, however, want to alleviate your mind much faster than you can.

Keres holds up her left hand between them, her palm facing Sawyer. After a bit of hesitation, Sawyer let out a deep breath before reluctantly taking the hand of his creepier … acquaintance. While looking at Princess Nova over Sawyer’s shoulder, Keres raises the blank paper in front of Sawyer’s face. In sync with Keres’ motion, Nova raises the pen into the air and starts to shake it at a blistering speed.

Keres: Focus on it, Sawyer. I can already see the words.

With the motel room light shining directly on the paper, Sawyer can see mirrored lettering forming on the opposite side of the paper. The words appear at breakneck speeds, filling the page before his eyes.

DEAR FWA,

Somedays, I just want to quit. Somedays, I want to give up and let the demons consume me. My past isn’t a silent one, and my mind is still paying the dues it deserves. Even after every attempt of trying to let you guys know what me and everyone else this low on the pecking order deserves, I can’t help but feel it’s futile. Who am I really, in this grand scheme of this crazy world called professional wrestling. I can put my heart and soul into everything that I do, but it’s torn to shreds every single time I realize how tiny I am. It’s like I’m fighting a battle designed for me to lose. You guys want me to lose, but I don’t want to. I want to kill my demons, even if that means destroying any ounce of humanity inside of me. At the end of the day, I’m just Sawyer Xavier, who fucks up constantly, who remains alone throughout my journey, who lacks any sort of meaningful connection with the world and its people. But I’m the Sawyer Xavier who is honest with himself, and the Sawyer Xavier that will stop at nothing to succeed, despite all the odds.

The letter ends after the fact, Sawyer’s eyes glancing across the words of mixed feelings. It … made little sense. It was … desperation. The thoughts expressed alongside the paper coincided with his face, a look of defeat painted across his skin.

Keres: Does it hurt, Mr. Xavier? Your pain… I relish the feeling escaping from your hand through mine. Does it hurt?

XAVIER: Yeah, it does hurt. It hurts being voiceless in a world where you are supposed to belong. I’ve watched people come in after me who are treated better, and who aren’t living out of a god damn van every week, and I don’t even have THAT anymore. I have these demons that I fight, while trying to become something … anything in this world. So, it sure does hurt knowing that nothing I do matters to anyone … and some days I want to destroy everything just to paint a picture.

Behind Sawyer, Keres’ puppet, Princess Nova, gently places the pen back onto the desk before walking to the side of Keres, who is still holding the letter up to Sawyer’s face.

Keres: Let that pain burn inside of you. Unleash it outwards… And let the kiss of a princess wake you from your slumber.

At Keres’ words, Princess Nova leans in and kisses the letter in Keres’ hand. Nova’s lips are usually covered in any of various colors of lipstick, but this time they are bare. The letter begins to smoke and, after a short moment, lights ablaze in Keres’s hand. Sawyer jumped back slightly, as the fire burned in front of his eyes, watching as the writing on the paper slowly faded away into ash. All that remains is the small corner that Keres had been holding between her fingers. She turns it around and reveals that her name is intricately burned in the center of this TORN paper.

Keres: Consider this a gift. Keep it safe. Don’t lose it… you’ll know when and where to use it… and remember the ones that pulled you away from the darkness. Princess Nova will fight with you… and I’ll have my eyes on you.

Keres grabs Sawyer’s hand and places the paper with her name on it in his palm. Sawyer, who had managed to steady his breathing, nodded as he closed his palm over the paper.

XAVIER: Thank you … I suppose. So, I can consider you an ally for any possible future events I may cause.

Sawyer had a chuckle like tone to that sentence, trying to crack a joke that came off very awkwardly. He used the same palm he held the paper in to grab the pen off the desk, as he backed up from Keres. Meanwhile, Keres taps Nova on the nose, making her walk back over into the absurdly shadowy spot of the room and seemingly disappear.

Keres: Ally is a strong word…

Keres walks into the shadowy spot of the room, her eyes glowing through it and becoming her only visible feature.

Keres: Be careful who you call an ally, Mr. Xavier.

Keres snaps her fingers. Both her and the shadowy part of the room pop from existence in the blink of an eye. Sawyer shuttered his eyes open and closed for a bit, as his shoulders seemed to untense up. He almost had a feeling of relief, like a burden had been destroyed from his reality. Kemp, who had been burrowing in a corner, came back up to Sawyer.

KEMP: So … did everything work out between the two of you or.

Sawyer laughed slightly, turning around and applying the grip to Kemp’s shoulder yet again.

SAWYER: We’re going to win Kemp. Don’t need you to throw anything else out into the air. I can also promise you, no more letters. In the meantime, go rest up. I have some things I need to think about.

Sawyer let go of Kemp, who nodded and walked up the stairs. A grin was plastered into the face of Sawyer, an odd form of confidence growing inside of him. Whether Keres could be trusted or not is a different story, but the story of Sawyer Xavier would only grow from here, one accomplishment at a time.​