FWA 'Carnal Contendership 2024' || Promo Thread.

[Dubble J]

Promo deadlines are as follows:
Sunday 21st April 2024 at 23:59 Pacific Time.
Monday 22nd April 2024 at 03:00 Eastern Time.
Monday 22nd April 2024 at 08:00 British Summer Time.
Monday 22nd April 2024 at 17:00 Australian Eastern Time.

GLHF. No extensions.​

 

[AON]

"Fuck you"

... That's all it says in the description of the mysterious video that was uploaded onto the FWA website over the week. There is nothing there to give any clues as to what it may be about. The thumbnail is completely dark and pitch black; absolutely nothing can be seen in it. Nothing else is written in the description, and there are no tags. No one knows if it's supposed to be a promo, an interview, a segment, a recap clip, or anything. No one knows who's in it, what it's about, or what will happen in it, and for some reason, even comments are disabled. Perhaps the uploader didn't want anyone in the FWA universe spoiling the video for anyone else before they watched it?No matter how curious you may be, there was absolutely nothing on the page that could tell you what this video was about, except, of course, the video itself. If that's the case, what other choice do we have? Might as well...

*CLICK*
...

*BUFFERING*

As the video begins, the darkness seems to... move. There still isn't anything that can be seen. But the black screen is far from still. Look closer. Do you see it? It's not swirling. It's notshifting. It's ... pulsating. There's a noticeable back-and-forth motion to it. The black... is breathing. Yes, breathing, that's what it is. That's what you confirm once you hear the sound. There's Someone panting. Gasping. A person out of breath. There's no tone, no voice in it. It's impossible to tell who it is. Just whoever it is, all we know about
them is that they're gasping for breath. Are they tired? Are they afraid? Who is it, and what's wrong with them? There is a sudden sharp clatter. Things are moving, and the darkness moves with it, revealing its true nature. Suddenly, there is light. There is a shape, an outline. It turns out the darkness wasn't really darkness at all. It was the black tank top of someone who was standing so close to the camera as to block the view of everything else. The pulsating was merely the heaving chest and stomach of the person, followed in rhythm by heavy breathing. As the person steps away from the camera, they turn their back. Their face is unseen, but even with their back to the camera, there is no mistaking the red hair that billowed down behind them. It was Elizabeth Rose. In her hands was a steel chair, which could easily be assumed to be the source of the sudden clattering. The chair is horribly misshapen, though. There are so many dents and bends in it that it looks less like a chair and more like some sort of metallic alien sculpture that desperately wished it was a chair but was coldly rejected of its dreams. As Elizabeth moves away from the camera, more and more of the room can be seen, and the complete wreckage of it all starts to come into view. There are holes in the walls, with patches of white dust on the floor beneath each one. Wooden shrapnel covers the floor, shards of glass reflecting the ceiling light like twinkling, glistening dust. One can barely make out the things that used to occupy this room: a table, a couch, some chairs, and a couple of lockers. All of it lies in wreckage on the floor, with each piece no longer resembling its former self, being mutated and twisted in shapes they were never meant to. Soon, she reaches the middle of the room and unfolds her dented chair, setting it down. Without a word, she turns and takes a seat in the chair, though how she could possibly feel comfortable on such a beaten chair is anyone's guess. No one has to guess for long, though, as she immediately stands up and swats the chair away, sending it clattering into the rubble and glass on the ground. When the dust settles, Elizabeth stands alone, looking down at all the broken pieces at her feet, her chest still heaving back and forth with each heavy breath. She eventually reaches out her shaking hand towards the camera, her movements spastic as she does.

"DO I LOOK LIKE I'M IN THE MOOD TO GIVE YOU A PROMO?!"

Elizabeth pauses to kick out at some of the rumbles in clear frustration.

"Because that's what you came here for, right? A fucking promo? Me to sell you on the carnal contendership? Give you a few soundbites that sound good in a highlight reel package. That's what you want, right? Me to give you a quote about how this is a big moment for me? How meaningful is it for me to get a shot at the main eventing Back In Business in my home town of Brooklyn? Yeah ok, I got something to say. Something you can edit around. You ready?"

"I don't give a shit."

Elizabeth pauses to make sure we've really heard that.

"I don't give a shit about Carnal Contendership. Brooklyn. FWA. That shitty little title. Anything."'

Elizabeth took a beat and a deep breath, needing a second. She was clearly tired from venting her frustration to the room. Bemused, she tossed her arms in the air.

"Seriously, why do you even WANT to hear from me? Where are you gonna post this? Youtube? You know how that's going to go, right? Just a comment section full of "I miss Lizzie Rose" and "Where's Elizabeth Rose been hiding? I haven't seen her all year. I WISH I KNEW WHERE I'VE BEEN!!!!"

Elizabeth rubs her flaming red hair out of her face.

"People wonder why I'm so bitter, why I've stopped caring, and all I have to say is... Wouldn't you?"

Elizabeth holds up two fingers for the camera to see

"For one whole year. I was stalked, I was targeted, and two people tormented me to show me that everything that I ever held sacred in this world and everything I loved and cared about WAS A LIE! The only thing I could rely on was them. Was family. Sisterhood and they would welcome me into that sisterhood with open arms...So I did; I stopped believing in myself. I sold out everything I ever believed in, I sold out Lizzie Rose, and I went all in on Eternal, MY family, and the INSTANT I did that. The second I opened myself up, THEY ABANDONED ME TOO-!"

Despite herself, Elizabeth starts chucking, but there is no amusement in it. It's like her: bitter.

"The second I opened the door to ETERNAL, Nova fucked out, the sister that "LOVED" me, that understood me, that said she was the only one who did, Walked away the second I opened myself up to her, she's just like you, She loved Lizzie Rose, but the moment I became Elizabeth Rose, she was repulsed! She left me high and dry, Oh and don't get me started on Keres. Yeah, she's been here, but evidently, Tommy, God Damn, Bedlam was way more fun to be around them than me. I sold out EVERYTHING. Everything I was. Everything I am, everything I could have been, and you know what I got for the trouble? TORN. Yeah, I was torn, alright. THEY TORE UP EVERYTHING I BELIEVED IN, AND THEY SHOVED IT DOWN THE TOILET FOR ETERNAL, AND THEY JUST WENT ALONG THEIR MERRY WAY, LEAVING ME WITH NOTHING. DO YOU ALL GOT THAT?! I HAVE NOTHING NOW. NO HOPES. NO DREAMS. NO FUTURE BECAUSE I'M THE GIRL THAT SOLD THE WORLD TO A LIE., SO EXCUSE ME IF I'M A LITTLE BITTER ABOUT IT!

Elizabeth explodes with emotion as she tosses a nearby stool at the wall, leaving a pretty sizeable dent. Her eyes wide, she stares at the dent before the energy seems to leave her, and she sags into a nearby chair.

"It wasn't meant to be like this, you know...."

Elizabeth's voice was a lot softer all of a sudden, more dreamy and introspective.

"This time last year, I thought I was beautiful. I was friends with whoever said hi to me. Everyone was nice. Clothes didn't matter. I didn't have to worry about it. I'd go to sleep tear-free. I never had to try to run away. I was always smiling. I didn't know what a rollercoaster I was in for. for. Because for all our boasting, for all our hardships. There's one thing that remains the same for everyone. And I don't care if you're Cyrus Truth, MVH, or even me. There's one fact that remains the same....The fact is that I'm reminded time and time again that life is hard. The world is a horrible, mean, judgmental place. But It's not our fault we're so scared of the world. People force us to be afraid. They tell us stories about stuff that is happening in the world that makes us scared. I wish I was still didn't realize that. I miss playing in the rain. I miss being outside every second of the day. I miss not caring about anything in the entire world. I miss everything I lost.

There was another moment of silence; Elizabeth seemed to be staring off into space.

But at the end of the day, I don't miss Lizzie Rose. I miss the moments; I miss everything so fleeting. But, the reality of the fact is she is dead, dead and gone. Murdered long ago. Just like Keres and Princess Nova wanted her to be, and everyone else in the world thinks was career suicide. But that's the thing everyone in the Carnal Contendership doesn't get; they're not messing with who they think they are; they think I'm not a threat, and when Carnel Contendership rolls around, they're going to be looking everywhere else for a threat. They're going to target me because I'm not a threat, but in reality, they're targeting someone else. They're targeting the girl they knew, they knew Lizzie Rose But I am a rose for no one. I am Elizabeth Rose Because I choose to be, because I chose to live. I chose to exist; I chose to be this way. And what you see, it's nothing but an illusion., that presence, that person. It's not here anymore. They don't exist, but that's what the person before me fails to see. That's what everyone in the Carnal Contendership fails to see. And that's because they're not looking at me with their own eyes. Oh, no. They're utilizing the eyes of another, of another, in hopes of finally seeing the weakness, which is Lizzie Rose. But you want to know a secret? I can tell you about Lizzie Rose's weakness, and I can tell you everything you need to know. See, Lizzie Rose? She's weak.

Oh yeah, she went there. Elizabeth Rose attacked herself. She attacked her older self, someone she didn't care for at all. With a straight face, Elizabeth spoke these words.

Lizzie Rose cared more about material things. She's a woman with a chip on her shoulder for longer than I can remember. She's a girl who's not truly that much of a woman at all. She's still a woman, clinging on to her vain hopes and dreams. She's still a little girl who would rather hold down something so powerful. To keep buried, something that could showcase the world killing power she possesses. Lizzie Rose is weak because she wishes not to utilize what she's capable of. Lizzie Rose is weak because she wishes to hold back. But Carnal Contendership? That is a different story. You see, Lizzie Rose no longer exists. This Void is all that there is, which is all I am. There's nothing here but someone with nothing to lose and a point to prove, An entity with a plan. And that plan is to do what Lizzie Rose strives to do but lacks the power to do. And that's finally put an end to this nonsense. That's finally taking on the biggest sacrifice of all time. Because after Carnal Contendership, The Void? Will be well fed.

We now see Elizabeth Rose, who is a lot calmer and more confident than she was, as she kicks up her feet and leans back.

"And yes, I'm sure you're all wondering. What makes Carnal Contendership the greatest feast of all time? Well, don't worry. I'm going to tell you. I'm going to inform you. because, unlike Lizzie Rose, I have no such weakness. I have no cracks in my foundation because I am the foundation cracked!

Yes, Elizabeth Rose felt as if she were indeed the foundation cracked. She was the new and improved Void, the one Elizabeth Rose kept dormant for so long, only allowed to be unleashed in small percentages against her opponents. Except now, this was a different ball game. Now,Elizabeth had given full reign to this persona, to this Void, allowing it to become the number one in the driver's seat, which made everything More interesting.

But everyone else? Cyrus Truth? Chris Peacock? MVH? Oh, they're a different story altogether. One, I'll be more than happy to tell. "

She was, indeed, more than happy to expand on the story. There was no smile on his face. It was simply her, with her eyes open, telling a very calculated and menacing promotional story. Elizabeth locked her hands together, leaning back as she continued to speak.

With everyone involved in the Carnel Contendership becoming nothing more than everything needed. Everyone in that match, from Cyrus Truth to Sawyer Xavier, is not who they think they are. Oh no. Don't let their lies fool you. They throw on masks, and sure, They're good masks, But that's all hiding the fact that they're all damaged. I'm feeling the weakness. I see through the cracks in his foundation. I see the turmoil, the irony. I see not only their masks because my powers allow me to see beyond what disguise you may come up with. My perception is ever great. And because of it, I see them all. I see Chris Peacock. I see MVH. I see Cyrus Truth. I see you, Cyrus. Throughout everything, throughout it all, you're all the same people. But at the end of the day, I can see all of you.

Elizabeth paused for a moment, her face seemingly confused for the moment. She didn't know what was going on. Tilting his head to the side a bit before speaking up

You see, that's where I live: in the chaos and on the edge. I live in the realm of eternity, something your mind could never fathom. It doesn't matter who you are or what you think is going to happen at Carnel Contendership. I could see you from where I sit. I could see through all your guises. And at the end of the day, it all brings us back around to the one in the driver's seat. It all brings us to me! All those people are just like me, giving them over to a worthless cause without meaning or purpose, trying to claw at a title that sucks them dry That's... what they don't realize. All those people that have been eaten, They served their souls up to that damn championship, and they'll be focused on their selves. They're going to be focused on Lizzie Rose. But what you fail to perceive, as I haven't. Is that now I am on a whole other level? All this time, I've shined through. All this time, I've guided this mortal coil. But all they knows to look out for, is Lizzie Rose heart. All anyone ever knew how to do around these parts, no matter how far Lizzie Rose goes, she always blows it where it counts. Ruth.

That last one had become tiring, and Elizabeth even feigned a yawn because of it. She was tired of the same old, same old from his challengers.

Like so many others, all you think doesn't matter. Because it's the end of the day. You're all in it for yourself, isn't that the old familiar cliche? A shrug of the shoulders from Elizabeth Rose, who didn't care about how she was speaking. No one cares about what any of you have to say.: No one cares about what any of you think. Because you're no one. You're unable to see past anything someone else tells you. And because of that, it will be all your downfalls. Because of that, you will lose to Elizabeth Rose. Guided by the Void, you never sought to fight. A void you didn't even know existed. How is that, anyway? How could you be so blind when it was right here in front of your very eyes? Well, that's because you don't even know who the hell ANY OF YOU ARE! While trying to combat something you think you know. You've already lost the Carnal Contendership to me."

Elizabeth leaned forward only a tad bit. He placed both hands on the arm of the armchair she was sitting on. She squeezed down, just utilizing a bit of strength, showing how much passion she had for this. She showed how much she was trying to hold back while claiming she wasn't even holding back. There were some depths to Elizabeth, something far deeper. And only now was it about to explode.

"You've already lost. And the funny thing is, you see me all as a joke, but I'm going to be the one to watch as you tumble down the mountain, your dreams shattered. It's going to be something that even I could take absolute delight in. You all ask like you're special and that you stand out from the crowd, but you're all the same. All you ever care about is your never-ending desire to burn FWA down to the ground and build it back up in your image. You want people to know you can beat up this person and the next person. Blah blah blah. That's what this is all about for you. That's where it starts, and that's where it finishes. From MVH to Chris Peacock, all they care about is the next victory. I'm on a whole other wavelength. I care about immortality; I care about the wrestling. I care about this company, the sport, the idea! I'm doing it to feel something. I'm doing it because I don't have a choice. If I stopped wrestling, I would die. And If I can't take death and get right back up? Then my name isn't Elizabeth Rose, so keep them coming; death does nothing strengthen me. The Grim Reaper isn't ready for this fight, and neither are any of you. I can sense it, can't you?

There was a nod of Elizabeth Rose's head, who simply knew exactly what she spoke of. However, she didn't agree with it. Her head shortly turned into a shake.

You're all the same as each other. You're still the same broken facade. You're all just one personality; none of you are special. But you don't believe that, do you? That's ok, I didn't at first. There was a point where I thought what I did mattered, that was until my beliefs were burned to the ground, and I was abandoned by my sisterhood. But you know what? I'm glad because now you're not dealing with Lizzie Rose. You all would have ploughed over her. You would have beaten her. But, not me. Not I, not this Void. This Void, this nothingness. Everything chaotic. All were built up and channelled into this vessel. And it's half because I know myself. I know everything about me; I know how to rule me, and that is the very reason why I am who I am. and everyone else in the match? You're a puppet in the land of puppet masters. Going down the first path that will lead to championships. Slave to your egos. And I am the Spartacus Void, the one that would see you freed. I would see the shackles on your mind released. With or without your approval

There was a nod of her head, agreeing with her statement.

But you won't believe me; you won't believe any of this. But I do, and that's all that matters.

Elizabeth sat up a bit more straight, her face still showing no signs of nerves. Her face was still absent of its happy-go-lucky exterior. No smile,sinister or otherwise. It was simply all serious business for Elizabeth Rose. She was planning on stepping into this ring and winning the Carnal Contendership and taking the gold home at Back In Busness. She'd have to prove her mettle at the same time as disproving another. It would be a task, but she was sure she could win.

: "And even after all this, you still are blind to true perception. You're still unable to see why I'm so confident. You fail to see why I believe myself the victor already. And that's where you will fall. See. I can explain this as simple as possible. You see, guys, there's something else going on here. You just haven't realized it yet. You believe me to be weak;

A sigh escaped Rose's mouth, obviously forced. She'd then shake her head before laying on her hand. She stared into the camera, already knowing this was what people always said. She didn't even have to know her opponent to know what they would speak on.

Let me take a stab and suggest that everyone in the match thanks that and all the fans feel this way. But let me tell you a secret. This is the beans to spill all the beans. If this were tea, beware because it's about to be spilt. I'll let you in on it. I'm not what you think I am. YOU NEED ME TO WIN-! You see, so long ago, I came up with a plan. I had to put myself away. I had to keep myself locked down. Locked within something. But I just didn't know what. I had felt my foundation crack. I felt my weakness being expunged from my body. Till soon, I was nothing other than something I couldn't recognize. I knew what was boiling inside me. And let's be honest, it scared the holy hell out of me. But I got a grasp on it. I learned to satiate myself feed myself, one at a time. To keep it at bay. But soon, it wasn't enough; I needed more. I couldn't operate alone; I knew I had to let it go, and no one saw to coming! Too caught up in your dramas to see. But I'mgoing to pull the wool from over your eyes and SHOW YOU! Over time, the prophecy has been fulfilled, but it's been broken, and this foundation has been broken completely. Finally! "

What was this? Elizabeth was finally reaching her breaking point in the promo, finally deciding to show a little bit of emotion. It just seemed to be aggression. Backed by Elizabeth's confidence, it was none other than aggression. All these key things were allowed to bring forth the person you see before you. Scratch that, the Void you see before you. Elizabeth was caught on fire, and that aggression was angling its ugly head. A confident look appeared on Elizabeth's face, tired of having to tell people. all of what she's done. Expecting them to know this, to respect this fact

I am the woman who has, at every point, every turn, shown the ability I possess. And I did that at half power. I did that, as Lizzie Rose, but now I have to step forward once more and do what I need to. Because that's one thing. Do people seem to forget about me? Or, maybe it is something you WANT to forget. Before FWA, I had no one. I had ...NOTHING, and then I had everything and lost it all. You think I'm just going to let you break my heart again? For years... I heard it back in the locker room for. People are whispering. How. How did Lizzie Rose beat me? Her? That loser? That crazy girl?" Oh, yes. I've heard it all. I've heard the whispers of hate, the whispers of people who would dare condemn me—rocks, stones, glass houses, and all that. But it didn't bother me. Because I knew that I had no one, I knew that I had the Void I saw, what you did not. And because of it, I know that without a shadow of a doubt, I will win this. Do you know why?

Anybody could see the fuming of Elizabeth, which was building to the top. Soon, there would be nothing to contain his outburst.

Because you're all insignificant. You're all ants! Something I step on and keep moving! You all hide behind a mask, and I can relate because I once used to hide behind a mask. The pain is much easier to contain when it's on the other side of that layer. But let me explain something to you: I have much more pain deep buried within me than any of you will ever realize. You are nothing. None of you are tougher than me. You're not battle-worn. You don't know true loss. I HAVE LOST THINGS YOU WILL NEVER UNDERSTAND. I CRIED TILL THERE WAS NOTHING LEFT! THERE'S NOTHING ELSE YOU CAN TAKE FROM ME, AND THAT'S WHAT YOU DON'T SEEM TO UNDERSTAND! I CAN SHOOT MYSELF IN THE HEAD RIGHT NOW, AND STILL, YOU CAN'T BEAT ME! STILL NONE OF YOU COMPARE! YOU DON'T MEASURE UP! BECAUSE YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THEN SOMEONE THAT WANTS A TOY. This is it. You're done. Your legacy, your mask, It will all cease to exist. Before your very eyes, as I take the Carnal Contendership. And then go to Back In Business. Leaving you all standing there Waiting for your turn to ask. Why? Why did Lizzie Rose beat me? How? How did that happen? And then you'll finally realize. .. Elizabeth isn't a woman at all. She's a Queen. So bow down bitches.​

 

[Nostradamus]

​

Xperienx Xtacee sits in his club, “The Right Side of The Bed”, in fabulous las Vegas which just so happens to be the site of this years Carnal Contendership. Xtacee debuted in this match just a year ago and didn’t have any intentions of sticking around. The FWA offered him a contract because those in charge, and more importantly the adoring fans, loved him. He was entertaining, flamboyant, controversial, and gifted in the ring. Everyone thought that Xtacee would be one of the next breakout stars in the company… so what happened?​

He failed in a stable. He failed in the world of hardcore. He has failed to be the star everyone thought he could be and has become one of the biggest disappointments in the FWA. Rumor has it that he is on the verge of being cut because his performance does not justify the hefty contract that was given to him. Despite the words of positivity, undying love, and the encouragement from his lovers Monica and Antonio, he has become a broken man, and his mind is in shambles. Everything he tries just turns into a red velvet covered pile of garbage.​

What’s going to make this any different? Xtacee is so deep in a depression that his inner madman, Silenx, has ironically gone silent. His Undisputed allies have moved on to other things. The crowds, while still chanting for him, are no longer content with just the flashy moves in the ring, the extravagant outfits, and the taboo nature of his relationship. That’s another thing; the hate he deals with daily. His lifestyle choice isn’t exactly widely accepted by the world, not even by those he’d consider to be in his own community. The obscene chants, posts, signs, and think-pieces that pop up- Xtacee experiences all of them. He has to deal with ignorance and death threats every day of his life. He has no solace because his personal life and his professional life are so intertwined that there’s basically no difference anymore.​

On top of all that, his club now sits in isolation. Although it is still incredibly well-funded due to the income he receives, the patrons have left in droves. Where there once were high socialites, celebrities, politicians, and influencers galore, there are now small groups of tourists that stay for a few minutes to take a look around before leaving without staying to enjoy anything. The drinks on the shelves of the bar have sat stagnant for months. The walls and carpets have been free of stains and bodily fluids. The sound of fun conversations, loud music, and mysterious noises have all left down the elevator and out the door onto The Vegas Strip below.​

Xtacee’s vision of himself, and of what he thought he could make a new Las Vegas be, has become tainted. Where he once saw opportunities, he now sees failures. All the promises he made a year ago are as broken and buried as he feels. His career was set out before him in the image of a sprawling green landscape, but he reduced it down to nothing less than a nuclear wasteland. Xperienx Xtacee has nobody to blame but himself. He did this. Not the Undisputed Alliance. Not Monica and Antonio. Not the fans.​

He.​

Did.​

This.​

The man that could not fail is now consistently waking up on the wrong side of the bed as the biggest disappointment there is in the FWA.​

*CRASH*​

“What happened?!”, Xtacee yells as he slams a bottle of champagne on the ground, shattering it, and spilling its contents everywhere.​

“I’ve done everything I can think of! I’ve worked hard, I’ve literally put my blood, sweat, and tears into this, and I have nothing to show for it.”​

*SHHHHRREEEE-CHHHHH-THUDTHUDTHUD-CRASH*​

Xtacee slides his arm across the bar and sends glasses, the register, cups, cans, bottles, and other small objects to the ground. He stands up and throws the stool he was sitting on across the room.​

“I’ve made the people happy. I’ve fought my demons; I’ve worked with my demons… I’ve tried being a company guy, I’ve tried being friendly with everyone, I’ve tried being more aggressive, I’ve tried being myself, I’ve tried being someone else, I’ve tried being alone, I’ve tried working with other, WHAT MORE IS THERE!?”​

*ding*​

The elevator announces its arrival as Xperienx Xtacee leans his back onto a wall and slides down to the floor, sitting in the puddle of alcohol from all the broken bottles. The door opens and a man in a red cardigan walks out of the elevator and into Xtacee’s club. He’s holding a briefcase in one hand and an envelope in another.​

“Was just about to close for the day, sir. I’ve got a mess to clean up, sorry.”​

“Well, son, you look like a right mess yourself. That’s actually why I came here… to help clean up a mess.”​

Xperienx Xtacee eyes this strange man in front of him. His red cardigan, blue-ish grey slacks, and blue penny loafers seem incredibly misplaced in a setting such as Las Vegas. The man’s briefcase looks just about as old as he is in the face, approximately in his 60’s, but he seems surprisingly fit as well.​

“Well baby, judging by the briefcase and the outfit, I’m to assume you aren’t applying for a custodial position, right?”​

“Correct, Mr. Xtacee. I am in the business of cleanup, and by that, I mean I am in the business of helping others in whatever ways that may be. Whether it’s my farmwork, my charitable donations, or my managerial work. Now, I reckon that you are in need of some help, compadre. I’m involved in the wrasslin’ business myself. And I am very aware of who you are, and I am a huge fan. In fact-“​

The man puts his briefcase down by his feet and opens the envelope he was holding in his other hand. He pulls out an 8x10 picture of Xtacee, Monica, and Antonio.​

“Mr. Xtacee, I hope you don’t mind that I picked up one of these photos from your lobby. There was nobody there to hand over payment to, so I left the money behind the counter there. I was hoping, if nothing else, to at least leave here with an autograph from the one and only Xperienx Xtacee after a three-hour flight from Austin, Texas.”​

Xtacee stares at the autograph in the man’s hand. Who is this man? His aura feels… friendly and calming, yet mysterious and maybe a little devious? But what harm could an old man do, and besides, he seems like a genuine guy and a nice fan.​

“Oh, silly me, I do also have a marker. Let me help you up first though, sir.”​

The man extends his hand out to Xtacee. Xtacee meets his grasp and feels the man’s strong grip. If he wasn’t out of Xtacee’s age range, he might consider something else entirely different with this man. After helping Xtacee off of the floor, the man hands him the marker and the 8x10, which Xtacee signs and returns back to the man, who places it back inside of the envelope.​

“Once we’re done here, Mr. Xtacee, how about we get that outfit of yours cleaned? It is much too nice to stay covered in adult beverages.”​

Xtacee looks around at the mess he made in his own club, embarrassed at the fact that someone is seeing him at his absolute lowest surrounded by complete filth.​

“Hehe, I’m sorry, sir, but who are you? And why are you here? You’ve been very flattering, but I am very confused. And I’m sorry for the mess, things aren’t usually like this, and-“​

“Relax, Mr. Xtacee. You seem a little hyper and you’re rambling. Everything is fine, and as I said, I am here to help you clean up. As for who I am…”​

The man moves beside Xtacee and places his briefcase on the counter of the bar. He opens it and reveals a bunch of paperwork and some folders. There are also a few slits in the briefcase that contain different cards, one of which is this man’s business card. He takes one out and holds it in front of Xtacee.​

“My name is Wyatt Lovell… but please address me as everyone else does.”​

“And how would that be, sir?”​

“I am simply known as…”​

He extends his hand out to Xperienx Xtacee for a formal introduction.​

“The Gentleman.”​

Xtacee reaches out and shakes The Gentleman’s hand.​

“Now, Mr. Xtacee, I am more than just a big fan, and more than just a wrestling manager. I am, well what you might consider as stereotype of certain Texans, a tycoon of sorts. I own… many things and help those I hold dear. My farms employ and feed many, my businesses employ thousands, and my money provides countless necessities for those in need. I am also the father of a wonderful son I adopted and have cared for his entire life after he experienced such… well his hardships were, and are, many, but he is happy now and that is what matters. He’s actually just downstairs admiring your wrestling memorabilia. He’s a big FWA fan, his dream is to work for them one day.”​

“Excuse me, Gentleman, but I think you’re the one rambling now, baby. You haven’t said why you’re here? If I’m being honest, this is a bad time for an introduction, if you couldn’t tell by the scenery.”​

“Yes, let me get to why I’m here. You see, I want to help you. Your club has seen better days and, honestly Mr. Xtacee, you deserve it to return to its former glory. On top of that, you yourself deserve so much more. You are a great talent, a great man, a great wrestler, and a great mind. You’ve just fallen into a slump. I am here to ask you for permission to help you.”​

Xtacee stares at The Gentleman and he is both intrigued and confused by him.​

*ding*​

The elevator once again announces its arrival, but this time it is Monica and Antonio that come out of it. They enter the club slowly and stare at The Gentleman. The look on their faces conveys confusion. An older man standing in a dimly lit and filthy club with your lover/boss would have that effect on you.​

“X, who’s this?”​

“Monica, I’m nervous.”​

The Gentleman turns to them and smiles. He holds out his arms to offer a hug to Monica and Antonio.​

“Darlings… this is The Gentleman… It looks like he’s here for business.”​

Monica and Antonio do not go in for the hug. The Gentleman lowers his arms and continues to smile at them.​

“Pardon my manners, we’ve only just met, who am I to go in for a hug. Television will have people forming all sorts of para-social relationships with the figures they see on there. My apologies Monica and Antonio. I’m a big fan.”​

Monica and Antonio shuffle over to the back of Xtacee.​

“As I was saying, Mr. Xtacee, I am seeking your permission to both be a business partner with your club and a business partner with your wrestling career. The documentation is here in my briefcase, you and your lovers can look it over if you want, it is a fair 51/49 split with the 51 in this case being you. You would ultimately have the final say in any decisions made in either venture. I would be on the managerial end and, of course, making sure that you are always at your best and in the most optimal position possible. You would just need to work your usual magic.”​

Xtacee glances down at the bunch of paperwork, which is far too much to read in one sitting.​

“Let me be clear here, I truly believe that this would be a huge benefit for all involved. We all have a tremendous amount to gain. You have the opportunity to regain everything you feel that you’ve lost. You can be the Xperienx Xtacee that I know you are. You need to believe in yourself, your talent, and your abilities. Your lovers believe in you. I believe in you… You need to believe in you. I don’t want to walk out of here today without your signature on the line here. We can achieve great things together, all four of us as business partners.”​

The Gentleman holds a pen out to Xtacee. Monica and Antonio still stand behind him, perplexed by what is happening. They have no words because they don’t know how to handle this situation; they’re more bedroom and fun than boardroom and business.​

“With all the pressure that was thrown on your head when the FWA signed you, son… the game was rigged from the start. It was unfair. You had nowhere to go but down. But if you agree to this arrangement, I will make sure that things slowly get better, as long as you hold up your end and believe in yourself. Xtacee, I believe in you like I believe in my own son.”​

Xperienx Xtacee smiles and reaches out for the pen, taking it from The Gentleman’s hands.​

“51/49?”​

“51/49.”​

Xperienx Xtacee signs his name on the dotted line, going into business with The Gentleman.​

“You’ve made the right choice. We all have. I can’t wait prove to you all that this was a great decision. I believe in all of us. And I believe that you will do great in the Carnal Contendership.”​

“How did you know about that already?”​

“Monica, I told you I’m a big fan! I want nothing more than to ensure that Xtacee does amazing in that match and then we can all come back here to celebrate. Oh, that brings me to my first order of business.”​

The Gentleman pulls out his phone and taps on the screen a bunch, seemingly sending a text message.​

“Uhhh, was something supposed to happen?”​

“Give it a minute, Antonio.”​

*ding*​

The elevator announces its arrival one more time. However instead of one person or two people coming out, a whole group of service staff come out of the elevator and into the club. They quickly begin cleaning and tidying up The Right Side of The Bed, much to the amazement of Xtacee, Monica, and Antonio.​

“I work fast. And you, Mr. Xtacee, need to focus on that match. I’ll handle the staff here and I’ll contact FWA to make further arrangements for us all. See you lovely people at the show.”​

The Gentleman claps his hands and walks off around the club while talking to the new staff he brought in. Xtacee turns around to Monica and Antonio. Monica puts her hands on Xtacee’s shoulders.​

“I don’t know what just happened, but I think I believe in miracles now.”​

“Same here, Monica. X, how do you feel?”​

“I… believe I have a Carnal Contendership to win. I believe in myself.”

Xperienx Xtacee smiles as both Monica and Antonio hug him.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

51/49​

 

[AON]

JTC: "Ah, The Carnal Contendership, bodies flying back and forward. You know what ol' Jack The Clipper calls that? A hair-raising experience., because Jack The Clipper is here to shake the very foundations of this ring and leave a trail of sheared dreams in your wake. You see, the chair I put my customers in? It may seem like a simple piece of furniture to you, but to me? It's a throne of truth. Each time someone enters my shop, they surrender themselves to my scissors, submitting to my expertise in the art of hair manipulation. And let me tell you, my friends, the possibilities are endless. You see, I choose to walk in the dark shadows of the barber's craft, and I see the truth in the strands. Hair is more than just an aesthetic. It defines who we are; it tells our stories, and tonight, I am here to change those stories forever. In the ring, we have heroes and villains, fighters and entertainers, but I? I am something more. I am an artist, a sculptor of follicular fate. and Carnal Contendership? That's my greatest piece of art yet. They will think I'm a gimmick, a sideshow attraction. But mark my words, when I step foot in this ring, I am 100 per cent all scissors, no clip. I will cut through the competition like a hot knife through butter. I will no strand untouched, no scalp undefeated, so to all those who doubt my talents, who belittle the importance of my craft, remember this holds power to sculpt and shape this world in my hands. With each snip of my blades, I change lives; I make statements. And tonight, my statement will be louder than ever before. Once you step into my chair, your fate is sealed. Your hair will be my canvas, and I will create my canvas, and I will create a masterpiece that I will shock the world."

 

[Cyrus Truth]

Chapter 2: The Path that Brought You Here​

Well…that’s it, then.

Deep in the bowels of the Sapporo Dome, after that entire mess of a multi-man tag team match, Cyrus Truth allows himself a moment of peace and reflection, sitting on a couple of production crates as the remainder of the show continues towards its main event.

Jeremy Best and his squad of friendship-simpering fools attempted quite possibly the silliest ploy to get Cyrus to buy into their fantasy and call off the FWA World Title match. And not only did The Exile see through it as if it were freshly-cleaned window glass, but he was also able to bring down the hammer on whatever Jeremy’s plans would’ve been for Carnal Contendership.

It’s been some time since Cyrus had stepped into a traditional steel cage. The Golden Opportunity Chamber matches or Mile High matches are their own sort of beasts. But there’s something…intimate. Something primal about an old-fashioned Cage Match.

Cyrus chuckles under his breath, thinking about the match at Carnal Contendership. A year removed from his record-tying second Carnal Contendership win, the victory that catapulted him to the main event at Back in Business.

Now…another opportunity to secure the Back in Business main event. This time? It’s the potential of walking into the event as FWA World Champion.

All The Exile had to do was destroy Jeremy Best and put an end to the bad comedy act that is the Friendship Freak’s World Title reign.

The roar of the Sapporo crowd belies shock, and a dueling sentiment of outrage and exultation. By now, Cyrus is well aware that they’re reacting to the end of the Tag Team Championship main event. No doubt, given the parties involved, that there was some kind of chicanery.

A curiosity, for sure. But ultimately, despite having been Tag Champion earlier in the year, it’s not a concern.

Focus.

That is what was needed at this point in time.

Utter and complete focus.

Cyrus may have twisted Russnow’s arm to get the title match stipulation as a Cage Match, but even then? The history of wrestling is littered with many unfortunate examples of where a cage has not stopped any would-be interlopers from stepping into the middle of a contest that didn’t concern them.

But the important thing is that, at least, Cyrus has given himself SOMETHING to balance the scales. It would have to be enough.

And if not?

Then may the gods help whatever poor saps decided to enter Carnal Contendership this year.

Because The Exile has made up his mind.

He’s returning to Back in Business. He’s going to be in the main event. The only question is whether he has to step over one broken body or twenty-nine to get there.

As Randy Ramon’s music blares to signify the end of the main event, The Exile takes a deep breath. When you’ve been a professional wrestler as long as Cyrus has, you develop a sixth sense about certain things.

Nothing as advanced as Konchu’s spellwork, obviously. But just…a feeling. A vibe not just from the wrestlers you share a locker room with or the fans that pack an arena to see the most amazing sport in the world performed at the highest level. It’s…deeper than that. You can almost SMELL the blood of countless ring warriors that have stepped through the doors of not just the venue you just performed in, but those who have passed by on their own journeys to various rings and arenas across the country. Feel the ebb and flow of a million voices across time cheering and booing to whatever action has come to their part of the world.

A moment of introspection that leads to an outreach beyond just himself. Cyrus takes this moment, this flickering ember of peace before returning to the storm, to ponder the immensity of what has been not only his career, but the lives of those his Long and Winding Road have allowed him to cross.

Jeremy’s inane, childish perception of friendship is annoying, certainly. But in the end, Truth can’t deny that something the champion said didn’t stick with him.

Cyrus has always taken pride in the fact that, for the vast majority of his career, he’s accomplished legendary feats and multiple championships on his own. But even with recent events suggesting otherwise? Partnerships and alliances have been exceedingly few and far between.

Jeremy was right about one thing. On the surface, Cyrus was and is a lonely warrior. After all, Exiles don’t get to have friends, as someone once told Truth.

But…

Rarely does the surface truly tell someone the whole story.

And that? That’s what inevitably will lead to Jeremy’s downfall.

As The Exile rises to his feet and walks out of the arena, hood drawn up to not draw attention from the throngs of fans exiting the venue, the screen of the smartphone in his hand is a bright light in the middle of the night. We zoom in over Cyrus’s shoulders as he looks to be using a travel app to book a flight.

Not to Las Vegas, the site of Carnal Contendership.

But the opposite direction. West, instead of east.

To proceed forward…

…sometimes it’s necessary to go back.

*******

25 Years Ago
Undisclosed Location in Mongolia

Throughout the world, there are a handful of places where the eyes of the world of dawn don’t wander to. Places where the Order of Observers congregate, debate and discuss the comings and goings of the world at large, and what role…if any…they would play.

In the wind-swept steppes, near mountains that jut up from the grassy flatlands, we find a few tents have been set up, with no markings to indicate who they belong to. There’s a handful of people of all races and ages congregating, discussing various menial topics in a dozen different languages with no issues in understanding what anybody is saying.

Aways away from the tents, sitting alone in a field of grass chewing on what looks to be some kind of trail mix and jerky, we find a young man, no more than 13 or 14 years old. Black, frazzled hair that ended at his shoulders, a grim look in his eyes as he peers out over the steppes to the horizon, and a sun beginning to set.

The young man looks…frustrated. Angry about something. Maybe…maybe even a little bit hurt and sad. Nevertheless, it’s obvious that he’s doing his best to try and keep those feelings hidden behind his countenance.

But, it’s clear that there’s a lot of loneliness in the kid’s eyes. None of the other Observers or adepts seem to be reaching out to him, leaving him to brood alone.

Except for one.

“Excuse me. Could I possibly join you?”

The young man, somewhat startled, turns his head to see another young man, roughly about as old as he is. Dark, olive skin and pitch-black hair, with an easy kindness in his eyes and a polite smile on his lips. He speaks with a heavy accent, definite roots of Arabic but somewhat melodic in his cadence. And he, too, is draped in the robes of an Observer initiate.

Without getting an answer from the brooding loner, this newcomer has a seat in the grass next to him. There’s a few seconds of awkward silence where only the breeze passing by makes any sound, until the loner finally asks:

“What are you doing here?”

The other young man simply shrugs and replies:

“You looked…lonesome. I thought you might like some company.”

“And you’re not worried about what the others might think? Associating with the problem child?”

“Hmm…not particularly. Should I be?”

“Only if you don’t want people to stare at you like you’re some kind of freak. Or if you are concerned at all about people thinking that by associating with some snobby know-it-all, you must be one as well.”

The Arabic youth chuckles at that, a response that seems to surprise the broody teen.

“When I was brought into the order, I was a young child…six or seven? Hard to remember exactly. So much has happened since then. I was just an orphan, whose parents ended up in the crossfire of a corrupt government and a brutal insurgency. The Observer who found me, brought me into the fold…do you know what they told me?

“They told me that all Observers, no matter their faith, creed, or philosophy, are brother and sisters bound by the knowledge we seek and protect. I feel, if that’s the case? Why should you be shunned? You are my brother, after all. That’s how I see it, anyway.”

“But I do have to ask…why did you choose the name ‘Truth?’ You had to know that it would cause a bit of a stir.”

The young brooding loner, the boy who named himself “Truth,” relaxes his shoulders as some tension, due either to the attitude of the other Observers and initiates or due to his suspicions of this newcomer, seems to lessen as he sighs and lies back into the tall grass. Gazing into the sky, watching the clouds drift by, he somewhat flippantly retorts.

“You’re definitely forward. In the span of about 30 seconds, you’ve told me your life story and basically asked me about my name. I don’t know whether I should be wary about you or thank you for not wasting time on small talk.”

“Well, if I can continue to be honest? You don’t strike me as the type interested in small talk.”

That gets a laugh out of Truth as the other young man seems to smile at that. However, there’s a bit of a pause as neither Truth nor this curious teen say anything, until the silence is broken.

“If you don’t want to tell me, you can just…”

“We’re supposed to pick names based on what we think is important, right?”

Most people would take that blunt interjection as rude or perhaps insulting. However, Truth’s erstwhile companion does not take offense, does not betray any semblance of annoyance. Instead…he listens, graciously and patiently.

“The Truth is at the heart of everything and anything we’re supposed to be as Observers. Everything else we say, do, and preach is in service to the pursuit of The Truth. Of life, of the world, of what it means to be human. I guess…I don’t know…I didn’t see the point of calling myself anything other than “Truth.” If The Truth is what matters, then I want to matter. If The Truth is the ultimate goal at the end of the Long and Winding Road, then that’s exactly what I want to always remember."

“Hmm. I’ve heard from some of the other initiates that you’ve always been a bit…well, arrogant. And that’s why you took your name despite the elder’s protests.”

“And you?”

The initiate pauses for a minute before eventually, much like Truth had done before, falls back into the grass, lying face-up looking into the sky.

“I think they’re right. At least, a little. But I also think it’s arrogance on the part of the others to assume they understand something without seeking the answers from the source. We’re supposed to seek The Truth. Would it not be the height of hubris to assume you understand something without taking the time and effort to truly ensure that you do?”

“Well, I mean…yeah. I guess so.”

“So…I suppose what I’m saying is…if you need a friend? Or even just someone to confide in? I guess…”

“...you’re offering?”

No affirmation is said, but Truth doesn’t need it said to know that it is implied. He sits up in the grass as his fellow initiate does the same.

“And what do you get out of this?”

“Do I need to get something out of it, specifically?”

“Being my friend isn’t going to be easy. I don’t feel great thinking you’re catching some of the grief the elders have been giving me and the only thing I have to offer you is my company, for what little it’s worth.”

“‘Everyone is going to hurt you. You just have to find the ones worth suffering for.’”

“Huh. That sounds like a quote I should know. Tennyson? Keller?”

“Bob Marley, actually.”

There’s a slight awkward pause, before the two initiates laugh. Truth, looking like he hasn’t had a good laugh in a while, clearly enjoys the levity as the other initiate extends his hand.

“My name is Seeker. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Truth.”

“Yeah…”

Truth takes Seeker’s hand and shakes it, a genuine and grateful smile on his face.

“You too.”

*******

Present Day

Memories are a funny thing.

Sometimes, they’re just faint things. Flickers of the past that cross your mind from time to time, but only the general bits and pieces.

But other times? Memories can be so vivid, so vibrant that they can take you back to that place in time.

The feeling of grass licking your arms as you sit in the dirt.

The smell of campfire smoke accenting clean air and morning dew.

The sound of silence amidst the clamor of dozens of pilgrims seeking answers in a remote part of the world that time forgot.

As Cyrus Truth dismounts a horse borrowed from a Buryat village and steps onto this remote steppe in the middle of Mongolia, the first time in fifteen years and a whole other life ago, all of those memories come flooding back.

When he chose his name, he wasn’t completely ignorant to what the reaction was going to be. He knew full well that he’d be looked at as a curiosity at best and a pariah at worse. Honestly? Cyrus was shocked that he wasn’t Exiled immediately. He would have been, had Justice had her way…

…but no. That would come later. When Truth insisted on living HIS truth, regardless of what the Observers thought.

However, that’s the furthest thing from his mind as his horse stands still, simply taking the opportunity to graze. Truth walks, and walks for several dozen yards before he finds what he’s here for.

A wooden post. Nothing odd or out of place about it. No markings, no indication that it’s anything more than just a random piece of wood in the middle of the grass.

But Truth knows better. Something important is hidden here. Something more valuable, more precious than anything within an Observer Vault.

At least…it’s more important to Cyrus.

Taking a small handheld spade from his long, black coat, Cyrus digs the grass-covered earth from around the post. He doesn’t have to dig too long as, eventually, the spade strikes something metal.

Clearing out the dirt from around the object, Cyrus is able to, in time, use his hands to pull out what was buried here. It’s a cracker box, a tin container that’s older than Cyrus himself. The Exile brushes the dirt off it, a small smile curling from the corner of his lips. He opens it up, and pulls out the treasure from within.

It’s an old Polaroid instant picture of two teenagers. A brooding loner and the kid that offered to be his friend.

No strings attached.

No over-the-top gestures.

No ulterior motives.

Just…honest intent and gracious openness.

Truth…and Seeker.

The picture is faded, but not so much that it isn’t clear what this is. Truth remembers this picture, remembers when Seeker suggested they take it and leave it here to be unearthed whenever one of them needed to remember the day they met and forged that friendship. That bond that carried Truth through the rest of his teenage years, even beyond his Exile.

Seeker rose to a position of status within the Observers. It would be understandable…hell, it’d be expected that he would cut whatever ties he had with the arrogant punk who named himself Truth and got himself Exiled for it down the line.

But…Seeker never did. Never considered it, or if he did? He never considered it for long. The Observer never forgot the bond that was forged here in the middle of nowhere, and always remembered The Exile that was his friend and stood by that bond.

Truth had nothing to offer in exchange for that friendship.

Seeker never asked for anything in return.

Cyrus…exhales. Despite the pressure of his upcoming fight, the dangers that lurk within the confines of a steel cage…there’s peace here. Understanding. And, that’s the whole point, isn’t it? The Long and Winding Road will never fail in taking you where you need to go if you have the courage and wherewithal to follow it wherever it leads. Even if it means taking several steps backward in order to give you enough space to take the next giant leap forward.

After a few minutes of looking at the photograph and remembering what it symbolizes, Cyrus returns it to the tin cracker box. He puts it in the hole and buries it again.

There’s no risk. Even if someone happened to come across this post and unearth it, there’s nothing in the photograph that would indicate that it’s associated with the Observers expedition that came out here over a decade ago. The Vault that existed out here was hidden deep within the mountains, almost impossible to find if you don’t know where to look.

But Cyrus Truth has found what it was he was looking for. Observer Vaults, for all the knowledge and secrets they contain, can’t really compare to this simple picture.

And should Seeker ever need it? Truth would make sure it was here for him.

We cut back some time later, to the major city of Ulaanbaator. Specifically, its airport, where we see The Exile is having his boarding pass scanned from his phone, a simple carry-on bag and backpack as his only luggage.

Again…not bound for Las Vegas or any destination eastbound.

Instead, we see that Cyrus’s flight is bound for the Middle East.

Destination: Baghdad.

*******

13 Years Ago
Several Dozen Miles South of the Euphrates River

Getting around Iraq is never an easy proposition. Even with Saddam Hussein dead and gone for half a decade at this point and the war initiated by American’s invasion having winded down significantly, there’s still an air of danger and instability. Especially when you don’t look like a local and you have an American accent.

Still, this isn’t the first time Cyrus Truth has been to this part of the world. The Fertile Crescent is a veritable cornucopia of lost and forgotten knowledge from what was once the intellectual capital of the world. Observer excursions come out here time and again, and there are always pathways that are safer to traverse if you’re not afraid of the dark.

Truth may be an Exile, but the knowledge of who to talk to, what methods of transportation to take, and where you can find information to make the journeys safer? That’s not something even the Observers can take away from their wayward children.

And thankfully for Truth, the destination he has in mind is not one many would think to go. Even if they knew what was there? Few of them would dare come this way.

But…The Exile has little choice. Since his banishment from the Order of Observers, he’s had to make his own way in the world of shadows. And sometimes, that means dealing with other shadow brokers and power players for various things they desire in the hopes that they’ll get you what you need to continue playing the game.

Cyrus, in a well-beaten Toyota pickup truck that The Exile didn’t care to ask where it came from when he paid a scummy black market dealer to borrow it for a couple of days, has been driving off-road for some time along the Euphrates river until turning south, heading for what was at one time a rest stop for Bedouin tribes that has long been reclaimed by sand and dust. But nobody being there is a good sign as Cyrus pulls up alongside a nearby well. It’s rather large, measuring about four feet in circumference and rimmed with fitted, smooth rocks. There’s no bucket, no rope, nothing that could be used to draw up water, and the bottom is impossible to see in the darkness.

This well has long been abandoned to the dust and echoes of time.

Good. Because there’s something here Cyrus needs.

Grabbing a heavy rope from the back of the pickup truck and affixing it to the front of the vehicle as an anchor, Cyrus tosses the rope down the well until he eventually hears the slightest splash. Wasting little time, Cyrus grabs onto the line and begins to descend into the well.

With a small flashlight affixed to his shirt serving as the only source of illumination for his descent, The Exile continues to climb down…down…down until he eventually reaches the water at the bottom. Testing its depth and learning quickly that it’s incredibly shallow, Cyrus eventually lets go of the rope and lands on his feet, the cold water quickly soaks his pants and causes a chill to run up Cyrus’s body. It’s a jolt, but somewhat refreshing considering the overbearing heat from the surface.

Now fully descended, Cyrus uses his light to survey his surroundings, focused on finding something beyond just water and darkness. And there is SOMETHING here, something that someone long dead and gone went through incredible trouble to hide here.

After several minutes, The Exile finds what he’s looking for.

To most, they would appear to be centuries-worn scratches on the side of the wall of the well. But Cyrus received an education in translating the runes of the Observers. These? These are child’s play compared to the runes that protected the treasures of the Observer Vaults.

A quick incantation, a few seconds of focus and extension of one’s will, and the scratches glow faintly, providing just a bit more light in this dark hole. The scratches almost seem to move in the wall like leaves in a river, aligning into more obvious ancient Sumerian text.

Eventually, the wall gives way, turning to sand as a passageway appears. Pulling his feet out of the pile of sand, Cyrus steps through the threshold out of the well and down this new path.

The pathway is polished stone, almost impossibly hewn considering how ancient it is. But none of this gives The Exile pause as he continues to navigate the narrow tunnel. He knew full well before coming to this secret sanctum that magic would likely be involved.

Cyrus, himself, never studied the arcane arts during his time with the Observers aside from some base-level enchantments and how to read magic runes. Even as a young man, he didn’t really have any interest in the deeper mysteries of magic, knowing how problematic spellwork can be and how dangerous even a slight mistake can be. Truth always preferred to put his faith in more grounded solutions. Still, that didn’t mean that certain individuals in the world of shadows didn’t share his opinion on such things, and could be swayed with certain offerings.

Deeper and deeper into the sanctum, we start to see the pathway branch off to small rooms and chambers, which appear to be sleeping quarters and other facilities such as kitchens and studies. Time has eroded anything of interest in these spaces, and nothing from what Cyrus’s small flashlight can illuminate strikes The Exile as something of value to the kind of circles he frequents.

However, something DOES get his attention. It’s faint, but as he looks to the floor, Cyrus notices that the dust that had accumulated over millennia has been disturbed, and recently.

Something or someone might have come here recently.

Cyrus curses under his breath. If someone beat him to the artifact…

No, The Exile thinks. Focus. Don’t dwell on what might be and figure out what is. With that thought shunted aside, he turns to press deeper into the sanctum.

Eventually, he finds himself in a larger atrium of sorts. Additional passageways split off from what Cyrus presumes is a central chamber that connects the rest of the sanctum’s various facilities. Ancient Sumerian text lines the width and breath of the chamber where the wall connects with the ceiling, and effigies of the long abandoned Bablyonian gods stand guard as statues.

It’s an awe-inspiring sight, and one that almost left Cyrus wide open.

Almost.

Survival instinct kicks in as The Exile ducks an elbow coming from his blindspot. He immediately spins out and into the center of the chamber as his flashlight gets a glimpse of his assailant.

A tall, lanky figure wearing black robes and…a mask? With insect antenna?

Truth’s confusion causes him to hesitate as the figure mutters some arcane incantation and Cyrus feels his muscles constrict and freeze. As the masked assailant keeps his concentration on the spell, he approaches The Exile with a wild look in his eyes.

“Ah-ha! FINALLY! I’ve been in this bloody ruin for what seems like a damned eternity waiting for you to show yourself, you wretch! If you thought for one second that you could escape me and your righteous punishment, you certainly have another thing com-YEOWH!”

The assailant, feeling confident, gets a little too close. Close enough that Cyrus, despite the paralysis spell, is able to move his head enough to violently headbutt this mage. The pain of having his nose crunched by Cyrus’s skull is enough to disrupt his concentration, freeing The Exile.

With this opening, Cyrus rushes the figure and pins him against the wall, forearm pressed against the masked man’s throat.

“I don’t know who the hell you are, but if you try that holding spell again, I’ll bury you alongside whatever ghosts haunt this place. Now, you mind telling me what the hell you’re doing here?”

“‘What the hell I’M doing here?’ What the devil do you think? I’m investigating you for illegal necromancy practices.”

“The hell are you talking about? I’m not a necromancer.”

“...Wait. You’re not?”

“NO! I’m just here looking for something. What the fuck is this stuff about a necromancer?”

“Well, I’d be more than happy to explain, but it’s rather hard when you’re CONSTRICTING MY AIRWAY.”

Cyrus hesitates for a second. He’s not exactly thrilled about the idea of letting up on this weirdo who clearly has some talent with magic. Still, now that he knows what he’s dealing with…

Eventually, Cyrus backs off, but only a little. The masked man coughs as he massages his throat. After a few seconds, the mage stands up, pats the dust off his robes, and looks Cyrus dead in the eye.

“Well, where to start?”

“You can start by telling me who the hell you are.”

“Ah, yes. Um…I don’t know exactly how much I can tell you, to be completely honest. Perhaps let’s start with a name. Yes, that would be a safe place to start. My name is Konchu. Konchu Hao.”

Cyrus looks a bit surprised by that. That wasn’t a name he was expecting, nor did he expect it to belong to this…stranger.

“Konchu Hao? By chance, you don’t mean the same Konchu Hao that just became the Primogen of the Black Mass, do you?”

With that follow up question, the figure, Konchu Hao, breathes a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thank the bloody Aspects! You’re a denizen of the world of shadows. This makes things so much easier. Yes, that is I. One and the same. I take it you’ve heard of me, then?”

“Of sorts. I’ve heard mutterings through the underworld that some newcomer came in and took over the Black Mass despite coming out of seemingly nowhere. But…what’s with the luchador mask?”

“I beg your pardon?! This mask is the vessel by which my essence is contained, you reprobate! This mortal form had their mind shattered and I…”

“Yeah, on second thought? I’m pretty sure I don’t care that much. What was this nonsense about a necromancer?”

Konchu looks a bit annoyed by the interjection, but that irritation gives way to confusion.

“Hmph, well...if you must know, The Black Mass received notification that a rogue necromancer had taken up residence in a hidden Sumerian sanctum to conduct foul rituals, bastardizing religious rites to the god Enki to conjure horrific monsters from the dark realms.

“However, that does bring up a question of my own. If you’re not the necromancer, then what are YOU doing here? HOW did you get in here to begin with? And who the bloody hell are you, anyway?”

“That’s not important.”

“I would argue it is!”

“I’m not here to debate you. I’m just looking for something to do some trading with.”

“So…you’re robbing an ancient ruin.”

“I prefer the term ‘reclamation.’ Besides, it’s not as if anybody who’s anybody would even know there’s anything here of value.”

“Hmm…perhaps. Still doesn’t answer my question as to how you got into this space. Looking at your energy, it doesn’t appear that you possess much arcane talent. And I’m not about to just allow you to traipse around doing whatever pillaging you’re here to do without some bloody answers.”

Now, it’s The Exile’s turn to be frustrated. This obnoxious upstart mage in the insect mask addressing him with this smug air of entitlement is starting to wear on his last nerve. However, fighting against the Primogen of the Black Mass, regardless of how the actual fight would go, is something Cyrus isn’t interested in at this moment.

“...Truth. My name is Truth.”

Konchu’s obstinate attitude fades as he hears that name. Immediate recognition registers in his eyes as an unsettling grin curls from his lips.

“Oh, my. You’re him. The Exile. Oh, that explains pretty much everything, then. Observer training, however cloistered, would certainly allow you to access such a place. Well, this is fortuitous! A true opportunity…”

“I’m not interested in teaming up, if that’s what you’re about to suggest.”

“Oh, heavens no! I was going to offer you a chance to join my burgeoning Army of the Night as my subordinate! With a minion like yourself at my disposal, there’s a great many…”

Cyrus’s expression says it all. He’s reached his limit with this Konchu Hao. However, before he can lash out, he interjects as something else gets his attention.

“Shut up.”

“HOW DARE YOU! As my future minion, you must learn to address me with the proper levels of respect and rever…”

“I said, SHUT UP. And listen. You hear that?”

Whatever indignation was building in Konchu Hao evaporates as he listens for whatever has Cyrus on edge. And eventually, he hears it, too. The horrific shuffling of footsteps.

From the corridors, dozens of animated corpses emerge, moaning and lurching forward slowly, but with a single-minded focus…the devouring of the living who dared to invade upon this space.

Both Cyrus and Konchu, without a word shared between them, quickly take up position in the center of the chamber, back-to-back as they stare down this zombie horde. Konchu mutters something under his breath, but is interrupted by The Exile.

“Stop! Take a closer look. The rags they’re wearing. See the runes?”

Konchu halts his spell as he sees what Cyrus does. He curses in an ancient language as he replies.

“Yes, I do. Blasted bastard. Anti-magic protection runes? Seriously? What fool of a necromancer makes it so that magic won’t work on his undead thralls?”

“An idiot.”

“For once, I am in complete agreement. So…now what?”

“Not like we have much of a choice. Even if we run, we can't leave these things here for someone else to find.”

“So, then what? Are you suggesting we fight them off the old-fashioned way, then?”

“That going to be a problem for you, mage?”

“Kehahaha! Hardly!”

Konchu mutters another quick series of incantations. Before Cyrus can admonish him for trying to use spells after already establishing that they wouldn’t work on these undead, Konchu finishes his casting.

In his hands, the Primogen of the Black Mass had summoned a pair of khopesh swords, and handed one to The Exile with a manic smile on his face.

“Will this suffice for the task at hand?”

Cyrus, taking one of the blades, simply smiles as he stares down his half of the zombies while Konchu turns to face his own.

“Yeah. This’ll do…”

*******

Present Day

Over a decade of time and decay had left nothing but bones and tattered scraps in that chamber where Cyrus first met the Mad Wizard who would, in time, become one of his closest allies in the world of shadows.

Returning to this space after all those years brings back that rush of adrenaline, the sound of conjured steel cutting through wretched flesh and bringing down the hordes of the rogue necromancer that had taken up residence in this ancient hovel. It was the first time that Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao would team up to combat something neither of them alone could accomplish.

This event didn’t make The Exile and The Mad Wizard friends, though. Even after the fight, as Cyrus reminisces inside that chamber, the two men would continue to butt heads and cross paths all over the world. Konchu always had a knack of ending up in the same place as Cyrus no matter how bizarre or grim the locale was, and often their own objectives and quests would conflict.

As Cyrus walks among the shattered bones and dusty remains of the zombie horde from over a decade ago, he recalls that after the fight? Cyrus would continue to seek out the artifact that he came to find. Once acquired, Konchu demanded that he hand it over so that the Black Mass could study it.

Obviously, Cyrus refused. There was a tussle, until Cyrus gave Konchu a counteroffer to provide information on the whereabouts of some other artifacts that were not as valuable, but still of some value to the Mad Wizard.

It would take years before whatever tension and rivalry between Konchu and Cyrus to finally mellow out into the relationship the two now have in the present day, and even now? There’s always a bit of one-upmanship between the two, especially now that both had found their way to FWA as professional wrestlers. Old rivalries don’t just go away, especially when the two men are as prideful as Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao.

But, that’s kind of the point.

Even when there’s that rivalry, there's respect. A bond forged by the fires of strife and conflict. And more importantly, there’s enough respect that one would never step away from the struggle if they valued what the prize was at the end of the Road.

Konchu Hao loves to play his games and mess with his opponent’s minds to get an edge, to ensure that he is in control.

But Konchu never did that with Cyrus. Even in the beginning.

Cyrus, as he crouches down and runs his fingers through the dust on the floor and rubs it in-between his fingers, thinks about that particular Truth about the Mad Wizard and thinks to himself…why? Why, when Konchu played his games and weaved his schemes, that he never tried to do that with Cyrus?

It doesn’t take him long to reach a conclusion. No…it’s more like, he knew the answer and simply had to remember it.

It’s because of respect.

Respect for one another as men.

Respect for the ambitions of one’s rival-turned-friends.

To try and play games like that would not only belittle the other’s aspirations, but also your own pride.

Maybe…that’s how they eventually became friends. That sort of mutual understanding that, even when and if they came to blows, it was in pursuit of something more than destruction, hatred, or greed. The respect for not just the people they were, but for the goals that they had, even if it meant that it would sometimes lead to them coming to loggerheads.

Cyrus smiles. This sanctum-turned-tomb is dreary and haunting, but for The Exile? It’s yet another good memory. A recollection of the path he took to get to the crossroads he finds himself at, and the Truth about something his opposition has never truly grasped regardless of how much he tries to speak on it with his unearned authority.

One more stop to go.

Climbing out of the well and taking his borrowed vehicle out of the wilderness and back to civilization, Cyrus has one last stop on his globe-trotting journey the long way around…

*******

Five Years Ago
Atlanta, Georgia

It’s well-past midnight in Atlanta. FWA’s latest live event, Quest for the Best, has concluded with massive ramifications moving forward.

Gabrielle Montgomery, after returning from an extended absence, would achieve another accolade to add to her already-impressive Hall of Fame career by winning the Quest for the Best tournament, and punching her ticket for a World Title match at the 14th Anniversary Show.

And in the main event? Cyrus Truth, in his fourth overall FWA World Title reign, would retain in a spirited Triple Threat match after eliminating special guest referee Chris Kennedy and opening the path toward defeating both Bell Connelly and Shannon O’Neal in what would be Shannon’s last match.

The rivalry between Shannon and Cyrus over a year ago had become brutal as passions, treachery, and deceit ran hot and the two of them would fight in a multitude of ferocious conflicts that left both of them changed as a result.

Odd that, a year in the future, the two would find themselves the sole patrons of a rundown little divebar deep in the inner city, drinking and laughing as the former challenger and current champion toss back shots of whiskey, the bartender having taken his leave, allowing the duo to basically have the place to themselves.

“Seriously? The hell’s a ‘Do Not Try This at Home Match?’”

“You know, I’ve had nearly ten years to try and figure that out, and…I still don’t have an answer. All I can tell you is that it had an obscene amount of plunder and involved me and Dan Maskell kicking the shit out of one another on some scaffolding ten feet above the ring. My back and neck still hurts thinking about that shit show.”

“Hot damn! I guess I kinda get why ya hate gimmick matches so much…”

Shannon chuckles as she holds out her glass for another round, to which The Exile obliges as he pours out the last remaining bit of whiskey out of the bottle. He then gets up and heads back behind the bar to peruse whatever bottles the owner left out before he took his leave for the evening and left the keys to Cyrus.

As he looks over the bottles before settling on a cheap Kentucky bourbon, he turns back to Shannon and bluntly asks:

“So…what are you going to do now? You know…now that you’re not going to be wrestling.”

Shannon takes a sip as the liquor clearly burns a bit going down. Both she and Cyrus are a bit of a mess, having come to this place pretty much after their match. Her sweat-drenched hair clings to her face as she takes a hand to move it away before fixing her gaze on her drink.

“...Dunno. Never thought much ‘bout life after wrestlin’. Maybe I’ll just go home to Lafayette. Settle in on that ‘domestic’ life.”

“Won’t you miss it?”

“Wrestlin’? Or you?”

Cyrus cocks an eyebrow at that, as if he’s not really sure how to react to that. Despite being well and truly drunk at this point, he still has enough sense to be surprised by that question, although he’s not entirely sure what Shannon means by it.

Shannon, however, simply laughs as she shakes her head.

“Relax, Cy. Just teasin’. But yeah…I guess I’ll miss it. Wrestlin’s been my own fuckin’ life for so long, and it ain’t easy walkin’ away. Thing is…I don’t wanna be one of those wrestler’s who stays in the game for so long that they end up hatin’ it.”

“Like how you said I had?”

Shannon shrugs as she tosses back her drink and downs the rest. Cyrus does the same as The Exile pours another couple of drinks for him and Shannon.

“Eh. I think ya just needed someone to kick you in the ass without the political bullshit. And…I think you’re prob’ly a lifer. You may bitch and moan ‘bout things, but you love wrestlin’. I don’t think ya’d be the same without it.”

“Hmm. Fair point.”

“Buuut…I was only half jokin’ with ya. I will miss ya, Cy. You were right when ya said that I wasn’t as good as I was without ya to push me. So, I suppose I should be thankin’ ya for giving me the last bit I needed to become the World Champion. And…you’re welcome.”

Cyrus doesn’t ask for clarification on that. Despite the turmoil that existed between Shannon and Cyrus when they first clashed over the FWA World Championship? The Exile isn’t so proud as to deny that, as much as Shannon needed him to reach the next level?

He needed her to get out of his funk and truly become the sort of champion he needed to be.

“So, domestic life, huh?”

Shannon, midway through a sip of her fresh drink, pauses as she looks somewhat inquisitively at Cyrus.

“What’s that actually mean, huh? Gonna settle down, find someone, get married, dive headfirst into family life?”

“Why do ya care?”

“Hey, I’m not trying to say anything about it. It’s just…I can’t really imagine you working a typical 9 to 5 job. Or, wait…don’t tell me you want to retire as a housewife?”

“And what if I do? Ya got a problem with that?”

Cyrus cracks a somewhat smarmy smirk as he takes a long sip of his drink.

“I mean, I can’t imagine you wearing an apron in the kitchen cooking up dinner for some schlub office worker. Doesn’t really suit you, in my opinion.”

A flash of faux anger crosses Shannon’s expression as she stands up from her seat, slams her hands down on the table, and glares at Cyrus.

“Fuck you! I can do whatever the fuck I want! Ya think you’re so smart. Well, if I wanna be find some sugar daddy or some normal guy to provide for me instead of some creep stalker or some walkin’ red flag like you, that’s my fuckin’ business! And I can totally pull off a fuckin’ apron, shithead!”

Cyrus, riled up, gets right in Shannon’s face as he returns her angry stare right back at her.

“The hell you can!”

“I damn well can, and your dumb ass ain’t ‘bout to tell me otherwise!”

There’s a few seconds of awkward silence after all the shouting…before both Cyrus and Shannon burst out laughing. Any tension, regardless of whether it was real or just fabricated in the drunken haze both are now operating under, evaporates as both finish off the booze in their glasses. Cyrus, without having to be asked, pours two more drinks for himself and for Shannon.

Shannon, after catching her breath from laughing too hard, holds up the glass as she looks at her former rival with an honest smile on her face.

“Hey…”

“What?”

“I’m sorry ‘bout what happened after Back in Business. You know…the rematch we had?”

“Oh…that? Don’t worry about it. It happens to the best of us. And in spite of everything?”

Cyrus holds up his glass to Shannon.

“You are one of the best of us.”

That…that takes Shannon by surprise. Cyrus is usually guarded in his compliments and most everything he says is laced with self-righteousness or heavy, world-weary sarcasm.

Here? Shannon’s not sure if it’s the alcohol or not, but that last thing Cyrus said wasn’t sarcastic, wasn’t self-righteous. It was…honest. A true compliment. Hell…almost even sweet.

Shannon returns Cyrus’s smile as she holds up her glass to his.

“So, what’re we toastin’ to?”

Cyrus pauses for a second before saying.

“To new beginnings. To fateful ends. To the Road that brought you here, and the path you choose to walk.”

“Heh. Bit too poetic for me. But fuck it, I’ll drink to it.”

*CLINK*

*******

Present Day

It’s the middle of the day when Cyrus arrives at the bar. Five years since he stepped through the doors with the woman who went from being his fiercest rival to one of his closest friends.

There’s a few people loitering around, hapless drunks and dreamers seeking a bit of respite from the rigors of the world. But none of them seem to give Cyrus any mind. And Cyrus? He could care less.

He’s not here for any of them.

Rather, he’s here because of a memory.

Shannon O’Neal. Someone who Cyrus never thought would be anyone important to him, someone who existed at first as an obstacle in his path towards solidifying his legacy.

Now? Well…

The Long and Winding Road is funny, in that way. The people you cross paths with on your journey may not always be the ones you expected to come across. Some would be allies up to a point, others bitter rivals seeking the same treasures at the end of the Road that you yourself desire.

But a rare few run the full spectrum, and become treasures in and of themselves.

And throughout this journey into the past, this retracing of his own life’s journey and the people he’s met, confronted, and yes…befriended? Something that should’ve been so obvious to Cyrus comes back to him like a memory long buried.

“Exiles don’t get to have friends,” as someone once told him.

But then again…when has Cyrus Truth ever cared about what he was or wasn’t supposed to have?

The Wayward Warrior approaches the bar, as a tired-looking older man sees him approach. With a look of recognition in the bartender’s eyes and without a word said, he grabs a glass and pours some whiskey for Cyrus.

Cyrus holds it up, remembering the last time he had whiskey in this space. And that familiar toast comes back to his lips.

“To new beginnings…to fateful ends…”

*******

It’s the morning of Carnal Contendership here in Las Vegas. All FWA personnel and talent have been called to the arena to make sure that everything’s in place for the first stop on the road to Back in Business.

Some wrestlers? Well, they won’t be arriving until later in the afternoon despite the all-hands call. And they’ll likely be able to get away with it, as Jonathan Russnow isn’t exactly known to be much of a disciplinarian.

Still, one wrestler is certainly not going to be late. In fact, as he often is? Cyrus Truth is the first wrestler to arrive at the arena.

Passing throught the doors into the backstage arena, as security and FWA staff point him to where they’ve set up the locker rooms and gorilla, we hear The Exile’s thoughts as he makes his way through.

“Tonight, I step into a hell of my own choosing and design. For the singular purpose of ending the championship reign of a monster disguised as a saint.

“Jeremy Best said he wanted to be my friend. That he didn’t want there to be any bad feelings or discord between us. Ever since becoming the World Champion, he’s been preaching a message of love and peace, despite the path of violence and madness he walked to get to this point.

“He said I needed a friend. Well, he was right. I did. I do.

“But not the kind of friend that Jeremy Best has been.”

Walking into the arena itself, he sees the ring crew setting up the mat. The large, ornate stage for Carnal Contendership is nearing complete construction, and is a fitting stage worthy of such an important event.

Cyrus takes in the sights as his thoughts continue to speak to us.

“The path I’ve taken on the Long and Winding Road is one that I’ve traveled alone for so many years. And yeah, I’m not someone that’s easy to befriend. But…is friendship given and taken so easily truly worth the effort?

“I’ve come to understand you, Jeremy. It took me retracing my own steps, returning to the start of my own journey to grasp it, but it was a journey well worth taking again. You claim to want to be everyone’s friend, to end the conflict in FWA and bring about peace and camaraderie among the roster. But…your actions and your words conflict with one another.

“You brutalized Krash. You robbed Alyster of his World Championship. Your two little stooges have had to suffer countless beatings in order for you to keep your stolen prize. And Bryan? His record-setting championship reign ended not long after your own reign began. How many times have you stuck your neck out to aid Baxter, when he’s done it for you time and again?

“I don’t have many friends in this world. But the ones I do? I know where they stand. I know their hearts. And I’m always willing to give of myself as they would of me. Because…bonds handed out freely are fragile. Partnerships without respect are feeble. It is in conflict that friendships are tested and strengthened, like a forge to iron.

“But you wanted to end conflict. Run and hide from it while you continue playing in your own little twisted fantasy. And that is why your talks of friendship mean less than shit, Jeremy. Because a friend, a true friend? They wouldn’t try to run from a fight…nor would they try and deny an opportunity to a friend like you tried to do with our World Championship match.”

As Cyrus sees the ring crew finishing their setups, he sees more stagehands bringing in wire-mesh panels framed with steel.

The pieces of a steel cage.

“So…I won’t allow you to run away anymore. I will make you face conflict. Suffer as others have suffered thanks to your delusional ramblings of friendship and ensure that your sins are paid for in blood.”

Cyrus heads back into the bowels of the arena, not waiting to see the cage’s construction. Instead, he dives deeper into the arena’s corridors, passing by posters of various FWA superstars. Presumably, the competitors in tonight’s Carnal Contendership.

“Tonight…I become the FWA World Champion. Not because it’s something I’ve craved since losing it five years ago. And not because I have anything to prove, either to the world or myself.

“No…it’s because…I owe it.

“I owe it to the journey, to the trials and tribulations that I faced and overcame on the Long and Winding Road…”

We see snapshots. Flashing images of Cyrus’s wrestling past. The vicious battles, the heartbreaking moments and triumphant victories.

“I owe it to the enemies, the rivals who pushed me and forced me to continue evolving and press forward…”

More images. Chris Kennedy, Dave Sullivan, Eli Black, Chris Peacock, and Michelle von Horrowitz being prominent…but not being the only ones. Opponents who pushed Cyrus to his limits time and again, who forced Cyrus to struggle and live up to the legacy he had built.

“And I owe it to my friends. The companions and partners that have been bound in blood, and forged by iron.”

More images. Fewer in number to the rivals, but still important, still poignant.

Krash.

Shannon.

Konchu.

Others that have had The Exile’s back for years, or have been his rivals before the conflicts that defined their relationship with Cyrus turned the animosity to something more.

“Tonight, I’ll walk into that cage to achieve what I want. To return back to the main event of Back in Business. Because the journey I’ve taken thus far, and the people who I’ve met on that journey? They deserve better than the fraud of a World Champion that you are, Jeremy. I’ll shed my blood, tear my flesh, and fight off whatever tricks and deception you want to throw my way. Because what you have done since becoming the champion? The bullshit you’ve spewed, the lies and deception you’ve peddled?

“All of it, every bit of it…it’s an insult. It’s an insult to me. An insult to the men and women who challenged me, aided me, befriended me, and walked alongside me on my journey. And it’s an insult I’m done leaving unanswered.”

The Exile finds his way to catering and, past that, to the locker rooms that have been set up for the talent. As he reaches the door for the men’s changing room, he stops with his hand on the door handle.

“My name is Cyrus Truth. And I am not alone. Because the bonds I’ve formed, both friend and foe? They are what defines me. They are what drives me. And in honor of them all, in the name of everything that has brought me to this point, this time, this moment, this opportunity?

“...I am going to walk into hell. I’m going to put you through hell, Jeremy. And walk out finally…FINALLY, as the FWA World Heavyweight Champion.

“And that hell? It’s going to follow me…”

Cyrus slams his open palm into the door, fire and focus in his eyes. All that brought him to this moment, all the friends he made, the bonds that have stood the test of time and weathered the storm of conflict and divergent aspirations…

Tonight, he wins. He returns to the main event of Back in Business. For them…and for himself.

He opens the door and slams it behind him as we hear the last statement, the last thought:

“That hell’s coming with me, back to Back in Business.”​

 

[Dubble J]

Click here for a Jeremy Best Promo.

Spoiler: Click here for a plain text version of a Jeremy Best promo

“Is this the America that we want?”

The calm, gentle voice of Jeremy Best started off the advertisement on the screen as the camera panned across a bleak urban landscape where people were fighting in the streets. Cars were on fire. Stores were being looted. Images of violent clashes between protestors and law enforcement flashed across the screen, highlighting the grim reality faced by many Americans in the current political landscape.

“President Black leads this country through fear and through violence. Our once wonderful life under the likes of President Montrose, God rest his soul, is under attack. These are truly troubled times. Under his iron fist, friendship has become a distant memory. Replaced by distrust… animosity…. And fear. This is NOT the America you wanted to be part of. This is not the country you wanted to raise your family in. We are in dire need of a change.”

Jeremy’s voice offered a sense of encouragement within chaos. The fighting in the streets began to stop, almost as if they had heard his words themselves.

“But fear not my Besties…”

Through the darkness, the sun began to peek through into the city streets.

“It is not too late. We can make things better. There IS hope! And that hope is me.”

The light grew brighter, completely overwhelming the darkness. Jeremy Best emerged within the crowds, the light surrounding him like the symbol of hope that he represented much like an angel appearing to the wisemen. There he was - Jeremy Best - the champion of friendship. Jeremy greeted each person he passed on the street with either a hug or a handshake. He reached down and helped up an elderly man who had been trampled during the chaos.

“My friends, enough is enough. It’s been too long since this country has had a leader you could be proud of. A leader that could be a true role model for everyone to aspire to be. Not a low life degenerate. Not a violent, malevolent, bloodthirsty ruler. We’ve had enough of the nonsense of our past two presidents. Let’s make a change! It’s time… my friends…”

“To make America friendly again!”

The people in the streets began to cheer in response to Jeremy’s proclamation. The groups that were once entangled in conflict with one another now begin to help each other. We fade away from the city streets to other images of people coming together. Neighbors helping neighbors.

“For too long we have let fear and division tear us apart,” Jeremy’s voice continued to play over the new images of hope. His voice was filled with determination. “This isn't about political lines anymore. It’s about showing kindness to your fellow man. Being there for each other. This is what America should be about. True friendship.”

The ad faded away from the scenes of companionship to a rally where Jeremy Best stood at the podium, speaking to a huge crowd of supporters. The American flag waved behind him in front of his “Make America Friendly Again” banner.

“This is our moment!” Jeremy declared with his usual optimism. “This isn’t about me. This is about US. I can’t do this alone. Together we can defeat the evil that has worked so hard to destroy friendship in this country. Together we can triumph over fear. We show them friendship cannot be defeated! And we will come out on the other end… united stronger than we ever have been before.”

“Let’s do this…”

“TOGETHER!”

“Let’s Make America Friendly Again!”

Jeremy held his hands up proudly after his final declaration of his motto. The followers, as he referred to them, his Besties, cheered loudly. The message was clear. Jeremy Best was not just a candidate to become President. He was the BEST candidate for the job.

~~This message has been paid for by Friends for Jeremy Best for President~~

I’m not sure if I’m prepared to do this. I am not sure if I’m ready to tell my story. But I do think it's a story that needs to be told. I am worried about what I’ve gotten myself into. I’m worried about what the future of our country could be.

Allow me to introduce myself.

My name is Javier Mejor and I work within the Best Administration.

My life changed the day I saw that political ad. The one that sparked a fire in my heart and made me finally get involved. I had never been so motivated before in my life. I saw his determination and was inspired by his positivity. I truly wanted to make America friendly again.

My life growing up was a little different than most kids. My family moved here from Mexico while my mother was pregnant with me. Much like others just like them, they came here searching for a better life for themselves and their future family. They believed in the promises of freedom, democracy, and opportunity. And it was because of their hard work that those beliefs were passed down to me.

But it wasn’t being the son of immigrants that made me different from the other kids. There were plenty of kids in Texas that had similar upbringing. But I truly loved America. More specifically, I loved its storied history more than anything else. Especially when it came to the presidents of the United States.

While other kids dreamed of trips to Disney World or spending their summers lounging at the beach, I was more drawn to places with more historical significance. My favorite place to visit was Mount Rushmore. It wasn't just the majestic scenery that captivated me. No, it was the faces of legendary US Presidents carved into the rock—Ryan Rondo, Stu St. Claire, Devin Golden, Chris Kennedy. Their stories, their struggles, and their triumphs fascinated me. It was my passion for US history that would eventually lead me down the road that has gotten me to this position within the Best Administration.

Unfortunately, throughout the years, the country began to get away from the ideals that my parents had moved here for. The presidency almost became a joke under President Peacock with his debauchery. I think we can all agree that the least said about the intern scandal the better. Who knew you could make that come out of a truck?

But then there was President Black. As Jeremy’s ad had pointed out, the country had fallen into some of its darkest times under Alyster. He was a man whose background was filled with violence but for some reason, he had been able to gain the support of the people. Perhaps they just wanted something so different from Peacock, though Black had been Peacock’s own Vice President.

My point is that the ideals of the country had gone astray. I no longer saw the place my parents came here looking for a better life. I no longer saw the country I read about in my history books.

It was when I saw that political ad for Jeremy Best that I realized I could be part of the change. Here was a candidate who spoke not of power or privilege but of friendship. People coming together for common goals and working together. That was what I believed this nation was built on. I knew at that moment that I had to be part of this movement. That I had to lend my voice and my efforts to a cause that certainly transcended politics.
I knew that I had to help make America friendly again.

So I rolled up my sleeves and dove headfirst into the Best campaign. From handing out fliers and buttons to organizing grassroots events and rallying support, I threw myself into every aspect of the campaign with the same passion and determination I had seen demonstrated by Jeremy Best himself. Sure, the work was hard and as a volunteer the pay was nonexistent, but it was still so incredibly rewarding. I met with people from all walks of life, each with their own hopes and dreams of what Jeremy Best was promising them.

A better America.

I still remember being there the night of the election. The campaign headquarters was filled with excitement. Well, excitement and anxiety. We, along with the entire nation, held our breath as the numbers began to roll in throughout the night. President Black got out to an early lead and it seemed like the dream may not come true.

But myself, along with my fellow volunteers and supporters, did not lose that hope. He stayed glued to the screen all night long. I could hear the prayers being said and the nervous glances being shared by the people around me.

Slowly but surely, the numbers began to grow on Jeremy’s side. I could feel the energy in the room changing from apprehension to optimism. Could it actually be happening?

And then… the news broke.

“The results were close,” lead news anchor Rod Sterling explained, “but we can now call this one… Jeremy Best has defeated Alyster Black and will become the new President of the United States!”

Cheers erupted in the headquarters. I couldn’t believe it! Tears of joy filled my eyes as I hugged those around me, strangers mere months ago who had become some of my closest friends as we were now bound together by Jeremy's hopeful vision. The hard work, the late nights, the countless hours spent spreading Jeremy's message... it had all paid off.

We had defied the odds and made history, electing a president who believed in the power of friendship and unity.

The podium at the front of the ballroom at the campaign headquarters had been adorned with the American flag and the “Make America Friendly Again” banner. A large crowd had gathered around the stage, awaiting an appearance by the new president-elect. The crowd cheered loudly, waving banners declaring “Friendship Wins” as they anxiously waited.

“BEST! BEST! BEST! BEST!” The crowd chanted eagerly.

Finally, he gave the people what they wanted. The next president walked out onto the stage, dressed casually in a blue polo and khaki pants as he waved to his supporters with a huge smile on his face showing his gratitude. He lifted up his arms and politely asked for the crowd to quiet down.

“Thank you all,” he said genuinely. “Thank you so much for everything. Wow… just… wow…”

Jeremy seemed overcome by the moment, struggling to find the words.

“Today truly is a historic day. It’s a day of triumph. A day of unity. And most importantly, a day of hope. I came to you all and asked for your help back then because I knew I couldn’t do this by myself. And together we have shown the world that the power of friendship is too strong to be defeated! That the power of friendship can bring this nation together!”

The crowd once again cheered loudly in support.

“My Besties, I stand here humbled and honored to accept the responsibility of leading this great nation as your president. No… not just your president. As your champion. As your Champion of Friendship!”

“BEST! BEST! BEST! BEST! BEST!”

“But just as I asked for your help before, I once again come to you and ask for your help now. Because this will not be work that I can do alone. We faced many challenges in our journey here… and while I am hopeful for my vision and happy to see that friendship has in fact won tonight… there will be more challenges. There will be those who do not see the world the way we do. There will be more that come along just like President Black who think friendship is a threat to their own vision of what America should be. It is still important that we continue to work to fix this divided nation. Let us embrace our shared vision of a kinder, more compassionate country.”

The crowd once again cheered for Jeremy’s thoughts, nodding and clapping in affirmation of his views.

“Today… we send a message to not just the country but to the world. We are not just a land of opportunity, but we are the symbol of friendship! We reject hate. We reject fear. Today we defeated those things! And instead, we embrace love. We embrace unity. And we embrace… FRIENDSHIP!”

“FRIENDSHIP WINS! FRIENDSHIP WINS! FRIENDSHIP WINS!”

“Darn skippy it does! Haha! To those who doubted me… who never thought I’d be here… I am happy to say that we have all proved you wrong! Today we have proved that through friendship… Anything is possible! Together, we start the next chapter in the history of this great nation. I look forward to being your president. I look forward to everything that is about to happen! I promise to be the BEST president you’ve ever seen! Thank you! I love each and every one of you! God bless you all and God bless our new FRIENDLY America!”

The crowd once again erupted into thunderous applause as Jeremy stepped back from the microphone and waved to his supporters. The new president-elect walked off the stage but made sure to stop to hug and shake hands with many of his supporters along the way.

As I stood among the jubilant crowd on election night, celebrating Jeremy Best's victory, I couldn't help but be overwhelmed with a sense of disbelief. After all, it was just a few months ago that I had been a regular guy working at a car dealership, dreaming of making a difference but unsure of how to do it. And now I could take pride in knowing that I had taken part in an extraordinary moment in the history of the country I loved so much.

It was a high that was hard to come down from. But eventually, the celebration had to die down and I had to go back to the real world. Which for me meant going back to Big Bill's Auto Emporium trying to sell used cars. It's hard to transition back from feeling like you were making a difference to trying to convince people to buy cars that probably were in no shape to be sold to anyone.

But then came the phone call that changed everything.

The guy just called himself Frank but said he worked with President Best. Apparently, my hard work had not gone unnoticed during the campaign. I was told the President was impressed with my dedication to the cause and thought they could use someone like that one on his team. So they were offering me an intern position within the Best Administration.

Now this was kind of a big deal.

For one, the White House internship program had been briefly discontinued due to the Peacock scandal, so this would be the first time since then that a president even had an intern.

But more importantly, for me, this was a dream come true!

So yeah, I accepted almost immediately.

I can still remember those feelings I had the first time I stepped into the White House for the first time. I cannot begin to describe the excitement I had walking through the hallowed halls. Just knowing I was stepping on the same floor as the most powerful men in history was enough to fill me with an immense sense of awe.

And then there was the first time I actually met Jeremy. I am not sure I even managed to say a word. He shook my hand and greeted me with the genuine positivity that he displayed in the ad that started it all for me. He expressed his gratitude for my hard work and was excited to have me on his team. Early in his term, I was still just as enamored with his Friendship movement as I had ever been and was ready to do anything for this man.

But it wasn’t long before I started to sense something wasn’t quite right.

Perhaps all was not really what it seemed when it came to President Best.

President Jeremy Best sat at the head of the mahogany table with a beaming, bright smile on his face that at this point seemed permanently painted on. Joining him at the table were some of his key staff members. There was his Vice President, the brash and bold Bryan Baxter, whose rugged figure and no-nonse attitude often clashed with Jeremy’s idealistic outlook. To Jeremy’s right was his Chief of Staff, Frank Stache, a man who seemed constantly under pressure to keep Jeremy focused on the task at hand. Taking a seat next to Frank was the intern, Javier Mejor.

“What’s he doing here?” Frank asked, seeming annoyed about why an intern needed to be in such an important meeting.

“Sorry, I can go,” Javier responded meekly.

“No! No! Stay!” Jeremy gleefully instructed. “Be nice, Frank! I see a lot of myself in our amigo here! I think he brings a lot to the table!”

Javier smiled and nervously nodded to the President. He wasn’t sure how he felt about always being called “amigo” by Jeremy, but he didn’t think the President meant any harm by the title.

“Can we just get this over with,” Vice President Baxter said with agitation.

“Yes, let’s not keep these nice people any longer than we have to, Frank. I’m sure we can wrap this up in what… five… maybe ten minutes or so?”

“Uhh,” Frank tapped his finger nervously on the table, “we have a lot to go over here, Mr. President.”

“Frank, what did I tell you about calling me that? It’s Jeremy.”

“Sorry, sir. But we do have a lot of serious pressing matters to address. There’s the looming trade deficit with China… escalating cyber threats… and then there’s the tensions in the Middle East... “

Jeremy leaned back in his leather chair and yawned as Frank continued.

“Jeremy, we really need to think about addressing the economic challenges posed by the trade deficit with China. It’s really affecting the manufacturing sector and could have some long-term implications for the economy.”

The President leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “Hmmm,” he seemed to ponder, “I see… I see… yes, what a pickle. What a pickle indeed. You know… I think… if we asked nicely, China would probably just forgive us.”

Vice President Baxter laughed while Frank shook his head. “Sir, I don’t think…”

“Because that’s what friends do, don’t they? Forgive others. We need to work on fostering our friendship with China and turn this into an opportunity for mutual benefit.”

Frank sighed as he shared a glance with Bryan “Mr. Pres… I mean… Jeremy… I really don’t think they’re just going to forgive us. But there is an opportunity at the upcoming summit to…”

Jeremy sat up as if a lightbulb had gone off in his head. “Ah ha! I got it! Tonya…”

Jeremy turned to the chair to the left of Vice President Baxter where a young woman in a black tuxedo jacket accompanied by a black top hat and a colorful scarf around her neck. Tonya Scott was the President’s Secretary of Magic.

Yes, you read that correctly.

“Yes, sir,” Tonya responded cheerfully and eagerly. “How can I help you? Do you want to see the rabbit trick? Or maybe a card trick?” Tonya was typically called on by Jeremy during these meetings when he was getting bored with the more serious discussions.

“No.. I mean… yes, I do want you to do both of those for me but not right now.”

“Oh, okay. Then what’s up?”

“Imagine this… the world summit… featuring… A MAGIC SHOW! Could you just imagine how that could help break the ice with the other world leaders? I can’t think of anything more fun than watching some magic with friends.”

Tonya, used to Jeremy's whimsical requests, nodded with a smile. “Absolutely it would! It will be… MAGICAL!”

“What? No…” Frank tried to interrupt, “We can’t put on a magic show at the…”

“Wonderful! I’m going to need to increase our balloon budget by triple…”

“Triple!??”

“You’re right. Let’s quadruple it. And our bubbles budget too! We want this to be a show they never forget.”

“Mr. President, your balloon budget is already way higher than any president in the history of this country…”

“And that’s because there’s never been a president like me! When China and the rest of the world see our show…”

“It’s not a show, Mr. President! It’s… Bryan… can you?”

Bryan had drifted off in his chair and let out a brief snore before hearing his name. He popped up and tried to play it off. “Huh? Yeah, I agree! What? I wasn’t sleeping, you’re sleeping.”

“Let’s move on to our next topic,” Jeremy said, seemingly satisfied with the solution to those diplomatic issues.

“Uh, okay, so the cybersec…”

“Frank, please don’t interrupt.”

“What? I wasn’t…”

“Secretary Bobo was speaking.”

The empty seat next to Secretary Scott was an empty chair with a nameplate in front of it that said Secretary Bobo. Bobo was Jeremy’s Secretary of Friendtopia. Friendtopia being an imaginary world… and Bobo… Jeremy’s imaginary friend.

Sitting quietly in his chair, Javier nervously wrote down the minutes from the meeting. He never thought when living his dream he’d be writing the sentence ‘Mr. President asks for the thoughts of his imaginary friend, Bobo” - but he certainly had to write that down.

Jeremy nodded his head and smiled while the rest of the table played along.

“What a great idea, Bobo.”

“What now?”

“Bobo would like to continue the discussion of implementing a federal Friendship Day holiday.

“As I’ve mentioned before,” Frank nervously lied, “I’ve been working on getting the paperwork done to make it official. There’s just SOOOOOOOO much paperwork that has to be done to make a holiday, as you know.”

“Yuck, paperwork. That’s why I’m glad I got you on my team, Frank!”

“Glad to be here… so… like I was saying before…”

“Oh! Yes, next topic… roller coasters…”

“What? No! I’m sorry, Mr. President. I mean Jeremy. Roller coasters? What about them?”

“There should be more of them. Like how about… every school should have a roller coaster. Imagine how much more excited kids would be to go to school if there was a roller coaster there?”

“That sounds awesome,” Tonya nodded her head in agreement. “I would’ve never missed a day. And let me tell you, I missed a lot of days…”

“Okay… roller coasters at schools… right… got it. I’ll add that to the list,” Stache looked to placate Jeremy as he pretended to write that down. “And now, I really think we should discuss the cybersecurity issue with…”

“Well, friends,” Jeremy interrupted, “this has been a very productive meeting! I think it’s time to break for some lunch!”

“But cybersecurity…”

“What sounds good?”
“I could go for a pizza,” Vice President Baxter said, standing up and rubbing his large stomach.

“Bryan, a little help…” Frank pleaded.

“Sorry bub, but food wins out. Meeting over.”

As I reflect on President Jeremy Best’s first term, I found my admiration beginning to fade into skepticism. My original hope and excitement still existed in some ways but I definitely could see the cracks in the walls of that Oval Office.

I wanted to believe that Jeremy’s intentions were pure. There was certainly still no denying his passion for friendship and kindness. That all was genuine. But behind the scenes, it was becoming increasingly clear that perhaps Jeremy was not the “best” candidate for the job after all. He spent more time having whimsical adventures with Tonya and Bobo while Frank and Baxter did most of the heavy lifting of navigating the complexities of governance and decision making. Heck, even I felt like I was doing more work than your typical intern. Which I was certainly fine with because I got to get a lot more experience, but I definitely found myself wanting more out of my president.

But thanks to the work being done by Frank and Baxter, Jeremy’s first term was still considered a success. He had record-breaking approval ratings mainly thanks to his charismatic personality.

And so, that first term just flew by. Before we knew it, the next election had snuck up on us and a fresh set of challengers were emerging from the field.

There was Trixie Bordeaux. A young and ambitious contender, capturing the attention of voters with her charm and very similar platform to that of Jeremy himself. She actually was a believer in the Friendship movement but was gaining some popularity for perhaps a more aggressive stance than Jeremy. Frank had already gotten some dirt on her that she may have had some connections to the occult though, which he was ready to use against her if he needed to.

Then there was Johnny Johnson. A son of a former successful politician. However, Johnson never seemed to quite find the same amount of success as his father. But still, he seemed to have a drive to leave his father’s shadow and break out on his own. But Frank also knew that he had some shady dealings that he’d be willing to expose.

Gabrielle Montgomery was certainly a familiar name to a presidential expert like myself. She was a revolutionary in the world of women’s politics and even was once president herself. She was certainly popular but since her run in the office, she had resorted to some pretty scandalous online material that made her perhaps not the greatest to run a country. Not that I’d know anything about that online content myself…

And then there was another former president. Cyrus Truth. Perhaps the front-runner of the group. A beloved former president who was certainly interested in reclaiming the White House. Since his last term, he’d had multiple opportunities to regain that title, but had fallen short including most recently losing a bid against President Peacock. He was known for his integrity and a strong track record of bringing results while in office. I can’t lie, I myself was a big fan of President Truth’s reign. But I am part of the Best Administration so I can’t really support him politically. Good guy though.

No matter who emerged from the primaries, I had a feeling Jeremy was in for a battle.

"After another primary win by Cyrus Truth," reporter Rod Sterling's voice could be heard on the television in the Oval Office, "his final opponent, Trixie Bordeaux has dropped out of the competition... meaning Cyrus Truth will be challenging President Jeremy Best in this year's election!"

Jeremy's key members of his administration had gathered around to watch the news come out. President Jeremy Best welcomed the news with his characteristic optimism, a bright smile lighting up his face. "What great news."

"How is this great news," Frank Stache said, burying his head in his palms. "I had so much dirt on that Trixie girl! She literally might be a witch."

"That can’t be right. Witches aren't even real," Vice President Bryan Baxter scoffed.

"Ahem," Secretary of Magic, Tonya Scott coughed. "I'm no witch but magic knows magic. That girl has been around some magic... witch or not."

"Well, whatever, this is still perhaps a worst-case scenario for us."

"Cyrus seems like a good guy," Jeremy mused, leaning back in his chair. "Maybe we could be friends. Look at him… doesn’t he look like he could use a friend? He seems so sad looking."

"He doesn't want to be your friend, Jeremy. He wants your job. And if you're out of a job, so are we."

Jeremy's smile faltered slightly, but he quickly recovered. "I dunno, Bryan. He seems like a reasonable guy. I bet if we met for a fun game of Connect Four, I could show him why it's best that I just stay president. After all, things are going great right now, aren't they? Why bring about change? If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it… people say that all the time!"

Bryan rolled his eyes. "Something tells me he isn't just gonna roll over and say okay, fine, you keep being president."

"Aw. But I'm having so much fun! But no worries, the people love me right? The Besties won't turn against me."

Frank Stache shook his head. "Yeah but people love him too, though. We need to be prepared for a tough campaign. Cyrus Truth will not be easy to defeat."

Baxter leaned forward, whispering into Stache's ear. "Please tell me you got some dirt on him."

Frank's brow furrowed as he considered Baxter's question. He responded in a whisper of his own to the Vice President. "I've looked into it, Bryan. But unfortunately, Cyrus lives up to his name. I haven't found even a tiny bit of grime. But don't worry... I won't give up. I'll find something we can use... whatever it takes."

“Yes, Bobo,” Jeremy interrupts the conspiring between the Vice President and Chief of Staff to address his imaginary Secretary of Friendtopia. “Of course I value your opinion! We all do. What are you thinking about our strategy here?”

The room fell silent as Jeremy listened intently to the imaginary counsel he believed Bobo was providing. After a moment of contemplation, Jeremy's face lit up with excitement. "That's a wonderful idea, Bobo! We should definitely visit Sesame Street..."

"Come on, now's not the time for a playdate with your muppet friends."

"No, it's business related. Big Bird would say some great things about me!"

The advisors exchanged puzzled glances, but Javier spoke up in surprise. "No wait... that's... actually a really good idea. We should definitely get some strong endorsements for President Best."

Jeremy beamed at the approval. "Exactly! I have a lot of friends who can vouch for me. Big Bird, Elmo, Kermit, Blippy, Mr. Rogers..."

"Uhh, Jeremy, Mr. Rogers has been dead for years."

"Oh," Jeremy's smile faded upon remembering Mr. Rogers was one of his two heroes who had passed on. The other would be former President Jake Montrose, of course. "Right... oh how I miss him."

Quick to lift Jeremy's spirits, Tonya Scott, the Secretary of Magic, intervened with a playful gesture. With a flick of her wrist, she conjured a beautiful bird out of thin air. The pure white dove flew through the Oval Office, quickly perking up Jeremy who playfully clapped. "Ooooh! Okay, I'm better now."

"Right..." Frank sighed, trying to get back on topic. "But Javier... good job, boy. This is good. Let's get to work on gathering as many endorsements as we can for Jeremy. There's no way we're losing this election."

The endorsement idea was a big hit. They began to pour in and President Jeremy Best's approval ratings climbed even higher, which is something I didn't even think was possible. It was another triumph for the Best Administration and it looked like maybe the Truth campaign was going to be over before it even began.

But there was something none of us really accounted for.

Remember all the talk about former President Jake Montrose? One of Jeremy's most prominent heroes. The man who was the reason Jeremy ever got into politics in the first place. Jeremy had always said that he owed everything to Jake.

Jeremy had, much like myself now part of his team, was part of Montrose's staff early in his career. His admiration for Montrose was evident in every aspect as he modeled much of himself after Montrose.

However, not long before Jeremy's rise to the presidency, a dark cloud had descended upon Montrose's legacy. He had mysteriously gone missing after a weekend camping trip at Lake Ramon (the national park itself named after former President Randy Ramon). Despite extensive search efforts, Montrose was never found, and he was eventually presumed dead. The circumstances surrounding his disappearance remained shrouded in mystery, fueling a lot of speculation. At the time, rumors and conspiracy theories had swirled on the internet, suggesting that Jeremy's intense admiration for Montrose had crossed into an unhealthy obsession. Some even joked that Jeremy might have had something to do with Montrose's disappearance. However, as time passed, those rumors faded into the background, dismissed as unfounded speculation by mostly nutcases.

But now, with a new election looming, those rumors began to pop up around parts of the internet once again. Suddenly, and perhaps conveniently for Cyrus, questions about Jeremy's character and past associations with Montrose were being raised once again.

As for me, I couldn't possibly imagine that Jeremy would have anything to do with what happened to Montrose. Sure, he's a whimsical personality and has a... well, unconventional approach to how he runs the country... but at his core, I did want to believe he was a good person with a genuine desire to make a positive impact.

But unfortunately, the discourse was enough to cause some doubt among his supporters. People began to question whether Jeremy really was who they all thought he was. Was anyone really that perfect? Was anyone really that nice?

The pressure began to mount for Frank Stache to find something... anything... that could be used to deflect these doubts and put the pressure back on Cyrus Truth's campaign.

The sounds of President Best's laughter filled the Oval Office as he drowned out the pressure of the campaign by watching an episode of Scooby Doo alongside Tonya Scott and Javier Mejor. "Oh, this is my favorite part, amigo!" Jeremy chuckled as he patted his intern firmly on the back. Javier shifted himself uncomfortably, humoring his boss by continuing to watch the cartoon despite not much interest on his part. Though he didn't mind the company of Tonya.

Elsewhere, Frank Stache was diligently pouring over paperwork nearby. His intent focus on the campaign is quite the contrast to Jeremy's more carefree approach. However, both of their activities would be interrupted as Vice President Baxter stormed in. The look on Baxter's face probably indicated he wasn't happy but then again, when was he ever happy?

"Did anyone see what just happened on the TV?" Baxter demanded, his voice echoing loudly through the room.

Jeremy looked up, momentarily confused before responding with a grin, "Yeah, I couldn't believe it was Old Man Withers and not actually a space monster."

Baxter's scowl deepened. "Not on the cartoon, you idiot." Bryan walked over, flipping the cartoon off and turning it over to the much less interesting cable news network.

"Aw," Jeremy voiced his disappointment.

On the news, the screen flashed with the words "BREAKING NEWS," and anchor Rod Sterling's voice filled the room with a sense of foreboding. "We have received some disturbing footage involving Jeremy Best's Chief of Staff."

Frank Stache, sensing trouble, approached as Bryan eyed him suspiciously. "What did you do?"

Stache, now visibly nervous, tried to downplay the situation. "I'm sure it's nothing. You know how they overblow everything to try and get ratings."

The report switched to some grainy footage that showed Frank Stache exiting a car in a parking lot and approaching a shady figure in a trench coat. "That could be anyone," Stache argued, referencing the low quality of the footage.

"Are you the guy," the voice was obvious to everyone in the room as the footage picked up on some of the audio.

"Yeah, you Frank?"

"Yes, it's me. Frank Stache, Chief of Staff for President Jeremy Best."

"Really?" Bryan growled as his agitation increased substantially. "Anyone, Frank. ANYONE?"

Stache audibly gulped as they continued to watch the video as Frank handed over a large wad of cash to the suspicious figure. "Pleasure doin' business witcha, partner. I'll get things done on my end... and in about a week... the news will come out and your boy should have smooooooth sailin' to a campaign win."

As Rod Sterling's voice narrated the unfolding scandal, the tension in the room escalated. "We can confirm that President Best's Chief of Staff, Frank Stache, has been caught bribing this individual on the tape to put out a fake scandal involving Cyrus Truth. In a couple of days, we were going to find out that Cyrus Truth was once a member of a secret dark society called the Observers. This clearly fictional Order of the Observers supposedly had existed for millennia, acquiring knowledge that Cyrus Truth has been able to use for his own political gain. What a load of hogwash."

Bryan's incredulous gaze fell on Stache. "The Order of the Observers? Did you really think the people were going to buy any of this? Jesus Christ, Frank... you've really fucked up this time."

Stache, now cornered, admitted to his desperation. "I didn't know what else to do. Jeremy's numbers were going down, and Truth's were going up. I was trying to level the playing field. I thought the conspiracy nuts out there would have a field day with it!"

Rod Sterling concluded the report with a damning assessment. "It would appear that President Jeremy Best may not be as friendly as we all think he is after all if he is willing to stoop to such lows to win a campaign."

Jeremy, mostly ignoring the rest of the news report, seemed most offended by that last line by Sterling. "What? How could he say such a thing? That wasn't very nice of him!" The President leaned forward, his smile gone from his face for perhaps the first time that Javier could remember. "You know what I'm going to do," Jeremy declared with a sudden burst of determination, "I'm going to start my own news network! The Friendly News Network! That way no one can say such awful things about me!"

Javier, ever the voice of reason, tried to interject. "You can't do that, Mr. President."

"Why not?" Jeremy asked, seemingly genuinely confused.

"Because... news needs to be unbiased."

"Well, what he said wasn't very nice! He was biased! Besides, I am the President, right? I can do whatever I want!"

"I mean... not... exactly..." Javier tried to explain but there was no reasoning with Jeremy in moments like this.

"Stache, I need you to start drawing up the paperwork for the Friendly News Network. You can work on that alongside the federal holiday, Friendship Day."

"But... shouldn't I work on fixing this..."

"No," Vice President Baxter shook his head, "you've done enough. You should definitely just work on those two things and only those two things. The rest of us will do the damage control here."

Frank Stache sighed, resigned to admitting he definitely deserved that.

So my friends, here we are. The election is rapidly approaching and the numbers for Cyrus Truth and Jeremy Best are pretty much dead even. Something that would've been impossible to comprehend mere months ago.

But for me, I find myself caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and doubts.

For so long, I had believed in President Jeremy Best's vision of friendship. I was convinced he was the right person to steer our country toward a brighter future. But these recent events have shaken my faith and left me questioning whether I am on the right side of this political battle.

Even if I discount Jeremy as not being the one orchestrating the attempted "Observer" scandal on Truth and that Jeremy has not been the one getting his hands dirty in these campaigns, I can no longer sit around and think that Jeremy is fit to run the country. At the very least he's surrounded himself with individuals like Baxter and Stache who are willing to cross ethical boundaries. People who clearly do not abide by the image of friendship that was created in his campaign. If he's willing to be associated with people like that, how is he any different than former presidents Peacock and Black?

But perhaps most concerning is Jeremy's apparent detachment from reality. He does not appear to live in the same world as the rest of us. Sure, having a society centered around friendship... around kindness... around compassion and unity... it all sounds nice and would be wonderful. But there are still serious things we have to face as a country. But Jeremy could never face those serious issues.

Could I continue to support a leader who, knowingly or unknowingly, allowed deceit and manipulation to flourish within his administration?

Do I become guilty by association for promoting a facade of friendliness while turning a blind eye to the darker side of politics?

It was time that I faced... well...

The truth.

That Cyrus Truth should beat Jeremy Be…

"Whatcha doin, Amigo?"

Mejor Amigo was startled. He had been so engrossed in writing that he didn't realize Jeremy had returned. He quickly put his pencil down and slid the papers in front of him out of the way, trying to hide his work as FWA World Champion Jeremy Best entered his hotel room. "Oh, it's nothing. What's up, Jeremy?"

Jeremy tilted his head as he walked further into the room. "Sure didn't seem like nothing."

"Really, my friend, it's nothing. Just a little writing, I guess. Something I do on the side. It's silly."

Jeremy arched an eyebrow, his interest piqued. "A side project, huh? You know, if it's something my friend is doing, it can't be silly. Can I take a look?"

Amigo hesitated. The writing was done as a way to vent out some of the thoughts he was having. Wondering if his alignment with the Friendship Wrestling Alliance was the right place for him. But he truly was loyal to Jeremy and worried about what he would think if he saw the depiction of Jeremy in his work.

"C'mon, buddy! I'd love to see what you're writing. I never knew this about you!"

"Okay..." Amigo relented, gathering up the stack of papers and handing them over to Jeremy.

Jeremy smiled as he took a seat on the couch, crossing his legs. "Hmm..." Jeremy's face was hard to read as Amigo nervously waited for more reactions. To his surprise, Jeremy begins to chuckle. "This is clever!" Jeremy stated. "Me? As President? What an idea!"

He continued to read, chuckling along. "Haha! You included Bobo, too! Wonderful! This is great, Amigo. You have something wonderful here, I think."

"Thank you, sir, I always thought if this wrestling thing didn't work out, I could become an author."

Amigo couldn't help but smile at Jeremy's genuine enjoyment of his writing. But as Jeremy delved deeper into the story, his laughter gradually subsided and his smile started to fade. "Wait... what is this?"

Jeremy stood up from the couch. "Is this what you really think about me, Amigo? You think you've picked the wrong side? You think I should lose my title to Cyrus?"

Amigo shook his head vehemently. "No, no, no, no... of course not."

"I mean, it sure sounds like that's what you think."

"It's just a story, my friend. It’s fictional. I assure you."

"I thought winning this title would be the solution, you know. Much like the fake me in your little story. But the war on friendship continues, Amigo. Defeating Alyster Black wasn't enough. There are still so many selfish... uncaring people in this world. People who would choose violence and hatred over friendship. Just like Cyrus Truth. I don't know what his problem is. I have never done anything to him. I didn't attack him. I saved him!"

"But the Stache thing..."

"A point was proven, was it not? In the end, it was all about building a friendship. I wanted to be his friend. It didn't have to be this way. But everyone just wants this darn title. So selfish!"

"But don't you also want the title?"

"I do, but not for the fame and glory of it all. For me, having this championship isn't about me being the best in the world. It's about the ongoing battle against Friendship. The Friendship Wrestling Alliance... we are the Defenders of Friendship... and we have a duty to eliminate anything that threatens Friendship from being the most important value in this company... heck, in the world! And that's why it is very important that Cyrus Truth does not win at the Carnal Contendership. He only cares about his own success. His own legacy. Winning this title back just gives him another notch on the belt to try and cement his status as one of the best ever! And maybe he is… but guess what, he’s not worthy to hold this mantle. He does not deserve to call himself the World Champion of Friendship!"

Jeremy handed the papers back to Amigo. "You are one of my most beloved knights, Amigo. You are of the utmost importance to our cause, you know that right?" Amigo nodded solemnly. "So, do you still think you are on the wrong side?"

"No, sir. I never did."

The smile returned to the face of our champion. Jeremy playfully rubbed Amigo's masked head. "Good to hear! You know, one day... a worthy challenger will emerge for this title... one worthy of the World Champion of Friendship… someone that lives up to those lofty expectations. And you know something Amigo, I would be honored to have that person be you."

Under his mask, Amigo beamed with pride hearing those words from his idol. "Wow, thank you, sir."

"Now, how about you go ahead and give that story a proper ending."

And so I realized I was being silly.

Of course Jeremy Best is the BEST man to be leading this company. Just look at everything he's done! At the end of the day, the world is such a better place since he replaced Alyster Black. Cyrus Truth has obviously led a smear campaign against Jeremy to turn the world against him. He knew he had no chance at winning and the only choice he had was to try and make Jeremy look bad.

And that's when it hit me.

I knew how we could save the campaign.

One last campaign push... one last speech...

To reveal the REAL truth.

That Jeremy Best was going to defeat Cyrus Truth.

A crowd had gathered around at Jeremy’s last campaign stop as Jeremy approached the podium. While he had a smile on his face, his demeanor was as serious as anyone could remember ever seeing him.

“My fellow Besties...

I come to you today...

Not as the President.

But as your... Friend.

Your Best Friend.

As we approach the final stretch of this race, I think it's time that I address the lies spread by my opponent. The blatant fear-mongering that is being spread by Cyrus Truth.

Cyrus wants you to believe that I am not the man for this job. He wants you to doubt the progress we've made together. That I'm not the true friend that I've made myself out to be. So he distracts you with doctored videos and fake news stories so that none of you realize...

The real Truth.

So today I come to you to talk about that.

The Truth.

Once upon a time, Cyrus Truth was also the President of this great country. And I will not lie, he was a good president. I am man enough to be able to give credit where credit is due. He did a good job.

But do we really just want good? Why should we settle for good...

When we already have... the BEST!

The truth of why Cyrus has tried to turn you all on me... is because he is scared.

He's scared of another loss.

Since being president last time, how many times has he come back and tried to win again? He keeps getting opportunity after opportunity after opportunity...

But it has been loss after loss after loss after loss for him when it mattered. How many more losses can one man take in his career if he wants to be taken seriously as a contender for the title of president?

And let's face it.

The truth is...

He's running out of time.

And so Truth.. turns to lies. Lies about your fearless leader. Because lies are all that "The Truth" has left.

So I ask you, my Besties, to remember the journey we've been on together. Remember the victories we've celebrated. The work I've put into the cause. Everything I've done in the last four years has been in the name of Friendship. Something that I assure you Cyrus Truth does not care about. Because if he did, he would know what was best for this country. Trust me, if we let Cyrus Truth win... the dark days will come back again. All the work we have done will become undone.

So let's not be swayed by the false promises or fear tactics of a desperate man clinging onto his one last chance.

Let's focus on what truly matters... the Future of Friendship.

I come to you as a man who is not afraid of the Truth.

I can handle The Truth.

So let's work together... AND

KEEP AMERICA FRIENDLY!”

Jeremy held up his arms, waving to the Besties as they chanted “JEREMY! JEREMY! JEREMY!” Javier watched on from the crowd, proudly smiling at the man he was happy to call his president. And his friend.

 

[Jimmy King]

Homecoming


“I’m home.”

Jackson Fenix was home.

The first FWA show back on US soil was in his hometown of Las Vegas, Nevada. The last time FWA had a show here, Jackson wasn’t well-liked by his home audience. It didn’t help that he didn’t endear himself to the crowd back then. Now, it’s different. He’s a new Jackson Fenix in his hometown, and he’s going to win the Carnal Contendership match.

Jackson feels confident in himself, unlike the year prior when he entered the match. One year ago, Jackson lacked the confidence in himself that he once had when he acted like an ass and treated everyone like crap. It was easy for him to hype himself and find that confidence then, but it didn’t come as easy once he stopped that nonsense and changed his attitude. He may have looked confident on the outside, but he was a bundle of nerves on the inside. Despite that, he overcame his nerves and came close to winning, but it wasn’t meant to be. Maybe that loss was a blessing in disguise because now he can right that wrong and win the biggest match of his career in front of his friends and family.

Speaking of family, Jackson was greeted by his Mom as soon as he exited the Harry Reid International Airport. His Mom wrapped her arms around him as soon as she saw him, but she didn’t intend to let him go.

“Good to see you too, Mom.”

Momma Fenix looks up at her baby boy and gives him a kiss on his forehead.

“I’m so happy you’re home.”

“I’m happy to be home.”

She released him from her vice-like grip of a hug and started to lead him to her car, but he insisted that she wait.

“Mom, I’d like you to meet someone…”

As Jackson says that, his girlfriend Hazel appears behind him with her bags.

“Mom, this is Hazel, my girlfriend.”

His Mom looks a bit taken aback at first, possibly because she wasn’t expecting this, but she flips that around and puts on a smile.

“Nice to meet you, Hazel. Jackie has told me so much about you.”

Hazel and Momma Fenix share a hug. Hazel feels Momma Fenix’s warmth in the hug as she’s released from it and wears a big smile.

“Likewise, Jackson has told me so much about you as well.”

“We’ll have much to catch up on, I’m sure.”

“I hope there’s plenty of embarrassing stories about Jackson.”

“Oh, trust me, there will be.”

“Come on, Mom!”

Hazel giggles at that as his Mom smiles at him.

“You’re not the only one with surprises, mister.”

Jackson is confused for a second, but his face lights up immediately when he sees what his Mom is talking about.

“Meemaw!”

Jackson hurriedly runs over to hug his Meemaw. Meemaw pulls back from the hug and playfully pulls on his cheek.

“You better win that match, Jackie.”

“Ma!”

Meemaw shrugs at her daughter while Hazel laughs and Jackson blushes.

“Don’t worry, Meemaw, I won’t let you down.”

“Do you promise?”

“Promise.”

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

They all arrive at Jackson’s childhood home a short while later. Jackson and Hazel bring all their bags inside the house, and almost immediately, Hazel stops as she enters, where she finds a picture of Jackson as a child.

“Oh my god, you were so cute back then!”

“I know; I wonder what happened?”

“Ma!”

Jackson shouts embarrassedly at his Mom as Hazel giggles.

“Jackie, why don’t you take all your bags and Hazel’s bags up to your room while I give her the tour.”

He looks at his one suitcase and his backpack and then glances at all of the bags that Hazel had brought along.

“Really, ma?”

Momma Fenix gives him that stern, motherly look. You know the look. He takes the hint and hauls all of the bags up the stairs to his bedroom.

After lugging all of Hazel’s bags upstairs, he sits down on his bed to rest. He can’t believe it, he’s home. Jackson begins to imagine how he’s going to win the Carnal Contendership match in front of his friends and family. He’s so glad he’ll have his Mom and Meemaw there to watch him live, and he knows he better not let his Meemaw down after he promised her he’d win the match. Nate isn’t with him, but he will be there in a few days once it’s closer to the day of the show. Jackson came early to spend time with his family and Hazel before the show.

He thinks about his promise to his Meemaw again. Now, he must win so he doesn’t disappoint her. I’m sure she’d forgive him if he didn’t win and still be proud regardless, but he didn’t want to think that way. It wasn’t only his Meemaw he didn’t want to let down; he didn’t want to let his Mom down. She deserves to see her baby boy win the biggest match of his career. He didn’t want to let Nate, Hazel, Xtacee, Monica, or Antonio down. Also, he didn’t want to let his hometown fans down. He’s going to do his best to make everyone proud of him.

He looks at his favorite Britney Spears poster that’s still on the wall of his childhood bedroom. He gets up, puts his hand on the poster, and stares longingly into her eyes on the poster.

“I can’t let you down either.”

“You’ll let everyone down.”

Jackson stumbles backward and falls back onto his bed.

Did the Britney Spears poster just talk to him? No, that couldn’t have happened. It’s an inanimate object; it can’t talk. Jackson has sworn he has had a talking dumpster before, though, so maybe it did talk to him.

“It’s not the poster talking to you, dummy!”

Jackson glances over to see his evil counterpart standing in his bedroom. Bad Jackson still resembles current Jackson, except he has his hair slicked back with a ponytail tied at the back, and he’s wearing all black.

Jackson acts like he doesn’t see or hear his past self in the room with him, but his past self knows better.

“Don’t act like I’m not here, Jackie boy, I’m always around! I’m a part of you, don’t tell me you’ve forgotten about me!”

Jackson shakes his head, and he still pretends not to hear him.

“You can pretend all you want, pal, but I’ll always be a part of you whether you like it or not!”

“You’re not real.”

“How many times do I have to say it? I am real because I am you. Jesus, I knew you were dense, but I didn’t realize how dense you were!”

“You’re not real.”

“Face the facts, bucko, I am real. Sorry, not sorry that you can’t handle that fact, but you may as well accept it because I’m not going away. The only thing that will be going away is your opportunity for a shot at the big one because you won’t be winning the Carnal Contendership. You’ll let down everyone you love just like you always do and break poor Meemaw’s heart after you break your promise to her, but maybe it’ll finally help her realize that you’re nothing more than a loser!”

“YOU’RE NOT REAL!”

Jackson shouts at the top of his lungs, which causes Hazel to come running upstairs to check on him.

“Jackson? Is everything okay?”

Jackson doesn’t answer her as he stands beside his bed, staring at the spot where his bad self was standing. Hazel notices that he’s shaking and breathing heavily, so she tries to help him take a seat on his bed. He slowly starts to relax and breathe normally without shaking.

“He’s back?”

Hazel knew what had happened before she walked into the room. She’s the only one besides Jackson himself who knows about Bad Jackson. Hazel rubs Jackson’s back to help him relax more as he nods.

“He never left. He’s always here.”

Hazel holds Jackson close as Momma Fenix appears in the doorway with a look of concern on her face.

“What’s going on, Jackie? What’s with all of that yelling?”

“It’s just nerves, Ma, nothing more.”

Momma Fenix looks somewhat reassured, but she knows something is up with her boy. She chooses not to push the issue further and moves on from it.

“Okay, well, maybe rest up to calm those nerves before dinner tonight.”

“Sure thing, Ma.”

Hazel lets Jackson go and gives him a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving him to rest as he lays down on his bed to try to sleep.

“That’s right, bucko, I’m always here. It’s about time you accepted it.”

Jackson shuts his eyes and tries to forget about everything.

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

Later that evening, after a night out at dinner with his Mom, Meemaw, and Hazel, Jackson is back in bed again, this time with Hazel beside him. He didn’t get much rest earlier in the day with his nap, and he’s still having trouble sleeping this time around.

This trip was going so well.

He thought to himself as he lay in bed.

At least he could enjoy himself at dinner without incidents like earlier in the afternoon. He did his best to forget that but knew that Bad Jackson was always there. He always lingered about, waiting for the right time to strike and torment Jackson.

“What’s the matter? Can’t sleep? You’re afraid I’m going to give you nightmares or something? You’re weaker than I thought!”

Right on cue.

“At least you’ve accepted that I’m real and always here. Now, maybe accept the fact that you’re a loser. I mean, there is a way you can fix that, but I know you’re too weak for that now.”

Jackson shakes that off and gets out of bed. He puts on his clothes from earlier in the day: Britney Spears t-shirt, khaki shorts, and sneakers. He leaves the house to go on a walk and try to clear his head.

“Trying to walk away from your problems, huh? Fat chance of that working!”

“Leave me alone.”

“I will once you accept that you need me.”

“Need you for what?”

“You need me to win!”

“I don’t need you for anything.”

“Keep telling yourself that, and maybe it’ll come true.”

“Please, just leave me alone.”

“Let me show you why you need me.”

“What? How are you going to do that?”

Suddenly, Jackson finds himself inside of the Bridgestone Arena in Nashville, Tennessee, which was the site of last year’s Carnal Contendership match. He’s sitting ringside with Bad Jackson beside him while they watch him in the ring.

“How did you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Take us here, and what are we doing here?”

“I have my ways, but you never let me stick around long enough to show you. As for why we’re here, just watch the match.”

Jackson does as he’s told and watches the match unfold.

“What am I supposed to be watching for? There’s nothing wrong happening. This was one of the best performances of my life in the ring.”

“You should know what to watch for, dingus. You lived this.”

“I got Cyrus Truth good with the superkick right there…I almost got Alyster Black eliminated right there…and then weaselperson eliminates me…”

“Look at you after you’re eliminated…”

Jackson watches his past self seemingly accept the loss despite looking understandably disappointed, but he smiles at the fans for their positive response as he accepts some dabs from fans on the way to the back.

“Pathetic, truly pathetic.”

“What was pathetic about that?”

“You didn’t see how you pandered to the fans because they responded to you in a positive way? You should’ve been mad! You should’ve been furious that you got eliminated by a creep in a fursuit!”

“I don’t see the big deal; I still got into the Golden Opportunity match.”

“Yeah, but how did that go for ya, huh?”

Out of nowhere, they’re now at Sesame Street, of all places, where the Sesame Street fight between Jackson Fenix and Jeremy Best is happening.

“Right after that Carnal Contendership match, you end up here fighting your old pal, Jeremy Best. You couldn’t keep your ugly mug out of his business, and look what happened to you…”

“I mean, I couldn’t let him get away with what he was doing to Krash. It was partially my fault he turned out the way he is now.”

“You could’ve just let it go and focus on your own stuff, like winning the Steel Roulette match or winning the trios titles with Nate and Xtacee, or winning the North American title, but you decide to mess with Jeremy, and you lose…”

Jackson watches as Jeremy pushes Big Bird out of the window of that building.

“You were so concerned with that big yellow bitch that you let Jeremy win…”

They teleport to the Steel Roulette match and watch as Fenix is eliminated by Katsu. Then they go to Lights Out, where Fenix loses the North American title match to Bryan Baxter. Finally, they go to Winter Winter Wasteland, where he, Nate, and Xtacee lose to The Coven for the Trios championship.

Now they’re in front of the Las Vegas Sphere, the home of this year’s Carnal Contendership match.

“Do you get it now?”

“What?”

“Were you even paying attention? That’s your problem! You lose focus, and you lose the match! You’re not focused! You’re too wrapped up in other things like pandering to the crowd, and you lose, or too focused on worrying about a friend being knocked out.”

“Let me tell you right now that the only person you need to worry about is yourself. You’re too weak. You care too much about things that don’t matter. If you stopped caring so much about things like that, then maybe you’d be a world champion like your old friend Jeremy Best. He stopped caring and look at him now. He may have a weird way of showing that he’s bad, but it has paid off for him.”

“That could be you if you just embrace who you truly are and stop with this weak-minded crap that you think works. Go back to being the obnoxious douchebag that rubs people the wrong way and brags about how big his package is. Go back to what worked for you.”

Jackson absorbs all of this information and seems like he might be considering it.

“Don’t listen to him, Jackson.”

Jackson turns around to find his old pal, Big Bird.

“What are you doing here, you big yellow bitch?”

“It takes a bitch to know a bitch, bitch.”

“Did you just call yourself a bitch?”

“Yep, but at least I’m not as big of one as you are.”

“Big Bird, what are you doing here?”

Big Bird puts his hand on Jackson’s shoulder.

“I’m here as a voice of reason, and I’m here to tell you not to listen to him, okay? It may sound tempting, but don’t go back down that road.”

“Why? He might be a jerk, but he’s right.”

“No, he’s not right. Yeah, you haven’t had the best of luck. Last year, you came up short in big opportunities, but in the end, all that matters is that you haven’t given up. You could’ve quit doing things the right way a long time ago, but you keep going, and you earn yourself these opportunities the honest way.”

“Plus, the fans still love you no matter what. Nate and Xtacee don’t blame you for those losses; of course, your Mom and Meemaw will always love you no matter what. You can’t win them all, but sometimes you don’t need to win them all. Sure, it feels nice to win, but in the end all that matters is that you showed you can do it. You proved that you have heart, and when you put your mind to something, you do it.”

“With that being said, I believe in you and know you can win this match in front of your friends and family. You believe in yourself just as much as everyone else does, and you have a promise to your Meemaw that you need to keep.”

Jackson looks at Big Bird and smiles.

“You’re right, Big Bird. I’m more focused than last year, and I believe in myself. I know I can do it. Even if I do come up short, I could always earn my way to another Golden Opportunity match, but I probably shouldn’t think that far ahead just yet. Focus on the now and focus on winning the Carnal Contendership, and then taking the title from either Jeremy, Cyrus, or whoever is champion by the time Back in Business comes around.”

“This is it, this is my time.”

Jackson looks behind him, and Bad Jackson is gone. He looks forward, and Big Bird is gone, too. He’s back in bed with Hazel.

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

Day of the Carnal Contendership

Jackson Fenix is in his locker room, waiting for the show to start. It’s about an hour away from showtime, and he’s a bundle of nerves, but he’s ready.

Another hour passes by, and it’s showtime. The first match is Cyrus Truth vs Jeremy Best.

Jackson watches this match closely because he could be facing one of these men in the future for that championship.

Another hour passes, and it’s time for the CC match. He leaves the locker room, and once he exits, he’s greeted by a group of his friends and family.

Nate Savage, Hazel, Bubbles, Momma Fenix, and Meemaw.

“Knock ’em dead, man, you got this!”

Jackson shares a hug and fist bump with Nate. He approaches Hazel, and he gets a kiss from her.

“Kiss for good luck; I believe in you.”

He gets a hug and a kiss on the cheek from his Mom.

“My baby, all grown up.”

Then, finally, his Meemaw. He gets a hug from her, and she whispers something to him.

“You win that match, okay?”

“I will, Meemaw.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”​

 

[Mandalorian]

Chris Peacock in...

"GRAND CHELEM"


(Click on Gaston for the promo)

Spoiler: PLAIN TEXT VERSION

PROLOGUE
This particular tale begins almost thirty-two years ago, in the fall of 1992. If you need the exact date, it was the fifth of December of that year. A Saturday. It was the day after Dave Peacock (the father of Chris Peacock and his twin brother, Drew) had purchased a VHS copy of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ at the video store around the corner from the apartment that he shared with his boys and his wife. The very same apartment that Drew lives in to this day, with his own son - Max - occasionally staying there with him.

The reason why this date holds relevance to this story is that it was the date on which Chris and his brother watched ‘Beauty and the Beast’ for the first time. The twins were not afforded the opportunity to watch it at the cinema upon its initial release the year. This was due to their parents’ spending most of their free time either working in the family restaurant or competing in the state and national dancing competitions. Dave vividly remembered the stark expressions of disappointment on his sons’ faces when he realised that the Disney classic was no longer screening.

Keeping a promise is a trait which Dave wished to instil in both of his boys. Dave was a humble man who lived within his means, treated his family well and showed respect to those who deserved it. But most importantly, he believed himself to be a good man. In his eyes, what made a good man was his ability to keep true to a promise.

Breaking that personal oath and denying his children the chance to see a much-anticipated movie at the theatre had a profound effect on the eldest Peacock. Despite his best intentions, he had failed to bring that small spark of joy to his family after promising to do so. He made a commitment to the boys that he would purchase the video for them upon its release.

In the ensuing months, Dave was consumed by guilt at failing to keep his initial promise. Whilst he would ensure to purchase the video and do what he could to make amends, he was haunted by Chris and Drew looking up to him, next to one another, with tears in their eyes outside of the cinema. His greatest fear was not living up to the moniker of the man he needed to be for them and at that moment, it had come true. The guilt and self-pity he felt caused him to become distant to his sons for a while, for he could not face them. Their mother picked up the slack whilst Dave put in more hours at the restaurant and competed in more competitions.

But on his way home on the fifth of December, 1992, Dave remembered his promise. It was almost as if something other-worldly called him into the video store that evening and drew him to the cardboard stand encasing the brand new copies of ‘Beauty and the Beast’ to either rent or purchase. He looked at the characters displayed on the case and smiled at the cartoonish innocence as they reminded him of Chris and Drew. He raced home after completing the transaction and burst through the door, taking everyone by surprise with his optimism. It had been months since either his wife or children had seen him so happy.

“Guys, I got it! I got it, look!” Dave said, cheerfully. Naturally, both Chris and Drew bundled over towards him to see what he had in the plastic bag in his left hand. They peered and almost tore it apart, but he held them back with his free hand, “Calm down, you two. I remembered how disappointed you were when we couldn’t see this at the theatre, so I thought maybe we could have movie night here - tonight!”

When Dave produced the video from the bag, the apartment became engulfed with the sounds of high-pitched elation. Dave and Sara looked on proudly as Chris and Drew animatedly danced around the living room, “I’ll get the popcorn…”

For the next hour and twenty minutes, the Peacock family squeezed together on their couch in front of the modest television set to watch the fantastical story set in a location loosely based on the Alsace region in France. Dave did not find himself particularly interested in the story that was playing out on screen, where Belle at first resisted and then fell in love with the Beast. Instead, he chose to watch his sons. He expected to swell with pride as he saw the magic in Chris and Drew’s eyes after he had finally made good on his promise to them. He even cracked open a beer, in full relaxation mode for the anticipated washing away of the guilt he had harboured.

In the case of Drew, Dave’s mission was accomplished. Drew was fully engaged in the story, unable to pull himself away from it. Both Dave and Sarah had noted some obsessive personality traits, even by the time he was seven years of age. Whether it be a TV show, some action figures or a song he had heard at school, Drew would fully immerse himself. Little did his parents know that such obsessions would lead him down a path of addiction as he entered adulthood; a battle he is still fighting to this day.

Whilst Drew was of no immediate worry to the Peacock parents, it was Chris’s reaction to the film that provided them cause for concern. There was one character in ‘Beauty and the Beast’ that Chris seemed to enjoy more than anyone else - the villain, Gaston. Dave was the first to notice this, but Sara was equally as troubled when she also witnessed Chris resonating with the narcissistic trophy hunter above anyone else in the animated cast.

What neither of Chris’s parents had considered during Dave’s guilt-driven period of ennui, was that their child was desperate for another strong male influence. Dave’s attempt to rekindle the paternal connection to his children had unveiled a new role model for young Christ - Monsieur Gaston, himself.

Over the coming days and weeks, Dave watched on in silent horror as his more extroverted son delved deeper into a similar persona of his own. Sara saw the charm behind the boyish obsession, not thinking about the wider consequences of Chris idolising such a troublesome man. From Chris’s perspective, what wasn’t there to like about Gaston? He was big, strong, handsome and he was loved and respected by the townsfolk. Gaston was an ace hunter, providing the town with meat from his skirmishes. The women fawned over him. He owned the local tavern and had lots of money. A war hero, to boot. At his behest, Chris christened himself “Criston” at home; a nickname coined by his mother due to his obsession.















There is a key question that arises out of this rather niche area of Chris Peacock’s backstory;

“Is Chris Peacock like Gaston now?”

A number of contributory factors were mentioned above. Chris Peacock may not be big or particularly strong, but you’d do well to find someone who would not consider him to be handsome. It is not only women who fawn over him, as his long and varied list of canonised past sexual conquests can attest to. Many of his victories in the FWA could be considered wars and his exploits in the ring have led to him accumulating a considerable wealth due to his bolstered pay packet. Dazzling Dave’s restaurant in Brooklyn is not a tavern - although with how much alcohol Drew consumes within the premises, it may as well be - but it is an owned property, along with his brother.

That isn’t a terrible comparison and one that seven year-old Chris Peacock may have been content with but there is one important difference between Chris and Gaston - “he was loved and respected by the townsfolk”. I think it is a very safe statement to make that statement does not apply to Chris Peacock when it comes to how he is viewed and perceived by those within the FWA sphere. But… why not?

Well, in this story, you’ll hear one woman’s opinion as to why this is the case.




So, messieurs et mesdemoiselles,

It is with deepest pride and greatest pleasure that I welcome you tonight.

And now I invite you to relax, pull up a chair, toke up or whatever else it is you like to do when reading a promo…

As I proudly present…

CHRIS PEACOCK
AS
‘CRISTON THE HUNTER’
IN

GRAND CHELEM

ACT I
THE HUNTER
A sense of anticipation lingered in the air, filling the market town of Neveux with exuberance. Every townsperson walked with a skip in every other step, excited for a new year beginning and with it the annual ‘Grand Chelem Hunt’. The bustle and speed in which people moved was noticeable in comparison to the remainder of the year, when the cobbled streets were considerably quieter, save for market day. Each person had converted their calendars to 1724 before leaving their homes earlier that morning.

Neveux was considered to be on the larger side of things when compared to other surrounding settlements. A population of just under 300, the town sat in the north of the Alsace region in France. Despite its size, it was relatively new. One would only need to go back four years and all that would still remain was the large manor at the edge of the town. The great house - known as ‘La Tulipe’ by the locals due to the flower’s prominence on the stained glass windows - was larger than any of the other buildings within the town and was a perfectly crafted piece of architectural brilliance. Each brick had been placed with considerable care, creating what could be described as nothing short of a masterpiece.

Other prominent buildings within the town included the market hall, where farmers, seamstresses, bakers and many other forms of vendors would gather three times a week to sell their wares to the rest of the populace. Neveux was a self-sustaining economy and everyone supposedly had equal standing within the society that was founded by a mysterious group of individuals rumoured to live within La Tulipe.

Across the main town square from the market hall was the town’s tavern. All of the townsfolk were welcome to enter ‘La Taverne Éblouissante’ to drink and dine after a long day at the market, though few did. It was owned and operated by the Paon brothers, Dessiné and Criston. Dessiné prided himself on his cooking ability, which were passed down to him by his father, however he had slumped into a rotten routine of continuously drinking mead following his father’s death almost four years prior.

Criston stood with one of his leather boots on a bench in the square. He pressed his elbow into his knee and rested his chin on his gloved fist. His red shirt was probably two sizes too small, causing it to cling to his body and accentuate his bulging arm and chest muscles. The sun reflected on his flowing brunette locks which were tied into a ponytail which flowed down his neck and stopped in between his shoulder blades. His eyes were a striking green, welcoming any onlooker to a face containing a chiselled jawline and then a full moustache which covered his top lip.

On the bench next to him was his prize rifle, which was used during his ventures into the woods and fields surrounding Neveux. The interior of the tavern he owned with his brother was decorated with the mounted heads of his kills. Deer, bears, foxes - it mattered not what the prey was, they would always find themselves on Criston the Hunter’s wall.

Criston examined the square and the rest of Neveux from his perch on the bench, deep in thought. Despite his regularly unshakeable confidence and boastfulness, he was in a state of vulnerability. But minutes earlier, he had engaged in conversation with his usual hunting partner and close friend, Alastair Noir, where Alastair had informed him that he was taking a leave of absence from Neveux to his homeland; a trip that would take him across the world.

“Criston… please, don’t act surprised. We’ve done everything together, mon ami. You don’t need me to do what you need to do,” Alastair had told him from underneath the bandana which obscured most of his face. Very few in Neveux actually knew what Alastair looked like. Only Criston, his family and their shared associates had seen him free of the bandana. It fell down once when Criston and Alastair were sparring with their swords in the tavern one evening, and Alastair had to slit the throat of the single other patron inside to ensure his anonymity.

Criston nodded his head in both disappointment and understanding; Alyster had wanted a chance to refresh himself and free himself of the pressures that hunting with Criston brought. The standard that they had set was impossibly high to maintain forever and as a result they had gotten sloppy, allowing others to usurp them. Criston spoke in a deep, masculine voice, always ensuring that his chest was puffed out, “Very well, Alastair. I wish you nothing but good fortune, my friend. May our paths and our swords cross again soon.”

The two had then embraced in the middle of the square. As they always did, they looked over each other’s shoulders. They saw the residents of Neveux watching them with trepidation, for the two were not in the good graces of the populace. It was only several months earlier that they had forced a large number of residents out of the town, who they believed to be part of a bandit group. Criston had battled them for years on his own, but it was only once Alastair was by his side that he was able to exile them from the town entirely.
The townspeople resented them for it. As a result, Christon and Alastair shared a few words of solidarity with each other upon each greeting and parting;

“J’emmerde les Neveux.”

“J’emmerde les Neveux.”

Criston had then gone to allow Alastair to leave, but Alastair pulled him in closer once more and whispered in his ear, ensuring that none of the gawking locals would be able to hear, “Criston… the weasel is still out there. You must be the one to slay it, do you understand?”

It was the weasel which had cast a shadow of embarrassment over the town that Criston was thinking about after Alastair had left. The vile creature had taunted Alastair for months, following him around and Criston did wonder whether it was the weasel that drove Alastair away as a form of escape. These thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a rhythmic clonk approaching him, growing louder as it did closer. Criston left his perch on the bench to see another of his associates, LePrix, heading towards him.

The clonking sound was caused by the wooden prosthesis that made up the majority of LePrix’s left leg. It provided him with balance, but caused him to walk at a slant and also extremely loudly. The only thing more annoying than the racket caused by his movement was his grating personality. He had shown unwavering loyalty towards Criston for a number of years and proven his worth in assisting him with his hunting and business ventures. Despite the rest of the town loathing him, LePrix was very much in safe company when he was with Criston.

Criston walked closer to LePrix to stop the noise and they met just outside of the market hall, “LePrix, you look like you have some news for me.”

“I do, Criston!” LePrix said excitedly in a high-pitched voice. He started to rummage through the many pockets on the inside of his quadruple-breasted jacket, hindered by the oversized frilled shirt he also wore which caused him to resemble an untidy bird. After what felt like an age, LePrix presented a sheet of parchment from the mess of fabric, “I think you’ll-”

“Let me see that, LePrix!” Criston demanded, tired of waiting, as he snatched the notice from LePrix’s hands. It caused the lame man to let out a small squeal of panic. Criston studied the words on the letter, “The ‘Grand Chelem Hunt’!” Criston nodded and grinned as he took in the words in front of him;

“Calling all hunters and gamekeepers, it is my great pleasure to announce the commencement of the Grand Chelem Hunt. This tournament will test all of the various skills required to prove oneself as the greatest hunter in the land. Should you wish to have this title bestowed upon you, you must successfully hunt the following beasts; common rat, large brown bear, weathered iguana, lesser flamingo, masked salamander, parakeet and weasel. Any interested party must state their intention to Jean Roussneau at the market hall in Neveaux within the fortnight.”

“The weasel?!” Criston exclaimed, realising the gravity of the task ahead of him. However, he quickly located his resolve once more and placed a hand forcefully on LePrix’s shoulder, “Finally, LePrix, my chance to prove that I am the greatest hunter this world has ever seen! We must locate Jean Roussneau with great haste!”

ACT II
THE OTHER
After a fortnight had passed, the residents of Neveux gathered in the town square for the official commencement of the Grand Chelem Hunt. Loud music played and additional market stalls had been set up in the square in order to allow for the increased number of customers due to the tourism that the hunt brought to the town. In the middle of the market square, a stage had been set up with a few men standing on it. These were the hunt’s organiser, Jean Roussneau and the judges; Jean-Luc Quoicin, Rodert Sterlain and Anzu Kurosawa.

Joining on the stage was the apparent sole entrant in the hunt, Criston, along with LePrix. Criston was ecstatic that no one had dared oppose him, as he knew that even without Alastair by his side, facing him was a daunting prospect that most would run away from at the first chance. He was well known as being an elite hunter in these parts, after all. Even if anyone else had entered, he believed that the tournament was his all along, anyway. The glee on Criston’s face was contrasted by the sheer frustration and fury in the faces of the townsfolk. Criston and his friends were known to engage in acts of crassness and debauchery in times of celebration and this heralding achievement promised to bring the most extravagant experience yet.

Jean stepped forward to the front of the stage and made a small motion for calm, before addressing the crowd, “Please… please, this is most unusual but given that no other has stepped forward to oppose Criston, I have no choice but to name him the winner-”

“I’ll face him!”

The shout from the back of the crowd garnered a large gasp from those in the crowd and everyone’s heads began to swivel as they looked to see who it came from. On the stage, Criston stood to attention and aggressively shouted out, “WHO SAID THAT?! MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN AT ONCE!”

“Yeah! Who said that?” Le Prix chimed in. It was not uncommon for him to mimic Criston or repeat what he said as a way to improve his own standing within the community.

From an opening in the crowd appeared someone that Criston was not surprised to see. A young woman, with dirty blonde hair, no taller than five and a half feet. She had wrinkles on her face, causing her to look significantly older than her years, due to the constant scowl which she wore as if it caused her pain not to. Madame Chelle looked up at Criston on the stage and then joined him on it. They had not properly seen each other since Chris and Alastair repelled the bandits away from the town. Chelle was known as ‘The Bandit Queen’ due to her high status as the group’s primary representative and most able hunter and warrior.

“I see that you have trekked down from La Tulipe, Chelle… and you wish to challenge me? That has not gone very well for you in the past, has it, madame?” Criston attempted to sound superior to his apparent sole opponent in the hunt, but under the surface he was worried. Whilst it was true that he had amassed a number of victories over Chelle, he was still very fearful that she would eventually turn the tables on him and make him pay for his braggadocious attitude towards her.

“It is high time that someone put you in your place, Criston. Without your far superior partner to hide behind and bail you out of the situations your misplaced confidence leaves you in, you are but an ordinary man,” said Chelle, with clear disdain and a lack of respect in her voice. Her sentiments were agreed upon by the populace of Neveux. Criston gritted his teeth and clenched his fists. “An ordinary man who does not have or deserve the respect of these people. Their lack of respect stems from your own. Your desire to make yourself desirable manifests in the form of childish behaviours and phallic humour. The truth is that whatever visage you choose, you will never hold the hearts and minds of these people.”

Criston looked around at the sea of faces and the words being spoken by his rival were confirmed to be true. He felt a gloom rush over him, taking some of the colour out of the world in front of him. Roussneau approached Chelle with a quill and parchment atop a small, portable bench. Once Chelle had signed her name, Criston’s was not the only one on the application. She smirked in Criston’s direction, “This should be fun, Criston. What will make my victory even sweeter is the knowledge that you will not have won this hunt before me. I assure you, I understand and respect the status that this will bring me… there’s more to winning than just being able to say that you did.”

“That’s quite enough,” Roussneau said as he collected the now-complete sign up sheet. He rolled it into a loose cylinder and slid it into the pocket of his waistcoat. From inside his trouser, he pulled out a scroll and unravelled it to read to the participants and the watching crowd. Chelle listened intently as she and Criston were told that in order to be crowned the champion of the Grand Chelem Hunt, they would have to successfully hunt and skin four of the seven prizes that were earlier announced as being the game for the hunt.

Criston only half-listened to the rundown, as he was still too consumed with shame and anger over the verbal undressing that he had received from Chelle moments earlier. Someone as narcissistic as he was did not like having his flaws laid out for him like that, and Criston knew that Chelle knew that. After all, she was cunning. That is what made her such a good hunter in her own right and why it was she, more than anyone else, worried Criston so much going into the hunt.


ACT III
THE PROMISE

It was the end of the first day of the hunt and Criston found himself inside La Taverne Éblouissante. It was from his chair in the corner of the room that he surveyed the merriment unfolding before him, which he did not share. He had been spurned by Chelle prior to the hunt and this had deeply affected his ability once he was in the field upon its commencement. His first target was the common rat, which was easy to locate (given its name) as there were so many creatures like the rat. The particular rat that Criston had his sights on managed to avoid capture for two minutes and forty-two seconds before turning the tables on Criston and sinking its teeth into his arm.

The setback was made worse by Chelle successfully completing her kill on the lesser flamingo. It frustrated him that she would have such a problem with his methods and how he chose to align his goals and then how he celebrated his achievements. It was a situation he felt where it did not matter what he did or said, that she was always going to take issue with how he chose to conduct himself. Criston did not realise it at the time, but he had already been told by LePrix that she chose to unnerve him in such a public manner to destabilise him and as a result of his lacklustre performance in the hunt’s opening salvo, she had succeeded with her goal.

“Then it is like I told you, Criston. She wants to throw you off your game because of how often she has failed against you! How long do you think she and those bandits she associates with spent up there in La Tulipe thinking of ways to put you down? She’s scared of you, Criston - and why wouldn’t she be!”

The unwavering support of his confidant lightened Criston’s mood slightly, but he still found himself sulking whilst slumped in his chair for the majority of the night. The tavern was busier than usual due to the tourists drawn to the town by the hunt and they merrily consumed mead and roast chicken that Dessiné had prepared in the kitchen. Criston occasionally gazed across the room to the barmaid, Cinderella, and this caused him to smile lightly. She was the woman of his affections, but he was yet to act. The high regard in which he held her caused her to be somewhat of an unattainable trophy. He definitely did not intend to taxidermy her decapitated head and mount her on the wall along with the other beasts which decorated the tavern.

LePrix noticed Criston’s wandering eye and got uncomfortably close to his friend, “Ah, Criston… what better way to impress the young madame than to show her that you are not any different despite this small and insignificant setback? We should celebrate, like only we know how-”

“I am in no mood for those celebrations, LePrix,” Criston said, cutting his associate off, “Besides, you heard what Chelle said earlier on. No one enjoys celebrating with me. What is the point?”

Seeing Criston so despondent caused LePrix to frown. He rose from his chair and sidled towards the musicians in the corner of the room. A coin was flicked in their direction, and they quickly began playing a new tune…

LePrix almost began to glide as he approached Criston once more, placing a hand on his shoulder and looking into his eyes.

“Gosh, it disturbs me to see you, Criston,
Looking so down in the dumps.
Don’t let her words bother you either, Criston,
This is just an unfortunate slump.
No man in town as reprehensible,
That’s not even a bad thing.
So if these people are sensible,
They’ll do what I say and siiiiiing…”

LePrix flicks some more coins into the crowd inside the tavern, but they do not accept them, leaving LePrix to continue to sing on his own.

“No one's slick as Criston!
No one's quick as Criston!
No one has as impressive a dick as Criston!
For there's no man in town that’s as funny,
No one with as much class,
You can ask any Max, Rick, or Sonny
Sing along this time, or he may have to kick your aaaaaaaasssss…”

More coins fly into the air and given the accompanying threat, this time it seems that those inside the tavern decide to join in.

“Who plays darts like Criston?
Who breaks hearts like Criston?
Who's much more than the sum of his parts like Criston?”

Criston, seemingly being won over by the increased audience participation, chimes in…

“As a host, yes, I'm very accommodating!”

“My, what a guy, that Criston!”

Criston rises from his seat and puts an arm around LePrix, who looks back up at him with a look of endearment.

“I needed encouragement, thank you, LePrix,”

“Well, there's no one as good as loving me…”

…

“Too much?”

“Yep.”

In the lingering awkwardness, the now entirely paid crowd resume the song on their own as Criston and LePrix walk around the tavern.

“No one fights like Criston!
Douses lights like Criston!”
“In a wrestling match, nobody bites like Criston!”

Criston pulls out his rifle and aims it at several patrons, but does not fire. He then trains it on LePrix, and follows him around the tavern.

“When I hunt, I sneak up with my quiver…
And beasts of the field say a prayer.
First, I carefully aim for the liver…
And I shoot from behind!
Is that fair? I don't care!”

“No one fucks like Criston!
Beats up schmucks like Criston!”
“Nobody fills up their cum trucks like Criston!”
“I'm especially good at EJACULATING!”

Criston makes a masturbatory gesture, and some of the paid crowd cheer him on. He then stands on one of the tables and smirks as everyone watches him in awe.

“When I was a lad, I did plenty of work,
To make sure that I would get paid.
And now that I'm grown, I can be a big jerk,
Because I have no trouble getting laaaaaaaaiiiiddd!!”

A number of the patrons begin to stomp their feet and after a few beats, everyone is joining in. LePrix hands out some more coins to some of the men and they retrieve swords from the ornamental displays and pass them out between themselves. Criston unsheathes his own, which is significantly bigger than everyone else’s there.

With everyone in position, the men begin to have a swordfight and Criston easily swashbuckles and cuts his way through the men. A couple of limbs are severed, but the townspeople getting paid to partake in this farce proceed as normal. Criston then shakes the hands of everyone who still has them left.

“Who has brains like Criston?
Entertains like Criston”
“Who can cause excruciating pain like Cristoooooooooon?”

“MY HUMOUR REVOLVES AROUND MASTURBATING!”

“SAY IT AGAIN!
WHO’S A MAN AMONG MEN?
WHO’S THE SUPER SUCCESS?
DON’T YOU KNOW?
CAN’T YOU GUESS?
ASK HIS FRIENDS AND HIS FIVE HANGERS-ON!”

“THERE’S JUST ONE GUY IN TOWN WHO’S GOT ALL OF IT DOWN!”

LePrix commands the silence of everyone in the tavern as he stands on a table and looks affectionately at Criston.

“And his name's C-R-I-T-
I believe there's another 'C'...
It just occurred to me that I'm illiterate…
And I've never actually had to spell it out loud befoooooore…”

“CRISSSSSTOOOOOOOONNNNNNNNNN!!”

After a small ripple of applause directed at each other, everyone who had participated in the chorus of the song quickly went back about their business. They were no longer having to perform on LePrix’s dime, so felt no further need to maintain the charade that they liked or even tolerated Criston. To his own surprise, Criston was not upset or deterred by the sudden shift back into business as usual. For him, the fact that the people who typically despised him were so easily convinced to go along with his and LePrix’s ridiculously immature and highly offensive song showed him that they were fickle and merely served their own self-interests before anything else.
In that regard, they were no different to Criston himself. The only difference between him and them was that he was not afraid to show who he was. He was someone who was unafraid to be his true self and cared not what it resulted in people thinking of him. His true self was a hunter. A hunter does not concern themselves with legacy or deeper meanings, it is purely about attaining goals and accumulating trophies. The trophy was the goal and once that goal had been achieved, it could not be taken away.

That is what Chelle failed to understand, and chose as a stance to think herself better than Criston, like others had before her. In truth, there was nothing wrong with being satisfied with an achievement and having pride in oneself for achieving. Anyone who would project a lesser worth or ulterior motive on another for doing so would simply be projecting and nothing more. Chelle was dissatisfied with her own standing, so her only combat was to try to put down Criston’s accomplishments to make herself feel better.

This was an imperious woman that many had developed a deep fear of for a long time, but Criston felt himself pitying his opponent. She was exiled, thanks to Criston and Alastair and forced to live on the outskirts and the fringes out of embarrassment. There was nothing to actually be embarrassed about because despite his penchant for immaturity and toilet humour, Criston was a very, very good hunter.

But Criston is the villain in this story. So, when considering an ending, he is supposed to lose.

Here’s the thing though… this isn’t a fucking fairytale.

“J’emmerde les Neveux.”

​

 

[TheProdigy]

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Mike Parr versus....​

Spoiler: Plain Text

Those in the gallery murmur to themselves until the audible swoosh of the doors opening draws the air out into the adjacent corridor, along with all the small talk and chatter that was simply passing time. The procession leads in the defendant, with four burly built men in formation ahead of him and two trailing. Interlocked by chains and handcuffs, not even Houdini himself would be able to magic a way out of this specific situation.



As we struggle to navigate around the built security staff to see our defendant, you can just make out his rugged brown hair that is unkempt, too lengthy, and covering his face as he is slouched forward – visually depicting the dictionary definition of depressed and downtrodden in one image. As he gets pushed into his seat, his neck jolts back and his hair swooshes out his face to give you a clear shot of the man sat in the defendant’s chair – Mike Parr. Admittedly though, a Mike Parr who has seen many better days. This one, even from a distance, you can tell has a rough complexion, his skin is bumpy and irritated and his bone structure is more prominent – giving him a rather boney and malnourished complexion. Couple that with the pasty white skin that hasn’t seen any natural sunlight for quite some time and dark bags circling underneath his eyes alongside that damp sweat stuck to his forehead, times have been much better for Mike Parr previously.



Courtroom Official: “All rise”



A voice echoes through the courtroom as an instruction to greet the judge, as the door to his chambers swings open. Mike pushes himself to his feet but is visibly precariously balanced, his knees cracking together and shaking trying to support his significantly reduced bodyweight. His eyes are spaced out, as he frowns and squints and tries to focus on anything in the room that would hold his attention and his glare so he at least can look as if he is engaged in the activities of today. Although, in saying that, as you examine the room it has a certain ethereal charm to it. The areas where you would expect some natural sunlight or lighting to peer into the room, you have nothing but dark black clouds seeping in and slowly filling the courtroom. When you take a closer look at the walls and some of the stained-glass mosaic imagery in the room, instead of portraits and images of judicial figures and icons from the past you are instead surrounded by, well, unique events in history. Mike plants his palms on the desk in front of him and hones his focus in on one such portrait, and as the image becomes clear as the definition in his sight returns, he notices that the image is very much one of himself back at Mile High 2016 reaching up for the World Championship that was just out of his grasp. Mike scowls, shakes his head, and turns to his left and focuses on another image. This time, as he begins to focus and imagery definition appears, it looks like a portrait of a smiling Michelle von Horrowitz holding her FWA World Championship after Paris Back in Business.



Mike: “W-W-Wh-Wh…”



Gone is that vacant look from before, replaced by a far more quizzical one as Mike tries to comprehend his surroundings. He shifts his focus to the right once more, and again as he cocks his head to a different angle to define what he is looking at, he again is confronted with another image that means something to him – his only one vs one championship match vs Randy Ramon where he came up short just following the brand split.



Mike: “Wh-What-Wh-isthisshplace”



Some nonsensical mutterings that lack any sort of command of the English language are not going to let Mike navigate his way out of his predicament, but his focus flitting from one image to another is soon trumped by the entrance of the judge. Wig aside, which is of spectacular length and shiny color in its own right, the judge almost bounces into his seat given that he is so full of life and vigor. His cheeks have a tinge of rose that indicates good health, his facial features are not gaunt and boney. His skin is as smooth and soft as you could wish for after receiving the worlds greatest skin care treatment.



Mike: “Y-Yo-You?”



The skeletal prisoner’s muscles are twitching as he raises his left hand and points towards the judge, who smirks as Mike’s shaky index finger points in his direction in recognition. The judge, indeed, removes his wig and his crisply cut brown hair, styled perfectly, draws a surprisingly audible gasp from Mike given his vulnerable nature.



Judge Parr: “Look at the state of you, you are a disgrace. Sit down old man.”



Indeed, the judge is Mike Parr, although going by his complexion it is a significantly younger version than the one that is sat before him in the defendant’s position. Indeed, the judge appears to be from the 2016 era, which is objectively recognized by all FWA anorak’s as Mike Parr’s prime in his tenured FWA run until this point. Indeed, Judge Parr has that glow and confidence to him that has been drained from his aged counterpart sat before him.



Judge Parr: “We’ve been here before Mike, we’ve been here on so many occasions. Building up once again to the Carnal Contendership, where you pretend that its going to be your year again? Where you think that you have got what it takes to make it to the main event of Back in Business only to what? Get so far and end up in the Golden Opportunity again, for the fourth or fifth time? To then what….to fail at that too and then go away and disappear again. Why are we here, Mike. Why are we here?, so you can sit and waste our time by talking about your aspirations when you’ve been here for 9 years and your aspirations have gotten you to the repeated point of continued failure, over and over again.”



Mike stares at the Judge, fully aware that there is a strong element of truth to what he has just said. It has been year after year of disappointment and let down, of varying degrees. Whether you want to point to Shawn Summers eliminating him from past Carnal Contenderships, to simply just being too preoccupied with getting some of the big names out of the way, it’s pretty much been a lesson in how to not approach a multi-man match from Mike Parr over the past decade. As such, and as in recognition of that fact, he doesn’t have an immediate retort to offer the judge and as thus takes his seat obediently.



An obedient seat indeed is something of a challenge to maintain when the prosecutor calls the first witness, and Mike’s long term on/off partner Kathryn is taking the stand. Mike quizzically stares at her, bemused by her presence, as Judge Parr looks on smug and knowingly. Kathryn takes her seat at the stand.



Prosecutor: “Thank you for joining us today. Let me be frank and get straight to the point, the aim of today is to ascertain beyond any reasonable doubt that the man sat before us today, Mike Parr, is not a suitable candidate for participation in the FWA Carnal Contendership match. Beyond that, it is my duty today to explain that Mike Parr is no longer suitable for employment within the FWA. Starting with those that know him personally and progressing along to those who have dealt with him in a professional capacity, I shall demonstrate that the Mike Parr that everyone thinks is still employed by this federation died back in 2017. I will prove that the Mike Parr of 2024 is not worthy of your time, not worthy of your energy, not worthy of your support, and not worthy of taking opportunities from the many talented men and women on our roster. I will prove that Mike Parr is past it, he is a never was, and that will start with you today. When we are finished articulating our case, you will be compelled to agree with the undisputed fact that Mike Parr is not worthy of a place in the Carnal Contendership and that his days as an active member of this roster should be over. Kathryn – back to you momentarily, can you confirm how long you have known Mike Parr, for how many years?”



Kathryn: “Since we were both 12”



Prosecutor: “And in that time, he has always had lofty ambitions to become the best in what he does, am I correct?”



Kathryn: “He has believed he is better.”



Prosecutor: “And what do you say to that?”



Mike springs out of his chair, albeit considerably shakily.



Mike: “Objection”



His voice is gruff, and even he seems surprised that he has now ended up in a position on his feet. However, if there was going to be any objection proceedings that would have to stem from Mike himself as its just now come to his attention that he is missing a defense attorney to represent his best interest. Rumors have it that nobody was willing to take on the case, given how defeated Mike Parr already is. It was a no win situation for attorneys who stake their reputation on their wins and losses and this….this was certain to be an unmitigated disaster and a significant loss.



Judge Parr: “Overruled.”



Judge Parr’s tone is curt and unforgiving, as if he was irritated at being inconvenienced by Mike slowing down proceedings.



Prosecutor: “And what do you say?”



The question from earlier is repeated, the response demanded.



Kathryn: “I would say that has always been his intention, but very rarely has his intention been reflected or based in the reality of the situation.”



Prosecutor: “So he is not the best at what he does?”



Kathryn: “He has not demonstrated that, no.”



The no reverberates around the inside of Mike’s skull, while Kathryn is dismissed and a new witness is brought in to be questioned. At some point, you assume Judge Parr offered Kathryn up for cross examination but Mike was too far gone in his own thoughts and swirling despair to have registered or indeed to focus on that. By the time he comes somewhat to his senses and comes around, he is faced with another familiar face.



Prosecutor: “And can you confirm your name and how you know the defendant please.”



Michelle: “My name is Michelle and I’ve been quite closely affiliated with the defendant for the last five years, since he first introduced me to our mutual friend….what did we call him, pipey?”



The question is posed, but there is a knowing glare from Michelle over to Mike, as the ‘no’ that was bouncing around inside of his skull from earlier is replaced by thoughts of Michelle and their storied history. He once took out Michelle in an attempt to stop what he saw as a threat to his rise to the top, only to see that story end with her beating him and the former champion in the main event of Back in Business – her rise arguably catapulted by his obsession with her, the opposite to the intended effect.



Prosecutor: “If you could sum up Mike Parr’s FWA career in as succinct a manner as possible for us today, how would you do so?”



A wicked smirk spreads across her face, and depressingly for Mike she requires very little thought before offering her response.



Michelle: “Hot air and bluster. Failure and failure. Someone who would tell you that he is better than you and sure would have fleeting moments when he would suggest so, but in the end – there is no substance there. There is nothing to justify the hype, nothing to fear when you are face to face with him because when the pressure really mounts, he crumbles. He falters. You can’t make it to the top of this industry just by attacking people from behind all the time – there needs to come a time where you are able to stand toe to toe and defeat someone head on. He hasn’t got it in him. He is a failure – a repeated, year on year failure.”



The prosecutor thanks Michelle for her honesty and her time as he dismisses her, and she passes Mike, slumped at the defendant’s desk, without so much as a sideways glance. Michelle’s damning indictment is still cutting deep by the time he opens his eyes once more and he is brought back into the courtroom with the next witness at the stand.



Prosecutor: “If you could please introduce yourself and how you know Mike.”



Shawn: “Michael could probably do a much better job of explaining our acquaintance than I, however, I’m Shawn and I spent a year trying to get under Michael’s skin.”



Prosecutor: “Do you believe you were successful in your attempt to do so?”



Shawn: “From day one. We spent a year sparring back and forth, each taking shots at one another.”



Prosecutor: “I’m curious to say that Mike, in your last encounter, got the best of you. The common narrative that we are following here is that Mike is a failure, that isn’t as good as he says he is, that he crumbles under pressure and one of the charges put toward him today relates to his participation in Carnal Contendership in 2024 and how that participation is unjust based on his past failures in not only that contest, but in general. How do you explain being a victim of one of his successes?”



Shawn: “It’s an interesting question, and in response I would direct you towards what has happened to Michael since our encounter. He may have had the momentary decision on the night of the event, but would you really classify him as the winner of that contest? I went on to have one of the best rivalries of the year with the most captivating stories that was told – Michael took some time off and let everyone else take his place? Michael has achieved nothing since our encounter other than to etch his name in the history books of a championship he was already in the history books for….he has hit his ceiling, and just on the other side of that ceiling lies the Carnal Contendership and all its associated glories, perched above him at heights that he simply cannot reach.”



Prosecutor: “Thank you for your time.”



Mike’s head is shaking up and down as he digests the words of his rivals, unclear as to whether to be offended or accepting of their pretty damning analysis of his FWA tenure to date. Shawn exists and is replaced by the final witness of the day.



Prosecutor: “If you could introduce yourself to the jury and judge and explain why you have been brought here today.”



The prosecutor extends his arm out and offers the floor to the next witness, Randy.



Randy: “I’m Randy, and I’m the man who stopped Mike from capturing the championship that he has desired for so long.”



Prosecutor: “One offs can happen – what do you think makes you uniquely qualified to comment on Mike and his ongoing hopes/aspirations for success, starting with the Carnal Contendership?”



Randy: “Easy enough, I have a couple of key considerations that I can point out. The first being that I have faced the man and I have firsthand experience of what he has to offer – and what he has to offer in a situation where he was going to throw everything that he had in the pursuit of success. And it wasn’t enough. The second…. the second thing is that he is having the same criticisms and accusations levelled at him as I had levelled at me. I was here for years; I won tag team championships and participated in feuds and rivalries and matches that would stand the test of time but I never won the championship or the big events that mattered…until I did. I know what it took for me to get there, I know what it takes for someone to get there, and when I look at him…. I mean….look at him, slouched there already given up with life, I know that he does not have it in him. He doesn’t deserve a place in the Carnal Contendership, he doesn’t deserve a place in the FWA and he needs to step aside and let people that have the actual talent and desire to achieve take part and try to achieve. His time hasn’t passed, it just simply never was.”



Prosecutor: “And with that, the prosecution rests.”



The gaunt, weary, and frail Mike Parr doesn’t even acknowledge the departing Randy, as he sits and stares directly forward, painfully aware that any glance at any of the walls or murals would just be another painful reminder of what success doesn’t look like. Judge Parr, rather smug himself, turns towards Mike and affords him the opportunity of a response.



Judge Parr: “Anything from the defense?”



It’s hard to really argue, Mike thought to himself. The Carnal Contendership is a yearly occurrence, where all within the FWA gather and fight for the chance to main event the biggest show of the year. Not only has he never won that, but he has never even finished in the top two. The version of him that sits here today is not the best placed version to win the Carnal Contendership – after the events of two weeks ago, his shield in the form of the North American Championship was ripped away from him again, not long after he managed to just get it back. If he cannot even hold onto the championship that does mean a lot to him but by all accounts, is a secondary or tertiary belt in the federation. How is he supposed to justifiably argue that he is best placed to step up and take the championship belt that is clearly the number one. It doesn’t make any sense.



Judge Parr: “I will take your silence as confirmation of no case to put forward, and as such, I think we can wrap things up quickly and consult the jury. Foreman, I trust that you have reached a verdict upon which you are all agreed based on the evidence put before you today?”



The head juror turns to his right down the bench and receives no audible objection to declaring an affirmative response to the question without specific consultation. He nods back to Judge Parr.



Judge Parr: “Very well, therefore, can you please confirm how you find the defendan-“



Mike: “Enough.”



His head is still down, his voice is cracking with emotion, but this isn’t one that even the Mike that he has been reduced to right now is going to let go quietly without any comment whatsoever. His knees have stopped shaking and cracking off one another, as he pushes himself back to his feet with the palms of his hands pressing on the table in front of him. Any sort of charisma may be drained from his face, his pale gaunt complexion more reflective of someone that has been reanimated from death row than anything else, but he is about to say his piece. Judge Parr’s jaw was ajar, but he has collected himself somewhat and has now fixed his facial expression into somewhat of a sneer. Looking on at the shadow of his current self is a repulsing prospect that he was hoping to dismiss hurriedly. Letting out an exaggerated sigh, he whimsically waves his hand in the direction of Mike which is his direction to speak.



Mike: “You’ve heard from a lot of people today, some that know me quite well and some that like to think that they know me. The truth is, they have all got a pretty good read on my character, as much as it pains me to admit.”



Judge Parr looks rather surprised by that assessment.



Mike: “There are a lot of things that I’ve failed at in my time in this company, and there a lot of things in the future that I’m sure I’ll continue to fail at. I’m here today without the North American Championship because I failed to win the F1 Climaxx tournament. I’m here today without the accolade of former World Champion because I’ve failed in every opportunity I’ve been given over the last nine years to succeed. You’ve heard from people that have got into my head, people that have beaten me senseless, but you don’t need those people to come in here today and explain these things to you. You’ve seen them all. You can watch it every week. For sure, I have a lot to apologize for but I probably owe the biggest apology to myself, because, for too long, I lied to myself over and over again, and drove myself into depths that I didn’t think I would be able to navigate my way out of. The pursuit of perfection nearly killed me, the dream of being the best is just that, a dream. Even if you hold the championship, can you categorically say that you are the best or are you just the current holder of the belt that leaves you with that assumption as there is no discernable way to know the skills and talent of someone lurking in the shadows that is just that much faster or smarter than you are just needs one opportunity to prove it.”



Mike takes a deep breath as a tiny bit of color has come back into his face, and a small bit of life has come back into his eyes.



Mike: “I’ve often attributed the Carnal Contendership to luck – it is about throwing someone over the top rope as opposed to any sort of technical expertise. It’s about knowing how to watch your back just as much as it is about knowing to beat what is in front of you. And you know what, I think I’m right, but I think the element that I have been missing is that you make your own luck. Walking around the FWA thinking that I am the best, thinking that it’s an inevitability that I’m going to make it to the top – I didn’t deserve any luck, I deserve exactly what I got. Nothing. But … just before I wrap it up, who the hell do you all think you are?”



Mike turns his glare, one that is borne of anger and frustration now, towards first the jury and then the judge.



Mike: “What I do at this stage of my career, in what match, is my business. You, judge, have no idea what is coming your way. You can sit there, and you can sneer at me and make judgments, but you haven’t walked in these shoes. You want to know the difference? I’ve walked in yours, and I sure as hell know how comfortable they must be feeling right now. Look around though Judge, look around at these walls and these images and try to let it sink in about the tough times that you have ahead of you. Try and digest that things aren’t just going to be a linear A to B path to success. I know you cannot see it and I know that you do not believe it, but things aren’t just going to come naturally to you, you are going to have to work for it and you are going to have to have a little bit of luck on the way.”



Mike unscrews a bottle of water, and as he lifts the bottle to his lips, you can see the shake and unsteady demeanor had paused.



Mike: “My failures and my acceptance of that, in spite of what you can clearly see have taken its physical toll on me, have made me something that you cannot appreciate. They have made me dangerous, they have made me desperate, and they have made that desire to win burn even deeper. I don’t expect to be the best anymore, I don’t call myself that as It’s quite clear after 9 years that I don’t deserve that moniker….but if I turn up, compete and try hard and who knows, with a little bit of luck along the way, who the hell are you or anyone else to say that I won’t make it eventually. If it’s not this year, then it might be next year, but one thing is for certain…..you can all say what you want, but nobody is going to stop me from trying.”



Mike throws himself down into his seat once more.



Mike: “And with that, I rest.”



A succinct and to the point end to his case, as the jurors begin to mutter amongst themselves having been given something to finally thing about by Mike Parr in the conversation. The color that has come back to Mike’s face seems to have directly drained from Judge Parr’s face, who is looking more questionable by the passing second. The foreperson of the jury, following a quick consultation with his bench, stands to deliver the verdict that Judge Parr was on the verge of asking previously. The foreperson looks over to the Judge for the OK to proceed, but his head is in the palm of his hands, disconsolate.



Foreperson: “It is our belief that Mike Parr is a suitable entrant for Carnal Contendership 2024”

 

[TOP GUY TIME]

SAWYER XAVIER PROMO

​

Spoiler: TEXT VERSION

MARCH 24, 2010

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

The moon hangs above the world, in the center of the sky. Stars roam across the land as a young man stands anxious outside of a house. He holds his fist up against the door, tapping his foot rapidly. Thudding glided across the porch as the man impatiently tapped his foot on the wood. In his hands exists a small duffle bag, packed to the brim with items. The kid went to knock one more time, but the porch light suddenly turns on blinding him. The door opens up, as the tired face of a young Hank Malphis is revealed.

“Sawyer? What the hell are you doing here, it’s midnight?!”
“I don’t have anywhere else Hank. My … dad kicked me out and I had nowhere else to go.”

Tears formed in the eyes of Sawyer, as he avoided looking into the eyes of Hank. For a few moments, silence filled the world around them, before Hank broke it with a sigh.

“Come in. Be quiet though, my ma doesn’t need to know you’re here.”

Sawyer nodded, slipping into the house. Hank flipped the porch light off, as the pair navigated to Hank’s room across the house. The floorboard creeks acted as slight scares, as a faint snoring could be heard. The pair entered Hank’s room, as Sawyer set his bag down next to a futon.

“I’m sorry to drag you into this. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It’s okay. I’m awake now, we can talk about it.”

“I come home late, so fucking what. I’m not bothering them at all. I go to get food, then my jackass father decides he wants to call me out. Called you out too, which really pissed me off. So, I packed all my shit and left.”

“Well, you know I’m an open home. It’s late though, how about we get some rest?”

“Alright … thank you for letting me in. We can talk to your ma tomorrow. Night Hank.”

“Night Sawyer.”

The lights are turned off, as the humming of a fan plays. This humming slowly shifts into the rumbling of a car as we head to the

MODERN DAY

Sawyer is leaning on the window of a car, as Oliver Kemp and him are driving down a road late at night. Sounds of airplanes flying into the air are audible, as Sawyer looks out the window.

“So, Sawyer. We’re back in the ol’ United States, whatcha looking forward to first.”

“I don’t really know Kemp.”

Sawyer peeled his head off the window, before turning towards Oliver.

“I have someone I need to see. He should be in Savannah, so we have a few hours to go.”

“Parents, lover? Gotta give me the deets, I’m in charge of keeping you out of trouble.”

“He’s a friend. That’s all you need to know.”

Sawyer’s voice is tense still, as Kemp relents and keeps on driving, soon making his way onto the highway.

“What about you, Kemp? You never talk too much. Do you have a family to get to?”

“Only the business. Never been much of a lady's man. Had a few girlfriends throughout the years, but nobody’s interested in a geeky guy who makes his career off of wrestling.”

“You know, I think most of us are geeky guys on the inside. We’re all having fun … well, I know they are. We’re doing what we love.”

“Well, are you having fun?”

The pair stopped their conversation for a bit, as Sawyer leaned forward. He smacked his lips a few times, before opening his mouth.

“I don’t know. Since I came to this company, I haven’t known. Yet, I do it anyways.”

“Well, why not have fun? You’re doing a job thousands want to do. You’re out there, performing for millions every show.”

“Yet, some people have fun doing simple stuff. I can only apologize for hassling you.”

“The hassle is why I get paid. If I didn’t enjoy handling the shit from guys who could rip my head off, I wouldn’t be here. You’d be stuck with some schmuck, like Barry. Oh, I’d feel bad for him having to deal with your antics.”

Oliver laughed slightly, prompting Sawyer to laugh. This shocked Sawyer, as an unusual smile crossed his face.

“Haha, well without me you’d be out of a job. Surprised you haven’t run away yet.”

“Same with you. Honestly, let me keep it real. I mean this wholeheartedly, but nobody else wanted you.”

Sawyer’s smile dropped instantly, as he turned away from Kemp.

“Let me keep talking. Nobody else wanted to be with you but me. I saw myself in you. Someone who just needed someone by his side. I figured it’d help to have someone who was truly rooting for you by your side. And, I think it’s helped. You’re still showing up. You say you’re not having fun, but you’re doing so much to help yourself. And look at the bright side. You have a match for the television championship. What do ya think about that?”

“You know what I think. I think we’re going to kick some ass. And I have that Carnal Contendership to get through.”

“You know what would be funny? Going into Back in Business as TV Champion, imagine that. It’ll be a first-time-ever deal too.”

“I got to get through the match first. Listen, you know as well as I do that I want to win but. I don’t feel it in the air. It’s not my time.”

“It’s never your time.”

“Listen, as much as I’d love to stick it to the friendship tumor, I’m afraid I’ll let him off easy. He’s not ready for Sawyer, so I’ll give him a year to prepare.”

“Attaboy. But, we’re going to have a busy week coming. You got someone to visit and I could go for some Chinese. Plus, training, contractual appearances, all that jazz. Get some shuteye, I’ll wake you up when we get to our hotel.”

“Got it, boss.”

Sawyer would lean his seat back, listening to the humming sounds of the car as he drifted to a slumber, ending the promo.

 

[ETE]

23rd August 2023
With her glorious blonde locks shimmering in the sun the gorgeous Goddess known as Gabrielle approaches the Limosuine that awaits her. The driver holding the door open for her, with the two of them sharing a smile as she steps inside and he closes the door behind her and then makes his way to the drivers door.

Inside the limousine Gabrielle sits right up the back, crossing her legs as she sits there in a little pair of denim shorts and a white baby tee. The red fabric of her bikini top slightly visible through the thin white cotton.

As the driver takes his seat she locks eyes with him in the rear view mirror like she has countless times before. “So where are we off too today Gabby? Desmond not joining you?” He asks.

“No Andy, Des isn’t joining me today, he’s off Directing a scene with someone else today, so I’ve got the day off.” She replies cheerfully.

“How nice. So where are you spending this day?”

“The beach, take me too the beach. I need to make the most of this lovely day.”

Its rare for Andrew Brown to have Gabrielle alone in the back of his limousine, but whenever he does he always makes the absolute most of it. He’s her driver, a perk of her foray into the world of Hardcore Pornography. Wherever she needs to go Andrew will take her in absolute luxury. Of course as touched on she’s rarely alone like this. Nearly always Desmond is with her. Regularly others will join them. Other men all involved in the Adult Entertainment industry; Directors, Producers, Casting Agents, other Talent, Cameramen, and anyone else who could find a job in ‘this’ industry.

So Andrew has seen all manner of sinfully debaucherous things going on in the back of his limousine with Gabrielle. As rare as it is to see her alone in the back of the Limo, it is equally as rare to see her fully clothed. He’s watched her in his mirror in all manner of positions, performing all manner of ‘acts’.

Afterall he drives her too and from her professional shoots, her on location ‘amateur shoots’, and every so often to ‘that’ Stripclub or to a Business ‘Meeting’.

He like so many others is a fan of the Caramel Coated Goddess, and he’s had a front row seat to watching her become the Cum Coated Goddess. Men like Desmond essentially using her just to pass the time as they head to their destination. Andrew could always tell that Desmond in particular, really got off on the control he wields over Gabrielle. All he ever had to do was free himself from his pants or palm her head and Gabrielle would always show off how dormant her gag reflex is.

You could say Andrew essentially regularly gets a free show. Her OnlyFans rakes in millions upon millions of dollars, her DVD’s move quickly, any website that features her see’s an uptick in membership. Many people would kill to be in his position. You’d probably imagine too that from time to time Andrew has his own fun with Gabrielle, maybe when he has her alone like this.

Yes and No.

He gets a free show regularly. Gabrielle often teasingly looking into the mirror while she’s in the middle of something…or rather someone is ‘in’ her.

He’s never got to experience what he’s seen so many times for himself though. This surprising fact is by his choice, unbelievably so. She’s the most in demand person in the industry, he see’s her if not every day, then close too it. But they’ve formed a relationship, a friendship and he’s never ‘tasted the goods’.

“You do something with your hair? It looks good.” He asks her.

“Yeah I did, some new colour and a slight cut.” Another perk of Gabrielle’s life now. Her own personal Hairdresser on call. Despite her immense success, and wealth in the Professional Wrestling arena she never really had perks like this. Perhaps a live in Chef here and there, but never a driver, a hairdresser, a masseuse, a nail tech, and a makeup artist all just waiting for her to call like this. “You know, you’re the only person who noticed.” She states with a warm smile on her face.

That’s why he hasn’t been in the back of the Limo with Gabrielle like so many others. He’s different. He looks at her like a friend, while so many others look at her as just a body to be used for pleasure and monetary gain. Friends do give each other shit though.

“Well to be fair to all the other men in your life Gabs, they’re usually palming the back of your head…so they might not be able to see your hair.” He says with a laugh.

Gabrielle rolls her eyes, but then laughs along with him.

Andrew continues to drive her through the City, taking her towards the beach as they share the occasional laugh or story. He does have one matter of business to attend too though.

“I meant to get it sent up to your suite, but there’s a case back there. You know the drill.”

Gabrielle cant help but chuckle as she looks at the black case up at the front of the Limo. Similar cases are regularly given to Gabrielle by Andrew.

Gabrielle’s regular ‘activities’ in the back of the Limo can leave a bit of a mess. He has to charge Desmond extra for the cleanup required after everytime Gabrielle isn’t alone in this Limo. Beyond just the bodily fluids there’s often so much else. While the guy(s) that Gabrielle is with will leave with all of their clothes, shoes, wallet, phone, and anything else they came in with. Gabrielle can often leave in a state of undress.

Its not like she needs clothes where she’s often headed.

So Andrew always finds some assortment of g-strings, bra’s, skirts, high heel shoes, stockings, buttons, clasps, torn off straps, loose earrings, chokers, necklaces, hair ties, sometimes even an entire dress left in the back of his Limo. What isn’t worth saving; the lacy underwear that was torn off her body, the ripped stockings, the buttons off a shirt he simply throws out. What is still intact or only has a few stains on it he has cleaned and then returns to her like this.

“You know you’re lucky it’s me, right?”

“Well…I have an unlimited supply of underwear and clothes and jewellery…I don’t actually need this stuff back.”

“I figured as much, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear the same thing twice and I’ve seen you every day for six months or so now. But not that Gabs. Everyone always tells me I could sell the stuff I find back there…”

Gabrielle doesn’t reply. She knows it happens, some of the companies she films with occasionally auction off an outfit she wore in their scene. She’s had a couple of fans she hooked up with sell off the underwear she was wearing, along with accompanying photos and videos. And some of her activities in this Limo were uploaded to her Only Fans or someone else’s. There’s a particular short video on a Male ‘Actors’ OnlyFans where you can see the earring Andrew found being dislodged from her earlobe by her own knee…though who was looking at her knee at that moment in time?

“Sorry I brought that up…”

“Its okay…”

“I just wanted you to know, I’m not like that, and I wouldn’t do that. You just need to be careful about that sort of thing in case it’s not me cleaning up that back seat.”

Gabrielle nods her head slightly.

“But hey thanks for not wearing body glitter in here again since last time, that was a nightmare to clean up.”

Gabrielle smirks as Andy changes the subject to something a bit lighter. Indeed after the last time Desmond had taken her back to the Strip Club where this had all began she’d gotten a lot of glitter in the Limo on the ride back. Easily the hardest thing Andrew has had to clean up back here. A piece of glitter that has so far evaded him has likely attached itself to the back of her thigh by now.

She then makes her way to the front of the limo, and the little divider between where she is and where Andrew is sitting. “What do you say I crawl in the front with you and suck your dick?” She asks bluntly with a huge grin on her face.

Andrew just laughs it off. Its an offer that nearly every other man in the World would say yes too, but not him. He doesn’t want her like that, he’d never take her just offering herself up. And besides while he knows if he did say Yes that she would do exactly what she’s said, better than anyone else he’s ever been with, he also knows its just her playful banter she reserves just for him.

Andrew doesn’t want to fuck her like everyone else around her, he see’s her differently than them. He cares about her as a friend, he values her higher than she values herself. “I wouldn’t want to mess up your hair.” He playfully states.

“A true Gentleman.” She replies. “You remind me of someone else I know. He never came onto me, he never tried to fuck me. He was always so good to me. I’ve been naked in front of him, and he’d just help me wash the blood out of my wounds and get dressed. He never made me feel like I had to wear a low cut top to keep him around.”

“He helped me shed the persona I’d had to build up, he helped me just be Gabrielle, not the Goddess. I miss him. I should have been a better friend to him…and everything could be so different now…”

Andrew slows the Limo down, and pulls over into a quiet side street where he can stop and then turn to face her. “It still can be different for you. You don’t belong here Gabs…the things I’ve seen you do in that mirror, you’re better than that. Letting all these men use you like that, and they’re all getting rich off of you. Desmond has me drive you all around this City taking you to get fucked by his buddies, and they record it and then sell it.”

Its not exactly a secret. Hardcore Pornography is a business, an industry. Performers like Gabrielle do what they do in exchange for money. But still, Andy laying it out there like that makes what it is feel so much more raw.

“That’s all this really is. Desmond and his boys having their way with you. Whoever offers him the most money gets to fuck you…”

Andrew pauses at that statement, his words sinking into Gabrielle. For as much as she has embraced this life she now leads, for as much as she has enjoyed it, and had fun with it, there are those moments usually towards the end of a shoot day where she’s found herself bent over with the 3rd, or 4th, or 5th, or 6th man she’s been with that day behind her. Sometimes those moments have come in this very Limo.

Andrew has seen it dawn on her. Just a couple of Weeks ago with Desmond and a small group of guys after she’d filmed a scene for Big Gulp Girls. She had been stripped completely naked and was on her knees where she’d been from mere seconds after she’d entered the Limo. Working her way from Desmond, to the BGG Director, onto a BGG Producer and then a BGC Cameraman.

It was when the Producer had finally released his grip on the back of her head where he had held her while letting out a primal grunt of release. Gabrielle playfully licking her lips as she looked up into his eyes and then moved on to the Cameraman.

As she’d crawled over to him though she’d glanced up in Andys direction, into that mirror where they shared so many looks, but never one like this. She looked broken and defeated. He’d never seen her like that before. It had pierced her soul where she is, what she’s doing, what she’s about to do. Andy didn’t know what to do as her eyes disappeared and her face was buried in that mans lap. Gabrielle had made none of the choices that had led her from that morning to that afternoon.

Desmond had set up the scene, as her Agent he always did. He was in charge of all of that, including the money. He told her she was filming a scene with just one guy today. She’d enjoyed herself, everyone at Big Gulp Girls was really nice to her. They always were. She’d worked with her Co-Star before. He was always firm but caring. Easy to work with.

Then when they were done, everyone was chatting. Talking about their plans for the night, or talking about Gabrielle’s performance. She couldn’t lie, there’s a real rush to being told how good, or great she is at ‘this’. Desmond boasted that he was just going to take Gabs back to their lavish Apartment Suite and fuck her. She was admittedly excited by this, then he’d thrown out the offer to see if anyone else wanted in.

She didn’t say no to it, terribly she didn’t even resist it…but she was glad when it was only a few people who were free to join in. There were high fives all round, and plenty of hands on her ass before they’d all headed out to the Limo. The scary thing is Gabrielle wasn’t daunted by this prospect at first. Its far from her first gangbang, and far from the first time she’s had an ‘afterparty’ like this.

Sex isn’t Sex anymore, its just sex. Its just what she does, what she’s good at. She was great at Pro Wrestling in the past, now she’s great at this.

She was excited when she’d hopped in the back of that Limo with those four men. She was the center of attention. But that was earlier in the night, maybe it’s the neck pain making her cranky after a solid 20 minutes of bobbing her head up and down in those men’s laps she had this moment of clarity, that she shared with Andy where she didn’t want to be there anymore. Moving onto wrapping her lips around the 3rd, and then 4th different man in half an hour wasn’t in her mind this morning.

But that thought is then buried as deep as he buries himself inside of her. A handful of her hair and before long finally its the Cameraman’s turn to push her all the way down himself.

If you asked Gabrielle why she willfully took strangers into that backroom in that Strip Club and did with them what she was doing with that cameraman in the back of that Limo, she wouldn’t be able to answer you.

If you asked Gabrielle why she just accepted that 4th man in the back of that Limo, after a brief moment of clarity, she wouldn’t be able to answer you either.

She just did. She just accepted it when he’d buried her head in his lap and then gleefully began to help her bob her head up and down rapidly.

But that later acceptance and willingness doesn’t erase that moment, or the other similar ones. Moments where she’d regret this life choice, moments where what has happened dawns on her. Desmond is making money off his friends and colleagues to have them fuck her. That’s what all of this is. This is the first time she’s had this moment though and not been in the middle of something…

“You hear me Gabs, you don’t have to keep doing this.”

She nods her head sternly and sits back into the seat. “Take me back home…”

Andrew quickly rejoins the main road and whisks Gabrielle back to her and Desmonds place here in Los Angeles.



24th August 2023
Gabrielle’s long light blonde hair is tied neatly back into a ponytail as she approaches the Limosuine. The few people who happen to be nearby cant help but stare at her, some lustfully, others with a sense of disgust. She doesn’t care though, she doesn’t even notice it anymore, she’s a Goddess and she’s used to it.

“Desmond, Gabrielle…welcome to you both.” Andrew states as he holds the door open for them. Gabielle is dressed in a very revealing little Naughty Nurse outfit; a very short white sheer dress with a plunging neckline, white stockings and stethoscope around her neck. While Desmond is dressed much more casually, jeans and a t-shirt.

Andrew then proceeds to make his way around to the drivers door. He pauses and sighs for a moment before opening the door and hopping inside where he is instantly greeted by an all too familiar sound. A mixture of joyful grunting, sinful moaning and a diabolical wetness.

He doesn’t even need to look in his rear view mirror, but he does anyway. “Oh Gabs” He mutters to himself as she’s currently laying across the back seat and Desmonds lap, as he uses her ponytail as a crude handle.

“Such a good little Whore!” Desmond exclaims almost proudly, receiving a satisfying groan from Gabrielle.

Andrew is glad he cant see her eyes right now. He still wouldn’t know what to do if she had ‘that’ look in her deep brown eyes again. That haunting glint of regret and sorrow, though she offers no resistance to Desmonds current use of her beautiful face. Worse still would be if she didn’t have ‘that’ look on her face, if she was blissfully enjoying this.

“Andrew we’ve got a meeting downtown with the guys from Thunder Cock.” He glances down at Gabrielle. “But I’m in no rush to get there…” He says with a grin as he directs his attention fully upon Gabrielle. “Just don’t make a mess of that outfit, you’ll need it.”

The outfit doesn’t last. The scene changing from a Naughty Nurse treating a Patient scene to just a Naked Gabrielle gets boned scene. Andrew later finding the entire dress just left discarded in the back, which he has cleaned and returned to her.



15th March 2024
Gabrielle’s dark brunette hair seems to sparkle in the warm sunshine as she makes her way too the Limosuine. She glistens in the sun like a Goddes reborn. The door popping open from inside as she smoothly enters, finding a beaming Desmond sitting there waiting for her.

She crawls over him playfully and sits down next to him, her hand quickly wandering into his lap as he looks her up and down. “That looks so good on you.” He exclaims. Her little Cheerleader outfit accentuates her curves perfectly. Just a short little skirt, a little top and knee-high socks doing the bare minimum to ‘clothe’ her.

“Thanks Des…it fits perfectly.” It doesn’t. If she stood up you could see her ass cheeks, and there’s ample underboob on display.

Gabrielle then turns her attention to the front of the Limo excitedly. “Andy…how’ve you been…I messaged you yesterday but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh sorry ma’am.” Comes the reply as the driver turns to look back at them, and he’s definitely not Andrew. “Andrew called in this morning…he quit. Really out of the blue, he’s been driving with the company for years now.”

Gabrielle sinks back in her seat a little bit. “Oh…”

“I’m Shawn, pleasure to meet you…I’ve seen all your movies.”

“Yeah…cool.”

“Andrew was a good guy.” Desmond chimes in, as he slides an arm around her, resting a hand on the back of her neck. “Does my sexy lil Cheerleader need some cheering up? I know what sort of cheer we need…”

Gabrielle glances over at Desmond who just unbuttoned his fly.

“I think we need to give you a…”

Gabrielle smirks and throws her arms up, a little mini cheerleader routine as she exclaims “Give me a D!”

Desmond grips the back of her head with both hands and he pushes her down. “Take all of that D.”

Shawns attention is fixed on his rear view mirror as he watches Desmond bury Gabrielles face in his lap. “What a slut.” Shawn exclaims.

“We’re going up town today Shawn.” Desmond mutters. “I’ve got a scene to direct with some failed Starlet.” He looks down at Gabrielle. “Not you. So keep your clothes on, we don’t need a naked Gabrielle distracting the working talent.”

That doesn’t happen. Shawn later finds a little g-string and her top in the back of the Limo. Both items along with promises of a digital photo he took in his rear view mirror finding themselves up on ebay later that day.



16th March 2024
“A loud sigh greets her…and then silence. She’s quiet as well. She cant talk…she doesn’t know what to say. But then she does. “Andy…”

“Hey Gabs.” Is his reply from the other end of the phone. “I should have replied the other day, I know…but I don’t know what I’m meant to say here.”

“Why’d you quit?”

No reply.

“Well?” She asks sternly.

“…”

“…”

“Why’d you quit?” He eventually retorts.

“What, quit what?”

“What you’re doing again…why’d you quit that last year?”

“Are you mad that I quit? I’m sorry…I shouldn’t have just broke off all contact with you when I did, but I had to get away from everyone.” She states with a sense of sorrow in her voice.

“Gabs…I’m not mad you quit then, I was happy, beyond happy. If the price for you quitting all of that was me never seeing you again I could live with that.”

“…”

“So, why’d you quit when you did?”

“I had too. I didn’t want to keep doing what I was doing. I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I wanted more to my life than just being fucked by all those men. I didn’t want to be a…Whore anymore…”

He doesn’t think about his next words, he just says them. “But you’re being a Whore again.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that…”

“I’m not…its just Desmond…there’s no money. Its not like that We’re just hanging out again.”

“Gabs…listen…Shawn…he sent me a video…you…in that Limo…with Desmond…and some Casting Agent…”

Silence.

“I told him to delete it, but he’s a pig. Listen Gabs…I’m not trying to upset you here You don’t have to explain anything to me…you really don’t. You don’t need me too approve what you’re doing.” Andy wants to be stern with his words, but he doesn’t want to be just another man telling her what to do.

“I’m not doing Porn again…it wasn’t like that…I just…it was…Desmond told him I can do magic tricks and make big dicks disappear…”

“So you just did it.”

“…”

“…”

“I’m sorry.”

“No. NO Gabs. You don’t have to apologise to me. Not to me. If this is what you want, then do it, keep doing it. If it makes you happy then just do it.” He pauses before continuing. “Does it make you happy?”

Her single word reply surprises him, and even her. “Yeah.”

He chuckles. He doesn’t want to laugh, he doesn’t want to be happy about that. But even more he doesn’t want to be like Desmond and the countless other men to come into her life in the past year or so and tell her what to do, but he doesn’t want her doing what she’s doing.

“Then I’m happy for you…but I just cant be around you doing this. Gabrielle, I don’t like seeing you like this. I remember how excited you were to leave this all behind, and I remember how broken you sounded and looked on that day I was driving you to the beach. It broke my heart seeing you bury your emotions sometimes in the back of that Limo. But I was so happy when you wanted me to take you back to Desmond, so you could give all of this up.”

Gabrielle’s silent.

“Then I saw you the next day…and it was like nothing could keep you off his dick. I wanted to slap some sense into you but I feared it’d just make you suck his dick even harder. So I just drove you to film a scene for whoever it was, and nothing had changed. I cant do that again. I cant watch you march off to take back the life you deserve only to watch you get passed around the back of that Limo instead.”

“They don’t pass me around.” Gabrielle says softly. That particular comment cutting her deeply. Degrading her and demeaning her. A part of what had made Gabrielle previously embrace the World of Adult Entertainment was her ‘claiming’ phrases like that, or words like slut, whore, skank, slapper, tart, etc for herself. Being called a Whore when she’s actually being one, when it was used almost in praise or appreciation took away the power of people calling her that to humiliate her in the past.

But this is different. Gabrielle had grown to be ashamed of who she had become. Ashamed and humiliated that she had gone from being the Caramel Coated Goddess, to the Goddess Coated in something else beginning with C…

Andrew didn’t want too, but he was humiliating her with that phrase. But in an instant Gabrielle was the Goddess of lore again. A woman who had created a Hall of Fame worthy legacy. Her pride being attacked by that single sentence. All the things she’d done to become the Goddess, the great things she’d do in the ring playing through her mind. The realisation that she’s a 37 year old Mother and Legend making what she’s done recently suddenly feel so wrong again. Though that being her reality then beats that pride back down into submission just as quickly.

“Gabs…I care about you deeply as a friend. I loved all those conversations we’d have alone, when you were dressed as a person not a sexual fantasy. We’d talk about our families, about your daughter, about your career. We’d chat about our futures, our plans, our ambitions in life. You wanted so much more to your life. We’d talk about pointless nothings, we’d share stories and jokes…your laugh, when you’re really laughing at something is so beautiful…instead of laughing at some crude comment some guy has made about how you just made him disappear.”

“I didn’t actually laugh at that did I?”

“Yeah, you did.”

“…”

“…”

“Andy…I appreciate you telling me how you feel, but this is about how I feel. I’m sorry we’re at odds here.” She’s trying to hide from the reality of how much it hurts to be confronted with all of this. Hide from the reality that she keeps finding herself so low in life that only sex brings her any joy, or worse still any identity.

“Don’t be sorry Gabs, just be yourself. I cant tell you not to do this, I drove you all around this city for all those months watching you back there with Desmond and whoever else, I dropped you off to dozens upon dozens upon dozens of scenes. Its not like I didn’t know what you were doing, I cant tell you to stop, and I wont. But can I just ask one more thing?”

“Yeah…anything Andy…”

“What happened when you went back to Desmond, when I dropped you off and you stormed in there to pack your bags and tell him you were giving this up?”

“He helped me remember how much I enjoyed what I was doing. It was just like Wrestling, sometimes it was scary, sometimes in the ring was the last place I wanted to be. But nearly all of the time I loved it, even when it was rough. Porn was the same…overall I still loved it. The lifestyle, that carefree simple lifestyle, no pressure, no failures. All the people I got to meet, the places I went. I could be a Cop one day, and then a Schoolgirl the next.”

“Andy…Desmond let me be great at something…” She states coldly. That yearning need to be great at something has driven her to seek validation on her back, on her knees, on a pole, on all fours…

It pains Andrew Brown so much to hear that, he’d need a mask to hide his face behind if they were face to face right now. Thinking she needs Desmond for anything. “What about now, how’d he get you back again?”

“He made me a Goddess again. I have people giving me everything I could possibly want again Andy. I feel so wanted, and needed even. He shows me off, he takes me around to see his friends and brags about me. Everyone loves me, they all hang off my every word. I feel special…”

“That’s what you want?”

“I want to not suck anymore…metaphorically.”



17th March 2024
As always her brunette hair looks so luxurious as she approaches that Limosuine. Shawn holding the door open for her, he tips his cap to her and stares outrageously at her tits as she slides inside the Limo.

He hurriedly makes his way around to the drivers door, pulling it open and looking towards the back of the Limo. No familiar noises greet him, Gabrielle and Desmond both just sitting there though he’s running a hand along her thigh.

“What happened to the clothes I picked out for you? The little Fire Fighter get up?” Desmond inquires. “I figured you could come drain my hose.”

“I thought I’d save that for later.” She replies.

“Fair enough, you still look incredible.” Desmond exclaims as he looks her up and down. “Very Professional…very sexy…like a Slutty little Professional…”

Gabrielle has dressed much more modestly, but still she’s Gabrielle. There’s a reason she was in Playboy, a reason she was in so many other magazines. A reason the World lusted after her for nearly two decades, and then ravenously watched her in such films as ‘Backdoor Sluts 9.1; the reSlutening’. She’s gorgeous, her pleated knee length skirt and pink blouse don’t hide that.

As Shawn eagerly watches in his mirror Desmond takes his hand off her thigh and doesn’t waste any time in palming the back of her head. He pushes her head down as he’s done a frankly astronomical amount of times before, putting her head in his lap…but she quickly sits back up and stares at him.

“Des…no.” She states.

“No?” He enquires. “What is this, some kind of game?”

“Des…no.” She states again. “I’m not sucking your dick in this Limo anymore.”

Desmond looks shocked.

“I’m not letting your friends bend me over and fuck me anymore either while he records it.” She states while pointing in Shawns direction. “I’m not sitting in your lap while you ‘direct’ your movies, I’m not fucking you in front of everyone after you’ve all finished filming.”

“Then why’d I bring you with me?” He bluntly asks.

“Is that all I am too you?”

“No…its just…that’s our relationship isn’t it? I make you into a Goddess again Gabrielle...those were your words to me…”

Gabrielle sighs and then presses her forehead to his. The man who orchestrated Gabrielle’s career in Porn taking that moment to grasp the back of her head once again and push her down onto himself. There’s no resistance, she accepts it with a sinful moan which is then muffled as she headbutts his chiselled abdomen repeatedly. Desmond is right after all, this is why she’s ‘with’ him, this is what he provides her.

Desmond grunts and relaxes, leaning back into his seat. “Crisis averted” He mutters to himself. “That’s my greedy little Slut.” He tells her more loudly.

Shawn settles in to watch the show in his mirror. Leaving the Limo in park as he fixates on watching Gabrielles head move up and down. Its definitely a perk of his job that multiple times a day he gets to watch Gabrielle like this up close.

Then finally she pauses to catch her breath, lifting her head up and swatting aside a strand of saliva that had dangled from her bottom lip. She playfully nuzzles her head against Desmond’s, even softly biting onto his cheek. Then she looks down at his erect member, and its like its staring back at her.

She feels like she’s at a fork in the road in this moment, as Desmond palms the top of her head she can see two paths in front of her.

The easy one; she offers up no resistance and Des pushes her head back down on every last inch of himself. She’ll mindlessly bob her head in his lap until he’s found his ‘release’. He’ll probably give her a ‘money shot’ and Shawn will likely record it on his phone. Then wherever he takes her she’ll find herself on her back at some point, with Desmond or someone else between her thighs.

Then Shawn will get another show, he’ll get to see more action this time. Maybe a third party joins them, maybe not. This will quickly become a routine.

And then at some point she wont be accompanying Desmond somewhere so he can film some other woman, she’ll be going with Desmond to be filmed. This will quickly become a routine.

Then she’ll turn 38, and ‘celebrate’ the same way she did turning 37. By doing the same thing she does every day, only there will be ribbons and whipped cream involved.

Then she’ll be 40…

Then before she knows it she’ll be 45. The MILF tag is all that keeps her relevant. No more saucy costumes, or silly / stupid plotlines, just the MILF. Even though her own Daughter probably doesn’t speak to her at all anymore.

Maybe she’ll have to try the Strip Club again full time. Steve will always have a soft spot for her. She gave him a lapdance on his 18th Birthday after all. But try as she does, she cant stop getting older, less desirable. The surgeries to try and cling onto a lost youth have started years earlier. The 45 year old Stripper doing what she can to feel anything, taking someone back to that private room nightly.

And then she’ll be too old, and frankly too worn out.

Her Parents haven’t spoken to her in over a decade, her Daughter doesn’t want to know her, her Brother, even he had to give up on her eventually. She’ll be unmarried. Marriages 3, 4, 5, and 6 falling through. All she offered to them was sex, and a younger woman always came along.

The ‘easy’ path leads to nothing but misery, not straight away. She’ll enjoy every second of it until the wheels fall off. But once they’re off she’ll have nothing.

Desmonds dick is still staring at her, and she’s finding it so hard to resist. The second path is hard. Anything could happen. She could give her all to the FWA only to fail again. She could ultimately be remembered as the Fallen Goddess, that turned to Hardcore Pornography, and then embarked on a failed campaign to claim back what she once was in the ring.

That’s scarier than anything Desmond could ever throw at her.

Or she could write one last GREAT chapter in her career. An exclamation point upon everything she has ever done in the FWA. Triple Crown status. A Third World Championship an entire Decade after her last reign. Carnal Contendership. The North American Championship. Anything, she could do ANYTHING. But she’ll never know if she takes the easy road.

She feels that slight pressure on the top of her head, Des never actually pushes that hard, he never really needs too. “Des…I cant.” She states as she lifts her gaze up to meet his.

“You can, you swallow that up easily…” Is his response.

“No Des, I cant. I need more to my life-“ Desmond goes to cut her off but Gabrielle puts a finger to his lips. “No Des. I need more than just endlessly sucking dick to my life. How are you not bored of me at this point? You’ve fucked me so many times in the last 5 weeks, multiple times a day, every day. Before that we had what nine months of that same thing?”

“I want more in my life, more purpose than just this. More meaning than just waking up knowing all I’m going to do today is have sex, possibly with more than just one person. That’s the only change I have to my days, when I find myself under some guy I’ve literally just met through you. God Desmond, I’m signed to the FWA and I haven’t turned up for a day of work in weeks now…”

“I told them you had a throat injury.” Desmond interjects.

“Cute.” Is her sharp response. “You…you remember when I was in Japan and you hit me up? You told me you were still a fan, and even a friend of mine.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“Then you chartered a private Jet and flew over to see me…it was romantic that night. You cooked for me, we ate in front of the fire…you spent a small eternity just caressing me and kissing me…I should have known though, when I spent the entire jet ride back here naked. The staff on the Jet refused to serve us or even leave the front of the plane after a while because everytime they came to us you had me on my knees, or bent over, or I was dancing for you or laid out on the table for you…”

“You never said stop, I was just giving you what you needed.” He interjects.

Gabrielle sighs and nods her head almost in defeat. If only she could refute what he’d just said. But the low point she was at when she let Desmond back into her life was a real low point, and he made her happy for most of these last five weeks.

“You looked so broken and defeated in Japan. Losing to an absolute loser like XYZ…I could tell you felt like a loser yourself. You’d walked away from your new life, and all your new friends chasing your old one and you were having so many off nights. So I gave you some good nights. Some GREAT nights even. Gabs you’ve never had an off night with me, or John, or David, or Ben, or Cooper, or the rest of them.”

Gabrielle rests her forehead against his once more, but Desmond doesn’t push her head back down onto himself.

“I thought you wanted all of this again, to live like this again. So I gave you that. When you were struggling in the ring you could forget about all of that with me.”

“I want some of that life Des, you were there for me…I just don’t want all of this. I cant just have this. I don’t want to just be this. Des I want to be a Champion again, an actual Champion! Not a play thing, okay. I don’t want you out of my life…just all the other stuff.”

Desmond wraps an arm around her and rests his head on hers, she cant see the smirk on his face as he tells her “Okay…I don’t need anymore than that.”

He lets go of her and they both sit back in their seat. “You should just stay here, don’t come with me to the shoot, you don’t need to be there, do something else with your day…”

Gabrielle smiles. “I should probably make some calls to someone at the FWA…”

“You do that.” Desmond states as he rests his hands behind his head. “But just…maybe…before you go…” He glances downwards. “I just had the most beautiful and skilled woman in the World sucking me off…she’s not going to start the next chapter of her life leaving unfinished business is she…”

Gabrielle glances downwards, a fiendish smile on her face as Desmond somehow turns that fork in the road into a single option…

Shawn watching on as Desmond grabs her by the waist and lifts her onto himself. The Limo Driver later that day finding all the pink buttons off her blouse and a little red g-string on the back seat.



23rd August 2023
“Hope you’re ready for a butt fucking Baby.” Desmond hollers as he steps inside the Apartment Suite he shares with Gabrielle in the heart of LA. Tossing his belt aside, he rounds the end of the entryway and steps into the Dining Room where she’s waiting for him…bent over the kitchen bench…

Or rather leaning on it, as she sits at the breakfast bar with a pair of suitcases besides her.

“Des…we need to talk.” She states. “Please have a seat.”

Desmond does exactly that, sitting down beside her, he rests a hand on her bare thigh. Those short shorts, and white baby tee still doing just enough to conceal her curves. “Everything okay? He asks.

“Wonderful.” Is her reply. “I’m ready for the next chapter in my life.”

“Des…I appreciate everything. The Apartment, the clothes, the jewellery, the people who wait on me hand and foot, the driver, the sense of purpose and meaning you’ve given my life.” She wryly smiles at that. Those words sinking into herself as she spoke them. Not lost on her that she found meaning to her life being fucked on camera. Not lost on her that she went from defending World Titles at Back In Business to be dubbed porns ‘Deepthroat Demon’.

“I do appreciate all of it greatly. When you came into my life like this. When you approached me in the Strip Club and gave me that offer you helped pull me out of a pit I had been stuck in for years. Without you Desmond, I’d just be dancing for dollar bills, and giving head for free…”

Desmond cant help but smirk at that statement from Gabrielle.

“But…” She continues. “I’m more than this, I have a reputation, a Legacy. I’m a Hall of Famer now! Finally! I kicked ass for most of my life, now I just get… …in the ass…”

“Gabs.” He interjects, though she cuts him off.

“My mind is made up Desmond. There’s people out there who care about me and helped me see what I can still do with my life. I was never going to do this forever…”

Silence befalls the both of them, before Desmond finally speaks up. “So you’re just going to quit?”

“Well…yeah.”

“So you’re a quitter, when it gets tough you quit.”

Gabrielle glares at him, but he continues before she replies.

“Wrestling got to tough for you, and you quit that. Well you were too weak to quit, but you took the out when it was given to you…your words Gabrielle.” He states bluntly. It causes her to sink into her chair a bit, its true after all.

“Sick of being put on your back. You told me those exact words with a huge grin on your face as I had you on your back in that Hotel room after the Strip Club. Sick of men putting you on your back and making you into a loser, but with me you were a winner when you were on your back. You were so happy to be doing this, doing what you’ve done for six months now. Taking back your life, taking back the power.”

“Put on your knees and it’s a good thing! Not having to fight your way back up, just to get knocked down again. You could just stay there and make everyone so happy. Especially yourself.”

He reaches a hand out and brushes a few strands of hair out of her face. “Don’t forget that Gabs. Don’t forget how hard Wrestling can be, and how much it broke you.

She looks up at him, a mixture of acceptance and heartbreak written upon her face. “I dont want to be broken anymore…”

She is broken though. She’s not Broken Gabrielle the FWA wrestler, she’s just broken Gabrielle the person. Sinking into the beds and arms of countless men to just feel something, anything.

Its a heartbreaking reality for Gabrielle. After all she ever did in the ring, all the boundaries she broke, glass ceilings she shattered. It all means nothing now. Those things gave her no comfort when she couldn’t relive them. She’s had to sink to this, had to sink to her knees endlessly, as she does now in front of Desmond.

To return to Pro Wrestling is too daunting. Its what broke her in the first place. It could break her again. It could hurt her even worse than it already has.

Any reams she has of Main Eventing another Back In Business or winning a Carnal Contendership are just that; dreams. She doesn’t have the strength to try to make it a reality. She’d chased that for years and kept coming up short, kept failing. Had to settle for being second best, then third best, then fourth until she wondered if she even belonged in the FWA anymore.

All that people could talk about in the Hall of Fame career of Gabrielle was what she had done in 2015 and earlier. That passage o time from 2019 too now just seeing her sink lower and lower.

But maybe one day she’ll have the guts again to face that challenge.

Maybe one day she will find herself in the ring again surrounded by people who are fully clothed. Her ultimate dream would be just one more road to Back In Business. A Carnal Contendership win…and then immortality…