FWA 'The 18th Anniversary Show' || Promo Thread.

The Golden One · Aug 27, 2023

It is space. Space it is. The blackness surrounding the sparkling silver of stars is quite the scene. And amid all of this gloriousness, chugging along is the Magic School Bus, with its very light yellow color and chipped paint and black exhaust smoke obnoxiously pumping out of the back in loud moments.

“Ya’ know … the wild thing about the Magic School Bus is … ‘ole XYZ’s escapades with Big Al and then The Menage was not the first time the Magic School Bus was in space!”

Like a children’s movie, the scene shifts to a wide shot of Earth. Yes, planet earth, in all its green and blue beauty. And as earth moves closer and closer – the green and blue giving way to white clouds – the zoom-in feature eventually focuses on a man with a cowboy hat and a handlebar mustache standing on his ranch with a telescope pointed to the sky – presumably up at the bus scurrying along in the deep oasis of space.

“Do y’all remember when Miss Frizzle and her class traveled through space – from the sun all the way to damn Pluto? All because the local planetarium was closed? That was some wild stuff, I’m tellin’ ya’. Or when they traveled into space to destroy a meteor that was headed for their school building? Those damn kids saved their town!

Anyways, seems to this ‘ole cowboy like space is like a second home to the Magic School Bus. And hell, those were just the televised trips for the magical automobile. Who knows what other side quests Miss Frizzle took the bus along when the cameras weren’t rolling, eh?”

This slender-build man has a toothpick in his mouth – doesn’t he know that’s slightly dangerous?! – and chews away in between his monologues.

“Side quests is the name of the game in this ‘ole tale. XYZ and his Menage are off on a side quest on the eves of the Anniversary Show – on the eves of his X Championship match against Tommy Bedlam! What kinda’ mess has he gotten him and his friends into this time? Well, ‘ole X usually has an ace up his sleeve – or at least a jack to fill out a straight – so let’s see what he’s up to this time, eh?”

The cowboy looks back into his hyper-powerful telescope, which is capable of seeing well into space enough to follow the Magic School Bus from down on earth, and we zoom back up through and out of earth’s atmosphere into the black mass that is the world beyond our sight.

But rather than zooming all the way inside of the bus, the darkness of space seems to have overrun everything. We see nothing. There is nothing. Only the sound of what we can assume from our memory banks is the Magic School Bus wheezing through a gravity-less existence.

But this white noise is intercepted with a low-tone conversation amid the night.

“Hey. Pssst. Christian.”

“Yeah?”

“You awake?”

“I don’t think I’ve slept properly since I joined The Menage.”

“No, I mean … are you awake?”

“Yes, X. I’m awake.”

The recognizable voice of XYZ and the less-recognizable voice of Christian Howard creep through the pitch blackness of the Magic School Bus with all lights turned out and shades covering the windows.

“I hope we don’t wake anyone.”

“We’re in the front two rows. Frank, Wild Jerry, and PacMan Bert are like 10 rows back. And you know Sierra and Lizzy stay in the very back.”

“Ah. The psychology of bus seating. This means we aren’t cool, huh?”

A pause as Christian Howard sighs, unsure of if he will ever get to return to a good night’s sleep.

“It feels like … I’ve done this before. Like … deja vu?” XYZ says, with an unsuredness at the end.

“What?” Christian asks, always a perfect confidant for these one-on-one conversations because he’s discreet enough but also aloof enough about specifics to ask the best and easiest-to-answer questions.

“Breaking a meteor the size of Alaska from hitting Mars and potentially disrupting the entire complex ecosystem and gravitational pull of the Milky Way galaxy?”

Apparently, this is the side quest our narrator was talking about: breaking apart a meteor before it hits Mars.

“No, not this … but … the other stuff.”

“Oh, you mean when we traveled to Pluto last week to see if there really were dwarfs living there since it’s called a ‘dwarf planet.’”

“No, no. Not that. I’ve never done that before. No … I mean …”

A pause.

“The X," he whispers

“The X?”

“Yes. The X. You know …” he whispers again.

“Oooooooooooh … the X Championship.”

“YES!”

XYZ realizes he shouted that part and then looks around sheepishly to make sure he did not wake anyone up. He probably did, but no one says anything.

“The X," whispers.

“Why are you whispering?”

“Because … the X must be talked about … with reverence. There’s something … magical about it.”

“About the FWA X Championship?”

“The XYZ Championship! Say it with reverence, too, or you’ll be tossed into the meteor shower!”

“Okay, okay! I … I didn’t know," Christian whispers.

“You’re right. I overreacted. The whispering is also weird. We can talk in a normal voice.”

A pause.

“I … it’s all this gnawing feeling that I’ve been here before.”

“The deja vu you mentioned is about the X … sorry … the XYZ Championship. Okay then. You’ve never won it before.”

“I know. I know that. I had two chances and … lost them both … to Alyster Black."

“Maybe that’s the deja vu.”

“No, no. It isn’t that. There are other names popping into my head when I have this … feeling … that I’ve been here before.”

“What names?”

“I don’t know! That’s the thing. I can only sense like … the possibility of letters. Or syllables. A ‘Moi’? Then a ‘Daem’ maybe?

I don’t know. Those don’t mean anything to me.”

“They might mean something to someone, though.”

“Everything means something to someone, Christian.”

“I know. I know. But … they might mean something to someone … connected to you.”

“Connected to me?”

“You know what I’m talking about. What everyone talks about.”

“Oh, yes. Him. Well … maybe, but I don’t have the full career history of the one of rotting gold in front of me.”

XYZ thinks about the idea of just holding the X Championship, which would be his first in the FWA. He has only ever been a FWA Tag Team Champion – with Lord Dog, many years ago – and has always been close-but-no-cigar to winning an individual, singles championship.

He has been long-seeking such affirmation of his heroism, his mission, and his quest in this world. He has felt it is only a matter of time, yet at times he has also felt it is such a difficult accomplishment that maybe he’d never quite get there.

Maybe … if he just can hold it once, he will have that abstract breakthrough that he seeks.

“Maybe once I hold it … I’ll have a clearer picture.”

“Well, you haven’t won it yet. Let’s hold off on assuming you will!”

“You’re right. You’re so right, Christian of the Howard Clan!”

XYZ’s exclamation for “Christian of the Howard Clan” gets a nameless “shhhhh” from the back of the bus. XYZ mumbles a whispered “thank you” before rolling back over to try and sleep.

The next day, a few minutes after XYZ and The Menage successfully destroy the meteor, they are leaving the general atmosphere of Mars when a ship speeds by the Magic School Bus at 0.24 lightyears per hour faster, which is obviously breaking many space travel violations.

Everyone in the group is alerted to the whizzing-by spacecraft, but only XYZ knows exactly what is happening. He can tell from the skull and dagger bumper sticker, along with the yellow Pittsburgh Pirates flag flying high above.

“Space pirates,” XYZ says in a menacing whisper.

“Why did you say it like that?” Frank asks.

“Like what?”

“You whispered it.”

“I am whispering a lot these days.”

XYZ ponders the situation for a few more seconds.

“It seems those space pirates are heading towards earth, which is never a good thing.”

“Seems like it ain’t none of our damn business,” Wild Jerry interjects. “We got matches to prep for. Let’s head to earth, grab some KFC, and …”

“No KFC. Only Popeyes. And while I'm not inclined to agree with your stances because of what happened on Fallout with you getting me punched in the jaw, I agree. We should head to earth, Wild Jerry.”

XYZ’s response gets a hopeful, glowing grin from Wild Jerry, but it’s for naught.

“And since earth … is the same direction as those damn space pirates, we can just … see what they’re up to.”

"Damn, man. This gringo got us runnin' 'round the damn galaxy and he all uptight 'cause I got someone a little mad at him."

XYZ looks around to the group, who are unnerved by the new side quest, but XYZ seems to have a boost of energy.

Minutes pass into hours, and suddenly it’s the afternoon and the group hasn’t had lunch. So they stop at a Space Subway for subs. That delays them, but it also leads to a nugget of information.

As Frank returns from the Space Subway with a bag full of 6-inch and footlong subs, he quickly goes to XYZ positioned in the driver’s seat.

“X … I heard something.”

“What’d you hear, my loyal-and-kind-yet-otherwise-undeveloped friend who happens to also be black?”

“Well, I was inside, and there were some worfos talking.”

“Worfos. All the way from Jupiter to here? That’s peculiar."

"What are worfos?" asks Christian.

"Little sealion creatures. Nothing more to it than that."

“Yep. And they said they heard that the space cowboys we are tracking … are going to some zone to steal a tentacle. The worfos said they were thinking about joining in but then they got hungry.”

“Wait. Which tentacle?”

“You know enough about this tentacle to know there are multiple?” Christian asks.

“Of course. The tentacles of the Cosmic Discord Wrestling. Which tentacle, Frank?”

“The Tentacle of Knowledge.”

XYZ puts his hand over his mouth and gasps, a reaction fit for two occasions: someone using an egregiously inappropriate and derogatory word; and someone trying to steal the Tentacle of Knowledge. XYZ lowers his hand and shows his mouth open in disbelief.

“I can’t believe it. I cannot believe these space pirates would stoop this low. Do you know what they’re doing?”

No one in the group answers.

“They are going to the COSMIC! Zone aboard the Kibo module of the International Space Station!”

Wild Jerry, who is eating his sub this entire time, chimes in with a “lots of big words that we don’t know nothin’ about, X.”

“Why specify those parts of the International Space Station?” asks Sierra, always one to prefer brevity. “Why not just say we’re going to the International Space Station?”

“Because the COSMIC! Zone aboard the Kibo module is unlike any other part of the International Space Station. To find it … you must have been there … before.”

“When was the last time you were there?” Sierra asks. “At the COSMIC! Zone aboard the Kibo module?”

“A couple of months ago … for T.M.N.;D.R.”

“I think it is T.L.;D.R.,” Frank says.

“No … no. It is T.M.N.;D.R.”

“And did you read it?”

“I did not.”

“So it was T.L.;D.R. then,” Lizzy Golden quips, getting some laughs from the others, but not from stone-faced XYZ.

“Sure.”

“Too many Nephews?”

“No. … I had to watch the finale of ‘Ted Lasso’ that day.”

“You watch Ted Lasso and haven’t told me?! We could’ve watched it together!” Frank shouts.

“Hey! We are getting distracted,” Christian retorts bluntly, putting Frank back into silence.

“What is the Tentacle of Knowledge? What does it do?”

“I don’t know, but I imagine possessing the Tentacle of Knowledge provides you with … knowledge.”

“Aye, and we need some of that in this group. Bunch’a idiotas,” Wild Jerry says in between the final bites of his meatball marinara sub.

“Speaking of the Nephews … should we alert them?”

“There is no time! This is something The Menage must handle. No one can possess one of the tentacles without earning it! You must win … a battle … to be a holder of a tentacle. And we definitely cannot let SPAAAACE PIIIIIIRAAAAAAAATES … hold them.”

“Did you yell it that time to offset whispering it earlier?”

“That I did, Christian of the Howard Clan. That I did.”

There is no point in describing how The Menage got aboard the International Space Station or into the COSMIC! Zone aboard the Kibo module. Plus, you'd have to already have been there before to see it and know how The Menage accessed everything, and we have to keep the guest list a little tight for budgetary reasons, so just assume it all worked out.

However, we can assure everyone who has followed along in this incredible space journey that XYZ and his merry band of misfits defeated the space pirates and preserved the Tentacle of Knowledge. However, the tentacle did slip into multiple people's hands before it reached XYZ's ... and something very interesting happened.

Our caped hero -- while standing inside the COSMIC ZONE! of the International Space Station -- considered for a few seconds just taking the Tentacle of Knowledge for himself. It's no secret XYZ has been close to winning a Tentacle, yet he has not. It's no secret XYZ has been close to winning the X Championship, yet ...

As XYZ holds the Tentacle in his grip -- debating internally what to do -- a tiny wave of knowledge … rushes through his body and into his brain.

“The deja vu. I know those names. Daemon Inferno. Moira Crawford.”

“Those are previous holders of the X Cha …”

XYZ glares at Christian Howard, who is standing next to XYZ and wondering why his fearless leader had not returned the Tentacle to the enclosed glass case where it was previously stored and should remain until someone actually wins it.

“Previous holders of the XYZ … Championship.”

“But there are many previous holders. Why do those names come to my mind? Why do I feel like … I stood eye to eye … against them … and a man named … Wolf … the same way I stood eye to eye against Alyster Black and Harry the Sane Wiz-aaaard … a year ago?”

“More questions than answers in this wacky world you’ve built for yourself, X.”

“Me? The builder? Oh no. I’m no builder. Just a mere warrior of the light.”

XYZ puts the tentacle back in the glass casing, finally saying, “It’s not mine … yet.”

XYZ looks at Christian Howard and thinks back to their conversation the night before -- while everyone else was trying to sleep.

"I've cobbled together my own band of space pirates -- a band of pirates meant for good and virtuousness -- and have stormed the galaxy's gates in search of a symbol of success. This symbol is, to me, a sign that we are not standing still. WE ARE NOT IN THE MUD! We are moving, up the hill, up the ladder, up the mountain. We are thriving beyond our self-perceived limitations, beyond the ceiling that the world set for us, and beyond the grim reaper around every corner who wants us to stumble and fall.

This symbol could be a tentacle necklace. It could be a championship belt. IT COULD BE A PIECE OF PAPER! It means what you wish for it to mean.

I promise that we will ride into the arena on our sea horses of destiny and take the fight TO the Bedlam of the Tommies. He is a noble champion, and he is a noble person. Sure, he did not understand what I was trying to tell him on Fallout. I know my way of speaking can be ... a challenge for the layperson ... and I commend him for trying. But Wild Jerry's one quip did get an overreaction, and an overreaction is a sign ... it's a hole to press on. There's a level of pride and defensiveness from the Bedlam of the Tommies that can be a vehicle for both his successes and his downfalls.

But beyond those flaws, the Bedlam of the Tommies would make a fine XYZite. I hope he shows up for the Open Tryouts! That is then. That's long after the moon crows to the eagle's foot. At the Anniversary Show, the Bedlam of the Tommies is just in the way of the attainment, of the plight's climax. He is an unfortunate foot soldier in this grand arc.

The Bedlam of the Tommies is a worthy opponent, and he may win. We may fail. I may fail. But I will not give up, no matter what happens at the Anniversary Show. The shadows of this world try to take away our motivation, our determination, and our willingness to continue swatting back all the darkness. The light of the night sky leads us to where we must go. Look to the stars, as always. They will keep your eyes open."

XYZ nods his head as he stands within the ISS and takes one last look at the Tentacle of Knowledge.

"The dream never dies, Christian. It hasn't died before, it won't die now."

With that, it's time to leave the ISS and return to the Magic School Bus. Imagine Sierra wrote this part. She's one for brevity above all else.

“So … do you think … he planned it all out … or just makes it up as he goes along?” Christian Howard asks.

“Who? X?” Frank replies.

“No, not X.”

“Oh … him.”

Frank and Christian, sitting in the Magic School Bus while on their way to actual mainland earth, glance over to Sierra and, more specifically, Lizzy. It’s a brief glance, albeit an empathetic one, before returning to their own eye contact in case they are caught.

“I don’t know. Feels like a stretch to say he planned it all out.”

“Really? ‘The dream never dies’? Note the word of emphasis.”

Wild Jerry jumps in, sitting one row of seats behind Frank and Christian.

"What we talkin' 'bout, puntas?"

"Suit over here thinks he is still at the wheel and always has been."

"Psh. Yeah, okay," Wild Jerry says before rolling his eyes.

“So you’re saying … way back in 2016 or 2017 … whenever XYZ first started saying that phrase … it was all part of some elaborate plan to call this place for what it truly is?”

A pause.

“Feels like a big coincidence.”

Christian sits back, thinking he has made his case. Wild Jerry smiles at him and shakes his head while eating a tortilla chip. Frank stares blankly back at Christian.

“And I think that’s all it was. Lucky over good. So, yes, I think he was just making it up as he goes along.

I love X, but don't give him more credit than he deserves. He is just piecing together some meaning to all of this for himself and -- admirably -- for us as well. It's not part of some bigger plan. We aren't being maneuvered around a chess board by a higher being. There is no creator with his hand on the wheel. We're all just floating through space, Christian. Just trying to find a meaning.

Does that answer you?”

A pause.

Mandalorian · Aug 28, 2023

Knock. Knock. Knock. Chris’s knuckles rapped on the door of the ground floor apartment, causing an echo down the street. It was eerily quiet for Brooklyn, even at almost midnight. He looked around for a moment as he waited for it to open and saw the hallway light flick on before the door swung open and he was greeted with a visage which matched his own.

“Knock, knock! A Golden Opportunity awaits!” It was uncharacteristic of Drew Peacock to be in such a chipper mood, especially at this time, but the waft of liquor hit Chris like a train as soon as he laid eyes on his brother in the doorway. Drew’s enthusiasm dimmed as he pointed a finger at his twin and narrowed his eyes. “Although, there isn’t a Golden Opportunity this year, is there? You smart son of a bitch! Although, five people at once, Chris… tha- that’s a lot to deal with.”

Drew was right. It was a lot to deal with. Preparing for his upcoming Steel Roulette Match definitely fit the bill of ‘having better things to do than this’ in Chris’s mind, so he was unwilling to entertain his brother’s latest fall off of the wagon. He definitely did not appreciate being woken up on one of the nights he had specifically decided not to go out in favour of getting an early night.

Therefore, upon seeing Drew in that state, he promptly turned around and walked back down the steps from the porch down onto the pavement below. It was a waste of time trying to deal with Drew when he was like this and Chris - as already established - had better things to do.

“Hey, get back here! It- Um- Max! Max needs your help, Chris! He- he- he…”

Chris stopped. Drew had neglected to inform him that this matter involved his nephew when he sent forth an unsolicited text message half an hour earlier.

“You… you’ve walked out on me enough times… you fuckin’ bastard… don- don’t you give up on my kid! He don’t deserve it!”

Again, Drew was right. With an exasperated grunt, Chris turned around and then barged past his brother into the apartment.

It was a mess. Pizza boxes and beer bottles were strewn across the floor as evidence for just how long Drew’s latest bender had lasted. It was an infuriating sight for Chris, given that this was their father’s old apartment. It was left to Chris in Dave’s will but Chris allowed Drew to move in so Max had more space when he was with his father. To see how Drew has defiled and disrespected it made his blood boil.

However, this was not the time to scald his brother about his poor housekeeping and alcoholism. Drew limped into the room behind Chris, “Like what I’ve done with the place?”

“Shut up.” Chris was short and blunt. The fact Drew could make jokes about this made him sick. “Just tell me where Max is.”

“Spare room.” Drew gestures towards it with his bottle-holding hand, spilling beer on the carpet as he did so. Not wanting to engage his brother any further, Chris made his way towards the spare room. “Wait!”

“Wait… you… asshole. Something’s not right with the kid. You’ll see for yourself… but I should warn you, it’s… kind of fucked up.”

Chris removed his hand from the knob and walked back towards Drew, who backed off slightly. “This is your job, Drew. You’re his dad. Take some fucking responsibility.”

“Oh… you’re some sort of fuckin’ expert now, huh? Mr Big Shit travelling around the world… the rest of us live in the real world, Chris. It’s HARD. Our dad did nothing for me… I don’t know how to be a good dad, Chris. What example did I have to follow?”

“You figure it out for yourself! You just push yourself past it and get your fucking shit together! That’s what people do!”

As Chris went once again to see Max, he stopped when he heard Drew laughing behind him.

“You mean… you mean, like you have? You’re in control of everything right now? HA! Give me a fuckin’ break, dude.”

Chris didn’t answer. For once, he actually did feel in control of his anxieties and his anger and he wasn’t going to let a drunk idiot try to convince him otherwise, even if it was his brother. It was because everything was going well and to plan.

He left Drew, who returned to watching television, and entered the spare room. It was illuminated by the desk lamp in the corner of the room, and it was here that Chris noticed his nephew hunched over something on the desk.

The poor lighting did not afford much visibility, but Chris was able to make out outlines of newspaper clippings and sheets of paper stuck to the wall. Some had images on them, but most were covered in messy scrawls which he could not decipher. He cleared his throat, but Max did not move. Max was clearly working on something as his hands were frantically moving around and Chris could hear a few quiet clicks of a mechanism.

“Hey, Max. How are you doin’, bud?” Chris asked with a tinge of false excitement in his voice, hiding the fact that he was very creeped out by the scene that he had walked in on. There was no response from Max. He’s shown no indication that he knew that Chris was in the room with him. “It’s uh, me. Uncle Chris. What are you workin’ on there-”

“Huh?” Max recoiled as Chris put a hand on his shoulder, jumpscaring him. “Uncle Chris? What are you doing here?”

“Your dad asked me to come and see you… he’s worried about you, kid. What’s all this you’ve got going on in here?”

Max rose from the chair and angled the desk lamp so more of the room was visible, “It’s research, Uncle Chris. My research.”

Chris used the improved lighting situation to examine some of the newspaper clippings and notes that Max had made and was dumbstruck by what he saw. “These are all about me… but none of these things happened to me? Did you make these, Max?”

“No, I collected them. Uncle Chris, do you remember two years ago? We were all at a party before your first Golden Opportunity match and you tried rolling a die and I said how that could have created six alternative timelines?” Max paused for a moment and Chris nodded, vaguely remembering. “Well, I stopped you because I felt that chaos controlled enough of our lives and we didn’t need to make it any worse.”

“Yeah, I remember, Max. What does all of this have to do with that, though?”

“Since that night, I always wondered what would have happened in all of those other timelines, as well as the ones that were not even dependent on the roll of a die. There are infinite timelines and universes which store them… I wanted to see how they were different from ours. I wondered what all of our lives were like and maybe there’d be a timeline where I didn’t have an alcoholic deadbeat for a dad, or maybe one where I could find what I needed to help him.”

Max took a deep breath and turned around to the desk and he picked up what he had been working on when Chris entered his room. Chris was still unsure whether he should call a psychiatric ward about his nephew’s apparent obsession. He looked down into the palm of Max’s hand and saw what appeared to be a regular white six-sided die. However on closer inspection, there was a faint blue glow around each of the twenty-one black circles.

“I found a way to visit these other timelines and universes, Uncle Chris. I used this. You roll it and depending on what number it lands on… that’s where you go.”

“Max… I’ve got an important match to prepare for. I don’t think this is really the best use of my time. I want to help you out of whatever you’re going through-”

“There’s nothing wrong with me, Uncle Chris.” Max said, staring straight into Chris’s eyes, “My dad doesn’t understand for obvious reasons… but with everything you’ve seen, I don’t think anything can surprise you. Try it out, Uncle Chris.”

Chris paused for a moment. Max was stubborn and persistent, a trait which was common in all Peacock men, himself definitely included. Thanks to this, he knew that there was no way that Max was going to let this go. “Look, I’ll try this out once. But afterwards, you’re going to bed. I know you’re eighteen now, but you still need proper sleep and not to be up all night working on all of this. What do I need to do?”

Retrieving a headset from the desk, which Chris believed to look like something called ‘VR’, Max then placed it atop his uncle’s head, covering his eyes.

“I can’t see.”

“You’re not supposed to see anything yet, Uncle Chris. Here.”

Chris felt the die being placed in his hand and he rolled it onto the desk in front of him and it settled on FIVE.

Civilisation had completely gone to ruin. Chris Peacock had thrown himself from the faltering helicopter and landed in a lake on the outskirts of Denver. A loud explosion almost deafened him and he watched as the helicopter burst into flames on the bank of the lake. Chris ducked his head under the water to avoid the incoming inferno coming towards him and he could feel himself cooking due to the heat of the water surrounding him.

Chris swam away from the wreckage and resurfaced with some difficulty, as the FWA World Championship was weighing him down somewhat. However, even though the world was never going to be the same again, there was something about the status which came from being the one who possessed the title which prevented him from discarding it.

When Chris reached the other side of the lake, he exhaled deeply and spat out some water which had found its way into his lungs. His respite was short-lived, though, as he saw them advancing towards the helicopter. Hundreds of the undead specimens Chris saw at the Ball Arena were here, too. It probably would not be long before they noticed him and came for him. Although he saw many of the zombies aimlessly walk towards the blazing helicopter and then perish for a second time after getting too close to the flames.

The splashing and sloshing sounds of Peacock exiting the water attracted some attention from some of the dead that were congregated around the lake. He ran, carrying the championship by his side.

Then Chris Peacock watched on for months as the world fell further into despair and destruction as the dead took over. Other survivors came and went, some alliances lasted and some didn’t. Chris did what he had had to do to keep on surviving. Even though in this new world, holding the FWA World Championship was less and less important, Chris retained the title as his most prized possession.

As the world fell around him, he stood up as its champion. No one else could stake that claim. Where others would have fallen, he didn’t. Vagrants, vagabonds and cultists all attempted to strip him of what worth he had left but all failed. He had manage to carve out a piece of the new world for himself. A safe place he had created where the dead would not be able to touch him.

They lacked the basic cognitive functions they would have possessed before they turned. It was not possible for them to operate on the same plane of intellect as Chris or any other survivor he would encounter along the way. Their hive mind was disorganised.

There was one that was rumoured to be able to control the herds. All Chris had heard of him was passing tales of his exploits elsewhere, but he had no reason to believe them to be true. This was until one fateful day as Chris was skirting the fence around the home he had created that the most unbelievable thing happened.

After skewering the heads off several zombies through the fence with his modified staff, Chris watched their bodies limply fall to the ground. He saw a zombie which was snarling far louder than the rest. Its movements seemed less like the others as well; more erratic. As unnatural all of this was, this particular walker was even more so.

Like with all of the others, Chris attempted to drive his staff into the zombie’s head to put it down, but to his surprise, the reanimated corpse grabbed his wood through the fence with one hand and used it to pull Chris towards the fence. As Chris’s body made contact with it, he felt something sharp in his stomach. He fell down, away from the fence and saw blood seeping through his shirt.

In his panic, he looked up at the walker, who was now grinning at him. “What are you? Zombies aren’t supposed to be able to do that! FUCK!”

“I am no zombie, nor am I dead or alive. I am merely a guardian; a conduit. Your claim over this land is over. From now until the end of these dark days, I decree this land as part of the dominion of the Death Walker!”

As Chris felt himself bleeding out, he saw numerous other ‘alive’ zombies reveal themselves and together they brought down his fence and led the crowd into Chris’s base. Chris backed away from the actual zombies as quickly as he could but from inside he heard a loud cackle.

The guardian emerged with Chris’s championship in his hand and raised it aloft. “Put that down! I’ll kill you!”

“Yes… this will make a fine trophy for the dark master. Please, Death Walker, accept this as a token of your conquest!”

Chris was unsure who the person that the guardian was talking to was, until he saw the final figure to walk through the fence and through the herd. An impressive physical specimen the likes of which Chris had never seen. The Death Walker wore a human skull over his head like a mask. Chris took one look at this towering figure and then lost all feeling in his arm after the Death Walker stomped on it, snapping it with ease.

The last thing Chris saw before he felt the first bite from the walkers was the Death Walker standing tall, holding his championship.

Chris swiped the headset from his face and dropped it down onto the desk, causing a loud crash and he stepped away from it. His finger lingered in the direction of the desk and Max stood up with some concern on his face.

“Max… what the hell was that?”

“What happened, Uncle Chris?”

“Allen told me that he had this idea for a movie. There were going to be zombies and it would be set around Back in Town. You know, Devin Golden and his music. Krash coming back from the dead. It was like I was in that movie that he’d told me he was going to write, Max. How did you do that?”

Max spoke whilst examining the headset for damage after Chris had tossed it, “Well, it looks like that in one of those alternate universes what Allen is planning to write about actually happened. What freaked you out about it so much, though? I didn’t think you were afraid of zombies.”

“No, it can’t be that, Max. It all felt real… but what happened was not. There’s no chance that there’s a world out there where zombies are fucking real, dude. Why was Death Walker there, anyway?”

“Well, he’s in your match, Uncle Chris. It could have something to do with that.”

How ridiculous all of this was was not something that was lost on the FWA World Champion. Death Walker was in the match at the Anniversary Show, but in total honesty, Chris had forgotten that was the case.

“Maybe, that timeline was representative of one where Death Walker wins the Steel Roulette match. I mean, he’s a pretty violent guy and it is a pretty violent match-”

“Woah, woah, woah. Let me stop you right there, Maxie.” Chris was curt in cutting his nephew off; but his frustration upon hearing that comment caused him to interrupt. “You’re looking at the only person in that match that has won it before. Shit, I’m the only person in that match that’s even been in one of these before!”

“Death Walker is a mean dude… so? He came onto the scene not too long before Back in Town in Denver. That was the beginning of his journey in the FWA - I don’t give a fuck where he’s been before. Back in Town was the beginning of my journey, Max. When I beat Devin Golden and sent his ass to the shadow realm or wherever the fuck, that began the reign which has made every single one in the two and a half years pale in comparison. What has Death Walker done?”

“He beat Cyrus Truth.”

“HA!” Chris cackled as Max sat at the desk, confused. “You think that means anything to me? I’ve beaten Truth’s grumpy old ass like six times or whatever it is now. That’s not the achievement people like to think it is, kid.”

In between bursts of laughter and giggles, Chris thought about what he had seen through the headset and what it represented. Was Death Walker the real underdog in the match? The person that everyone presumed Chris to be in his first Golden Opportunity match two years ago? Well, if that was true then maybe Death Walker could be a surprise package and someone not to be underestimated. After all, a huge devil-worshipping lunatic inside of the Steel Roulette was a dangerous prospect.

But does Death Walker have what Chris knows it takes to be the one? He understands the weight of being the champion now and getting the important victories. Death Walker beat Cyrus Truth - big whoop - when has he won when it actually mattered?

“Hey Uncle Chris… why did you want to put your title up in this match?”

There was no need for Chris to answer, because whether it was one or five or even fifty, Chris was more than confident that in this timeline, he will be the one walking away unscathed. “You know what, Max? That wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Let me have another go with it.”

Before Max could object, Chris had already applied the headset and he rolled the die once more, rolling a ONE.

“It was time for the Worldwide Grand Showcase in Lumiose City and our heroes Christopher Pecorn and his partner Oricorio were set to do battle in the Grand Showcase final!”

The crowd greeted the reigning Pokemon World Champion as he walked out through one of the tunnels onto the battlefield. Christopher waved at them and they returned his pleasantries in kind. He reached down and held one of his PokeBalls in front of his face.

“Okay, Oricorio. We’ve done this dance before and this is going to be like every other time. We’re the champions for a reason and it doesn’t matter who is up against us, we’re going to win. We should probably try our best as well, but whatever happens I know that after this we’re still going to be the best in the world!”

The confidence of the champion was evident as he looked across the battlefield and watched as his challenger emerged. It was a young girl, who was flanked by another two young girls. The three had matching outfits on, as if they belonged to some sort of club together. Christopher scoffed upon seeing them; he felt fully assured that he would be able to emerge victorious from this battle as he had all others.

“The challenger… representing Team YOKAI, Katsu!”

This was a new challenger that Christopher had not even heard of before, let alone battled. Katsu shared some last minute words with her Team YOKAI teammates and then both of the competitors looked to the official and listened to the instructions for the battle that were announced over the speaker system inside the stadium. Whilst Katsu intently absorbed all of the information that was dispersed to her, Christopher nonchalantly nodded along, not really paying much attention. It was then time for the battle to begin!

“GO! ORICORIO!”

The crowd cheered as Christopher sent out his famed Oricorio who he had battled many foes with, and Oricorio danced along with its trainer to the vibes that were present. Katsu nodded her head and pulled out a PokeBall of her own.

“Oricorio, huh? Well, I think I have something for that. I CHOOSE YOU!”

Katsu threw the ball up into the air and it opened to reveal a Crobat! The crowd marvelled at the bat-like creature as it flapped its wings over the battlefield. “Hmm. Crobat and I have maximised our friendship level, so Crobat is in the top percentage of Crobats! I ensured that this Crobat had perfect IVs before training it in effort values which focused on its attack and speed stats.”

As Katsu reeled off the technical information about her Pokemon, Chris looked on incredulously. “What is she talking about? I’ve never heard of any of that… Anyway, let’s battle! Oricorio - use High Jump Kick!”

With a burst of energy, Oricorio leapt into the air and extended its foot, looking to connect with Katsu’s Crobat. However, Katsu acted fast in response, “Crobat, use Double Team!”

Crobat multiplied in front of everyone’s eyes until there were roughly two dozen of the large purple bats circling around Oricorio. Oricorio continued to throw out kicks as quickly as it could, but each one only hit a Double Team clone, causing it to vanish. Whilst Chris noticed that Oricorio was getting tired, he did not order it to stop.

After much exhaustion on the poor bird’s part, Oricorio finally landed a kick on the real Crobat, knocking it back slightly. However, it seemed that it took very little damage. “Crobat is a Poison and Flying type; a Fighting type move like High Jump Kick is not going to do much damage - Crobat quad resists it!”

Oricorio lands on its feet and it seems extremely worn out from the repeated kicks it was throwing out at all of the Crobats, real or otherwise.

“Now, Crobat! Get it whilst its weak! Use Air Cutter!”

Rearing its wings back, Crobat then unleashed a powerful blast of energy towards Oricoriom who was too tired out to dodge it in time. The Air Cutter collided with Oricorio, sending it upwards into the air and it then landed flat on its back, fainted. The referee pointed his flag in Katsu’s direction.

“Oricorio is unable to battle! Therefore, the winner is Katsu of Team YOKAI!”

Christopher was shocked at what he was seeing, and Katsu celebrated with her friends. From across the battlefield, Katsu winked at Chris.

With a perplexed expression on his face, Chris lowered the headset back down onto the desk and found his nephew staring at him, blankly. “Uncle Chris, everything okay?”

“Max, I truly have no idea what the fuck just happened.” Chris said, blankly. “I have no idea where I was, why I was a cartoon and what all of these weird creatures were. But what struck me as odd is that I was defeated, again. Again, by someone who has no right defeating me.”

“Who was it this time?”

“Katsu.”

“There’s not much shame in that, though-”

“Max, there’s shame in losing to almost everyone else in this match. It didn’t feel right. She was there, using all of these technical terms and stuff I didn’t understand about other stuff I didn’t understand. I don’t know how to explain it, but it all felt forced.”

There was a silence for a few moments as Chris considered what he had just witnessed. He saw a driven and determined challenger outclass and outmanoeuvre him because they had planned better for the battle of the weird little birds and other creatures. Like Death Walker, perhaps Katsu was not someone worth looking over in a match like this?

There’s no doubt that her counterpart that Chris will be facing inside the Steel Roulette will have definitely done her homework on each of her opponents, Chris thought. She probably also considered Death Walker to be one of the most dangerous people in the match. Chris pondered what Katsu must think of him; whether she was in the camp that believed Chris to be the best FWA World Champion since 2020, or did she, like many others, believe that Chris was not worthy of his position at the top of the company?

“I don’t know what you mean, Uncle Chris. What felt forced about it?”

“Like she had planned every minute detail and it had to be a certain way. It’s not dissimilar to what I understand of her; she meticulously curates her schedule to accommodate for her FWA appearances as well as fighting over in Japan. She had her support there with her, they all had a specific role to play, too. I can’t help but wonder, though…”

Chris snapped his fingers and began to pace around the room. He ran his hand across some of Max’s papers, not paying attention to what it was he was actually touching. “What if things just don’t go to plan for her?”

“Look at the F1 Climaxxx… she jumped straight into that off the rip and quickly learned her place in the pecking order here. That experience made her reevaluate her entire life and change her entire persona. I know I don’t take losses well, but come on!”

“Yeah, she won the TV title by beating Jackson, but that’s not much of an accomplishment. I kicked his ass so badly in the Climaxxx that no one has seen him anywhere since! Then she lost the belt to Summers, who I beat.”[/color]

“She lost to Cyrus Truth, too.”

“SHE DID! She lost to that miserable fuck just before I beat him for the eighth time or whatever it was at Back in Business…”[/b]

Does Katsu have what Chris knows it takes to be the one? Every time she has had the opportunity to burst through the glass ceiling, she has just concussed herself on it, instead. All of the planning in the world could not prepare her for what was waiting for her inside the Steel Roulette structure.

Not only that, but she had another match earlier in the night to boot. With his two championships intact coming out of Back in Business, Chris Peacock had set the standard for what is expected from a double champion. Not only was Katsu in contention for the FWA World Championship, she was also wasting her time, energy and efforts trying for the Trios titles as well. The student of the game had clearly failed to learn about the consequences of spreading herself too thin.

“A plan is only as good as the person executing it, Max.”

“Uncle Chris, there may be some truth in these timelines. Making this match could have been a bit of a mistake-”

“Enough with that Max, please. I want another shot at this. It can’t have me lose in all of them, surely?”

Headset on. Die rolled. TWO.

The booming music playing inside Castle Boogie could be heard for miles around. There was a reason for this, though. The owner of the castle, Dr. Chris-P-Cock, was hosting an important summit. A famed scientist and experimentalist in his own right, CPC was looking for others like him. He sought those who were also capable of creating life that was beautiful and hideous at the same time.

Chris’s own creation, Knocky Horror, was his pride and joy. He was incredibly proud of his role in bringing Knocky to life and helping him to become his true self when they worked together to rid the castle of the awful couple who had visited it. Now, Chris and Knocky stood side by side as all guests - those invited and not - filed into the castle through the main front door.

As they all entered, they passed the beaming Chris and the subservient Knocky. Chris was awestruck at what his contemporaries had accomplished. However, despite all of the different shapes, sizes and species of monster that was being brought into the castle, none compared to what Chris had formed when it came to Knocky. As long as Knocky was with Chris and Chris could continue to perfect his perfect creation, nothing would compare.

Once all of the guests had arrived, CPC instructed them to congregate in the main ballroom inside the castle. He looked around proudly at the community that he had assembled and projected his voice to ensure that he could be heard by all present. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome one and all to Castle Boogie! I am of course your host with the most, the elegant and timeless Chris-P-Cock. Charmed, one and all, I am sure.”

With a suggestive smirk, Chris laughed and was joined in doing so by most of the attendees. He noticed that one of his guests did not seem particularly amused or entertained by the entire occasion. Chris gestured towards Knocky, “Then, I am sure you all know who this fabulous specimen is. My Knocky Horror… look at him! Show us your love!”

“That will not be necessary.”

A voice called out loudly, diverting all of the attention away from Chris and Knocky. Chris looked out at the crowd in disgust that someone would dare put any sort of dampener on his evening. “Who said that?”

A hand confidently rose up from the crowd, and the interruptor identified themselves as the same guest that Chris had noticed did not seem that impressed with the night’s proceedings.

“You?” Chris asked, taking a moment to acknowledge the man who had called out to spoil his party. “I know you… Jeffry Mason, is it not?”

“It is.” The man who now identified himself as Jeffry Mason answered. “You do not deserve the praise you think you do. Where has your suffering been?”

“Suffering? Oh dear friend, I have truly suffered and you have no idea. My pain and suffering went into making Knocky here stronger. My pain is his and his is mine.”

“Shared pain is a pathetic concept. That’s not how you build strength in one individual. No, you must break a man down to his very core to unleash the true strength and potential.”

“I suppose you have an example to show us, Jeffry, my dear?”

Without saying a word, Mason clapped his hands and all of a sudden all of the eyes in the room were on him. The door to the hall swung open once more and the guests quivered and cowered as lightning struck behind outside, silhouetting a giant figure in the doorway. The brutish creature stepped forward, almost causing the ground to shake. Everyone gave this thing a wide berth, not wanting to get caught in its path.

“I present to you, The Reagmaster! Like nothing you have ever seen before and nothing you will ever see again! I have sculpted this unbeatable machine of a man through arduous trials, both physical and mental. Quite simply, no one has suffered like The Reagmaster and now he is ready to unleash all of that hatred and suffering on anyone who stands in our path. It is time to show everyone what you are truly capable of, Reagmaster…”

Another clap of the hands by Mason and The Reagmaster immediately smushed the man standing next to him into the ground which rendered him as nothing more than a bloody stain on the floor. Guests screamed and attempted to escape, but it was futile in most of their cases. The Reagmaster tore limbs, ripped ribs apart and pulverised anything he could.

Chris looked on, worried but not offended by the gory display being presented to him. “Knocky, go! Stop him!”

Dutifully, Knocky set about sparing his creator’s honour against The Reagmaster, but whilst Knocky did get some good shots in and seemed to draw a drop of blood from The Reagmaster, he found his head caught between the hands of the large creature. The Reagmaster quickly and very unceremoniously crushed Knocky’s head with his bare hands.

Chris-P-Cock let out a high-pitched yelp in shock at what he had just seen. As Jeffry Mason continued to instruct The Reagmaster to attack guests. Chris cowered in fear… realising that his status as the greatest scientist in the world was no more.

“Come on, Max.” Chris laughed incredulously as he removed the headset for a third time. He chuckled under his breath and then ran his hand down his face. “That’s some sort of joke, right? Like, Death Walker and Katsu I can kind of see, but Reagan Cole? There’s a world out there where Reagan Cole beats Chris Peacock?”

There was a moment of silence as Max considered what Chris said, which made Chris feel slightly nervous. Chris believed that his brother and nephew were playing some kind of sick joke on him. Had Drew been faking alcoholism for the best part of a decade for this? It simply just did not compute for Chris that this was even a possibility.

“Well, if that’s what you saw, then the answer is yes. Uncle Chris, when you put yourself in this match, what were you expecting? Why did you do it in the first place?”

“Never mind why I did it, Max.” Chris stood up and kicked an empty cup that was on the floor across the room. He turned back to Max, almost unable to talk. “Wha- why- the fuc- HOW?! How does that happen, Max?!”

“There’s a five sixths probability-”

“I don’t give a FUCK about probability, kid! I’m fuckin’ Chris Peacock! Do you understand what that means? That means that I don’t lose to the likes of Reagan Cole. We had a match and I wiped the floor with him!”

“I seem to remember him almost taking you to a time limit draw, Uncle Chris.”

Immediately, Max realised that he probably should not have said that as he saw a look in his uncle’s eyes that many of Chris’s opponents will be intimately familiar with. A look of unbridled anger. The same kind of anger that drove Chris to defeat Cole when they had a match prior to The Grand March. It was ostensibly a match which arose due to Cole and Mason’s mistreatment of poor little Trixie Bordeaux, but in actuality it was due to the resentment Peacock held for Cole for his repeated disparaging of the Nephews.

Of course, Chris did not care for the Nephews and never had, but he was their quintessential rival, the one that people will always associate them with and not some jabroni that had lost one match to them.

It took Chris a few seconds to realise just who he was giving his death stare to and with it being the one person he loved unconditionally in the entire world, he snapped out of it and then sat down opposite Max. “I’m sorry, Max. It’s just… this isn’t how things are supposed to happen, you know? Especially not like that. Mason has been doing everything he can to unlock something inside of Cole and shit, that might be the kick up the ass Reagan actually needs… win the World Championship, though?”

“That’s a pretty fuckin’ big ask if you ask me.”

Does Reagan Cole have what Chris knows it takes to be the one? Almost every success that Reagan has experienced in the FWA has been due to someone else. Spirit Walkers - Aka Yurei. Necessary Evil - Jeffry Mason. Chris Peacock and Reagan Cole broke into the FWA at the same time through Ground Zero. Compare what they have both done in that time.

Chris knew that there was just not a comparison that could be made between them. Every time Chris had been under someone’s thumb, he fought back out and in a couple of cases took the thumb for himself. Yet still, Cole lingered in the grasp of Jeffry Mason. Mason could create Reagan Cole in his image, prepare him to become the ultimate competitor who was trained to kill if the situation called for it. But when that door slid shut, Reagan was going to be all on his own.

The biggest match of Cole’s career is not the time for a test flight. The apprentice should have acquired all of the skills he needs by the time the Anniversary Show rolls around. Daddy Mason would not be there to hold his hand through it in his own sick and twisted way. Chris would be his new daddy inside the Steel Roulette.

But despite all of that, there was apparently a world where Reagan Cole did have what it takes, regardless of how it manifested. Despite his affirmations to himself, this still lingered in the back of his mind. He reached for the headset again, and then took the die another time. “There’s got to be one of these timelines where I actually win, right?”

Roll.

THREE.

People screamed as they ran away from the Gotham Central Bank, as inside there was yet another robbery. These were commonplace for the seediest city in the world, but this one was strange in the sense that it was being perpetrated by someone once considered and revered as the greatest hero that Gotham could produce; its sworn protector. Whilst Chris Peacock was once Birdman, the dark knight which operated in the shadows of Gotham to bring villains to justice, he was now widely known as The Boogie Man.

The Boogie Man specialised in that he was able to influence the minds and bodies of whoever he wished with his words and music. He had used this tactic to hold up convenience stores, banks or whatever took his fancy on a particular day. It was at play again on this day as he was making all of the bank employees dance the Macarena as his accomplices/henchmen relieved the bank of various money stores and gold deposits as they could.

Whilst the score was reason enough for The Boogie Man to commit such crimes, he also enjoyed watching the helpless victims suffer as they struggled to control their functions and faculties. It was a power that he was able to brandish over them. “Dance my pretties, dance! EY MACAREN-HUH?”

The Boogie Man did not react in time to stop himself from receiving an uppercut directly to the face which knocked him down onto the floor in the bank. This also broke his control over the people inside, who made a point to run away and escape his torture as soon as they were able to. The Boogie Man sat up and saw his assailant, and was outraged when they were wearing a costume which was clearly inspired by Birdman, who Chris had vowed would never return as he was now The Boogie Man.

Birdman’s outfit was black all over, but the person who attacked The Boogie Man was dressed in the same style of outfit with the upper half of his face covered by the mask he wore. The hero looked at one of the gold bars on the floor and considered taking it for a moment, and he threw the bar at The Boogie Man’s head, knocking him down for a second time. “That wasn’t very nice, was it? Are you going to tell me who you are, or should I just guess? If anyone knows about keeping a good secret identity and hiding things about themselves, it is me!”

Despite the blood falling from his forehead, The Boogie Man stood up and took the opportunity to look closer at the man who had confronted him. “I know who you are - Jackson Fenix! Ah, I see that your costume is supposed to be flames. Very smart. Rising like a phoenix and all.”

“I had to think for a moment why you’d need to be reborn like a phoenix, but I remember that there was once a time when these people did not want to see you or care if you were the one who came to their rescue.”

“I’m trying to do better, Boogie Man. The same cannot be said for you! Now, we have the bank surrounded, so it would be better if you came quietly.”

The Boogie Man shook his head and the Phoenix took this as a sign that he was willing to engage in a fight. The musical powers did not work as the Phoenix wore headphones which played early 2000’s pop music. It was a short fight, and it ended with Chris Peacock having handcuffs slapped around his wrist as the people rejoiced.

The only sound that could be heard in Max’s bedroom was a heavy sigh from the FWA World Champion, and he rubbed his hand against his forehead with enough force he could actually feel some of the skin flaking from it. He was so frustrated that he couldn’t even talk. All of the love and adoration that he saw Jackson Fenix receive made him feel sick.

Whilst FWA World Champion Chris Peacock did not care what the people thought about him, it didn’t mean that he wouldn’t have loved it if the people adored him and supported him. “FUCKING ASSHOLES!”

Chris was seething. Not only was it yet another timeline and yet another defeat, but this one stung him harder than the others for some reason. For almost as long as he could remember, the fans had despised Jackson Fenix. Jackson was the sleazy, immature and cocky weaker cog of The Undisputed Alliance. Jackson never cared about the fans; actively teasing them, belittling them and attacking their heroes.

Now, he shows a shred of humility and he’s all of a sudden the fan favourite to win the FWA World Championship? What is more, that he actually used that support as a way to actually do it in one of these timelines?

“Are you okay, Uncle Chris?” Max asked, concerned for his uncle’s feelings. “Look, I don’t know what you saw in there, but it is going to be okay. It is just one of infinite possibilities.”

“I saw… I saw what I used to think I needed. I just wanted people to like me, man. I didn’t ask for any of this. It is fucking bullshit that Jackson fucking Fenix can just decide he’s not a total dickhead anymore and those fucks in the crowd - those SHEEP - just go along with it. I don’t want to be one of those “you people” guys, but holy shit that one sucked.”

As Chris attempted to prevent a tear falling from his eye, he shook his head. “It got to a point where I decided that I have to focus on myself and what I need and what I want. Trying to appeal to the people is a waste of time. So if Jackson Fenix wants to waste his time doing that, he can be my fucking guest.”

Does Jackson Fenix have what Chris knows it takes to be the one? Well, whilst it must feel great for Jackson that he has a bit of fan support for once in his career, what he probably doesn’t realise is the regret that he should have been feeling. As soon as Jackson started being the ‘Nice’ to Nate Savage’s ‘Nasty’, his fortunes started to turn around. The question that bounced around Chris’s head was “What took him so long?”

The Undisputed Alliance have not held the FWA World Tag Team Championships in almost four years. Their only gold in the interim was Nate’s brief run with the X Championship which preceded Alyster Black’s record-breaking run. So Jackson Fenix allowed himself to endure almost four years of title poverty before he decided to actually do something about it.

“That’s not what a champion does.” Chris said to himself, realising that Fenix was only making this push because of the people now supporting him. “A real champion - me - doesn’t give a flying fuck what people think as long as he has that belt around his waist. It’s been a long time since Jackson felt that sensation so I don’t blame him for forgetting. He allowed himself to play second fiddle to the fucking first reserve fiddle player watching from the side of the stage.”

“How shit of a friend is Nate Savage as well? Holding him back like that? Allowing that creepy bastard Best to sink his claws into him? I wouldn’t let something like that happen to Alyster, nor him me. In fact, if I rolled his die again now, we’ll probably see Alyster, if that’s how this thing is working by going through it one prick at a time. You’ll see, Alyster won’t fuck me over, he’s happy as long as one of us is the champion.”

Despite what he was saying, there was a clear lack of conviction in Chris’s voice. Chris knew he was speaking a falsehood, and Max did, too. Chris paused as he shuffled the die around in his hand a few times and then flicked it onto the desk. It showed SIX.

Christopher of Lynbrook was enjoying his life. His golden sword remained in his possession, and it was hung carefully and proudly above the fire in the house that he shared with no one. Despite his living situation suggesting a life of solitude, he was actually not alone. Because as well as the golden sword, Christopher owned another trinket in the form of the golden necklace he wore around his neck. His closest friend and ally Akyster Black possessed the other and despite attempts to disparage their pairing and create friction, they were as strong as ever.

It was with Alyster that Christopher entered his house on this particular day. Seeing it every day, the golden sword whilst precious to him did not draw much allure. The same cannot be said for Christopher’s partner in crime, though. Alyster was immediately fixated on the sword above the fireplace. It is a sword he has had claim to before and he listened closely with his eyes shut to see whether it was still calling to him after all this time. It did not.

Alyster’s fawning over the sword was unnoticed by Christopher, who was busy removing his shoes and then went about preparing something for them to eat together. “Eggs, Alyster?”

“That sounds great.”

There were two reasons that Christopher immediately had reason to wonder what Alyster’s true intentions were. Not only was he visibly paying little attention to what was being spoken to him, but his pride and stubbornness would usually not allow Christopher to prepare the food for the due when together. The fact that Alyster would relinquish small control even for something like breakfast, signified that he was not properly paying attention.

“Alyster!” Chris called, not long before Black jumped out of his daydream where he imagined himself once again holding the golden sword and defeating enemies with it. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on? You’re not taking your eyes off of that sword.”

No answer and both partners then spent some time not talking to each other and doing their own things. Black decided that it would be best if he decided to just go for a walk, and Christopher decided that he would join him for this escapade. The two walked through the nearby forest without any real incident, however they found themselves at the edge of a cliff and it was clear to both that one of them was going to be taking a dive from the cliff.

It was something that neither of them wanted or actually felt comfortable talking to each other about. Whilst as partners working together they could and had taken down multiple targets at the same time and even faced the same adversaries together more than once and still won each time. Despite all of that, only one of them could be recognised as the greatest champion in the world and the owner of the sword.

Unsure of when Alyster would want to shove him from the cliff, Christopher looked forwards and closed his eyes. He was expecting to feel one or two hands firmly pressed against his back which shoved him forward, but it did not happen. In fact, despite there being ample opportunity for Black to slay Christopher and take the sword for his own.

Alternatively, Christopher could either attempt to counter an attempt to throw him over the edge and make sure that Alyster was permanently out of the picture. However in doing so, he would break their bond potentially irreparably.

The truth was, neither of them had the courage to send the other to their demise. Any upcoming battle between them could ruin everything they had built together.

What Chris saw did not come as a surprise to him. Despite how close they have become, and how much adversity they had already overcome as a team, Chris knew that Alyster wanted to be the FWA World Champion more than anything else in the world. If it was any other circumstance, Chris would be wholeheartedly supporting his best friend in this match.

Alas, FTN were set to do battle against each other in the Steel Roulette at the Anniversary Show. It was no secret to Chris or Alyster that many wished for their downfall as a team - purely because there was no one on the horizon who could dethrone them as the FWA World Tag Team Champions - and many believed that the only thing that could cause the crack in the team was the FWA World Championship.

Not Allen Price’s annoying goofiness, Krash’s existence or even the massive egos possessed by both FTN members. It was the fact that only one of them could ever be able to call themselves the best in the world. If they could’ve shared the championship, they probably would’ve, but they couldn’t. There could only be one. Chris had considered that Alyster being in the match with him would work in his favour; FTN would easily be able to work their way through the other four until there were just the two of them left.

It is what would have to come afterwards that Chris had failed to properly appreciate when he volunteered to take weaselperson’s place. Keeping his championship meant destroying his best friend’s dream.

The conundrum played so heavily on Chris’s mind that he had been sat almost catatonically in his seat after his glimpse into the timeline where Alsyter bested him in combat for several minutes. “Uncle Chris, I’m getting kind of worried. Shall I get my dad?”

“No… you don’t have to do that, Max.” Chris said in a quiet tone. “I think… I’ve made a mistake. I’m not sure I have it in me to do this to him, but I know that I have to. I… can’t lose him, though.”

“Alyster?”

Chris nodded.

“Why did you make the match, Uncle Chris?”

This time, Chris did not acknowledge Max’s question. He was becoming slightly irritated that Max was asking him the same question over and over again. However, the gloom hanging over him when confronted with the fact that he would have to dash Alyster’s aspirations prevented him from acting upon his annoyance.

“Look, I don’t know Alyster very well. I don’t know whether to say to you that I think he’ll be happy for you if you walk out of this match as the winner. He might not be. This is really your area of expertise, Uncle Chris, but I think what you need to do is view him like anyone else. You have to.”

A beam of pride for his nephew’s level headedness cut through the dismay that Chris was feeling. “You’re a smart kid. Must be from your mother’s side because there’s no way a Peacock man is going to be able to think with a clear head like that.”

Does Alyster Black have what Chris knows it takes to be the one? Chris felt that this question was easier to answer for Black than it was for any of the others. The obvious answer was yes, as Alyster is the only other person in the match to have been the FWA World Champion. The person he beat to win the title was of course Chris Peacock himself, putting Black as also the only person in the match to hold a victory over the current FWA World Champion.

Chris could feel the pulses of anxiety trying to break through the casing that he had put around them internally. The fact that he had opened up so much to Alyster had equipped his partner with everything that he needed to defeat him. Alyster knew how Chris operated and how he ticked. Forget Truth, forget von Horrowitz… this was the biggest threat he had faced. But, even if he forgets Cyrus and Michelle… there was a time when Chris believed those two were going to rip his title away.

He weathered those storms, against all expectations and wishes of those watching. Why should this be any different? Anyway, Alyster may have known all about Chris’s inner workings and how to beat him using them, but it worked both ways.

“I know he has regrets about what happened last time he was the champion. Losing to Devin hit him like a fucking train. That’s not how it was supposed to go down but luckily I was there to put that crazy bastard out to pasture.” Chris slowly nodded his head as he rationalised his thoughts. “Everyone is saying that I’m the one that’s skipped the curse that has been over that title for the last few years. It got Alyster, Max. I may not feel great and maybe even a bit nervous about facing him, but I know he feels the same about me. Even if he won’t admit it, deep down he knows that I’m someone who knows what they’re doing. He knows I am the one standing in his way.”

“I’m not the same guy who he beat in that Battle Royal, either. That Chris Peacock - not a different timeline, but me - didn’t properly appreciate what it means to be at the top. That was me with my insurance policy still intact. So, sure, we can sweep through the competition together, but when it comes down to just me and him… I’ll do everything that I have to do to beat him.”

Chris cast his eye to the clock on the wall above the desk and realised that he had been viewing all of the other timelines and talking to Max for over two hours. “I should probably get going, Max… and you need to go to sleep.”

“Wait… aren’t you going to roll again? You’ve been through scenarios where all five of your opponents win. You’ve gotta think this last one will have you winning?”

“Max, it doesn’t matter what happens in those timelines or dimensions. What matters to me is this one that we’re in right now. This is the one where I win. That’s all I need to know.”

“Uncle Chris… before you go?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you tell me why? Why did you enter yourself into this match in the first place?”

Chris placed a comforting hand on Max’s shoulder and then got up to leave. “Why don’t you roll that thing again? Maybe you’ll go to a universe where I have to explain myself to you.”

The two shared a knowing laugh and Chris left the bedroom, feeling just as confident about his chances of victory in the Steel Roulette as he did when he entered it, now that he had had an opportunity to consider and dissect each of his scheduled opponents.

Once Chris had gently closed the door behind him, Max turned back to his desk and looked at the die. “Maybe he was right?”

The younger Peacock put the headset on and rolled the die, and it landed on a FOUR.

Chris Peacock whistled as the EE compound burned behind him following the explosion he had caused after clearing it of all of the traitors and conspirators that lived there. He had never felt so alive; the greatest bounty hunter alive.

In the following months and years, everything went to plan for Chris. He expanded his farm and was able to offer more produce to the local population. One such newly-grown vegetable was carrots. It was tending to his carrots that Chris met his untimely end which no one expected to see.

Chris hunched over the carrot patch as he pulled one out… and from this position it was easy to shoot him from behind in the head. The victim slumped to the ground, dead, and Randy Ramon - famous outlaw - stood over him.

Chris’s shoes slapped down onto the pavement on the deserted street and the noise bounced off of the nearby buildings. It did not dawn on him that he had been called to his brother’s apartment to check on his nephew and in actuality he had spent over two hours talking about himself and his own problems heading into his third defence of the FWA World Championship.

Assessing each of his opponents in turn was a useful exercise, Chris felt. Because in doing so, he was able to answer an important question.

Does Chris Peacock have what Chris knows it takes to be the one?

The answer, of course, is absolutely he does.

Chris Peacock has learned to win when it matters.

Chris Peacock has learned to break through the glass ceiling.

Chris Peacock has learned to stand on his own two feet.

Chris Peacock has learned to appeal to himself, not others.

Chris Peacock has learned to deal with pressure.

Chaos controls so much in our lives. The only way for one to use that to their advantage is to become the constant. I think you are all starting to understand what that constant is.

Chris Peacock wins.

As Chris walked home, he passed an apartment where the lights were still on and suddenly a loud electric guitar riff filled the air, causing him a sudden - but painful - fright.

BattleTank · Aug 28, 2023

|| VOLUME II || CHAPTER II ||

|| 1 || BROKEN || JANUARY 2023 ||

“I'm gonna make a change
For once in my life
It's gonna feel real good
Gonna make a difference
Gonna make it right”

We cut into a dark, cold, Badlands winter afternoon. The once-luscious green trees are bare down to the branches. A cold, eerier wind whips across the Badlands Trailer Park.

A slowed down, monotone, sad beat from “Man in the Mirror” by Michael Jackson plays as we head towards “The Showman” Chris Crowe’s double-wide trailer. The once vibrant front yard is filled with debris. A tire sits at the foot of the front steps. Boxes are piled up on the side of the porch where raccoons, possum, and every other living critter have now called home. Off in the distance we two distinct sounds- grunting, followed by glass shattering…

“A summer's disregard
A broken bottle top
And a one man's soul
They follow each other on the wind ya know
'Cause they got nowhere to go
That's why I want you to know”

We head to the side of the trailer where we see Chris Crowe- decked out in a black Champion crew neck sweatshirt, black Nike sweatpants, and black Air Force Ones- wielding a sledgehammer. He is hammering away on a mirror. From the side, we see Crowe’s best friend and manager, Crazy Harry. Harry has on the same outfit as Crowe, except in all red. Harry is hauling another mirror from inside the trailer out to the side for Crowe to smash. Harry places the mirror down as Crowe winds up, grunting. He smashes the sledgehammer through the mirror as the glass shatters into a million pieces…

“I'm starting with the man in the mirror
I'm asking him to change his ways
And no message could've been any clearer
If they wanna make the world a better place
Take a look at yourself and then make a change”

Harry hauls out another mirror, which begs the question- how many mirrors can these two fit inside a very small one-story trailer? Nevertheless, Harry places down the next mirror as Crowe grows angrier with each mirror Harry lugs outside. Crowe, anger very present across his untrimmed face, wields the sledgehammer like he is at battle as he slices through the glass. We look deep into “The Showman’s” face as blood begins to trickle down underneath his right eye. He wipes the blood from his eye. However, the cut is deep. The wounds are real. His entire face is nearly covered in blood. He wipes back tears- not tears from the pain of glass shattering onto his face- but the pain of life as he knows it.

“Man in the Mirror” slowly begins to fade out as one shard of glass reflects off of Crowe’s face. Blood drips down on the shard of glass as the song quickly cuts out, and everything turns to black…

|| 2 || WAITING || AUGUST 2023 ||

We head to present-day Badlands. In the front yard sits the newly re-instated Chris Crowe and Crazy Harry. Life is finally looking up for the duo, especially after capturing a huge tag team win with their buddy Tommy Bedlam on Fallout. Crowe sits back, wad of Copenhagen Mint tobacco dip lodged in between his cheek and gum, enjoying the nice, unexpected cool breeze that bellows across the Badlands.

Crazy Harry sits next to Crowe in his green lawn chair. Harry takes in the sun as he swigs back on a nice Budweiser.

“I forgot how great a feeling it is when we win…”

Harry says as he takes another big gulp.

“Yeah, it does feel great to be back. And to win our first match back. But it’s just a start. We got bigger things on our mind now. Tommy and I know we’re a force to be reckoned with. Everyone’s gonna take notice very soon…”

Harry goes to toss his empty can of beer at the light post, but instead decides to hand the can of beer to Crowe. Crowe winds back and drills the light post.

“It’s gonna be a great day, Showman! Hey! Speaking of Tommy…he’s supposed to be here soon. Gonna hang with us. Watch some film on XYZ, get in a good lift. Who knows where the night will take us?”

Crowe looks over at Harry who is insinuating something…

“Maybe…maybe… maybe you me and Tommy will flip the switch on some Badlands Baddies?”

Crowe laughs and shakes his head. Up ahead the mailman is walking by. He nods his head as he hands today’s mail to Harry.

“Harry, give me that. Last time you read something we ended up in a circle of fire with a bunch of wacky fucking witches trying to hex our asses.”

Crowe notices a large yellow envelope with the FWA logo stamped on the middle. Crowe quickly opens it and begins to read it.

“It’s our itinerary. We’re booked on the 18th Anniversary Show…against Bellatrix Bordeaux.”

“Ah, that other crazy witch that tags along with those other two crazy witches…”

Crowe laughs at Harry’s method of piecing the puzzle of life together…

“Yes, Harry. That’s her. She’s just as tough as The Coven. Fuck, man. I thought my performance on Fallout would lead to something with Baxter for that fucking title I never lost…”

Crowe grows angry, but a simple pat on the shoulder from Harry quickly eases him-the pat, and probably the 50 mg’s of nicotine lodged in his mouth at the moment.

“Baby steps. Remember, we just stopped showing up. We gotta be grateful that they even called us back.”

Harry says, trying to get Crowe focused on what’s right in front of him at the moment- Bellatrix Bordeaux at the Anniversary Show- and not the North American Championship…

“So, where we headed this time? Back to Jamaica? Maybe the Moon? Mars? You never know with these FWA heads, if there is plant life and a landing strip, they book it.”

Crowe flips the page to find their plane tickets. Crowe begins to read the destination…

“Barbados…”

Harry places his freshly cracked can of Budweiser down and instantly looks over at Crowe…

“Fucking Barbados? Are you kidding me?”

Crowe laughs as the two share a high five…

“Barbados! We’re finally getting our chance to go to Barbados!”

Harry is more than excited for the news…

“Barbados- a fucking unexpected adventure!”

After the high wears off from the news that the two will be going to Barbados, you might be wondering why all the commotion about some island nobody can find on a map?

“Well, Tommy should be here soon. Let’s enjoy this breeze before we crush some fucking weights!”

Harry shouts. Crowe kicks back, face into the sun, shaking his head. The two wait around for Tommy Bedlam to arrive…

We’re about to head down the rabbit hole and find out what the commotion over Barbados is all about…

|| 3 || BARBADOS || JANUARY 2023 ||

We cut back to the same scene as before. A bone-dry, barren winter’s day in the Badlands. The mirrors have all been crushed. Glass mounts in a pile on the side of “The Showman” Chris Crowe’s trailer. A light trickle of snow begins to form as it sticks to the glass. The mailman walks by and delivers today’s mail on the front porch. He would put it in the mailbox, but Crowe smashed that with the sledgehammer, too.

We zoom in onto the mail, which is just a heap of bills with the word “OVERDUE” in big red letters on each one. Crowe and Harry are in quite the slump at the moment. They’re a full six months removed from being seen on FWA television. The past few months have been a very trying time for the two. However, no matter how tough the times are, Crowe and Harry are still sticking together. In fact, they’re bond is stronger now than it was while they were making over $50,000 per month.

Deep inside the house, Crowe and Harry sit on the couch, watching television. Piles of pizza boxes, empty TV-Dinner trays, and a minefield of beer cans cover the floor.

“I tell you what, Harry. I’m this close to smashing that fucking television…”

Crowe says from his spot on the couch. Harry, in his recliner, looks over at Crowe with a sad look on his face.

“How is it today? Still as bad as yesterday?”

Crowe shakes his head as he spits his tobacco juice out onto the already stained rug.

“We don’t even have any mirrors left for me to fucking smash. But I see it in every reflection. When the sun hits that window just right, I see it.”

Harry shakes his head, feeling sorry for “The Showman”. He wraps himself up in a blanket as each man can see their breath as they speak.

“Well, please don’t smash that fucking window. It’s cold enough in here. We haven’t paid the heat bill all winter.”

Crowe flips through the channels, but there aren’t many left to flip through. They haven’t paid the cable bill in quite some time, and they are now subjected to basic cable. In the middle of January with absolutely nothing on television, Crowe finds himself wondering why he is even flipping through the same seven channels in the first place.

“Fuck it, I’m gonna close my eyes. Whenever I stop flipping, that’s what we’re watching.”

Crowe closes his eyes, flips through the channels a few more times then throws the remote at the wall. His frustration is clear, his intentions are true. Every single second of every single day Crowe has the anger of a caged animal. Any chance he gets to let those frustrations out, he takes. He looks over at Harry, and a pit of sadness fills his soul. His best friend is hanging on by a thread, and Crowe feels responsible.

Harry never complains, he just rolls with the punches. That’s what street kids like Crowe and Harry are used to. Shit after shit, day in and day out. No light at the end of the tunnel. Exist until you die.

After the existential crisis of life passes through Crowe, he and Harry both find themselves watching the television. A gorgeous blonde woman in a scantily-clad bikini jogs on the beach.

“BARBADOS!”

She whispers. Next, she is seen sprawled out on a beach chair, clear blue water at her feet.

“BARBADOS!”

She whispers once more. The final scene is her getting a massage, pampered to the fullest.

“BARBADOS!”

“Barbados! Come check out the diamond in the rough. Once you come, you’ll never want to leave. Barbados- an unexpected adventure!”

Crowe and Harry look at each other after the commercial ends, and The Price is Right returns from commercial break.

“What the fuck are we doing in this cold-ass hell hole? Let’s fucking go to Barbados!”

Crowe shouts, knowing that he has to save Harry from cracking at this exact moment. Harry’s eyes light up at Crowe’s words…

“Let’s fucking go to Barbados!”

“We gotta go pack our shit. I’ll drive to the airport. We’ll figure out the rest when we get there!”

Crowe and Harry head into their respective bedrooms to pack. They’re about to embark on an impulsive trip to Barbados…

|| 4 || INSUFFICIENT FUNDS || JANUARY 2023 ||

“King Nothing” by Metallica blasts in “The Showman” Chris Crowe’s beat down pickup truck. He and Harry have a jolt of confidence and excitement they haven’t felt since they were in the FWA. They pull up to the airport parking garage.

“Well, here goes nothing. You pumped?”

Crowe asks Harry, who can’t hold back his excitement.

“BARBADOS MOTHER FUCKER! HERE WE COME!”

Crowe and Harry grab their luggage as they begin to walk through the airport doors.

“You think that Blonde from the commercial will be there to greet us?”

Harry says as he struggles to carry his luggage and keep up with Crowe.

“I’m sure there is more than one blonde waiting for us in Barbados…”

Crowe continues to hype the trip- although there is one slight problem- Crowe never booked a trip. He went on a whim to drive to the airport, hopefully catch a flight to Miami and then figure out the rest from there. He doesn’t even know of any hotels in Barbados. His plan is to just get there first. He knows he can’t let Harry down right now. His hopes are sky high, and Crowe doesn’t want to shit on his parade of excitement. The look of excitement in Harry’s eyes for the first time since last July is a bittersweet feeling for Crowe. He is happy he saw that look once again, but the anxiety of not pulling through on this trip weighs heavily on Crowe.

“Here, park your shit on that bench. I’m gonna go up to the ticket booth.”

Crowe says to Harry. Harry happily sits down on the closest bench. Crowe walks up to the ticket booth.

“Two tickets for Barbados. Any connecting flight. Any time. Doesn’t matter to me.”

Crowe says to the ticket attendant. She punches her keyboard and then looks up, smiling at Crowe.

“I have two tickets available for the next flight to Miami- which happens to be in about two hours from now! You came at the right time Mr. Crowe!”

Crowe breathes a sigh of relief.

“That’ll be $3,000. How are you paying? Cash, check or card?”

Crowe looks into his wallet and digs out a credit card. He hasn’t used this card since he was on the road with FWA, but is sure that there is still enough on there to cover the flight.

Crowe hands his card to the attendant. She runs it through the card machine. She then runs it through again. Her demeanor changes from happy to confused.

“Hmm, it’s not reading your card. Here, let me try the other way.”

The attendant tries again, but no luck again. She suddenly looks up at Crowe. Crowe slowly begins to realize the inevitable. He begins to panic as a wave of anxiety rushes through his veins. Embarrassment, panic, anger and frustration all balled up into one big shit sandwich he’s about to hear from this flight attendant.

“Mr. Crowe, I’ve figured out the problem. It says insufficient funds. Do you have another card we could try?”

Crowe looks back at Harry, who gives his best friend two thumbs up as he nods his head to the lazy airport music blasting through the speakers.

“No, I don’t. Thank you anyway. I’ll try again some other time.”

Crowe looks back at Harry. All he can form is a half-ass smile as he walks back towards his best friend. Internally, Crowe is sobbing like an infant. He is able to keep a straight face.

“So…any luck?”

“Hell yeah, mother fucker! Two tickets to Miami. That’ll connect us to Barbados.”

“You’re speaking a different language to me, but that all sounds perfect!”

Perfect is hardly the word Crowe would use for this situation right now.

“Hey, I’m gonna go to the bathroom. When I get out, we will figure out where our gate is.”

Crowe begins to head to the nearest bathroom. On his way there, he finds a very attractive woman who has been staring at him since he arrived at the airport. She purposely bumps into “The Showman”.

“Oh, sorry about that. Hi! I’m BB!”

Crowe, never one to pass off an attractive woman, smirks.

“Hi BB, I’m Chris.”

“Oh, I know exactly who you are.”

BB, obviously not her God-given name, looks around suspiciously before pulling Crowe in close.

“Hey, I have a bag of mushrooms. And I’m staying at the hotel across the street. Why don’t we take them, and then go back to my room?”

Quite the proposition for a man who hasn’t left his trailer in over six months. Crowe strokes his chin before smiling back at BB.

“Sure, why the fuck not? But we gotta bring my friend over there.”

BB smirks and winks at Crowe…

“I have a friend for him…”

BB places a plastic bag of hallucinogenic mushrooms into Crowe’s front pocket.

“Take these into the bathroom. I’ll be waiting for you right here.”

Crowe walks to the bathroom, bag of shrooms in tow. He heads to the nearest stall and grabs a handful of them, before tossing them into his mouth. He chomps down and lets out a sigh of relief.

“Well, at least me and Harry are gonna get laid…”

After ingesting the shrooms, he stops for a quick piss before washing his hands. He looks up…and sees a mirror. Crowe doesn’t want to look, but does. He sees the reflection of a failure.

“You stupid motherfucker! Did you really think that a trip to FUCKING BARBADOS was gonna keep me away from you?”

Crowe shakes his head and shouts “NO!” at the top of his lungs at the mirror.

“Shout all you want, you weak, pathetic waste of a human! Smash every fucking mirror in your house, but you can’t hide from me! You can’t hide from the truth! The truth that you let everybody important in your life down!”

“FUCK YOU!”

Crowe shouts at the top of his lungs as he holds his head in his hands, trying to shake his self-conscious in the mirror…

“Fuck me? No! Fuck you! Fuck you for letting us all down! You were supposed to be somebody! Now look at you! Living in the gutter, living a lie. You’re gonna end up killing Harry! It won’t be diabetes! His cause of death is gonna be CHRIS FUCKING CROWE!”

Crowe has heard enough and winds back, smashing his hand through the glass mirror. His hand isn’t enough to stop these thoughts. He winds his head back, and headbutts the glass! Suddenly, everything turns black…

|| 5 || HEX || JANUARY 2023 ||

Crowe wakes up with a pair of shorts and sandals on. He looks up at a big neon green sign that reads:

“BORDEAUX BROTHEL HOUSE”

Crowe is intrigued by the sign and begins to walk towards it. He enters this brothel house and is greeted by two beautiful women. They seduce Crowe with just a look, but that look is enough to get a horned up Showman going.

One woman is a voluptuous brunette with piercing blue eyes. Crowe is a sucker for any type of woman, but a brunette with blue eyes certainly does it for him. The other woman is a smaller blonde, but she has the body of a Goddess. Crowe feels like he just died and went to Heaven…

“Hello, handsome. How can we be of service to you tonight?”

Crowe rubs his hands together.

“Hey. I’m Chris. Nice to meet you.”

Crowe puts out his hand.

“I’m Bella, and this is Trix. Are you interested in our two-for-one special?”

“Depends on how much room you got in your bed…”

The smooth-talking Showman says back. Both women let out a flirtatious laugh and gesture to Crowe to follow them. Crowe happily obliges as they head into the back room. Both women begin to undress as Crowe sprawls out on the comfortable bed.

Crowe can’t help but to notice how soft the sheets on this bed are. He rubs up against the sheets, feeling like his luck is finally turning around.

“So…Bella, Trix, what do you guys wanna get into?”

Before either woman answers, Bella walks up with a credit card machine.

“Business first, pleasure second.”

Crowe hops off the bed and finds his wallet inside his jeans. He takes out his credit card and hands it to Bella.

“Charge me whatever you want. I’m not letting this moment slip by me.”

A gleeful, lustful Crowe says. Bella takes the card and runs it through the machine. She takes it out and puts it back in. Crowe realizes that his maxed-out credit card is going to be the only thing sliding in and out tonight…

“It says insufficient funds. Do you have another form of payment?”

Crowe sadly shakes his head. He then puts his head in his hands, not believing the threesome of his life is going to be ruined by a maxed-out credit card. Suddenly, Trix places her arms around “The Showman”.

“It’s okay, baby. We’ll just have to go to Plan B.”

Crowe looks up at this beautiful blonde, surprised by her words.

“Plan B?”

“Bella, let’s show The Showman a good time!”

Crowe is astonished that Trix just referred to him as “The Showman”. Bella heads over towards a small dresser and pulls out a box. She begins to take apart the box. She pulls out a large bowl, a wand, some type of powder, and a mixing stick. Crowe doesn’t pay attention to Bella as he is still not able to fathom how Trix knew his nickname…

“How’d you know….”

Before Crowe can get out another word, Trix hops on top of Crowe. She places her face real close to Crowe and whispers in his ear…

“I'm gonna cast a spell on you. You're gonna do what I want you to. Mix it up here in my little bowl. Say a few words and you'll lose control. I'm a Hex Girl!”

“What the fuck does that even mean?”

Crowe’s supernatural premonitions and powers begin to fully take over. He tosses Trix off of him.

“You'll feel the fog, as I cloud your mind. You'll get dizzy when I make the sign…”

Bella shouts as she begins mixing the powder in the bowl.

“What fucking sign? What the fuck is going on here?!?!?”

Trix jumps back on top of Crowe, this time with a little more force…

“With this little cobweb potion, you'll fall into dark devotion. If you ever lose affection, I can change your whole direction.”

Crowe now knows something is up. He tosses Trix off of him, but she keeps coming back stronger than ever. Suddenly, Crowe loses all feeling and movement in his body. He is one big heap of muscle and flesh that cannot move. Bella and Trix lift Crowe up by his arms and forcefully make him look into the mirror on the side wall.

“I’LL HAUNT YOU FOREVER! YOU’LL NEVER GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU WANNA KNOW WHY? BECAUSE I’M YOUR FUCKING CONSCIOUS! YOU CAN’T KILL ME WITHOUT YOUR OWN DEMISE!”

Crowe regains feeling in his body and shouts, tossing Bella and Trix off of him. He looks up at the mirror and his reflection begins to hysterically laugh back at him. He winds back and headbutts the mirror. He immediately fades to black, much like he did in the airport. This time, he wakes up quickly- laying in the comfortable bed-arms and legs tied to the bedposts.

Bella and Trix jump and laugh maniacally in a circle like one of those weird sorority dances, singing at the top of their lungs…

“I'm a Hex Girl! And I'm gonna put a spell on you! We're gonna put a spell on all of you!”

Crowe tries to break free from the bed posts but the twine he is tied with is super-strong and won’t budge. Bella and Trix then morph into ugly witches, dressed in black from head to toe. Bella grabs the bowl that she was mixing before and begins to scoop out whatever fucked up potion she just made. She goes to pour it on Crowe’s chest…

There is commotion in the hallway as suddenly…

TOMMY BEDLAM KICKS THE DOOR DOWN!

“LEAVE MY FUCKING FRIEND ALONE!”

Tommy Bedlam shouts as Bella and Trix in their witch form shift their attention from Crowe to Tommy…

“TOMMY FUCKING BEDLAM!”

Crowe shouts as Bella and Trix begin to circle Crowe’s best friend in the FWA and fellow Deathswitch member…

BUT TOMMY ISN’T ALONE!

CRAZY HARRY IS RIGHT BESIDE HIM!

“HARRY!”

Crowe shouts. Harry stands beside Tommy…

“Harry, let’s fuck these witches up!”

Harry and Tommy scream as they charge Bella and Trix. Tommy quickly kicks Bella in the gut and drills her with a BULLSEYE!

Crazy Harry scuffles with the smaller Trix but it able to pull a fireball out of his ass right into Trix’s eyes!

“C’mon partner, let’s get you the fuck out of here and back to reality.”

Tommy pulls out a hunting knife-because of course he would just so happen to carry a hunting knife with him in Crowe’s hallucinogenic state-and cuts Crowe free from the bed.

Tommy Bedlam and Crazy Harry lift Crowe up and exit the room, as everything begins to slowly fade to black…

|| 6 || THE PRIZE || AUGUST 2023 ||

Ten minutes has passed since Crowe and Harry enjoyed the cool summer breeze. Tommy Bedlam’s pickup truck can be seen off in the distance. He pulls up in front of Crowe’s trailer and hops out.

“You guys live too fucking far away. My legs, feet, hell, even my ass are asleep. I HATE long car rides!”

Tommy heads over as Crowe and Harry get up from their lawn chairs to greet their good friend.

“Tommy fuckin’ Bedlam, how the hell are ya?”

Crowe says as the two share a handshake bro hug. Harry loves Tommy and gives him full on hug.

“So, fellas. What’s in store for us? I know you got some of them Badlands Baddies around here somewhere we can flip the switch on, right?”

Harry looks at Crowe who shakes his head, laughing. Tommy pulls up a seat and sits down next to Crowe and Harry in the front yard. A third chair is very rare for Crowe and Harry, as they don’t let many people inside their circle, but Tommy sitting in the front yard with them just seems natural…

“Anniversary Show. Big match against XYZ! You ready?”

Harry asks Tommy, who cracks open a beer.

“I’m always ready. I’m also really looking forward to Barbados. I heard that place is like paradise…”

Crowe looks over at Harry as the two share a laugh.

“What’s so funny about Barbados?”

Crowe looks at Harry again and the two nod, knowing they can tell Tommy the crazy store.

“Well, there was this one time. Back in January. Me and Harry wanted to go to Barbados…”

Tommy sips his beer, intrigued as to where this story is going…

“And…let’s just say I ended up taking too many shrooms…and…I ended up passed out on the bathroom floor after smashing my head through a mirror…and then ended up in jail for the night after I woke up...”

Tommy lets out a belly laugh…

“So, you never made it to Barbados after all?”

“Nope. But I did have one hell of a fucking trip.”

Crowe crushes his last beer as Harry motions over to Tommy to follow them towards the weight bench on the side of the trailer.

“C’mon Tommy, let’s go crush some fucking weights. We’ll make a Badlands Beast out of you in no time!”

The trio head towards the side of the trailer. A car slowly passes by the trio, blasting “HEX GIRL” by The Hex Girls. Crowe stops dead in his tracks, and looks back at the car, which quickly drives off. Crowe looks up at the sky, shaking his head, letting out a laugh. He reaches into his pocket and tightly holds his lucky gold coin, knowing full well that he can lose it all in the blink of an eye if he doesn’t keep his eye on the prize…

And right now, the prize is beating Bellatrix Bordeaux at the 18th Anniversary Show…

And “The Showman” has never been more laser-focused and dead-locked on a prize before…

Doc Sulliday · Aug 28, 2023

Guilt.

That is the feeling that Kleio has felt since Back in Business XVII. In fact, it's been a feeling that has been hanging over her head since before that night. The road to Back in Business was different for Kleio this time around. She reminisced on her first match at the big one. She defeated fellow rookie and Ground Zero teammate Lizzie Rose at Back in Business XV. The feeling Kleio had that night was not guilt, in fact, quite the opposite. She had humiliated Lizzie, but she had proven that she was the better wrestler from Team Gabrielle. She was on top of the world that night, and highly touted as one of the greatest young stars in the FWA. Most media outlets had predicted she would be a World Champion by the end of that year. Even she predicted it.

That was two years ago.

Following that match at Back in Business XV, it was all downhill for Kleio. She recalled the feeling she had felt at Back In Business XVI. The one where she lost to XYZ. A feeling of defeat, exhaustion, and shame. She picked a fight with XYZ, and then she lost. It would have been one thing if that was just a bump in the road, but here we are now a year after that...two years since she defeated Lizzie Rose at Back in Business XV, and where is Kleio now?

This road to Back In Business she was not preparing to fight Lizzie Rose, or XYZ, or anyone in fact. No, she was preparing three others instead. And yet instead of the pride she felt at Back in Business XV or the shame she felt at Back in Business XVI, she felt guilt. And for some reason, that guilt feeling was the worst of all. There she was the leader of this stable, the leader of these young women, the leader of people who looked up to her...and she was rooting against them.

She would never say it out loud. But going into Back in Business XVII, watching the Trios Championships on the line, seeing The Coven compete for it...all from the sideline? Kleio wanted them to lose. Kleio wanted all of them to lose. And when they won, Kleio didn't feel that sense of pride. She didn't even feel guilt at that moment. She felt jealousy and hatred. She wanted to be there, she wanted to be a champion. And now here she is, nearing the three-year anniversary of her debut, and she has still yet to win a single championship in the FWA.

Now she sits in the parlor of Knockdrin Castle. Trixie, Blair, and Celestia are off who knows where. Maybe filming an episode of Ground Zero, another thing she's been left out of, or maybe they're preparing to defend their belts at Lights Out. All Kleio knows is that she is not there. It's just her...and Grandma Ethel. Kleio stared over at Ethel, who is sitting in her chair and watching TV. She should be preparing for her triple-threat match, but all she can do is wallow in the guilt and jealousy she's feeling.

Ethel seemed to notice her, as she turned her decaying old face over at her.

"Yes, deary?" Grandma Ethel asked her. Grandmas had a sense of knowing when something was wrong, and Ethel was no different. Kleio seemed to be caught off guard. She was still stirring in her thoughts when Ethel interrupted her. Jeopardy played in the background as Kleio struggled to articulate what she was feeling. Should she admit her feelings out loud? Would Ethel even understand? No, it wasn't the right time. Instead, she decided to play it off.

"I'm just...trying to figure out how I'm going to win this match. It's a big one Ethel. If I win, I'm fighting for the Television Championship. I have to win..." Kleio said, completely burying the actual reason for why she is distracted. Ethel smacked her old lips and nodded her head.

Ethel went on "Well hun...I used to be a wrestler myself back in the day you know? There's plenty of things you can to do get ready for a match...you could watch tape on your opponents, you could go to the gym, you could meditate even..." Ethel started to drift off mid-conversation and then stared back at the TV leaving Kleio confused.

Suddenly, Ethel snapped back into it. "But you're not just a wrestler are you?" she says to Kleio with a sly smile and then looks back at her TV. "No, you're a witch. And witches do things differently. I mean, did those three girls of yours win those Trios Championships all by themselves? No, they had to go trekking in the jungle looking for some special artifact. Do you want to know why they're having more success than you? It's because they use every potion, spell, and ritual they can to get ahead. It's high time you, the Witch Queen, start doing the same" Ethel says to her coldly.

Kleio looks at Ethel shocked. She had never seen this side of her before, but she was absolutely right. The rest of The Coven has been using the magic to their advantage. Kleio had been so focused on trying to keep them under control, that she hadn't used magic herself.

"But how Ethel? I mean, what do you suggest? Do you know any spells or potions that guarantee I get the win?" Kleio asks the older witch.

Ethel chuckles. and looks back at her TV once more before responding. "You want to get ahead? This title...what did you say it was called again?" Ethel asks the younger witch.

"The Television Championship" Kleio tells her.

Ethel lets out a loud witch-like cackle, one that nearly startles Kleio. She looks again at the TV, and says as sly as a fox "Then...perhaps you know where you'll find the answers you're looking for".

With that, Ethel snaps her fingers.

Kleio had no idea what was going on. One minute she was in the parlor with Ethel, and the next everything started spinning around her. She placed her arm up over her head. "Ethel put me in the middle of a blizzard!" Kleio shouted out. All she could see was white snow all around her. And a loud static sound. She thought she was losing her hearing!

Suddenly, she began to see giant numbers in front of her.

In fact, they were the only thing she could see!

Kleio had no choice. She had to brace ahead and aim for the numbers.

She saw a giant 22 and went straight towards it.

Suddenly she found herself twisted and turning all over again. The snow started to dissipate, and with it the static went too.

Kleio couldn't believe it. As everything cleared up, she found herself not in her castle's parlor...

...but on a beach instead!

Kleio, knees deep in the sand, got up and looked around her. She couldn't tell where she was. Fiji maybe? It definitely wasn't Dublin. Did Ethel send her to Barbados?

The ocean washed up onto her feet as she turned around and looked up the beach.

She could see a shelter of some sort, and a fire...people! She started to run towards them, and that's when she saw it.

A giant logo in the sky.
.

As soon as the music stopped playing, Kleio could hear a giant voice coming from the sky.

"Last time, on Survivor" Host Jeff Probst could be heard saying.

"Kleio formed an all-women's alliance called The Coven, and took control of the game. But with three of the four members of The Coven alliance finding immunity idols, Kleio is feeling on the outside. With just 7 players remaining, who will make the moves to outwit, outplay, and outlast the other castaways?" the voice boomed from the sky.

Her thoughts were a tangled mess, like a spider's web in a hurricane as she tried to make sense of what was going on.

To her relief, she saw Blair and Celestia begin to walk up to her.

"What the hell is going on guys?" she asked them. Blair nodded her head, as if she understood what Kleio was saying.

"I have no idea, but I don't like what they're planning...no worries, we still have the numbers. Venny may have won individual immunity, but we can still vote Al off the island. Just don't trust anything they say" Blair said, only confusing Kleio further. Celestia nodded at Blair, and added in. "Yeah, I mean we have the vote here. Me, Blair, you Kleio...and Trixie. It's just the two of them. They're outnumbered. If The Coven sticks together, we can just pick them off. We'll get Al this vote, and vote Venny off at the next vote simple as that."

It was at that moment that it all started to click for Kleio. She was on Survivor! But how was this possible? Survivor was a TV. Did Ethel...send her into the TV? But why were Blair and Celestia here? None of it made any sense.

Trixie joins in with the group. "Hey guys! Have you ever tried to eat a coconut without peeling the skin off first? It's really good!" she says excitedly. Blair rolls her eyes and motions for the group to head back to camp.

Kleio began to conclude that playing along with whatever was going on right now may be her best angle. Ethel did say that this was the way to win the Television Championship. Maybe she has to get Venny and Al voted off, and became the Sole Survivor! Well that should be no problem, according to Blair they apparently had the numbers.

After some time, Kleio decided to go fetch water from the camp's well. While she was doing so, she was approached by Venny. "I've got nothing to say to you" Kleio told him with a smile, enjoying the game she was playing. Venny shook off her cold response and instead tried to rationalize with her.

"Look, I'm only coming to you with this because I like you a lot more than Blair..." he said. Kleio's eyebrows raised, what was Venny trying? And why should she trust him? She let him continue on anyway, at the very least she could laugh about his desperate attempt to make a play and save Al here. "But Blair came to me about blindsiding you tonight at Tribal Council. She said now was the time to do it, and that you're the weakest member of the group" he finished.

Kleio looked on skeptical. Would Blair really say this?

Of course Venny would say anything. He has individual immunity, but he's on the chopping block next week after Al is gone.

Kleio decided to shut down his logic with some of her own. "If Blair tried to blindside me, the alliance would fall apart" she said confidently. Venny retorted back quickly "They'll still have the numbers on us, 3 to 2. She knows that now is the perfect time to take a threat out like you. She wants us to vote for you. I think it's because they plan on splitting the votes, just in case you have a hidden immunity idol. But I don't want to, I want you to vote with Al and I. If they split the votes, then the three of us can blindside Blair instead. 3-2-1 or whatever. It can work Kleio".

Kleio thought about it for a moment. Blair definitely would come up with a plan like this, but so would Venny.

"Think about it Kleio. If she was planning on voting Al, like she told you, why would she bother with this scheme? She doesn't need me and Al to think she's voting with us" Venny said.

And Kleio knew he was right. It didn't make sense.

She had two options. Stick with The Coven, and hope they don't blindside her. Or trust Venny, and join him and Al to blindside Blair first. Unfortunately for Kleio she didn't have time to think about it, as they were just getting ready to grab their torches and walk to Tribal Council. The next hour or so was a blur. Kleio had barely been listening to any questions that Jeff was asking during Tribal, and wasn't listening to any of the answers either. But finally, Probst snapped her out of the trance when he asked her a question personally.

"Would you agree Kleio?" he asked.

Kleio didn't know what to say. "Uh, I'm sorry Jeff can you repeat that" she asked him. Probst, looking annoyed, repeated his question again. "Would you agree with Blair, that the tribe as a whole is looking to vote out someone who's weak, as opposed to someone who is a threat to win the game?" Jeff asks again.

Kleio doesn't know how to answer. Did Blair really say that? Did Blair think Kleio was the weakest member of the tribe? No, no surely it's Al right? I mean he's the most inexperienced out of all of them. He's got the least accomplished. Or was it Kleio? I mean out of everyone in her alliance, Kleio was the one who hadn't won an immunity challenge. Kleio was the one with no hidden immunity idols. Even though Kleio formed the alliance, it seemed like Blair has all the control!

Blair must be talking about her.

Kleio doesn't have a choice. She has to side with Venny and Al. She has to take out Blair before she takes out her.

But before Kleio can answer Jeff, Blair answers instead.

"Well Jeff, I think out of anything...loyalty is the most important. Especially being loyal to the people who got you where you are in this game. Because without them you would've been voted out before the merge. We got where we're at by being a strong alliance".

How dare her!

"Well said Blair. Well then, if nobody else has anything to say...it's time to vote".

One by one the remaining six castaways go to cast their votes. Someone is going home. Blair votes, then Celestia, then Trixie, then Al, then Venny, and finally Kleio.

When Kleio gets up there...she takes her time deciding what to write down, but the camera never shows what she writes,

Jeff Probst then goes to retrieve the urn.

"If anybody has a hidden immunity idol and would like to play it...now would be the time to do so". Everyone looks at Kleio, but she doesn't budge. "I'll read the votes".

Jeff pulls a vote out of the urn.

"Al...that's one vote Al".

And two more.

"Al. That's two votes Al."

"Al. That's three votes Al."

Kleio suddenly realizes...her three Alliance members stuck to the alliance.

Jeff pulls another vote out.

"Blair. That's three votes Al, one vote Blair" he says.

"Blair. That's three votes Al, two votes Blair...one vote left".

Jeff pulls the parcel out of the urn as Kleio begins to panic. The same guilt feeling has returned! Kleio let her jealousy and paranoia get the best of her!

But before Jeff reads the vote, the snowstorm returns! Kleio can't stand to stay on this island for another minute. She runs past Probst and into the snow!

Kleio runs as fast from her mistake as she can.

And a mistake it was. She had made the mistake of listening to the manipulative Venny. Why would Blair betray her? Why would The Coven see her as weak? She is their leader. She's the reason why they have titles in the first place.

Yet here Kleio is, still without a title. No! What is she saying? That was all just a TV show anyway. Survivor is scripted! It's fake. It doesn't matter.

That can't be what Ethel meant for her. She must have gone to the wrong channel.

Kleio tries her best to navigate through the snow as the high-pitched static rings in her ears. She looks up, and she sees numbers all around her. 24, 101, 47, 69...

She picks one and runs for it as fast as she can! Anything to get away from the last channel. Anything to get away from the guilt.

Kleio emerges through the static and the snow.

She looks around. She definitely is not on an island anymore. Instead, she is now in a kitchen! Surrounded by chaos! There are three other chefs around her, and they're all being watched by some people in the front.

It all started to click.

She was on...

Kleio looked at her table. She already had everything set up for her meals, now she just had to cook it. But she had no idea how to cook anything!

That's when she looked around her. The three other chefs she was in competition against...Blair, Celestia, and Trixie.

"Why couldn't it be Vengador and Blizzard?" Kleio said out loud.

"Hurry up ya fucking donuts!" came a roar from the front of the room. Kleio looked up and realized that it was Gordon Ramsay, and he was warning them all that the clock was winding down.

Kleio started to get into her own head. What is Blair cooking? Probably something evil and devious. Blair was always cooking up some of the nastiest stuff. Not nasty as in gross, but nasty as in evil. Poor Gordon, she might turn him into a frog, just like she did to those poor guys at the hotel. That has always been her strategy. Evil and cunning. It's why Kleio hasn't been able to focus on herself. She's spent so much time and energy controlling Blair. She's usually making sure that Blair doesn't do something unhinged, like poison the entire FWA roster or raise an army of the dead. It has been exhausting keeping her in check.

But then again, Kleio's thoughts began to wander even more, perhaps it was Celestia who was harder to control. Celestia wasn't as evil as Blair, and in a way that is its own issue. Kleio knows that Blair can't be changed, but Celestia always seems like she's teetering between joining her sister and turning a new leaf. She's so easily manipulated, and Kleio always has to worry about whether or not Celestia is on her side or her sister's. She doesn't even realize half the time that Blair treats her like garbage. Although, she's also low-key one of the better of the group...and a great potion maker. If anyone could actually beat her in this competition, it'd be Celestia.

But then there is Trixie. The newbie of the group, or is she? Somehow Trixie is simultaneously the weakest member of the group and the strongest at the same time. She is dumb as a bag of Ethel's kidney stones, yet she's the sole reason why the three of them won the Trios Championships in the first place. And then, Trixie went on to win her match against Sawyer Xavier while Blair and Celestia choked on Fallout.

"That's it. Time is up, time to present your dishes..." Gordon says from the front.

Kleio looks at her table. Somehow she made a dish after all!

Gordon calls the first contestant up "Trixie, you first. Let's go, hurry on now..."

Trixie timidly walks up to the intimidating Gordon Ramsay and presents her dish. It's a bowl of blueish-green liquid, topped with a little leaf garnish.

Gordon stares at it in disgust.

"What is this now?" he asks her as he takes a spoonful and puts it in his mouth.

"Gordon, I made for you...one of my favorite meals...Jolly Rancher Soup"

Gordon spits it out right away.

"Jolly Rancher soup! What is wrong with you? Do I look like a child? What makes you think I would want to have this...atrocity of a dish? Get out of my sight!" he screams at her. Trixie begins to cry as she runs back to her table.

"Alright, who's the next wanker?" he asks coldly. Celestia straightens up, picks up her dish, and walks it up towards Gordon. She confidently places it down right in front of him.

"Hi Gordon...today I made for you a delicacy. It comes from your hometown of London..."

Gordon snaps back at her "I was born in Scotland you IDIOT."

Celestia stumbles for a second, but she shakes it off and keeps going. "It comes from London, and it's been known around the world for almost 30 years. Some refer to this dish as The King of Europe. Others call it The Perfected One. I present to you a dish called Blizzard Béchamel Chicken. It is one of the greatest dishes that you will ever taste, I assure you. When you take a bite of it, you'll know it is a winner".

Gordon looks at Celestia skeptically.

He cuts into the chicken and takes a bite.

"Why did the chicken cross the road?" he asks her.

"Uh...to get to the other side?" Celestia asks confused.

Gordon shouts back "NO...because you didn't fucking COOK it. This chicken is so raw, I don't know what came first, it or the egg. You can't just put an unprepared chicken on a plate and expect it to win Celestia. And this chicken? It's unprepared. It still has feathers that is how unprepared it is.

There's no flavor. You say it's The King of Europe? This thing couldn't even be the Jester of Europe.

The Perfected One? What in the hell has it perfected? Being a loser? Let me tell you, if you present this dish at any competition, it'll lose every single time. At least any competition of mine. It isn't a winning dish, and that's all there is to it. I can't think of one single damn nice thing to say about it. It exists...that's about it. Maybe if you put it back in the oven, get it some experience as a cooked chicken, it could have a chance. But right now this chicken has no experience, it has no flavor, and...and the garnishes? The garnishes are just distracting. They add nothing to the dish. This Quinn Leaf you threw in for example...it just takes away from what is already a boring bland dish. You're overwhelming an already terrible chicken with these Quinn garnishes.

Get it out of here. Please...get it out of my face..."

And with that, Celestia hangs her head and shame and takes the Blizzard Béchamel Chicken away. Blair chuckles at Celestia's failure and picks up her dish to bring up to Gordon. She struts up to the front, her ego showing for all to see, and places the dish right in front of Gordon's face.

"What's this then?" he asks.

"I'm glad you asked, Gordon" Celestia responds. "Today I cooked for you a Vengador Vinaigrette Salmon. Some may say it comes from The Realm of Despair, but really that's just what they call my kitchen. I think you'll find that this fish is one of the greatest you'll ever eat. It's won competitions before, and I have no doubts that it'll blow you as a judge away as well".

Gordon takes a bite of Blair's fish, and spits it out right away.

"Oh my god...this fish is so raw, it's looking for Nemo! This is absolutely terrible...it's even more raw than the chicken I just had" Gordon shouts at her.

Blair doesn't know what to say.

But lucky for her, Gordon has all the words.

"Somehow not only is it raw, but it's dry at the same time. You have to be an exceptionally awful chef to pull that off, Congratulations you donkey. Like, imagine standing in a desert, talking to some random idiot with a pair of stupid goggles on your face, thinking you're Mad Max. Picture how dry that is...that's how dry this disgusting piece of fish is.

Honestly, my Gran could do better...and she's dead!" Gordon shouts.

"I can fix that..." Blair retorts.

"What?" Gordon asks confused. "Oh nothing, continue" Blair chuckles, not being as phased by Gordon's attitude.

"Blair, let me tell you something...there's a reason why you're on that side of the table and I'm on this side. Do you want to know why? It's because I'm the fucking Chef. I'm the leader, I'm the coach, I'm the one who teaches you how to be better. You don't run your little yap at me. Yap yap yap, that's what you do.

Well let me tell ya.

You are a follower.

Do you want to go ahead and challenge your leader to a fight? Do you think you're better? Go ahead, and you'll get embarrassed. It doesn't matter if you had won your little competition. The coach is going to win. And you're going to get embarrassed. Because the truth is, you're not ready.

This fish, can't beat my fish.

You're a follower, Blair. Follow the leaders, and go get out of my sight" Gordon says.

Blair gives him a scowl, then quickly turns her head and stomps away with her disgusting fish.

To describe Kleio as nervous would be an understatement. Gordon had just torn apart the dishes of her three competitors. She can't imagine what he's going to say about hers! She doesn't even remember making it. Nevertheless, she confidently takes her plate up to Gordon Ramsay and presents it to him. She takes a look at it and comes up with a name.

"Gordon...this is uh...the De Santos Picanha. It's a Brazillian dish that I think you're absolutely going to love" she tells him. He stares her down and then cautiously takes a bite of the food.

Suddenly his eyes light up.

He puts the fork down. "Kleio...this is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted. What an amazing dish. Not only is it the most experienced dish that I've been presented with, but it has flavor. Do you know what another word for Flavor is in a dish? Character. I like to think of it like writing a story. Your dish is a character, and when you have a character, you need to develop that character. Out of all the dishes I have tasted tonight, yours is the only one that I can confidently say has truly developed a character. When I take a bite, I can taste the entire background history of what this dish has been through. It's like every story, every moment, has led up to this. It's flavorful, it's cooked perfectly, and it's just amazing overall. And best of all, it's not raw like those other dishes. No it's cooked perfectly. It has experience. You Kleio are not only a winner, but a leader...amazing dish.

Just amazing.

I think I can confidently say who the winner is..."

But before Kleio can hear the answer, she is shocked to see the snow return!

The static in her ear is back too.

"No! No this is the right channel...I beat Blair, Celestia, and Trixie...this is the right channel!"

But suddenly she is engulfed by the snow and static. The channel numbers are all flying towards her now. They're going so fast, she doesn't even know which direction to go. She's no longer picking. Instead, it's almost as if the channels are being chosen for her.

The numbers continue to fly. She dodges a couple that nearly take her head off. Until finally a number 302 comes crashing right into her face!

And yet again, the snow disappears.

Leaving Kleio to figure out where she is now.

With the static gone, Kleio can finally look around. She looks down and finds herself wearing a pants suit. It's very uncharacteristic of her. Her hair is pulled back too. In fact, everyone in the room is dressed pretty nicely.

And one guy is dressed like a judge.

It looks like she's in...a courtroom?

Oh no.

With the opening credits over, Kleio can finally start to scramble to see what's going on. She looks down and finds herself sitting at the prosecutor's table. Over at the defense is a guy in a skull mask and a big dude with long brown hair.

"Oh god, am I supposed to be that bitch prosecutor?" Kleio says out loud.

"Excuse me?" snaps back the Judge.

"Oh, nothing your honor" she quickly says.

Ugh, it's clear what she has to do. She's going to have to prosecute this case. Looking at the two defendants, it should be pretty easy. She has been building a case against them for weeks.

"Are you ready to make your opening statement, Ms. De Santos?" the Judge says.

Kleio stands up and straightens out her Hillary Clinton looking pantsuit. "Yes your honor" she says as she walks over in front of the jury.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. Today I am going to prove to you why the defendants will be found guilty today of their crimes. The crime of not deserving to win the match against me at the FWA's 18th Anniversary Show. Such a match determines who will go on to face for the prestigious FWA Television Championship. I think it's fair to say that any FWA title belt is something that should be hard-earned. And can we truly say that El Vengador or Al Blizzard have put in the work to earn that title?

There is one thing that separates me from them. One thing that makes me more deserving than El Vengador and Al Blizzard both.

Who even is Al Blizzard? What has he done? He's shown up a few times, touting his glories from wrestling federations nobody has heard of, and apparently fought with his brother or father or best friend or whoever. Quite frankly, it's hard to even keep track of. It's like jumping into a TV show, and you've missed the first few seasons. And yet, how does any of this build-up to why Al Blizzard should be a Television Champion?

Meanwhile, El Vengador thinks he is on top of the world. The guy got eliminated on Ground Zero. Then he sneaks back in at the end of the season and gets lucky in the finale. Does that make him deserving of this shot? No, because what does he do after winning Ground Zero? He picks a fight with his Ground Zero coach. Now, I can tell you...as someone who also fought off against my Ground Zero coach Gabrielle Montgomery, it usually doesn't work out well. And it didn't for Vengador. No, Big El got humbled by little Katsu. In fact, Katsu proved that maybe Vengador should have done some time in nGw before coming up to the FWA. Maybe take the lead of the Internet Anti H8 Squad. Why some guy who just debuted a few months ago thinks he deserves a title shot over me? It is direct evidence of a crime.

Because here's the hard truth. The thing that separates me from them? I took the bumps. The falls. No, not just from the beginning of June like Vengador. Or from whenever this year Al Blizzard showed his face. I've been taking the falls for three years! Every since I started my wrestling career, I've gotten pushed down. And every time I got back up, I got pushed down again. I got disqualified from Ground Zero, I got drafted at the very end of the FWA draft, I suffered a near career-ending concussion, I came up just a little bit too short in the King of the Deathmatch tournament not once but TWICE, and then I watched the three girls I mentor go and win titles before me.

But with every single one of those falls I got up stronger.

How many falls have you guys had? You two have not seen real battle. You've not seen real loss. But at the FWA Anniversary Show I can promise you...you'll get to. Because when you knock me down, I'm going to keep getting back up because that's the only thing I know how to do. What do you two know?

Ladies and Gentlemen of the jury...when you go back to deliberations, you have one vote.

Guilty. "

Kleio looks upon the jury.

She can tell by their faces that their minds are made up. The defendants are guilty.

But suddenly the room begins to shift. In one quick spine and screen transition, Kleio now finds herself sitting in the witness box. Another prosecutor standing in front of the jury, and staring her down! Kleio's pantsuit has turned into an orange prison jumpsuit, and her hands are chained and shackled.

"Answer the question Ms. De Santos...are you guilty?" the prosecutor asks her.

Kleio is confused. How could things have turned on her just like this? One minute she was leading the prosecution, now she's the prosecuted. This wasn't fair. "No, I'm not guilty!" she yells.

"Lies! We have a signed confession from you stating that on the night of Back in Business XVII, you were rooting for your friends to lose" she shouts at her.

"No! I trained them...I helped prepare them. I'm the reason they won, why would I be mad about it..." she tries to explain.

"Because you wanted those titles for yourself. You always have. You can't stand the fact that they won a championship, and you still haven't. In three years, you haven't won a thing. You are jealous, and spiteful. And worst of all, you're guilty. Do you think your feelings are unique? Do you think Blair wouldn't be jealous of you if YOU won a championship? She certainly would. But do you think Blair would feel remorse about it? No, because she isn't guilty.

You are.

Guilty.

Guilty.

Guilty!"

Kleio tries to defend herself. "I've got nothing to feel guilty about, they deserved those titles!" she says.

"Oh really? A moment ago you told me you're the reason why they won" the prosecutor says.

"I know what I said" Kleio says under her breath.

The prosecutor responds "I could have the court reporter read it back to you. Answer the question, do you feel guilty about your feelings after the Back in Business match?"

"It doesn't matter anymore" Kleio says.

"Answer the question Kleio..."

"I'll answer...you think you want answers?" she says.

"I think The Coven is entitled to them" the prosecutor says.

"You want answers?"

"I want the truth" the prosecutor shouts.

"YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH! Sister, we live in a world that is built on the very fabric of competition. Every win, loss, or no contest fills our fragile little egos. The same fragile little egos that forced us into this business in the first place. To suggest that someone wouldn't want their underlings to win titles while they're left with nothing is laughable. And it's not just like I had other stuff going on. No, I sat on the sidelines for months while I watched Trixie and the Ravenwood sisters get booked for action left and right. All while I was doing what? Twiddling my damn thumbs?" she says.

"Did you feel guilty after Back in Business?"

"I felt what any-"

"DID YOU FEEL GUILTY AFTER BACK IN BUSINESS?"

"YOU'RE DAMN RIGHT I DID! I didn't want them to win. I admit it, and now it's tearing my up inside. And it's still tearing me goddamn up inside because I STILL am mad that they won. I still am mad that they have titles and I don't. So all the guilt is that's eating me away isn't going to stop, because my anger isn't stopping. It should've been me in that Trios match with Blair and Celestia. I brought Trixie in, I helped her...I set her up for that match...and yet she won a title, and I didn't. I was on the sidelines, I was the one not getting booked. While SHE took my spot. And yet it was all by my design. What am I supposed to feel? Giddy? No. Right now I can't stand to look at any of them. And I hate myself for it".

The prosecutor smirks.

Kleio realizes she finally cracked. She wants to burst into tears, but before she can...the static appears again. This time she doesn't run at it, but it doesn't matter.

It engulfs her anyway.

This time Kleio isn't even walking through the snow. She's just flying...going wherever it wants her to.

She closes her eyes in almost a final relaxed state, feeling somewhat better after her confession. The channel numbers are still flying past her at rapid speeds, but yet she is going faster.

She has become comfortably numb.

When Kleio opens her eyes, she's shocked at where she finds herself.

Perhaps the one place she was looking for the entire time...

With the wrestling ring, thousands of fans...there was no question. She was at the FWA's 18th Anniversary show. It all made sense now. Ethel wanted her here, so she could go ahead and win the match. Her plan was simple, This was a TV show. So she had control of the TV? She'd be able to use that to her advantage and beat Vengador and Blizzard that way.

Everything was going to plan. Kleio excitedly ran through the hallway, she had to make it to the ring.

And then, that's when she saw it...

...the old Fallout logo.

"No...no no no" Kleio says.

She wasn't at the Anniversary Show after all.

No.

She was in a rerun. She quickly grabbed someone backstage, and frantically asked.

"What's the date? Please tell me the date" she said. "Uh...September 3rd..." he said. "WHAT YEAR!" she shouted at him, and he quickly shouted back "2021!" before running off.

Oh god. She was at Fallout 004.

Why did it have to be Fallout 004? Fallout 004 was when everything went downhill. It was her first title match. She fought off against J.J.JAY! who was defending his X Championship against Nate Savage, Kayden Knox, and well..Kleio De Santos. Kleio De Santos was 7-3 going into that one, and she was coming off a huge win against Fallout's number one pick of the draft Krash.

Everything was going great.

Until it wasn't.

That was when the falls all started.

Suddenly, Kleio knew why she was there. She knew what she had to do. Could she run to the ring? Injure Uncle, and ensure Kleio's easy victory over Knox and Savage? Potentially. But no, there was someone else she needed to go see. Someone who played the biggest role in Kleio's downfall.

She ran as fast as she could through the hallways until she found the room she was looking for. She bursted in, and startled the young girl inside.

"Stop...whatever you're thinking. Whatever you're feeling right now...you gotta get over it. I know your mental state isn't in it right now, and you don't have the energy for this. That Shawn Summers loss really tore you down, but I promise you...if you don't pull it together right now, you're going to slide. And you're going to slide far...you have to get it together. You have to win this match! Go out there, beat Uncle, and become an X Champion. None of that Rose Colored Glasses shit! Please..." she pleads with the younger version of herself. But the younger version just smiles back at her.

"You're right Kleio...no more Rose Colored Glasses. But we can't change the past. Only now" she tells herself.

The older Kleio looks on confused, but seems to understand. "I get it...it's what I was saying earlier right? Those losses need to make me who I am?" she asks.

"No. It's not the battles you're in that make you strong Kleio. It's the battles that prove you're strong. But you can't keep carrying that with you. Every scar doesn't need a story. It's time to let it go and move on. This is your chance for a fresh start. A chance...not to start over, but to start again. I think you can return to greatness. Return to the high potential everyone saw you as. But all the regret, all the hate, all the GUILT...you need to let it go..."

And just like that. The younger Kleio fades away.

And so does the walls around her.

This time there is no static.

There is no snow.

Just peace.

Kleio closes her eyes.

And enjoys the moment.

Kleio awakes to find herself back in the parlor of Knockdrin Castle, sitting in the same chair she was in earlier.

She looks around to find Grandma Ethel, also in her chair, snoozing away.

She looks back at the TV, and Jeopordy is still playing in the background. Kleio rubs her eyes, trying to figure out whether all of that was real or not. It didn't matter...it was real enough.

At that moment, for the first time in a long time, Kleio didn't feel angry.

She didn't feel ashamed.

Or exhausted.

Or depressed.

Or jealous.

Or guilty.

She felt relief. Like everything was lifted off her shoulders. Like she wasn't carrying every loss, every fall, every bad thing that has happened to her in her life with her. The chip in her shoulder? It was gone. And now, she finally felt ready to win.

“Ten spears go to battle," he whispered, "and nine shatter. Did the war forge the one that remained? No, Amaran. All the war did was identify the spear that would not break.”

― Brandon Sanderson, Oathbringer

Death Walker · Aug 28, 2023

They said they needed a hero… instead they got… ME!!!

It begins with… a set of arms strapped down to a gurney as well as legs. Looking at what could only be perceived as a pair of cheap white slip-ons on their feet and some muscular dark toned arms. Which from this quick glimpse described a well fit, tall black man. He wore a white linen shirt with matching pants as if he chose to wear this for a purpose… like some type of uniform. In any event, he needed to figure out where he was, who he was and how the fuck did he get here. The black man looks further past his feet to see one of those old mainframe computers which looked like it hadn't worked in centuries. The room that he was in stood at about 10 feet in height, circular, rusted and worn down covered in all kinds of dust and dirt.with a section of the old mainframe computer aligned to some of the arc. As he looks past his head level, he sees a somewhat rusty operating table and a set of large panel windows where this bright orange glow had been spread over everything including himself. To his right, an open but dark doorway that could lead to a possible exit or impending doom. And to his left, a solid and curved steel wall where his gurney had been parked. Now that he had gathered enough information from what he could see, the man was going to break free. He tried to use his arms and legs as he struggled to get out of the tight restraints. As he was trying to make his getaway, he could hear footsteps approaching his location. So he quickly went into incapacitated state with his eyes closed and barely any sign of him breathing. The person gets closer to him, chewing something and that's when he could feel the eyes of this person staring right at him for the moment.

???: “Uhhhhhhhh… whatcha doin’?!?”

The man’s patience had been tested with such a question so the unidentified black man decided to answer back with a question of his own.

The restrained man: “What the fuck… DO IT LOOK LIKE??”

The man opens his eyes and begins to erratically attempt to sit up using his whole body to get all up in the face of this unrecognizable person. Upon trying to hop off of this medical gurney, he sees a young black man with a disheveled appearance as he wore the same attire to what the restrained man had on… down to the white slip-ons. The man stops wasting his energy and tries to make some proper dialogue with the individual who could free him. He sighs before uttering his next words…

The restrained man: “...What's your name, kid?”

Young man: “I’m Whispers, everybody calls me Whispers.”

That's when the man (in restraints) noticed the peculiar behavior of this young man as he spoke with a mouthful of snack bar and had these sporadic jitters like a scared squirrel.

The restrained man: “Hey buddy… Whispers, could you undo these restraints so that we could have a better conversation?”

Whispers: “Sure thing, Mr. Darius Wright, sir. Sure thing.”

Darius Wright: “Wait… what did you call me?”

Whispers repeats the name again while he works as fast as his skittish fingers could go. And as he was working on this, Darius is triggered by some form of recall that helps with his memories.

W: “I caaaaaalled yooooouuuuu… Mr. Darius Wright. Don’tcha ‘member who ya are?! No? Oh… oh well.”

And now he was free… free to sit right up and free to leave this shithole and Whispers or at least he thought. Darius slowly sits up with discomfort as he aches all over different areas of his body. He feels like he's been beaten by bats and clubs on every part of himself. A slight headache rushes across his forehead…

DW: “WHAT THE FUCK?! Ahhhhhh shitttt!”

Whispers just watches with his snack bar hanging from the corner of his mouth just like a cigar. The young man’s eyes are wide as he looks with concern given the awkward state that he's already in.

DW: “Whispers, you got some water around here? Or maybe like… I don't know, like 30 or 40 aspirins and some Cognac? Because these aches… are something by themselves but this headache is like… it's like a goddamn sledgehammer to a concrete slab. Just constant hard pounding over and over and over…”

W: “Water, we got but you must quiet down. The doctor will be up soon from one of his nap and we must not be caught roaming free.”

DW: “MAN FUCK HIM AND FUCK THIS PLACE! Bring me the water.”

W: “Right away, just… just calm down.”

DW: “I am calm! Just bring me that water.”

Frustration is read over the face of a dark hearted man who would invoke fear and pain upon anyone who he saw fit. And as Whispers scurries off for water, he just sits there for a few minutes… with his legs dangling over one of the edges of the gurney. He goes on to think of answers to the questions swirling around his mind as he tries to regain his full consciousness. Darius rubs each of his eyes and drops down to the ground using his right foot to land first. However, something strange happens… which makes him contemplate whether his body has been tampered with or this is his normal routine after waking up. Feeling weak, Darius stumbles a bit before catching himself from falling. He takes his time fixing his hunched up stance while holding onto the gurney. When he finally stands up straight and stretches his arms and legs, he feels a sense of low energy or perhaps the nature of aging. Whispers comes out of the darkened rectangular hole that leads to anywhere but this horrible looking room. Whispers hands over a bottle of water to the weakened older man as he opens it almost immediately. Darius takes some quick gulps and the water replenishes not only his thirst but some of his absent energy. Hunger was the next objective (at some point) but for now he needed to get as many answers as he could from the lively youngster.

DW: “Yooooo Whispers, I need you to answer a few things for me. First of all, where are we? Number two, how did I or we get here? And lastly, why are we here?”

And so the slightly off-kilter scavenger takes a second to think over the rapid questions and maybe his own words to reply back.

W: “Hmmmm… well you see, we've been brought to a private medical institution where repeat offenders and the criminally insane are subjected to monitored imprisonment. The country came up with these new laws and policies that prohibit violent individuals who have shown a less than favorable manner in their everyday lifestyles. So the doctor for this facility was authorized, just like many others, to imprison all of us as his dysfunctional inmates with the possibility of rehabilitation or surgical adjustment. It's really up to whichever way that Doctor Wilson may feel like handling matters. Do you know that he's been renovating this place for the last 5 years and he still can't get a decent snack bar? Hmmm? I mean that's wack as fuck, don't you think? I asked Cat Lady and she was just muttering and muttering and muttering to herself. Do you know she thinks she owns a bunch of cats and they live here with us? HERE?! Man, that's-”

Darius can't take anymore of the annoying rambling so he cuts him off in speech.

DW: “Hey, hey, okay just stop. I think I got enough of the answers… as you gave me part of the ‘where’ and the ‘why’ but how in the fuck could anyone take me anywhere?”

His eager buddy starts shooting off more details to give a full answer.

W: “So what had happened is, they drugged us. Mmm hmmm, yeah! Drugged all of us like we’re some junkies or something and they got permission to just… just… just drug us and shit. Just pumping us full of chemicals and sedatives, all this damn fuck ass shit! I’M TIRED! I’M TIRED OF THESE GODDAMN WALLS! IN THE GODDAMN PRISON! IN THIS GODDAMN UNDISCLOSED LOCATION! Muthafuckas came and snatched me up, damn beasty lookin’ buffoons. I GOT STRIPES, MUTHAFUCKAS!!! I got stripes… like a tiger, I got stripes. Mmmm hmm, got me some stripes. Mmm hmm.”

Wright merely watches the young man unravel before his eyes while hearing his rhetoric. Whispers shakes while staring off into the distance, breathing heavily but doing his best to contain himself.

DW: “Well Whispers, I think it's my cue to go so if you could do me one last favor and point me to the nearest exit.”

W: “Exit??? Man, ain't no damn exits… muthafuckas here will either shoot you down if you try to make a break for it or take your head smooth off. Don't believe me?! I got the shit right here on my phone. Take a look. Look!”

As the agitated man pulls out a damaged cracked screen smartphone, Darius prepares to see how crazy this guy really might be. Whispers scrolls through a cluster of video files and then pulls up a video. But then it dawns on Darius…

DW: “Hey if you got this phone, why haven't you tried to call somebody? Or pin drop this location in a text?”

W: “ Duuuuhh, Darius! You think I haven't tried that? Come on, bruh. I might be a little off but I ain't that far gone. This phone has no way to connect to a satellite or be tracked, and yeah I’ve tried several times. Nothing connects if you try to call, text or use the Internet. But the camera still works, cracked and all. Watch this.”

Whispers presses the play function on the video and it shows a couple of inmates in the same all-white uniforms. The older men yammer about being free as they run their best as they can towards a new modern style wire fence that surrounds an empty yard or lot. One of the men who surveys the fence in front of him, pulls out a tool to use on the steel wires. As soon as he goes to cut the wires, he’s promptly shocked with a strong current of electricity while blue electrical waves flow around the perimeter of the fence. But being determined to make their escape, the man being electrocuted continues to cut at the wires with some of them snapping loose. The other older gentleman is motivating the other to “don't give up!” and “you got this shit, we’re going home soon!” and even “come on, keep going! Almost home, Hank!”. It's really an inspiring scene up until…

the firing of a high caliber rifle goes off and within a split second of the sound of an incoming sniper round followed by another…

One last holler from the man who can't believe what he had to witness in front of his eyes and then he is soon silenced as well. The video ends in the most unsettling way and both viewers remain silent for a while.

DW: “...You know if you had told me that I would have to be in a predicament like this. I’d beat the shit out of you if I wasn't already chewing you out. But this right here gives ‘unfair advantage’ a whole new meaning…”

W: “Yeah um, that's the nurses or orderlies, whatever you choose to refer to them as… they're definitely combat trained, maybe ex-military.”

This is when Darius glances at his reflection in the phone and sees the assortment of gray hairs mixed with his black hair. Both on his head and in his thick matted beard… he was officially old. Tripping over his head, he tries to continue their conversation but at that moment someone could be heard humming and creeping in their direction…

DW: “I… I'm… I’m old and-”

W: “SSSSHHHHH! Be quiet, the doctor’s coming. He’s coming to check on you. I can't be here, I can't. Whispers gotta hide, Whispers gotta make his moves.”

Whispers starts to scuttle off to one of his small passageways but the once known Dark Traveler grips the shoulder of his shirt preventing him.

DW: “Hey where are you going?”

W: “To hide, Whispers must go now. Whispers can't get into any more trouble. Sorry, goodbye. Hiiiiiiide.”

In a lower tone than his normal voice, he pulls away from Darius and disappears into a hole in this room just perfect for his size. Darius however, manages to get back to the gurney…

???: “I know… I did not hear the squeaky sounds of a young boy who loves his snack bars… Did I? Whispers, was that you? Oh Whispers, you're not supposed to be out of your cell. Let alone being absent from your cell block. Do not make me do the irrational action as a professional tormentor and physician. ASSISTANCE! ASSISTANCE PLEASE!”

The doctor’s calm but loud exclaim, alerts a pair of his huge overgrown guards to hastily come to his aid.

Guard #1: “Uh, yeah boss?”

Doctor: “Yeeessssss… I would like for you both to go check on our well behaved, little Whispers. And make sure to report back to me with anything out of the ordinary.”

Guard #1: “Right away, Dr. Wilson.”

The two guards run along to go find Whispers as the doctor makes a slow stroll into the room where Darius was kept. Pretending again to be asleep, Darius just lies there with the straps loosely but unnoticeable tightened.

Dr. Wilson: “Aaaaaahhh ha, one of my best if not the very best specimen to grace my institution. You my friend will be the perfect example of what we have to offer here. Hopefully, it won't take any shock therapy or brain surgery to get you to that point. But I am not opposed to getting my hands dirty and making good use of my medical degrees.”

The doctor with his eyes on a lifeless Darius Wright as he takes his time approaching him.

Dr. W: “You can stop pretending to be knocked out, I know that you're awake and I can see by even the littlest heaving of your chest that you are very much alert. It has been 12 hours and given who you are, you're surely not sleeping your days away.”

Darius thinks fast as he gets ready to reveal that he's at least awake… Then he jumps up, swinging a fast kick in the direction of where he last picked up on the doctor’s voice. However…

the doctor was wiser than expected and was positioned several feet away with a pair of his armed guards by his sides. He unfolds his arms and places his hands on his hips as he watches the failed attempt to run off.

Dr. W: “Would y'all look at this pugnacious asshole trying to kick your boss’s head off? Look at him! Just all riled up and ready… I knew he was gonna be trouble. Um, get a hold of him before he tears up my expensive vintage equipment, please and thank you!”

The guards take their time coming towards the fighter from both sides. Darius positions himself where he can see both guards at the same time. He brings his fists up, prepared to put his boxing skills to work. But as he took his eyes off one of the guards, he’s shot in the hip with a tranquilizer dart… from the doctor.

Dr. W: “You see, to be one on top of his shit… you must expect the unexpected and prepare for the worst. And I, Mr. Wright, have been preparing for quite some time. Take Mr. Wright to his new living quarters and make sure that he doesn't find a way out.”

A drug induced Darius still tries to swing wildly with non-connecting punches and his legs become more frail than they might have been. The guards are now able to approach this tough old man and grab him before he collapses onto the filthy floor. They take an arm each and lift him up, dragging just the tip of his shoes as they carry him out the lab and down the corridors to his assigned cell block. Once they get there, they drag him into a cell and drop him onto his bunk. The guards take the dart from his hip, walk out and return to their employer while the other guards circulate through the entire prison. Then a sudden thump is brought to Darius's ears, only able to turn his head to the wall as the sedative gets all into his system.

???: “Hey pal, don't fight it. Just let it do what it's gonna do. You’ll be much better tomorrow after a hearty breakfast.”

As Darius drifts off into deep peaceful sleep, he swears…

that…

he recognized that voice… zzzzzzzz…

It’s A New Day!! (No, no. Not those beloved goofballs)

Mind racing with all these random voices, some are familiar and others seem vaguely distinct. Darius’s eyes flutter open as he awakens to a new day… BEHIND BARS?!? He sits up real quick and gets up carefully, holding the wall to the right. The rest of the drug wears off upon his blood flow returns to normal. Gripping these new state of the art steel bars to this experimental penitentiary, he achieves his bearings and his neighbor speaks again…

???: “I say hey! How ya doin’ over there?”

DW: “Why do you care? Are you ‘my doctor’?”

???: “hmmm… that's funny.”

DW: “Yeah, I'm a real stand-up comedian. You should see me on Fridays, I get in rare form. Ha!”

???: “No, it's just you have… a very familiar voice.”

DW: “Look, man! It's like I’ve told people before, I’m NOT HIM!!! No matter where I go, everybody comes running up. Talkin’ ‘bout some ‘You’re him! You’re him!’. Who the hell knows what a Michael Jai White is? Back in my day, we called him Michael J. Fox and left it at that. Now muthafuckas wanna run around dropping nicknames and labels on folks.”

???: “You sure you've never been to like… California? Los Angeles?”

DW: “BEEN THERE?! I CAN’T THAT PLACE, every time I think of being there… it makes me… it makes me! IT MAKES ME WANNA VOMIT!!! Those low class, narcissistic, arrogant assholes. Who do they think they are?”

???: “Yeah, you tell ‘em buddy. You tell those uppity jackasses!”

DW: “Mmm hmm, I moved from there a few years back. I couldn't stand claiming that as where I’m from any longer. Got me a nice little place, probably not too far from here. I can only hope- HEY, Wait a minute! You're the one that sounds familiar but I can't for the love of me put the voice with a face.”

???: “...”

There's silence for the remainder of their time in their cells. Darius examines the prison bars, looking for the best ways to get out. He notices that the bars open and close from the above. He then attempts to lift on the bars of the electronically locked cell door. Darius does this for like 20 minutes before calling it quits. He turns to walk away and… the cell door lifts on its own as if he had been granted a wish.

He turns back to the now opened way out of his cell and he steps out cautiously to see a number of guards with their tranquilizer guns drawn. He looks over to his right in anticipation of seeing his neighbor and it's not long before the person comes out of their cell…

???: “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Take it easy, fellas. You’ll all get to admire greatness before you and-”

DW: “I figured it might be you… good ol’ Richard Cross. A man that I despise more than I like. Are you still gonna whine about your family? How's your friend, what-his-face? Or should I ask if you have any friends?”

Richard Cross: “Well at least, I had people who cared about me and supported my efforts. Where's your family and disciples? Where's your mystery man huh? Did he get tired of your attitude problems? Or did he move on to haunt some other little boy? Ooooooohh such a mystery! We all knew who he was and that it was only a matter of time before he would desert you. I’m just glad that struck a nerve with you.”

DW: “Touché, muthafucka, touché.”

And with that brief exchange, Darius's new day got off to a really really bad start. A handful of guards do a routine cell check and then all of them escort the men to breakfast in the cafeteria.

DW: “You know… one of these days, I’m gonna knock you muthafuckas out including you, Richard.”

RC: “Well, it doesn't look like it's gonna be anytime soon, Dusty Traveler.”

DW: “Yeah, fuck you too!”

The guards, two of which can barely fit most of the walkways due to how tall and muscle-bound they are. Each stood at around 6’5” and looked like they each weighed about 350 pounds. Almost like they had been recruited from a body builder competition as their security guard uniforms were ready to rip if they broke wind, genuine descriptions of brick walls. It was as if these men were clones as they resembled one another in some character and facial traits. After having to push both men in the direction to the cafeteria most of the journey there as they bickered, both Darius and Richard entered an absolutely spotless dining area. They look around and see that they're not alone. The doctor had some other guests with him that weren't guards…

Dr. W: “I’m sure you both will recognize your cohorts sitting here at these tables. So that means there are no introductions needed, you may have a seat.”

Scanning the room, over the known faces that had also gotten older like Darius. He shines a smirk and nods at the others who now see who he and Richard are. Their eyes get big with some surprise since the last time they worked together. Everybody stares towards Darius as he stares right back and Whispers comes over and sits next to his new pal.

Dr. W: “Some of you know why you're here, some of you know why you're REALLY here for… I’d advise you all to enjoy this exquisite spread of breakfast favorites. And when you all are done, you will be escorted back to your comfy cells until later today. But for right now, enjoy!”

The doctor claps his hands one loud time to make sure his last words got through to the inmates. However, this doesn't prevent the hard stares they're giving each other. There are guards blocking the doorway after the doctor makes his exit and four of them at every corner of the cafeteria. Another four guards walk to each cluster of inmates, poking them with their weapons and insisting that they get up to grab something for breakfast. A few of them get up and make their way over to the serving station but haven't quite stopped their staring. The last ones to get up as some fuss and grumble with the aggressive treatment.

???: “Hey! Do you mind watching where you point those things? You don't want to pop off… prematurely! Ha ha.”

???: “Yeah, premature ejacu-”

???: “Whoooaaa, I think that these good men get the reference.”

One of the most arrogant makes himself not only heard but seen too. Along with his tag along compadre, they keep eyes on Darius and Whispers as they get in line behind them.

???: “And here I stand… in front of everyone, ahead of everyone. Some things never change, I guess.”

???: “Yeah, never change like… like… uhhh, like… wait a minute. LIKE DRIVING DOWN A DEAD END STREET! YEAH, HA!”

???: “Wait… what do you mean?”

???: “Because no matter what, you gotta turn yourself around to leave.”

???: “You know what… oddly enough, that makes sense. Hmmm…”

The same obnoxious fools shuffle from one food item to the next, collecting what they choose to consume today. As the other QUIET inmates do the same but keep their thoughts to themselves instead of saying them out loud. Darius and Whispers are finally the last to fill up their trays with what they want. While fixing their meals, these two have their own non-disruptive conversation…

DW: “I know every last one of these fuckers… some more than others but yeah I know them.”

W: “Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout DW?! You know… uh. Uh. Cat Lady?!”

DW: “Yeah, your “Cat Lady”... goes by Kaitlyn or better yet, Kat for short.”

W: “Her over there?! You sure?”

DW: “Trust me, Whispers. I fought that woman in a ring so when I say that I know her, believe me I know her.”

Whispers gets very curious and can't help but look at each of the others. After filling up on what they're craving, the two of them go sit at a table by themselves where they can still keep watchful eyes on potential foes. And then, Darius begins the conversation again now that he has a better look at everyone.

DW: “Okay so look at those fuckers at the furthest table. The chatty one, that's Chase Pelican. Yes, that's his name or what he chose to live by back when wrestled at FWA. A sneaky, conniving fuck but worthy opponent as well as his masked servant, Alexander Blair.”

W: “So they're like BFFs, right?”

DW: “Sure… if you can call how they truly act with one another as a friendship. Honestly, it’s quite sad to see Alexander become something less than what he could be. I remember at one point, he had enough of Chase’s bullshit, called him out on it and then ended their friendship. I can't believe that they mended their fences to be friends again after all these years. But there's one thing that you can bet on with them…”

Darius takes a spork-ful of fresh and fluffy scrambled eggs into his mouth right as he continues talking. Meanwhile, Whispers stares at the ‘close friends’ and takes mental notes of their camaraderie.

W: “What can we bet on, DW? What were you gonna say?”

DW: “...That those guys will be at each other's throat… sooner or later. Just you wait and watch. They don't know what a true friendship is like, not like me and The Dark Guar-”

W: “Hmm? What was that?”

Before Wright finished the name, he stopped himself from any acknowledgment of his former trusted advisor and mentor, The Dark Guardian. To get back on track, he points over in their direction discreetly so mainly Whispers catches it. And when he turns back to look at them, they're having a minor spat over whatever they couldn't agree about. Two guards break them apart as their heated argument hits its high point then lowers within minutes after shoving one another.

DW: “And there goes their brilliant plans… but moving right along. See the happy go lucky guy, over there having a great time with his pancakes? That’s Jacob Falcone. That dolt has the hardest time understanding that being more serious isn't a weakness but is usually necessary in life and more importantly the business we were in. He had these friends of his and partner but I think they had enough of his antics because I don't see them here amongst the bunch. When I see him all smiles like that, it makes me wonder… if he was dropped repeatedly as an infant or if he rammed his head so many times in a wall, he knocked whatever sense out through his ears. He also got this thing with a golf ball that I don't eeeeeven wanna get into.”

Whispers just nods as he gathers the information from the man that gives him inspiration to defy all odds, to be daring, to be a bit… dark.

DW: “Now take your ‘Cat Lady’... you can openly see she’s not always there up top. To be honest, it seems like none of us are and that's alright. Maybe some time away from the stresses of the real world can make things… better, to some degree. But the thing about… Kat is that she always seems to have the ring intentions even when she was doing wrong. Now I don't know what life has been for her since after the FWA. But as we can see right now, she's pretending to feed her invisible cats. You follow me? Kat is, of course, an animal lover and a pet owner if I remember correctly. Something about the animals brought out the pure animal from within her. Crazy or not, you don't wanna take her kindness for weakness. She's got one of the most dangerous survival instincts. She also went through a tough separation with her friends. As good as they were, they went on to be greater individually. Still no matches for yours truly! But yeah, they WERE great and now her once tightly close squad probably doesn't even know that their friend is suffering without them. Or maybe they do know and tried their best to help her with her issues and sickness. All I know is… Kat deserves better, she deserves to be happy and even with her delusional state… I've never seen her happier. So maybe this… is for the best.”

Kat: “Meow, meow… what, oh no. Meow, no? Oooh, good kitty. Nice kitty.”

Kat takes a moment to look around with a disturbed look as she holds an arm over her ‘precious’ invisible cats. Meanwhile, Darius goes on to shoveling some more eggs into his mouth and chews on a few strips of bacon. Whispers takes a bite from his apple and is done with looking at their ‘opps’, he spins around to a hungry Darius is so focused on eating the healthy bounty that he collected, that it is magically disappearing from his tray to his belly. Whispers continues to chomp on a shiny green apple and he ponders about something. Then he asks Darius…

W: “Hey D, you ever have something you wanna ask but you don't know how to ask it?”

DW: “Sure, you got something you need to spit out?”

W: “ Yeah but I don't know… I… I can't…”

As the young man looks at his snack bar and carton of orange juice, he thinks a little more then states his question.

W: “Oh yeah… ok, ok, ok… I got it. I meant to ask you, what ever happened to your friends and family?”

Darius stops eating and sets his spork down on his tray as he gets ready to react. Raising his face up, he looks at the eagerly awaiting young guy and says to him…

DW: “...Family, the truth is the only family that I had since my parents’ death. They had to return to the mediocre lifestyles of our ever-changing society. I was done with wrestling, I hadn't heard or seen the closest friend I ever had in a long time and it was time to return to real life. The journey and adventures that we endured, they were meant to just last but so long. The memories that my children provided me… those were true blessings. And all the people, all of the fans surrounding me in those rings, stadiums, arenas and any other venues… they showed me that no matter how wrong I was, they understood why. I didn't make it easy but deep down they knew my choices and actions were meant from my black heart. I’m… I’m doing just fine these days…”

W: “Alright buuuuut… OH, who’s that guy on that side?”

DW: “Look, I really don't even wanna get into it with this guy. So let's just drop it.”

W: “ But, but, big ol’ butt… uuuuuuuuumm who's that?”

Darius sighs as he gives his new neighbor the meanest scowl known to man.

DW: “And that aggravating pain in the ass is Richard Cross… many people were under the idea that me and that jackass were evenly matched for fighting. Same fighting backgrounds and styles plus we had some tough battles amongst each other. Not so much at the last company but a previous one.”

Guard #5: “Alright, inmates. Stand up! Hands on the back of your heads!”

At least, two of the guards came around to each inmate and thoroughly patted them down.

W: “So D, what's the deal with him? Has he ever double crossed you (no pun intended) or did something to make you hate him?”

DW: “Nothing I couldn't handle but the reason I have so much disdain for that asshole is… I know his type. You know the type that swears that they're doing the right things for the right reasons. The type who will lie to their friends, family, wife even their own child. Richard is a downright dick at heart and me… well I rather be the honest and despicable jackass that I was always meant to be. He just never wanted to own up to his own fuck-ups and would pass the blame. Mr. Goody Two Shoes shook hands with another evil fucker and attempted to still play this role as a “good guy”. And no one was buying it, not his family and not even this “friend” of his. Hey, check this… you wanna know what their tag team name was? The Necessary Evil! Wow so appropriate right? Good guy shit right? Ha! Anyways, the thing that I remember most and filled me with joy was-”

Guard #6: “Alright, we’re clear. LADY and gentlemen, and I use that term loosely, we will now return you to your homes until the fight pit. Come line up!”

Darius turns to Whispers and mouths the words in the form of a question, “Fight pit? Really?”. Whispers living up to his name does just that, he whispers back to Darius.

W: (“I’ll explain about that on our walk.”)

The guards break up the inmates into their respective group and walk them out the cafeteria. After that, they take them to their cell block and Whispers initiates the conversation again.

W: “Hey Darius, what filled you with joy?”

DW: “Huh?”

W: “What filled you with joy about that Richard guy?”

DW: “Oh. The thing that filled me up with so much joy was the fact that his so-called friend/tag team partner finally stabbed him in the back. Added to that with the fact that his wife served him divorce papers, got full custody of their son and moved far from good ol’ Richie. Soon after, he had a breakdown live on TV before his ‘fans’ and audiences which got him terminated. I remember seeing him at bars being triggered by the mere mention of his wife and son. In fact, I wonder if…”

Whispers wait for Wright to finish his sentence as they all walk down a corridor. But instead, he got to witness a devious act created by the former Death Walker.

DW: “Ay! AY, RICHARD?”

The man looks over his shoulder at DW with a perplexed, yet irked look.

DW: “Hey, um… how's your wife and son? Have you gotten a hold of that loyal, Jethro Martin after all these years?”

Richard’s eye begins to twitch and he flips all the way out.

RC: “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHH KEEP MY WIFE AND SON’S NAME OUTTA YOUR DAMN MOUTH!!! I WILL KILL YOU, I’LL KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU!!! YOU HEAR ME? KILL EVERY LAST ONE OF YOU! KEEP MY WIFE AND SON’S NAME OUT OF YOUR FUCKIN’ MOUTHS!!! KEEP IT OUT! KEEP IT… keep it out. KEEP MY WIFE AND SON’S NAME-”

While Richard has his nervous breakdown, he's viciously attacking the team of guards surrounding him. From tugging on their uniforms to pounding on their solid chests and putting his fists all up in their face.

RC: “YOU WANT SOME? WHO WANTS SOME? CAN’T NONE OF Y'ALL TAKE ME ON! WHO’S STEPPIN’ UP? WHAT’S YOUR NAME BITCH? YOU WANNA SAY SOMETHING ABOUT MY SON, MAYBE THE WOMAN I LOVED THE BEST WAY I KNEW HOW? HUH? YOU WANNA CALL ME A BAD FATHER AND HUSBAND, YEAH?! YEAAAHHHHH?!? I SEE YOU MOTHERFUCKERS WITH YOUR JUDGMENTAL EYES!!! WHAT?!? WHAAAAAAATTTTT?!”

One of the guards radios Dr. Wilson as the several others keep Richard and the other inmates apart. They finally get a response from their employer…

Dr. W: “What in Heaven’s beautiful angelic presence is going on? And why do I hear lo-”

The guard cuts his boss off to sum up what's going on as they try to calm down Richard Cross.

Guard #3: “Sir, we just wanted to know if we had permission to use the tranquilizers on a patient who is freaking out. Not necessarily attempting to escape but having a conniption fit.”

Dr. W: “Ummm… Eric? Help me to understand why a man at roughly 350 pounds, 6 foot 6 inches with a handy baton and pistol with tranquilizer darts who has been trained in defusing situations, needs to take the time to call me up to ask if they can? Hmm? Am I the one that's going crazy in my assessment? No? THEN DO YOUR GODDAMN JOB!!! AND DO NOT CALL ME AGAIN unless there's something… I don't know, MORE DIRE HAPPENING!! Do I make myself clear?!”

Guard #3: “Roger that, sir. The situation will be handled. Out.”

After the discussion with the doctor, the guard gives a nod to another guard closer to the erratic Richard Cross. A guard uses his baton to the back of Richard’s knee while another guard shoots him with a dart. Once Cross was taken down, they grabbed him up and took him back to his cell and instructed the other prisoners to stay in line with their designated guards. Darius and Whispers make small chit chat along the way…

DW: “Oh wow! I wasn't expecting that much of a reaction. The last time that I talked about his family, I created a more determined and brutal Richard Cross. Granted it didn't do him any good against me but he definitely brought his best A game during that time.”

W: “Man, you just inspire the fuck outta me.”

The two of them share a brief laugh as they end up on the same cell block and neighboring cells.

DW: “Wait, I wasn't on this side of the prison.”

Guard #8: “You are now. And Dr. Wilson said for you to enjoy the delivery. He thinks it might be suitable given the event later this evening.”

Darius is then shoved into his new cell as Whispers complies and goes inside his own.

DW: “I'm not gonna keep taking muthafuckas putting their damn hands on me much longer. This gonna be y’all final warning.”

Darius takes a seat on his bunk and surveys the new cell. He takes the small shipping box and brushes aside to the furthest end of his bunk. Then he lays down and stares at the ceiling until…

W: “Hey DW, what did the doctor send you? Is it something that you like? Something you could use? Let me know, maybe we can use it to barter for something else with the others.”

DW: “I don't know and I don't fuckin’ care. I just wanna lay here and not think about what's happening later. Wait… you know what we're doing later, don't you? What happens at the fight pit? As if I need to know but I wanna make sure.”

W: “Well it’s where he makes you all fight for your freedom, usually he gives the winner a hefty amount of cash. But something changed his finances so the winner gets to return to society.”

DW: “How do you know so much about this doctor and place?”

W: “Oh I’ve been here for some years so I'm like his favorite patient. And… and…”

DW: “And what?”

Darius sat back up with concern for his friend as their conversation came to an abrupt pause.

W: “...and I …kind of promised my life to the doctor if I never end up dead.”

DW: “Kid… that wasn't too bright, we gotta get you out of this hellhole and back to some sanity.”

W: “I… I don't wanna leave. I belong here, Darius. I’m not good in the head.”

DW: “Oh you're leaving, it's just a matter of finding how and doing it successfully. I need to study these bars and this barred window view… let me think.”

Up to his feet again, Darius paces back and forth from bars to bars as he thinks. Then it dawns on him to open the box at least, there might be something helpful inside it. He immediately rips it open as Whispers isn't talking anymore and what he pulls out the box is both a gift and a curse. But it was never a curse for himself as it was a great utilized tool in a better part of his career…

W: “Well… what was it?”

DW: “It might be the exact thing that we need to get out of here alive.”

Not understanding what Darius means by that and feeling hopeless like many times before, Whispers goes silent again. Darius however holds up his infamous demon skull mask and examines the way it has aged like himself. Cracked, ripped, scorched, bled on, tattered and it still remains in decent shape even with certain pieces of it missing due to many excruciating battles. Some of which he had to face with these same prisoners here with the exception of Whispers.

DW: “Hey Whispers… one more thing I wanna ask you…”

W: “Alright…”

DW: “How do you win at this type of fight?”

W: “You fight until you're the last fighter able to outlast the others, anything goes…”

DW: “Anything goes huh? Sounds perfect to me. And the losers?”

W: “...”

DW: “Ay, and the losers??”

W: “They… they disappear. Never to be found or seen again.”

DW: “How exciting! I can't wait now!”

[insert Casualties of War by G-Unit]

Darius starts to workout a bit like he used to do in his prime. Removing his top, a beaten body with the scars from his life as a fighter but still flawlessly sculpted like an adonis. It was time to see if it still holds up like it had when he was terrorizing the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. He puts on his mask and does some pull-ups with his bars, anticipating the fun and dangerous moments that he's about to have. Darius and Whispers remain quiet up until the big event. In the wee hours, all of the cell doors open and the prisoners begrudgingly make their way outside their cells. When Whispers gets a good look at his mentor, he notices the shirtless new look and goes to talk to him…

W: “Darius? Is that-”

He’s instantly cut off before saying much more…

DW: “The name's Death Walker, kid and I’m ready to get this shit show over with.”

With nothing else to say to a menacing character like this one, Whispers shut up and just go where they're being directed to. Everyone meets up in a big room with a huge cage filling up most of it from the top of the ceiling to the dirt floor at their feet. Inside there's four telephone booths like cages attached to the large one. And right on cue, Dr. Wilson appears in the room on top of a well crafted elevated throne.

Dr. W: “Welcome to your last destination! We don't give second chances and nothing is for certain. But this right here… this is the meaning of life. This is life’s purpose, to live long enough to survive and fight along your way to the bitter end. And the circle never ends… but the scene changes… only if you make it change for yourself. Lady… and gentlemen, you will be given your freedom if you can make it out alive. You will amongst each other til there is one m- excuse me, one person to stand on their feet. There aren't many rules to this so listen up. Two of you will start fighting in the middle, the other four of you will be locked in their respective cells waiting to join the party. One by one, those four will be released into the main action. When? That will be of my choosing but everyone will fight or suffer for not. And of course, my favorite patient will take his position right by my side as we and the staff watch you all perform for us. So without any further ado… LET’S FUCKIN’ FIGHT!!!!”

The armed guards who surround the fighters and the cage, leaving no exit available at this time, tosses fighters into the small cages and two are pushed into the middle of the cage. It is now locked behind them and the first two fighters are…

Death Walker and Jacob Falcone.

At first, Jackson is hesitant but Death isn't as he holds up both of his fists. He circles around the unsure Jacob who begins to hold up his fists too. Jacob tales a fast swing at Death but he dodges it and continues to circle together in their fighter stances. Death does a playful jab in return and snickers about it. Giving that death stare at his first opponents as they look for any weak points to establish an advantage.

Dr. W: “Well, come on, boys! Either fight or we'll put you down our way.”

With the threat adding more tension to the fight, they get significantly closer and lunge at each other. They try to toss the other one down as they are in a hugging position.

DW: “Hey Jacob, you know this isn't a fight that you can handle. Why are you even trying? I don't even know why you're here. This should be made for those who have shown that they can exist on their own. We know that isn't gonna be the case with you… EVER!”

Dr. W: “Look, you can talk all you want but you have to fuckin’ fight.”

Death throws a dirty hook punch to the side of Jacob’s face and the same smirk his mask has, he can be seen doing as there's a 3 inch hole around the jawline of his demon mask. Jacob takes some steps back and flails his arms like he's quitting already and then dives forward with The Britney Spear at Death. He takes down the former demon and stays on top of him with forearm strikes thrown. Smashing the face of a weakened Death Walker, Falcone eventually makes it back to his feet with a stomp to the chest for good measure. And then, he takes a minute to hype himself up as he feels the adrenaline that he had back in the days. Jacob walks around, hooting and hollering like there are thousands watching him show off his talents. Keeping a few feet of distance, he prepares to hit Death with something heavier upon him getting up to his feet. He waits as he locks his eyes only on Walker as the hybrid takes his time getting up and doesn't see Jacob squatting and bouncing right before connecting with a Shining Wizard. It damn near takes Death’s head smooth off but for bow it flattens him. The doctor watches with a smirk as he's becoming more amused with this fight. Smacking his chest as he gets even more riled up by having the upper hand, Jacob gets ready for another hard hitting move as he keeps his feet moving. Death sits up like he’s risen from the dead and Jacob rushes over at him when…

Alexander Blair pops out of his unlocked cage and bangs Jacob up with a stiff shoulder block. Jacob rolls off to the side out of habit and to get away from the unexpected opponent who caught him off guard.

Chase Pelican: “BOO YAH! You didn't see that coming! Now did you, Jakey?”

Ever the loudest loudmouth in the room, Chase taunts from his currently locked cage. Alexander grabs a resting Death by his head and gets Death’s thumb to- well where his eye would be under his mask. He backs away as he rubs his eye region to repair the vision. However, this is just enough time for Death to get back up and follow up with a big boot to his face to assist with the injury.

CP: “Hey, it’s alright, man. You can recover from that. Come on, get back up!”

While he’s down, Death gets spun around by Jacob and goes for a forearm smash but Death ducks under. When Jacob spins around himself, Death wraps his arms around Jacob’s throat from behind. He squeezes and squeezes the oxygen (and quite possibly the life) out of Falcone. But Jacob doesn't give up that easily and continues to struggle so Death doesn't go for his sleeper suplex. As this was going on, Alexander had enough time to recuperate and he ran towards an unaware Jacob and Death. All was going good in Death’s favor until both men got smacked in the face by… the One Shot Kill from Alexander Blair.

CP: “Ha ha ha ha ha ha! You guys might wanna stay down because it'll get worse from here.”

AB: “Yeah, worse for wear!”

CP: “No, I said worse fr- never mind. Buddy, we're gonna have to get you those new hearing aids. But for now, come help me out of this contraption so I can be a part of this.”

Blair scurries over to pull at the cage that Chase is stuck in but the doctor tells them as well as the others involved.

Dr. W: “Ah. Ah. Ah. Ah. Ahhhh. We don't do that, the cells will openat my own discretion. And not any sooner than that.”

CP: “Well, could you help a brother out?”

The physician looks to the left and right of himself at the very thought of someone claiming to be a brother to him.

Dr. W: “Ummm, let me explain something to you, playboy. Um, this right here is run by me and me only. So that means that I don't need you or your old decrepit ass bingo volunteers to tell me how to do a damn thing around here. Understand?”

CP: “Wow, decrepit bingo volunteers? Wow, that's way low coming from you as our kidnapper. I mean we’re not THAT old.”

Dr. W: “Yes, whatever you say, Wyatt Earp.”

In the meantime, the two that were laid out are now starting to stir. Alexander and Chase tugs frantically at the cage door but it doesn't budge even a little. However, what happens next leaves all those involved puzzled. A cage door swings open but it’s not Chase’s, it's… it’s…

Kat’s cage (AKA The Cat Lady).

While everyone has a confused look on their face as they watch Kat mimics how a cat sits with its front two legs holding itself up as the other legs rest. She purrs then meows to give a sign of where she's at mentally and the comedic duo can't pass up the opportunity to…

Chase & Alexander: “HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!!”

CP: “I didn't know to fear for my life because she’s killing me with cuteness or if she’ll claw us all to death.”

AB: “Yeah like razor sharp claws that would rip through our flesh like tissue paper. HA! Or what if she leaps on us and gnaws our faces off? Now that would be funny!”

CP: “No, Alexander. That WOULDN’T be funny… at all!”

AB: “Oh.”

Kat comes creeping out of her cage like a lost feline trying to seek comfort. That's when in a blink of an eye, she charges at Blair with Jumping Bicycle Knees. This not only hit Alexander in his masked face but ricochets the back of his head off the steel bars. This could have knocked out Alexander Blair for the duration of this dangerous fight. Kat looks up to Dr. Wilson who both share a smile and a head nod. The doctor rises to his feet, flinging something into the cage from above. Kat catches the object, it's her well known mask that she wore when in battles. She works on putting it on as Death and Jacob stop watching her and focus back on fighting each other. Once barely on their feet, they get into a slugfest… throwing haymaker after haymaker after haymaker as they put up a hard fight. Running out of breath and energy, they lean up against one of the already opened cells. They take this time to look over who they need to worry about next and Kat is stalking up on them. Again she charges at her prey and goes for an impactful roundhouse kick…

only for her foot to connect with the unforgiving steel cage. She collapses to the ground, holding her door and crying out in pain. Apparently as both Death and Jacob rolled out of the way of Kat and her lethal feet, no one paid close attention to where Jacob headed. So when Death put eyes on Alexander still talking with Chase, Kat still suffering from her mistake and no Jacob to be found… there's only one other possibility as he has climbed on top of one of the cells and with Death in a kneeling position, he turns around right into it…

If You Seek Amy! The hugest Panama Sunrise in a long, long time turns Death inside and out. This definitely leaves Death out for quite some time as we see his eyes shut and body motionless.

Dr. W: “Now that's how you fuckin’ fight!”

To keep things entertaining as ever, another cage opens up but who’s as the squeak from the door swings open…

“IT’S TIME TO GET NUTS, PEOPLE!!! Alright, alright, alright!”

Chase steps out in an overconfident manner and slams his cell closed behind him. With the biggest smirk on his face, one of the most dominant champs takes a second to do a deep inhale. Then he goes to work on a fallen Kat, lifting her onto his shoulders and performing Dance Dance Revolutions as he drops all his upper body over her abdomen.

CP: “Yeah? You like that? Call me Tuesday and we can go party on a Thursday.”

Chase goes on to boogie like there's disco music being played, he sees Jacob quickly getting back to his feet. However, he’s much faster at getting to him before anything can be done. He puts on a front facelock to Jacob Falcone, tightens around the throat to choke Jacob a bit before lifting him up to probably hit his Disco Thriller. Instead, Jacob pushes Chase and sends him flying with stumbling feet, head first into the midsection of his “off and on” partner, Alexander Blair… who had just happened to be coming over to assist Pelican. And with those two disposed of and Jacob down to one knee in front of one of the cells, Kat snaps into action fast with a perfectly setup Sakura Kick (using the vertical bars to swing with full momentum). Kat is now the only fighter standing and she chooses this moment not to gloat but to prepare for the one person that hasn't been involved in any of this chaos… and that’s Richard Cross. Richard is very much taking the silent but deadly method as he keeps this soul piercing stare on Kat when she walks up to his cell. At the time with her back turned someone has awakened (again) and that person is The Death Walker. He kips up to a vertical base and gets a quick glimpse of laid out bodies. Feeling rejuvenated and Kat not expecting him yet, he plans what to do to her and then goes for it!

DEATH GOES FULL SPEED TO HIT THE WRIGHT WAY!!!

But Kat notices running footsteps and she ducks out in the nick of time. Death flies across the big cage that they're in and lands rough on his hip but he kips back up without a second to waste. He aims for a spinning back kick to take down the warrior but she ducks that just as fast. Needless to say, Death had an enzuigiri ready as his follow up and it knocks Kat down a few pegs as she drops face first into the dirt. As she lays dazed and breathing hard from the thump to the back of her head, the other three men have recovered again. Death scans the area as Chase and Alexander get into an argument…

CP: “Hey, how about you watch where the fuck you going when I’m thrown, AMIGO?!”

AB: “Dude, why are you being a bitch again? Do I need to slap you stupid again like I did when you had us lose the tag titles?”

CP: “WHEN I LOST THE TAG TEAM TITLES?!? I GAVE YOU SEVERAL OPPORTUNITIES TO JUST TAG ME IN WHEN YOU HAD OUR OPPONENTS DOWN. REPLAY THE GODDAMN TAPE, YOU HORSE’S ASS!!!”

AB: “Oh I’ve replayed the tape over and over again. And you know what I see every time that you have YET TO ANSWER FOR. WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT STUNT YOU AARON DOING WHILE I HAD THE LEGAL MAN PINNED?!? Huh, TOUGH GUY?”

Not long before a shoving match pops off and then fists are flying as they fight each other.

DW: “And there's predictability at its finest…”

And Death is cut off by a familiar sound as he hears the squeak from the cell behind his back, opening and someone clearing their throat.

“Well, I guess it's my turn to set things straight while being the last person to have some fun.”

Death turns around and Richard is face to face with him as they know the tensions are about to explode. They get into several different takedowns, chokeholds and reversals like chess players knowing their opponents pretty well. This goes on for about 20 minutes straight as the others are also paired off and beating the shit out of one another. Alexander and Chase, Kat and Jacob, and of course, Death and Richard fight for dominance. At a certain point, Kat takes Jacob out with her unstoppable Nightfall phoenix splash. Then Chase barely gets the better of Alexander with The Commentator’s Curse (knee bar) into The Strut (running knee). Chase attacks Kat with Fight Fever (back fist) followed by The Roller Disco (pushed into a cage and dropped with a spinebuster) to keep her out as well. Chase tries to get involved with Death and Richard, going for a double spear which they sidestep and he crashes into the side of the big cage. With Pelican’s brain rattled, Death and Richard threw punch for punch and kick for kick. Both huffing and leaning shoulder to shoulder, face to face… Richard gains enough momentum to go for The Rhinos Rage (Kotaro Crusher). However, Death had been waiting for an opening to reverse the momentum and this was it. He latches onto Richard’s body and was about to do a backdrop suplex but Richard isn't done fighting and punches Death in his face repeatedly. As Death seems to be loosening his grip, he powers through, lifts Richard onto one shoulder, swings him to the other and hits a beautiful Dark Cloud (sitout Dominator). He rises to wobbly legs, gripping a cage to get strength and blood flow in his legs again. The doctor waits to see if any of the other fighters are conscious or getting back into the fight. There's one… Richard Cross crawls along the dirt covered floor to grab the bars on the big cage. Death looks up at the doctor who is eyeing Richard Cross and then he looks over at Cross. He saunters over to his toughest opponent in a long time and helps him to his f- wait! He lifts Cross up but slides him up on top of one of those smaller cages. He climbs up on top with him, throws him onto his shoulder, takes a look down at the ground below and with all of his might, he throws the lifeless remains of Richard Cross to the hard ground and hits a HUGE DARK CLOUD. And with an expected scream from Richard as he bounces off the ground and face down for a dirt nap (literally!). The doctor gets onto his feet and applauds…

Dr. W: “You did it, Darius! I mean… Mr. Death Walker. Ha!”

Next to the doctor, Whispers smiles as this nightmare for Death Walker or even Darius Wright seems to have come to an end.

Back To Life, I Guess…

Hours later, Darius is back in regular clothes that he had on when he was abducted as well as this duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Cut up, bleeding a little from his battle wounds but overjoyed as he shuffles to the only exit in this institution.

“I know that you're not leaving without saying goodbye.”

Whispers comes running up to his friend and mentor. Darius (maskless) reaches out and embraces his little young buddy.

DW: “Hey, are you sure that you're alright with being here? I can still fight our way out of here if that's what it takes.”

W: “I’m sure, Darius. It is Darius right now or is it DEATH WALKER?!?”

They both smirk and chuckle for a minute then Darius pats his new duffle bag.

DW: “Yeah… Death is taking a rest… for now. But he doesn't rest forever. In the end, he appears and he brings the madness that comes with being The Dark Traveler.”

W: “Right! Right! Well, until we meet again, sir.”

Whispers offers one last handshake and Darius accepts it openly.

DW: “Oh… what's your real name, Whispers?”

W: “Oh man, damn. I was hoping nobody would ask me anymore since it’s such a stupid name.”

DW: “...”

W: “Theodore… Darryl… Grant. Can you believe that shit? Like who the fuck goes around as a black guy from Long Beach being called Theodore or Theo or Teddy? Like nah, I’m good. Y’all call me Whispers or better yet, TDG.”

DW: “Hmm… TDG, alright.”

Darius laughs to himself as he walks away out the prison’s door.

DW: “Goodbye, TDG.”

Within a dark blink, light and color leaves then comes back and zooms out to build a clearer picture. We start to see the side of The Death Walker’s mask as he's sitting… in an infinity pool with a wide city view. As everything appears to be wholesome, we soon see more than we should but with this individual nothing is too shocking. There's a number of bodies laid out around this backyard to a luxury home on a hill. All of the people… men and women… sporting their bathing suits, some bloodier than others as there's blood splatter and some blood puddles next to some of the partygoers. Death Walker, with his arms stretched out along the edge of the pool that he sits at, grabs onto his blue cocktail drink and tales a calm sip while looking over the city.

The Dark Guardian: “My Lord… don't tell me that you’ve murdered.”

Without breaking his concentration, the demonic monster carefully shakes his head as his response back. And a few of the bodies twitch in agony and groans of the bludgeoning that they withstood not long ago. No one is able to move much as all of them seem to be enduring too much pain.

TDG: “Well, I’ll tell you this, My Lord. You’ve got Chris Peacock, Alyster Black, Jackson Fenix, Katsu and Reagan Cole to face in this new Championship Steel Roulette match at The 18th Anniversary Show. And you already know how the odds are stacked against you. So I don't have to say much or remind you of how difficult it’s been to win these multi-person matches. Use everything at your disposal. And of course, your children will be watching thoroughly as you show off your power and strength.”

Death Walker growls for affirmation and continues to drink his beverage slowly.

TDG: “I have some information on each of your opponents if you'd think that would help, My Lord. Yes?”

Death sets the drink on the paved walkway surrounding the pool area. He gets out of the pool finally, wearing his usual black ripped shorts and custom black leather boots. And he walks off to leave this home carefree as his advisor looks to get some form of another response. And the scene cuts to black… everything stops here albut someone speaks…

“Save your breath, Dark Guardian. There's nothing more that I need to know about these pathetic shits who wanna prevent my darkness.”

“I'm here to do what I do best… and that's devastate minds and expectations. And sometimes you gotta go in knowing that you're going to be looked at losing… so you can change the outcome. And we’re only getting started. The Death Walker is going to take souls… minds… or at least something shiny and gold to display my great power.”

TDG: “I’m gonna have to clean up this mess once again. Thank The Devil, that I got these dark powers. This is gonna be quite the show…”

Never The End…

Directed & Written by Death Walker

Produced by The Dark Guardian

Executive Produced by Death Walker

Cast

Darius Wright/Death Walker as himself

Whispers/Theodore Darryl Grant, “TDG” played by Vince Staples

Dr. Wilson played by Katt Williams

Guards 1 - 30 played by random actor in mocap suit

Richard Cross played by Chris Pratt

Chase Pelican played by Matthew McConaughey

Alexander Blair played by Rob Riggle

Jacob Falcone played by Josh Holloway

Kat/Kaitlyn, “Cat Lady” played by Awkwafina

Vision created by The Terrors of Darkness

Soundtrack by Death Walker & The Dark Guardian

Dark Cloud Production Presents

A Dark Film

Be Safe… If You Can…

Rawr · Aug 28, 2023

Alyster Black
is
Crumbling Under the Weight of His Unbearably Awesome Talent

Seg 1. Envy

I am everything you wish you were. I’ve achieved everything you could have ever hoped for and more. When people think of me they think of a champion, they think of a killer. When they’re even able to remember you, all they remember is that you were a burn out who when the time came to prove that you really were as good as you claimed, you did as you always do.

You failed.

Your wish to be recognised as the best wrestler led to your demise, because that desire brought you to my doorstep, and one look at you left me without a trace of mercy. You disgust me. You really did embody a weasel. A detestable, pathetic creature that wished it was something more frightening. Instead of a weasel costume you should have worn my mask, maybe it would have inspired greatness in you. Maybe you’d have survived our encounter.

I’d wish you the best in the afterlife but truth be told, I care little for your comfort. I don’t pity you. You got everything you deserved. You’re the best example of what happens when you fuck with me.

And I ain’t nuthin ta fuck wit.

\\//

It was a tremendous match, one that would go down in the history books. A clash between titans, Alyster Black versus Zachary Kazadi AKA weaselperson. Their bout had everything you could ever want to see in a wrestling match, a technical display of pure wrestling talent, violent brawling, awe inspiring strunts, and death-defying moves. It was art. Violent and incredibly bloody art, but art nonetheless. Art to be appreciated by those that truly understood competition.

But it was more than that. This was a bout between two gladiators, and like the gladiatorial combat of old, only the strongest survived.

Alyster Black did not make it backstage under his own power. He needed help. Zachary Kazadi had taken him to beyond his limits. But for the first time in months Alyster Black felt alive. For the first time since the X Championship was taken from him, Alyster Black understood that he was the single greatest wrestler in the world. He may not have been able to walk out of that ring on his own, but he was able to walk.

weaselperson, likely out of a misplaced sense of pride did walk to the back under his own power, and it was costly.

Alyster bled, limped, and required assistance in carrying his most prized possessions. His championship gold. Two World Tag Team Championships, and a bizarre tentacle. There was a ringside crew member, excited and eager to carry all three pieces of hardware, though their enthusiasm waned as Alyster sternly informed them what the consequences of dropping even one title would entail.

After a run in with his tag team partner Alyster stumbled upon weselperson again. The man in the fur costume was down, on the floor, surrounded by a medical team, including a doctor. Alyster could overhear a few phrases tossed around in a tone that would suggest concern and heartbreak. Phrases like “you’ll require surgery”, “it’s broken”, and the one that brought a smile to Alyster’s face, “never wrestle again.”

But as proud as he was of what he had done to Kazadi there was a creeping realisation in the back of Alyster’s mind that was cause for concern. Seeing young Icarus, his body burnt to a crisp, laying there made Alyster consider his own future. The end of weaselperson was the exact end he’d always envisioned for himself. It was actually something he desired. At least he thought he did.

That was a desire that formulated when he was at his absolute lowest. Before he was given the opportunity to show the world that he was as he always claimed to be “the best wrestler in the world.” It was before he’d achieved everything he could ever have hoped for and more.

It was before he realised that he wanted to live.

Seeing weselperson, the man who wanted to be Alyster Black more than even Alyster Black did, laying on the floor and being told that his fighting career was over was heartbreaking, and in that moment Alyster vowed that it would not happen to him.

What was the point in achieving everything he had if he couldn’t one day step away and bask in his own glory?

Damn those false desires born out of self-loathing. Damn the blood knight archetype he’d stumbled into. Damn those blood-thirsty onlookers who wished to see his demise.

He would not end up like Zachary Kazadi. He would not fly too close to the sun. It wouldn’t burn him anyway. The sun was his to grasp in his hands and do with as he pleased. The only similarity between himself and Zachary Kazadi was that they once shared the same profession. Nothing more.

Alyster quickly left the scene, leaving that depressing sight alone to find somewhere quiet where he could watch the main event in peace.

The FTN locker room would suffice. It had been emptied of friends and family, all eager to go out and support Chris in person. Alyster could actually lay down and enjoy the show for himself. He could watch the match that he desperately wanted to be part of.

This should have been his year to main event Back in Business. He should have been in Cyrus Truth’s spot. The Carnal Contendership was his to win. But the weasel had taken that away from him.

Kazadi got what was coming to him.

Now so would Cyrus Truth.

But instead of enjoying the spectacle Alyster was miserable. This was supposed to be his match, he should have been part of it. But not in Cyrus’ place. He should have been there as the defending FWA World Champion.

He should have been there instead of Chris Peacock.

That was his big, beautiful, golden belt that sat around Chris’ waist. It had been stolen from him by Devin Golden. By robbing a thief and not returning the property to its rightful owner, Chris was proving that he was no better than Devin.

While Chris Peacock was out there fighting in Alyster’s main event, the masked man laid down on the locker room floor in a pool of his own blood. With an arm that felt like it had been torn off at the shoulder, and a throbbing pounding in his head that sounded like 100 drummers smashing their instrument chaotically.

A tear rolled down his cheek, one for what could have been. One born out of envy.

//\\

Seg 2. Lust

A Fenix will not rise out of the ashes after an encounter with me. When I burn you, it will be as if you’ve stepped through the gates of hell, you will know agony, and I will experience extreme gratification.

You are a clown, you are obsessed with your genitals. And though I’ve been told that you’ve improved in recent times, I don’t care for you.

I always look forward to our encounters, as sporadic as they are. Though such encounters are usually saved for tag team bouts. I just enjoy beating you.

The love you have for your dick pales in comparison to the love I have for fighting, and when I beat you more viciously than you beat your meat then I will experience instant gratification.

It’ll be orgasmic.

\\//

Alyster was ashamed of himself. Chris Peacock had successfully defended the FWA World Championship in the main event of Back in Business. He should have been happy, he should have offered congratulations to his partner. Instead he began to wallow. Instead he was jealous.

Chris in turn was upset at Alyster. During the valiant defence of their World Tag Team Championships, Chris was hurt and his World Championship was put in jeopardy. The blame for this lay squarely on Alyster’s shoulders.

Even after Chris had defeated Cyrus he still harboured resentment toward his partner. Little did he know that Alyster shared that same feeling.

Chris was the FWA World Champion, it was a title that belonged to Alyster Black. And not once during his reign did Chris even think about defending that belt against his tag team partner.

Alyster understood why, because he knew, and Chris did, that if they were to fight then Alyster would come out on top. And Chris, much like Alyster, coveted that Championship more than anything.

Seeing that belt in another man’s arms was slowly but surely driving Alyster Black insane. He knew it too. But he had the willpower to suppress all of his urges. He had the willpower to not take his FWA World Tag Team Championship and wait for Chris to turn his back so that he could blast him in the back of the head with it.

Such urges were hard to resist. But he resisted them anyway. Because he loved Chris like a brother. For now, he would have to step back and long for a belt that belonged to him.

When an opportunity presented itself for Alyster to take that championship however, he couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t do everything within his power to take it back. It didn’t matter how conflicted he felt about it. Chris would understand, and if not then it was his loss.

Preparing for the Steel Roulette whilst still recovering from a glorious battle against weaselperson would be incredibly difficult. Doing so in the same vicinity as the FWA World Champion would be impossible.

He had to return home. Not to his adopted home of California. He’d have to fly back to Australia.

There was a man he wanted to consult. One that would blindly follow him to the ends of the Earth. One that had fought in the Steel Roulette before.

In that man’s absence, Alyster Black was the best wrestler in the world. But only because they were absent.

The sand in the Outback was red, and from above was beautiful. If it weren’t extremely hot and home to the most dangerous creatures in this world, then this secluded desert is where Alyster would make his home.

Unfortunately it’s worst attributes were unbearable to the masked man. But not to his best friend in the entire world. Not to the legendary, the incomparable, best wrestler to ever do it - Krash.

The flight was long, the drive longer. Alyster’s arm was in constant pain. Dr. Smith had informed him that his arm would hurt for months to come. Such was the price of proving his dominance over Zachary Kazadi, and such a price was easily paid by Alyster Black.

Alyster found the house, that ever secluded getaway. The place Krash called home. His hideaway from the world.

Leaving deep footsteps in the turned over dirt in the yard, Alyster approached the front door and began to knock. Gently at first, not wanting to startle his compatriot. When the door wasn’t instantly answered Alyster became impatient almost instantly, knocking louder, harder and more consistently.

There wasn’t a sound coming from the other side of the door.

The only footsteps approaching came from behind, but Alyster was too wrapped up in his own world to notice them.

That’s when the shovel struck him on the back of the head. Knocking him out instantly.

“What do you want, son of a bitch?” Krash stood over Alyster’s downed body, reaching down to turn him over and see the face of his would-be-kidnapper. Only to see the familiar unmasked visage of the man he called his best friend.

“Oh crapbaskets.” Krash sighed in dismay before opening the front door and dragging Alyster’s corpse inside.

//\\

Seg 3. Sloth

Who are you again? I’m sure I’ve heard your name somewhere before. I just don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you.

What do you mean we’ve fought before? I remember every match I’ve ever had and I do not recognise you. I’ve never fought a man named Reagan Cole before.

In the Carnal Contendership you say? You made it to the final seven so you must have had a good showing. I apologise for not remembering you.

Hold on, you’ve been here for three years, and we’ve not stood across the ring from each other in a real match once. Do you have any idea who I am? I’m the best to ever do it. You need to fight me in order to make a name for yourself.

So what’s your excuse? A total and utter lack of ambition? An overwhelming sense of fear? Or is it just laziness?

Why are you even here if you don’t care that much?

Do you know what inspires apathy in me? It’s you. And I feel far more apathetic toward you than you do about fighting in general. I won’t think twice when I vanquish you. After we fight I will continue to not recognise you.

I refuse to acknowledge you.

\\//

Alyster found himself wandering. His surroundings were beyond boring. A green hue seemed to be all the colour that permeated in this realm. A constant mist obscured the floor. In every direction was darkness. But his immediate surroundings were illuminated. His skin had turned grey, a boring colour for a boring existence.

All he could do was walk, so he did. Aimlessly into the abyss. Further and further exploring a backdrop that refused to change.

Hours passed, hours of pure torture.

But what else could he do?

He could give up. It seemed like the best thing to do in this situation. He could crumble and lay down in the mist, staring up at nothing. He did feel tired, he could use the rest.

Alyster slowly lowered himself to the ground and laid flat on his back. His face barely reached above the mist, but he didn’t particularly care if he was buried beneath it. An existence just walking around aimlessly was hardly befitting for him.

“Bored huh?” A voice echoed out.

“Deathly.” He replied.

The voice was almost jovial in its response, though it tried its best not to sound excited. “I can see why, there isn’t much to do around here. Just a lot of nothingness extending in every direction. It has an eerie feel though, what with that mist that keeps pouring in. And I wonder just how they manage to light up your immediate surroundings while keeping the rest of the place shrouded in darkness.”

“Do you know where we are?”

“Of course, I know many things.”

“Would you care to share that information?”

“Gladly. This is hell. At least it's the version of hell that you’re destined to go to if you were to die at this moment.”

“I hardly think I deserve to go to hell when I die.”

“No? But look at all those awful things you did during your life.”

“What awful things?”

“Oh they’re far too numerous to mention. But you are quite the sinner. Heck, you spent most of your existence waging war against your fellow man. That’s about as sinful as it gets.”

Alyster grumbled, “I have thought that if there was an afterlife, that a battle filled lifestyle would see me thrown into Valhalla or something like it.”

The disembodied voice smiled, though Alyster was unsure how exactly he knew this fact considering that the voice was disembodied. “You got very close to it actually.”

“Is that right? What was I missing, how could I have prevented this?”

“There’s a few things you have left to do. Starting with winning that FWA World Championship legitimately.”

“I did win it legitimately.”

“I’m sorry, but winning a vacant championship in a match not involving the previous title holder doesn’t count.”

Alyster grumbled again.

“Hey, don’t pout. I don’t make the rules. You do, actually. If you want to reach Valhalla, or something similar then you need to reach your own standards, and as of now you hardly qualify.”

“I decide if I’m worthy of going to heaven? What sort of backwards rule is that?”

“The only one that’s fair.”

“But I’m a self-loathing moron who isn’t fit to judge anyone let alone myself. How is that fair?”

The voice shrugged, Alyster could tell thanks to the faint sigh it released when it did. “There isn’t a higher power here, the highest power is yourself. Or whatever you decide to give power to. In your case, you’ve given power to your accomplishments, and you, my friend, don’t yet consider yourself worthy of reaching Valhalla.”

“Whatever.” Alyster turned over, laying on his side, away from the direction the voice was coming from. He was tired, he just wanted to sleep. His body was beat up, his mind was in even worse shape.

“Hey, you can’t sleep here. It’s part of the whole suffering deal. Eternal torment whilst feeling tired.”

Alyster gritted his teeth, “So what’s going on right now? Have you just come here to torment me? Is telling me where I am and how close I was to not arriving here some sick joke to you? What exactly are we doing here?”

“Don’t fret friend. We’re just killing time until you wake up.”

“So I’m not dead then?”

“Of course not. You’re Alyster god damn Black. It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a blow to the back of the head to put you down.”

“Great.”

A bright light shone through the darkness, illuminating Alyster’s body. It was bright enough that Alyster had to shield his eyes from it.

“Ah, there is life’s cruel embrace reaching down to take you back. Good luck out there, I hope not to see you again.”

Alyster began to rise from the mist below, slowly being lifted into the air and taken by the light. “Yeah, you seem nice but I really disliked this experience. What else do I have to do to ensure that I don’t end up down here?”

“I can’t give you all the answers, Alyster Black. But dying in the ring wouldn’t hurt your chances. A man like you doesn’t deserve a quiet retirement.”

“Fuck…” Alyster grumbled before being totally embraced in the light.

//\\

Seg 4. Gluttony

We’ve done this dance before. I remember it quite well. This was the most grand showing you’d offered yet. This was you establishing yourself for all of them. You came up short of course, most everyone does when they face me.

But you were valiant in defeat. You really brought the fight to me. I have to give you credit for that.

What I can’t understand though is why would you willingly challenge me again? How far have you come since then? You surely can’t believe you’re on my level?

This is too soon for you. You’re better off waiting in the wings, developing more. Becoming a better warrior.

You’re not ready to face me again.

Don’t you understand? I am toxic. You cannot stomach me.

You couldn’t even stomach one of my past rivals.

I should rip that mask off of you, I should show the world the fear in your eyes.

An example will be made of you. I will show them all what happens when you succumb to gluttony.

Your appetite does not compare to mine.

\\//

Alyster began to cough, spluttering as his eyes fluttered open. Standing over him was his assailant, the Moustached Maverick himself, Krash. The White Wolf was tending to his wounds, holding an ice pack steady against the back of Alyster’s head as he began to stir awake.

“Thank Christ, I thought I might have killed you.” Krash sighed deeply in relief. He looked beat up. Bags under his eyes. Moustache unkempt. Skin pale. The last year had been unkind to this man, and try as he might, Alyster could not free him from his demons.

“I think you might have done the deed for a minute there.” Alyster replied wearily, forcing a smile that Krash couldn’t quite bring himself to return.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t recognise you from behind, not without your mask on. You showed up without telling me and I thought you might have been…” Krash trailed off, not finishing his thought. It was too stressful for him. Alyster understood what he meant anyway.

“I’m sorry. And you’re safe now, you have to understand that. There’s no point dwelling over what happened, you've gotten over it now. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

The White Wolf furrowed his brow and turned his attention away from his downed tag team partner and slowly rose to his feet.

“You’re right, I know you’re right. But it’s not that easy Alyster. It’s not easy at all.”

“I’m sorry, I’m not trying to imply that it is. I’m just telling you that everything is okay.”

Krash reached for his eyes, rubbing them hard. “Sure, sure, I get that. But it’s not okay and I don’t think things ever will be again. Just…can we move on from this topic.” He fell down into a soft armchair, knees held to his chest and remained silent.

Alyster couldn’t help but to imagine that this was how Krash spent most of his days. Outside of an occasional excursion outside the house, prompted by either Alyster or Violet.

The masked man sat up, inching toward the edge of his own couch and reached out, placing a hand on his partner’s shoulder. “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you even here right now?” Krash’s voice was cold, completely lacking in emotion. Gone was any feeling of tenderness toward his partner.

“I came to hang out with you. To help with your rehab, and I came for your help.” Alyster replied, his voice was warm, encouraging.

The moustached man sighed, he deep down knew that Alyster’s main concern was his final point. He came for Krash’s help, not to help his friend. Just to take from him. “How can I help you, Alyster?”

“I need you to tell me everything you know about the Steel Roulette. I need you to help me win the FWA World Championship again.”

Krash turned to look at his friend. They stared at each other for a long while, neither man blinking for what felt like ages. Until finally Krash broke the silence, turning his gaze away from his partner and down to the floor below.

“I’m sorry. I can’t help you. I don’t want to talk about wrestling.”

Alyster’s grip tightened on his partner’s shoulder. His finger dug into Krash’s flesh. But only for a brief moment, he immediately recoiled. “I understand man. At least let me hang out here for a few days. You look like you could use some company.”

Alyster began to scan the room, the house matched Krash’s outward appearance. Dirty, unkempt, with trash just strewn about. There was work to be done and Alyster was eager to get to it. Perhaps if he cleaned up a little then Krash would divulge his secrets.

//\\

Seg 5. Wrath

You look intimidating. Can you actually fight? I must admit I’m excited to finally meet you. I’ve heard nothing but awful things about you.

Do you hate the world like I do? Do you hate everyone else here like I do? Do you want to tear them all apart like me?

You couldn’t. You don’t know hatred like I do. You have aspirations toward the belt that I made, you want to lay your hands on the X. The X belongs to me. Fuck you for even thinking that you’re on my level.

I’ve walked with death, I’ve befriended death. Death is in my corner and I’ll offer you up to it as a gift.

Your path should have never crossed mine.

And your mask looks goofy too.

\\//

Cleanup took a long while. But by the end of the day, Alyster had the place looking sparkling clean. The trash was finally taken out. Everything was put back in its rightful home. Every plate with half eaten food was disposed of, with fresh plates placed on priority order and due to be delivered in the morning.

This was now a place of healing. Something that Krash desperately required. Alyster coaxed him into the kitchen where he had prepared a large stack of pancakes, served with genuine Canadian maple syrup.

It was just what the doctor ordered.

Krash though was not quite up for it. But out of a sense of politeness indulged his partner. Eating almost a single pancake from the dozen stacked high and leaving Alyster to demolish the rest.

Conversation was kept minimal. Krash kept to himself, wanting to do nothing more than curl up with a book. Alyster tried to engage him but was met with disinterest or one-word replies.

It didn’t help that he constantly brought up the Steel Roulette match. It was beginning to get on Krash’s nerves.

Late in the evening, while in the middle of dinner Alyster broached the subject once more.

“Look, I understand that you don’t want to discuss this but it’s me man. I’m supposed to be your best friend. I’ve come all the way out here for your help. You’re the only one who can help me.”

Krash had been pushed too far, Alyster had reached his last nerve. “I don’t understand this Alyster.” His voice was curt, cold and precise. “You are my friend, and you can see the pain I’m in. I know you can, because when I look at you I see that same expression I see on everyone else’s face. That disgusting pity filled look that makes me feel sick inside. I can’t stand looking at it anymore. I don’t want your damn pity.”

Alyster was caught by surprise, he stammered, trying to offer up an apology but was met with a raised hand from Krash that urged him to silence himself.

“What can I even tell you? That being thrown down onto a steel floor hurts? That breaking plexiglass isn’t easy? Do you really need me to describe in vivid detail just how chains can shred skin?”

“I mean, yeah that’s helpful.”

“You’re a damn War-God in human flesh. You know all of this. You don’t need me to tell you. And the strategies are obvious, not that you even need to employ one. Because you’re Alyster fucking Black, you just go out there and you fight people. That’s all there is to it. So please tell me, what fucking insights can I offer you that will change how you approach this match?”

Alyster remained silent. Not meeting Krash’s gaze. The Moustache Maverick reached out, grabbing his partner by the shirt collar and forcing him to look him in the eye.

“Why do you even want my help? Huh? I mean…why should I help you? Tell me that. Tell me why the hell I should go out into some filthy ring and roll around with you? You know I don’t want to step foot in a ring again. Is this some sort of attempt from you to get me back into ring shape to make a comeback? I’m not interested.”

“I know, I know..”

“No you don’t, you don’t know. You don’t understand that I haven’t slept a wink since I recovered. You don’t understand how fucking paranoid I am that someone will come here and try to take me again. You don’t understand what it’s like to lose a year of your life.”

“You’re right, I don’t.”

“And…and you don’t know what it feels like to find out that while you were missing, your best friend in the entire world gave up searching for you. That he called it quits and wrote you off as dead, just so that he could form a new tag-team with another man wearing a moustache.”

Alyster tried to defend himself, “Hey now, that’s not tru-” But was immediately cut off.

“That’s not the part that hurts. The part that hurts most is the fact that even after they recovered me, you didn’t do anything to save me. You knew they had me, and you sat on your hands and let them do as they pleased with me. If our roles were reversed I would have burnt down the entire world in my search for you. But you were too busy saying ‘Fuck You’ to a group of people you didn’t really have an issue with.”

“I did look for you. No one could find out where they were keeping you.”

“So? You could figured it out, all you had to do was take someone close to them and torture the information out of them. You’re more than capable of doing that. I know you are, you’re a sick psychotic bastard. If you had taken Jeremy then you could have forced that information out of him in ten minutes. Then I would have been saved.”

Alyster remained silent, staring down at his plate. Krash grabbed the plate and threw it across the room. Shattering the ceramic and leaving the food splattered against the wall.

“I’m sure you had your reasons, I’m sure they were good. I’m not interested in hearing them right now. I can hardly stomach looking at you. Please go.”

Alyster nodded his head and got up to his feet. He looked down at his friend who buried his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry for everything, I’m sorry I didn’t save you earlier.”

“Just go please.”

As Alyster approached the backdoor and opened it, he couldn’t help but to turn back one last time.

“What’s the best way to take an irish whip into the chains?”

A second plate flew toward his head and crashed against the door that Alyster slammed shut to protect himself.

//\\

Seg 6. Pride

I love you like a brother. I’d crawl naked over broken glass for you. But you’re beginning to believe your own hype just a little bit too much. I need to humble you.

You’re not the best wrestler in the world. I am. That’s my belt you’re holding and I will take it back from you.

Pride cometh before the fall? Isn’t that what they all say? Well your destruction is imminent, and you’ve brought it upon yourself. There was no need for you to do this. You could have sat back and watched all your potential challengers kill themselves just for a chance to face you.

You threw yourself in the middle of a minefield.

You threw yourself down at my feet, at my mercy. I won’t show you any.

I’ll take away the belt that you covet the most, I’ll take away your claim as the best. I’ll make you hate me for a little while, perhaps forever. I just hope you’ll forgive me afterwards.

You can fight me, you can beat me up, you can take me to my limits. Destroy my limbs, fuck with my emotions. But you can’t beat me.

Try as you might, you cannot take my pride.

\\//

Alyster ventured out into the desert. Walking for a few kilometres until he reached a rural town. It was the perfect place for him to let off some steam.

His rampage started at the local pub. Stepping through the doors with his head held high and a swagger that implied he was looking for a fight. Alyster sized up the bar’s inhabitants. Lesser men, all of them. He could fight them all at the same time and still prevail. Even in his current state, with his arm hurt and head throbbing.

Alyster reached for the lock on the door, making sure that no one could escape before he announced to the patrons his intentions.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I am in a foul mood right now and I am looking for a fight. Don’t bother lining up, I’m willing to take you all on at the same time. Those of you who wish not to incur my wrath had better swiftly exit through the back. The rest of you will be leaving on stretchers.”

There were plenty of takers. A rural Australian town full of bogans and self-proclaimed tough guys. Farmers, miners, trades people. The kind of men who downed entire six packs before dinner and beat their wives. The kind of men who looked down on outsiders and were quick to attack them.

Alyster closed his eyes, sighed deeply and waited for them to take the first shot.

A fist struck him across the jaw. He could taste blood in his mouth.

Everything turned white.

A hour later Alyster exited the pub. Kicking the door open. He was covered in blood, shattered glass, and pieces of wood. But he was still standing and he felt alive. He was in his element and took to the streets with a bottle of vodka in hand.

He approached a Holden ute, an older model. Perfect for farm work. Alyster downed some of the vodka then tore a piece of his shirt, one that was blood free, and stuffed it in the neck of the bottle. He set the cloth ablaze then threw it at the truck, the bottle exploded and fire spread over the truck.

Alyster watched the ute burn and laughed, cackling loudly into the night. It was perfect. Everything was burning around him. His friendship with Krash was in flames. His friendship with Peacock would soon burn too. He was destined to burn. When he died he was destined to go to hell and suffer for all of eternity.

Suffer forever, unless he made some real changes. Unless he threw away every value he held dear and embraced his most carnal desires.

He didn’t have room for friendship, not as far as the FWA World Championship was considered. Chris Peacock was just a body in that match that had to be stomped out like a weasel. They all had to be stomped out like a weasel.

It was his championship to take. The fact that he’d gone so long without it was a joke.

Alyster looked up at the night sky. His face illuminated, warmed by the fire. He cackled uncontrollably before turning around and venturing out into the bush to find some deadly animals to fight.

“Fuck!” He screamed, “Christopher!” He called out. “I’m so sorry!”

He apologised into the night air, not because he felt sorry about what he’d have to do to reclaim his World Championship, but because he had to beat his best and possibly only friend in the entire world to do so.

//\\

Final seg. Greed

Everything belongs to me. Everything.

Their adoration. Their cheers. Their fear.

I am the greatest wrestler in the world.

And I will climb upon my throne again.

fin.

SupineSnake · Aug 29, 2023

Gip was unable to get on the forum to post his promo but sent to the mods through discord.

PDF link is here: click!

When Jeffry Mason has a message, he really does have to go overboard with it, doesn’t he? Slowly trudging outside the hotel with one hand nursing his forehead, carefully going over the new stitches there, Reagan Cole looks up to the sky. It’s dark, with the full moon starting to go behind the buildings. Placing his hands in his pockets, he sighs to himself, moving his feet. He can’t do the fancy hotel thing, at least not tonight. Taking a few steps, he feels his foot being tugged back. He shoots his head downward, eyes wide and alert. The fuck? Then he realizes. A branch from a bush caught his pant leg. Reagan’s nerves slither slowly away, but he feels no relief. Kicking his leg free he continues. A twig. An outgrowth is enough to throw Reagan Cole off guard now is it? It was cold outside. The crisp air seemed to freeze the sweat that lingered on Reagan's neck, but this did little to bother the former Gauntlet Champion. It actually felt nice, this stinging chill. Weirdly it felt familiar, he looked around to see the familiar faces just wasting time. See, nowhere is time wasted more efficiently than a large city and here was no exception. Some waste time being scared of who or what lurked in the shadows, frightened of what monster crept down the old trash-filled alleys. Addicts throwing away time seeking their next high. Reagan reflects this onto himself. How much time has he wasted? Golden Opportunity comes at an interesting time for Reagan. It’s exactly one hundred and fifty days since Cole’s last win. Almost five months, not one person pinned by Reagan since, not one submitted by Reagan. And yet now he’s fighting for the world championship. Yeah when you look at it from that perspective, it doesn’t really make the most sense, does it?

Reagan looked up to the sky one more time. Now the night had faded more into the darkness, so very dark that not even the moon could compete. Reagan could see it trying, his eyes drifting to that faint glow that seemed to spark with illumination before eventually plummeting, absorbed by the sheer nothingness of the evening. The stars were alive, however, sparkling almost tauntingly at the moon, their gazes drifting at the same pace he walked at. The former tag champion tried to look at the positives but struggled to find many that didn’t come with backlash. For every “Anniversary Show is where I won the tag titles so I at least have history on my side”, then comes the “The tag partner he had in the Anniversary match just lost to Peacock and Alyster two weeks in a row so how am I expected to do better?” The summer breeze brushes across Reagan’s face as the only noise that surrounds him currently are the creaks of a nearby tree, a scream in the distance and the noise of his own footsteps. So much for a small walk to clear his mind, he thinks as he lets his feet carry him going forward. That clearly didn’t go to plan, and he could do nothing but try not to think about how that was becoming increasingly common. He sighs again. The question kept emerging. Why was he in this match? Yes, he got in through a brilliant performance at the Carnal Contendership but…it’s not like he won, he got tossed out by a person who’s no longer in this match. Reagan’s entire career over the last couple of years has been about wanting to let the future shine, Johnny Johnson, Aka Yurei, Princess Nova, people who should be in this match. So why doesn’t he just giv-

A second scream startles him, the suddenness of it flinging shivers down his spine as he rapidly turns around. He was so lost in his thoughts that he just simply didn’t register it at first. It’s so dark, and Reagan knows all too well the threat of being out alone.

Reagan: “Hello?!”

Cole called out, willing to accept the consequences of making himself known if it distracted him from those thoughts, The next sound he hears, he recognises it immediately. The sound of contact between someone’s fist and someone else’s bone creates a massive thud. He jogs into the nearest alleyway, carefully unfolding his hands and curling them defensively into fists. Muttering gradually got louder the further inside he hustled, feelings of apprehension making their presence more and more aware in his stomach. Reagan saw the teenagers' eyes before anything else, his heart swarming at the pure fear that practically evaporated from his doe eyes.

From what he could see, a young boy, who couldn't be younger than 14 years old, was being surrounded by a group of three boys much larger than him. One of the boys raises his arm and struck the young boy across his face, making him cry out in pain.

Reagan: “Shit!”

Without hesitation, Reagan sprints towards the group of kids. As he got closer he could hear the young boy pleading for them to leave him alone, while the older boys kept pressing him to give up his belongings. Once Reagan reached them he could see the same older boy about to raise his arm to strike again, Almost instinctively Reagan launches forward, quickly snatching the aggressor's arm out of the air from behind and twisting it into his back. Kicking the back of the asshole’s calf as he held onto his arm, forcing the attacker to fall on one knee.

The other boys look in shock as they see the owner of the Gibson Gym effortlessly overpowering the boy. Now that he had all of their attention Reagan spoke with fire in his voice, matching the terrorizing tone that he’d heard earlier.

Reagan: “Alright so let me tell you guys how this is gonna go…”

Reagan shows a quick smile in satisfaction when he felt his current hostage gulp out of fear.

Reagan: “Now I may have this situation twisted up, gentleman so correct me if I have. But I’m assuming this arrangement y’all got going on isn’t because of that kids actions right?”

He paused, increasing his grip around the man’s arm when he sensed a struggle.

‘Okay, you’re just dicks. Cool. I’ll be clear then. I ever see you guys come around here again and , and harass this kid or hell, any kid. I’ll kick all three of your asses. Do you understand me?”

The two older boys did not respond, so he further twisted the arm of the one Reagan had in his grasp, causing him to yelp out in pain.

Reagan: “Guys, I need an answer or your leader here is gonna have an arm that looks like Mr Fantastic.”

“Okay! Okay! You got it!”

Yelled the boy Cole was holding, the leader of this band of punks. After his response, the other two raised their hands up in the air as a show of surrender. The devilish grin comes up onto Reagan’s face

Reagan: “Excellent. Now piss off!”

He roars with a fiery anger, He finally lets go of the leader, pushes him towards his friends. and the boys took off without any hesitation. Reagan smirks at himself proudly as he watches the misfits running for their lives. That should keep them in line for a while at least. Hopefully. A rush of adrenaline sprints through Reagan’s veins as he watches the boys run. Brats who think that numbers automatically equals strength…something seems almost worryingly familiar about this but at this time with all the adrenaline, he just can’t put his finger on it as he turns his attention to look down at the young boy still lying on the ground with a swollen red mark on his face, evidence of the punch that was delivered to him.

Reagan’s expression softened as Cole seesthe small tears fall from his eyes that it seemed he was fighting to hold back. Reagan closes his eyes and takes a deep breath recognising the overall situation and putting his own thoughts and feelings aside. Reagan taking care of every step he takes as he approaches the boy and crouches down to the kids level.

Reagan: “Can you tell me if you’re okay?”

The kid stays still, clearly hurt and just focusing on his breathing. Reagan looks down and sees the school uniform he's wearing. He’s been out here for a while, it seems. New holes in the uniform clash with the old ones, dirt stains covering the navy blue. The poor lads shivering like Oliver Twist asking for more gruel causing Reagan, in one swift motion, sweeping his heavy coat off his shoulders and carefully draping it around the kids trembling frame, making sure his hands stay in frame of the child’s eyesight so he knows Reagan ain’t pulling any magic tricks, settling it snuggly around the small child’s shoulders and neck to cocoon him in a sea of warmth. The kid finally chooses to slowly carefully raise his head to Reagan. When Reagan is sure he has the kid’s wide-eyed, undivided attention, Reagan speaks in a low timbre, his voice attempting to resonate through the child’s ears to instantly vaporize whatever insecurities were left that were plaguing them.

Reagan: “What about your name then? I’m Reagan.”

“I…I’m Kurt.”

Reagan: “Hey Kurt. Good name you got there.”

The boy, we now know as Kurt slowly starts to wipe his face of any remaining tears as Reagan relaxes a bit, relieved that we’re making a small bit of progress.

Kurt: “T-thank y-you…”

Kurt spoke shyly, very clearly hurting. Reagan gives a very slight nod.

Reagan: “Absolutely no problem. Now listen, it’s real late, you got a place to stay?”

Kurt: “Y..yes. I was on my way home from the after school program when Sid, John and Tripp, the boys you scared off, tried to take my stuff from me.”

Kurt’s face started to sadden as he thought back to the moment that occurred a few minutes ago which

Reagan: “Well after that, I doubt they will come after you for a while. And if anyone gives ya shi…hate, you send them to Reagan Cole alright?”

A glimpse of recognition does glow from Kurt’s eyes for half an second as if he does recognise the name from somewhere but as a kids attention span seems to do, he has a easy time dismissing it almost immediately. Instead his eyes finally register what Reagan Cole is actually telling him and the joy of the news start to glisten in his eyes.

Reagan: “Now that’s more of what I want to see. Now if you’re ready, only if you’re ready…how about I help you get home?”

The scene changes harshly as we immediately see Kurt launching himself towards an older gentleman that we don’t know yet, capturing him in a tight hug and holding on with all his strength. The new stranger returns the hug with a grip of his own, patting Kurt lightly on his back.

Kurt: “DAD!”

Kurt’s Dad: “KURT! There you are! It’s like midnight and you’re a wreck! Where have you been?!”

Reagan: “It wasn’t his fault, some kids wanted to act tough.”

The man we only currently know as the father of Kurt looks up to “The British Apprentice” and in a moment his eyes change from comfort as his son’s arms are wrapped strongly around him to sudden confusion and awe.

Kurt’s Dad: “Holy shit!”

Kurt: “Dad!”

Kurt’s Dad: “Sorry! Erm..”

As nice as the hug he is currently feeling is, he reluctantly has to let go as he stands up and starts to walk to the person in the doorframe of his home.

Kurt’s Dad: “You’re…Are you Reagan Cole!?”

Reagan: “I am, yeah.”

Reagan nods along with his statement, taken slightly back himself, despite how many times he’s had this kind of interaction he’s never really gotten used to it by any means. He just does a job he loves, he doesn’t need that validation from fans or weird internet journalists who think they know better because as long as he thinks he’s doing good, that should be all that matters…right?

Kurt’s Dad: “I’m a big fan! All the way since the old LDW days, I can’t believe you’re facing Death Walker again after all this time!”

Reagan: “Yeah me neither, It feels like everyone wants to come back to kick my ass these days.”

The parents share a chuckle as Reagan rubs the back of his head, remembering just one of the competitors he has to face and last time they faced off in a world championship match. To put it simply, that time did not go well for our main character here.

Kurt’s Dad: “Well thank you. Truly. Can I repay you in anyway?”

Reagan: “I’m good, thank you. Just make sure your kid is alright, he’s a good one. I think the assholes who attacked him were called John, Tripp & Sid if you wanted to call up the school or anything?”

Kurt’s Dad: “Of course it was Sid, yeah that makes sense. I’ll look into it.”

Reagan: “Yeah, might as well. Alright well I better be off.”

Kurt’s father: “No problem, have fun in the Carnal Contendership! Give Peacock a good hiding!”

And with the rest of the small talk, Reagan is left on the outskirts of the house. Reagan takes a pause before he takes a step as he is suddenly out of nowhere stabbed about a sudden feeling of guilt. Why does this feel so peculiar all of a sudden? Then he realises. Trixie. It was so easy saving a kid he didn’t know from a group he also had no knowledge of but when it came to saving a girl he didn’t know from a group he has more knowledge of than anyone, he looked away and stayed there whilst Chris Peacock of all people came in to help. Reagan’s not afraid to say it. There probably is a bit of jealousy involved here, Reagan and Peacock have had weirdly similar journeys, Ground Zero, Team Ramon, Both have had their respective issues with Cyrus, Golden Rock, Nephews. The difference is that unfortunately Peacock has just taken more advantage of his opportunities and that brings us back to what Reagan has done to be in this match. Reagan runs a hand through his hair as he walks through the streets with a feeling of deja vu as we go back to a familiar scene that we saw at the beginning of the segment. Reagan’s tired. His adrenaline has mellowed out now and he’s just tired. Tired of losing. Tired of not seeing his kid, his wife. But Jeffrys gonna put them- Reagan stops himself. At this point can he even believe that? Jeffry’s words repeat themselves over and over. The emotions from his speech ring in his head as well as the mild concussion Jeffry and TYLER gave him. Could Reagan go to his wife after this? After everything? I mean he’s missed a year of his kids life, Reagan hasn’t been there to see his kid come home from school filled with excitement because he’s won a medal for being “star pupil of the week” or to comfort his kid when someone clashes with the cage too loud and it scares him, he can’t do any of that. And for what? He’s no closer to figuring out TYLER’s situation if there IS a way to figure it out. Maybe this is just how TYLER is now. And Reagan is wasting his life trying to reverse something that can’t be undone! Reagan walks into a dark alleyway, he’s too far away from the hotel by now so this is enough shelter for tonight. And to make it worse, he took out his issues on a kid? Trixie is dumb but she’s good. Reagan shouldn’t have been…eh fuck it. Slowing his breaths, he tried to sleep. If he thought about it enough, maybe he'd have a decent dream. A dream where he’s back at the Gibson gym and where he’s hanging out with his friends, Sarah and Jason. That seems like a far-off fantasy now. A normal life seemed like such a wonderful dream at this point. But he knew that dream wasn’t gonna happen tonight. Why would it? Nah, Reagan accepted it a long time ago. It’s always gonna be the same. His chest tightened, but he eventually fell asleep.
Hours later Reagan wakes up in a cold sweat. Several gasps escaped him as he stared at the wall in front of him. Relief washes over him quickly. He was on the stone floor, he could feel his surroundings, he’s out. He’s safe. However, the sickening guilt didn't leave his gut. He sat up and roughly rubbed his face. He then took the bottom of his shirt, lifting it to wipe the sweat from his brow. Lowering it, he looked around his surroundings. Okay, it’s alright, it’s alright, think happy thoughts.
We see a bright but errant teenage version of Reagan Cole. He’s pacing across the Gibson Gym back and forth, trying to determine what would be the next place to clean, the look of nervousness on him shows this boy as someone far different from the man we know today. He is suddenly met with Reagan’s trainer and future father in law Roy Gibson.
Gibson: “Hey kid! Can we talk?”
Cole: “Ye-yes sir! All ready, sir. I’ve tried to do everything I could do, sir, any more stuff I can do? Did I do something wrong? Oh God I must have did som-
Gibson: “Alright chill. Just come here a second here.”
We get the idea that this is very early on Reagan’s run at the gym, we see Reagan ready and nervous, on guard at all times. Roy cracks a smile, as he just like we saw Reagan previously, lowers himself down to Cole’s level.
Roy: “Now we just got this new steel thing in for a new thing I’m trying. Just a full on MMA type of arena. Might work, might not work who the hell knows but I want you to grab it and tell me what you feel.
Reagan does so.
Reagan: “Erm….it feels cold. But strong, definitely strong sir!”
Roy: “Okay. Now there’s something I want you to learn while being here. It’s something to do with something I saw you say to Sarah”
Reagan: “Oh God.”
Roy: “Again chill. As I was saying, you said something along the lines of “The hottest fires forge the strongest steel.” Am I right?”
Reagan; “uh huh I-“
Roy: “I’m here to tell you that’s stupid okay? Listen. Steel has great qualities to aspire to: it’s one of the strongest and most durable materials. Wars have been waged, won and lost with steel. It holds up skyscrapers, the strength of steel has shaped the world but the thing about steel is it doesn’t exist in nature, you can’t find it with the rocks and twigs. It’s made from Iron. Iron on its own is hard, sure. But it’s also brittle. Exert enough pressure and iron breaks. Here’s the thing about steel's strength. It is strong not because it’s hard, it’s strong because it bends. You mix iron with a bunch of other stuff like carbon to get steel. In the same way that steel doesn’t exist in nature, people aren’t naturally strong but with help they become strong. See what I’m saying boy?”
There’s no logical reason why Reagan was treated the way he was at such a young age, just like there was no logical explanation why Roy Gibson took an injured burglar in and gave him a job and a home, no reason why Jeffry Mason, the man who didn’t give a second thought to Reagan back then but is now convinced that Reagan somehow can win the world championship. There’s no reason for any of that. But there's definitely a reason why he’s here and not dead in a ditch somewhere. Because he survived. Because Reagan Cole is a man who does not stand down. He keeps fighting even when he probably shouldn’t. He proved that in Carnal Contendership. He proved that against Jeffry Mason, Peacock, Trixie, Princess Nova, Darius Wright, Marcus McClain, Cyrus Truth. He even proved it against his father. All he needs to prove it one last time and just maybe. He finally grabs that opportunity instead of letting someone else grab it.

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The Golden One

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BattleTank

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FWA 'The 18th Anniversary Show' || Promo Thread.

Welcome to "The New" Wrestling Smarks Forum!

I see that you are not currently registered on our forum. It only takes a second, and you can even login with your Facebook! If you would like to register now, pease click here: Register Once registered please introduce yourself in our introduction thread which can be found here: Introduction Board

The Golden One

Active Member

Mandalorian

E-Fed Staff Member

BattleTank

What A Maneuver!

Doc Sulliday

Isn't that a daisy?

Death Walker

Better Known As King Of Armageddon | Trapped In Darkness

Rawr

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SupineSnake

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