Meltdown XXIII & Fallout 023 || Promo Thread.

[Jimmy King]

Jason Randall
in
The death of a clown

Several days have passed since the events of Meltdown, where many memorable moments went down, but one moment in particular sticks out for Jason Randall. It’s the moment where he finally spoke up for himself after months of being disrespected by FWA higher-ups. He also left a lasting impression on some poor unfortunate sack in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That moment was overshadowed by other events that went down on the show, and it’s even been reported that a lot of FWA fans tuned out when they saw the same poor hapless sack appear on their screen, so a lot of those folks didn’t even see The Wildcard leave that man a broken mess on the floor.

The disrespect just keeps piling up for The Wildcard. First, from the higher-ups, even the fans have turned a cold shoulder on him. After all that he’s done over the years for them, and this is how he’s repaid? No matter. The Wildcard doesn’t need them anyway. All he needs is his place in that wrestling ring where he can beat the piss out of some other bottom-dweller.

The higher-ups have finally got their heads out of their asses and were kind enough to give Randall a match. He practically had to get on his hands and knees and beg for it, but he finally got what he wanted.

Who’s the poor, hopeless soul that will have to feel the wrath of a pissed-off Wildcard?

MDC.

Monstruo del Circo.

El Diablo.

This man that paints his face like a clown thinks he’s the devil. That’s laughable. Almost as laughable as his performances thus far in FWA.

Since he’s facing a clown, The Wildcard has decided to visit a circus. He had a few days to kill before traveling to Germany for Meltdown, so Randall is at a circus to study and get in the right frame of mind for MDC.

Though, to be fair, there’s not much to study about this opponent. Still, Randall may as well humor himself.

The Wildcard is in the front row in the stands for a clown show, and Randall watches the clown perform for his adoring audience. The audience consists primarily of young children with their parents, so a grown man like Randall being in the audience may stick out like a sore thumb, but he’s facing a grown man that wears face paint similar to this clown, so who’s to talk?

The clown performs tricks with audience members until he reaches Randall. He takes a balloon, makes a balloon animal for Randall, and hands it to him. Randall looks at the balloon animal, which looks like a giraffe, and reluctantly takes it. The clown senses something wrong with Randall and invites him onto the stage.

The clown grabs a microphone from a stagehand and begins to speak.

Clown: “Why the long face, friend?”

The clown points the microphone at Randall.

Jason Randall: “I’m not amused.”

The clown frowns and looks out at the audience.

Clown: “What’s the matter? Don’t you like clowns?”

Jason Randall: “Not particularly.”

Clown: “That’s too bad, friend, but why are you here watching the show if you don’t like clowns?”

Jason Randall: “Are you saying I’m not allowed to watch your show? Is that what you’re saying?”

Clown: “Whoa, calm down, friend, no need to get hostile. It seems odd that you don’t like clowns, yet you are watching a show with a clown like myself.”

Jason Randall: “You keep calling me your friend, but I’m not your friend. I’m not anyone’s friend, okay? Especially not some clown like you or like Monstruo del Circo.”

Clown: “Uh oh, I think our friend here is having a bad day, but we can cheer him up and make him appreciate clowns like me, isn’t that right?”

The audience cheers, but Randall is not amused and snatches the microphone away.

Jason Randall: “That’s your problem; you think everything is one big joke, huh? Is that it? Like everyone in FWA, whether it be the fans or the higher-ups. They think I’m one big punchline, is that it? Well, guess what? I’m not a punchline. I’m not a joke. I’m sick of being treated like one. I’m sick of the disrespect that I’m being shown.”

“First, they don’t book me for a match for weeks, and now they give me one with some clown, that’s it? That’s the best they can scrounge up? They scraped the bottom of the barrel for that one, didn’t they? This clown thinks he’s some monster and likens himself to the devil, but I’m the joke, right? Not anymore.”

The clown tries to retrieve the microphone, but Randall pushes him away and walks across the stage.

Jason Randall: “All of you are just as much part of the problem as they are. You all lap it up like the loyal little lap dogs that you are. You laugh at me just as much as they do, but all changes come to Meltdown when I get this so-called monster, this wannabe devil, in the ring with me, and I beat ever-loving piss out of him pillar to post. He’s not what he claims to be because all he is a lamb being led out to slaughter, and I’m the hungry wolf that’s going to rip him apart, limb from limb.”

“I bet you’d all love that, right? You’d think that’s one big laugh, right? One big laugh riot, huh?”

The clown tries again to take the microphone, but this time Randall clocks the clown over the head with it, and the audience screams out in terror as more stagehands appear to check on the clown. Randall down at the clown with fury in his eyes and he angrily points down at him.

Jason Randall: “You had time to talk; now it’s my time! No one takes my time away from me! Not you, not that poor schlub I beat up on the last Meltdown, and not this MDC freakshow! This is my time now, and it’s about time every one of you starts showing me the respect I deserve!”

“I want you all to tune in on Thursday, December 8th, to Meltdown to watch me murder a clown on live TV. Kiddies, this is one FWA show your parents shouldn't let you watch.”

Randall throws the microphone down and leaves the stage and the tent area.

No more Mr. Nice guy Randall. That guy is dead and buried.

Just like MDC will be dead and buried after Meltdown. No one will miss him anyway because no one likes clowns.​

 

[PheTomenal]

Promo 2: Phillip A. Jackson vs Vampyra

The Present

“So if tonight the world ends. Would I even notice? You don't feel the rain when it is pouring every day” - Siamese – Numb (2021)

- Dubai Marina, Dubai, United Arab Emirates -

Damaged by Greed

Phillip A Jackson grabs a keycard out of his hand and places it into a reader that is next to the door. Phillip is stood in front of an elevator and there are no other doors on the floor. Jackson places the card into the door. A panel drops down and scans Phillips face and the door opens for him. Jackson pulls the card out of the reader and steps into room. Phillip A. Jackson is wearing a white linen shirt unbutton, with khaki shorts and loafers. Jackson smiles with just a hint of disgust to it. Jackson scans around the room and it is adorned with gold trimming and marble. All the furniture is black, beige or grey. There is a room that has a peculiar look to it that doesn't seem natural to the apartment. Jackson walks through the apartment and stops to take in the room.

This was my reality. This was the man I became. In fact, there is no was. This is mine. This is my current reality. A penthouse apartment in the most gluttonous, self-indulgent place in the world, Dubai. This is the most expensive thing I have every bought. It even comes with a butler.

Jackson pulls open a panel on the wall and pushes a button as he struggles to contain a single laugh. A butler comes scurrying up to Phillip, who hands him a drink.

Next time I press a button. Bring the big bag I asked you to collect from my car. Have you set up the room?

The butler nods as he put the tray under his shoulder and scurries back out of the room.

Why? Arrogance. I wanted to show off. The butler was kind of cool, but that novelty wore off really quick. I wanted to prove a point but all it is got me is the reality where I am in a dungeon. No, that is not a mistake. This is a lavish, arrogant palace to delusion and greed. It is time to do right by my name as The Cleanser of FWA and continue to be the leader in cleanse. My gluttonous arrogance led me down a dangerous path. I can just set jet-set off anywhere in the world when I'm not on shows. I'm a TV only wrestler. I don't need to do house shows or indies. I need to step off the path and continue to cleanse my soul. The fog disappears here but this is not healthy. This is a dangerous path of arrogance and not just arrogance, not just egomania. Worse...complacency. I got satisfied with who I was. With what I had and I stopped caring because I had homes on three continents. A man with more than one home has none but you cannot deny that this is glorious. I gave me everything I could every want and made me appreciate nothing. I retired fat and lazy but ultimately, successful. Everything I ever wanted on a whim at just one press of a button.

Jackson stands at the window and looks out the window of the main room. Jacksons lip curls up on one side but he holds it back.

What a contrast to what I used to be. I really made those millions count. When I retired, I didn't care about anything or anyone around me. I demanded my exit when I wanted it. I made a student of mine watch as my career finish in a brutal fashion. I told FWA when it was going to happen, even though it went against what they planned. I put my foot down and allowed myself to be ruled by ego and that leads us here.

Phillip walks into the custom built window room that marble slabbed floor with a number of large windows. A few of them open and have already been opened. The thin curtains swaying in the light breeze from an open window. Peaking through the the thin curtain is a number of other skylines, some crystal clear water and a lot of sand. The room is circular, in the middle stands a covered stand. Jackson sits down on the seat in the room.

Welcome to the other side of the coin. With every rebuild comes a tear down. I saw the child I was. The man with nothing not even affection. Look at me now. In a multi million dollar penthouse, where all I can do is stare at the walls as a reminder of me being a greedy pig. Where am I? Stuck in hell. Success is not easy for everyone but luckily I have a friend here to assist me.

Jackson presses down on a remote on his sit and the curtain lifts from the display case to reveal the mask that Vampyra gifted him. The display case is made of the finest oak that has been shined and maintained. There is no imperfections on the glass, the only thing that stands out about it, is a small key card slot that sits just below the glass.

This is mask. He is my friend. It used to belong to Vampyra. He listens to me when I speak. I've been able to keep an eye on her since she handed me this mask. This was some mind game trick by Vampyra. This is normal behaviour for a grown adult to do this, apparently. A mask in wrestling, I've always called it cowardly to wear but it is a respectful tradition. Those who put on masks should adhere to the respect and tradition of them and I find it's always those wannabe luchas like Vampyra who do that stuff. I want to show this mask off. I wanted it to see me when I set my plan in motion. I am not interested in this mask. Sorry mask, but you are not my friend and neither is Vampyra. I am not here to indulge in pointless, stupid mind games any longer...

Jackson presses the buzzer on his chair. The butler drags in a large holdall bag to Phillip and places it in front of him. Jackson dismisses the butler, who again scurries away. Jackson opens the bag and contemplates momentarily. Jackson puts his finger to his mouth and really exaggerates thinking about this. Jackson pulls out a baseball bat and a key card.

This mask will no longer sit there. It will no longer stare at me and I will no longer stare at it. We have reached the end of our relationship. It is time to think about the gift that Vampyra gave me. In my left hand, I hold a keycard. It will open the case and I can take out and put it in the trash where it belongs. I can also destroy it, right here, right now in any way I choose but I already have made my decision.

Jackson tosses the baseball bat aside and smashes the display case glass with one swing. Jackson starts to swing on the wood and cries out with every swing, giving it everything he has with every single one. Jackson swings at the display case for about 30 seconds. The mask flew out in the first few swings but Jackson continues to swing away at it. The case lies on the floor in hundreds of pieces. Jackson breathes heavily and drops the bat on the floor. Jackson takes the mask in his hand, careful to avoid the glass, smiles at it and laughs.

This mask might be ready for destruction but this house and everything in it, is a testament to sin and how blinded I was. How lost in the fog I was. Money given to impure, hated filled states that will just pocket the money. I was so interested in the status symbol this house provided. I was lost and blinded by the greed. This is a weight that is holding me back. This house, mask, will be the end of me. If I allow it to continue to gnaw at me in the back of my mind. That is why I am tearing down these walls. Why I want to destroy this place, this is not reality. This is so far removed from the man I am now. I am the FWA Television Champion and the most prestigious one in the history of FWA. I shouldn't allow for distractions like this. My first love matters more. I was buying property for no reason because it was something to do. It never fulfilled me in the same way as professional wrestling did. It is why I am proud to be the FWA Television Champion. It is an addition to something dear to me, my legacy. I have been damaging it but as I have stated previously. I've had time to think. I have time to assess what is truly important to me and I am going back to the one thing that made me successful, singular focus on professional wrestling.T hat seems a bit weird with two opponents, but you catch my drift. The sport as whole is my focus now. Not this. Not sat here letting this place sit empty. I want eyes on my new vision. The New Era of Television. That is what is important to me because it builds my legacy. You would think I would love a place like this but success here isn't about hard work. It's about money. The have and have nots. There is no escaping the have notes and that is something that is important to me. I went from the have nots to the haves and I did that again when I returned. I became a have with the FWA Television Championship. Something for me to have that is tangible and real. Something that backs up everything I have been saying since I came back. Vampyra has nothing but to try and get in the heads of her opponents. That mask thing is not something I am going to think about. Isn't that right?

Jackson nods with the Mask with a grin on his face.

Now comes the time to dispose of you because you have been pointless since the day you got given to me.

Jackson walks over to the bag he left on the floor and pulls out a curved knife with a wooden handle. Jackson places the mask on the wall and stabs the knife through the highest point. Jackson holds onto the mask and rips the knife down the wall. Leaving a huge gash in the wall and cutting the mask into two pieces. Jackson pulls the knife out of the wall and puts the torn mask onto the wall again and stabs the knife through it a second time. Jackson cackles with laughter.

That's what you mean to me MASK?! You are nothing. You never got into my head. See Vampyra. Nothing affects me. It is just another piece of trash in a room of decadence and hatred. That is why I didn't bring my title with me here because it would sully and stain the title. That title is a point of pride for me and I will defend it to the bitter end because this title is my one success since I signed an FWA contract. I had a great cameo in the Carnal Contendership and watched Indiana Speedway explode as my music hit. That was a moment that made me remember why I do this and I have not fully detached from my old life. I detached from the person I became but I left remnants. I didn't think it mattered but it did. My focus is FWA. No more distractions like some penthouse b.s apartment in one of the most expensive places in the world.

Jackson smiles and turns his back to the room he was in and steps out. Jackson grabs the keycard and presses one of the butler buttons. The butler scurries over to where the buzzer went off. Jackson looks at the butler and hands him the keycard. The butler is confused.

This is yours now. Do with it what you wish. Destroy it or sell it, I don't care. This place needs to removed from my life. You can keep everything here, it was the stuff they put in when I got here. You probably wanna remove, you know.

Jackson points the the wall to the room he had custom built.

Check the bag you bought up, it has the transfer in there. They were NOT happy.

The butler tries to push it back to Jackson but Jackson puts his hands up away from the butler so he cannot give it to him. The butler looks down. Jackson uses that opportunity to get past the butler and quickly walks out of the apartment and into the executive hallway for the penthouse. Jackson has a huge, genuine smile on his face. Pressure lifted from him. He is never coming back. Jackson calls for the lift with his spare card. He uses it to get to the ground floor. Jackson has 200 floors to go down on the express elevator. Jackson stands in the elevator with a cheesy grin on his face. Jackson reaches the bottom of the elevator and snaps his card in half and throws it back into the lift behind him and walks across the lobby to some shocked staff but doesn't acknowledge them as he heads out to his waiting car. Which quickly pulls away as Jackson gets into the back seat.

I've destroyed enough in my life and I am not going to destroy something else. I want to make it a changing moment for both of us. I've had enough of being damaged by greed. I want to bring someone into the success I have had in my life, I only need professional wrestling to be happy. The thing that eats me is that I might have realised this way too late. I might be too far gone. It might cost me the one thing I need. My championship. The Climaxx is a write off, at best it is on life support. I need a miracle to help that. That's why I want a healthy middle ground of absolute squalor and absolute wealth. I didn't need this but I need the FWA Television Championship. I have to prove it wasn't a fluke. That I didn't catch Shawn Summers on a bad day and took advantage. I have to be a hero to those people and give them the new era they have been crying out for. The New Era of Television is here and is here to stay. It was not a fluke.

Jackson screams in the car.

It was NOT a fluke.

Jackson punches the back of the seat in front of him, multiple times and recoils his hand in pain. Jackson looks down and picks up the Television Championship belt that he left on the seat. He places it on his lap.

Goddammit, still need to cleanse the rage from me. I don't want to be controlled by my emotions. That would be unclean and uncouth and I am neither. I need to a role model for the new era of television but let's solve one issue at a time. It is an era moulded in my image after all. My face needs to be associated with this title and some little girl who thinks they can play minds games is stepping up to the plate. I said about being a role model, but that is for my believers. For those who wish to be cleansed by me. Vampyra is not one of those, so should will face the wrathful cleanser. This is not personal for her, but it is for me. I cannot be so distant from my opponent. I want to study every tendency, every hesitation, every weak point and attack with all my fury. Just like I used too. I used to be something in 2014 and I still am now, just nowhere what I could be. Vampyra has no legacy in this company. This is her peak and I am not a springboard any more. Vampyra thinks she is special but she is so generic that white bread is more interesting that her. A young upstart wrestler, who mixes high flying with hard hitting. Yawn. I did that in 2012, when you were 11 years old and I was the age you are now. You are not the special snowflake you think you are. The masks gifts are meaningless and belong with a knife in them. You need to stop playing with the mind games and focus on the prizes that are in your immediate future like a FWA Television Championship runner up medal because you didn't earn this. You won a lottery prize. You got granted a wish. You are just a make-a-wish child getting to play wrestler with a legend. Well, I've been known to be an asshole in my career and I have no problem crushing a make-a-wish child's dreams. Their dreams to hold gold. Their dreams to beat an icon. To break the cleanse and defy my wisdom. You want to deny that from the people. You are heartless and mean spirited and you can't even see it.

Jackson looks down and pats the title.

This title is my last hope. My sole highlight. The one thing that proves to me that I am still capable. That I am still alive. That I can return to what I want and what I need to be. The people need me to cleanse this company and provide them with the New Era of Television. They don't want little girls on television, they just become washed up little crack whores. They want established superstars. They want people they can trust. People they have seen before. Just ask Nielsen about it. It will tell you all you need to know. You are not a star. You are not even that interesting. I might be a tired, old face but the old gunslinger returning for one last ride is and always will be television gold. That is my importance. I might have just given away millions but Phillip A. Jackson is always money. Money is the grease on the cogs of the world. Just look around at this place and you will see that in action within about 5 minutes. Money for a wrestling company is as important as the television screens they are seen on and I'm sorry Vampyra, you are nothing more than a merch cow for FWA to milk until they are bored of you and it's only been 3 weeks for me and I am already bored of you. The games stop in Vienna. It is time for you to face me. You will be rested, fresh and motivated. I will dispatch Gerald Grayson and then I will get my ass on the plane and fly to Vienna and kick the make-a-wish kid all over Vienna and it will be Auf Wiedersehen and Sayōnara to you ever coming ever coming near me again. It is time for you to face the reality that is coming your way and accept that you just becoming apart of the New Era of Television and get to watch my future.

Jackson places the title to one side and pulls out his phone. Jackson stares intently at videos of both Gerald Grayson and Vampyra. Acknowledging some things that are happening as Jackson is whisked away towards the airport.​

 

[Comeback Kid]

 

[Rawr]

Alyster Black presents...​

And Now For Something Completely Different​

​

Alyster Black’s home - San Dimas, California - 8:24 AM​

“Of course you need to go to corporate, you’re their new World Champion for fuck sake!” Violet Dreyer slammed her fist down on the dining table as she tried to scream some sense into Alyster Black.

The new FWA World Champion had just flown back to sunny San Dimas and was due to visit FWA’s headquarters for a general meet and greet. Always one to neglect his duties, Alyster was refusing to make the trip.

“And all I’m saying is that as the new World Champion they should be coming to me!” Alyster shouted back from the kitchen as he tended to a fresh batch of pancakes. Flipping each one in the frying pan over with a quick flick of his wrist.

“Dumbass, Krash had to do it! What makes you so special?”

“Well, I’m better at making pancakes for starters.” Alyster stepped out of the kitchen holding two plates with a five stack on each of them. “And unlike my formerly lively compatriot, I don’t have trouble saying ‘no’ to people.”

He places a plate down in front of Violet and sets one down for himself. Ever the gentleman he offers Violet first dibs at the maple syrup which she rejects with a grimace on her face.

“Now you don’t mean to tell me that you hate maple syrup do you?”

“Why the hell would I cover my pancakes in tree sap?”

Alyster stared Violet down, “I’ll repeat myself… you don’t mean to tell me that you hate maple syrup do you?”

“Get the fuck outta here.”

“At the risk of being further disappointed by you I have to ask…how?”

“Don’t you mean why, as in “why do you hate maple syrup Violet?””

“No, I mean how as in “how the fuck do you hate maple syrup, I have half a mind to throw you out of my house Violet.”

“Cause I’ve got working tastebuds bud.”

“I ain’t buds with no maple syrup haters. Are you sure those taste buds are working? You might want to go see an otolaryngologist.”

“My nether regions aren’t any of your fucking business.”

“No, they’re the business of your gynaecologist. Your tongue on the other hand could stand to be put under examination by a professional.”

“My tongue works enough to do this.” Violet proceeds to poke her tongue out at the FWA World Champion.

“That’s fuckin’ mature. What are you putting on those bad boys then?”

“Butter and ice cream.”

“Ex fuckin’ scuse me?”

“You heard me pansy.”

“I heard you shit talk maple syrup from down there in shit taste valley.”

Violet cried out in frustration, “Gaaaaaawwd, you’re so judgemental. I don’t like maple syrup, what’s it to you?”

“Our brothers to the North gift us with the nectar of the Gods which compliments not only pancakes but every breakfast foods. I’m talking bacon, eggs, toast, baked beans, fried shrooms, fried tomatoes, hash browns, and even fucking cereal, and you have the gall to not only not be appreciative of this precious gift, but you’ve got the balls to be disrespectful of it too.”

“Cause it tastes like crap!”

“I’ve had enough of this conversation, and of you frankly.”

“My name’s not Frank idiot.”

The FWA X Champion stares down Violet once again, squinting at her whilst growling quietly.

“And don’t fuckin’ no-show at the FWA headquarters. Moustache fuck had to go and so do you!”

“Don’t know why the hell you’re hammering on about that when you don’t even work there.”

“About that, tell ‘em I made you go.”

“Now it makes sense.”

The pair enjoy their breakfast in quiet serenity, until Violet is down to her last bite of pancake. Alyster takes the bottle of maple syrup and pours it over what’s left over on her plate.

“Oh you clown shoes mother fu-”


She’s interrupted by the chef, “Just do me a favour and try some.”

Rolling her eyes and too exhausted to argue because seriously it’s not even nine in the morning, who the fuck even wakes up before noon anyway? She takes her fork, stabs the last bite of pancake coated in that sweet Canadian nectar of the Gods and inhales it in one go.

Her face lights up like never before, an expression sits on Violet’s face that has never graced the world before.

“What the fuck that’s good.” She says with a full mouth, spitting out brown mushy chucks on pancake and syrup.

“Spoken like someone who’s only ever had “maple flavoured syrup” or brown sugar water in their lifetime instead of the real deal.”

There’s still two pancakes left on Alyster’s plate, which Violet quickly steals for herself before smothering them in maple syrup.

The X Champion sighs as he takes a cigarette out from his shirt pocket along with his lighter. He stands up, flicking the spark on the zippo and lighting one up. “Suppose it wouldn’t hurt to see what the suits at HQ want.”

Speaking with her mouth full is the ever courteous Violet, “Don’t forget to tell them I made you go.”

“Don’t you know it’s rude to talk with your mouth full.”

She responds with a middle finger, raised valiantly at the God King of this Shit.

“You do realise that if you ever get signed then you may have to fight me in the ring.”

“YoU dO rEaLiSe ThAt If YoU eVeR GeT sIgNeD tHaT..” She raises a second middle finger after she’s done mocking the X Champion.

“Good enough. Cya later then.” Alyster turns around and makes haste for the door, picking up his car keys and mask from the kitchen countertop as he strolls past.

​

FWA Headquarters - Somewhere in California - 11:57 AM​

In spite of his protests Alyster was forced to wait in the lobby. Apparently the suits that had summoned him were too busy to see him. Apparently they’d waited for over two hours for him before moving onto other important business. Apparently they did understand that he was the world champion and that he did have better things to do and they were very sorry that he had to wait and that if he wanted it then Katey the intern was going on a coffee run. Well a caramel mocha latte wasn’t going to alleviate Alyster Black’s suffering! And he was damn sure going to make a fuss when the jerks who’d summoned him to HQ were finished with their super important meeting that they’d delayed for over an hour and only started because they assumed that Alyster wasn’t coming.

Seriously, fuck those guys.

Katie is a trooper though. She got Alyster’s order right and everything. Even made a point of stopping off at the local grocer to get the real maple cause the cafe was using that brown sugar water.

He decided to make the best of his free time, popping out the phoneski and checking out the old CWA archives (only available on the WC Network). Specifically that old Steel Roulette match. The one where he pinned the Kaiju himself - Jon Snowmantashi.

Alyster watched the savagery of his upcoming opponent at its finest. But he didn’t stop there. He watched the match where he won the CWA High Voltage Championship, and after a quick switch to the FWA archives, watched the parking lot brawl where he won the FWA X Championship from Kayden Knox.

More than once did a secretary or intern try to garner Alyster’s attention, but he was too focused. Not even looking away from his screen to acknowledge them. It wasn’t anything personal, he just didn’t care to be here and his mind was fixated on something far more important than meeting with some suits about the World Championship.

The X Championship is on the line. That’s all that matters.

If he wanted to know exactly what Nate Savage was capable of then the best match to watch would be their singles match, almost 398 days ago. The night where Alyster Black defeated Nate Savage for the FWA X Championship.

The night that spawned the greatest title reign that the FWA has seen in years. The night where Alyster Black became the God King of this Shit.

He remembered that night fondly. Each punch thrown by Savage felt as fresh now as they had in person. Alyster felt his jaw begin to ache. His back was thrown out watching Savage powerbomb his challenger. Lightning shot through his nervous system, his body thrown into complete disarray as Savage dropped Alyster right on top of his head.

In spite of all of this, in spite of Nate Savage bringing his absolute best there was no stopping Alyster Black.

That was however approximately 398 days ago, and in those approximately 398 days Nate Savage has become a wholly different beast. A beast who fought muppets and enjoyed bullying Jeremy Best.

Alyster wondered if the Nate Savage of today could tap into the Nate Savage of old and actually end this historic X Championship reign at 398 days. Wouldn’t that be something?

“Aly B! What’s up champ?”

Alyster was pulled out of his stupor by the high pitched cries of the Meltdown brand ambassador himself, Jon Russnow. Jon wasn’t alone, accompanying him was a friendly face in Cal Robinson.

“Glad you could join us today Mr. Black.” Cal was professional as always, adjusting his tie as he greeted the World champion.

Alyster leapt to his feet, “Fellas!” He reached out to shake each of their hands. Jon first, but as he was shaking Jon’s hand he heard the sound of Cal sneezing. From the corner of his eye he watched as Cal covered his mouth with his right hand, right before offering it to Alyster.

The World Champion immediately recoiled. Cal furrowed his brow and slowly lowered his hand in embarrassment whilst Jon Russnow scowled at the World Champion.

“They’re uh…they’re not going to be able to see you today Alyster. They’ve sent us down to have a quick chat with you.”

“Yeah. We’re just making sure you’re all good champ. Making them press rounds, doing those interviews we’ve set up. All that jazz.”

“Come on now guys, you both know me, you know I’m not doing any of that crap.”

“It’s what’s expected of you champ.”

“Alyster you’re the FWA World Champion, you represent the entire brand.”

“Seriously? Fuck the brand. And fuck this double duty shit. You guys have me defending the X Championship on Meltdown then fighting Michelle on Fallout. Do you have any idea how much an X rules match takes out of a guy? Let alone one with the most coveted prize in all of wrestling on the line.”

“The World Championship isn’t on the line Mr. Black.”

“I think he’s referring to the X belt Cal.”

“Seriously? Mr. Black that World Championship represents the brand, it is the single most important belt in all of wrestling. It’s the most important belt you have. That championship means that you represent FWA and that you are the top professional wrestler in the world. The X Championship, it’s what we throw at the violent monkeys to keep them placated while the real wrestlers sell pay-per-views.”

There’s a short pause

“What my partner is trying to say is that this whole X Champion thing has run its course. It’s time to focus on something that really matters, the World Championship. This match with Nate Savage, it’s a good time for you to take a little dive and we can reset things there while you move onto greener pastures. You know, less death matches and more wrestling bouts. Doesn’t that sound preferable to being double booked?”

Alyster takes a step back, reaching for the bridge of his nose and sighing deeply, “I can’t believe I’m hearing this. Especially from you Cal. I thought we were mates.”

“Of course we are. And as your mate I have to advise you that taking a dive to Nate Savage isn’t anything to be ashamed of. You can focus on the World Championship, you can focus on winning the F1 Climax.”

“Climaxxx!” Russnow interrupts.

“And you can do for the World Championship what you’ve done to the X Championship, you can enjoy a lengthy championship reign, you can elevate it to levels it hasn’t reached before. You can do so much more as the World Champion than you ever could as the X.”

“The X Championship is limiting Aly B, the World Championship can take you to the stars.”

“This is fucking weak gents. Real fucking weak.” Alyster picks up his coffee and makes headway toward leaving. “I’ve got lunch plans but I just gotta say, you’ve both really disappointed me today fellas. Shame on you both.”

“Please think about it Mr. Black. A double champion sounds good on paper but is it really sustainable?”

Cal’s words reach deaf ears as Alyster marches through the doors of FWA HQ and heads out into the city.

With the World Champion finally out of earshot Jon turns to Cal. “Did that mother fucker seriously not shake your hand?”

“I can’t believe it.”

“Man if he keeps this attitude up then I’ll be booking another bounty.”
​

A nice Italian Restaurant - Burbank, California - 13:12 PM​

“You’re late.” Chris Peacock exclaimed as Alyster approached their table.

“Only by twenty minutes.” The masked man cheerfully replied as he took a seat and picked up a menu. “What’s good here?”

“I doubt anything, Californians trying to cook Italian food is a bit of a joke isn’t it?”

“Speaking of which, the hell are you doing on the West Coast? Are you stalking me? Hoping I’ll slip in the shower or something so that you can cash in that Golden Op?”

“I had a meeting at headquarters.”

“You too? Did they waste your time with some garbage PA rhetoric?”

Chris shrugs his shoulders just as a waitress approaches the table.

“How are you doing today fellas? Can I get you something to drink?”

“Yeah, can I get a whiskey with maple syrup.”

Both the waitress and Chris Peacock cock an eyebrow at the X Champion.

“A what?”

“You’ve never had whiskey and maple? It’s the best.”

“Can’t say I have but sounds like it’s worth a shot.” He turns to the waitress, “Make that two thanks.”

She jots down their drink orders and scurries off.

“I will never get used to how different Italian food is here compared to back home.”

“I will never get used to how badly they fuck up food on the West Coast compared to home.”

“Does your brother still run the family restaurant?”

“The best damn restaurant in New York.”

The waitress returns with a tray in hand and delivers a drink to each of the wrestlers. They thank her as she places the tray under her arm and asks for their orders.

“Veal scallopini please.”

Chris folds closed his menu and hands it to her whilst Alyster takes a sip of his drink. The masked man spits it back into his glass and retches.

“Oh my God, what did they put in this?”

“Whiskey and maple syrup, just as you ordered sir.”

“No…no, that’s not maple syrup.”

“Sir I can assure you it is maple syrup.”

Chris Peacock takes a sip of his own whiskey. “Tastes like maple to me Al.”

“That’s not maple syrup, it’s brown sugar water. It’s maple flavoured syrup, but it’s not the real deal.”

“How the fuck can you tell? Are you some sort of maple expert? I don’t see you raising the maple leaf flag at your home.”

“I can tell all right. I fucking love maple syrup, I can tell the difference. This isn’t maple syrup, it’s brown sugar water.”

Peacock takes another drink, “It tastes fine to me.”

“No, this is garbage.”

The waitress interjects, “Sir please, it’s real maple. I swear.”

“You swear, do you? You swear? Bring the bottle out, I’m happy to be proven wrong.”

She rolls her eyes and shoots a quick look toward Peacock who simply shrugs his shoulders. She leaves to go get the bottle of maple syrup.

“Karen…” Chris mutters under his breath as he takes another drink.

“What did you just call me?”

“I called you Karen, okay? Seriously it tastes the fucking same.”

“I am not a Karen, there’s a huge difference between maple syrup and maple flavoured syrup and if your family’s restaurant was any good then maybe you’d know!”

The waitress returns with the maple syrup bottle in hand. She holds it out for Alyster to inspect.

“Ah ha! Maple flavoured syrup! Not maple syrup. Look at the ingredients! Does it say maple syrup anywhere on it? No it doesn’t! It was made in god damned Arizona, not Canada! I rest my case.” He throws his arms out to the side in victory.

The waitress and Peacock exchange another quick glance.

“I suppose I’ll take this drink back then.”

“Absolutely, and take his too.”

“I like mine.”

“Are you kidding me? How can you like that crap? Whatever, please take mine back and just bring me a whiskey, neat.”

“Uh huh, and what would you like to order?”

“Chicken parm please…”

The waitress takes Alyster’s drink and disappears into the restaurant, leaving Chris and Alyster alone.

“Un fucking believable. That’s what you are.”

“Why? Because I ordered a drink and didn’t get what I ordered. If they don’t have maple syrup then they should tell you, not try to flog off this crap that no one wants and pretend like it’s the real deal.”

Chris shakes his head and pulls out his phone. He begins scrolling through various texts before snickering.

“What?”

“Shake Meltzer says that you have heat with the office. Something about you refusing to shake Cal Robinson’s hand.”

“Are you kidding me? How the fuck did he find out about that?”

“It’s true? Why didn’t you shake Cal’s hand?”

“I was going to shake his hand, but right before I could he sneezed into it. I’m not shaking a hand that someone has just sneezed in.”

“So what if he sneezed in his hand, you just wipe it off on your pants and shake anyway.”

“But he didn’t wipe it off! He didn’t even try to clean it, he just sneezed then reached out to shake.”

“Maybe it was a dry sneeze.”

“What the fuck is a dry sneeze?”

“You know, it’s when you sneeze and nothing comes out. Completely dry. It’s fine to shake a hand after that.”

“First of all, there’s no such thing as a dry sneeze. You’re still blowing into your hand, you’re still spitting and shit is still coming out of your nose.”

“I can’t believe how much of a germaphobe you, a guy who regularly bleeds all over a dirty fucking mat while also being covered in other people’s people, are.”

“It’s not a germ thing, it’s a courtesy thing. Would you have shaken his hand if you were in that situation.”

“Fuck no.”

Alyster rests his case, waving his hand around as the waitress returns with their meals.

“One veal scallopini and one chicken parm. Have a good meal fellas.”

Chris puts his phone away and digs in. Alyster too. Their conversation is mostly mundane, one would wonder why they’re even hanging out. Who would even have thought they were friends?

When people around you start to disappear you find that you can rely on those who stick around. For Chris Peacock and Alyster Black who have watched all their friends come and go, they’ve found stability in one another.

During the course of their lunch Chris orders himself a few more whiskeys and maple, much to Alyster’s displeasure.

When their meals are finished and plates are collected the waitress drops off the bill which Chris Peacock is quick to snatch.

“I’ve got this one champ, it’s only fair I treat you after you’ve finally won the big one. You can buy lunch after I take that belt from you.”

“Oh hell no, I don’t want to owe you one bud. Let’s split it.”

“No, no. I insist. If you really want you can cover the tip.”

“Fine.” Alyster sighs as he downs the last of his neat whiskey.

Chris takes out a handful of bills from his breast pocket and places them inside the bill. He pauses and waits for Alyster to leave a tip on the table.

“A twenty will do mate.”

“Eh.” Alyster shrugs.

“Come on, you’ve gotta leave something.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

“What, is this because of the maple syrup? You’re nuts.”

“No. It’s just…I don’t tip.”

Chris sighs, dejected and disappointed in his lunch partner,“What do you mean you don’t tip?”

“Well I’m Australian right, we don’t tip.”

“The fuck does being Australian have to do with it. You’ve lived here longer than you lived back there. That’s no excuse. Waitstaff rely on your tips to make a living.”

“Oh fuck that shit. Waitstaff should rely on their employers to pay them a living wage. Gouging the customer is a fucked up practice. Exploiting the workers doubly so. Like mate, I sure as fuck am glad I don’t work at your family’s restaurant. I wouldn’t get real maple syrup or a living wage.”

Peacock has had enough. He raises a hand to shush Alyster then drops a twenty on the table.

“You’re heartless.”

“Actually my heart is feeling pretty good.”

“Weirdo, I’m getting a coffee, you want one?”

“Nah, just had one before I came.”

Chris takes his phone out again and begins scrolling through his feed. He settles on a story that provides yet another chuckle.

“What’s that phenomenon called when you hear about a topic and start seeing it everywhere?”

“The Baader-Meinhof phenomenon?”

“Check this out.”

Chris holds his phone out to Alyster. On screen is a picture of a stack of pancakes, covered in maple syrup with a large red X plastered over it. The caption reads “Fuck Maple Syrup” and was posted by @officialSavageTUA.

“That mother fucker.”

“Damn, you actually look like you’re upset.”

“Of course I’m upset. I’ve spent the last however many words of this goddamn promo simping for maple syrup, and this jackass is just gonna come in and shit on them for no reason?”

“Excuse me? What’s this about a promo?”

“About 4000 words on how maple syrup is amazing, and the punchline is that Nate Savage doesn’t like them?”

The sound of a siren rings out as a Canadian Mountie steps through the restaurant door and walks up to Alyster and Chris’ table.

“This promo is becoming far too silly. Get to the point and wrap it up.”

“Who the fook is this guy and why does he look exactly like Graham Chapman?”

“It’s a reference. Only like three people are going to get it.” The Graham Chapman looking Mountie waves, “Hello Smooth Jazz Wolf.” He then turns to Alyster Black, “Wrap it up.”

“Fine! Here’s the point. The X Championship is the most important fucking belt in all of FWA. It’s more important than the World Championship, than the goddamn tag titles, the stupid television title and it left the North American championship in the dust the moment I laid my eyes on it and decided that I wanted to win it more than anything.”

Alyster stands up, kicking out his chair and points to his heart. “I broke this while pursuing the World Championship, but you know what kept me going? It was the X Championship, that belt is my fucking lifeblood. But I had to give it life first. That title bounced around like a hot potato from title holder to title holder. Between men who didn’t love that belt, not like I do. For them it was a stepping stone, a prop to use to further their career. For me, this is my career. I am the forever X Champion. I am the foundation of the X Championship scene.”

“Don’t you mean X Division?”

“No I don’t! Fuck that phrase, it implies that there’s a set group of people who are only allowed to compete for the X Championship. There is no fucking X Division, anyone and everyone can come get some. Every fuck on this roster can come bleed for my Championship. I invite the challenge. But I sure as hell am not going to allow Nate Savage to get his grubby mitts back on my belt. No fucking way are we going to go back a year. I’ve made too much progress.”

Alyster grabs the Mountie by the collar. “You know what Nate Savage is? He’s brown sugar water, maple flavoured syrup. He’s sweet, he’s flavourful but he’s not the real deal. He’s not Alyster Black grade maple fucking syrup, not by a longshot. He wishes he were me, he wishes he could do what I’ve done. He lays awake in bed at night dreaming of becoming the God King of this shit like I am. He had a chance to do it too, but unfortunately for Nate Savage the real deal was the first one to come knocking on his door and challenge him for the X Championship.”

Alyster picks up the X Championship from the table where it has just magically appeared. He holds it up over his shoulder. The faceplate is stained red with blood, with the blood of every challenger that he’s overcome and with the blood he’s personally split to hold onto this championship.

“I’m not giving you the satisfaction Nate. You’re never going to hold this championship again, not so long as I have it. This belt is my first and only love. I’ve sacrificed everything to hold it and I’ll die defending it.”

We fade to black on the image of a masked Alyster Black staring directly at the camera, holding his FWA X Championship proudly as all of his past battle wounds reopen. Blood pours from every cut, bones crack and chip, his mask is torn to pieces and a sick smirk crawls over his lips.​

 

[The Golden One]

XYZ and Big Al Go Grocery Shopping

The moon hasn’t yet yielded fully to the new day’s sun, and the sky hasn’t yet turned from a dark blue to the lighter one that signals dawn’s conclusion. There’s still a beautiful streak of orange and yellow and red just over the top of the nearest building – and the trees to either side.

A wizard of telling time from the sky would probably put it at around 12:15 p.m. in Nuremburg, Germany, but we aren’t in Nuremburg, Germany right now. We’re along the eastern coast of the United States – Virginia Beach, to be exact.

And along the eastern seaboard of the United States, a wizard of telling time from the sky would estimate right now as 6:15 a.m. and he’d be pretty close based on the sky.

“Howdy, comrades. Long time … nooo talkin’ to ya’.”

The southern drawl of our once-regular narrator breaks the silence of examining the sky. You can certainly picture the face behind this voice to have a cowboy hat, a snow-white handlebar mustache, a glass of whiskey sitting on the bartop in front of him, and a piece of straw sticking out of one side of his mouth. We obviously have to leave it up to the imagination this time, but in the past, this assessment was also pretty spot on.

“It’s good to be checkin’ in with ‘ole XYZ. Hadn’t been talkin’ much ‘bout him lately, but I’ve been a’watchin’ him closely. Pleased as peaches to know he’s back together with his good friend, Big Al, and that ‘ole Al is doin’ alright after that whole cancer scare. Nothin’ to joke ‘round with, so I’m thrilled as a kid on a scooter that he got the treatment he needed and is lookin’ right as rain.

As for X … seems he’s up ‘n down in the FWA of late. Got a big dub against one of the Undisputed Alliance, but he couldn’t go two-for-two against those bastards in a tag match with Jeremy Best. I was sayin’, ‘Shoot!’ too, ‘cause Jeremy Best … now he’s good people. Would’a wanted to see X ‘n Jeremy get that win. Oh well. Movin’ on ‘n movin’ up, as my pops always said.”

Instead of spending the whole time fixating on the clouds in the sky and examining what time it might be, the camera slowly drops to show a nearly empty parking lot. The phrase is “nearly empty” for a reason, because the only car in the parking lot is the infamous Magic School Bus, with paint chipped off and one of the letters of “School” missing and the bus looking more like a pale yellow than a bright yellow.

It’s not the spitting image of the bus in the children’s TV series, but it’s the same damn one alright.

“Now, let’s be clear. ‘Ole XYZ is not a permanent resident of earth – at least, he doesn’t consider himself as such. This much has been established many times over. Y’all all have seen that ‘ole Magic School Bus floatin’ ‘round in space. We’ve seen X ‘n Big Al rightin’ whojamawhats ‘n whatamagoblins ‘n howdydoodees apparently tryin’ to invade planets or take over galaxies or god-knows-what.

Thankfully, the universe has someone like X on its side. WE … have X on our side.

But like I said, X ain’t a man who quite knows exaaaaactly how earth works all the time. And … well … little-known fact ‘bout ‘ole X … he loves to grocery shop. He just doesn’t always know … when to grocery shop.

And that, my friends ‘n neighbors, is where I step aside and let you step in to see how our good ‘ole gang is doin’ today.”

Behind the bus is a Wegmans supermarket store with the shopping carts all in a nic, tidy row out front. Not a soul is in sight, not even the manager to open up the store for his employees to get ready.

Our perspective zooms in with that pseudo-warning on the downtrodden Magic School Bus, which looks like it has two tires that are close to going flat. The perspective slides through one of the cracked-open windows and into the middle of what appears to be a tense conversation.

“I told you, X! I told you … grocery stores don’t open until SEVEN a.m. each day. I told you this and you didn’t listen.”

“I DID listen to you, Al. I did. I just … I got the time wrong.”

“You got the ti … how the hell do you manage to do anything? How can you function properly? How’d you do it when I wasn’t here? Huh? How?!”

“I made do, okay? I made it work! Plus, I just need a new watch. Mine is an hour behind for some reason.”

“It’s an hour behind because you moved your watch FORWARD instead of backwards when the time change happened! I told you it was backwards and you INSISTED it was forwards!”

“Well, whatever! I fixed it!”

“No, you didn’t, X. You just moved it back an hour. You still have to actually move it backwards from where it was originally!”

“I’ll do it later.”

Big Al groans loudly and covers the top of his face with both of his hands. It seems as though these two have had this conversation before – and possibly with the same result of XYZ saying, “I’ll do it later.”

“It takes like 10 seconds to ch… nevermind. I give up. We’ll just sit in this damn parking lot for the next 45 minutes.”

Big Al folds his arms across his chest in a pouty manner. XYZ, who is sitting in the driver’s seat, turns halfway to look back down the bus aisle. Big Al is sitting close to his usual spot, but not quite in the exact spot. Usually, XYZ sees him sitting in the first or second row on the side opposite of the driver’s seat. Right now, XYZ sees him sitting about six rows back – out of protest and to give himself some physical distance from his annoying friend.

“Come on. You know this is the perfect time to play a party game.”

“I hate playing these party games with you because it’s literally just two of us. We need a party! Like … literally just one more person.”

“Well, Jeremy isn’t here right now so it’s just us two. Let’s play. We’ve got 40 minutes to kill, so we might as well.”

“Yeah, whose fault is that?”

XYZ ignores Big Al’s wisecrack, but he pushes through hoping that the game he has in mind will lift his best friend’s spirits. As he fumbles through the glove compartment near the steering wheel for a game, he hears Big Al cough twice. Al has been coughing quite a bit lately, and the coughs have been growing in both frequency and severity. It almost sounds like he has a bunch of mucus in his throat.

X has been trying not to comment on it, but he knows Big Al knows that XYZ has noticed it. So, it’s a tad bit of an awkward, unspoken elephant-in-the-room topic.

“So … Darius Wright. ‘The Dark Traveler.’ You don't want to talk about your opponent like we usually do? Isn't that standard?”

“I don’t want to talk about him right now.”

XYZ’s stern statement gets Big Al to recoil a bit. This allows for our favorite narrator to pop in.

“Now, if y’all know anythin’ ‘bout ‘ole X by now, then you know his shtick. He’s a fighter for the good of the world, not the bad. He’s one’a them underdogs ya’ hear a lot ‘bout. Speakin’ nonsense ‘n gibberish aside, XYZ really does believe everythin’ he says about wantin’ to raise people up ‘n give ‘em somethin’ to believe in.

He really does believe in that light ‘n such. A lot comes from his childhood ‘n his whole trauma when his mom left him on the side’a the road. He was a lil pup, y’all see, ‘n it was pitch black. The darkness scares him, ‘n he turned to the only light he could find … the light of the loyalty of his friend, his labrador retriever named Big Al … ‘n the light from the stars and moon in the sky.

So the idea of darkness, that still spooks ‘ole X quite a bit. It’s like his main enemy. And anyone who embraces darkness … ‘ole X stands at odds with permanently.”

XYZ now has the cards in his hand for the party game he has chosen for himself and Big Al. The game is called “Worst-Case Scenario” and basically it’s a game of ranking bad things to happen to a person. The person front and center each round takes five cards and flips them over. The cards each describe a bad scenario, such as “being trapped in a well filled with spiders.”The other players – or in this case, player, singular – tries to guess how the main player would rank the five scenarios from easiest to handle to worst-case scenario.

It’s a fun game, and XYZ hasn’t played it yet with Big Al.

“Do me the honors, my good friend and comrade. Pick your five cards.”

Big Al shakes his hand and points back to XYZ.

“Fine. The guest defers. I’ll go first.”

“I’m not really into being vulnerable about my fears. I’ll just guess yours, and then we’ll sit quietly and think about why you got us here a whole 30 minutes before the grocery store opens up.”

XYZ draws his five scenarios. They are:​

• Get stuck in quicksand​
• Be in a pitch-black room for 24 hours​
• Trip and fall while running from bulls​
• Be at the base of a volcano that just erupted​
• Get kidnapped by aliens​

XYZ’s eyes go wide as he reads one of the cards. Only one of them scares him more than the others.

“Let me guess. ‘Pitch-black room’ is your worst-case scenario. Hell, you’ve already said you were kidnapped by aliens multiple times, and I’ve had to rescue you from them on a few occasions. And I don’t think you fear the others. It’s the pitch-black room. No lights, no nothing.”

Big Al seems to be enjoying the pressing of this particular button. XYZ is silent as he listens to Big Al.

“Just you alone with your thoughts of rejection for 24 hours. How will you manage that?”

XYZ is now facing the front of the bus, looking out the window to see the sunlight rising brighter over the top of the Wegmans supermarket roof.

“Darkness scares me a bit, Al. I admit it.

But what doesn’t scare me at all … is people who try to wield darkness to their advantage.”

Big Al seems intrigued, sitting back in his seat and crossing his arms.

“When I made that walk that night … just 7 years old … and nothing but a bag and my best friend … I faced darkness head on. I survived. I DEFEATED DARKNESS THAT NIGHT!

I passed variations of ‘Dark Travelers’ that night, people who lost their way and succumbed to the darkness for their energy and inspiration. I’ve looked into their eyes and seen fear. I saw that if they could get out and back into the light, they would. But they didn’t have the strength to do so.

So that’s when I, a young little kid, committed to keep going and going until I found refuge.

Maybe that’s what’s causing Darius Wright to be a ‘Dark Traveler.’ Maybe the fire that took his parents from him at a young age is what plunged him into darkness, and he has not the ounce of strength he needs to claw his way out.

Either way, he doesn’t scare me. He’s an orphan? So am I. He lost his parents at a young age? So did I. He faced negative feelings and emotions throughout his childhood? So did I. He faced bullies and abuse from other kids – and adults? So did I.”

XYZ pauses, and turns around to face Big Al and look his square in the eye.

“Yet, here I am … and there he is. We could not be any more different than one another.”

Big Al nods his head in agreement as XYZ stands up inside the Magic School Bus.

“SHINE THE LIGHT INTO MY EARDRUMS AND LET ME HEAR ITS ANGELIC SINGING THROUGH THE RAFTERS OF THE UNIVERSE! FIRE UP THE GRILL OF ISOLATION AND SHOW ME THE PATH TO MY FOLLOWERS! BREATHE A GUST OF EUPHORIA INTO MY HEART AND SOOOOUL! WITHOUT THE LIGHT, THERE IS NO SUNRISE AND NO DAWN AND NO MORNING AND NO HOPE!

I understand the need for darkness, but I will not travel towards it or with it. Darkness exists to prove to us the beauty of the light. We sleep through darkness to pass the time quickly and avoid its menacing glare. And we remind ourselves at the beginning of darkness that we much prefer its predecessor and follower. We much prefer its opposite.

WE WANT THE DOLPHINS’ RAGE AS THEY BLOW PAST THE SHORES AND TAKE UP THEIR RIGHTFUL PLACE ON THE SKYSCRAPERS OF GLORY! WE WANT THE FLOWERS TO UPROOT THEIR CANES AND FLING THEIR CANDY AT THE POSSUM WHO CROSSES THE BETTER HALF OF THE ROAD! WE WANT THE THUNDEROUS ROOOOOAR OF THE OAK TREES TO EMBRACE OUR HOPE AND DESTINY WITH ENCOURAGING STORIES OF MEN AND WOMEN OF YEARS AGO!

And we … want what causes the darkness to go. We are no longer afraid of it, no. We just recognize … that it gives us nothing. We recognize that the energy we seek – and the fulfillment we need – comes … when the sky turns orange and blue, shedding the dark cover it once hid behind.”

XYZ sits back down in the driver’s seat as he calms himself.

“I do not fear ‘The Dark Traveler’ Darius Wright – or anyone else who embraces darkness or travels in darkness. I do not care if he is a murderer or a priest. All I care about and know … is who I am, and who you are, and why I am on the better side of it all.”

XYZ pauses.

“So, no, you’re wrong, Big Al. While I do fear darkness itself, I do not fear it the most of this list. The answer is quicksand. I hate quicksand.”

Right then, XYZ spots one of the Wegmans workers parking his car in the parking lot near the front doors. X grows incredibly excited and immediately grabs one of his recyclable brown grocery bags.

“Look at the time! Seems we killed off 45 minutes talking about darkness. Let’s go, Big Al. We need to get you some medicine for that nasty cough.”

Big Al rolls his eyes, followed by another coughing spree. X notices it and gives a sideways glance before he steps off the bus. Big Al hunches over in the aisle and puts his left hand on one of the seat cushions. He nearly drops to one knee from the intensity of the coughing, and then he gets back up, only to find blood splattered on the hand covering his mouth.

Big Al gets a little worried that XYZ might see it, so he quickly wipes the fresh blood onto his black shirt, hoping that he has hidden the evidence enough.

“Well, boys ‘n girls, that just about does it for now. Thanks for stoppin’ by, and I’ll be sure to make more regular appearances goin’ forward. Until next time, here’s a tip’a the ‘ole cap to XYZ ‘n Big Al, two of the craziest cuckoo birds I’ve ever laid my eyes on since I was roundin’ up cattle in Yosemite. 'N if y'all ever heard'a the people in Yosemite, then you'd know they were some crazy birds up there.

But Big Al 'n XYZ are just a special kind'a wack. But, they make each other better, don't 'ya think? Match made in heaven, as I always say. Hopefully Big Al gets that cough figured out. He just got himself right, too. That 'ole XYZ is gonna do damn near anythin' to make sure his friend is gettin' better, ain't he?”​

 

[Rawr]

The Reunification of a Fractured Heart​

Part III: Dreams Journey’s End​

Spoiler: ”Dreams || Fleetwood Mac”

It was bright out. Grey skies, but still bright. Raindrops fell over the train cart housing the new FWA World Champion in a comforting rhythm. Said champion had a cabin all to himself. He sat up against the window, watching the rain drip across the cold glass steadily as the train laid dormant. His every breath fogging the glass before clearing up only momentarily.

The scenery was relaxing if not dull, mostly dead forestry covered in white melting snow. From the corner of his eye he spotted a deer rustling through the hedges. It disappeared into the rough when Alyster turned his attention toward it.

The Champion grumbled. He reached out to his travelling companion and took her by the strap. She was beautiful. Covered in gold. Freshly polished. The leather strap was freshly cleaned. She had that aroma, that intoxicating aroma that inspired him to go to war, to want to fall in battle defending her.

The FWA World Championship was here with him, he’d brought it here, it was his and his alone.

He folded the championship up tightly and held it to his chest. His heart beat a mile a minute, he was still nervous around this belt, still in awe of its magnificence. He’d never held it before, not so intimately. They’d exchanged glances before, his fingertips had touched the gold faceplate, but he wasn’t able to call it his own. Until now.

Alyster wondered if it was unhealthy to anthropomorphize the FWA World Championship. It had worked out well with the X Championship. Giving that title belt its own identity made it that much easier to give his all defending it. But he loved the X Championship unlike anything he’d ever cared about before. The World Championship, beautiful as she was, was not the X Championship. Given time he could grow to love this title belt like he loved the other.

Time would tell if he would be able to sacrifice for this championship as much as he did the other. The chase bore good news on that front. He’d broken his heart pursuing this golden Goddess, and claiming her for himself had mended it.

The journey had come to its end. He’d finally arrived at his destination. All that time was spent chasing this World Championship and here he was. Three years. That’s how long it had been since he joined the ranks of the FWA. It has been nearly three since he first laid his eyes on this golden prize. Three years since she’d been within his grasp and snatched away.

Saint Sulley, the first champion. The first to hold Alyster at bay and steal away his chance of holding this championship belt.

The Saint would once again play spoiler at the Mile High Massacre ten months later.

Then Danny Toner, twice.

It took Danny Toner’s body and mind breaking down for Alyster Black to finally snatch the FWA World Championship for himself.

He feared what holding this championship would do to him. It had destroyed Danny Toner and Toner had proven himself better than Alyster in every way.

Was this golden prize cursed? By holding it had Alyster doomed himself like the majority of its previous holders?

Danny was gone. Thomas was all but gone. Nova, gone. Golden, missing. Krash, gone. Randy, gone. Kennedy, gone. Even the Saint had plateaued and bid us all farewell.

Would he follow suit? Was he damned as they were?

Not necessarily. One previous holder of this golden prize still remained. Her journey hadn’t come to an end. Perhaps Alyster still had something left to prove. Just because one destination had been reached didn’t mean there wouldn’t be anymore.

The FWA World Championship wasn’t the end of the line.

The train sprung to life, blowing black smoke into the air whilst a high pitched whistle rang. The animal life in the forest were startled. Birds flew from the branches, quadrupeds disappeared into the forest. The train began to move, slowly at first but quickly picking up momentum. The branches flew past the window in a blur as the train reached top speeds.

Alyster sat up straight and lifted the World Championship to his lips, kissing it softly as tears began to well up in the corners of his eyes. After everything that had happened. After the bloody battles, after the war waged against Toner. To be here with that World Championship was nothing short of miraculous.

His sombre moment was interrupted by the cabin door sliding open. In the frame stood a familiar face. A blonde woman with unkempt hair and plain clothing. Carrying a rucksack which she carefully placed across from Alyster Black. It was Michelle von Horrowitz, Dreamer herself.

“Michelle.” He greeted her with a nod as he quickly reached to wipe away tears.

Michelle had a warm expression on her face. She understood what Alyster was going through, it was a feeling that only people who had travelled the roads they’d shared could ever experience.

“Not to be rude but this is a private cabin.”

“I know tulip, I’ve patronised this cart once or twice before. Besides…” She opened the rucksack and pulled out her very own FWA World Championship, the tag team variation of course. “I’ve a claim to this cabin too.”

The light reflected off of Michelle’s World Tag Team Championship, shining over Alyster’s face.

“Fair enough then.” His eyes lingered on the Championship belt that lay across Michelle’s lap. He was all too familiar with it, having held it the previous year. His heart twinged as he thought back on that period of his career. It was a time he felt he’d never be able to experience again. His partner Krash was gone. The Gang Stars were no more. Even if he wanted to take that Championship away from Michelle he had no one left that he could trust, not like he trusted Krash. Not like Michelle trusted Gerald.

It was this time last year when he was last a double champion. Holding the very same belt that Michelle had (he could tell it was his due to a very distinct scratch on the side plate that he’d marked it with). Along with the X Championship he still holds currently.

“My eyes are up here tulip.” Michelle shook the belt on her lap to snap Alyster from his stupor.

“Sorry, I was just reminiscing.”

When he lifted his head he found that she herself wasn’t quite looking him in the eye either. Her eyes would quickly glance down at the World Championship he clutched against his chest. He couldn’t help but to chuckle and tried his hardest to focus on the scenery passing by the train.

The bare branches, having freshly shed their leaves. Covered in patches of snow that thickened as the train sped past and launched more white frost from the tracks. There was not a shade of green in the forest. It was a time of change.

The passengers shared a comfortable silence that was soundly broken by Alyster pondering a question.

“Do you know where this train is going Michelle?” He wasn’t entirely sure what their destination was.

“This train? It’s travelling toward its destination.” She replied curtly, she was as sure of this as she was of anything.

“Very funny.” He slumped back down, resting his head against the cold glass once more.

“We’re travelling to where we need to be.” She smiled at him, he returned the gesture then put his focus back onto the rushing scenery outside.

Michelle lifted her feet up onto the cushion beside her, she sat back against the cabin wall and looked out the window of the cabin door. For a while longer they enjoyed a comfortable silence.

A warm honey-like voice bellowed out across the train car, it was reminiscent of the late Alan Rickman.

“Tickets!” The voice shouted from down the car. “Tickets please!” It repeated itself as he stopped at each and every cabin until it finally arrived at Alyster and Michelle’s.

Sliding the cabin door open, the voice was loud and boisterous. “Tickets please.” It greeted the pair with a warm expression, at least as warm an expression as an ethereal being with no discernable facial features could.

The ticket inspector was Alyster’s guide on his journey to rebuild his broken heart. Fiery in appearance without radiating heat, brightly lit without illuminating its surroundings, and today was wearing a ticket inspectors uniform. An old-timey uniform. Double breasted jacket, navy blue in colour, with matching pants, white gloves, and hate baring the trainline’s logo. Said logo was an image of a coal engine train.

Oddly, the creature had a pencil moustache drawn over its face.

Alyster looked from the creature to Michelle, she was calm in spite of its otherworldly appearance. Acting as if the sight of this creature was normal happenstance.

It stood in the doorway tapping its foot, waiting for the passengers to produce their tickets. Michelle and Alyster raised their World Championships.

“Wonderful.” The creature replied. “Simply marvellous. You two enjoy the rest of your trip.”

As it stepped out to continue its rounds it couldn’t help but to double back. “Say, do you two happen to know your destination.”

“We’re going to where we need to be.” Alyster winked at Michelle as he answered his guide.

“Excellent. The drink cart will be making its rounds behind me, I’m sure you two are just rearing to have a rematch.”

“Hmm,” Alyster nodded his head, motioning toward his cabin-mate. “What do you say to another drinking contest Michelle?”

“I say that you’re begging for me to hand you yet another loss tulip.” She smirked back at him before reaching into her pocket and pulling out a polaroid picture of herself with an unmasked Alyster Black leaning on her shoulder. Taken in a bar over two years ago.

“Aww,” The guide cooed, “Isn’t that just precious.” It continued on its way, sliding the cabin door closed behind it.

The pair of World Champions were left to their devices yet again. They choose to enjoy further silence for a little while longer before MvH pondered a question.

“Do you find it odd?” She piped up.

Alyster looked back up from the window, “Find what odd?”

“How our journeys have mirrored.” She shuffled her position, raising her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, hugging her knees and the FWA World Tag Team Championship.

She turned her head toward the window which illuminated brightly.

Alyster Black turned to look back out the window too. The scenery had changed, gone was the cold forest, before him was a stage. It flickered as if it was a film reel being projected against a screen.

On the stage was the mirror image of Michelle von Horrowitz, standing beneath a flickering sign reading “Back in Business”. She was engaged in battle with a group of men, most notably among them was Gerald Grayson.

It was a violet spectacle. They were all trying to kill each other. But Michelle was a cut above the rest. She slew each and every one of them in bloody fashion and in the end stood atop a pile of bodies with the FWA X Championship held high.

The curtains closed for a brief moment before opening again. The backdrop featured the Sydney Harbor bridge, even though the proceeding events took place in Melbourne. An exact look-a-like for Alyster Black was trading hands with a gruff Nate Savage looking gladiator.

Alyster took his head off in spiteful fashion and his reward for slaying this beast was the FWA X Championship.

“That would be each of our first singles championships here.”

“Aye.”

“My victory came before yours. It was before whomever was in charge had opened their eyes to how insanely talented I am.”

“They realised that the X Championship was beneath you.”

“They robbed me of the opportunity to do for that belt what you have.”

“I wanted to beat you for the X Championship so badly. The moment you won it was the first time I’d ever watched you fight. Your time in CWA came after mine, I’d never had the opportunity before. You were amazing, you still are. But they were right, you were a cut above everyone else battling for the X Championship, Gerald included.”

“You raise a championship to your level tulip. I wasn’t above it, I just wasn’t afforded a chance to make that belt what it’s destined to be.”

“You mean what I’ve done with it?”

“I’d have made it better.”

Alyster grumbled and turned his attention back to the window. This time it was Alyster Black and Krash doing battle with Golden Rock. Krash was on fire, an absolute stud. He made the Gang Stars. Watching him battle in Tokyo convinced Alyster that Krash could have single handedly felled Golden Rock.

After a Daybreaker from Krash, he and Alyster could raise the FWA World Tag Team Championship above their heads and call them their own.

As did The Connection. Michelle and Gerald overwhelmed the Spirit Walkers unlike anything Alyster had seen before.

But their “connection” wasn’t as strong as Alyster and Krash’s. How could it be? Alyster and Krash had over ten years of friendship that served as the foundation of their team. Michelle and Gerald were thrown together.

“It still stings. That you and Krash put on the biker gear and attacked Golden Rock instead of us. That tournament belonged to Gerald and me. It was ours for the taking.”

“So you say. Golden Rock still beat you, and we beat them. For what it's worth, I still maintain that if Krash and I had entered that tournament together then neither you nor Golden Rock would have stood a chance.”

“I suppose we’ll never have a definitive answer as to whose team is better then tulip, considering your better half is pushing up daisies.”

He winced as she pointed out the obvious. It stung deep down that ten years of friendship could end in abandonment.

The stage had changed once again. Michelle stood under another bright sign reading Back in Business, this time only taking on two men.

Mike Parr, the partner stealer, and Saint Sulley, the man who played spoiler in Alyster Black’s first World Championship match.

Michelle crushed Mike Parr’s dreams on the grandest stage and then brought the Saint’s reign of terror to an end.

She stood tall, holding the FWA World Championship above her head, main eventing the biggest Back in Business of all time. Reaching what many would consider her final destination. But her journey was far from over.

“How did it feel sitting backstage and watching me do what you could only dream of? I slayed the Saint, I brought the reign of terror to an end.”

Alyster’s grip over the FWA World Championship began to loosen.

She continued, “I succeeded where you failed.”

“It stung. It still stings. But I wasn’t destined to beat the Saint. Fate stripped you of the X Championship because it had this in store for you.” The belt began to slip from his arms.

She scoffed, “Fate is controlled tulip. You make your own. You don’t bow to any ethereal being.”

“You’re not wrong, not at all. I thought I was destined to never hold this World Championship. But…”

He turns back to the window. On the stage are a dozen or so gladiators doing battle. Bodies are being tossed off the edge of the stage, into the snow below. In the centre of the stage is the masked man, battling valiantly, fresh off the heels of disappointment. Heart broken.

He is the last man standing.

He is the only one that can call themselves the World Champion.

“But you didn’t beat Danny Toner to do it.”

The belt fell from his arms and into his lap.

“I still have the belt, what more do I need?”

“Who you beat matters. I slew the king, you won a battle royal. A battle royal that I didn’t enter.”

“Regardless…I see we both triple crowned at roughly the same time.”

“Don’t you find it odd how our journeys have mirrored?” She smirks from the corner of the room. “I did it first of course. I did most everything before you. I was X Champion first. I was World Champion first. And my reigns are legitimate, unlike you.”

“They don’t ask how you got there Michelle, they only care that you arrived.”

“But you care about how you got there tulip. You didn’t beat me for the X Championship, no one beat me for it. You didn’t beat Toner for the World Championship. As far as you or I am concerned, you’re only a paper champion.”

“Remember the last time we fought?”

“I recall that neither of our hearts were in that fight tulip. A meagre victory in a match that never mattered doesn’t mean anything.”

“Yeah? Well my heart is going to be in this one and when I beat you it’s going to mean a whole lot..”

“I’m glad that your heart is mended, that just means I get to break it all over again.”

The train jolted. The FWA World Championship fell to the floor. Alyster bent over to pick it up but the train shook violently, he was sent stumbling into the cabin door whilst the belt somehow found its way into Michelle’s hands.

“Hello old friend. You’ve certainly been missed. Look at how they’ve mistreated you. I promise to never let you out of my grasp again.”

Alyster slowly rose to his feet, “Don’t make promises you can’t keep Michelle.”

“That’s sound advice coming from you tulip.” She lowered her voice, imitating Alyster, “I’m gonna kill Danny Toner and become the FWA World Champion, this is a promise.”

“Oh fuck off. You can’t take something I said in a fit of anger as gospel.”

“I can’t take anything you say seriously. You’re going around and calling yourself the World Champion afterall.”

Alyster raises his voice, “I am the World Champion, Michelle. I earned that fucking belt. I bled for that belt. I gave my soul to win that belt.” He slowly approaches her.

“That’s right tulip, keep pronouncing it. That will give your claim legitimacy.” She holds the World Championship out by her side, the gold hangs from the leather strap. “It’s just the same as how you’re the X Champion in spite of me never having lost the title. I would make for a far more fitting double champion than you.”

A vein bulges in Alyster’s temple, he grits his teeth before taking a deep breath. “I see what’s going on here.”

“What’s going on tulip?”

“That match we had last year, during the Gold Rush. That was about the most fun I’ve ever had wrestling. I can’t speak for you but I suspect that the feeling is mutual. But I can’t go into this fight with you with even an ounce of respect for you can I? Because you’ve changed haven’t you. You’ve become the lowest scum of all. You’re a no good, honourless Nephew. You’re not the same gladiator I did battle with in the Gold Rush, you’re not concerned with proving that you’re the best anymore. You’ve done it twice now. You beat Sulley and you beat Diamond. Your journey came to an end.”

“I’ve always played it dirty, tulip.”

“Not like you are now. Bending the rules is one thing. Selling your soul is another.”

“Didn’t you just say that you sold your soul for this?” She waves the World Championship from side to side.

“I’d never sell my fucking soul. I gave it up to win that belt and in the process earned it back. You’re a fucking shell of what you used to be.”

The train jolts again. It screeches, slowly to a sudden stop. Michelle loses her grip on the World Championship and it flies back into Alyster’s possession. She jumps to her feet but is uneasy as the brakes of the train continue to squeal. Alyster on the other hand is steady, maintaining his composure and posture.

The train comes to a dead stop and Michelle is sent flying back into the window of the cabin. She looks out and the forest is on fire. It looks like hell on Earth. Everything is dying.

“Times they are a changin’.” Alyster remarks as he steps toward Michelle.

She turns her attention away from the window to Alyster who kicks her right in the chest, sending her flying through what was the cabin window and is now an open stage car door.

She lands in a pile of snow outside, the last remaining pile of snow. Coughing, she looks up and the train has changed. Alyster Black looks down at her from a stage car, with the FWA World Championship wrapped tightly around his waist. She’s even more confused when she sees two Alyster Black’s sliding the stage car door closed.

Her attention is snapped from a voice shouting from atop the train. It’s Alyster Black, wearing a conductor’s hat.

“This is my train Michelle. Not yours. Not the FWA. It’s mine and mine alone. Now, I’ve got a Climaxxx to win, which means I have a few more stops to make. And if you should happen to find yourself back aboard this train then I’ll be more than happy to kick you off again.”

He looks out amongst the environment, the flames have engulfed the forest. Michelle is helpless, laying down in the last bed of snow which is quickly melting around her.

“Battling me isn’t a dream Michelle, it’s your worst nightmare.” He pumps his first in the air and the train whistle rings out in time. The engine roars to life and the train begins to move. Michelle leaps to her feet and desperately leaps, trying to jump back on. She’s within a fingertip of salvation but falls just short of her goal.

- Fin​