Meltdown XXIII & Fallout 023 || Promo Thread.

[SupineSnake]

The deadlines for promos on both shows is:

Sunday 4th December, 2022 at 23:59 Pacific Time.
Monday 5th December, 2022 at 03:00(am) Eastern.
Monday 5th December, 2022 at 08:00(am) UK.
Monday 5th December, 2022 at 11:00(am) Turkey.
Monday 5th December, 2022 at 19:00 Melbourne.

There will be no extensions. Good luckl!​

 

[SupineSnake]

THOMAS WEST, HARRY THE SANE WIZARD , MAID OF DEATH,
QUIET, UNCLE J.J. JAY!, and MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
are
[CTHULHU'S NEPHEWS]
in
"BOWLING SHOE UGLY."

****​

Surprisingly, she never met Uncle under clandestine circumstances when they were upon Earth. It was always somewhere out in the open, with lots of footfall and prying eyes, generating word of mouth regarding the peculiar band of people that were seen in some peculiarly public location. Some of this was hiding in plain sight. Uncle was invariably into some nefarious shit, but he wanted to present to the world the notion that he wasn't into any nefarious shit. He felt that by often appearing in coffee shops or theaters or - as was the case tonight - bowling alleys, he was helping along the idea - held by exactly nobody in this or any other galaxy - that he lived a mundane, normal life. Another part of this was his will to observe and interact with humanity at every juncture. Michelle could only understand the observation part of this. She liked being around people but abhorred the concept of speaking to them. Perhaps Uncle saw these endeavors as a constant recruitment drive. Or maybe he was just more curious than she was.

The five Nephews assembled had already finished their first game of bowling, and a buxom Earth waitress was busy setting down a tray of drinks. She collected in the empties from around the lane, suggesting that the group had been having a decent enough time of it without her. She eyed up each of the five drinks in turn: a whiskey sour for Thomas, fruity cider for Uncle, a neat double vodka in a tall glass for Quiet, red wine for the Maid, and a Fritz Cola for Harry. Each of them greedily took their glasses and offered up a quick cheers before eagerly drinking their chosen poison. Only then did Uncle notice the addition to the pentagon (now a hexagon).

"Ah, Dreamer!" he began, whilst waving at the waitress for her to return. "You missed the first game! Thomas ran away with it, I'm afraid. But Harry gave him a good fight."

"It's easy with the bumpers up," Thomas put in, narrowing his eyes in the direction of the young wizard.

"Now, now!" Uncle said, admonishingly. "We congratulate each other's accomplishments in the Nephews. Some people are just… more natural bowlers than others. Harry did a great job, bumpers or no bumpers! Ah, here you are. A Heineken, please!"

The waitress made a note on her pad and disappeared as Michelle took a seat next to Quiet. Harry was busy adding her name to the list of players ahead of the second game.

"Feels weird doing this without Gerald," Michelle offered, whilst glancing around the group.

"Blame Russnow for that," Uncle deflected. Dreamer noticed that he almost spit out the authority figure's name. "Besides, Gerald would understand better than anyone why we didn't ask him to come bowling. He's not in the match, so his presence here would be a distraction. We have to focus on ourselves, Nephews! On our portrayal and our development!"

"So… bowling?" she asked.

"It's worked before," Thomas said.

"Thomas chose bowling," Uncle went on. "But the venue is irrelevant. We could just as easily have held our moot in a forest as a surface level homage to the Lumberjacks, or at a seance for the Coven, but these are the tricks of teams less comfortable in themselves as we Nephews."

"Gerald and I went to a forest last week," Michelle pointed out.

"My point exactly," Uncle answered.

"You forgot Bad Reputation," Harry pointed out, as he reached for his ball. The bumpers clicked up on the side of the lane.

"No, I didn't," Uncle said. "The forest is to the Lumberjacks as a seance is to the Coven as what is to Bad Reputation? A boardroom? That wasn't the case before this whole failed Executive Excellence experiment. There's nothing to tie Kayden Knox and Gabrielle so neatly together, so disparate as they are."

Harry sent his ball whizzing down the lane, careering this way and that through a combination of physics and spellwork. It collided with the barriers either side of the lane a total of five times before clattering into the pins, knocking seven of them down in the process.​

Harry smiled to himself, but found that the smile quickly faded away thanks to the peculiar manner in which the eighth pin teetered, tottered, and then remained in place. Seven was a fine enough score, and he wasn't particularly bothered that an additional pin hadn't been added to his count. Instead, this peculiar motion resonated with him because he felt as though he had observed it before. A long time ago, in an all-together different dimension.

It was his birthday party. He was turning perhaps eight or nine, and gathered around him were his parents, along with almost a dozen similarly aged children from the local wizarding elementary school. He couldn't remember any of the kids' faces, but - of course, for they were the ones who accompanied him on many of his earlier, perhaps happier years, before he was kidnapped by Uncle - the visages of his mother and father were still firmly etched in his mind.

He had flung his ball down the aisle, watched it hit the bumpers a total of five times, before smashing seven of the pins onto their sides. The eighth teetered, tottered, and then remained in place, just like it would on a different Earth a handful of years in the future, in an all-together different dimension.

"You needed eight to win," Crispin said. Crispin was a boy who lived a few doors down from Harry and his parents, who possessed dreams - even at this early age - of growing up to be an assassin-mage. "The day belongs to Crispin! Shame about it being your birthday and all."

The other boy took a bite from his ice cream bar, and Harry narrowed his eyes. He'd recently been experimenting with some food spells, and almost without thinking he muttered an incantation that turned the vanilla ice cream in Crispin's hand into a concoction of walrus bile, honeydew melon, and fermented eggplant. The boy heaved, before dropping the rest of his victory treat onto the ground.​

"Seven's a fine score, Harry!" Uncle declared, as Harry waited for his ball to return through the chute. The Sane Wizard's eyes drifted to Thomas, waiting for him to make some wisecrack and wondering what spell could be applied to his whiskey sour if he did. "And you've still another throw of the dice. That's what I admire most about you, Harry: your perseverance."

"Kayden Knox is pretty perseverant, too," Thomas pointed out, as he watched Harry's hackneyed bowling style on his second throw of the frame. "He's spent years at the mercy of every Tom, Dick, and Harry that fancies trying their hand at manipulation. Each of them has tried to knock some sense into his head, but he keeps on coming back."

Harry threw his ball again, managing to find the gap between the remaining pins after the obligatory rebounding from bumper to bumper.

"He even beat you, remember?" Thomas finished, with a coy smile.

"..... …. …….. …..," Quiet added.

"Yes, I don't need reminding of that sorry little interlude," Uncle said, whilst waving them off. "It's safe to say that was a low point in my FWA career, Nephews, and it's never good to dwell upon the troughs. But that Kayden is different to this one. He at least had an air of independence about him. Not like he is now, the lapdog for some quickly-expiring relic."

It was the Maid's turn to bowl, and she at least managed to throw it down the middle of the aisle. Her more classical style didn't bring with it reward, though, with only five of the pins toppling onto their side. Michelle looked up at the scoreboard, and only then did she realize that just five names were listed, with the masked man's omitted from the game.

"Not playing?" she asked.

".'. …. ……..," Quiet said, with his arms folded.​

As he waited patiently for his turn, Thomas glanced across the faces of the team that were assembled around him. It was only a small subset of the many, disparate beings that called themselves Nephews, dispersed across the universe in various hidden pockets of far-flung galaxies. The crew around him now was utterly interchangeable, the podcast host thought, but it was the one that had been assigned to him - ahead of their oncoming confrontation on Meltdown - by a man he happened to think very little of. Neither did Uncle. At least they had that in common.

He'd always been a gifted bowler, and had always enjoyed playing the game. Ever since his time at the University of the Singularity. Uncle hadn't been around, then. The COSMIC HORROR was the one paying for his studies, and the one who had got him into the school in the first place, so he was 'there' in a sort of omnipotent creator sort of role, but it was one of the few extended periods of time that he'd spent without him. It stuck out amongst his memories, chiefly for this reason.

Even though he was yet to truly be a Nephew, and hadn't spent countless years in the company of Uncle and his ever-revolving crew, a youngish Thomas West still found himself at the mercy of other peoples' whims. It was always the case, even during his CWA days. He couldn't really remember the faces of those he'd studied with… those he'd bowled with. Bringing them to focus now, decades later, in his memory was an impossible task.

There were a few exceptions, of course. The foremost amongst them being Professor —--, who had guided him through those years in ways that were indescribable. He could see her now, standing in the high window of the Tower of Benedin, the Sands shifting in their great array around the Point of Singularity. It was a moment that would remain to him, even when all other moments had faded away, swallowed up by the very thing he'd spent his life trying to master. She had her back to him, bedsheets pulled up around her, her olive green skin shimmering in the candlelight.

She turned to face him.​

Uncle stood in front of Thomas and smiled, recognising that his companion was locked in a deep reminiscence. He passed his hand in front of his face and then gently clicked his fingers, the podcast host promptly snapping out of it with a few rapid blinks and a sip of his whiskey sour. Luckily for him, it still tasted like a whiskey sour. Harry was merciful.

"It's your turn," Uncle said, nodding at the pins. As Thomas busied himself in collecting his ball, JAY! took up position in the adjacent lane, blocking the progress of the children's birthday party that occupied it. "Just like we have nothing to fear from Executive Excellence, who have fled the scene in the face of a confrontation with Dreamer, and only a short time after I spent months showing the Chessmaster up as the Draughtsman that he is… the same is true of these Brothers LuPone. Dreamer and GiGi have beaten them both already, and I don't fear anything new from either team here in Nuremberg."

"You're being too flippant again, Uncle," Harry protested, as Thomas returned from bowling a strike. "Kayden's always had your number, and let's not forget that he spiked you on your dome again last week in Koln..."

Uncle rubbed the back of his head, as if the mention of the assault caused it to throb.

"I'd rather we didn't speak about that," Uncle said.

"And even if Gerald and Michelle have beaten them before," Thomas posited, whilst Dreamer prepared to take her shot. "You can't expect the Lumberjacks to come back with the exact same thing again. And these three teams together… I don't know, there's too many variables. It's an unknown quantity."

"But you love chaos, Thomas!" Uncle said, whilst throwing his arms in the air. A healthy measure of his drink ended up over a nearby bowler. "Sounds like exactly the sort of challenge we need. You've said it yourself: too much time on the sidelines. The gears need to grind."

"I don't like the Coven," Harry put in, whilst sipping his cola.

"You mean you don't like other people being able to do magic," Thomas said.

"That's exactly what I mean," Harry replied, with a shrug. "Nullifies our advantage."

"We're up to it," Uncle said, nonchalantly. "We've got Harry, we've got me, and we've got the Maid…"

At that moment, all eyes turned to the Maid, who had remained oddly silent throughout the dialogue. Her only movements had been to take her shots, which she did dutifully but absently. Right now, she stared up the lane, carefully regarding Michelle as she missed the one pin that remained in front of her on her second shot.​

In her mind, she was somewhere else entirely. This was normal.

She stood on the shores of the Khur'oqq Lake, the tide rampant and volatile and seemingly confrontational towards her specifically. Her katana, planted in the sand, was splattered with warm Tyrog blood that smouldered upon the blade. She would clean it in the sea later on, when the twin blood-moons had ascended in the night's sky. For now, though, her eyes were locked open the small fishing boat being pushed into the sea. The girl that pushed it was young and frail, the powerful currents too much for her tender frame to negotiate alone. The Maid helped her, silent and motionless, from the shore.

The black clouds folded in on themselves, a grim visualization of the heavens' anger. She wondered if it was directed at her, and the things that she'd done today. The latest in a long list of atrocities against her name since she'd first come to the system. It felt longer than it had been.

A lone bolt of lightning, violent and sudden and hostile, burst forward from the black clouds. It struck the face of the water, not too far from the boat and the shore. A mushroom cloud of water was sent upwards from the point of impact. Thunder rumbled overhead, a harbinger of doom.

She stood alone, now that the girl had gone. Or was going. Was in the process of going. Her whole body ached from recent battle, the weight of her blood-stained armor unusually heavy upon her.

Finally, the girl had the boat far enough out to unfurl the sails. She looked as though she might become tangled in the ropes, but she had some skill with them. The boat heeded her calls. She held her steady, close enough to be seen but too far to be heard.​

"I guess she agrees with me," Uncle affirmed, when it was clear that the Maid had no intention of replying. "She would usually agree with me."

"The fact of the matter remains that we're entering the ring with three teams that we've never seen interact before," Thomas reasoned, in-between sips of his drink. "All united in their hatred of us, thanks to what Dreamer had us do in Rotterdam."

"We've faced that before," Uncle reasoned.

"And we've lost to that before," Thomas replied. "I don't want to lose again. Not this close to Mile High Massacre."

"Shouldn't be called Mile High Massacre," Uncle posited, with a derisive snort.

"Sea-Level Sadism," Harry suggested.

"Kilometer High Khaos," Thomas countered.

"Russnow likes misspellings," Harry allowed.

"Regardless of what it is or should be called," Thomas went on. "The tag team championships are the only belts we have left. And all of these teams want to take them from us."

"They're just the beginning of it," Michelle interjected. She was fully aware that Russnow had neglected to announce the full field for the forthcoming Mile High Massacre match, and that others besides the three teams in this contest were lining up for a shot at her and Gerald. And then, of course, there were those who said the biggest threat to the Connection's tag team championship reign was the Connection themselves. They said it often and they said it loudly, and Michelle couldn't help but hear it.

Uncle only now moved out of his position blocking the adjacent lane so that he could take his turn. He picked up the heaviest ball that the alley had, but turned around to face his Nephews before taking his shot.

"It pains me to see this sort of shortsightedness from my Nephews," he began, whilst gesticulating with the obscenely heavy bowling ball held between his fingers. His tone was becoming more stern, and Michelle adjusted herself uncomfortably in her seat. Quiet was still next to her, and was unmoving, having heard it all before…​

"It pains me to see this sort of shortsightedness from my Nephews," Uncle said, on the bridge of the Octopi (which was, back then, the only Octopi, and thus didn't require numbering).

Quiet's eyes scanned the earnest countenance of Uncle, who was at least sincere in that this small-scale mutiny was causing him pain. Quiet wasn't a part of it, but was aware of the other Nephews' plan to confront Uncle about their grievances that evening. The three of them were all on the bridge, side by side so as to show unity, with Kilkenny the most forthright and obstinate of the bunch. The other two looked at the large Irishman for leadership, hoping that he might say something that would cause Uncle to instantly cave and give in to their demands.

"It's 1987, Uncle, or at least it is back on Earth..." Kilkenny said in his thick, Irish accent. He'd been with Uncle for half a decade, now, and had proven useful in a pinch more than once. If there was a barfight in the vicinity, it was handy to have a man like Kilkenny on your side. And it was obviously the case that Uncle was the sort of COSMIC HORROR who frequently found himself in the vicinity of barfights. "There are some things that we as a workforce should expect."

"Like decent healthcare," said Vorres the Newt, who had joined the crew during an adventure in the Newt Complex in the Fifth Quadrant beyond the Crease. Vorres knew her way around a cockpit, but the benefits of this were all-too-often negated by her constant whining on the subject of universal healthcare.

"And how about you let one of us choose the adventure every now and again," said Brokus, between the heavy, labored breaths he would routinely take whenever he was obliged to talk. His hulking figure shook beneath the weight of his shell. He'd been standing on his hind legs for too long, to the point of exhaustion, which was a testament to how firmly held his grievance was.

Uncle looked at each of them in turn, his disappointment growing and growing, until finally this consternation gave way to a broad, almost proud smile.

"Well, Nephews, if that is indeed the will of the people, then so be it. I'll have Alphonse begin to look into the proper paperwork back on earth for this healthcare concept you speak of… although, to be honest, it doesn't sound particularly anarchistic. But if it's what you really want, Nephews, then it's what you shall have. Just as soon as we're finished up here on Merellex. The last vortex should be closed tomorrow morning, and then we'll make a beeline for home to face off with all this glorious bureaucracy. A worthy foe!"

By this stage, Quiet - in some form or another - had already been with the Nephews for over a decade, and had come to understand the nuance in Uncle's tone and pitch that often belied his true meaning. He was, it didn't need to be said, a master orator, and had an uncanny ability to lead even the most cynical and critically-minded listener down almost any garden path.

The next morning, Uncle and Quiet sat alone in the bridge of the Octopi, their trajectory indeed set for Earth but their load around three hundred and fifty kilograms lighter.

"... …. .. ….?" the masked man asked, whilst adjusting a set of dials

"Yes, the last vortex is closed," JAY! affirmed. "The others are investigating the other side of it. We'll check on them in, I don't know, thirty five years or so. See if they've had a change of mind."

Quiet nodded, and thought about the Nephews he'd already known. The ones that had left, the ones that had been discarded, and the ones that - in some tragic circumstances - had ceased to exist altogether.

And the many more that had come and gone since, all of whom had given Uncle considerable pain with their shortsightedness.​

"But it seems to me," Uncle continued, with his bowling ball still lifted in front of him, as if it was a human skull and he was Hamlet. "That my Nephews are unable to see the proverbial woods through the proverbial forest, if you'll allow me that one cheap pun in the direction of our Lumberjack friends. You fear the chaos that comes with our opponents being three separate entities forced to unite beneath one common banner… a banner of hatred for us poor Nephews, which is the cheapest of all banners. But you look past the fact that we, each of us, are in fact similarly different… in our backgrounds, in our physiology, in our ambition… even in our memories..."

As Uncle said this, Michelle found herself catching momentary glimpses of different images: she was at a children's birthday party… in a high tower, staring at sand shifting around space… on the shores of a storm-stricken lake… alone aboard the Octopi, decades in the past. She hadn't a moment to consider these flashes before they disappeared, and Uncle roared on in his monologue.

"But whilst our opponents clutch at straws, attempting to sustain themselves on their sizable envy for ours truly, we are drawn together by one commonality: a commonality that we chose, and that chose us. I'm talking, of course, about each other. Thomas West cannot exist without Harry the Same Wizard, who is nobody without Quiet. Even Michelle von Horrowitz, who was once a lonesome, abstracted figure, cannot now be thought about without consideration of Cthulhu's Nephews. We are the one true unit in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. We shouldn't fear our opponents because of the chaos that their differences bring… they should fear us, because of the chaos we conspire to create together."

With that, Uncle turned and hurled the extraordinarily heavy bowling ball down the alley. It bounced twice with a pair of large thuds before finding its way into the gutter.

"I'm sick of bowling," Uncle said, as he turned back to the group. "I think it's about time we went on another adventure."

"There's still eight frames left," Harry pointed out.

"Okay," Uncle conceded. "But soon."​

Spoiler: COMING SOON…

[CTHULHU'S NEPHEWS]
… will return in …
"A LONG-AWAITED ADVENTURE!"
fallout 024

 

[Rosie]

Spoiler: Audio

A lone old CRT Television set sits alone in the room. Its beaten up, covered in dust and a dim violet light looms over it. The camera zooms in slowly on it. The image on the screen is static, trying to get into focus. In and out, we see blips of footage and hear pieces of audio. The voice of the current FWA Television Champion, Phillip A. Jackson is heard, repeating some of what he said in the build-up to Lights Out…

“You've made your history… ZZZT, it is time to help build the image of the belt.”

Flashing on the television screen we see Phillip A. Jackson flying through the air with his spinning Frog Splash securing the win and the missing piece of his FWA Grand Slam. Before it switches to him getting pinned by now former FWA North American Champion, Lizzie Rose, then getting definitively defeated by Cyrus Truth, getting dropped on his head with Journey’s End. His voice returns.

“The FWA needs a… TSCHHH… NEW… TSSCHHH star with a new title, now more than ever. Television needs showmen…It needs entertainers.”

We see Vampyra on the television making her first match appearance in FWA, walking between the fire in her entrance, cape flowing behind her. A spectacle in her entrance. Flashing through we see footage of her in COSMIC Joshi Wrestling, primarily in the Trios ranks. An opponent has her head between the ropes and her, Cali Hayama, and Ririko, all stand next to her, flashing the MAYHEM “M” showing a bit of playfulness before delivering a triple knee strike.

“The new era of television-”

Vampyra flies through the air, landing her Nightfall Frog Splash, then making Sawyer Xavier pass out to her Life Drain Triangle Choke. The count is heard “ONE! TWO! THREE!” And the FWA Television Championship glistens in the spotlight. She is turning Phillip A. Jackson’s own words against him and remixing them.

“New face of tsccch of Television!”

Vampyra’s mask flashes on the screen.

“Strong Style is overrated. It's boring just like Japan. People don't tune in to watch you slap the crap out of people and be relentless. They watch for the show-”

Perhaps contrary to Phillip A. Jackson’s previous claims, we see footage of Vampyra’s match against the FWA Double Champion, Alyster Black, someone with a strong style influence. The chops to the chest of Vampyra sparks reactions from the crowd, while Vampyra coming alive, after falling behind against her more experienced opponent, sparks a massive reaction from the fans as she strikes back. Despite the loss, strong style WAS the show. As Vampyra walks, we see a young fan with a Vampyra mask be given the wrestler’s entrance mask. As the wrestler walks away, body red and bruised, we can see the little girl hug her father and is absolutely giddy over the gift. A memory for life. Someone young who was entertained AND inspired by the performance.

Then, we hear what was said as Vampyra walked away from Phillip A. Jackson after talking to him at Fallout 21.

“She is getting ideas above her station, first thinking she can compete in the Climaxxx and challenge me…”

Flashing on the screen is a series of numbers.

11:12

16:02

The difference of times between both their recent matches with Tommy Bedlam. Vampyra lasted longer despite short notice. Perhaps the shoe should be on the other foot? Vampyra made it as a replacement, but would Phillip A. Jackson even qualified as well without his championship? Then, another set of numbers flash on the screen.

31:07

38:53

The time difference lasted in the F1 for the first two matches. Once again, Vampyra lasted longer despite her not even being announced in the initial tournament line-up.

VAMPYRA PRESENTS…

Frantically, we begin to hear it repeated over the television…

“New face of Television!”

“New face of Television!”

“New face of Television!”

A CYBER-KAY PRODUCTION

“New face of Television!”

“New face of Television!”

“New face of Television!”

The television screen cuts a cloud of static.

And flying through the side, a sledgehammer is swung and it smashes the old television set, glass breaking and falling on the floor.

“The Exposure of a Man’s Hypocrisy.”

Spoiler: Some Ambiance

The echo of thunder in the distance. The trickling of rain falling down onto the roofs. The gentle crackle of a fireplace. We see an old Victorian style home. Wooden beams make their way through the wall and ceiling. The overall room is aged with some chips in the paint, and dust on the hardwood floors. On one side of the room, there is a couch, matching the style, as there is an ornate design to the cushions, though worn with a rip on the green fabric. Lying on the couch we see two people in pure white wrestling masks, a man and a woman. The woman has a peasant’s style dress, with tatters in the clothing, and the gentleman has a vest on, a collared shirt, and brown pants with rips near the bottom. Seated in front of the fireplace is a young girl in a matching mask. She has a little pink dress on and plays with a doll. Turning to her parents, she asks.

“Mummy, papa, why didn’t we have much to eat tonight, I’m hungry?” The little girl frowns. Her parents exchange glances towards each other, unsure of how to respond to their kid. The mother gives an uncomfortable laugh and responds.

“Well, love, we only can afford so much.” And she glances towards her husband, “And someone here is working in a dying industry.”

“Dear, I have told you before, television is forever.” He quips before saying to their daughter, “But don’t worry dear. Let us be thankful for what we have! It isn’t much, but it certainly will do.”

The daughter sighs and looks at her doll, “Are you sure, papa? I’ve been really hungry and nobody else in my school has to worry about being hungry.”

“Well, it is okay.” The mother goes over and gently places a hand over her shoulder. “Because we have our protector, a champion.” She motions towards a picture frame over the fireplace. Displayed proudly is a Christ-like image resembling FWA Television Champion, Phillip A. Jackson. PAJ has a halo around his head and an all white attire. “He is The Cleanser, dear. He washes away the bad in the world.”

“Does that mean he has a broom?” The girl innocently acts. “Because he wouldn’t be much of a cleaner.”

“Not the cleaner, dear, the Cleanser. You must have confused him for someone else.” The father goes over and goes down to a knee next to his daughter. “Think of all the evil in the world, the monsters, the villains, he is our champion. The face that gives us virtue. He has been in his role for sometime and he gives us… hope! Of course there are deniers who dispute his claim as the champion of our hearts, but they spout fake news. It lasted a whole summer, but at last, it is done.”

The daughter blinks, “But papa, what does that have to do with food? I’m hungry.”

The mom stutters, “What your father is trying to say is appreciate all the hard work and what we have because of it…”

“-Even if it isn’t much.” The father glances to the side.

“Well, something tells me he can do a better job!” The daughter raises her voice and pouts. “There is even a monster around still…”

Outside of the window, we see the figure of a woman. She has a gothic style dress on with a cape and hood. Through the opening of the hood we can see a mask, with black and purple trim. Sharp fang designs are near the mouth opening. Hiding under the roof’s ledge, she is trying to stay somewhat dry in this weather and has her ear close to the window, overhearing the conversation.

“Nonsense, dear, the Sheriff took care of her.” The mother brushes it off, but the father shakes his head.

“No, apparently she is still around. Even after someone else took care of her too.” And the father sighs. “Doesn’t know when to quit.” The mom, though, keeps the facade of positivity going for their daughter.

“But The Cleanser will certainly take care of her soon! He will cleanse her for good because that is what he does! He NEVER fails!”

Overhearing this, the woman on the outside, the alleged “monster” rolls her eyes, this family has fallen for a sham.

“But maybe the monster isn’t that bad…”

A small smile appears on the woman’s face outside. Maybe someone who understands?

Hearing that, the father turns around. “Listen here, dear.” He kneels down and looks his daughter in the eyes through their masks.

“That monster has no place in this world. No place in OUR world. She is a reject, a horrible horrible person. She will take what WE value most and not even work for it. It will be all to feed her own lust and appetite. She has no friends, no respect. She is just a monster who would eat you if she saw you! So no… She is evil! She is ROTTEN! WE ARE PURE! Our Cleanser will get rid of her soon unless I see her first. If I do, I'll cut her head off and offer it to him!”

The words from the father sting the woman outside. This feeling towards her? What has she ever done other than exist? She moves away from the window and walks off to a near-by area to hide and take cover from the storm.

Some time later.

Time passes and night has fallen in the house. It appears to be in the British countryside, away from any major cities. The storm has died down, though rain continues to fall down. In the top floor of the house, the little girl from before is staring out her window, sighing. Her parents earlier, in defence of both… the person they idolise and their lack of food, showed an angry side, especially her father. Now, she can’t fall asleep as night has fallen. She has a stuffed animal of a white fox with red markings on it under her arm and she leans her head against it. Looking outside, the girl looks towards the barn and sees the door open with a shadowy figure leaning in the door frame.

It’s the monster! The woman with the mask has her hood off, and is in cover from the rain. Her all black dress is more visible, with it going to her knees and having a mix of metal clips around the corset. She doesn’t at all seem scary. Despite her parent’s warnings, the girl feels compelled to meet this mysterious figure.

In the barn, the monster, Vampyra, has a twig in her hand and shimmies it through her fingers to keep herself occupied. Then, she hears the sound of boots squishing the mud. Glancing up, she sees the little girl with an umbrella in hand, stuffed animal in the other, approaching. She remembers what her parents said about her. She hides behind the post.

“D-Don’t be scared.” The little girl says as she gets closer. “I won’t hurt you.”

Vampyra blinks. She leans from the post. “It is not so much you I am worried about… Nor would I have reason to hurt you either.”

“You’re the monster people are talking about, aren’t you?” She asks and Vampyra gives a slow nod. “I won’t tell my mum and papa.”

“Thank you…” Vampyra politely bows and keeps under the barn’s roof. The little girl joins her inside and sits on a bale of hay.

“Miss, do you have a name?” She asks and Vampyra responds, sitting down on some hay on the other side of the barn.

“I do, though nobody knows it. I suppose you could call me Vampyra.”

“Vampyra?” The little girl smiles. “That’s so COOL!” and the compliment gives Vampyra a grin.

“Thank you, I chose it myself.” She motions towards her guest, “And yours?”

“Oh, Gwen!” She pauses for a moment then adds, “My mum and papa chose that.”

“It is a pretty name.” Vampyra keeps cordial and friendly towards the young girl. “I suppose it is nice to have company for once.” Glancing outside, the Dark Huntress looks at the raindrops falling down. “Most people run from me or try to hurt me it seems.”

“Why is that, Miss Vampyra?” Gwen asks. “Why don’t people like you?”

Vampyra takes a long time to find the right words. Why? An answer that is so simple and yet complicated to answer. The rain continues to fall down hard outside as Gwen waits for an answer. Finally, Vampyra glances outside and talks.

“I have wondered that for a while. But I think there are people too comfortable with the familiar, what they know. Many people are used to being led by people like ‘The Cleanser’ and take what they say as gospel. He is what they know, someone they rely on when trouble arises because they do not know where else to turn. They remember all the good things he has done in the past and think that they can go back to that time by opening their arms to him. But yet, what they do not realise is that he is flawed. Time goes and with that we all change. A new world requires a new outlook. He is not fit to lead now, though they hold fond memories of before. But what worked in the past does not work and many refuse to admit it.”

Running her finger along her leg, Vampyra continues with a sigh.

“So they are scared to see something new or change. They fear the unknown. They banish it, wish it away. They see this woman with a dark mask in the night and assume the worst in her. But I have a right to exist. Perhaps if people get to know me they will find out I am a bit more complex than they realise. Not everything or everyone is in black and white.”

Pointing up to her mask, she explains.

“Am I a monster? Maybe I am, maybe I am not. If confronted, I can hurt people. I defend myself. If one is cruel to me then I am willing to be cruel back. But maybe I just want to belong by being myself. By being Vampyra. I want to explore, see the world, and meet new people. Does that sound like a monster to you?”

The little girl shakes her head “no” and answers. “No, miss. You seem to be rather nice. You’re no monster to me.”

“Well,” Vampyra gets up from her hay, “If I am not a monster, then who is? Maybe it is those who consume themselves with hate? Who looks down on others? The monsters are those who type-cast things they do not know and dehumanise them. They don’t believe I belong in this world or can do anything of note. While others work hard, they are given everything because of status and use it to push others away. Perhaps those are the people who truly need to be cleansed from this world?”

She has a cold glare outside, thinking of the source of this hate, this doubt.

“Then you’re no monster.” Gwen says. “You’re awfully nice, Miss Vampyra. You deserve friends!”

Hearing the kind words, Vampyra shows a small grin. Turning to the little girl, she is holding back her emotion.

“In fact, here is a friend.” Gwen grabs her fox plushie and hands it to Vampyra. Its markings are resembling Kitsune, a Japanese fox who is sometimes known as a trickster, but is also symbolic of being a faithful guardian. “This is Kit.”

Flattered by the gesture, Vampyra grabs the plush and inspects it. She looks at the girl before handing it back. “I am honoured, but I believe this little one deserves to be with you. But truly, you have shown yourself to be a friend.” And she whispers, “But please, do not tell your parents.” and the masked woman pats the little girl on the head.

“Your secret’s safe with me, miss. Nice to meet you. I’m glad you’re not a monster!”

“Now go back inside. Before your parents find out.”

Gwen gives a wave to Vampyra before turning around and leaving. She walks back inside of her home as Vampyra watches. There is a small grin on her face as an unlikely friend leaves, but soon, the smile is washed away. Grabbing her cape and hood, she puts it on and walks away. She knows what to do next.

The Next Day:

We enter a brightly lit church. High ceilings, statues, murals, all symbols of purity are around. Countless rows of pews stretch from the back to near the altar and stage where an aisle splits them in the middle. Most of the statues around the church resemble Phillip A. Jackson, with him being depicted as an angel, a saint, and more. The podium is placed on top of several stairs, creating a small stage. Candles are on tables in front. The rows of pews are filled with followers wearing pure white wrestling masks. Mixed in the rows of seats is the family we saw earlier, with the young girl, Gwen, sitting on the end next to the aisle. A woman with a white dress and mask stands up and introduces the guest of honour.

“Ladies and gentlemen, followers. We are blessed by the presence of our guiding light, the champion of our hearts. Introducing, The Cleanser!”

Spoiler: Music

Rather than traditional music, we hear “Heights Above” echo through the church as a man walks through the entrance doors. He has a white, red, and gold robe on. His mask resembles Vampyra’s entrance mask, except with a matching colour scheme to the robe and Phillip A. Jackson’s attire. A golden crown is on his head. The Cleanser has arrived. The followers clap mindlessly for their saviour. He walks down the church aisle and shakes hands with some of the followers. As he approaches Gwen, the little girl frowns. He simply pats her on the head and continues on to his podium. He motions for his music to stop.

“Thank you, followers, friends, devotees, your great champion has arrived. The man who rids the world of impurities. For I am The Cleanser!”

“HE WILL CLEANSE!” The followers shout.

On the outside of the church, with the door creaking open slightly, Vampyra has a hood on and she listens. The speech mirrors what was said by Phillip A. Jackson on the road to Lights Out, albeit with a twist of The Cleanser.

“I thank you for your blind devotion. I thank you for your kindness, because that is what gives me the ability to protect you from all that is horrible in this world. Because this world is full of evil. There is politics. There is deceit, and there is lies. There are ulterior motives which drive people to do horrible things. People wear a dark mask to hide their true selves from you and that is a crime. They are too scared to show you the monsters they really are. But I never lie, do I? I never manipulate you?”

“YOU DO NOT!” The followers shout. On the outside, Vampyra rolls her eyes, already tired of this display.

The Cleanser lets out a hearty laugh.

“But do you know what DOES control you? Consumerism. It holds us hostage! It reels us in to take our very souls and taint them. Think about it. We are told constantly to buy, buy, buy! They sell us on a product by giving us a feeling… and associating it with a brand. See? I wouldn’t do something like tell you to buy my t-shirt in the lobby of the church. But I do offer donations in exchange for a shirt. Everything you can…” He places his heart on his chest, “Would greatly help me- I mean the business of cleansing the world!”

“I’d buy 100!” One follower shouts in the back.

The Cleanser points towards him and claps.

“Good on you. But to think, what really happens with those who manipulate the consumer? They control the narrative. The rewards don’t go to the hard working people who hope to be cleansed, but instead it only rewards those who they WANT to be great. Think about me, I worked hard. I have been working to deliver my message of cleansing for years. I have time on the clock. Even though I have been on the top of the world before, I have been pushed aside again and again. Does someone like me, through their service, deserve to be the true champion of your hearts? I will never fail as your champion! I am the one who deserves to lead, to be the face of this movement.”

One follower stands up nervously. Through his mask, the Cleanser glances towards him. “Follower, question?”

Stuttering his words, the gentleman in a white suit tries to explain. “Well, sir, all mighty Cleanser. What about your recent run in with the Sheriff? Or the Rose Queen? What about the Man of Truth? Not since the Summer have you had true success and even before then, it was some time before you reached the heights you have no-”

“Enough!” The Cleanser’s voice booms. The follower, frightened, sits down. Seeing this, little Gwen looks down, feeling uncomfortable.

“You will not speak ill of me. Understand? Those did not happen. Please do not listen to this false propaganda…”

Listening to this outside, Vampyra mutters, “Please do not tell me he will repeat what happened in the Summer… I fear if that happens, it will become unbearable…”

Scared, the follower frantically nods his head.

“Exactly. Know your place…” Turning to the crowd of followers, “Some things go out of fashion, but myself and my values are forever! We don’t need people being heartless or relentless! We need purity, to be CLEANSED! I create a show for you! I bring you entertainment! ARE YOU NOT ENTERTAINED?! HAHA! Which brings me… to a certain monster who has come from the land of the rising sun...A BORING and overrated place!”

Gwen raises her head from her seat. She knows who he is talking about. Vampyra leans closer to the door, trying to get a small peak through.

“I have heard rumours of a creature, a monster. A Vampire making her way here. This she-devil of a woman does not know when to quit and she will take all that we hold near and dear and spread her own corruption. We do not like anything new here, threatening my cham- I mean our way of life. Tell me, what does she bring that I do not? Nothing.”

The Cleanser shakes his head. “She is entitled, much like some of the youth today, believing she deserves what she hasn't earned.”-

And we get a cross dissolve of… Shawn Summers. He is sitting in a chair and explains-

“There was one thing though, that I didn’t have to lie about. It’s the entitlement of the liberals of Gen Z. They think that they deserve everything handed to them and have done nothing to deserve it.”

And… another cross-dissolve. This of Phillip A. Jackson at Fallout 21. He mutters as Vampyra walks away, “Poor young Vampyra trying to buy my mercy with a present… She is getting ideas above her station, first thinking she can compete in the Climaxxx and challenge me…”

Two men dismiss Vampyra because of her age. The Cleanser continues after what was likely a riveting speech about how terrible the youth of today are.

“But alas, I will not let HER corrupt the youth of today…”

Looking at his hands, the Cleanser has an unhinged tone in his voice. “I will strike her down once and for all. She will not take what I have earned. She never earned anything. There will be no harm from this MONSTER! I will-”

“HEY!” A young voice shouts out and Vampyra gets a concerned look on her face.

“No… No. No. Do not do that, Gwen.”

Getting up from her pew, the little girl stands in the aisleway. Her parents stand behind her.

“Dear Gwen, get back here!” Her father shouts and tries to grab her arm but she already runs close up to The Cleanser.

“What gives you the right to talk that way about something you don’t know, mister? Maybe she’s really nice? You can’t treat someone mean for being different!”

Leaning down, the Cleaner gets into the face of the little girl. “Please tell me I didn’t hear that… dear.”

Gwen nods, “I said what I said! You’re being mean!” And some of the followers gasp in the church. Getting up, her parents grab her arms.

“I am sorry, mighty Cleanser. I don’t know what has gone over our little girl.”

“I mean it, mommy! He’s mean!” She looks towards the Cleanser. “How would you feel if you were new and different and someone said that to you? Maybe she just needs friends!”

“Friends?” There is a deep and almost sinister laugh from the Cleanser. “Friends!? Why would a monster who is fueled by the blood of her victims want nothing more than to feast on us, spread her brand of darkness? She will be cleansed! And…”

Going closer to the girl, he says in a chilling tone. “And maybe you need to be as well.”

“If you must…” Her father says.

There are murmurs from some of the followers, certainly not a little girl?

“P-papa?” She looks up at her father in shock. She turns to her mother.

“Sorry Cleanser, we failed to raise her in your image…”

Her parents turn against her in the name of this Cleanser.

“No. This can’t happen!”

Vampyra has seen enough, with a loud bang she bursts through the church doors, causing everyone to turn around to see her. The wind from outside flows to her cape. There are some shocks of terror from some of the followers. The monster has arrived. She keeps one hand under her cape as she steps forward, walking down the aisle. The Cleanser looks around frantically. He motions towards the parents.

“Y-You two, stop her!”

The father takes a step forward and throws a punch, but in one fluid motion Vampyra ducks and throws him to the ground, landing with a thud. The mother doesn’t even attempt and instead flees through a row of pews and heads out the door. Some followers, fearing for their lives join her as there are a select group of them who stay, curious over the commotion.

“Friend!” The little girl shouts as Vampyra leans down and pats her on the head.

“I wouldn’t want something bad to happen to you.” Then she stands in front of her, facing the Cleanser himself.

“I feared this day would come… But it is too late. Your time to be cleansed is NOW!”

He shouts and lunges towards Vampyra but he is stopped! Vampyra goes in close and the Cleanser lets out a gasp of pain. He shakes before collapsing to the ground. In his all white robe, a big splash of red appears near the ribs. Blood. In Vampyra’s hand is a dagger. Some of the Cleaner’s blood is on it. She paces around the Cleanser.

“Not so mighty now?” The Dark Huntress gives a cold laugh. “I have been listening to what you preach…How do you say I am not worthy of this world and need to be cleansed? Tell me, what makes you so much better?” She leans down, the Cleanser, still alive, holds his hand over his wounds, but is visibly weak. “Because of your time, right?”

Putting the dagger forward, he rests it under his chin, inches from his neck. “Unfortunately the world has changed, especially since the time you were seemingly at your best. The ways of the past are slowly dying. Why hang onto them? Why rely on someone who is no longer fit to serve? Why speak of purity when… you are just as corrupt as the ones you speak down upon. You are upset when something doesn’t go your way. You speak down to someone still learning this new world around her, doing what she can to survive, but as you can see, you are failing to do that yourself. Yes, everyone else is not worthy except for you. What next? An excuse, just like the Summer?”

Weakly, the Cleanser pushes the dagger away but gets a swift kick from Vampyra in the face for his troubles.

“Face it, you’ve gone out of fashion. Your time is running out. As blood drains from your body, your vision fades but all you can see is that you will be replaced. One without dispute. Your hypocritical cleansing will be over because we will see that the true monster is you.”

Leaning closer to The Cleanser, Vampyra grabs his mask, some red appears near the mouth. “A true monster paints things as black and white. Creates a divide. A monster dehumanises others and makes them no more than a pest. You typecast me but…” Her grip tightens, “You don’t really know me. I do not claim to be perfect. There is maybe darkness inside of me and my spirit, but I accept that. I use it to survive. You use yours for selfish needs and ignore it when someone points it out. There is only one person here who truly needs cleansing…”

She pulls his head closer. “Is you…” and gives him a stiff headbutt! He groans on the floor in pain as the crown falls off his head. Turning to the crowd that still is around, Vampyra paces.

“This man is the one that needs to be cleansed not just for the future of this world, the crown he holds, and my own. Am I at my strongest? No. I am young and I have much more to learn. But I admit it. I do not fall to the hypocrisy of this man, claiming to work hard and yet riding on his own previous work. Those who fail to adapt fail themselves and those he says he serves. I will not fail where you have. I belong. I belong by being who I am, and that is Vampyra. To those this message speaks to, fear no more. You will not be judged for your flaws and darkness. Your imperfections are celebrated. Go… be free!”

The followers bow their heads in unison. The feed of the video becomes distorted before all of their masks are replaced with Vampyra masks. Each have their own unique colour scheme and design. Even little Gwen’s changed with her having a half white and half black look.

Looking at the Cleanser, the very last gasps of life comes from him. Vampyra looks and shrugs, picking him up to a seated position. “Oh, I suppose it would be a waste to leave a perfectly fine snack…”

The camera zooms in on the followers, now supporting Vampyra, as we hear a loud crunching sound and of flesh tearing. The Cleanser collapses on the floor, the life from him gone. Blood begins to pour from his neck. On Vampyra’s face is red. She fed on him. Glancing to the ground, she sees the crown. “I guess this trophy is mine now? Though it is not one deserved, but earned...” and she picks it up.

She takes a long glance at it. The golden crown which was held by the Cleanser is now her’s. Looking up, she sees her new followers, people who have accepted her. Her blood stained face bears a genuine grin. “I suppose this crown is not mine alone… It should also belong to those who always supported me-”

Flashing on the screen, we see images of VAMPYRA in CJW with her friends in MAYHEM. Her holds the CJW Trios titles up with her friends Cali and Ririko, proudly showing their gold on pink leather straps. Her outside of the ring, meeting up with them in a restaurant. We see her accompanying MAYHEM’s leader, and a mentor to her, Saori Suzuki, down to the ring. Truth is? This isn’t a case of someone coming to a new place and taking something unearned. It is someone who has grown thanks to those around her and journeying to a new place to continue.

“And maybe some new friends.”

Joining the montage of imagery, we see an Instagram post of Kimmy, the video editor for Vampyra with her in London. Vampyra has her mask on, and is leaning on Big Ben with Kimmy who has a more playful pose doing the same. We even see the flash of Tommy Bedlam giving a nod of respect to Vampyra, maybe not a friend, but perhaps a friendly rivalry growing?

Looking down, Vampyra sees the little girl, Gwen, who, where everyone else was scared of her, took time to understand her. She nods to her, “And maybe to those new ones in the future…”

Leaning down, she hands the crown to the young girl as the footage of her handing her entrance mask off to a young girl in Germany dissolves over it. The chant of “VAMPYRA” which happened during one of her big sparks of momentum in the match. The new people, the FWA fans, are slowly growing to accept her not just as an international star, but a part of the makeup and, hopefully, the future of FWA.

Seeing the new followers in front of her, Vampyra shows a small grin. “Mina arigatō. Thank you, all.”

Turning around, Vampyra leaves down the aisle in which she entered and the now former followers of The Cleanser join her in leaving. The Church lights begin to go out. One by one as the only light left is that of The Cleanser’s body. The blood from his body has stained the floor. No crown, no followers, no life. He has nothing as the last light goes out.

And it fades away.

​

 

[Death Walker]

The Dark Return

The scene brings us back to the living room in Darius former home where he has just assaulted one of his closest friend. Here, Darius stands tall almost in some type of trance as he never looks down at the so-called "best friend". Darius just stares directly out a mostly darkened window, not even placing his eyes on any particular object. And then The Dark Guardian speaks to him once again from the shadows.

The Dark Guardian: "There, there... time to leave the past behind for now. We have better and bigger business to attend to. Would you be interested in inflicting more pain and damage?"

The man known as Darius simply grins at the thought of causing more harm since his sudden return. And this is when The Dark Guardian steps out of the shadows and guides Mr. Wright out the door. Covering his own face from the bright headlights in this front lawn, The Dark Guardian staggers over to the parked vehicle. And with his fist gives the hood of the vehicle, one mighty pound that makes the headlights as well as the engine turn off. Then both men trail off down the street of darkness and streetlights as this scene fades out.

As the visuals fades back in the disheveled and mindless Darius now sports one of The Dark Guardian's long black robes while they make their way aboard a plane full of passengers. Frightening the other passengers with their strange appearance, they head towards their row of seats at the back of the plane. And with the people gawking in shock and awe, they remain silent in their seats until a couple of flight attendants approach the bizarre pair.

Male Flight Attendant: "Ummm... gentlemen, may I see your boarding pass stubs?"

TDG: "What seems to be the issue, sir? And madam?"

Female Flight Attendant: "Uhh, we just wanna make sure that you both are on the right flight and the right seats."

Reluctant at first but The Dark Guardian reaches within a pocket of his robe as Darius stares ahead at the front of the plane never making a sound, barely blinking. Keeping his own head lowered as usual, The Dark Guardian pulls out the two boarding pass stubs and hands them right over. The flight attendants examine both carefully before the male one makes a request.

MFA: "And if I can have you just remove your hood so that we may see your face please?"

There's momentarily silence as heads are looking back at the commotion.

TDG: "You certainly may not... I have a medical condition which prevents me from showing my full face to anyone."

During the exchange, the female flight attendant signals the air marshal to come over as it seems the situation is about to escalate. But the hooded troublemaker just smirks and maintains a calm demeanor as he sees the law enforcer get ready to approach.

TDG: "... As you will see if you just contact the check-in desk, your fellow employee will explain why they made an exception for me."

MFA: "But sir, I'm only asking-"

TDG: "JUST... CALL THEM."

The Dark Guardian exclaims with some extra bass in his voice so the attendant instructs the other to make a call to the desk to get some type of verification and valid reason. Meanwhile, the marshal stands right between the flight attendants clutching at his weapon or cuffs tucked behind his back. As he prepares to detain this belligerent culprit, the female employee shouts out...

FFA: "WAIT! He's good. He's okay to fly with us, they both are."

The hooded individual's smirk grows a little wider as if to say "I told you so" without uttering the words. The Dark Traveler still stares off into space as everyone is done watching the sideshow. Some of these passengers clap and hoot as they turn back around in their seats ready to finally take off on their journey. There's a few mutters amongst the people as the captain and team give the safety instructions. And then The Dark Guardian turns to Darius...

TDG: "Like I've said before, I will take care of you and get you ready for anything that you will face. And we start your new life and journey as The Dark Traveler in just a few days. I'm going to rebuild you, more stronger and powerful than before... a well educated and focused machine in any ring, any environment. You'll see what I mean once we begin your training."

The airplane takes off down the runway and ascends upward into the black sky as the two of them head to Germany.

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

A few days of travel and some one-sided conversations later, the individuals arrive in Nuremberg and take a taxi ride around town. Then the taxi takes them into the more woodland areas outside the town. Riding down some dirt roads, the dark pair are taken to an old building structure. The taxi stops and both men (in a manner of speaking) steps outside in front of large double iron doors. And from here, the tight views that hardly gave any true visuals of these two are now widen as the camera shot has zoomed out to about 10 feet from behind them. Now revealing the two same height beings draped in black garbs, one with a hood upon its head. The Dark Guardian grabs the door handles and pulls the iron doors wide open as Darius looks into the darkness within this building. He goes and takes about three steps inside as his guardian follows.

And with a snap of The Dark Guardian's fingers, the huge spacious room is brightened with about 30 to 40 somewhat dim, construction lights all spread out amongst several smaller rooms on each side of the bigger room. As this happens to be one of many medieval dungeons here in Germany...

Spoiler

Immediately, Darius' eyes open more than the they have since returning from HELL as he looks around in every direction and the sounds of an ominous song rings inside his head. He is then instructed to remove the robe as we get a full shot of how this version of Darius Wright really looks. And all in one swift motion, he tosses the robe off that had covered him from neck to toe.

Revealing a different Darius standing there... with a nappy afro and a thicker full beard from years of not being able to groom. Covered in patches of dirt marks and filth from which he came out of the Earth and beyond along with the shredded remains of a t-shirt barely covering his shoulders and abdomen. A pair of dingy black jeans sliced and ripped from about the knees on down while he wore a torn sock that only hugged his left ankle and one worn out, black Converse hi top on his right foot. He takes some more slow weakened steps forward and the scars of many struggles and fights can be seen all across his body.

TDG: "There's... MY Dark Traveler, primed and ready to fight. Now I watched you these past years as you fought your way from critters to monsters to... our Lord Himself, The Devil. And although you were able to overcome everything and everyon- well, every creature or demon that is... you still couldn't defeat The Devil as much as you tried. You did however put up probably the best fight that either of you had ever had. But when it was all said and done... and our Lord finished teaching you how to harness that anger in you to be that better version of Darius Wright, you became more than just merely a man... you became the warrior that we both knew you could.

Now in due time, soon enough of course... me and you will make some fine adjustments to your new... identity. But as of now, I think we'll leave your appearance as is. I took the liberty of... "magically" signing you up to not one but two wrestling companies. Now one of them at the moment is working out some logistics and schedule changes while this current one is running hot and fast like a backdraft fire. So it's time to get you trained and bulked up again. You're going to have your first wrestling match in years here in Nuremberg, Germany against a well experienced opponent who also knows what it's like to travel to other worlds and has held gold before.

So with that being said, I'd say that would make you and him evenly matched as far as résumés go. Now the match is nothing too crazy, just a one on one singles match. However he does seem to come off a bit unorthodox at times from what it seems... but I'm sure you can relate to that if you even remember your former self. So do not, I repeat do not underestimate your opponent. This is your grand showcase upon returning to the ring and life on Earth. I want you to be able to take on any amount of offense thrown at you and desire more of it. I want you to break hopes and dreams, I want you to annihilate the fabrication of joy and replace it with pain... YOUR pain, physical... emotional... mental pain.

And it may get tough along the path but always, ALWAYS make your message clear in and/or out that ring. For you are one of the greatest and highly favored children of The Devil. And we are both proud of the type of man- or rather, soon-to-be monster that you are going to turn out to be."

Spoiler

The Dark Guardian stands before his pupil, applying black wrappings while that sinister music replays in his mind. Darius gives a relaxed sigh followed by a deep inhale and exhale with a low growl like a vicious beast ready to attack. And then the scene fades out a close up to the right side of Darius' face as he is shown sadistically smirking like in the past. Next is a sporadic flash of camera shots involving Darius training regimen. There's a quick 2 to 3 second shot of The Dark Traveler doing different types of pull-ups then another of him running through the woodland area during daylight and another shot of Darius punching away at a stone post inside the Nuremberg dungeon. The scene fades back in briefly to montage of Darius doing pushups, then being beaten with a club across the back, limbs as well as the abdomen. Finally he's shown sitting down on a crate eating and drinking some kind of concoction in a bowl as he no longer looks malnourished but back to his lean and muscular built. And then, we come towards the end of our training montage with Darius walking off towards one of the furthest cells to take slumber in when The Dark Guardian appears behind his back and interjects with...

TDG: "I hope you don't mind but... I brought a few friends over before you take your rest, my Dark Traveler."

DW takes a look back at his guardian and sees a crowd of about 20 town locals of all sizes and body shapes, some equipped with weapons. The Dark Guardian grins and within a second or two, the men charge directly at our dark destroyer. The camera flickers as if it's malfunctioning but the audio can be heard of several strikes, falls and hollers as the unseen melee takes place at the moment. And then the noise stops and the view is brought back, crystal clear as an indestructible Darius Wright drops one of the knocked out ruffians onto the pile of others outside the entrance of the dungeon. Some of the men are able to crawl or limp their way back home while their other cohorts remain laid out until they regain consciousness again. Darius then returns inside, locks up the dungeon and heads back to the cell where he takes his evening's rest. And one last slow fade of the scene...

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

Now if there was anything to be certain of... Darius Wright is coming to tear through any opposition that stands in his path of destruction.

"Yes, Darius. Make them pay the cost... make em all pay."​

 

[Tommy Bedlam]

It's Just Business

Tommy had returned home the morning after the Battle Royal on Meltdown. After he had heard that his scheduled Fallout match against Caesar had been cancelled, Rocco pulled some strings to get him into the Meltdown main event. The two had talked at length and decided that since Tommy was riding such a wave of momentum, there was no reason that he couldn’t walk away from Meltdown with the FWA World Championship. Things didn’t work out the way the pair had hoped, as Tommy and XYZ had simultaneously eliminated one another from the match. Nothing could be done about it, so the pair immediately shifted their focus back to the F1 Climaxxx and Tommy’s next opponent, Gabrielle.

The insertion of Gabrielle into the tournament was just the next curveball that Tommy had faced since he earned a spot in FWA’s most prestigious tournament. In fact, there were some jokes in the locker room that Tommy’s path through the tourney had been “cursed.” He was slated to kick off the tournament against Danny Toner, only for Toner to relinquish his title and withdraw from the F1. Suddenly, with very little notice, Tommy wound up facing FWA newcomer, Vampyra. He struggled significantly against her but managed to keep his winning streak alive.

One of Tommy’s biggest struggles in his match with Vampyra involved the fact that he would have to get used to the idea of hitting a woman. There were a few things that Tommy had grown up believing, and one of those involved the fact that you just don’t hit women. After a lengthy conversation with Rocco, Tommy accepted the fact that he was going to have to push past his preconceived notions to get the job done. After all, it was just a job, right? He didn’t get to pick his opponents.

Within minutes of their match ending, Tommy received word that he would be facing Caesar. He and Rocco had talked at length about how Tommy had never faced anyone quite as unorthodox as Caesar before, and they had crafted a detailed plan about how The Cowboy could overthrow the ruler reincarnate. Unfortunately, just days before the match, Caesar also backed out of the tournament, leaving Tommy without an opponent, and costing him an opportunity to earn more points in the F1 standings.

While the powers that be worked to find a replacement for Caesar, Tommy and Rocco had discussed plenty of potential names. Gabrielle was on the short list, so they weren’t completely blindsided when the announcement came down that she would be his next opponent. Another woman, and another opportunity for Tommy to struggle internally with the idea of beating up a female.

He continued telling himself, “It’s just business.” Gabrielle had faced off against plenty of male members of the FWA roster, and she had been quite impressive against them. Hell, she was a former world champion. She had proven more than once that she was capable of holding her own in the ring with competitors of any size. Any trepidation Tommy had about being violent with a female would need to be put on the back burner if he was going to have a fighting chance against a former FWA World Champion.

After getting back into Sweetwater late Tuesday night, Tommy had made plans to meet Randi and her mother, Suzy at his Uncle Jimmy’s home. Jimmy hadn’t put together a will, but it’s not like he had much to leave to anyone. Tommy and Suzy had spoken briefly after the funeral and decided that they would go through his belongings, each of them would have an opportunity to hold onto any items that they wanted, and the rest would be donated to a local charity thrift store.

The process of going through the belongings of a deceased relative is a brutal one. Tommy, typically the strong, stoic type, had done a great job of holding things together until he found an old photo album in one of the drawers in Jimmy’s bedroom. Most of the pictures in it were of Tommy and Jimmy when they were much younger. There were a few shots of Tommy’s mother and Jimmy. The relationship between Tommy and his mother had never bounced back from his business dealings with Sammy, and he suspected that it never would.

Looking at the pictures in the photo album took Tommy back to a simpler time in his life. In one particular photo, Tommy, who was probably 12 or 13 at the time, stood beside a calf that he had just roped. Jimmy was proudly standing behind him, obviously thrilled that his countless hours of teaching had finally paid off.

Tommy didn’t want much out of Jimmy’s home. He didn’t need much. Sure, he was making good money working for FWA, but he also spent the majority of his time on the road. Outside of the photo album and a shoebox full of buckles that Jimmy had won in rodeos, Tommy told Suzy that she could have whatever she wanted.

As he was walking out to his truck, Randi followed him out.

“You doing anything this evening?”

“Nah. Gotta go over some Gabrielle matches that Rocco has sent me.”

“How bout I pick up dinner and come by?”

“That sounds good. 7:00 ok?”

“I’ll be there.”

Tommy was starting to care about Randi far more than he wanted to. Obviously, she was gorgeous. But his interest in her actually went well beyond that. She was caring, intelligent, and hilarious. He had spent most of his adult life picking up random women, spending a night or two with them, and then moving onto the next. His proclivity for promiscuity had only increased when he started touring the world with an international wrestling powerhouse. He was in his mid-30s, and still thought that he was too young to settle down, but Randi was causing him to second guess things.

“When you find a good woman, don’t let her go.”

Jimmy’s words echoed in Tommy’s mind every time he thought about what he should do about the relationship with Randi. He had spent one passion-filled night with her, but when he distanced himself a bit in the days that followed, she hadn’t pursued him like he thought she would. Instead, she had grown just as distant.

This wasn’t the best time to be thinking about a relationship and the future. He needed to remain laser-focused on the F1, and then, if things were still going well between them, he could revisit the topic.

Tommy was watching a tag team match when Randi arrived with dinner a few minutes after 7. It was from Meltdown 21, when Bad Reputation had beaten The Spirit Walkers. It was the fourth match he had watched since he got to his apartment, and he was perpetually mind blown by how quickly Gabrielle moved around the ring. He knew of her accomplishments, and he had seen several of her matches in the nearly 15 months since he had signed his FWA contract. However, he had never really sat down and observed how quickly she could strike with kicks, hurricanranas, and an impressive list of submission holds.

Tommy paused the video on his laptop as he yelled for Randi to let herself in. She arrived with barbecue and beer. God, what a woman.

The first time the two of them met, Tommy assumed that Randi was more a fan of his celebrity than she was of professional wrestling. Those thoughts were quickly debunked, as she continued to impress him with how plugged into the business she was.

“So, Gabrielle in the next round?”

“Yea. Just another curveball. You’d think I’d be used to those by now.”

“She’s a two-time World Champion, right?”

“She is. Which means I’ll probably be the underdog. I never made it past the Gauntlet Championship before the injury.”

“Didn’t you already beat a two-time World Champion since you came back though?”

Randi was referencing Tommy’s victory of Phillip A. Jackson shortly after his return to the FWA. But Tommy knew that this was different. Gabrielle wasn't just a former World Champion. She had also had multiple Tag Team title reigns, she had won the Women's Championship, and other titles. She was perhaps the most accomplished opponent that Tommy had ever faced one-on-one.

“Well, yea.”

“Speaking of him, what do you have to do to get a TV title shot? Like, I know that you beat him before he won the title. But then, you beat Vampyra who has the briefcase. So, they’re battling for a title, and you already beat both of them? How does that work?”

“Eh, it’s probably Russnow still trying to get back at me for bailing out at the height of the Deathswitch Initiative stuff. Rocco says that if the F1 stuff doesn’t work out the way we want it to, he will get me a match for the TV title.”

“Well, I doubt that’s gonna matter. I’m having dinner with the next FWA World Champion.”

Randi’s smile when she said that melted Tommy. Hell, most of what she said and did melted him. He knew he had to hold it together. The biggest opportunity of his career was in front of him, and “The Caramel Coated Goddess” was just the next steppingstone on his way to the top.

Once dinner was over, Randi convinced Tommy to watch a Hallmark Christmas movie. He never understood the point of those movies, but she was insistent, and very convincing. Everyone knows how they end. The girl comes back to her hometown and chooses the guy who wears the sweater over the guy who wears the suit. The movie went off around 11:00 PM and Randi announced that she needed to get going.

Tommy was hoping she would agree to spend another night with him, but he had picked up on the fact that there would be no more nights like that until he made more of a commitment to her. The two of them stood awkwardly at the door for a moment before Tommy leaned in and kissed her on the cheek. She smiled, winked, and made her way to her car.
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Tommy knew that Rocco would send him 30 questions about the Gabrielle matches that he had sent him the next morning, so he decided to finish off the tag match that he had started watching hours earlier.

Randi heard a familiar voice as she walked down the sidewalk to her car.

“So, I guess it’s true. You really are up there wrestling around with Sweetwater’s favorite son.”

It was Bobby Ray Gallimore. Randi and Bobby Ray had dated on and off all through high school and for a brief period after graduation. His homelife was certainly nothing to be proud of. His father was doing 20 years in a federal prison for being involved in a massive drug ring based in Mexico, and his mother had skipped town with a man she met online shortly after his sentencing. By the time Bobby Ray was 17, he was living in the family’s single wide trailer on his own.

“Go away, Bobby Ray.”

“What? You ain’t got time to catch up with the guy you ‘loved’ before you met this pretend tough guy?”

“I haven’t had time for you in years, Bobby Ray. Now go away.”

As Randi made her way to her car, Bobby Ray got between her and her car door. She tried to push past him, but he grabbed her by both arms.

“Let go of me, Bobby Ray!"

“Or what? Your big bad boyfriend gonna come out here and pin me?”

Randi struggled to free herself as Bobby leaned in for a kiss. She turned her head as his disgusting breath landed against her cheek and neck. Outraged, Bobby Ray drew back and backhanded Randi, knocking her to the ground. Her purse hit the street and its contents spread out. With no warning, Bobb Ray was hovered over her. He leaned in for another attempt at a kiss. Every time she would squirm, he would get angrier. He slapped her again, this time busting her mouth.

The struggle lasted for a couple minutes as Bobby Ray began to awkwardly fumble with the buttons on Randi’s shirt…

Rod Sterling was enthusiastically calling the action as Gabrielle pulled Reagan Cole out of the ring before slamming him into the ringside steps. As Gaby’s partner, Kayden Knox hit the Seven Seals on Reagan Cole, Sterling’s call blared through the laptop speakers.

That’s when Tommy heard it. Randi’s shrieking from the street was so loud that it drowned out the call of the match. He jumped up, ran out the door of his apartment, flew down the steps of his apartment, and bound into the street. Bobby Ray saw Tommy come out the door of the apartment building, leapt off Randi, and made a break for his truck.

By the time Tommy made it to Randi’s side, the 1993 Dodge was squealing its tires and flying the wrong way down the one-way street in front of Tommy’s home. Tommy ran over to Randi, whose eyes were already starting to swell, and picked her up in his arms.

“My purse…”

“It’ll be OK.”

Tommy kicked the purse and the contents that he could see under Randi’s car as he carried her into his apartment building. An older lady who lived on the first floor was standing at her door, obviously curious about what was going on. Tommy had helped her carry in her groceries a couple times.

“Ms. Hankins, would you do me a favor? Keep an eye on that car, and make sure no one messes with anything around it.”

“Absolutely. Is that poor girl OK? Do you want me to call the police?”

“No. Don’t call the police.”

Tommy carried Randi into his apartment and laid her down on the couch. The blood from her mouth had dripped onto her white blouse. Her eyes were bruised, and she had a considerable knot on the side of her head. The tears streaming down her cheeks transitioned Tommy from a place of fear to one of rage. He soaked a dishcloth in cold water and started wiping the blood from her face. When he was sure that Randi could do that on her own, he went and got a bag of frozen corn out of his freezer for her to put on her head.

Tommy went to his bedroom and grabbed one of his t-shirts and brought it to Randi.

“I’ll step into the bathroom so you can change.”

“Oh hell, I’m pretty sure I can change in front of you.”

Tommy was trying to follow the boundaries that Randi had been setting. He hadn't made any commitment to her, so he decided it was best to play things safe, especially after what she had been through. She struggled to unbutton the buttons, as her hands were still trembling. Eventually, she got the blouse off and slipped Tommy’s t-shirt on. It was far too large for her petite body.

“Who did this?”

“Bobby Ray Gallimore.”

“Who is he?”

“My high school sweetheart.”

“So he did this because you’re spending time with me?”

“No, he did it because he’s an asshole. We dated 12 years ago. He got on meth, got all messed up, and I ditched him. For a couple years, when he would ‘clean up,’ he would call me, we’d hang out, and then he’d get back on that shit. Last I heard he was out there cooking it and selling it. He’s gonna end up just like his daddy.”

“No, he’s not. He’s not gonna have the chance. Where does he live?”

“Tommy, no. Don’t go fight him.”

“Forget fighting him. I’m going to take care of this. Where does he live?”

“Out past the old Morrison Ranch. The dirt road that goes about behind it runs for about a mile. His family owns about three acres back there, but they were always too sorry to do anything with it. Last I heard, he’s still living in a little singlewide trailer out there.”

“Alright. I know where that is.”

Tommy’s words hung heavy in the air. He pulled out his cellphone. He scrolled through his contacts until he found the number he was looking for.

“Hey, Scotty. It’s Tommy. I’m gonna need a favor.”

Scotty and Tommy had grown up together. Scotty had a bit of a reputation, and Tommy’s mother had never really cared for the young man. At a young age, Scotty had become intrigued with explosives. He talked about joining the military when he got older, but some behavioral issues in high school, and his overall disdain for education made it nothing more than a pipedream.

There had been a few places around Sweetwater that had gone up in flames, not long after the owners had taken out insurance policies. They always had an alibi that put them somewhere else at the time of the fire, but the unspoken agreement around town was that Scotty had something to do with it. No one ever talked to Scotty about his pyromania, but everyone knew that if you needed something burnt down or blown up, Scotty was who you called.

“Hey man! Been a while. Sure, what can I do for ya?”

“Swing by my apartment and pick me up. We need to run down to Larry’s and grab a drink and have a quick talk. I need you to bring some stuff with you, you get me?”

“Alright man. I’ll head that way now. Toolbox is in the truck.”

Tommy hung up the phone, as the wheels in his head were turning. He would need an alibi. That would come from Larry. It was a Tuesday night, which meant there would be no one at the restaurant, especially at such a late hour. Fortunately, Larry prided himself on being the last bar open during the week, so Tommy would take Scotty there.

“Text your mom and tell her to come over. She needs to stay with you.”

“I’m fine, Tommy. Really. I'm gonna head back to my place.”

“No. You’re not leaving here. Listen, I’m gonna have somebody call you around 12:30 and tell you that you need to come and pick me up at Larry’s. Drive down to the parking lot, sit for two minutes, and promise me that you’ll come right back here.”

“Ok? Tommy, what are you doing? You’re kinda freaking me out.”

“Don’t worry about what I’m doing, please. Just answer your phone when Larry calls you from the bar, get your mom to drive you down there, two minutes, then come back here. He’s gonna hand you my credit card and my cellphone.”

Tommy was slightly concerned about how quickly his plan was coming to mind. He certainly never considered himself to be a criminal, but this plan was coming together far too easily for someone who had typically obeyed the law, at least the major ones.

Scotty pulled up outside in his old white Ford pickup with the toolbox in the back. Tommy locked the door and told Randi not to let anyone in but her mom.

As he climbed into Scotty’s truck, his mind was still racing.

“Good to see you, buddy! How’s the wrestling business treating you?”

“Going real well, Scotty. You know where the Morrison Ranch is, right?”

“Hell yea! I did some work for Mr. Morrison last summer. Built a barn he couldn’t really afford.”

“Listen, what I need you to do tonight has to stay between you and me. You just told me about a job for Mr. Morrison. What I’m asking you to do can never come up again. You got me?”

“Tommy, you know I’ve always thought of you as a brother. You can trust me, bub. What are you mad at the Morrisons for?”

“Not mad at the Morrisons. But there’s a singlewide trailer about a mile past their place, and I need to make it go away.”

Tommy was hesitant to tell Scotty that his plan to make the trailer go away involved there being a person inside it.

"You mean that little dump out there where Bobby Gallimore cooks his meth?”

“That’d be the one.”

“Why do you need to-“

“Do you really wanna know?”

“Only if you wanna tell me.”

“You know Randi? The girl I’ve been hanging around?”

“I know who she is. Won’t say that I really know her that well.”

“Apparently she used to date the Sweetwater Heisenberg. He roughed her up pretty good outside of my apartment tonight. So we’re gonna go pay him a visit after we go to Larry’s.”

“Say no more, brother. I already know how we’ll do it.”

The ride to Larry’s Longhorn Steakhouse, the place where Tommy used to work security, was a silent one. Tommy and Scotty walked in, the only two customers in the small, dimly lit restaurant. Larry was half asleep at the far end of the bar.

“Hey, Tommy Bedlam! Boy, good to see you! Can I get guys a drink? Dinner?”

“Larry, I need a favor.”

“You’ve got it. Whatever it is, you’ve got it. You need your job back?”

Tommy chuckled a bit.

“No, I’m not looking for a job. Listen, I need two beers. Every 15 or 20 minutes, I need you to charge my credit card for two more.”

Tommy put his Discover card on the bar top.

“Somewhere around 12:30 or so, after you’ve cleaned up or whatever, I need you to use my phone, call this number, and tell the girl who answers to come and get me.”

Tommy wrote Randi’s cellphone number down on a napkin and laid it beside his credit card. He motioned for Scotty to come over to where the conversation was taking place and motioned for him to pick up his beer.

“Most importantly, Larry, I need you to keep those two bottles at the top of the garbage can. I don’t think anybody is gonna ask any questions, but just to be safe, don’t take them out with all the trash.”

Tommy and Scotty both popped the tops off their beers, picked them up and killed them off in a few drinks. Tommy had concocted the perfect plan to leave their fingerprints and even their DNA along the tops of the bottles. He didn’t want to weigh Larry down with the burden of the details, but fortunately, the old man didn’t ask any questions.

“So, I call this number at 12:30, tell them to come and get you, and then what?”

“That’s about it. When she gets here, she’ll be with her mom. Walk out to their car, give them my phone and my credit card. That’s it.”

“Boy, I don’t know what in the blue hell you’re doing, but I always told you I’d do anything for you. You got it.”

Tommy and Scotty put their beer bottles down on the counter, walked back out to the Ford pickup, and pointed it towards Bobby Ray Gallimore’s trailer.

“Scotty, before we do this, I need to know something. Are you sure you’re OK with doing what I’m going to go do?”

“Buddy, it’s just business.”

“Speaking of business, how much you reckon I owe you for this whole thing?”

“Eh, you’re pretty much family. I’ll give you the friends and family discount.”

“What’s the friends and family discount?”

“You buy me a case of beer after this is over, and we’ll call it even. I’m not gonna be out anything but some fuse.”

“Alright. You’ve got a deal.”
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The two of them pulled past the Morrison Ranch and onto the dirt road that ran behind it. Tommy took note of the place where a large barn used to stand and silently admired his old friend’s work. They crept down the dirt road towards the trailer and Scotty turned off the headlights. They parked a thousand feet away and climbed out of the truck. Scotty reached into the toolbox in the back of the truck, pulled out a small spool of wire fuse, and the two of them walked in silence to the trailer.

“You want me to go in with you?”

“Nope. No need for you to see anymore than you need to see.”

“Gotcha.”

“You think we should wear gloves?”

“Buddy, with my work, there isn’t anything left for them to fingerprint. I know exactly how to make this place go up. Shit, this is fixin' to be the easiest job I've ever done."

Tommy walked up the wobbly cinderblock steps at the front of the trailer and banged on the door. Nothing. More banging, more nothing. Finally, he put his shoulder down and pushed through the door. Bobby Ray was lying there, nearly passed out on the couch. The smell of ammonia and any other number of chemicals filled the air. The living room floor was covered in needles, spoons, bathroom cleaner, and other ingredients.

“Well, I’ll be goddamned. If it isn’t Tommy Bennet. Oh, I’m sorry, Tommy Bedlam.”

Bobby Ray was obviously high.

“Get your ass up, Bobby Ray.”

“I ain’t getting up. I didn’t invite you in.”

Tommy reached down, grabbed Bobby Ray by the shirt, and pulled him off the couch. A sarcastic smirk came across Bobby Ray’s face.

“Hit me, Bobby Ray. Hit me just like you hit her.”

“Who? I didn’t hit anybody? Did you see me hit anybody?”

Tommy drew back a massive right hand and drilled Bobby Ray flush across the chin. One of the few remaining teeth that the young man had hit the living room floor.

“I gave you your chance, Bobby Ray.”

“You mother fucker.”

Bobby Ray tried to push himself off the floor, but as he did, Tommy buried a heavy right foot into his ribs, nearly causing him to flip all the way over.

“What, you’re not sure how to fight somebody other than a 125-pound woman? Get your ass up and fight me.”

Tommy took a step back to give Bobby Ray the chance to stand up. He wobbled to his feet, drew his arm back and took a wild swing. It missed by a solid 6 inches, allowing Tommy to grab him by the head as he pummeled Bobby Ray’s chest and stomach. Body blow after body blow landed, as Bobby Ray began to whimper.

Tommy walked over to the front door and picked up a baseball bat. He picked it up as he took a few steps back toward his fallen foe.

“What was this for, Bobby Ray? Protection? Don't look like it's protecting you from much."

Before Bobby Ray could formulate an answer, Tommy smacked him across the back with the bat. He threw it to the floor and started kicking Bobby Ray in the head and the face. Soon, blood began to pour from his head, his mouth, his nose, and virtually everywhere else.

While the one-sided fight was taking place in the trailer, Scotty was arranging everything on the outside. Bobby Ray had three propane tanks on the backside of the trailer that he used when cooking his product. Scotty took one of them, placed them under the trailer, and pulled a piece of hose out of his pocket. He attached one end of the hose to the tank and ran the other end through one of the vents in the trailer floor. He slightly released the nozzle, allowing propane to start flowing into the trailer.

Tommy cleared off a spot on the couch and sat down. Bobby Ray was bordering on unconsciousness, and Tommy wanted to make damn sure he was still awake.

“Listen, Tommy. I’m sorry. You can have her.”

“Oh, you’re sorry? Well, in that case I guess I’ll get going.”

“Really?”

"You really are a dumbass, aren't you?"

Bobby Ray pulled himself towards the table beside the couch. Tommy saw him eyeing a small handgun tucked between the corner of the table and the couch. Before Bobby Ray could get to the weapon, Tommy delivered a blow with the baseball bat across his arm that broke it. Bobby Ray let out a guttural scream. Scotty heard it from the outside of the trailer and chuckled.

“Bobby Ray, I appreciate the apology. I promise, I do. But it’s too late for all that shit. See, I’m gonna be catching a plane and flying to the other side of the world. I can’t really just do that, leave Randi here, and hope that you’re really sorry for what you did tonight. You understand?”

“Listen, man. I’m not gonna get anywhere near that bitch again. You can have her, I told you.”

“What the fuck did you just call her?”

Before Bobby Ray could answer, Tommy delivered another mighty kick across his face. Bobby Ray was clinging to consciousness, clinging to life, as he started crying, begging for mercy.

“For real. I swear to God, I won’t get anywhere near her. I swear on my grandma’s grave, I won’t get within 500 feet of her.”

“I don’t know your grandma. Don’t know if she’s dead. Hope she is, cause it'd be a shame for an old woman to have to wake up every day and know that she had a grandson like you."

“You know what I mean, man. Listen, this is the last time she’ll ever see me, you got me?”

“Oh, I’ve got you. Listen, Bobby Ray. I never met you before tonight. Now, I’ve broke into your house, beat the shit out of you, and you could get me in all sorts of trouble for that. Even if I believed that you were gonna stay away from Randi, I don’t think I can trust you to not report me.”

“Swear! Swear I won’t tell nobody!”

“If I thought your word was worth anything, I’d probably let that go. But I don’t.”

Tommy picked Bobby Ray up from the floor and threw him onto the couch.

“Listen, Bobby. I don’t know how else to say it, so I’m just gonna shoot straight with you. You’re gonna die tonight.”

“WHAT?! I’m gonna die?! No man, No I’m not."

Bobby Ray tried to pull himself up from the couch, but he was too beat up to move quickly. Tommy looked down and saw that Bobby Ray had pissed himself due to the fear he was experiencing.

"God have mercy. You pissed yourself. You went from being this big tough guy beating up a woman to crying and pissing on yourself? Holy shit, Bobby Ray. Now, one of the last things that you're gonna think about before you die is, 'Fuck. I pissed on myself.'"

Tommy shoved him back down. He picked up the baseball bat and began swinging wildly at the beaten man’s kneecaps. With every ping of the bat, Tommy could hear bones cracking over the sound of Bobby Ray’s futile screams. Once he was thoroughly convinced that Bobby Ray would not be able to walk, he threw the bat down. He could smell the gas making its way through the trailer.

“As I was saying, this is it for you. If you believe in God, Buddha, whoever, I’d suggest you try to get up with him real quick, because you’re gonna meet him in the next little bit.”

Tommy glanced at the clock on the wall. It was 12:35 AM. He knew that Randi and Suzy should be well on their way to the bar.

Bobby Ray’s sniveling was the only sound in the trailer. Tommy briefly considered using Bobby Ray’s own gun and putting a bullet in his head, but he just couldn’t get himself to do that. There was something about shooting someone else, especially an unarmed, cripple that he couldn’t wrap his mind around.

“Bobby Ray, I’m really not a bad guy, so I’m gonna do something for you.”

“See, I knew you weren’t that bad. You gonna let me live?”

“Oh, no. You’re gonna die. But I’m gonna let you be unconscious when it happens. If I remember correctly, when I came outside, you had Randi on the ground, and you were straddled over her. That's how you were sitting when you were beating her, wasn't it?"

Tommy dragged Bobby Ray off the couch and onto the floor. He mounted his knees on each side of his chest and started delivering brutal rights and lefts to Bobby Ray’s head, much like Bobby Ray had planned on doing to Randi. Punch after punch landed and within seconds, Bobby Ray Gallimore was completely unconscious. His breathing had slowed considerably when Tommy climbed off him.

Tommy walked to the outside of the trailer where he found Scotty standing 500 feet away. He walked over to him as Scotty pointed to the fuse that made its way through the grass towards the trailer.

“I’ve got a propane tank leaking gas into the house. The fuse goes straight into the same vent where the hose is at. There's another propane tank sitting on the back porch, and I found two more and stuck them under the trailer. When the flame gets there, I’ll blow this trailer clear to Dallas.”

“Give me the lighter.”

“What?”

“I’m not gonna have you be the one to light the fuse. I don’t know what you’ve done before, what you haven’t done, or what you can handle doing.”

“Listen Tommy, I told you. This is just business for me.”

"Have you ever killed a man, Scotty?"

"No. I don't reckon I have."

"Then give me the lighter."

"Have you ever killed somebody before?"

"Nope. Guess tonight's gonna be the first. But you're not gonna wake up tomorrow and know that you blew a man up. I'm going to."

Scotty handed Tommy the lighter as Tommy knelt down in the dew-soaked grass. He held the flame to the end of the fuse, saw it light, and as the fuse burnt closer to Bobby Ray’s trailer, Tommy and Scotty jogged back to the truck. They left the headlights off when they got in.

The silent Texas night was interrupted by a blast that shook the windows all the way out at the Morrison’s Ranch house. By the time Mrs. Morrison got her husband to wake up, Scotty’s white pickup truck was back out on the main road and headed back towards Tommy’s apartment.
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For a few moments, the gravity of what he had just done left Tommy silent. He looked at the homes that they drove by before Scotty broke the silence.

“So, you did all that because he beat up your girlfriend?”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

“You just fucking killed a guy for hitting a woman that you’re not even fucking?!”

“It’s not about that, Scotty. You know that. You know how we were raised. You don’t hit women, right?”

“Yea, I guess that’s right.”

A few more moments of silence passed.

“So, I gotta ask you something.”

“Go ahead.”

“Don’t you have a match against a woman on your next show?”

“Yea. Gabrielle.”

“I mean, how are you gonna handle smacking some woman around if you just killed a guy for hitting a girl that you’re not even dating?”

Fuck. Sure, Tommy had struggled with the idea of fighting Vampyra, but he had gotten through it. That was before all of this. Could Tommy really handle the idea of doing what he had just murdered a man for doing?

“You know what, Scotty? It’s just business.”

Scotty’s truck pulled up outside of Tommy’s apartment building and Tommy climbed out. He reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet, and threw a few $100 bills in the passenger seat.

“Whoa, now. I told you to buy me a case of beer.”

“I’ll buy you a few cases of beer. How bout that?”

“Whatever you say, buddy. For the record, tonight never happened. You and me had a few drinks at Larry’s, your girlfriend, sorry, Randi, came and picked us up, took me back home, and got you back here.”

“Thanks, buddy. That’s the story if anybody ever asks.”

“I don’t think it’ll happen. It just looks like Bobby Ray blew himself up. Hell, if it didn’t happen tonight, it probably would’ve happened soon anyway.”

“I’d say you’re right. Be careful. Let’s grab a drink next time I’m home.”

“We sure will.”

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

Tommy made his way up the stairs to his apartment and unlocked the door. He stepped inside to see Randi sound asleep on the couch. Suzy had helped her clean up her face, but the damage was still very evident. Both eyes were black, her lips were swollen, and there was a golf ball-sized pump near the middle of her forehead.

Suzy was sipping on a glass of whiskey when Tommy got inside.

“Did you do what I think you did?”

“I don’t really wanna talk about it, Suzy. I mean that as respectfully as possible, but the less you know, the better.”

Suzy stood up and walked towards the kitchen counter where Tommy was pouring his own drink. His cellphone and credit card were laying there. She held her phone towards him. Mrs. Morrison had posted pictures of a group of firetrucks and ambulances driving up the dirt road past their ranch. The post was straight forward:

“Meth lab exploded just beyond our ranch tonight. That’s about all we know.”

“I don’t do meth, Suzy.”

“I know you don’t do meth, but that was the Gallimore place. Did you have anything to do with it?”

“Listen, Suzy. I’m not trying to be disrespectful. But I went and paid Bobby Ray a visit. I couldn’t get on a plane in two days, fly halfway around the world, and pay attention to what I need to pay attention to if I had to worry about him beating her up again, or worse.”

“So, you killed him?”

“He was alive when I left his trailer, Suzy. I swear to God, he was alive when I left his trailer.”

“You know this is gonna fuck you up for years, don’t you?”

Suzy, it’s just business. That’s all it was. Just business.”

Suzy made her way towards the door of Tommy's apartment.

"Think it'd be OK if she sleeps here tonight? She's resting pretty well and I hate to wake her up and make her go home."

"You know she's welcome here."

"Tommy. Thank you."

With that, Suzy made her way to the stairwell and out of Tommy's apartment building. He walked over to the window, took a long drink from his glass of whiskey, and watched her get into her car and drive away. He looked over at Randi, battered, but still beautiful, resting on his couch. He slinked over to the coffee table, careful not to wake her, and picked up his laptop. He put a massive dip of Skoal into his bottom lip, set the computer on the kitchen counter, and started watching the matches that Rocco had sent him again. So much had happened in the last few hours, he decided it was best to go back to the first match on the list, the Golden Opportunity Steel Routlette Match.

She was the first elimination in that match, but she lasted for nearly 20 minutes against some of the biggest names in the FWA. She had gone toe-to-toe with people that Tommy had never stood in the ring with. None of that mattered now. The only thing that mattered was that she was next on the list, and he had his sights set on winning the F1 Climaxxx Tournament.

Tommy knew he would never be the same after what had happened that night. As he watched the match, he couldn't help but think that perhaps he needed to stop being the same. If he was ever going to have a chance at winning this tournament, he would need to be able to do the unthinkable. After all, it's just business.​

 

[Dubb]

Dr. Dubb's​

How
The Baxter
Stole
Disco​

Every Cock
down in Cock-ville
liked Disco a lot....

But the Baxter,
who lived just North of Cock-ville,
did NOT!

The Baxter hated Disco! Everything about it!
Now one knew why but his hate was legit
It could be, perhaps, that his pants were too tight.
It could be that he just liked to cause a fight
But many believe the most likely reason of all
May have been that his brain was two sizes too small.

But,
Whatever the reason,
His brain or his pants,
There was no changing
His anti-Disco stance.

Dance, dance, dance, dance,
all they did was dance.
Ending Disco was what he wanted,
he just needed the chance.

“Look at them,
they look like a bunch of fools!
I could do this,
I know it,
I just need the right tools!”

Staring down from his cave,
Baxter rubbed his chin,
As he noticed the rainbow lights,
And watched them spin, spin, spin.

He grimaced as he knew that could mean only one thing,
T’was the night before the Cock-ville annual Disco Fling.
They’ll be hanging the disco balls from every ceiling and rafter,
It will be a night of dancing, drinking, and obnoxious laughter.

The Baxter’s small brain was working overtime imagining,
"I must find some way to keep the Disco Fling from happening!”
For tomorrow the Baxter may wish to not be alive
When all the Cocks come out and start to jive.

And then there was the noise…
Oh, the noise! Noise! Noise! Noise!
There's one thing he hated!
All the NOISE!
NOISE!
NOISE!

They'll stand close together, their bedazzled pants blinging
They'll spin around the dance floor, as they start singing,


“All the love in the world can't be gone

All the need to be loved can't be wrong

All the records are playing and my heart keeps saying

Boogie Wonderland.

Wonderland

Dance.

Boogie Wonderland

Hey! Hey!

Dance!

Boogie Wonderland.

Hey! Hey!”

"And they'll sing! And they'll sing!
And they'll SING! SING! SING! SING!
It’s bad enough they have to dance,
but why must they also sing?"
The more the Baxter thought,
"I must stop this whole thing!”
“I must put a stop to this goddamn Disco Fling!”

Enough was enough. After all these years,
Disco ends now.
Baxter had to put an end to this,
but the question was how?

Then he got an idea!
An awful idea!
THE BAXTER
GOT A WONDERFUL, AWFUL IDEA!

The Baxter laughed with an evil look in his eyes
He’d sneak down to the town...
But he’d be in disguise.

He quickly created some bell bottoms from his curtain
This plan would work, of this, he was quite certain.
His jacket was bedazzled with many rhinestones,
Though they were actually just painted regular stones
But nevertheless, he knew that this would fool them all
They’d never guess it was the Baxter sneaking under the ball.
And completing his ensemble was his makeshift platform shoes,
Yes, the Cocks down in Cock-ville would have absolutely no clues.

So without further adieu and no more suspense,
The Baxter’s nefarious plan was ready to commence.

= = = = = = = = = =
​

Cock-ville. Such a small, quaint little town. A town that most people would not think much of upon first look. But you should never judge a book by its cover. All the people who live in Cock-ville (who refer to themselves as Cocks), would tell you that when it comes to their town, size isn't everything.

For the Cocks in Cock-ville, their Disco Fling was the biggest event of the year. Everyone in town looks forward to it. Mayor Peacock spends all year long planning the festivities. Everything must be perfect. The music. The decorations. The outfits. Everything down to the rhinestones on their clothes. Disco was the town's passion and the Fing was Peacock's baby. He created the event many years ago, earning himself the titles of "Disco Fing" and "The Boogie Man" among the people.

Mayor Peacock stepped out of his office and assessed the work that was underway. He rubbed his mustache as he smiled at the sight before him. All the residents were pitching in and things were looking great. Each door in town had a disco ball hanging from it, the strobe lights were being installed and the giant Disco Ball in the center of the town hung majestically in the air.

Yes, Peacock though, this is going to be the best Disco Fling yet.

"Hey boss, everything is looking tip-top." It was one of Peacock's right-hand men, Sonny Diamondcock. Sonny and his brother Rick had always been loyal to the mayor. They had done more work for Disco Fling than just about anyone else. Besides Peacock himself of course. "Everyone in town just can't get to get down tomorrow night!"

"Boogie they will, Sonny," Peacock stated, with a gleam in his eye. "Boogie they will, indeed."

"Are you worried?" Rick Diamondcock said as he joined the pair in admiring the handiwork of the town.

Peacock shrugged his shoulders. "And what, just what, would I have to be worried about? It's the most wonderful time of the year!"

Rick motioned towards the mountains just outside of the town. "About him."

"The Baxter!"

A wave of gasps went through the town after Sonny had blurted out that name. A name that no one in Cock-ville dare to speak. Peacock quickly reached over and put his hand over Sonny's mouth. "Shh! You know we don't say that around here!"

"Besides, that freak is all bark and no bite. Every year he threatens Disco Fling and every year he just sits up there alone on his mountain. He is nothing we should concern ourselves with."

Most of the town breathed a sigh of relief, going back to work on the decorations. However, one little Cock... Little Allen LouCock still seemed concerned. He tugged on Mayor Peacock's denim jacket. "Are...are..you sure?"

Mayor Peacock chucked as he rubbed Allen's head. "Of course I'm sure! Besides, I would never let anything happen to this town or to the Disco Fling! The Baxter is just a big baby. Nothing else. Nothing more."

"Now run along, you little scamp," Peacock said, having successfully reassured Little Allen. With a smile now on his face, Allen ran off to play with some of the other kids in town.

"How'd he get that way, anyway?" Rick questioned. "I mean the Baxter. Has he always been a grinchy little character, hiding out in a mountain like some kinda hermit?"

"No," Peacock recounted, "at least from what I've heard about him through the legends... he used to be a better person. Not a good person, no... but a better person. Do you remember Jeremy Bestcock?"

"Sure... didn't he move away?"

"He did. Jeremy and the Baxter used to be best of friends. But then... something happened between them. No one really quite knows what. But whatever it was, it made Jeremy leave town forever and the Baxter became this bitter creature. Eventually, they had to banish him from the town all together."

"Has anyone ever tried to just... maybe... like... invite him back? Maybe he just needs some new friends."

"Ha, yeah right,' Peacock scoffed. "Trust me, we don't want that loser around stinkin' up the joint. Good vibes only allowed in Cock-ville, Sonny. You know that! Let's face it, he's where he belongs and we are where we belong. There's nothing more to it."

"But...I just think..."

"Do I pay you to think?"

"You don't pay us at all."

"And with that kinda attitude, I never will! Let's stop focusing on that turd bucket and start focusing on things that matter. Disco!"

"Yes, sir!"

"You got it."

"Let's finish this all up. I want this place jamming tomorrow like we've never jammed before! Get the record players ready and load up the best albums ya got. Let's let that fat bastard up on the mountain know just how funky we are down here in Cock-ville."

And so the final preparations were made. Mayor Peacock oversaw the final stages of the planning well into the night. But as he turned out the light and climbed into bed, he knew he could sleep easy knowing everything was in order. Tomorrow would be a day no one would forget.

He certainly wasn't wrong.

= = = = = = = = = =

The Baxter snuck through the bushes around 12’o’clock
All Cocks were in bed, including Mayor Peacock.
Of all the Cocks that resided in this awful town,
The mayor was by far the biggest clown
Their faithful leader with a glorious mustache
Who brought the town this music that’s such trash.
He couldn’t wait to see the look on Peacock’s face
After he drains all signs of Disco from this place.

“It’s time for step one,” the Baxter whispered with glee,
As removed from the homes every album or CD.

No more Sledge.
No more ABBA.
No more Bee Gees
No more Ross.
No more Lipps.
No more Sunshine or KC
No more Earth.
No more Wind.
And no more Fire
He took them all!
I promise, I am no liar.

No more Jones.
No more Gaynor.
No more Tasting of Honey.
The Baxter rolled on the floor, laughing.
It was all so funny!
No more Villages of People.
No more Kool nor his Gang.
All these and more,
The albums each went out with a bang.

The Baxter skipped through the streets,
Smashing them to the ground
Each one bursting into a million pieces,
Such an angelic sound!

Sure there was no music to play but he had to be sure,
He had to make sure that their Disco would not endure.
So he also took every radio, every record player, every jukebox,
He made absolutely certain there would be no music for these Cocks.

With each smashed record his evil grin grew,
And with completed it was on to step two.

Into the Cock’s closets the Baxter went sneaking.
But as he was thieving he didn’t see someone peeking.

It was little Allen LouCock, one of the tiniest of all the Cocks,
“Excuse me,” he asked timidly, “how’d you get past the locks?”
Oh no! The Baxter froze. Was his plan going downhill?
Had he been blocked by the tiniest of Cocks in Cock-ville?

“Say,” little Allen pondered, “Do I know you?”
The Baxter grinned, “Of course you do!”
“It is me. Your dad’s old friend - Disco Stu!”

Allen rubbed his sleepy little eyes and tilted his head,
Something wasn’t right, he thought Disco Stu was dead!
The Baxter was nervous as sweat filled his rolls,
If he was caught he’d be thrown in the holes!

The justice of Peacock would be cruel and swift,
The only way out was to come up with a grift
Luckily for the Baxter, his one talent is to lie,
He once convinced a bird that it could not fly

So lie he must and lie he would do,
“I’m helping find Mayor Peacock’s missing shoe!”

A missing shoe?
Little Allen at first found that odd,
Could Disco Stu...
Actually be nothing more than a fraud?

But Allen remembered something truly not faked,
Mayor Peacock had a tendency to find himself quite baked.
Mr. Peacock had never met a brownie he didn’t trust,
So perhaps Disco Stu’s intentions were actually just

“Now back to bed you must go, tomorrow’s a big day”
The Baxter said with deceit as he pushed little Allen away.
With the Cock out of the picture, back to the plan he went,
He took every jewel, every stud, every bedazzled accent

The Baxter chuckled to himself as he imagined their pain,
When the Cocks would wake up to find clothes so plain.

When all was said and done, he admired his work
But something shiny, something round, caused his head to jerk.

How could he forget something so vital?
How could he forget? It has Disco in its title?
No plan was complete without taking it all.
This meant he could not forget the town’s giant disco ball.

Giant and glimmering, the ball was quite the sight,
And up, up, up Baxter climbed despite his height fright.
His teeth chattered while he sawed away at the rope,
He sawed and he sawed, this was his only hope

SNAP.

Falling! Falling!
The Disco Ball was falling!
He could already see all the Cocks bawling!

CRASH!

He had done it! He had destroyed their precious ball,
Now back to his mountain with his massive haul.
For morning was coming and he just couldn’t wait,
The pleasure of their mourning will be just great!

In just mere moments the Cocks would all awake,
There would be no grooving, no booty would shake
He leaned in closely, holding his hands to his ears
The Baxter just had to listen to the sobbing and tears.


= = = = = = = = = =
​

Mayor Peacock awoke on the day of the Disco Fling to his cell phone ringing. He glanced over at the alarm clock and saw it said 6 AM. Whoever was calling him so early could fuck off, he thought as he hit the ignore button.

Ring. Ring. Ring. The infernal ringing wouldn't stop! Mayor Peacock was close to flinging his phone across the room but finally grabbed it and answered the call.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" He said with frustration. "I need my beauty sleep before tonight's festivities."

"That's the problem, boss," it was Sonny Diamondcock. "You've gotta get out here."

"Can't you just tell me?"

"No... you're gonna want to see this."

"Fine."

Peacock slammed the phone down onto his nightstand as he slid on his Kool and the Gang Pajamas. He muttered to himself, cursing the Diamondcock brother for not just telling him what was going on. But out he went, walking through his door and into the streets of Cock-ville.

And he could not believe his eyes.

Shards of glass littered the ground. The Disco Ball that once hung majestically in the center of town had come crashing down.
Many women, children, and even some grown men were so distraught from the site that they were on the ground, openly bawling. Mayor Peacock almost felt like he himself was going to join them. He stepped forward onto the sidewalk and felt something sink into the heel of his shoeless foot.

"What the fuck!" He shouted in pain as he lifted his foot up to examine it. It was a piece of a broken record. Peacock looked up and down the sidewalk and streets to see it wasn't just glass that covered the grounds. All of the town's favorite records had also been destroyed.

"NOOOOOOOO!" Peacock cried out, dropping to his knees. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE?"

Sonny and Rick Diamondcock rushed over, Rick putting his hand on Peacock's back. "It was that damn Baxter, I just know it!"

"That bastard!" Peacock clinched his fist, "I can't believe he actually did it."

"Should we march up there to that mountain and make him pay for this?"

"...Yes...we should definitely put together a mob! An angry mob!" As angry as he was, Mayor Peacock was, like he accused the Baxter of being, more bark than bite. He wanted the townspeople to know he wanted to make the Baxter pay, but he wasn't going to be the one to actually lead the charge. He considered himself more of a lover, not a fighter. "How about you and Rick work on that for me."

"But, Mr. Mayor..." again it was the innocent voice of little Allen LouCock. "I thought you said the mean old Baxter wouldn't bother us."

"Oh my dear Allen, I'm sorry... but don't you worry. The Diamondcocks are gonna take care of him for us."

"But what about peace and love? That's what Cock-ville is all about."

"But he must pay for ruining Disco Fest!" Sonny cried out as Peacock nodded.

"We don't need all that stuff to have a party, do we? We still have each other!" Allen said with a naïve little smile.

While the Diamondcocks were plotting their attack on Baxter Mountain, the words of little Allen kept floating around in Peacock's head. Such wise words from such a little Cock. Maybe Allen was right.

"Wait..." Peacock motioned to the Diamondcocks. "The Baxter would probably love nothing more to watch us give up on our Disco and turn to violence. Let's not give him that satisfaction."

"But...the party? Disco Fest must be avenged!"

Peacock walked towards the center of the town, climbing up onto the platform that was going to be the centerpiece of the party. The Diamondcocks along with the rest of the Cocks in town slowly gathered around Peacock.

"Disco isn't just about the snazzy outfits... the shiny lights... and we don't need any fancy music players... we can make our own music. We can dance our own dances. Disco isn't anything physical... it's... a STATE OF MIND."

The residents of Cock-ville began to cheer and rally behind the words of their Mayor.

"The Baxter thought he could bring us down. He thought he could put a stop to our happiness. Well... FUCK THAT! He can't stop us! And he never will!

"COME... MY COCKS..
LET US MOVE.
LET US GROVE.
LET US SING
WE ARE STILL GONNA FLING!"

And with that, the Cocks all joined hands including Mayor Peacock. Forming a circle around the empty platform...and they began to move and shake. They began to do their dances and they began to sing.

“All the love in the world can't be gone

All the need to be loved can't be wrong

All the records are playing and my heart keeps saying

Boogie Wonderland.

Wonderland

Dance.

Boogie Wonderland

Hey! Hey!

Dance!

Boogie Wonderland.

Hey! Hey!”

= = = = = = = = =

The Baxter could hear the sound coming from below
At first quite low but then it started to grow and grow.

But it wasn’t the sound he expected. The Baxter suddenly felt woozy.
The sound wasn’t sad at all. No, it was actually quite groovy.

He stared down at Cock-ville,
He could not believe his eyes!
The Cocks were still partying.
This was an unpleasant surprise!

Every Cock was present, not a single one tardy,
There was no music but still, they did party.
Their clothes were plain and they didn’t seem to care,
The Disco Fling went on even without the ball in the air.

The Baxter was befuddled.
Bamboozled.
Bewildered...
He didn’t want to believe his eyes, but they were unfiltered.

How could they still be dancing? How could they still be singing?
Despite all his efforts, how could the Disco still be Flinging?

He pondered and mused until his brain became quite sore
When suddenly the Baxter thought of something he hadn’t before,
There was a reason they didn’t need the music or ball anymore,
Maybe….Disco…perhaps…to them means a little bit more.

And what happened then? Well according to the legend they say,
That the Baxter’s small brain…grew three sizes that day.

“Perhaps I was wrong,” the Baxter he finally admitted,
“Stealing Disco was not a crime I should have committed.”

And with his yellow teeth showing and his big belly protruding
The Baxter finally found the answer from all his brooding.

“No, no, no, Disco is not something that I can steal.”
He realized now that there was another plan more ideal.

For everything he stole, the Cocks could rebuild.
"Disco can’t be stolen, it instead must be…killed."

= = = = = = = = = =​

Dr. Dubb's​

How ​

The Baxter ​

Stole Killed ​

Disco​

​

Mayor Peacock watched as all the Cocks sang and dance. He was proud of the town's ability to overcome such a travesty and still make this a Disco Fling to remember. He looked up to the mountains and chuckled to himself. Nice try, fat man, he thought. Better luck next year.

Disco was too strong to simply get rid of.

But wait, as Peacock was glancing at the mountain... he noticed something. Something quite peculiar. Something he had never seen before.

Someone was coming... and they were coming fast.

"What's going on," Sonny Diamondcock said with confusion.

Could it be? Peacock couldn't imagine the Baxter actually coming back into the town.

"I know what's happening!" Little Allen LouCock piped in. "He's coming to join us!"

"Why? Why would he do that?" Peacock said with confusion.

"Easy silly," Allen smiled, "He's realized he was wrong! He saw that he stole our party from us... but we continued even without all that stuff. Maybe he's realized the true meaning of Disco and sees what he is missing in his life. He realizes he's wasted so many years away on that lonely old mountain... he wants to make up for lost time. He wants to become one of us. He wants to be a Cock! Every story has a happy ending and this is it! In moments he will be circling this stage with us... sing and dancing too!"

Maybe, Peacock thought to himself. That would be a pleasant surprise for him... but he really didn't want that ogre around anyway. No, even if he was coming to ask for forgiveness.. Peacock would not be so quick to forgive. He'd send the Baxter packing once again and all the Cocks in Cock-ville would laugh as the Baxter walks back up the mountain all by himself.

He was not wanted in Cock-ville.

So Mayor Peacock waited...for the Baxter would be here soon.

= = = = = = = = = =

All the Cocks were surprised by the Baxter’s appearance
Was he the blame for the Disco disappearance?
Perhaps he was coming to apologize for his infractions.
But wait, what was that in his hands? What a contraption!

Why it’s a crossbow, plus some arrows, of course
The Baxter was not here to apologize, he had no remorse.
The Cocks screamed in fear as the arrows they flew
Little Allen LouCock cried, “Why, why Disco Stu?”

“Disco Stu is dead! Can’t you see I’m the Baxter instead?”
But before he could answer, Allen had an arrow through his little head.

It wasn’t just arrows the Baxter used for his tools,
To soak the ground in multiple blood-colored pools
He had blades. He had bullets. He even had rocks.
So many ways that he murdered those Cocks.

Martha May Cockvier got stabbed in the eye
Sonny Diamondcock was hung by his tie
While his brother Rick Diamondcock was simply shot in the dick
And Lewis Brickcock’s head was ironically smashed by a brick
Body after body after body. They each hit the ground.
So much blood that it caused August Maycock to drown!

In the middle of the bloodshed, the Baxter stood tall,
He took pride in eliminating every Cock, both big and small.
But wait, he wasn’t done. There was just one person missing.
In the corner, it was Mayor Peacock, his pants he was pissing.

“Please, please, don’t kill me. I’ll do anything.”
“Haha, look at you now - aren’t you the Disco King?”
“So get up, get up King, and show us your moves! You know you can!
Dance! Dance I say! Show me why they call you the Boogie Man!”

With his clothes stained of urine, blood, and tears, Peacock did dance
Hoping to save his life, through his friends’ blood he did prance.
The Baxter was watching, he could not disappoint
So his hips he did pop and his fingers he did point
While he danced the hustle, the bump, and the get down
The Baxter just laughed, “would you look at this clown!”

“I’ve done as you asked, now please let me live!”
Peacock pleaded that it was mercy he would give.
Maybe there was a time when Baxter would have listened to that nonsense
But t’was a long time ago. Baxter has long since lost his conscience.

Peacock only had one hope and that was to run,
“Aw, just when I thought we were having some fun!”
Could he do it? Could he escape with his life?
But that question was answered by the stab of a knife.

Peacock dropped to his knees, the pain was unreal
Baxter approached, spinning a record like a wheel
And with that record, don't think I exaggerate
When I tell you, Peacock’s head he did decapitate!

The Baxter picked up that blood-covered record he looted
The one whose sound for years his ears had been polluted
He grimaced as remembered the sounds of that wretched band
But rejoice! Cock-ville was no longer a Boogie Wonderland.

And back up the mountain, the Baxter did climb
His boots leaving red tracks from the scene of the crime
When he returned home there would be no guilt and no sorrow
Because when he awoke there would be peace tomorrow.
No more music, no more dancing, no more laughter.
Disco was dead. And the Baxter lived happily ever after.

​

 

[SupineSnake]

MICHELLE von HORROWITZ
in
[VOLUME NINETY SEVEN]
”THREE DREAMS.”

[ one ]​

Hanging with them big pigs… all them dogs…
Got me a couple ideas, straight from God…​

The unfortunate symphony continued, its maestro, though he held no batons, giddily allowing it to enter its second verse. He was revelling in it, as if he'd forgotten what this sort of adulation felt like and wanted to savour it whilst it lasted. Whether it was due to geographic proximity to his birthplace or her deep unpopularity with the American people, the crowd had picked their horse and was letting him know it. They sang him to the ring, as if he was their hero, and she the monster he'd been sent to slay. She smiled to herself. It would be nice for the monster to win for once.

He climbed into the ring and - from her seated position in the corner, with her head propped up against the second turnbuckle, as was now her custom before a match - her eyes fixed upon the gold adorning his shoulder. It was exactly as she remembered it, although a full year had passed since she'd lost it to Thomas at the end of one of the shortest reigns in FWA history. There was more to do, here. Climbing the mountain twice only to promptly lose her footing on the peak left a bitter taste in her mouth. Twelve months was a long time to wait. But it would be worth it.

The Grand March. Last year, she entered this event alongside Gerald, even though they were due to compete against one another in its main event. In truth, that is where a lot of the problems with Gerald started, even if it had ended well for her. She'd overcome Nova that night to start her ill-fated second reign. Tonight, a year on, she had no idea where Gerald was. That was the case most nights, now.

In that moment, seated in the corner as this handsome champion lifted his handsome belt above his head, Michelle didn't think of any of this. Gerald was far from her mind, as was Nova and Thomas. Even Uncle. She only had eyes for the man in front of her, parading his prize as if the belt was a placeholder for tailfeathers. He turned to face her, a smile on his face and a glint in his eye.

He felt it, too. She knew this to be true.

It had been a long time coming. Almost two years, really. Cat and mouse, and no real way of telling which was which. All leading to this moment, like she knew it would the moment the F1 was announced. Like he thought it would at Back in Business, when he waited in his locker room for the Carnal Contendership, his victory already clear in his mind and ready to be made real. But each turn in the road, each time this encounter was denied them, only served to make this moment more sweet. More perfect. It didn't happen then, but it was happening now. Their ships had repeatedly passed in the night, but the morning had come. She could see clearly.

"Ladies and gentlemen, the following contest is scheduled for one-fall, with a sixty minute time limit… and is for the FWA World Championship!”

As Kurt Harrington boomed out his opening salvo, whipping the crowd up into further frenzy, she reached up and grasped the top rope with her outstretched hands. She closed her eyes. Felt the cable’s tautness. When she opened them again, the man in black and white was collecting the gold from a champion seemingly unwilling to let it out of his sight. She knew the feeling. He sensed that his grip upon the summit was precarious. He wished to elongate the moment. But moments can’t be grasped in the same manner as a ring rope. She pulled herself onto her feet.

“Introducing first, the challenger… representing Cthulhu’s Nephews…”

She couldn’t hear much of the rest of it. The boos began as soon as the moniker of her chosen clan escaped Harrington’s lips. They didn’t let up until he’d finished, the tail end of Horrowitz just barely audible over their settling clamour. Usually, this would be her cue to hurl some obscenities haphazardly into the air, hoping the wind would carry them to as many of the trogs as possible. Tonight, she simply stared ahead of herself. At the man at the end of this long road, which they’d both walked but separately. Alone with everybody.

“And introducing the champion… representing Executive Excellence…”

And he, the handsome man, stared back at her, and she could sense in him the same riptide of emotion. A sense of pending closure, to be enjoyed with uncertainty at the end of the battle to come.

He didn’t move a muscle, even as the roars grew into a tidal wave. It washed over them, and still they remained unmoved.

Finally, the bell rang. It was beginning. It was here.

She began to circle the ring, matching his motions. It was the opening movements of what she hoped would be a long dance. They had waited for years, after all. There was no need to rush.

The opening lock-up was oncoming, the champion looking for a gap in her stance as he came towards her, when a masked figure, clad all in black, rolled into the ring. He stood up, his frame instantly recognisable but causing a ripple of confusion through the packed arena. He looked at the handsome man, and then at Dreamer. The two dancers had paused their foreplay and were backed away from one another, their momentum stayed by this unwelcome interloper.

After what seemed like an eternity but, in ‘reality’, was only a few seconds, the masked man reached into the pocket of his trench coat and pulled out a revolver. He pointed it at the handsome man and, without hesitation, put ten grams of lead through the left size of his skull. The champion was already on the ground before the bullet lodged in his brain, his arm twitching and a pool of blood gathering beneath his head.

The assailant turned on Michelle - who stared up at his large figure with a lack of surprise… a dull, passive acceptance - and fired a second bullet into her stomach.

She fell back into a seated position, her head propped up against the second turnbuckle.

…

…

She awoke to the familiar sight of the inside of her cabin, dull and drab and small, and now with an overhanging odour of stale sweat and spilled whiskey. It was the same musty aroma that she’d come to expect from herself during her time on the boat. She adjusted her position on the narrow bunk, her eyes immediately drawn to the crack - now a fissure, really - on the ceiling of the cabin. She imagined that her whole hand could fit between the gaping, growing jaws hanging above her head. She only imagined this because there was no way she would be checking that theory. The jaws, as she’d come to call the widening chasm that loomed above her bed, seemed particularly hostile that morning. She wasn’t bold enough to run her fingertips along their splintered teeth, as she sometimes would. Instead, she rolled out of bed and pulled on her clothes.

The captain was in the process of docking up, keeping his promise of a dawn arrival in Vienna. She hadn’t enjoyed much of the German voyage. The canal wasn’t really made for a ship like the Sisyphus, and at times she pictured the captain as a modern day Fitzcarraldo, wrestling with his terrain to overcome this mammoth but ultimately silly task he’d assigned himself. She sensed easier passage was to come now that they’d emerged onto the wider Danube, and the casual, comfortable air about the captain this morning suggested he agreed.

"Happy to be in Vienna?" she asked, whilst lighting up her first cigarette of the day. Dawn wasn't far behind them, but her hours had shifted around without pattern as of late. The captain glanced up at her, pausing in his business to flash her a bright grin. The gaps between his teeth only added to its warmth.

"Vienna is a city I knew well," he answered. Although, of course, it wasn't really an answer. "And yourself?"

"First time," Michelle said, whilst sucking at her cigarette and looking over the small dockyard on the eastern edge of the city. She had forty eight hours to acclimatise herself before it would be time to move on again. It was never enough, it was always too much. "Any recommendations?"

"It's been a long time," he answered, his hands returning to the business of fastening the ship to the port. "I doubt many of my old haunts would still be open. And I forget their names. Other than…"

He paused, and Michelle fancied that she detected wistfulness in his tone.

"A place called Café Moritz. I remember it well, though I doubt it remembers me."

"We could go and find out?" Michelle offered. The words fell out of her mouth before she really realised what she's saying, but the idea of spending time off the ship with the old sailor wasn't intolerable. That in itself - to find someone whose company wasn’t to be thought of as a curse - was a rarity. But they had been travelling together for well over a month now, and she'd never seen the man off his own deck. Perhaps that was by design.

"Maybe some other city," the captain offered, elusive as ever. "I'd like my memories of Vienna to stay as they are."

She didn't say anything for a moment, but nodded.

"The crack in your cabin," the captain began. She'd almost forgotten that she'd mentioned it to him, it had been so long since he'd agreed to have one of the crew take a look. It felt strange to hear somebody else speak about it. It had grown into its role as her little secret, a private fear that nestled uneasily amongst all the others. "I had Gert take a look. It's not a significant crack. Nothing for you to worry about."

Easy for Gert to say, she thought to herself.

"Is there another cabin I could use?" she asked.

"Is the aesthetic that bad?" the captain replied, with a playful smile. "There are no more cabins, unless you mean to turf one of us out of ours, which would be a pointless endeavour. They're less extravagant than yours, and have cracks of their own."

"The ship is old," Michelle responded, repeating the captain's words from their dialogue in Köln.

"That's right," he said. His eyes seemed to add, almost as old as me.

She spent the day drinking in whatever bars she could find that were open at the unreasonable hours she expected them to be, and coffee shops when that pursuit was fruitless. In truth, her brooding wasn't befitting of a city like Vienna, which was for beauty and poetry and music. But she forced her surroundings to fit her mood, insisting upon a fog of gloom, even against a backdrop that cried out for sunlight. In a more frivolous mood she may have enjoyed the city, but this was presently an impossible endeavour. The confrontations she'd endured during her uneasy sleep the night prior made sure of that. Just like her Vienna was devoid of music, even her dreams deprived her of the dance that reality had casually and cruelly denied her as well.

It was also an insurmountable task to not allow her mind to follow its natural course: to dwell upon the dance that never was, that perhaps would never be. In truth, that had been the case for much of the European tour. Back in London, she'd relished the idea of not only facing her long-standing white whale - one in what was becoming a whole pod of them - at least once as part of this crumbling tournament, but also earning a chance to right past failures regarding the world championship in the process. Now, only one of those objectives remained to her, and important thought it was, the masked man was not her handsome one.

A half-remembered night more than two years ago, where both had drank themselves into oblivion and their collective memory into submission. A match over nothing in particular, besides a perhaps unearned mutual respect, for another company after her business there with the kaiju had run its course. These were their two interactions of note. It wasn't much, really.

The fact that she was one of the only people alive to know what Alyster Black looked like beneath the mask should've signified a closeness that in reality didn't exist. Her defeat at the man's hands could, under other circumstances, have constituted a crisis for her weak and addled mind. A deficit that could have spawned a vendetta. But it didn't.

She was even almost happy for him, when he triumphed in the battle royale and won the prize that had eluded him so frequently before now. Fifth time’s the charm. Almost, for she knew what any new champion, in the absence of the old one, meant for the dance her heart really longed for.

In truth, she didn't achieve anything useful or of note during her first day in Vienna, save perhaps the discovery of a small coffee shop in the corner of the Old Town. Nestled in-between a bakery and a chocolatier was Café Moritz. It looked old enough to be the one that the captain remembered and briefly mentioned that morning. She ordered a black coffee and a whiskey and sat in the corner, watching the steady stream of Viennese locals and tourists alike going about their Fridays independently but for a communal venture to the café.

A small plaque above the counter explained the store’s name. The building, along with the bakery, the chocolatier, and the small block of flats attached to the three terraced stores, had once been a movie theatre that showed German propaganda films. The cinema was heavily damaged by allied shells in the forties, and a large selection of it was reduced to rubble by the combined efforts of Churchill and Stalin. The legend went that a U.S. marine named Maurice Stoltsberg sat on this pile of stones following the German surrender with a flask of coffee, which he shared out between himself and any local that would talk to him. The Viennese called him Moritz, and soon enough monetized his myth with the creation of this very coffee shop.

The sun retreated early, giving up on the day before it had really found its feet. Michelle did the same, feeling sullen and uninspired.

…

…

[ two ]

"Do you know when you'll be able to wrestle again?" she asked, before sipping her wine and regarding the man in front of her. She had to be careful about doing so too often. She was worried she'd get lost in his handsome features, as she had done on so many nights before, mostly when he didn't even know she was looking.

"I don't know yet," he said, his thick and stubborn New York accent endearing through her rose-tinted glasses. "I see the doctors again this week. We'll have a better picture then."

Michelle stared about herself, at the handsome people in their handsome clothes, eating their expensive, elaborate meals whilst drinking wines she couldn't even pronounce the names of. Perhaps she should've felt out of place, but the man seated across from her, staring back at her with sparkling eyes, was the most exquisite of them all. He belonged here, and - by extension - she belonged, too. At least so long as she was on his arm.

"I'm glad you stuck around," she began, whilst draining another glass and then emptying the remnants of the bottle into it. "But it can't be easy, watching Alyster with your belt."

"He knows it's tarnished," he said, with a shrug. "He knows that he'll have to deal with me, when I'm whole again. But Alyster's not here tonight. And neither are your cronies."

"Yours, either," Michelle said. Danny flashed her another grin. She hadn't eaten, but had made up for it with the wine, which was good and flowed freely. "Although, judging from the place you chose, Jean-Luc is at least here in spirit. I worry that this might've even been his recommendation, which wouldn't sit well."

"Gabrielle's," the handsome man admitted. She felt better about this than the other theory. "You wanna get out of here, Dreamer?"

They emerged into a cold Vienna night, the Danube snaking around them as it meandered eastwards, the city a red carpet rolled out for only them. He lit them both a cigarette and led the way towards the nucleus, but Michelle stopped him at the mouth of the first alley they passed. She pulled him into it, reaching into the front pocket of her long, black coat. She fingered around for her coke, but paused in the wake of his gaze. His eyes, once merely sparkling, were now ablaze, and she sensed a stirring in him which awakened a similar one in her.

The moment, though infinite in itself, was broken by the cocking of a shotgun. Michelle turned to see the masked man emerging from the shadowy recesses of the alleyway, holding the large weapon in both of his hands.

The handsome man was still smoking his cigarette when the first shell found its way into his gut. Michelle didn't know which of the two to face, but neither choice would've made much of a difference. The second shell was unloaded into her shoulder, spinning her around and throwing her down onto the concrete next to the other. He didn't seem so handsome anymore.

…

…

The early morning wind was biting, and she huddled for warmth in her layers on the deck of the ship. The captain didn't want her to smoke below deck, and he'd been liberal enough about her peculiarities for her to follow the meagre restrictions he did place upon her. The dreams had conspired with the jaws on her cabin ceiling to drive her here, away from the false comfort of a dreamless sleep, on the deck of a ship in the biting early morning wind.

The ideas of guilt, complicity, and responsibility were prevalent in her mind as she leant against the front railing of the ship and lit a joint. She hoped it would be enough to rock her gently back to sleep, but her frenetic mind was conspiring to stop that. Accepting that Danny, champion of the world, would not be standing across the ring from her - either as part of the F1 or at the Grand March - wasn't an easy thing. Until now, the primary strategy she'd used to combat this growing disappointment, which would rapidly develop into a sense of being cheated out of a dance she was promised, was to keep her mind and body distracted. As always, that meant intoxicants and wrestling. It was most of the reason she’d entered into a series of pointless tag team matches alongside her tournament commitments. This strategy had worked for a good period of time, but now this bleak, sorry injustice had infiltrated her dreams. The lost dance with Danny Toner attacked her subconsciousness, finding the barriers of her waking hours too stubborn to break through.

She asked herself if she blamed Alyster. Her dreams certainly seemed to suggest that she did, but as she thought about it now - as she was forced to think about it now, by the betrayal of her subconsciousness - in ‘reality’ she concluded that she didn’t. She didn’t know enough about the handsome man’s injury to lay it at Alyster’s feet, and even if the masked one was responsible for it, it would’ve come about between the bells. There was no culpability there, when viewed through a reasonable lens.

Why, then, did she feel such a burning rage when she considered Alyster Black carrying the FWA World Championship to the ring to face her? Danny’s injury was, it seemed, Destiny’s intervention, once more insisting on keeping them apart. Once more, she found herself walking down a lonely trail. Once more, her trail was a different one to Danny’s, although she still felt in her heart that these twinned paths would lead them to the same place. Her rage, she mused, should therefore be directed towards Destiny, though her arms were too short for this fight. Destiny was more than human, but Alyster wasn’t: and, now, he was a manifestation of the anger and sorrow she felt about the promised dance… a promise repeatedly promised, and now trampled beyond recognition.

Not long after she had emerged onto the deck, she heard a series of stomps from the narrow, spiral stairway that led down to the cabins. Soon enough, the captain appeared through the heavy, iron door, wearing long-johns, no shirt, a heavy trench coat, and his hat. She wondered if he ever took the last of these off. She’d never seen him without it. He was only momentarily surprised that he wasn’t alone on the deck, and slowly sauntered over to his guest whilst reaching into his pockets for his smokes and a lighter.

“Up early, Frau von Horrowitz?” he said, as he approached.

“What time is it?” she asked, in return.

“A little after four,” the captain replied. “Or maybe you’re just getting in?”

“No, I was sleeping,” she said. “But now I can’t. You’re up early, too. It’s your night off, no?”

"These night voyages you insist upon," the captain said, whilst lighting a long, thin cigarillo that smelled of vanilla. "They have me up at ungodly hours. Not that I'm complaining. It's quiet at ungodly hours."

Michelle nodded. It had been quiet, until he'd arrived. She was acutely aware of the stench of her joint, but the captain didn't seem to mind. When he wasn't focussed on his cigarillo, he grinned at her in the curious way she'd grown accustomed to.

"And what's chasing you out here?" he enquired. "More cracks?"

"Just that same one," Michelle said. "And the dreams."

She didn't begrudge telling him that much, but stopped short of giving him specifics. They belonged to her.

"Ah, you're a dreamer?" he replied, whilst taking a seat in his chair. Michelle continued to stand, staring out over the docks. "I haven't dreamed in years. Maybe you'll grow out of it, too."

She finished her joint and stubbed it out in the old coffee cup at the captain's feet. It hadn't been emptied since Köln, and was two-thirds full. She didn't like to look inside it for too long.

"I found your café," she said, whilst holding the man's gaze. He had a kind face in the manner that most old people do, but she wondered what it was hiding. It seemed incomplete, though at the mention of the café she sensed desire within it. "In the old town? It's still there."

The old man had an air of nostalgia about him as he made his reply, pausing only to smoke thoughtfully from his cigarillo.

"It's good to know that it's still there," he began. "It's been more than half a century since I was last in Vienna, and the girl I knew… well, I don't know her anymore. Don't know if she's alive, even."

The wind howled. The moon hung above them, as if listening into their dialogue.

"What was her name?" Michelle asked, after a long silence.

"I can't remember," the old man replied. This made her sad.

"We could go tomorrow, if you're free," she suggested.

The captain dropped his cigarette into the old coffee can. He reclined in his chair, as if content to sit here a while despite the cold wind rolling across the river. He thought about the proposal for a while, and then nodded in affirmation. His smile seemed more peculiar than ever.

"Well, good night," she said, finally.

"You'll try to sleep again now?” he asked. She nodded, whilst stuffing her hands into the front pockets of her jacket. "I hope it's a dreamless one."

She remembered the look in the handsome man's eyes, and hoped it wouldn't be.

…

…

[ three ]

The last breath lingered. Caught in her lungs. Her body burned. A moment of ecstasy surrounds them, hanging upon a thread. The air was released from her in one drawn out motion, her hand positioned upon his thick chest for balance, her senses overwhelmed by a fragility that came with this rare vulnerability. Her other hand was in his hair, dampened by perspiration and the sea, his eyes alive again with the fire she'd once known in her waking hours. A fire now denied to her in that other world… that cold world. A fire rekindled here, wherever here was.

With heightened senses she felt everything about her: the retreating evening sun upon her back, the dry, soft sand that clung to her skin and that her feet had burrowed into during the tussle, the gently shifting weight of the man underneath her, the slow throb of him inside of her, returning to his natural state after the expenditure. Her heart lurched, all of her blood drawn to it, denying her proper use of the rest of her body. Her legs felt weakened to the point of uselessness. All she could manage was to roll off him, but focus on any other idea still eluded her.

The red sun was disappearing over the lip of the world out to sea, dusk gathering around them. The beach was still deserted, and shrouded from unwanted onlookers by the high sand dunes behind them. They were alone, truly for the first time, and in this place Michelle quite forgot that there was anything else at all over the dunes or across the sea.

Her breathing slowly regulated itself, but her body still ached. Roared for something more, something that he couldn't yet give her. The dance was incomplete. Words were beyond her. She managed only groans, and an occasional whimper. She rested a hand on her own hip bone, but a ripple of tension ran through her as she did, and she withdrew it as if her skin was boiling water. Only his touch tempered the heat.

He stood, abandoning her and her volatile body, denying her his soothing hands. She watched and then followed as he walked out into the sea. It was cold, but she braced herself and swam out. She began to regain control of her body, gradually but noticeably, as she struggled to keep pace with his powerful strokes.

Eventually, he stopped, and turned to her. They treaded water as the sun set. His eyes were sad.

She followed his sad eyes to the shore, where another man had punctured their sanctuary. This realisation drove the air out of her, just as the strength of the handsome man's untimely climax had. If he was here, he had come from without. That was enough for the dream to collapse in on itself. To collapse upon its Dreamer.

The masked man sat on the shore, in the spot where they had been overcome by each other. His hands were stuffed into the pockets of his heavy trench coat, as if groping for something.

Dreamer began to swim to shore. It was time.

The handsome man grasped her arm.

"A little longer," he said.

…

…

Michelle sat with the captain in the courtyard in front of Café Moritz, and since they'd arrived she'd noticed that his peculiar grin had grown into something else entirely. He was still smiling, but his visage seemed a lot fuller than it had that morning. As if the translucent image had finally been given colour, and the nostalgia that occupied it until now was finally retreating from the foreground. He alternated between sipping his beer and sipping his coffee, a cigarillo rested in the groove of the ashtray between them.

"It doesn't matter?" she asked, whilst rotating her own glass in idle fingers. "That it's not her?"

"It matters," the captain said.​

 

[Jam]

Old Dog
By Gerald Grayson

With Nuremberg being the location of this week’s Meltdown show, I decided to go out and see some sights, mostly to distract me from how bad I was doing in the F1 Tournament after being beaten by Baxter and Peacock. Despite both matches being competitive, I haven’t been able to come out with the victory. I wasn’t sure what was going on - whether I wasn’t preparing enough or my opponents were that damn good. I don’t know. It was frustrating to say the least. But I still hold my head up high, knowing I put on a good show for the fans.

However, It didn’t help that I felt everything was working against me with Michelle and the Nephews. Michelle and I are admittedly having problems but we never talk about it because that’s not something we do. The Nephews are always up to their own shenanigans, nothing new there. But they seem to be messing with the wrong people and I’m worried they might garner extreme consequences. Have I told them this? Yes. Will they listen? Of course not.

So all is not well in the Gerald Grayson boat. Maybe I’m the problem? Maybe I’m just too nice? Baxter and Peacock have given into their darker sides, revealing what they truly desire. Look at them now - Baxter is the new North American Champion and Peacock has been on fire while also holding the Golden Opportunity briefcase.

My next opponent in the F1 tournament is Phillip A. Jackson, also known as PAJ, an alumnus, a returnee, and now the current FWA Television Champion. PAJ wasn’t someone I’ve really interacted with and his current FWA run could be seen as a letdown after how good he was the first time. If there was ever a time for PAJ to turn it around, it’d be against me - because of course it would. For some reason, everyone turns into the best version of themselves when they face me. Sure, it might be a good thing that I bring out the best in people, but not if it means me losing a whole lot.

Thinking about all of this stressed me out and I didn’t want to be stressed. After a quick Google search about museums, I stumbled upon the German Railway Museum.

“Michelle loves trains,” I said out loud. So to see what all the fuss was about, I booked a tour, hoping it would take my mind off this losing streak and get an idea of what about trains fascinates someone as eccentric as Michelle von Horrowitz.

When I arrived in the area where the museum was, I didn’t expect the place to look like a mini amusement park. It had many outdoor exhibits, at least ten that I could see, that visitors could interact with. There was also an area where visitors could check out equipment used to get a train running and ready for a journey, which I thought would be something Michelle would enjoy. There were also train simulators that attracted a lot of the younger crowd. Right in the middle was the museum, with its brick walls and mid-century aesthetic, it was hard to miss.

Museums usually hold expensive or historic paintings or artifacts. This museum housed trains as its treasured pieces. As soon as I stepped inside the museum, I was greeted by the large collection of locomotives. These were the types of trains you’d see as toys, so it was fascinating to see how big they actually were. Adorning the walls were paintings of various trains, even modern day trains. Each painting had a description underneath them, informing the general public of what they were. Before I could read them, I was greeted by an elderly woman who worked at the museum,

“Hi sir, would you be interested in a tour of the railway?” she smiled at me.

“Oh, I actually signed up for it. Where can I find the tour guide?” I retorted, holding up my ticket.

“Right this way,” she said, as she ushered me towards the tour.

On my way to the tour, I couldn’t help but marvel at the large collection of locomotives.I stopped in front of the nearest train and snapped a selfie.

“My god, everything’s so old here,” I said out loud, garnering stares from an elderly couple to my right who assumed I was including them in that. I began walking even faster to get away from the awkward situation.

“Michelle’s going to love this,” I said, taking more photos of the other trains in the collection.

Finally, I found the group I’d be in the tour with. We were a decent amount, about twenty strong. The tour guide was an elderly man, probably in his 60s, who wore a conductor hat, fitting of the theme. He led us along a small corridor that went downstairs and opened up into a wide area where an actual railway was.

I heard a bark? Yeah, it was a bark. This one belonged to what looked like a terrier. I wasn’t sure which one, but it looked like a terrier to me with it’s short tail and tuxedo-looking coat. Apparently, the tour was dog friendly as I heard another bark. This time, it was a Pomeranian being held by a young child. The tour guide smiled at each family that brought a dog with them before continuing with the tour.

“The German Railway Museum opened in 1882 here in Nuremberg. Nuremberg is the birthplace of the German railway -“ the elderly tour guide said with enthusiasm. He began speaking more but suddenly, what he was saying was inaudible.

— — —

I remember when I was in the midst of turning into a motocross pro. I was almost 17 by then and things were getting difficult. Not just with motocross itself, but life in general was getting harder. It’s like I didn’t have time to do anything else but motocross. I thought to myself that this was the life I wanted, so I just had to deal with it.

Every time I came home from school, I had an hour to myself to do whatever I wanted before it was time to hit the dirt road. I remember using this time mostly to play video games, eat snacks, and take naps. But what I did the most was play with Dashy, our family dog. Dash was a Golden Retriever we’ve had since he was a puppy. He was such a quick, playful, and intelligent dog. He was the fastest dog I had ever seen, which is how he got his name.

I remember this one time in the park back in Raleigh. I brought Dashy with me to just chill at the park while my parents weren’t home from work yet. It was right after school and we were in an open field in the park. It seemed like everyone had the same idea as me because of how much people there were at the park.

“Alright Mr. Fastest Doggie in the World. You want to race?” I asked Dashy, who stared at me blankly with his tongue out as he did a little dance.

“You silly boy,” I went to pet him behind the ears, which he loved, before going back to my bike.

“Alright, Dashy. We’re going to race. You’re the fastest, most impressive dog I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing. Let’s race up to the playground there,” I pointed in the distance - a good 20 feet from where we were. There were a bunch of kids and adults in that area, but it shouldn’t be a problem.

Dashy looked at me with his tongue out again. But there was a brief second where I swear he nodded at me. I took that as confirmation that he wants this race as much as I do.

I went on my bike, readying myself. I looked at Dashy, who was right next to me. I gave him a mean mug, playfully motioning that I had my eyes on him, to which he replied by readying himself in position, surprising me.

“You ready, Dashy?” I asked him, but he was ready, more than me even. I steeled myself, taking a few breaths.

“Go!”

And we were off. I got off to a rough start as my right foot didn’t find the pedal to my bike right away. Dashy had a small lead, probably slowing himself down to keep pace with me. I took that as an insult and pedaled like my life depended on it. At that moment, I don’t know why I felt so competitive whereas Dashy felt as though this was us just playing together. But in that moment, I needed to win. With school being stupid, all the pressure with turning pro, and a bunch of other things, I needed this win more than ever.

We were about 8 feet away from the playground and I wasn’t slowing down, when I should’ve been. Dashy stopped and started barking at me. I looked back at him, knowing I had won the race. But when I looked forward, the front of my bike had hit the bottom of the slide, causing me to fall, and my bike to fall on top of me.

A crowd started forming around me. I could hear many voices, but none that were familiar to me. That’s when Dashy started licking my face and I started to regain consciousness.

“Are you okay?” a lady holding my bike asked me.

“Yes,” I said instantly, getting up from the fall, and taking hold of my bike.

“Thanks,” I said nonchalantly as I walked away from the scene with Dashy.

After a few steps away from the crowd, Dashy jumped and barked at me.

“I’m okay, Dashy. Thank you,” I said, continuing to walk, albeit with a slight lump. “But I did win the race.”

Dashy stopped and stared at me, seemingly understanding that he lost the race. He whined and looked at me with those big eyes of his, making me chuckle.

“It’s alright, Dashy. You’ll get the next one,” I said, petting him behind his ears as we made our way home.

— — —

Right around before I turned 17, I was only a little bit older than Dashy. He got his name because of how quick and playful he was. He was the fastest dog I’ve ever seen.

I guess that’s why we bonded a lot. Dashy liked going fast and so did I - in a sense. Each time I came home, I was greeted by Dashy and he’d be by my side no matter what I did in that one hour of free time… whether it was playing video games, eating, or napping. He loved playing catch for hours and hours, never getting tired.

That’s how I wanted to remember Dashy - being his silly, playful self. However, things eventually changed. As the years went on, Dashy became less active and put on a sizable amount of weight. We tried getting him on an exercise routine, but it just didn’t work out. Not only that, but he started to not respond well to the type of food we were feeding him. Despite all of this, Dashy was still in high spirits but also had his times when he just wanted to lay around.

One Saturday morning, I finally had the day off with there being no races. I almost didn’t know what to do as I was so used to being out by morning and getting back in the evening. However, I knew I could turn to Dashy and he’d be ready for anything. I went into the kitchen and would usually find Dashy by his bowl, but he wasn’t there.

“Dashy!” I called out. No answer.

With my left hand, I fixed myself a bowl of coco puffs while I filled Dashy’s bowl with my right. It was his favorite dog food and I brought it along with me to the living room. There, I found Dashy, laying on the rug, his ears down and eyes closed. For some reason, he looked so much older than I remembered. His skin looked paler than it used to. The way his legs were positioned seemed like such an “old man” pose, I couldn’t quite explain it.

“Hey Dashy boy, time for breakfast,” I said. It took a few moments for his eyes to open, but they eventually did. He let out a yawn and stretched his back for a few seconds before walking slowly to his bowl of food.

I looked at Dashy with concern, petting him behind the ears like I used to. This time, he no sold it, and continued eating his food. Before long, he was finished and went back to his spot on the rug and laid there.

Another look of concern came over my face as I sat down next to him.

“What’s wrong boy? You okay?” I asked while rubbing his back.

But no response, not even a look my way. Dashy just lay there with his eyes closed.

I left him alone for a few minutes as I went to my room upstairs. When I came back down, I had his favorite blue, squeaky ball in hand. He loved this.

“Dashy, look boy! It’s your favorite toy,” I said, squeezing it a bit as the sound made Dashy open his eyes and raise his head.

I motioned for him to play catch with me but opening his eyes and arising his head was all he could muster. He went back to his original position and lay there - all day.

My eyes started to water at the whole situation, but I couldn’t blame Dashy for feeling the way he did. He was overweight, his digestive system wasn’t the greatest, and many other things nagged at his old frame. I sat next to him once more and gave him a hug. He opened his eyes, looking at me, as he whimpered. It’s as if he was apologizing to me for not being his old self.

“Don’t you do that, Dashy. It’s okay,” I said, pausing to give him more hugs. “I love you bud,”

— — —

I think the best word to describe PAJ is “proud.” PAJ is a very proud person, so much so that he’d let you know it every time that he could. Being the current Television Champion, he holds himself in high regard, as he should because he’s a champion of the FWA, a representation of the FWA.. But being proud may be what leads PAJ to his downfall.

It’s no secret that a lot of my success in the FWA can be attributed to Michelle and the Nephews. Who does PAJ have? No one would be my guess. In the wrestling industry, it’s important to have acquaintances, friends, colleagues - generally, people who take a liking to you, because you never know when they can come in handy. Does that sound a little shady? Yes, but it’s necessary when you’re in this type of business.

I think PAJ cares very much if he’s liked or not actually. Here’s why.

Back in the day, PAJ was electric, able to wrestle many styles. His persona was able to work a crowd to get them on his side. He was quick, like Dashy once was, with his movement in the ring. He was a proud man and showcased his in-ring abilities to prove just how good he was. He was also quite the talker. He’d let you know how inferior you were in the ring as he liked taunting his opponents. These were just some of the characteristics of PAJ’s past self.

Today, he’s not that same dog he was back in his first stint in FWA like how Dashy isn’t the dog he once was. PAJ was once electric, was once quick and agile, was once the best, was once was the FWA World Champion. Despite that, PAJ is the current Television Champion. I won’t underestimate the heart of a champion, but you can’t underestimate someone being set in their ways.

PAJ is cleansing the FWA - of what you may ask? I don’t think PAJ even knows.

I can give him a few suggestions. Maybe he can cleanse the has-beens lurking around the FWA. These are the type of people who need a reality check before someone gives it to them literally. Maybe he can cleanse those who believe they are above everyone, the elitists, in the locker room. All of these characteristics pertain to PAJ as he is slowly but surely tarnishing his own legacy. The legacy of a man who was once the best, but is now middle of the pack.

Come Meltdown 23, The Cleanser will succumb to the Daredevil.

— — —

“Excuse me, sir. Are you coming?” Dale, the tour guide, called out to me.

“Yes, sorry,” I said, following the rest of the group as we continued on with the tour.

 

[ETE]

It’s the crowning achievement of his career. Alyster Black once looked down upon as just a quote, unquote ‘X Wrestler’, once handed an opportunity at the World Championship when King Sully sought a challenger from those ranks. Has come so far. He had carried the X Championship as if it were the World Title, and now he actually holds that World Championship in his arms and will see it bare his name.

Its still sinking in, and will probably take a few days to entirely do so. The roar of the crowd is still at a fever pitch as he steps through the curtain. Sweat still pours off his body. And he still feels tense from that moment where Chris Peacock had teased cashing in his Golden Opportunity. But bit by bit his new reality is sinking in.

There’s a throng of backstage workers and his ‘co-workers’ standing backstage ready to congratulate him. Violet Dreyer is the first, breaking her usual character and greeting Alyster with a congratulatory hug. Lizzie Rose joins in on the action, but with the sort of enthusiasm that makes Violet suddenly very self-conscious. Everyone near Alyster is congratulating him. Cyrus Truth even pausing to bump fists with him. Princess Nova taking the opportunity to introduce herself to the World Champ.

And then there’s Gabrielle.

She’s just finished being tended too by the medics who had dealt with the small wound on her head from Peacocks cane, and thus far hasn’t even looked in Alyster’s direction. Then, she finally does, and the two of them lock eyes for a moment. Neither one quite knowing what to do or say as all the other people around Alyster seem to fade away. Are they friends, enemies, something in between? Does that random recent night they got drunk together change anything?

Alyster nods his head, as does Gabrielle. She manages a faint smile and then gets to her feet. Aly’s shoulders droop, despite everything that has come between them, being congratulated by her would mean something, but they both know she’s not going too. He can tell she’s just going to leave. So he lets his attention wander back to the people around him.

Quickly he feels a tight embrace, must be Lizzie Rose again…but no. The blonde hair, the caramel skin, the tightness with which she hugs him, its not Lizzie, but rather her former mentor.

Gabrielle had closed the distance between them as he’d looked away, throwing her arms around him and holding him close. Tears welling up in her eyes as she looks up at the man she had considered her ‘truest friend’ in the past. Alyster sinks into her arms and holds her close, it means a lot to both of them before she gets up on her tiptoes and presses a kiss to his masked cheek. “I’m so fucking proud of you Aly.” She whispers to him.

And then as quickly as she can, the moment his attention wanders over to another congratulatory voice she lets go and disappears into the night. Not bothering to shower, not bothering to get changed or even retrieve her bag, her Louboutin shoes, her clothes or even check in with Kayden she disappears into the City, and into the night.

…

…

…

People stare but she doesn’t care. She’s used too it, she’s used to people watching her every movement. So much of her life over the last seventeen years has been caught on camera. Whether cutting promos for the FWA, competing in the ring, acting in several movies, appearing on numerous red carpets, all the meet and greets, all the interviews. The foray back into the World of stripping in recent times. She’s numb to it now really. It doesn’t matter whether people look at her with admiration, with lust, or with disdain, or any other emotion in between them. It is just a part of her life.

A part of her reality that she has become so accustomed too. So she doesn’t care that nearly every pair of eyes are upon her right now. Some people recognise her. Some think she’s just some out of place ‘street walker’ who has somehow found herself in here. Others are amused and take the opportunity to admire her toned, caramel coated figure.

She’d spent the last few hours of this Thursday night wandering the streets of Rotterdam. The De Kuip arena left in the distance. But the disappointment of that night dragged along with her. The loss to The Coven had stung in the moment. The attack at the hands of Cthulu’s Nephews had hurt worse, and coming so close but as always failing so spectacularly in the Battle Royal had taken everything from her. A night from hell. The worst night in Gabrielle’s professional life?

Other single losses had surely stung worse, but falling on her face so repeatedly across the course of a couple of hours adds up. She might put on a brave face at times, at least attempting to do so when marching down to the Ring. She might call herself the Goddess, she may have even revived Executive Excellence to attempt one final shot at being ‘that’ person she once was.

But she knew it was all a fallacy. One that was breaking her spirit more and more as the weeks passed by and the losses stacked up. That return in 2019 looking more and more like the worst decision of her life as her record approached .500

Even things between Kayden and her weren’t the same anymore. The stress of Danny Toner needing to walk away from the FWA, and then Mike Parr going AWOL taking its toll. The strain of Bad Reputation struggling for any kind of footing or momentum since dropping the Tag Team Titles in their first defence just making it worse.

Executive Excellence was essentially dead. Perhaps her and Kayden still fly its flag, but its Jean Luc-Watkins putting in more effort to keep this most failed version of the group remotely alive on commentary. But in truth its as dead as their sham of a relationship was. Gabrielle and Jean Luc appearing to be together just to grate on his Father. With Rupert gone, that was the end of that.

But Kayden and Gabrielle. They didn’t seem as close anymore either. A surface level of friendship and reliance upon each other. But the deep conversations of the past are left in the past. Perhaps they had both grown beyond needing each other as much as they previously had. Perhaps the power, money and fame that went along with Executive Excellence, as brief as it was had given Kayden all he ever needed. Perhaps Gabrielle leaning on him expecting to reclaim former glories but still falling short had shown her all she needed to know.

Not to say they were suddenly at odds, but rather just distant. As all of Executive Excellence had become now. For better or worse they didn’t need each other as much anymore. But Bad Reputation will live on, after all there is the looming presence of a Tag Team Championship Mile High Massacre match for Gabrielle to lose…

Broken Gabrielle was assumed to be in the past by most. That chapter closed. She’d pulled herself up and out of that darkness, or had she? She’d found Kayden, and the way he knew her pain so well had made it easier to bare all of that darkness and bottle it up rather than letting it consume her. But this latest chapter of her career playing out as the most pitiful and regrettable was making it harder and harder to pretend she wasn’t still Broken.

Broken Gabrielle was still a winner. She’d lose the big matches, but win every match that held no significance. Whatever you can label this Gabrielle; The Fake Goddess(?) cant even win those.

She sought solace in the arms of strangers. She seeked out some kind of twisted redemption in reliving a sordid chapter of her life. She relied more and more upon alcohol to get through her days. She threw herself back into Alyster’s arms, that deep seated temptation that has always been within her to cozy up to whoever is the most successful person around her. She was trying to cloud her mind and drown out all these thoughts.

Drown out this impending sense that the end was coming. At times it felt like death was coming for her.

That old woman that tormented so much of her time, showing her so many dreams, or making her think what she was doing was just a dream…could she be death?

Was Gabrielle actually dying? Was she laying somewhere taking her last few breaths while that old woman took her on a tour of her life?

Executive Excellence. Stripping. Jack. Alyster. A brief run as Tag Team Champion. A Battle Royal that could have been one of her failed attempts at Carnal Contendership. Championship losses. Michelle replacing her as the best Womens Wrestler alive…

So many highlights and lowlights of her life so crammed into such a short timeframe.

Is this death?

…

That morbid thought snaps her back to reality. Maybe it snaps her out of a dream. It was getting harder and harder for Gabrielle to understand what was reality and what was a dream. There were days where she’d wake up relived that she only dreamt something terrible, only to see the bruises that would tell her it wasn’t. She saw that old woman everywhere, like she was constantly about to be taken on some tour of her own life. Whisked away to some crazy reality she then had to try and decipher if it actually happened or not.

But this feels real. The throbbing headache can’t be faked. A mixture of a particularly stiff clothesline from the Ravenwood sisters, being thrown into the steel steps by the Maid of Death and then being cracked in the head by Peacocks cane was not a fun one.

She’s sitting in a crowded five-star restaurant in Rotterdam. She looks so unusually out of place tonight still dressed in her revealing wrestling gear, with messy tangled hair and several noticeable welts and bruises on her body. But she’s still Gabrielle. She doesn’t care to remember the name of this restaurant, but she’s been here before. The maître d knew her well and gave her their best available table. Gabrielle is a familiar face in nearly every upscale restaurant the World over by now. It didn’t matter if she was wearing her Wrestling gear, or a skimpy designer dress with a plunging neckline so low her breasts threatened to fall free of it at any moment she was always welcome.

She’s not entirely sure why she came here, sure she was hungry, but being surrounded by prying eyes surely is the last thing she needed? Or maybe everything she needed? A small little ego boost for a woman who so desperately needed it that she’d been heading in the direction of Rotterdam’s former red-light district until she saw these brighter, friendlier lights. The crushing lows of her night on Meltdown made her want those things she’d felt when she’d danced for drunken strangers back home.

Meaning. Purpose. Worth. Celebration.

How she craves those things that she used to get so easily.

Now a good meal in a lavish upscale establishment was the closest she could find. A brief stint as a Tag Team Champion in those short-lived glory days of Executive Excellence 4.0 practically forgotten by now, especially by her. But the Waiters, and the rest of the staff here still treat her like she’s special.

Now though, is where her night gets worse. Perhaps the red light district would have been better…

Rupert. Watkins.

Why is he here? Of all the lands in all the World. Of all the cities in all the lands. Of all the restaurants in all the cities. Why here?

The disgraced former head of Executive Excellence, of Fallout, of the R.W.Network. The man who drafted Gabrielle so low, then sat her down in a restaurant like this and told her she should have been drafted lower.

The two of them cant stop staring at each other, a growing venomous hatred shared between them. Gabrielle used his money and his power, then gleefully got him fired. Rupert belittled her Legacy, then thought she’d fall in line behind him. While there had grown to be this playful banter between them at times, now they surely loathe one another.

…

An almost primal masculine grunt. Several deep ragged feminine breaths. Then silence.

Rupert Watkins rolls over onto his back and Gabrielle just lays there for several moments on his suites bed before sliding away from him and sitting on the edge of the bed.

Silence. A long silence. “This cant be real" echo’s louder and louder in her head. Watkins gets up, quickly chucking on a robe and not bothering to look in her direction. “So…I heard you’re working as a Stripper now in some dingy club…”

No reply. But he doesn’t need it. Rupert got what he wanted and now he’s sticking his boot in (definitely not a sex thing). He rummages around in his discarded suit, finding his wallet, he retrieves the smallest denomination he has upon himself, admittedly it’s still a $100 bill and tosses it in her direction. Gabrielle doesn’t even look at it, she just looks at him as she gets to her feet a wicked glare in her eyes before she storms across the bed, coils back and spits in his face.

…

…

…

Its cold outside. So damn cold. She’s still in her Wrestling gear, but at least now she has a coat on. But that cold is somehow soothing, relaxing. These images of Rupert Watkins tearing her out of her clothes, and her having to look at his wrinkly old man balls are playing in her head. But that cold harshness makes it all seem like a dream. It surely was a dream right? She can’t even tell. Was that just an image of what the old Gabrielle would do? Find someone whose money and pull could possibly help her out, and sleep with them? Or was it this Gabrielle? So broken and lonely that she’d throw herself at a man like that and let him use her body like that?

“Oh GOD!” There’s a crest upon her coat, and the initials ‘R.W.’ Did she swipe it from him as she’d left his suite? That old bastard threw her out after he’d had his fun with her.

But no. No. It wasn’t like that. The maître d at the restaurant had given it to her. That’s right. He’d seen how uncomfortable things were between the two of them. He called the Cops on Rupert, saying he was harassing a young woman. Rupert was escorted out without even getting his coat. So Gabrielle took it, as her and the maitre d shared a laugh together.

All is right with the World. Gabrielle wouldn’t sink that low. For all the things she’s done, she wouldn’t do that, not with him.

…

…

…

Silence, and its deafening.

Or maybe it’s the ringing in her ears that’s deafening? Is Kayden trying to talk to her? No, he almost looks as despondent as her.

Meltdown was a nightmare, and the increasing fog clouding her every waking moment was getting worse. What was real, what was a dream, what was a message from that old woman? It was impossible to tell anymore.

Well, except for the pain. She always felt somewhat numb when it was just a dream, but reality far too often had a constant ebbing pain to it. That cocktail of one particularly stiff clothesline from the Ravenwood sisters, being tossed into the steel steps by the Maid of Death and then being blasted in the head by Peacocks cane was not a fun one to begin with, being dropped on her head by Michelle von Horrowitz multiple times just making it even worse.

Michelle was the bane of Gabrielle’s existence. Ever since she had returned and Michelle had soon after come to the FWA the World had wanted to see the two of them lock it up. FWA vs CWA. The Goddess vs The Dreamer. Past…vs Present.

That’s why it stings so much, even more than the physical pain. Another loss to Michelle perhaps the final reminder that Gabrielle isn’t special anymore. The Goddess, once regarded to be the best female Wrestler ever has finally met her better and been replaced by her. Twice now she’s tried to gain the upper hand by surprising Michelle by being her opponent and twice now she’s lost.

In a career full of legacy defining wins and soul crushing losses, this was perhaps the worst of them all. A fullstop on her career. Michelle has her number. The final punctuation point on the worst few days of Gabrielle’s professional career. 0-3. Attacked by the Nephews. Nothing but a splitting headache to show from any of it. Not a single moment where Gabrielle stood tall and felt like she accomplished something.

For a moment she wishes she’d jumped off that bridge last year…

…

…

…

Its always so cold here. The wind almost seems violent. Why does it have to be like this. Its almost like the Earth itself knows what this is and that it needs to be a sorrowful, mournful, painful atmosphere.

It’s the dead of night. Rotterdam, and Koln are distant memories, left in the past by now.

Those soul crushing losses, that moment with Alyster, the silence with Kayden, the laugh she shared with that maître d, Michelle taking over Gabrielle’s place in history, all of it has just congealed together, washed away to be this tide that crashes down upon her constantly.

A tide that has only slowed as she’s come to this place, for just the second time in her life. This bridge where she stood a bit over a year ago. Staring down into the cold, deep waters below. This is where she came when she was at her lowest. This is where Broken Gabrielle ended up after the loss to Saint Sulley broke her and the World around her started to strip away her self-worth bit by bit.

She wanted to jump off back then and just end it all. The misery of being so alone was one she could never describe. Most didn’t even believe her. They just judged her. Ending it all seemed like a sweet release from everything.

But a voice in the back of her head had stopped her. Some inner Demon that claimed to be behind her Goddesshood all along spoke to her and spared her life.

There’s no voice on this night. Whatever that voice was, Divine or Demonic its long since gone. Given up on her, stopped speaking to her, left her all alone. Whatever she had with Kayden before wasn’t the same now. All she has is that old woman who’s standing there next to her, she seems happy at least. Joyful as she silently pleads with Gabrielle to just go ahead and jump. She’s in the water below too, begging her to come join her.

Its there that Gabrielle finally recognises her. Those eyes…that reflection. A reflection in the water, and a reflection in car windows as they pass by. The old woman is just Gabrielle after suffering for decades and decades. This here would be a sweet release for her. An escape from that fate in a bed all alone in 50 years time.

The World would roll on. Alyster has lost friends before. Carmella has Bell Connolly in her life. Kayden would find someone else to lean upon. The record books have Michelle to festoon with all the glory that was once Gabrielle’s. The fans would move on quickly, they’d forget all about her like they have G-Rich, Ryan Hall, Nate Richardson, Thew Carvell, Jillian de Silva and everyone else that came before Gabrielle and so many that have come after.

“Is that where I went wrong?” Gabrielle wonders aloud. “I chased an eternal glory from something that never stops. I chased a Legacy that would last forever when there’s a never-ending revolving door of new faces and names…”

Her thoughts end there though, as her aged ‘reflection’ stares back at her. She doesn’t compose a note, she doesn’t hesitate or pause she simply steps off the edge of the bridge plummeting downwards towards that welcoming old woman and a release from all the pressure and pain…

…

…

…

This must be hell.

Executive Excellence no longer holding enough sway to garner their own Lockeroom. Its dead after all. Bad Reputation haven’t set themselves apart from the pack so they’re just part of it. A miserable Gabrielle sits there in a locker-room shared with her Bad Reputation cohort Kayden Knox, The Ravenwood Sisters along with Dan and Doug Lupone.

It’s the biggest indignation of her career. Tossed into this lockeroom with these people. She deserves so much better than all of this. Or does she?

If this is hell is she paying for her sins? Paying for all the people she wronged, the people she hurt. The riot she caused. The careers she shortened. The hearts she betrayed. The victories she stole.

She’s just frozen, more than the icy grip of that water could ever freeze her.

This is beyond humiliating. She used to command her own locker-room with her name on the door, a personal masseuse, a private chef, her own trainers, the works. Arena staff would wait on her hand and foot.

Now she’s sharing a lockerrom with these people?

I’m sure it seemed so easy for the FWA, for whoever is in charge of Meltdown. Ahead of that big 12 person tag team match just stick Bad Reputation, The Coven and the Lumberjacks in together. They can build up a team rapport.

But its not going to happen. Gabrielle hasn’t even acknowledged the presence of the 4 people in the room outside Kayden. Even that was brief. The other four have barely even entered her eyeline, only dominating her thoughts, even though she barely cares to remember any of their names.

But why would she? This is an irrelevant match thrown together with nothing on the line. Best case scenario Gabrielle finds herself pinning Michelle after this clusterfuck breaks down and luck shines upon her. Worst case scenario, what has played out in her career for the last couple of years continues and she’s left on her back again.

Either option doesn’t really matter. Beating Michelle in this manner means nothing to her. Winning this match means nothing to her. Even what this match represents means nothing to her.

Just weeks away from the second ever Mile High Tag Team Match so many of the prospective Tag Teams get to face of with Michelle and the rest of the Nephews. The idea being they could send their own warning shot after last week to the Tag Team Champions. She’s sure The Coven and The Lumberjacks would love to get a win over the Nephews and approach the Mile High Massacre match with some momentum and a boost of confidence towards the Tag Team Titles.

But Gabrielle doesn’t care. She held those Titles, and thought she was holding hers with such pride. She’d chased a Championship, any Championship, any kind of physical prize she could show that means she’s still special. She did that…and it meant nothing. It changed nothing. Being able to say she’s a Champion again didn’t stave off all of these thoughts that have ruled her mind for so long now.

It didn’t make her feel like The Goddess again, It didn’t turn her career around…if anything her career has hits its lowest point ever in the months since Bad Reputation dethroned MOOT.

Maybe that’s why things were growing distant between her and Kayden. He still wants to be a Champion. He still chases that validation while Gabrielle has given up on it. The Tag Team Titles mean nothing to her. That dream of being a Triple Crown Champion, FINALLY, after 17 years is dead. That fantasy of being World Champion again was snuffed out for the last time in Rotterdam.

Those Tag Team Championships she’s held before with 3 different partners would mean nothing to her. Pointless trinkets that don’t bring any of the poise or grandeur they promise too bring.

Whatever happens in Nuremburg happens. Win, lose or draw, if a Tornado rolled into town and decimated the arena, if Gabrielle single handily stacked all the Nephews one on top of the other and pinned them all at once…doesn’t matter. It wouldn’t change anything, it wont mean anything. A pointless tag team match ahead of another pointless tag team match.

That’s all it is.

The others in the room begin to chatter amongst themselves. Some idea about an American Horror Story themed promo.

Ah yes promos, the driving force behind the World Gabrielle inhabits. Once so simple, get a camera, show some skin, talk some trash. Now it was whoever has the most outlandish idea wins. The less your promo has to do with Wrestling the better.

Even Gabrielle had inadvertently embraced this. What were her promos now? Are they promos? Is this a promo? Is her internal crisis somehow captured and blasted out for the World to see? Are these dreams or actors swarming around her? Is it all an act? Were there cameras in that Strip Club last time? Did she pretend to blow a guy, or was that a porno? Did the FWA actually air that?

How does any of this work?

All she knows is that she has no interest in what the rest of the group are pitching. Everyone’s on board but Gabrielle doesn’t acknowledge it. She’s not about to put on a wig, sit in a makeup chair and then act out some scene. Is she already doing that though?

How much more clouded can her mind get?

Focus on what matters. What matters is that this match doesn’t matter. This match has no meaning. The Nephews are just some hooey comedy group that somehow retain a presence at the top of the card, above even Gabrielle. There’s nothing in it for Gabrielle to win this match, and at this point one more loss is nothing.

…

…

…

“But surely the F1 tournament means more than that?”

Silence. Its so quiet in Gabrielle’s life now. She used to be such a party animal. She used to be constantly surrounded by people. Always in demand, always seen out and about. All the most important parties and most exclusive events always saw her present.

Now her life is full of so much more silence. Only broken by the noise that comes with the circus known as Pro Wrestling or when she seeks some kind of self-value in a strip club.

“Its not just another meaningless match. Right?” That same voice speaks up.

Gabrielle sighs loudly. “What’s the point to it now? I inherited a losing record before I ever even entered the ring and added a second loss to it. What is there to gain from it all now? You think I should just be like everyone else in my spot and be foolishly, desperately hopeful that somehow, someway things turn around and I win the whole thing?”

She laughs now, but it’s a laugh containing exactly zero joy or mirth. She’s mocking herself and anyone else that would put in effort in her position.

“My F1 Tournament was done before it ever began. Mike Parr set me up for failure, and I don’t know why I even took his spot after he walked out on me. I’m 0-2 in this thing after losing one match! At the bottom of the table with no points? What you think I can turn this around and chase down Alyster in two matches?”

“Maybe I could have, seven-eight years ago, maybe I could have back then. At least I would have believed I could have…but now…no chance.”

Silence again. Gabrielle has forgotten who she’s talking too now. Its not Kayden or Alyster, or Jean-Luc, or Lizzie Rose, or even Jack Severino. Its this idyllic little girl with the brightest, widest brown eyes and the softest caramel hue to her skin. Perhaps she shouldn’t be so harsh. Afterall this little girl is so full of hope and promise, can she really dash all of that? Wait can she?

The old woman wanted Gabrielle to kill herself to spare her from suffering such a long, lonely life. But what if the first step towards all of this was never taken? What if Gabrielle never came to America?

But that little girl knows what her older self is thinking, she can see it written all over her face. “But then who would I grow up to be?”

Gabrielle has the perfect and most venomous response. “Well you wouldn’t be some typical Whore taking her clothes off for strangers…sitting in their laps…dancing for them…fucking them.”

“I don’t do that do I?” The little girl looks utterly heartbroken. So hurt, so pained, so tormented, hearing that.

The look on her face takes its toll on Gabrielle, as her shoulders droop. What little girl ever wants to hear that they grow up to be a Stripper. This little girl dreamed of being what Gabrielle is revered and respected for being, even now.

“I don’t even know anymore. Are you really here? Who am I talking too? Am I burning in hell right now? Do I dance for men to shower me with singles? Did I sleep with Rupert? Did I jump off that bridge? Did I actually jump off that bridge a year ago, and I’ve been suffering my penance ever since?” Gabrielle wonders out aloud.

The little girl is silent too now. Sure she’s not actually a little girl. She’s some hallucination, or an Angel or perhaps a Demon. Maybe the old woman sent her to try and finally get to Gabrielle. Whatever she is, Gabrielle’s questions still weigh heavily upon her.

“Why cant we just be happy?” They both ask this at the same time.

“I get to do SOOOOO much. I grow up and do everything I ever dreamed of but it wasn’t enough for us? For you?” That little girl stares at her older self. The woman she becomes, the woman she always wanted to become, but the woman she doesn’t want to end up like.

“Because…you know what our greatest enemy always was? It wasn’t someone we faced in the ring. It was time, it was ageing, it was getting old. And I’m not even old god damnit, how can I be so washed up already? How can I retire at 29 as the Greatest ever, but have nothing to offer and no ability to achieve anything just 6 years later? How did I lose it all so badly, so quickly?”

“Everyone loved me. They wanted me or wanted to be me, often they wanted both of those things. I had every director, every agent, every photographer, every interviewer desperate to meet me and work with me. Because of how we looked…I know this. Its why I think I’m working as a Stripper…because for so long so much of who I was and what I could do was so wrapped up in how I looked and how people lusted after me.”

Gabrielle pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts as she stares at that little girl.”

“We didn’t always have that though. When I was a bit older than you and I started to grow in places where the other girls weren’t growing as much, they all picked on us. I hated my body when I was younger. Those bitches at school made me hate my own body. But then I came to America, I came to this World and everyone loved my body. I started to feel truly special for the first time ever.”

“Imagine walking into a room, any room and having everyone look at you.”

“That sounds scary.” The little girl remarks.

“It was incredible.” Gabrielle replies.

“But people always told me I’d get older and people would stop caring. And look its happened to me. I’m older and my pull isn’t the same. I don’t have the same life, I don’t see every door open and I don’t have limitless possibilities. Everyone just thinks I’m so desperate now, because I am desperate.”

“I think I hate my body again…its all anyone see’s. Its all I have to offer.”

The little girl doesn’t know what to say in response.

“I’m the way I am now because I had everything not so long ago. I was untouchable, unstoppable, undeniable. The World was my oyster…now I have nothing that I wouldn’t have had if I worked in an Office somewhere as a receptionist. I have less…unmarried, a daughter I can only see every second week, and a job that gives me no fulfilment.”

“What if you grow up and just get an Office job? Stay in New Zealand. Stay away from all of this. Work a normal job, find a normal guy, be a normal person and live a normal life. The highs might be lower, but the lows would be higher. You’d never fall as far as I have. “

The little girl has heard enough. “But then I’d never get to hold a World Championship above my head.”

“That was cool.” Gabrielle replies.

“I cant wait...it will be so cool.” Her young self chimes in with.

“But you don’t know how that really feels. Its such a rush that nothing else replaces, nothing else compares too. That feeling the first time I held a World Championship in my arms after winning Mile High…its indescribable. No one thought I could do it, no one thought it was actually possible. I was just Gabrielle, the hot chick in the Great Siege who had a couple of charity reigns as a Tag Team Champion.”

“Nobody thought I could actually be the World Champion. I was too pretty, to ideal for the billboards, posters, TV spots. Let the World see me, let the fans meet me and they came in their droves just to watch me roll around in the ring.”

“But I fucking won and nobody can take that away from me!”

“Except you. You want to take it away from me.” The little girls words are spoken so coldly that they pause Gabrielle in her tracks. Its true. She wants to take that moment and every moment like it away from herself. Away from the idyllic little girl that idolised Kerry Kennedy and grew up to inspire an entire Generation.

“You got to experience that. I Haven’t. I know its coming, but I haven’t held that World Title, or any Title. I only have a replica of Kerry’s Title. Would you really trade all of that away? Would you really make it so that we never experience that?”

“What about all the other girls? Jillian and Moira before us were seen as one off’s. Two women who were able to and allowed to be great for only a brief time and were then quickly pushed out to retirement. You were different. You held that Title for longer, almost a whole year. Then you fought your way back to the top and held it for an entire year.”

“You’ve forgotten what that means.” The little girls words are so powerful, and her presence seems so commanding now. “If it wasn’t for you then women like Vampyra don’t get to grow up, join the FWA and be in the F1 Tournament. Women like Lizzie Rose never, ever get to even entertain the idea of being a Wrestler. Without you directly she would never make it. Even Michelle…I know we hate her but without you paving the way in the FWA then the CWA never lets her shine.”

“That’s our real Legacy. No matter what happens. No matter how many matches we win or we lose that’s what it is. I grow up and I CHANGE THE WHOLE WORLD! Little girls just like me get to have the same dream I do, and they get to grow up and live out that dream just like I do.”

“We don’t even need the F1 Tournament, we don’t need to win it…but just being in it reminds the World that seventeen years later the woman who paved the way for every single woman that stepped into the ring after her is still there. The guys never chased her off. The boys in the back never made her retire to try and bring a stop to the change we were leading!”

“The F1 isn’t about winning. Its about showing everyone I’m still here. That little girl who dreamed a crazy impossible dream is still here.”

A smile has grown on Gabrielle’s face. Whatever this little girl is she isn’t sent by the old woman as some twisted message. She’s something else. A childlike innocence, an unrealistic dream, the hope and never back down attitude that made Gabrielle great. So great that the only person who has ever got to her, is herself.

Its not the childish insults of people like Shawn Summers, the dismissal of people like Michelle von Horrowitz, the brutality of people like Stu St.Clair, the doubts of people like Rocky Creed. Its just herself that’s been tearing down herself. Standards set so high, that only absolute perfection could ever live up to them.

For the first time in days, weeks maybe even. The fog clears and Gabrielle smiles, joyfully, genuinely. Its so sweet and pure…but is it even real?

…

…

…

“Just like that baby girl.”

He takes his Cowboy hat off his head and places it on Gabrielle’s. Her eyes light up playfully as she grinds against his lap in her little cowgirl outfit. Her thighs straddling his waist tightly as she bucks against him.

You’d never actually see a real cowgirl wear this outfit of course. It’d be so out of place on any Ranch, but this Texas Rancher doesn’t care. He’s a long way from home. A business trip bringing him to Germany. A stack of singles and a night to kill bringing him to this strip club where this beautiful young caramel skinned cowgirl is rocking his World.

Gabrielle for her part had found this strip club so easily, and gotten to work here even easier. She didn’t even have to sleep with this owner, he was more than willing to let her get out there and dance with her obvious curves barely hidden under her clothes at the time.

“You ever had a real Cowboy darling?”

“None as handsome as you Sir.” She playfully replies.

“Ya’know I think there’s a place for a girl like you out there on my ranch. You ever been hogtied before?”

She just smirks, being his devious fantasy as she presses her skin tight to his clothes.

“Damn I know you have. This ole Rancher needs a girl like you, maybe even brand you...” He squeezes her ass firmly as Gabrielle squeals with a playful delight…

…

…

…

“That doesn’t make us happy right?” The little girl asks.

The Strip Club is gone, with Gabrielle unable to tell whether it was real or not. Unable to decide if she wants it to be a dream or if she wants it to be reality.

“Attention makes us happy. Its what I’m missing most of all. When people would look at me like I was special. When I made people happy for being around me.”

“It doesn’t make me happy.” The little girl replies. “I hate it. That Cowboy is losing his family ranch but he sits there lying to you and you eat it all up.”

“Im not going back to his ranch…”

“I know.” Those words are spoken in a way that no little girl has ever spoken, even in a horror movie. So cold and calculated.

…

…

…

He brings his hand down on the cowgirls ass again, this time as he holds a handful of her hair in his other hand. That cowgirl outfit long since removed in this private room in the back. The Rancher doing his best to simulate riding her as he takes her from behind. Gabrielle arching her back as she cries out.

“Oh damn girl…I’m going to climaxxx…”

…

…

…

“Okay… that’s not real. No one says they’re going to climaxxx, especially not some Texas Rancher. I’ve been with enough men to know that no one says that. So I didn’t do that…its not me.” Gabrielle states very matter of factly to her younger self.

"But you would do it. Don’t tell me you wouldn’t. Someone just like that Tommy Bedlam could climaxxx with you. He could find you there and you’d let him do that. You’d do…do…do butt stuff with him…”

The absurdity of a little girl saying that causes Gabrielle to giggle briefly.

“But it’s not his climaxxx, its yours, its ours. You can fuck Tommy Bedlam some other time. I need you too beat him. We need you to beat him. You have to save yourself Gabrielle. When you get older death seems like the only escape…but I’m young and I still dream. I don’t have to win the whole thing. I just want to be proud of myself…can you give that to me?”

“Its harder than chasing validation sleeping with strangers…but its so much better. I just want to be the woman I dreamed of being.”

Gabrielle sighs loudly. “So do I…its all I want.”

“It has to be, it has to consume us again…or it only gets worse and worse.”

…

…

…

The Rancher hits his climaxxx, grunting and groaning loudly as he tosses his head back. But when he opens his eyes and looks down its not that beautiful young caramel skinned cowgirl bent over in front of him. But some old, tired woman, with faded, wrinkled skin and a look of absolute despondence.

Tommy Bedlams Climaxxx comes to a limp end…​

 

[PheTomenal]

Promo 1: Phillip A. Jackson Vs Gerald Grayson

The Past.

“I wasn't born to die. I was born to fall and rise like the tides” - Siamese, Heights Above (2021)

​

“Bristol's Own Wrestling Superstar” - Bristol Post, 2014

Bristol is more known for the production of many notable comedians such as Stephen Merchant, many great musicians, like Massive Attack and most notably the home to Banksy. Bristol hasn't produced many great sports people, with just 14 England internationals produced by our city, but that may have changed with a Bristol born wrestler lighting up the American wrestling scene.

The boy from Bristol, now known as Phillip A. Jackson (pictured above) in the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. Jackson recently won his second world championship. We managed to speak to him briefly over the phone. “It's a proud day for me, to be a world champion. To fly the flag for my country and to make the people who I left proud of me.”

Jackson has not been home for about 10 years, having moved to North America to pursue his wrestling dream as an 18 year old. Jackson lied about his age when he was 15 to get in the door in the UK but Jackson knew there was no growth to have.

“It was the reality of the industry in this country at the time. I needed to be the best, I had to make a sacrifice to do that and that's why I made a massive move as a teenager”

He left one night without telling anyone and had never been home. Despite this, Jackson does honour his UK roots with a UK flag adorned on his wrestling outfit.

He is a proud man, who has great love for his country, but in his own words said “I went where the work was”.

Jackson had a difficult upbringing and that is what drove him. “My dad was never in my life, he died before I ever knew him” His family and Jackson had a rocky relationship and according to Jackson “they were glad to see the back of each other.” Jackson grew up in the south of the city. Home to some of the poorer and rougher parts of the city. A far cry from the tourist photos that promote the city.

He hopes that one day, he will get to go home and repair his relationship with the people he left behind.​

=========================================================

- Home -

- December 1st 2022 - Bristol, England -

The cold breath comes out of Phillip A. Jacksons mouth as he stands in front of the 2 bedroom terraced house he once called home. Jackson stands outside the home with his hand on the metal gate. The knee high wall almost collapsing, with the bricks broken in half and the paint is spotty and falling off the gate exposing the undercoating. The pathway down the slight hill to the front door is shattered and can only be see marginally as the plants and the brambles have overgrown it. Jackson lowers his hand to the handle of the gate and hesitates.

You can do this...

Jacksons hands shake as he lowers his hands. He curls his fingers around the handle.

You HAVE to do this...Come on...

Jackson hesitates for a couple of seconds more before he takes a deep breath in and a deep breath out and pulls the handle down and opens it. Jackson steps into the front garden of his childhood home. Jackson looks up and sees the state of the property. His eyes well up and he is overcome by emotion as he takes another deep breath out.

Here we go...

Jackson steps tenatively down the pathway he once knew as a child. Dodging through the overgrown garden. His coat snagging on brambles but he powers through. Jackson grabs a bramble in his way and pushes it aside. The bramble is large and pokes through is glove. Jackson shakes his hand in pain.

Goddammit...

Jackson makes his way through the brambles, small chunks of his coat left on the bramble thrones. Jackson stands at the front door. The number on the door has made way to dust and dirt from the years of neglect. The once white door, is now a healthy shade of brown. The Pebbledash exterior wall of the house is patchy with brick being exposed. Jackson pulls the handle and to his surprise, the door opens. Jackson bravely steps into the house without hesitation but leans backwards as he is met by the odour of the house. Jackson coughs back out the door and grabs a handkerchief from his pocket and covers his mouth and nose to be able to actually stay in the house. Jackson looks around and is dismayed at the state of his former home. It was not in great condition when he was a child but 10 years of decay has taken its toll on the house.

Immediately behind the door as the rusted metal struggles to close the door, is a floor that even a hoarder would be ashamed off. The wallpaper has completely falling off the walls. The stairs in the immediate vicinity are incomplete, with many of the steps missing. Jackson doesn't even think about going up the stairs into his old room.

Jackson drags his feet through the mess on the floor and steps up on top of it. It is in such a state that all the doors in the house are open and cannot be closed until everything is moved out of the way. To his left is the living room where Phillip A. Jackson fell in love with wrestling, watching it at 2am as child when he was supposed to be asleep. Jackson sees the television in the corner laying front down. Jackson climbs over and picks it up and the screen has been smashed as glass falls from it. Jackson turns around and looks at the room. Memories come flooding back and Jackson continues to be dismayed at the state of his childhood home and even some fondness for the memories that have come flooding back.

Jackson stands on the spot where he used to sit on the floor watching wrestling on the lowest volume at the dead of night. The moment he could look up and see asskicking heroes and villains that he grew to not only admire but love. They were the role models of his life and he is now what he wanted to be.

I don't think I can take much more of this.

Jackson sheds a single tear. In these houses, the bathroom sits on the ground floor and Jackson shuffles, climbs and walks over everything on the floor. Jackson ducks under the door frame into the bathroom and stares. The toilet is functional, but you would be doing it a favour by using it. Jackson stands and catches himself in the mirror. Jackson, dressed in a suit with a long trench coat, stood in the broken home where he was nothing. The mirror is cracked and it divides Jacksons face in two down the middle.

I...

Jackson stutters

I...need to get this place better. He was right

Jackson quickly exits the house, the door struggles to open but Jackson has enough strength to open it and quickly vacate the premises. Jackson pulls out his phone.

“Hey, I've looked at the house...It'll need a LOT of work...but we can make this place what we want to be. It'll be nice to see you again after all these years. I'm about 10 minutes away"

Jackson hangs up. Some life and colour comes back into his face and there is almost a smile but what has just witnessed has had a lasting impact on him.

- Reflections of Home -​

This tournament has given me time to think. That is not something I wanted. You would think travelling all over would keep me busy but it hasn't it has made me think about home. Being back in The UK made me think. Being close to home has made me think about home. About the full circle of my journey. Let's overcome this obstacle.

I was a failure. Living in a broken home. Living in a run down home where love didn't exist. Stuck in a cycle of failure. Where I would try and break it but nothing would work. I recently went back home, to my old house, between shows so that I could reflect and see what had happened as it recently came into my possession. I even met up with my childhood best friend, he works in the trade and he can get some people he knows together to get the place sorted. That's a long term project. A cathartic project. It's not my immediate focus.

My focus is on the New Era of Television and overcoming the first hurdle. This is the Climaxx, that is not part of my new era. That is separate. Something that I thought would be helpful has become a meaningless distraction. It is demoralising losing your first two matches in this tournament and it just proves that not all great stories end with a perfect climax. Sometimes they absolutely stink.

But...I don't want to tell a sob story. I've done too much of that recently. I don't want or need anyone feeling sorry for me. This mess, it's my fault and I don't need anyone to try and make it better for me.

So, let's turn this around. I will follow the trail that I once blazed. From a broken home, living on nothing with a parent who resented me and my existence to a world renowned superstar living his “unachievable” dream.

I've accepted that it is unlikely that the Climaxx will have a positive outcome for me but I have come back from the abyss before, just never professionally. This tournament gives me an opportunity, at worst, to go down swinging. To show FWA and the world that I can be something like the old me. I will never be the old me because I have changed too much but there are bits that I can take that will make things better for me right now.

I need to be ruthless again. That is what I need. I need to be decisive in what I am looking to accomplish. There is nothing fancy needed to get out of the fog in my head. It is hard work and a ruthless attitude that will get me back home. Back against the respected. Back amongst the victorious and I get two opportunities at that but I am focusing on them in order.

That's true of the man I'll see at Nuremberg as well. We have one thing in common, we are both winless. Bottom of the pile and forgotten in our pool. Both broken by the Climaxx and beaten down by it. Looking now to try and get back of the path to victory.

Gerald has qualities of the man I used to be. He is fearless. A daredevil.

I can only stand back and admire that. I used to be a daredevil and fearless. I used to be that. Why can't I be that?

I need to admit, I'm scared. I have no idea what I'm doing. I haven't changed. I am the same I have always been and that is what is causing me trouble. I've allowed the same things to bring me down that I always have. I have never tried to innovate or repair what is broken.

It has never been broken before. This is my starting point. This house is mine now. It is symbol of what is wrong with me. It is full rats, trash and just a sprinkle of the hate that used to exist in this house.

I have been broken, decaying and left to rot for years. The inside filled with trash that once meant something more important. The inside broken and in need of major repair before an irreversible collapse happens. Maybe my words need more. There has to be substance to them.

It's about putting actions to my words and delivering like I used to but first comes a change in mentality, a change in approach. I used to be powered by former demons and using that to empower my rage and my attitude.

Things have changed. I am The Cleanser of FWA now and I want to not rely on a self-inflicted “personality” trait like a broken and crap childhood. I want to cleanse my demons and rebuild them into something better. This is my sloth. A place without care. I need to understand what this place can be.

This is not cleansing in the way that is normally presented by me. It is through tearing down and rebuilding that this place will prosper. I would have torn this place down and removed it from the face of the Earth but I need it to have purpose. I have tried to remove the demon from my mind, I have tried empowering it but now I need to fix it.

If I don't, my mind is full of fog. No clear answers are found within my mind.

It has descended on me and I am lost. Lost in a world that I once knew, one that I could see for miles and now cannot see more than 6 feet in front of me.

It has dawned on me, that I am going in blind. A world I could once see, is now a mystery to me because of that I feel lost, despite being in a place so familiar. I'm in an FWA fog, where I cannot see anything, where nothing makes sense and the things I used to know are not good enough any more.

The belt that is strapped around my waist is not necessarily aligned with that but was that a fluke?

That's what is eating away at me. It is part of the fog, it is doing nothing to clear it, it is just adding to the lost feeling. Did I really deserve it? Did I get lucky? It has been weighing on me but that belt still has meaning.

Like the the blinking red lights on top of tall buildings, I can only navigate through the lights that were placed on top of the world by the pantheons of FWA. One of them would have been mine back when my name meant something. Back when we never even mentioned the word fluke in my presence. That is how far I have fallen.

From standing a top the tallest buildings of FWA, to down here stuck in the fog. Where I can see, where nothing makes sense any more and the things I used to do to get out of this funk...well that isn't working either.

It is a relentless fog that threatens to destroy my legacy, that threatens to destroy me. I cannot be destroyed again, that was not a happy place but then again...neither is this.

But this, I have control over. The man I was when I was no longer Phillip A. Jackson was not a man who had control. He was lost, directionless and stuck in a rut. I am not that. The vital difference is control. I may be lost and stuck in a rut but I have direction. I have goal and a purpose and I want to drive through this fog. I want to stand again amongst the FWA elite, where I used to be. The Television Championship may have been a fluke. My that is my focus. That is my drive. To bring respect and honour to this belt. To build it as the prestigious title it should be as I bring FWA into the new era of television.

A man who escaped this before. It was not fog last time. It was a broken and hate filled home where nothing was ever made better, so things just got worse and worse. This time I have light to guide me.

I need to grab the light. I need a redemption story. It's overdone, it's a crutch of storytelling but all greats overcome adversity, all of them overcome struggles. The fog is my struggle. The year 2022 is my struggle. Whether it's injury, suspension, performance, finally overcoming the thorn in their side or retirement. The true greats in every sport have their moment. I have to emerge from the fog to have mine. This is not just something I want to do. It is something I NEED to do.

Rather than sitting here as growing resentful. I need to stand up and show why I am a legend. Why I am going to be in the hall of fame, WHY I was a two time FWA World Champion.

I have two opponents this week. Two opportunities. Two shows. In two countries. The last thing I would need right now might be the best thing for me. No more time to spend over complicating things. No time to worry about anything other than my opponents 48 hours apart in 2 different countries. That is the real opponent. I have not wrestled twice in that short space of time for a long time, the one blessing I can take is that Nuremberg and Vienna are only a few hundred miles apart with an hour flight between the two. I like to go and see the cities before the shows but I will not be blessed.

Gerald Grayson, I will be fresh for. I will be ready for. He is opponent number one. He is my first priority regardless of what happens. The Television Championship comes second in Nuremberg. I don't know if Vampyra will be wanting me to win or to lose but make no mistake. Neither opponent matters more to me than the other. It is about making sure I can make my way through the fog. Through the FWA with a clear head and clear mind.

I have two similar opponents coming up. Two high flying opponents, but they not the same. Grayson relies on the big show, the grandeur. The flash of lights as he ascended to the top rope. Throwing a few punches doesn't change that. You live on the top rope. Like all of those wrestlers in the past. You also die on the top rope. It is not where the odds favour you. It is all or nothing. I learned that when I was 23 years old. I was dumb, reckless and threw myself off anything and everything without abandon. A ladder into a flaming table covered in glass shards? You bet I did. That was the moment I knew it wasn't sustainable. I couldn't turn that into a career.

You are a bright flame that fades quickly and become a question...What if? And every thing they say about you becomes “If only they toned it down as they got older” because you were not smart enough to slow down. The Amazing Splash is in my arsenal but that is my iconic move. I used to do much more dangerous but now I just want to kick someone's face into the mat as hard I can as often as I can. The splash has moments, it is for big moments, big show where someone does survive being smashed into the mat. I limited myself for longevity because this is all I ever wanted to be.

Sure kids love it and you get lots of highlights but algorithms be damned. It is all about longevity. The greats of television had long careers and so do the true greats of wrestling. Gerald, I don't have a problem with what you do. How you approach this business but just remember that I've been there. I lasted 4 years and it took me 4 more just not have as many persistent injuries. Which given who you are, you are more than familiar with. I don't care if you take my advice but one day, somewhere, someone will get through to you and you will remember this message and these words from a legend.

I never wanted to be the man I used to be but I think I need to have elements of him. Elements that make a new Phillip A. Jackson to make sure that this new era of television is successful and this new era of FWA wrestler is not successful. I had to go back and see what I used to be to understand what I am today, both in my childhood and in my career. A cathartic experience indeed and because of that I have the belief that the fog will lift. I know that. The fog will not defeat me and I will once again sit at top the world, looking down on people like Gerald Grayson and Vampyra.

Phillip​

 

[Cyrus Truth]

Exile Chronicles (Volume 5)
Chapter 11: Shattered Dreams

This is the story of a young, hopeful, would-be champion.

A story that has been told countless times to countless people throughout the entirety of recorded history and beyond. It’s a story that resonates with the very soul of humanity…a story of triumph, personal sacrifice, and the inevitable victory that makes all the heartache and suffering worth it.

It’s a peculiarity of the human species, for certain. For such creatures that are almost infinite in their abilities and possibilities, humans have this almost instinctual need for reassurance. To see past the strife and turmoil in existence, most of which is arguably self-inflicted by humanity’s own vices and sins, and cling to such stories that show the virtuous and noble rise above the dreck and bile and stand atop whatever mountain they must climb as the shining beacon of good triumphing over evil, honor rising above deceit, and the better aspects of human nature standing tall against the wave of humanity’s darker, filthier features.

Cyrus Truth is no stranger to stories. As a former Observer, stories and histories were fed to him as regularly as food and water…likely, even more so. To understand the Truth, the universal Truth beyond what people think is true and what others hope is true, it is necessary to examine and understand all aspects of the world and its residents, both the saints and sinners alike.

The stories of the upstart challengers to the thrones of kings and gods always fascinated a young Truth, before “Cyrus” was ever part of who he was. The very concept that someone born so low, cast down and told that they were beneath the hierarchy and nature of the world they found themselves in, could defy what fate had decided for them and rise above it all to become something more…something beyond just another fighter, poet, or ruler.

Here, in this place where Cyrus finds himself days after coming up short in the battle royale to crown a new World Champion after Gabrielle Montgomery prevented him from eliminating Chris Peacock, who would in turn once again seize on the opening provided by another to end Cyrus’s ambitions to reclaim his title. Even then, Peacock himself would come short, as Alyster Black…the man, mind you, that failed to win the championship from Danny Toner mere weeks before…would finally become the new World Champion and the first double champion since Dave Sullivan many moons ago.

This place looks…familiar. It is a reliquary of sorts for FWA. A place where the collected history and legacy of the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance is kept as a monument and testament to the promotion’s storied past and remarkable longevity in a business that has devoured countless promotions seeking to be the top of the food chain. Night has fallen, and this place is devoid of life save for one lonely, ragged and battered Exile whose face and body tell a story of their own.

Cyrus Truth is no stranger to turmoil these days. And it’s not been a well-kept secret that Cyrus’s frustration has reached its absolute limit with the World Title being ever out of his grasp. Some may see this as Cyrus simply whining and complaining about not making good on what few opportunities he has. Some have said as much out loud as they themselves bide their times with their own golden tickets to a shot at the prize that stands above all, or that speak of earning what they themselves haven’t through their own incompetence as they stumble from one opportunity to the next.

The Truth is, Cyrus is well and truly beyond trying to rationalize the bleating noise of children fumbling at the World Title like it was a greased pig at a county fair, or trying to explain his position and justify his unrelenting frustration. And as he stands in this trophy room, this monument of FWA’s greatest moments and most venerated champions, looking at a massive placard on the wall with the names and reigns of all of its World Champions with Alyster Black’s name having been recently added, The Exile’s eyes turn to the end of his last reign, counting the over a dozen championship reigns since then over the last three years and almost as many champions in those reigns, a familiar wave of emotions roils in his head as he unconsciously runs his fingers through his hair as if doing so could drag them out and throw them away.

This isn’t the first time Cyrus has been in this place.

It was 2016. Cyrus was smack-dab in the middle of his second championship reign. The first lasted mere hours, but this reign? This was the reign that forced FWA to stop pretending that those initials meant a damn thing without the strength of will to back up their prestige. This was when FWA’s so-called “best” had their arrogance shoved back into their faces as the Vagabond King forced them all to choke on their hubris.

This was where Cyrus, after feeling that FWA had decided to take their newest champion and force him to jump through hoops like some kind of trained circus monkey, declared his intentions to burn down everything that FWA treasured. This is the FWA Historical Showcase, where an emboldened, embittered Exile, the World Champion of FWA, all but declared open war against what he considered were unforgivable insults to his reign. And it took Shannon O’Neal wrestling the match of her life to end the tyrant’s burning path of retribution.

So much has changed in six years. So many heartaches, so many new champions. And the man who threatened to tear down FWA ended up being its rallying general when the greedy and the corrupt decided to spit on the promotion’s legacy.

And in the end…after all of this…what does Cyrus have?

A North American title reign, and countless disappointments against men and women who, at first glance, have passed him by to become a new generation of excellence. But still, looking at this board of names, of past World Champions…

It’s strange.

Cyrus Truth believes wholeheartedly that he is one of, if not the best to ever grace a wrestling ring. It might be somewhat arrogant to think that, especially with the tribulations of the past few years, but to Cyrus? It is Truth, free of the arrogance of unearned, blind pride. But that Truth runs into conflict with the struggles as of late.

If Cyrus was the best, then why hasn’t he reclaimed the World Championship? Even in spite of the many various hoops he’s had to jump through to get his shot, having to watch so many others jump ahead of him in line, Cyrus SHOULD have at least gotten a proper, one-on-one match at the World Title, should’ve reclaimed the prize that he helped to define.

What’s the Truth? What you believe is true, or what the world seems to be telling you?

And therein lies the frustration.

Almost absentmindedly, Cyrus runs his hands on the placard of names of FWA’s World Champions, trying to process these feelings. The F1 Climaxxx continues, and while The Exile keeps hearing that he’s still in control of his fate by commentary and pundits, it’s only slightly true. With Chris Peacock and Bryan Baxter already up two wins, it would require both of them to falter at the finish line rather spectacularly in order to ensure Cyrus came out of the pool and into the finals. Not impossible, but just another series of fucking hoops to run through.

Cyrus’s fingers brush on the nameplate that signifies the start of his third reign. Almost instinctively, his eyes focus on the name above his…the name of the person he ended up winning the championship from.

“Bell…”

An old familiar feeling washes over Cyrus.

This is a story that Cyrus knows all too well. The tale of the would-be champion’s journey to becoming a new icon, a standard-bearer that could carry the weight of the crown into a brighter, nobler tomorrow.

But that particular story? That’s not Cyrus’s story. Or at the very least, it hasn’t been for a long, long time.

And if there’s anything that Cyrus learned in his lessons at the feet of his Observer teachers, it’s that history has a nasty habit of repeating itself.

Lizzie Rose.

Cyrus knows of her. Fought alongside her against the separatist Fallout forces within the confines of the Jailhouse Blues cage match. But to suggest that The Exile and Lizzie Rose were friendly or that familiar would be a gross misunderstanding. Still, Cyrus had nothing bad to say or think about Lizzie, and was even happy for her when she took the momentum from that match to become the North American Champion. In a sea of blowhards, braggarts, and arrogant children fumbling around for glory they neither understand nor can grasp? Lizzie Rose is a refreshing breath of fresh air. A young competitor who overcame her dependency on a leech like Gabrielle and came into her own.

And now, she finds herself across the ring from Cyrus.

As had Bell Connelly.

As had Eli Black.

As had so many other young wrestlers looking to make their mark and build a legend, a legacy within a business that tends to chew up and spit out the idealistic until they’re unrecognizable.

How many times has it been?

How many times has Cyrus found himself in a situation where a young, upcoming wrestler is put against him with the possibility of reaching their dreams with just a simple win?

How often now, that these young wrestlers, so full of hope and optimism, have to find themselves pitted against The Exile, seeking either to maintain his status or return to prominence?

It’s a story that Cyrus heard countless times as a young boy learning from the most knowledgeable keepers of secrets and stories. And when he was a boy, he thought to himself…

“That’s my story. I’m going to change the world, and make sure people remember me!”

Here, in the Historical Showcase, as he looks at the monument to champions past and present, Cyrus knows what he is.

He’s the rock that dreams are shattered against.

And it’s a sobering, somber feeling. Realizing that he’s become the obstacle that Cyrus himself would have relished in shattering.

Lizzie Rose deserves so much more than what Cyrus is about to subject her to. Deserves more than having her championship robbed from her by some giant meathead who’s too delusional to realize he’s little more than a thug pretending to be a champion.

Lizzie Rose deserves to have her dreams come true.

But…Cyrus is going to rob her of that. Because Lizzie’s dreams may be worthy, but Cyrus’s obsession is overwhelming. And all the frustration and exhaustion can’t have been worth nothing, can’t have happened without him finally reclaiming what he lost.

This is the story of a man possessed by purpose, by drive and hunger.

A good man, a bad man, a vagrant and a conqueror. Who can say? It’s a matter of perspective.

For Truth, a regrettable action in pursuit of his own ambition, at this point, is a bitter pill to swallow. But it is medicine he will consume, even if another young dreamer has to be sacrificed upon the altar of Cyrus’s ambition.

Allowing himself to vent his frustration, Cyrus punches the names of FWA’s World Champions hard, hard enough to scrape his knuckles and draw blood on the brass name plates. He stands there, with only the sound of his ragged breath.

On Fallout, he’s going to face Lizzie Rose. And he will fight like a demon and crush her and her dreams that night.

It won’t feel great. But what other choice is there, for one who seeks to reclaim the crown?

Cyrus doesn’t leave behind a molotov this time. Burning this place won’t solve anything, and there’s no one to threaten. Instead, he just leaves all of these relics and exhibits to FWA’s glory.

And on the board, we see blood splattering the name of FWA’s newest World Champion…a grim reminder of who and what the target actually was…​

 

[AON]

"Well....

...Darn."

"I got to say about what happened last week. I got a lot of thoughts and lots of opinions. And I'll be talking about all the north American title stuff soon...but see, this is the thing about the whole F1 thing. It's another spinning plate, you know? You want to put all your focus on it, but at the same time, you don't want to disrespect the title by just treating it like a secondary thing. But at the same time, you don't want to ignore the F1. You don't want to disrespect your opponent.

"...You don't want to disrespect Cyrus Truth"

"And I do respect him. Of course, I do. I think it's physically impossible NOT to respect him; I don't wanna run down his achievements, or what he's done or where he's been because we all know it. We all understand it. We all know who he is."

"I just don't know if he knows who I am"

"I mean...yeah, I'm not like...a stranger or anything. We've been in the same room. We've been in the same match. We got locked in a cage together...and he told me to start swinging...and that's what I did..and we won. Yay!"

"But you know what got me about that cage match? You know what really annoyed me more than it probably should? That was my first time put in that kind of match; Super dangerous and career-threatening. I don't think many people thought I would survive, let alone thrive, but Cyrus sent out the call for our team to raise our game...and I don't think anyone could deny that's exactly what I did. I fought, I bled, I tasted steel, and I didn't look like a model after, but I got my hand raised....and what did the world focus on? What did Cyrus focus on?

Sawyer Xavier."

"It was the Cyrus Truth, And Sayer Xavier show, and the rest of us seemed to be supporting cast? And when you got slammed and thrown into solid steel, so much you can't sit down the next day without feeling the damage on your back....yeah, no, that kind of hurts."

"So this is what Meltdown is about."

"Superiority Complex vs Inferiority Complex"

"I've been here before, I know how this story goes; not a lot of people have a lot of faith in me to beat one of the grea-"

"No."

"No, I'm not going to disrespect him like that."

"He's not one of the greatest."

"He is the standard."

"He is the ace."

"He is the beating heart of pro wrestling."

"He is the greatest of all time."

"And I'm Lizzie Rose from Brooklyn"

"But this is nothing new to me...I've never been in a position where I could promise victory, where I can sit here and say, "Yeah, I'm totally better, and I'm going to win" That's never been me. I can't promise that."

"But I'll just promise you what I've always promised."

"I will work hard."

"I will make my family proud."

"I will make my city proud."

"And should Cyrus Truth end me? He won't do so without leaving with a few bruises of his own"

"Like I said. I respect him...it's time he started to respect me.​

 

[Jimmy King]

Nate Savage
In
Redemption

One more sleep until Nate Savage travels to Nuremberg, Germany, for Meltdown. Two more sleeps until the day of Meltdown. It may not seem long, but it feels like an eternity for Nate at this very moment. It's a dark and cold night in Philadelphia, where Nate is at home. Nate is lying in bed next to his wife, and while she sleeps peacefully, Nate can’t sleep. He keeps tossing and turning.

It’s been days since Nate has gotten any sleep. He has too much on his mind right now. This upcoming Meltdown in Germany is no ordinary Meltdown. Nate gets his shot at redemption after over a year. Nate earned this opportunity by retrieving a briefcase in the Secular Spooktacular at Light Out, not without the help of his friend, Jackson Fenix.

Inside that briefcase was a shot at the X Championship. A championship that he had held a little over a year before losing it to the man currently still in possession of it, Alyster Black. Nate was briefly disappointed before opening the case after finding out that someone else had taken the tag team title shot, but that disappointment soon washed away, and his eyes lit up with excitement.

This was it! This was his chance to redeem himself. Ever since he had lost the championship to Alyster Black, Nate had wanted nothing more than to get another shot. Still, Nate got wrapped up in Jackson Fenix’s mess with Jeremy Best; amongst other things, Nate could see his shot at redemption fading away faster and faster. Nate sat back and watched as Alyster Black established himself as an unstoppable force. Fast-forward a year later, Alyster is the most dominant champion in the current era of FWA. To add to his growing list of accolades, Alyster has just become the FWA World Champion, thus solidifying himself at the upper echelon of the greats in FWA history.

Meanwhile, Nate has had little to show since then. Nate and Jackson had won a few matches here and there, though few and far between if we’re being honest here, but like any man, Nate wanted more. Now, it’s finally his time. As much as it pained him, he bided his time, and now he’s where he wants to be. The old saying is true in Nate’s case; good things do come to those that wait.

Nate couldn’t wait any longer, though. He had already wished he was in Nuremberg, fighting Alyster for the gold. He rolled over on his side and looked at his phone for the time, which read 2:30 am. Nate quietly sighed before he moved out of bed and walked downstairs, where he grabbed a coat and wrapped himself up before stepping outside into the cold night air on his porch. He let out a breath, and he could see it in front of his face as it escaped his lips. He sat down on a chair and sighed again as he leaned back and looked out into the night sky. Nate hears a sound and leans forward, and looks around.

Nate Savage: “Hello?”

Nate said a bit timidly, not knowing what to expect at this time of night. He thought he lived in a relatively quiet and safe neighborhood, but now he’s unsure if that’s the case. He gets up from his seat and looks around for the source of the noise he hears.

Nate Savage: “Hello? Who’s there?”

Typical Nate luck, he’s days away from the biggest match of his career, and he’s probably about to be mugged or left for dead on his porch by someone.

Nate Savage: “If you don’t come out right now, I’m going to find you and make you regret trying to do whatever it is you’re trying to do!”

“There’s no need for that.”

Nate frantically looks around and then spins around to check behind him for anyone, but no one is found.

Nate Savage: “Who said that?! Where are you?!”

Nate looks to his side as he hears the sound getting closer and sees something resembling a coyote.

“There’s no need for hostility.”

Nate Savage: “Who are you?! What are you?! Better yet, why are you?!”

“First, that last question doesn’t make much sense in this situation, and secondly, I am your spirit guide.”

Nate Savage: “Spirit guide? What the hell? Is this like that one Simpsons episode where Homer goes on a spiritual journey to find his soulmate after eating a hot pepper from the chili cook-off?”

Spirit: “That’s pretty specific and odd that you remember that, but to answer your question, in a way, yes, this is like that. I’m not here to send you on a quest to find your soulmate. I’m here to take you back in time.”

Nate Savage: “Take me back in time? I’m dreaming, right? I must be dreaming right now. That’s the only logical explanation for why I’m standing here speaking with the coyote from that Simpsons episode.”

Spirit: “Well, that explains why I was sent here in this form because that’s what this would remind you of; again, that’s a bit odd, but you’re not dreaming.”

Nate Savage: “Then what else would explain what is happening right now? Maybe I’m sleep-deprived, or maybe I’m just losing my marbles; the latter seems more likely now that I’m thinking about it.”

Spirit: “You just said you’d been sleep-deprived; why is that? Would it have to do with the fact that you’ll be in the biggest match of your career in just a few short days?”

Nate Savage: “Yes, that has a lot to do with it…wait, how did you know that?”

Spirit: “It’s why I’m here, Nate. I’m here to take you on a quest.”

Nate Savage: “What kind of quest?”

Spirit: “A quest to find yourself.”

Nate Savage: “Find myself? What kind of shit is that?”

Spirit: “Don’t question it; just go with it.”

Nate Savage: “I’m so confused right now.”

Spirit: “The sooner we go on this quest, the better chance you have at defeating Alyster Black.”

Before he retorts or asks another question, he’s transported to the Melbourne Cricket Ground in Melbourne, Australia. Nate finds himself amongst the sea of fans in attendance for Fallout 007: ‘Danger Down Under.

Nate Savage: “Why are we here? What is the significance of this that will help me overcome Alyster Black?”

Spirit: “This is a little over a year ago, Friday, November 5th, to be exact.”

Nate hears that date, and it dawns on him immediately. He’s still not one hundred percent clear on why he’s back here, but he does know he doesn’t want to be here to relive it. He had done everything he could to forget this day, and now he was here, somehow.

Nate Savage: “Can you wake me up now? Hey! Me! Wake up!”

Spirit: “I know this must be difficult, but to defeat Alyster Black in Germany, you must relive this moment.”

Nate Savage: “How about no, okay? How about you take me back home, and I forget that this ever happened?”

Spirit: “I’m afraid it’s not that simple.”

Before Nate can respond, he’s cut off by the sound of a familiar theme song. The sound of Alyster Black’s theme song blasts throughout the stadium, and the crowd is on their feet for their fellow countryman. Nate watches Past Alyster part ways with Krash on stage and goes down to the ring. Past Alyster relishes in the insane fan reaction he’s receiving, and Present Day Nate can’t help but feel a tinge of envy.

Spirit: “He has them in the palm of his hand; it’s amazing.”

Nate shoots a glare at his spirit guide, and the manual doesn’t look back, but he can feel Nate’s glare.

Spirit: “I’m sorry.”

That’s all the spirit can muster, and Nate turns his attention back to the ring where Alyster is ready and waiting. The sound of “Bow Down” now fills the stadium, and the crowd does a 180 with their reaction and begins to shower the then-champion with boos. Present-Day Nate watches as Past Nate makes his way down to the ring with Jackson Fenix at his side.

Spirit: “Your friend there is quite animated.”

Nate Savage: “Yeah, that’s one way to describe Jackson, but he’s always been there for me. I couldn’t ask for a better friend than him, sincerely. I may not show it or let him know, but he’s the best friend I’ve ever had.”

Spirit: “Will he be with you in Germany?”

Nate Savage: “I know I’ve said I wanted to do this on my own, but at the same time, I don’t think it would hurt to have some backup. I wouldn’t be surprised if that one chick, Violet Dreyer, tagged along with Alyster Black.”
​

Jean-Luc Watkins: "I think it's quite clear who the fans are on the side of here in Melbourne, Christian. Alyster Black has never won singles gold here in FWA, and it won't have escaped you eagle-eyed wrestling fans that the same is true of his time in the CWA. Nate Savage has held singles gold in both organizations, and he won't be ready to give up his championship on the first defense... not without a fight, anyway..."​

This hadn’t been Nate’s first foray into singles gold. He held the CWA High Voltage Championship and the CWA Pure Championship, which were the same championships but with different names, so technically, he’s a two-time champion. Despite CWA not being much of a thing these days, Nate can still claim that he was the last ever CWA Pure Champion and the man he beat to stake that claim; Alyster Black’s long-time friend, Krash. Nate is close enough to the announce desk to overhear Jean-Luc Watkins making mention of that fact.

Nate has a victory over one-half of The Gang Stars. The most revered of the two, depending on who you ask. Nate thought that if he could beat Krash, Alyster should be a piece of cake, right? Boy, was he wrong. Nate remembers how wrong he was as he watched the match unfold in front of him. Alyster had gained early control and threw Nate back first into the steel barricade.

Nate Savage: “Going into this match, I thought that since I had a singles victory over Krash, defeating the other half of The Gang Stars would be simple. I quickly learned that wasn’t the case. As much as I hate his guts, like I despise him and everything he stands for, I must admit that he’s tough as nails. He had an answer for everything that I threw at him.”

Spirit: “I’m sure the feeling is probably mutual regarding his feelings about you, but don’t sell yourself short. Look at you; you’re hanging in there so far.”

Nate Savage: “Yeah, so far. It doesn’t take long for things to crumble and fall apart. I gained some advantage, but then I got too ahead with the kendo stick, which backfired on me.”

Spirit: “I still don’t believe it’s fair to sell yourself short, though. No matter the result, you held your own there.”

Nate Savage: “Look, I get what you’re trying to do, but you shouldn’t be wasting your time with me.”

Spirit: “What do you mean?”

Nate Savage: “Come on, we all know the result here; Alyster wins and goes on this year-long reign of terror while, on the other hand, I get entangled with Jackson and his supposed friendship with Jeremy Best. No offense to Jackson, and like I said before, I’d do anything for him; deep down inside, I knew that that wasn’t what I was destined for. I was destined for so much more, or at least I thought so. I thought that after I disposed of Alyster Black, I would go on and have this tremendous reign, much like Alyster is doing now, but it wasn’t meant to be.”

“I was so focused on the future that I wasn’t concerned with the present, and I think, in the end, that’s what cost me this match. If only I had focused more on this match and less on what could’ve been, then maybe I’d still be here as the X Champion, the World Champion, or hell, even both. That could’ve been me in Alyster Black’s shoes, but I let it all go.”

Spirit: “Maybe this next match. Don’t be so set on the future and focus on the present day.”

Nate Savage: “Easier said than done.”

Spirit: “Maybe, but it couldn’t hurt.”

Nate Savage: “You’re right, I guess.”

Spirit: “That, and maybe don’t be so down on yourself. You're twice as tough as Alyster Black and more capable of holding your own in the ring. The result may not have been what you desired, but you can’t take anything away from your performance.”

Nate Savage: “I suppose I can’t argue that.”

Spirit: “Do you think things have been sunshine and rainbows for Alyster since this match? He’s gone through a lot. He’s had wars with the best of them, lost a friend, and went to hell and back to war with Danny Toner for the World Championship. It hasn’t exactly been a smooth ride for him either.”

Nate Savage: “Yeah, but he ultimately won the world championship.”

Spirit: “Not without some bumps in the road. Through all of that pressure, he did it all. Do you think that if you can beat him in Germany that you can do what he did?”

Nate Savage: “Well, yeah, of course, I could. I’d be lying if I said otherwise. You said it yourself; I’m twice as tough as him. I’ve crumbled under pressure more than I’d care to admit, but who hasn’t? Alyster had to live in the shadow of his now-deceased friend for years before finally overcoming it and making a name for himself. Not once did he crumble under pressure, though. Yeah, he wasn’t successful at Lights Out against Toner, but he eventually won the big one due to unfortunate circumstances.”

“It’s been a bumpy road for him, but I can bet he wouldn’t trade it for anything. At the same time, though, I can bet it’s been running him ragged. Now being a dual champion, he’ll have a lot more on his plate. More pressure and more hype to live up to now. He has an even bigger target on his back now than he did before. More people will be gunning for him than ever; one of those people is me.”

“Could I deal with as much pressure as he’s dealing with right now? Who knows. If the time does come, I’ll figure it out when I get there. I’m focused on the now, and right now, I want nothing more than to be the one to end this historic reign of his. I want to be the one to do what no one else has been able to do for a little over a year and take the X Championship away from Alyster Black. Think about it; think how poetic it would be if Nate Savage, the man who, in a way, helped this historic reign begin, how poetic it would be if I were to be the one to end it all. I would finally have my moment. Jackson got his moment this last Fallout when he pinned Jeremy Best. Jackson finally got that monkey off his back. He got his moment.”

“Now it’s my turn for me to have MY moment. I’ve waited for this time for only a little over a year, but it has seemed a lot longer, if I’m being honest. I know there’s talk saying, ' Oh, watch Nate choke again just like he always does, or ‘Watch Nate crumble under pressure yet again.’”

“No way, that’s not happening this time. I will prove every one of those doubters wrong and happily rub it in their faces when I’m standing victorious over Alyster Black’s broken body while holding MY newly won X Championship. This is MY redemption story, and there is no way I will let it end on a sour note.”

Just as Nate says that last sentence, the match in front of them ends, and Alyster Black is victorious. Present Day Nate watches Alyster celebrate, but then he turns his attention to his past self and how defeated he looks.

Nate Savage: “Lightning won’t strike twice for you, Alyster Black.”

Before he knows it, Nate wakes up in the chair on his porch. He quickly checks his phone, and the time is 3:15 am. He had been dreaming, after all. There wasn’t an animated coyote that sounded like J.K. Simmons. It was all just a figment of his imagination.

What won’t be a figment of his imagination, though, will be Meltdown in Germany, where he will defeat Alyster Black and once again become X Champion.

This was his redemption story, and it’ll end on his terms.

This is Nate's time.​

 

[Mandalorian]

SECOND BEST​

New York - 1994

It was close to Christmas time in 1994 and early in the morning. A very thin layer of snow lay fresh on the streets of New York City, only disturbed by the relatively low number of footprints on the pavement due to the hour. The streets were quiet, save for the sound of cars in the distance further into the city and a repetitive noise which echoed across the streets. The sound could be best described as a high pitched squeak and burst out every few seconds before stopping every so often for a slightly longer period of time.

The cause of the noise was a slightly loose wheel on the cart that was being pushed through the street by the neighbourhood mailman. He was a man called Jerry. Jerry had a slender build, was above middle-aged and what some would describe as a friendly face. His moustache - grey like the rest of the hair on his head - flowed across his upper lip and down to his jawline into a fulsome bear that hung down from his chin. He was aware that he bore a resemblance to a thin Santa Claus, so he accented his uniform with a red overcoat at this time of year.

Despite being a man in his late-sixties, Jerry did not mind walking through the streets of New York on his own at such an early hour, before the sun had risen properly. Of course, the residents of the streets that he served appreciated their mail being delivered before they woke up, but the reason for Jerry’s earliness was for his own gain. Jerry liked to make sure that his rounds were completed as early as possible, because it would give him more time to spend with his favourite ‘customer’.

This customer was a young boy, eight years of age. That boy’s name was Christopher Peacock. There was nothing sinister at play when it came to his relationship with this boy. All Jerry sought out of the interactions that he had with the child was a bit of company. His wife had passed a couple of years before and it was the time that he was able to spend with the boy and the rest of his family (both parents and the Chris’s twin brother, Drew) that he looked forward to most days, especially as he did not have any children of his own to speak of. They would play board games most mornings, and Jerry would be gracious enough to let the young boy win most of the time.

The Peacock household was the only one on Jerry’s route that did not receive their mail before sunrise. Jerry held onto their letters to ensure that he could hand deliver them when he was invited in for a hot drink (which he was every morning, especially when it was cold outside). Jerry had served the family before the twins were born and he delighted in watching them both grow up before his eyes, not holding any resentment towards Dave and Linda for having the family unit that he and his late wife were unable to have.

This particular morning was nothing remarkable, and not different to most other mornings for Jerry. He was on course to finish his route in good time as the sun got higher and the streets got busier as more and more New Yorkers began their respective days. As he did most mornings, he left the Peacocks’ mail in the bottom of his squeaky cart. Almost tasting the warm cup of tea that Linda would be brewing for him, he finished his final stops before backtracking down the block until he reached the Peacock residence.

The door swung open and Jerry was greeted by Linda Peacock, who invited him in. Jerry chained his cart to the railing outside the ground floor apartment and handed the letters to Linda as he walked through into the doorway. He followed Linda into the kitchen and a smile crept across his face when he saw the piping hot drink on the table waiting for him. He took a seat. “Thank you, Linda. It’s starting to get frosty out there! That squeaky wheel is getting worse as well, I need to fix that soon.”

“I’m sure Dave has some oil somewhere that you can use.” Linda called back as she rinsed some dishes under the tap, “I’ll ask him to leave it out so you can use it tomorrow if you like, Jerry.”

“Thank you.” Jerry took a sip of his tea and then looked around the tidy kitchen and tried to peer through one of the doors into the living room. “Where's Christopher this morning? Getting ready for school?”

“He’ll be getting ready. Didn’t want to get out of bed this morning, poor thing. I don’t think he’s getting on very well at the moment, Jerry.” Linda sighed and put down the rag and turned around, leaning back on the sink with her arms crossed. “I overheard some of Drew’s friends saying some mean things about him the other day. He asked me the other morning if he could come and work with me and Dave at the restaurant instead of going to his math class.”

Jerry felt helpless for a moment, after finding out that the child he had bonded with was having struggles that he was not aware of. “I had no idea, Linda. That’s terrible for the little guy. Surely the school can do something about it?”

“They don’t think that it is anything to worry about - kids being kids, they said. I just know that he’s finding things really hard at the moment, doing his best to fit in.” Linda became overwhelmed with emotion as she talked about her son’s struggles, and Jerry set down his mug to comfort her, putting an arm around her shoulders and offering her a tissue from out of his coat pocket.

Unbeknownst to the adults in the kitchen, just behind the door that Jerry had tried to peek through was an eight year old Chris Peacock. Chris typically waited for Drew to get up and leave their shared room before he got out of bed and dressed himself for school, as whilst Drew watched television in the living room. He didn’t realise it at the time, but the adults were talking about something that he was experiencing but not entirely aware of. Chris knew that Drew had more friends in their class than he did and sometimes they were mean to him, but it didn’t matter to him. He had Jerry the mailman. Jerry was his friend.

The door nudged open slightly and this alerted Linda to Chris standing there and she wiped a tear from her eye with Jerry’s tissue and then put on the best brave face she could for her son. The mailman’s face lit up as he saw his young friend and Chris felt himself smiling too and he wrapped his arms around Jerry’s waist and Jerry ruffled his hair with his hand.

“There he is! I’ve been waiting here for ages for you, kid!” Jerry exclaimed as he broke away from Chris and then got down to a knee (using the kitchen counter for support) to get down to Chris’s level. Chris laughed but didn’t speak, he was just happy that Jerry was there before he went to school. It was always the best start to the day. “I think we’ve got time for a quick game of checkers… but before we play there’s something that I want to tell you, and I wanted you and your mom to be the first people to hear about this because I’m very excited about it.”

The interests of both generations of Peacock were piqued by Jerry’s comment, and Chris grinned excitedly. Usually when there was a surprise it meant that something good was going to happen. It was almost Christmas, after all. He pondered whether Jerry had Santa’s reply to the letter that Chris had sent him. “At the beginning of next year, I am going to be retiring! My friend has a place in Florida and he’s going to let me go and live with him! How cool is that, bud?”

A deafening silence fell upon the kitchen, aside from the gasp from Linda. She locked eyes with her son and saw the joy fade out of them within seconds as Chris processed what Jerry had told him. Chris was fighting back tears as he was overwhelmed completely by the information that brought a significant change to his life.

“You’re leaving us?”

Jerry nodded. The older man did not appreciate the impact that news such as this would have on the impressionable dependent, and maintained his excitement levels. However, Jerry was upset to see that Chris did not share this feeling, and the child shoved the mailman backwards, causing Jerry to lose his grip on the counter and fall on the floor. Linda gasped again, this time shocked at her son’s behaviour, and she immediately checked on Jerry. She shook her head at Chris, who looked at what he had done for a moment. Chris surprised himself with his own strength, but then ran out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind him. ​

35,000 feet above the Atlantic Ocean - 2022

The trip back across the Atlantic did not come at the most opportune of times for Chris Peacock, given he was in the middle of his crusade through Pool B of the F1 Climaxxx. Two wins put him joint top of the group along with Big Bryan Baxter, who of course was the man who he was set to face off against on Fallout 023. Whilst Chris was flying high in a literal sense on his flight, Baxter was doing so metaphorically and the new North American Champion posed a daunting challenge due to the roll that he found himself on.

Chris looked out of the window and took a sip from his pornstar martini, before setting the glass down in the circular hole available in the armrest of his chair. He had planned on using the flights there and back to study some tapes and figure out a strategy for his match with Baxter. He had approached both of his previous Climaxxx matches with a plan in mind but neither worked out exactly as he had intended. The reason he put his drink down was because of the pain on his face due to Gerald Grayson’s stray knee cracking him on the bridge of his nose, removing most of the feeling from his entire face.

Despite his best intentions, though, Chris hadn’t opened any of the videos or notes that he had available to him. He wanted to understand more about the conflict between Baxter and Jeremy Best, but he found himself unwilling to keep himself abreast of the issues between them. How someone could fall on Best’s bad side is what gave Chris the most food for thought, realising that whatever it was that Baxter had done, it must have been bad. It was Chris’s hope that perhaps Bryan would be too concerned with his falling out with Jeremy to focus on their match.

Baxter may be distracted by thoughts of Jeremy, but there he was taking time out of his preparation for the match to fly across the world and back in between matches. The match itself could possibly be boiled down to two men with other things on their mind, and the winner would just be whoever was better. Chris knew that was him. Despite Baxter just getting the biggest victory of his career and Chris himself reverting back to his position as a runner-up, Chris knew that he had Baxter. He was certain of it.

On Fallout 023, Baxter would be second best. He was second best in his own tag team. Everyone knew it. Even without paying proper attention to what happened between Jeremy and Bryan, Chris knew that Jeremy was the true player in the Buddy System. The same Jeremy Best that Peacock had bested (pun very much intended) at every juncture where they had encountered each other. Would Jeremy have become the North American Champion had he had the opportunity to? Undoubtedly. As far as Chris was concerned, Baxter was nothing special.

As for Chris’s reasons for taking a trip back across the Atlantic? Well, word had arrived to him as he was preparing to leave Germany that an old friend of his had passed away. It was a friend from his childhood, but not someone the same age as him. Jerry, the Peacock family’s mailman when Chris was a child, had passed away in his mid-nineties. Jerry left when Chris was young but the two shared a special bond. He was Chris’s first true friend, and as he had grown older, he came to appreciate the time that Jerry had spent with him before he moved to Florida for his retirement.

Jerry taught Chris compassion and respect. As a result of his time spent with Jerry, Chris gained an appreciation for older people. He knew that they still had so much to give despite their advancing years. That’s why when his father was dying, Chris did not give up hope that his dad could offer more to the world and his life, in particular. Despite his eradicated mental state, Chris held onto the belief that his father could come back and be the man he knew when he was growing up. It was Jerry that taught him it was okay to have that unfaltering belief.

It was reassuring to have that kind of unrealistic belief in a helpless situation. Chris felt helpless when he was eight years old and his only friend, the sixty-eight year old mailman was going to be moving away. At the time, Chris believed that he would continue to see Jerry as he had promised. That never transpired. In fact, he never saw Jerry again after he left the Peacock house for the last time in January of 1995. That disappointed Chris at the time, but as he grew up and got older it became less and less of an issue for him.

After all, disappointment was something that he had become used to. Being the FWA’s resident runner-up does that. It was not just his failure to become the FWA World Champion that disappointed him though. It was Big Bryan Baxter. Chris didn’t care that he was the North American Champion now - he wanted Jeremy Best. There was nothing to be gained other than two Climaxxx points by beating Baxter. Did Baxter beating Lizzie Rose raise his stock in Peacock’s eyes? No. It didn’t, because Peacock would be beating her next.

Would a victory here propel him into contention for the North American Championship? It should. Does he actually want that? Fuck, no. Sure, when he loops back around for the Grand Slam one day, it’ll be a worthy prize. But now, with the Golden Opportunity briefcase in the overhead luggage being the key to a greater prize? The North American Championship doesn’t matter. Big Bryan Baxter doesn’t matter. He’s just another obstacle for Chris to get past - like Truth and Grayson were. Like Rose and Jackson will be.

There’s nothing about Big Bryan Baxter that makes him stand out from any of the others. He’s already beaten a multiple-time World Champion and one half of the tag champions. Holding a championship doesn’t make you unbeatable. The person who has not successfully defended a championship in singles competition knows that better than anyone. Baxter probably thinks that he can beat anyone in the world right now, but Chris Peacock isn’t just anyone.

Baxter is second best. Second best to Jeremy Best, who himself is second best to Chris Peacock. Best was once dallied as the next Chris Peacock. As far as Peacock is concerned, there’s no comparison to be made. Jeremy allowed himself to get outshone by the man he himself brought into the company. The fact that Baxter won a championship before Best is laughable, and if Jeremy wants to galavant around chasing ghosts to make up for that fact, then more power to him.

Although, chasing ghosts isn’t something that Peacock can judge Best for, anyway. Whilst he is flying across the Atlantic, he isn’t wasting his time at a funeral. “Ladies and gentlemen, we will be landing in Rio in roughly thirty minutes.”

Rio - 2022

In a spot where Chris was sure Jeremy Best had visited hundreds of times, he looked over the waters of the lake of Quinta da Boa Vista for a few seconds before he began to talk to the vast body of water in front of him.

“Probably wondering why I hadn’t been here to see you yet, huh Rockstar? Well, I guess I’m sorry for that, but it’s not like you’ve had anything better to do, right?”

Chris stifled a small chuckle and he looked down at his feet for a moment, before taking a seat on the grassy patch of land underneath him. He picked at a few blades of grass and negotiated them around his fingers.

“You’re also probably wondering why now, as well? Well, Randy, I don’t really know myself. Got this match to get ready for against this fat piece of crap and I should probably be doing that, but what’s the point of overthinking these things? I remember the few times you invited me into your pre-match shit and it was fucking intense, man. So much would ride on one match and you’d get so bent out of shape… but you still won most of the time, whether you had that delusional fuckwit with you or not.”

The thought of Devin Golden made Peacock’s skin crawl, but then he remembered Back in Business and Lights Out and leaned back, laughing.

“Bet you regret picking that prick over me now, huh? Doubt you’d be at the bottom of this lake if you went the other way. You’d have probably held that world title for longer without him dragging you into his bullshit as well. Choices, Randy… they have consequences. I made a choice when I hit you in the head with that chair, costing you those titles that Devin worked so hard for you to win. You know the ones that you gave up your world title for? Do I regret it? Not really, to be honest. He deserved it and by siding with him and standing by and doing nothing as I went FUCKING CRAZY, you deserved it, too.”

As Chris corrected his seating position, he dropped the grass in his hand to the floor and replaced it with a fresh handful.

“Friendship is a funny thing, huh? There’s always one person that gives and another that takes. I gave you everything I could at the start, as a thank you for helping me get my foot in the door in the FWA. I felt like I owed you that and I stood by you when no one else would, when Devin was supposed to be gone after Game Seven, and you fucking used me, dude. I lost the fucking CIBERNETICO because my preparation time was spent helping you get ready to win the big one. Then when I was the one that needed the help, where the fuck were you?”

“On the plane ride over here I was thinking about how much of a disappointment Baxter is compared to Jeremy Best, but you’d know all about that, Randy. Because I’m supposed to be your Baxter, aren’t I? I wasn’t supposed to surpass you. You couldn’t have that, could you? Behind all of the friendship and cakes and whatever other bullshit that guy likes, I bet that is how Jeremy sees Bryan as well. Like how you saw me. A dependable expendable. Jerry’s probably got his panties in a twist because Bryan Baxter has overshadowed him already. Like I am going to do to you, Randy.”

Chris looked into the distance with a determined look on his face.

“Randy, I’m going to become the FWA World Champion and I’ll do it in less than half the time that it took you to do it. I already showed at Back in Business why you bet wrong when you went with Devin ahead of me when I tapped that asshole out with your fucking move. So when I beat Jeremy’s version of your me, it just brings me one step closer to winning the F1 Climaxxx.”

“Randy, you’re just one of many friends that I have lost lately. I’m not like Baxter, because I don’t feel the need to repent to anyone. I’m not sorry for anything that I did to you and I’m not here to tell you that I’m never going to give up looking for you because I’ve accepted you’re gone and there’s nothing I can do about it. I don’t need to chase ghosts. Our friendship died a long time before you did.”

Thinking about that final part for a moment, Chris then stood up and looked over the lake one last time. He released the grass from his hand in front of him and the slight wind took some of the twisting blades onto the surface of the water where they began to slowly drift away.

“I used to think that having friends is the most important thing in the world, but the more I think about it, the less I need them. You, Danny, Rick, Sonny… Drew… Jerry the mailman… you’re all gone. I don’t need any of you back. I don’t need anyone’s help to do what I need to do. I’m not fucked up by all of this like I should be. Whether that means there’s something wrong with me, I don’t know. Hey, it’s not like you can help me with any of this shit anyway, right? You stupid, dead bastard.”

“I don’t need any friends. The fact that I don’t have any doesn’t bother me. I’m not going to be second best to anyone anymore. I’m alone, and that’s fi-”

Chris stopped and jolted as he felt a hand land on his shoulder. He turned to his left to see who the hand belonged to. He expected to see a man with long black hair and a headband, but he didn’t. The man’s head was hidden by a black mask with green accents, and was easily identifiable by this as well as the two championships that sat upon each of his shoulders.

“You’re not alone.”

Nodding at Alyster Black, Chris considered what the man whose championship he craved said to him and he slowly nodded his head.

Maybe it was worth giving this friendship business another go after all. ​

 

[Kim Jong Umb]

The Lumberjacks, The Coven and Bad Reputation Present!

Scary Stories To Tell In The Dark

Cosmic Horror Edition. ​

The circus was a masterpiece of what one can accomplish when there is daily practice with a passion for reaching onward, always perfecting one's art. They say that the circus acts told of how dreams can flourish when you marry passion with creative fantasy, and then go at it as if it were a physical destination.

That's what a circus was.

But whatever THIS place was? It certainly wasn't a circus.

Spooky as we all know, is in the heart of the beholder, and this circus seemed to relish the eerie vibe it tended to give off.

The big top lives as if under the constant shadow as if the sun keeps reaching for those walls that shrink away. And so its windows stay black without the rippling effect of the light, never knowing that the dust that clings, the dirt of years, could so easily be washed away. The walls are so cold to the touch, stealing the heat from warm fingers, never caring if hearts froze. That there are ghosts inside is a certainty, that they bluster around screaming is a fact, yet only the house can usher them out and wish for those rays to kiss it some warmth.

Until that then, the paint will peel, and the wood will rot, forever wishing for the warmth of a touch.

In short, it's a big creepy circus that seemed to be slowly rotting from the inside out,

and inside? The Ring Master, a clown for all intents and purposes, but much like in the same way Heath Ledger looked like a clown in The Dark Knight, namely, he looked like some crazy hobo that killed the actual clown and stole his identity. He stood there in the center of the ring, with a big ol' creepy smile on his face showcasing all his crooked and yellow teeth.

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, COME ONE COME ALL TO THE PANDEMONIUM SHADOW SHOW, YOUR GREATEST WISHES AND DEEPEST DESIRE GRANTED FOR A PRICE. HEALTH AND VIGOR, YOUTH AND STRENGTH WE CAN MAKE IT SO, JOIN US FOR THE SHOW ROUND AND ROUND YA GO. ANYTHING YOUR HEART DESIRES, MAKE YOUR RICHES GROW! POWER, GLORY, LOVE OR LUST IT'S ALL PART OF THE SHOW! JUST STEP RIGHT UP AND-"

"NOT SO FAST!"

A young man with handsome sharp features stomps into the room and points out threateningly at the ringmaster who gasped in horror.

"YOU?! THAT'S IMPOSSIBLE! I TRAPPED YOU IN THE HALL OF MIRRORS!!"

"HA. YOU DIDN'T KNOW I HAD SPOOKY GHOST FRIENDS AND NOW I'M HERE TO STOP YOU FROM HAVING PEOPLE SELL YOU THEIR SOULS IN EXCHANGE FOR MONEY AND THINGS BECAUSE YOU'RE SOME KIND OF DEMON OR WHATEVER"

"BAH-! You'll never defeat me. I've eaten enough souls to live forever! And now the night circus will take over the world and my army of spooky clowns will roam over the entire city...because I'm the devil...possibly"

"That's what you think; I have-THE BOOK!"

"No. Impossible?! The book?!"

"Yes, THE book?!"

"Impossible, no mortal man can hold THE BOOK. Without experiencing true EVIL in all it's forms"

"Well it turns out I have magic powers TOO"

"Oh my god, what a twist I never would have guessed due to your tragic backstory!"

Just, then a tall woman poked her head into the circus.

"..And I'm Sarah Paulson, and that's what I call...AN AMERICAN HORROR STORY!"

While this scene was going on, the camera pans out noticeably to reveal two massive men with matching beards that could only be Doug and Dan, The Lumberjacks watching these events while eating popcorn with a somewhat curious air.

"Huh. You know if I didn't know any better I'd think this scene was written by someone whose never seen American Horror Story but too shy to say so he's just kind of cobbling together the little he knows about it and winging it"

"Well, I wouldn't know, I don't own a TV."

"Well you are a Lumberjack."

"And so are you-"

"Yep. We're Lumberjacks...you know what else I am though?"

"Hit me with it."

"PISSED DAMN OFF! We were THIS close to beating the Connection and we got screwed over by the nephews."

"Can I be honest?"

"Always"

"I hate those goddamn nephews..I hate the shark guy. I hate the maid. I hate The other giant guy. I hate Thomas West. I hate the wizard..."

"...Keep going"

"I hate Tomas West. I hate Uncle"

"Yeah, no. Keep going. We're still not done."

"...Chubby Carlos?"

"Is he a nephew?"

"Jesus, I don't know. Everyone else is; he might as be one.....It's just so God damn annoying because The Connection are...GOOD. They're so goddamn good. They don't need a country of henchmen to back them up and help them out and take the coward's way out. How is anyone is meant to get a fair shot at them if they keep pulling that bullcrap?

"Not this week, though...We got our own backup, and we'll see how bad the nephews are when the odds are even, because when the odds are even,...."


"We cut trees..."

"...And break trees"

---

The Blair Wizard Project

A live feed starts from a cell phone camera, but all viewers at home can see are sticks and leaves. Suddenly, the camera lifts up and scans around a dense forest. Whoever is holding the camera can be seen walking through the forest, with it occasionally showing a pair of black boots and paints. A faint voice can be heard in the background as the camera the spins around to show who's talking.

Standing in the woods is Blair Ravenwood.

Blair Ravenwood: Keep that on me sister. This is important stuff...

Celestia continues to film her sister as the two walk through the woods.

Blair Ravenwood: You wanted to know where Kleio has been? You wanted to know what we've been planning Celestia? Well you're about to find out.

The two sisters continue through the woods, with Celestia following her older sister diligently.

Soon they reach an old and mysterious tree. On it seems to be some sort of weird ancient markings, left in red. Blair looks at the markings and smiles. She turns back to her sister.

Blair Ravenwood: We're getting closer to him.

Celestia's confusion can be heard from behind her camera.

Celestia Ravenwood: Him? Sister, I thought we were going to find Kleio.

Blair smiles at her sister through the camera.

Blair Ravenwood: We are, but in order to do that...we have to find someone else...Kleio is our Witch Queen. But do you know why we've been doing so well in the ring? It's because she's been doing the hard work for us. But it's time for us to do some of the hard work ourselves. That is why we have to find The Wizard.

Celestia Ravenwood: The Wizard?

Blair Ravenwood: The Sane Wizard.

Celestia Ravenwood: Harry?

Blair Ravenwood: Harry The Sane Wizard has been an important part of Uncle's army. We have an opportunity to take care of him soon enough. In these woods, holds something important. Something that we can use to find where The Sane Wizard gets his power. This tree, this is a sign. It's a direction pointing us on where to go. Are you read to follow me sister?

Celestia is hesitant, but follow her she does as the two continue through the woods.

After some travel they reach a very scary looking house. Celestia looks nervous as she walks around the creepy house that looks like it's long been abandoned.

Blair Ravenwood: Are you ready to go in?

Before Celestia can give an answer, Blair goes straight in leaving Celestia no choice but to follow her. The house is dark, and Celestia can smell a foul stench. The light of her phone is the only light they have, as Celestia and Blair both move cautiously through the house.

Celestia Ravenwood: Is this where the Sane Wizard has lived?

Blair chuckles at the question, but doesn't answer as the two witches keep on going. They carefully go down the basement steps...as Celestia slowly looks around the basement...there...standing in the corner is....absolutely nothing. The basement is empty. It's anti-climatic, but that changes when Blair finds exactly what she's looking for...a door. It's a small door, and when Blair opens it up an ever smaller set of stairs that go even further down appear. Blair looks back at the camera and her sister with a smile, before going down the steps without a second thought. Celestia sighs as she follows her sister down the creepy stairs.

Celestia began to wonder if it was even worth it. Harry The Sane Wizard has never been a true threat, especially compared to the other nephews. Sure he had that run with the Gauntlet title, but compared to the rest of Uncle's crew he was arguably the weakest. So why was Blair so focused on him? Was it because he called himself a Wizard?

Celestia continued to follow Blair down the steps, and to both of their surprise the steps themselves have led to a very deep tunnel that seemed to stretch on for miles. Blair gleefully began to run down the tunnel laughing, as Celestia struggled to keep up. Soon enough, Celestia was alone. Celestia began to rethink all her life choices as she slowly walked alone on this dark tunnel in the middle of the woods. She realized that what she was saying of Harry in relation to the Nephews may very well be true of herself. She wasn't as strong as Kleio or Blair. She was the weakest member of The Coven. And now her lack of courage her was proving that.

Celestia took a deep breath, and decided that she needed to keep pushing forward. She wasn't going to be scared anymore. She was brave, just like her sister and just like her queen.

Finally, she reached the end...a set of stairs that went upwards. She went up the stairs without a second thought, knowing her sister probably did the same. Celestia didn't know what was going to be at the top, but she knew she didn't want to stay down in that tunnel. To her surprise, as she got to the top of the stairs, she and the camera saw something...a school!

"Hawgwertz School of Wizardy" was on a sign at the top. The place looked like an absolute dump, which made her sure that Blair was somewhere nearby.

As she walked down the hallways of the abandoned school, she heard a crash down the hall. Celestia ran to see what it was, and went into a dark classroom with no windows. She shined the her phone camera around the room, hoping that the light would give her some idea of what was going on. And standing in the corner, as a girl...a crying girl. The fear returned to Celestia for a moment...but the thought that this could be her sister Blair kept her going forward. Before she could reach out and touch the little girl...the lights in the room turned on.

Celestia turned around and saw both Blair and Kleio standing there. She looked back to the corner with the little girl, and it became clear now with the lights on that the little girl wasn't a girl at all...it was an image of Harry The Sane Wizard. He was still crying, but it was blood that was coming out of his eyes.

She looked back in horror at Blair and Kleio who both stared deeply at her.

Blair Ravenwood: You wanted to know where Kleio has been. Her she is...what do you want to ask her?

Celestia looked shocked. Did she do this?

Celestia Ravenwood: Wh...why?

Kleio smiled at Celestia.

Kleio De Santos: Oh Celestia. It's been some time, and I'm sorry that I've had to keep you out of the loop. But Blair and I both knew that you weren't ready. You weren't strong enough. Too weak, too scared...but this journey? You have proven to us both that you aren't that same scared little girl in the corner. That's the problem with The Nephews, sisters...and it's why I am solely confident that you're going to beat them. Because their entire team is filled with weak little girls. Do you know what the difference is between Uncle and I? Uncle is the center piece of his team. But what happens if you take him down? Well what has happened in the past couple of months without him? Did you even remember The Nephews existed? No, because they didn't. Without Uncle, they are nothing.

But what about The Coven?

It's been quite the opposite hasn't it? While I rule as Queen of The Coven, I haven't been on TV at all...I haven't been with you at all...and you two have shined. You two have proven you can shine without me...something The Nephews will never do. Something Harry The Sane Wizard will never do.

I can finally say it, Celestia...you are ready.

And with that, the live stream ends.

---

There is nothing by the darkness that stretches for miles in front of one Captain Kayden Knox who is seen standing on the bridge of the mighty Bad Reputation spaceship. The ship's lights start to buzz on for a second before quickly fading into dead. Kayden, wearing a red officer's uniform with a pin EE to his side, is running around the bridge flipping switches. He was trying to restart the ship to no avail.

Kayden Knox: Well shit, it seems that the damn cult cut off all power to the ship.

The cult that Captain Kayden Knox was referring to was that of The Nephews an evil group of misfits that have overtaken FWA Coalition a few years back.

Kayden Knox: I was really hoping that after Uncle left, his minions would falter and fall into the abyss. That doesn't seem to be the case.

Kayden was muttering to himself as he opened the doors to the bridge manually. He was then standing in the War Room, the center of the Bad Reputation when another power surge flickers the center console in front of him. Kayden could hear a voice as it fades.

???: Kayden... Are you there?

The voice he heard a million times. It was from his Co-Captain, his friend Gabrielle Montogomery. He had lost contact with her after she went off on a scout mission prior to the attack. Kayden pressed different buttons trying to regain the feed.

Kayden Knox: Fuck, I wish she didn't go out on her own.

Kayden was frustrated he slams his hand on the console. This ship at one time was a juggernaut to the FWA Coalition fleet. Now, well Kayden was determined to keep it as that. Kayden was deep in his thought as a loud thud came from the airshaft. Kayden slowly goes to the ground reaching for his firearm. There was a liquid falling from the shaft and another thud. Kayden puts his eye through the scope and peers through it trying to get a better look. He then would see a pink tentacle. Kayden takes a breath, he ponders what his next action would be. Kayden restrains himself from taking the shot. He decides to regroup, looking back towards the bridge. His plans are thwarted, when a man appears and points at Kayden.

Kayden Knox: Who the hell are you?

Kayden shouts toward the man his firearm now pointed at the unwanted guest. The man says nothing and simply points toward the bridge. Kayden keeping his gun pointed at the man makes his way to the bridge. The darkness that was once there had faded; now Kayden was staring at a number of ships that were aiming at Bad Reputation. The fleets were spread out wide as another thud came from the airshaft.

Kayden Knox: Am I supposed to give up? Do you want me to wave a white flag? I won't I refuse to. I can see that all of this may be crashing down. This is all I have though, and I am proud of it. It took me so long to get to this point, and now am I just supposed to wither and die? There is a will, there is a way.

The man steps towards Kayden, you can see that his face wasn't covered in a mask. No his face had a creature on it with pink tentacles on either side. The creature looked almost squid-like and begin to speak.

The Creature: You do not see the death that stalks you. You wish for a fairytale ending. You will receive a grim one. Your faith is an hourglass whose sands are nearly empty. Do not fight it; Embrace your fate; Welcome your death.

Kayden hears another thud as it draws closer. Kayden notices that his body has formed goosebumps all around him. He takes a deep breath; he points his gun at the creature.

Kayden Knox: My death? I should have died a long time ago, I should have wasted away years back. I am the living embodiment of an Elton John song.

The creature look on not saying a word. Kayden laughs to himself as he goes on. He starts to hum the song, there is another thud closer than it was before.

Kayden Knox: Don't you know that I'm still standing better than I ever did?
Looking like a true survivor, feeling like a little kid.
And I'm still standing after all this time.
Picking up the pieces of my life without you on my mind.
I'm still standing.

Kayden is stopped midsentence as drool drops on his shoulder from above the airshaft. He looks up seeing a creature like the one standing in front of him.

Kayden Knox: Yeah, yeah, yeah.

The creature drops down onto Kayden and latches onto his face. Kayden's firearm goes off as it hits the window. The glass starts to shatter and they get sucked into the void of space. Meanwhile, on one of the ships there is Gabrielle staring at Kayden as his cold body hits the ship. She lets out a cry as the creatures are circling her in the scout ship and we fade to black.