Meltdown XXXII & Fallout 032 || Promo Thread

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Dubb

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Promo Deadlines:
Sunday 6th August at 23:59 Pacific Time.
Which is Monday 7th August at 03:00 Eastern Time.
Which is Monday 7th August at 08:00 UK Time.
Which is Monday 7th August at 17:00 Melbourne Time.

No extensions. Good luck!​



Link to backed up PDF promos: here!
 
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Plain Text:

Landing down in Osaka International Airport, the three young ladies of YOKAI Death Squad roll their bags to the entrance in what is becoming more common for the team, traveling together, now that their schedules have become aligned at long last. All three of them are jet lagged from the long flight. Katsu has her usual privacy mask she wears when in publicly packed spaces, FWA branded tank top and some blue shorts. Cali Hayama has an anime t-shirt on and shorts, with Ririko wearing a bright yellow top and white shorts. Back on the loop, the three have some matches with their home promotion over the weekend then fly back to Latin America for Meltdown and later, FWA Anniversary, what will likely be a very busy night for Katsu.

“That could have gone a bit better.” Cali stretches her back out, feeling tightness after the long flight. She speaks in Japanese. “Vacation beforehand was nice though.”

“I just hope it will go better when we try to talk some sense into Miho Watase and Miss Fuka.” Ririko sighs. She sips on boba tea before continuing. “I have a feeling they’re upset with us after we joined Katsu in FWA too.”

“Saori Suzuki gave me a blessing before I joined there.” Katsu defends the decision her friends made. “She supported you two. Injured or not, she is still in charge and she wants MAYHEM to succeed everywhere. YOKAI Death Squad IS part of MAYHEM. Not those clowns they got. I just hope cooler heads can prevail so we can sort everything before we go to Cuba.”

The three friends step outside into the bright Osaka sun. Cali pulls out a pair of sunglasses as Ririko covers her eyes.

“I really doubt they have calmed down. I honestly think it is more than just them thinking we’re ‘abandoning them.’ Miho keeps calling herself the ‘acting’ leader. Her and Fuka haven’t won a championship in over a year and a half.”

“What are you getting at, Cali?” Katsu asks.

“They’re scared. Jealous.” The Canadian says bluntly. “Miho has always been considered ‘second’ to Saori. Fuka and her are close, but neither have been as decorated as Saori. Then add the ‘young girls’ of the group having appearances internationally, I think they’re tired of it.”

Katsu adds.

“Considering Saori has been nursing her knee for months, they might see a chance to ‘get out’ from out of her shadow.”

“That would give them no reason to be rude.” Ririko pouts. “If they were champions too, I would be happy for them! And I have been in MAYHEM my entire career since I graduated from the dojo. I love being in the group, but they are ruining it!”

“Let us… Not rile ourselves up.” Katsu sighs. “We go in angry, there will be no reasoning with us or them. I also don’t want to deal with being ‘second’ at FWA’s Anniversary…” There is a small hint of bitterness under Katsu’s voice.

“You’ve done great in FWA.” Ririko gives support to Katsu. “Already been champion.”

“And I lost it fast. And I came close against the likes of MvH, Tommy Bedlam, Black, Cyrus Truth. Fourth in their Carnal Contendership. Then we finished second at Back in Business.”

“Blame me, I got eliminated early…” Ririko pouts.

“And I was eliminated soon after because of a fat asshole.” Katsu says bluntly. “Cali kept us in the match. I just don’t want a reputation as someone who always comes up short in big scenarios.”

“Katsuki…” Cali uses her friend’s real name. “We’ll get back. I hate losing as much as the next person, if not more. But a battle royale has a lot going on. As for your Steel Roulette match.” Ririko’s phone goes off and she checks it as Cali is talking. “We will be supporting you from the outside. You’re not used to that kind of match, but I KNOW you’re ready and can adapt.”

“About that.” Ririko reads out a message. “She might have two matches that night.”

Katsu and Cali exchange glances before remembering.

“Oh yes, the Trios Tournament.”

Cali pats Katsu on the back. “We’ll carry the load.”

“That is if we beat on Meltdown…” Ririko reads out the name of the message slowly. “Bad Boys Boy Band-”

And Cali and Katsu immediately burst out laughing upon hearing their opponent’s names. Ririko, a bit less versed in FWA’s lesser competitors, looks confused.

“Am I missing something?”

“I already beat one of them in FWA… In my debut. I won in two minutes.” Katsu shows a rare moment of unflinching confidence. “We are good…”

“It’s like a night off.” Cali Hayama jokes. “I visited Cuba as a kid. I can show you guys a nice resort. We’ll come down to the match with a tan and pina coladas and still win.”

“I don’t get it…” Ririko mentions. “They’re musicians, but it does not mean they can’t wrestle. There are dozens of wrestlers who are idols also!”

Cali wraps her arm around Ririko.

“The big difference between those idiots and idols is that-”

“The idols are cute.” Ririko responds and Cali chuckles.

“-That… And that while usually Idols go through tough training for wrestling and their dancing and are actually competent, the Boy Band is about as dumb as a doorknob.”

“They actually thought I was a real vampire…” Katsu sighs. “Then again Trixie too did but she just became a champion.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me.” Cali turns her head to Katsu. “It’s a big change from when I first saw her to now.”

“But can she sing and dance?” Ririko jokes, trying to keep things a bit light-hearted. Both her friends let out a hearty laugh.

“I am not much of a dancer myself. There is a reason why when I have a YouTube video titled ‘Woman with No Rhythm plays Rhythm heaven.’ But while we’re on the topic.” Cali catches her breath from her laughing. “Seriously, since we’re talking about it, the Idol industry is messed up.”

Katsu nods in agreement. Ririko blinks, staying silent.

“I have seen many wrestlers who did both careers retire from being an Idol first before wrestling.” Katsu adds. “That entire profession is hard.”

“Yeah, when being dropped on your head seems more appealing, there is a problem.” Cali jokes.

“I have seen the effects of it on some wrestlers who have done both. It makes the schedule I take seem light. Several become scared of an injury in wrestling causing them to be let go from whatever Idol group they are part of.”

“And don’t get me started on their ‘beauty’ standards.’” Cali rolls her eyes. Ririko remains unusually quiet.

“I know a girl who did modeling and wrestling. She tells me all the time about how her modeling agency freaked out when she got a single scratch on her face after a match. Take that, and multiply it by one-hundred when it comes to Idols. They also tell them they need to look a certain way, act a certain way 24/7.”

“If I was an Idol also, then I would have extra reasons to wear a mask. I don’t think I would want them to know. Those who try to do both I do not envy.” Katsu shakes her head.

“Yeah, and what happens if someone ‘younger or prettier’ gets recruited? You’re out. It’s more cutthroat than you’d think. It makes YouTube seem more stable by comparison.”

Cali turns to Ririko.

“So yeah. Ririko. Take what you think about the Idol industry that is here. Maybe make it slightly tamed, and the fact that these guys can’t wrestle, that is basically what those Boy Band guys we’re facing on Meltdown do… apparently.”

“They tried to sing me this song ‘Vampire Girlfriend’ before… It was not very good…” Katsu shutters, thinking back to her on camera debut in FWA.

Ririko holds her arm and doesn’t directly look Katsu in her eyes. She says somewhat quickly.

“Yes. Silly music people. Idols. Boy bands, who would want to do that AND wrestle? I wouldn’t. Hehe. We will win on Meltdown. That is certain. Then Anniversary where we will have a big night.”

“And hopefully we can get this ‘MAYHEM fracture’ mended beforehand.” Katsu says, trying to be optimistic. “Leave no distractions for the Trios tournament, your CJW Tag championships, and my Steel Roulette Match.”

“Remember, together, we can do it.” Cali winks before throwing three fingers down forming an “M.” Katsu returns it and Ririko hesitates a second.

“Ririko, are you okay?” Katsu asks, noticing Ririko is a bit off. The bubbly powerhouse snaps back to reality and exchanges their stable sign.

“Yes. Just- I am very tired. I still take the train to get to my apartment in Tokyo…”

“Traveling is not easy, I understand. Hope you have a safe trip.” Katsu gives her a grin before Cali turns to her.

“Katsu, you still got the spare computer so I can stream at your apartment?”

The masked Joshi nods and rolls her eyes.

“Yes. Just please don’t do it when I’m trying to sleep… Again.”

“I’ll try. I’ll try.”

The three give a small group hug. With their schedules now matching and after spending some weeks in Japan, the friends are closer than ever. But-

Something is off for Ririko.

Katsu and Cali head their separate ways with Ririko standing at their spot in front of the airport. She sighs. Something is starting to hang over her head. But she shakes out of her fog and heads on her trip back home.

YhWKZTZfHHU1Y9FBkYmvCRpqXEAJzm_QNXwa9wJ9KU9VLgPov-lG7N4KUIQJgab-7WjzpRJ0_oaNZ6VmIUaeGHUE5DMfb3itlbxw6Y8yAqxcHH7p5xUrEEPxP8vcHVQkfchZXWXCN3RN34oqlG08mnA


After several hours on the train, for the first time in weeks, the Joshi heads back to her apartment in Tokyo. Ririko leans her bag against the wall and her arms slump. She’s tired. Looking around the apartment, it is in a bit of a mess. More compact than the usual American apartment, most of what she has is in her main room including a sofa, kitchen, tv, and her bed near the windows showing the Tokyo night. On the wall are pictures and posters. A good chunk are of her adventures in wrestling and outside of the ring, especially with Cali and Ririko.

Mixed in are various anime posters and posters of various Japanese bands, including some Idol groups. She takes out a stuffed otter from her bag and goes over and takes a seat on her bed. Looking at her wall, she sees a poster. On it is an idol group, lots of pink. The name is MOTION GIRLS and it is advertising a try-out in 2016. Before YDS or even her inMAYHEM. It is worn and slightly ripped. Ririko sighs and thinks back to that day. She takes her laptop off her desk and puts it on her lap. After some fidgeting around, she finds an old file. A video from that time. She opens it and it begins to play.

She sees her younger self walking up onto a stage. She’s maybe in high school. Her hair is its natural black, not even dyed red at this point, but she was already pretty tall as compared to most Japanese women her age. She has a t-shirt and shorts on. The logo of the group is behind her on a poster. Ririko has some nerves as a woman speaks to her in Japanese.

“State your name and age miss.”

Ririko stutters.

“R-Ririko. Sixteen.”

“And I trust you have your parent’s permission?”

She nods.

“I handed the form in and they are here watching.”

“Always nice to see a family supporting a young girl trying to chase her dreams.”

We hear papers being flipped through. Ririko stands nervously.

“It says here you’re Five Foot Nine. That’s taller than any members of our team. Certainly taller than most girls in our industry. Are you sure this won’t be an issue?”

Ririko shakes her head. Strange question to start.

“No, miss. I will try really hard!”

There is some whispering in the background with some Japanese. Audibly, one thing can be heard.

“I doubt she will meet our image standards.”

And Ririko, likely hearing it, freezes in place.

“Very well. Tell us a little about yourself.”

Nervously, Ririko answers.

“I am from Nagano, but my family moved here a year ago. I am also training to be a professional wrestler with a local wrestling company.”

“My goodness, what are you going to do, piledriving your fellow dancers?”

There is a mostly humour filled tone with the woman running the try-out. Ririko gives a nervous laugh.

“Haha, no. Being a wrestler is not just about fighting, it takes great coordination and being able to connect with a crowd, much like being a performer on stage. There are multiple Idols who also do wrestling so why can’t I?”

“We will see about that.” The woman politely says to Ririko, though some whispering is picked up by the camera. “Insuring this young girl will be madness! What if she breaks her neck in a match?”

Ririko’s nerves are building.

“First we will see your dancing and if we like it, we will call you back to see your singing. We do it this way because we always can use extra background dancers… Even if they may stick out in the background. We understand you have a routine ready?”

“Y-Yes miss. I gave the DJ the song.”

Trying to relax herself, Ririko takes a deep breath in.

“And action!”

Music begins to play in the background.

Ririko begins her dancing routine. Though she appears to have rhythm and has practiced the routine, with her nerves, you can tell she’s thinking hard about each next step and she’s tried to make the routine around the fact her body is lankier than the average girl. But, she’s slowly getting into it.

With each step to the beat, the room around her begins to disappear to her. A smile begins to appear on her face and some observers from the room begin to clap. But just as she seems to be in a groove-

She crosses her leg and trips, face planting.

“Enough! Enough!”

The music stops and Ririko wipes her face. We see a woman appear on stage in a white and black dress, clipboard in her hand. She’s a bit older, likely a former idol herself. Looking down at Ririko, she scolds her.

“I have seen some lackluster performances today but this is the worst of all!”

Ririko looks up, heartbroken. She is already on the verge of tears.

“Let’s see. First you come in here with your ugly face.”

The future wrestler freezes. Even looking back, Ririko is having a hard time watching this over again.

“With your body that will CLEARLY need to lose a few inches, and I’m not just talking about your height… Coming in here expecting she can be a big star with MOTION Girls! Your body is uncoordinated. You are not marketable at all, why are you wasting our time!”

“B-But I’m a really good singer. I swear.”

Ririko gets to her knees, but doesn’t have the courage to stand up and look this stuck up woman in her eyes. Tears are starting to roll down her cheeks

“Non-sense, why don’t you go back to your wrestling so you can be a savage! You will NEVER connect to anyone as a star. Begone with you!”

A man and a woman go up on stage, likely Ririko’s parents. They help her up and appear ready to bring her out of here. But Ririko’s takes a step forward.

“No. I will become a great wrestler and be more famous than I ever will be with you!”

“Security!”

RIriko’s parents pull her by the arms and lead her off stage as the video ends. Ririko, after looking back, struggles to hold back tears. She mutters to herself.

“She hurt me so much that day… But if it was not for wrestling, I don’t know where I would be. One love died that day, and I threw myself into another. I haven’t even sung since.”

She sniffles, closing her laptop.

“I had that chance to be famous in Mexico. But I let my friends down. I was eliminated early. I am a Japanese girl struggling to learn English. The only way I could have connected to those fans was in the ring. And I let them down. Now I’m a nobody. Cali fought bravely, Katsu may be a future world champion, but what about me?”

Getting up from her bed, Ririko looks at the poster of the group that rejected her years ago.

“I’m pathe-”

She stops herself. Some anger builds in her, but she does something that Ririko can do. Turn it into a positive.

“No. Thinking that won’t help. I have amazing talented friends who will support me. I will be strong.” She puts her hand on the poster. A small smile appears on her face.

“These girls are not my idols. Cali is. Katsu is. Saori is, and I idolize myself for how far I’ve come. These girls will be a distant memory.”

She rips the poster off the wall and crumbles it up.

“I will work hard. I will make new fans and friends in America. They will look up to me. How I will do it… I still don’t know. But maybe winning the Trios Championships will help.”

Wiping a tear from her cheek, Ririko raises her voice. She happily says out loud.

“Watch out, world! YDS is going to be big! Ririko is going to be a big star!”

Ririko tosses her poster onto the floor and collapses backwards onto her bed. She grabs her stuffed otter friend, holding it to her chest, her coloruful hair sprawled out on the bed. Eyes closed, she grins to herself… softly muttering to herself

“Just you watch…”

Letting her exhaustion takeover, Ririko lets herself fall asleep, all with the hopes that one day-

Her dreams will come true.
 
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It's the same scene that has haunted us every week for the past few months. People crowding around various landmarks, people in crowds, taxis, stopping in blurs that go on down the streets...and goes down....and down.... what seems to be quite a gloomy and grimy alleyways deep in the middle of the night, a cold, dark place...Down...Down...Down into White Chapel...Down into the abandoned barber shop...Down into the bowls of the barbershop...

Down into the clearly dilapidated building, rusting and rotting from the inside, we're taken into the inky darkness, and after a beat, we hear a chilling sound...

SNIP...

SNIP...

SNIP...


The dull orange flickering overhead lamp into life, revealing the massive shape of Jack The Ripper or, to be more exact, his back turned away from us as he looms over his tools of the trade.

"Welcome back, welcome back to The Clipper shop."

The camera swings over to reveal the pale and gothic features of one of the scissor sisters, Jack The Clipper's valet. Barbara? Dyeanne? No clue, don't ask me- Those two look exactly the same; one seems to be spitting on the ground, charming. While the other looks into the camera and speaks with quite a royal-sounding voice tilted with excitement.

"Jack's getting his tools ready for the grand opening at Fallout in Kingston, Jamaica..."

As she speaks, Jack holds up a pair of gleaming scissors to the light.

"Look at the shine, look at how-"

"OI! SHUT IT!"

A gruff rough voice echoes through the building as both Scissor sisters instantly look sheepish and grow quiet as the man turns to the camera.

"I ain't got time for this spooky bullcrap; all I got to say is this-

"Imma send you all to hell....

lookin' like a gent."
 
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Toy Story XXX
Starring Undisputed Xperienx w/ Monica, Antonio, and Bubbles

*Knock, knock, knock*

Inside the locker room of Xperienx Xtacee, Monica is knocking on a closet door. Antonio is leaning on the wall next to the door, looking at Monica with a little bit of a sad look on his face.

Antonio: "Monica, I told you he's not coming out of there. And you know it's better for him to be in there when he gets like this anyway. He doesn't like when people see him like this."

Monica: "Well, we can't just leave him in the literal closet."

Antonio: "This is the one time that his being in the closet is the best thing for him."

Monica: "What about Jackson and Nate? They don't know about this. The three of us need to keep it that way. Not just from them but from everyone. X is always loud and boisterous; we can't let anyone see him when he gets quiet like this."

Antonio: "What about the pill? Don't you have more in your bag?"

Monica: "We used the last one a few weeks ago. I have to go back to the club in Vegas to get more."

Antonio: "Damn… We'll have to let it pass, then. He just needs to regain control over the situation."

Monica: "Our poor baby…"


Antonio quickly claps his hands in front of Monica's face.

Antonio: "Let's get it together, girl; just think about the fun we all had with Jackson and his gi-"

(UA makes a loud entrance into the locker room)

Jackson Fenix: "Hey, hey, party people!"

Jackson notices the somber mood of the room and looks over at Nate, who nods at him to take the hint, and Jackson relaxes a little.

Jackson Fenix: "Oh, hey, sorry, is this a bad time? Where is XX?"

Monica taps on the closet door next to her and Antonio.

Antonio: "In the closet."

Jackson Fenix: "Did he lock himself in there? Do you have a spare key?"

Nate Savage: "Jackson, I don't think he accidentally locked himself in there. I don't think it's any of our business what's going on with XX right now."

Monica: "Sexy and smart, I like you more every time I see you, Mr. Nasty."


Monica blows a kiss at Nate.

Nate nervously rubs the back of his head with his hand and blushes.

Jackson Fenix: "Heh, it's too bad Nate missed out on our fun time after our match at Back in Business."

Nate Savage: "Yeah…wait…what? What fun time?"

Antonio: "I was LITERALLY just bringing that up to Monica to brighten the mood. That was such a fun night with all of us and Hazel. I can see why you love her so much."

Monica: "She's such a good smoocher!"

Nate Savage: "Clearly, I missed out on something."

Jackson Fenix: "Uh yeah, well, we all got together after the show, and one thing led to another. We didn't think you'd like what we were doing, so we didn't invite you, but for some reason, you look upset; why?"

Monica: "For the record, I was thinking about you the entire time, babe."

Jackson Fenix: "See? You were there in spirit…sort of…in a way."

Nate Savage: "Well, you are right about me being upset, but you are also right that I wouldn't have liked whatever it is I think you did. I'm upset that I didn't even get an invite! I was invited to everything else we've done, but this one time, I didn't get an invite!"

Antonio: "Well, golly-gee mister, I didn't think you'd feel so strongly about missing an orgy."

Monica: "Oh! Maybe his knowing the story about the toys would make him feel better. What do you think, Jackson?"

Jackson Fenix: "I don't know. Do you want to hear the story, Nate?"

Nate Savage: "Well, even if I say no, you will tell it anyway, so go ahead. I don't know if it'll make me feel better."


Monica excitedly puts her hands on Nate's shoulders and makes him sit down on a nearby chair.

Monica: "Oh, you're going to LOVE this. Believe it or not, it all starts with Hazel and this bag she brought in…"

Monica explains every little detail of what went on that night. The extremely explicit nature of their sexual escapades brings a sea of reactions to the face of Nate Savage. He goes from shocked to frightened to disgusted and even impressed at the activities of XX, Monica, Antonio, Hazel, and his partner Jackson Fenix. There are mentions of giant purple objects, straps, a swing, incredibly wrong use of wrestling moves, a dolphin outfit, Jackson's clown friend standing in the corner, and a confetti popper.

Antonio: "Oh, and then Jackson did this cool thing with a golf ball too. He's not the one I expected that from, but it was so hot."

Nate doesn't quite know how to respond to that or all the stories he just heard. He's doing his best to wrap his head around it all.

Nate Savage: "Oddly enough, it sounds like an X-rated version of Toy Story, and I thought that little weirdo Jeremy's obsession with that movie was extreme."

Jackson Fenix: "Oh yeah, the golf ball trick. That was something I picked up back in college."


Nate looks at Jackson like he can't believe what he just heard. He does his best to move on from that.

Nate Savage: "Anyway, as I was going to say, as…interesting as that sounded… I'm relieved I wasn't invited…no offense ... but it made me feel better if I'm honest."

Monica: "Yay! You know I'm all about making you feel good. Maybe we'll invite you next time."


She winks at him.

Nate Savage: "If that happens, I'll consider it."

Jackson Fenix: "I wonder if the golf ball trick would work against our next opponents."

Nate Savage: "Jax, please forget that golf ball trick. I've learned more than enough about you that I didn't know already."

Jackson Fenix: "Can Bubbles join us at ringside?"

Nate Savage: "Who or what is Bubbles?"

Jackson Fenix: "Our new mascot, Bubbles the Clown."

Antonio: "I love Bubbles."

Monica: "Me too! How can you forget Bubbles, Nate!"


Monica slaps Nate roughly on the shoulder.

Nate jumps out of his seat and stumbles back into Bubbles standing behind him. Nate turns around, and he's immediately startled.

Nate Savage: "Where did he come from?! How long has he been here?!"

Bubbles honks his little horn at Nate and smiles. Monica and Antonio clap with glee.

Jackson Fenix: "You don't want to know where that horn has been."

Nate Savage: "Uh, yeah, I'd rather not know, but sure…he can come with us."


A sudden bang on the closet behind them catches their attention. Monica and Antonio look at each other with worried expressions.

Monica: "Uhhhh…"

Antonio: "Relax, Monica."


The closet door swiftly swings open, and out steps Xperienx Xtacee, dressed in his normal fabulous ensemble but absolutely drenched in sweat.

Monica: "Honey, are you alright?"

Antonio: "X, how do you feel? Can you say something, baby?"


Xperienx Xtacee reaches out and rubs the cheeks of both Monica and Antonio before looking over at Nate Savage and Jackson Fenix.

Xtacee: "Hello, boys. Sorry for the delay. I'm ready to kick some Longhorn reject behinds."

X goes to the locker room door and opens it.

Xtacee: "Shall we, my lovelies?"

Monica and Antonio smile and clap happily before heading out the door. Nate Savage follows behind them. X stops Jackson just before he exits the room. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out… a golf ball, which is met with giant smiles by both men. X then points at something behind Jackson.

Bubbles points at himself, and X nods. Bubbles excitedly hops around in place before letting Jackson hop on his back, and the two of them ride off out of the room, Jackson excitedly pumping his fist with the golf ball in hand.
 

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It has been a weird few months for Lucy Lupone. A few months ago, she was looking to graduate top of the class in college, well on her way to becoming a doctor...

Then she was kidnapped by her two large Lumberjacks brothers, and after a psychedelic trip in the middle of a forest, she made the wonderful life choice of dropping out of school and becoming a pro wrestler.

Admittedly that was an odd choice, but thankfully having mind-blowing litigations in the middle of a forest had no more effects on her.

Which is why she needed to go to Jamaica to pick up her brother's axes.

Lucy recently realized a key way of going shopping-

Step one: She needed a lot of time behind her, years spent living and existing until she reached a point where she believed that she existed and that a physical item existed, that the concept of ownership exists, and that, improbably as all those are, these absurd beliefs line up in a way that results in you owning an item.

Good job. Nicely done.

Second, Once she believes she owns an item, she must reach a point where she needs the money more than she needs the item. This is the easiest step. Just own an item and own a body with needs and wait.

The only pawnshop in the local town that FWA was staying in had no name, but Lucy had begun to realize that if she needed something, she'd know where it was, and this knowledge would come suddenly often while she was in the shower. She will collapse surrounded by a bright glowing blackness, and she will find herself on her hands and knees, the warm water running over her, and she will know where the store that sells axes is. She will smell the soap and feel a stab of panic about how alone she truly is.


Much like most showers, she's taken.

Before the shopkeeper could offer Lucy the axes, there would first be some hand washing, which is why there were bowls of purified water throughout the shop. Lucy needed to chant a little as she washed her hands.

Yes, of course, she should always chant when she washed her hands. It is only hygienic.

When she had been properly purified, she would then ask for the axes, and the shopkeeper would look at them, in thought, before saying, "Eleven Dollars" Even though Lucy had just met this woman, she knew she would always say "Eleven Dollars" and Lucy would not respond. She was, ultimately, unnecessary to this process. She was, ultimately, unnecessary.

"No, No", she will say, waving her hand. and then she will name her actual price. Usually, it is money. Sometimes it is other things. Sometimes it is dreams, experiences, visions.

Then Lucy will die, but only for a little while.

The axes will be given a price tag. Eleven dollars, everything in the store was that price no matter what you bought in it.

Once Lucy was no longer dead, she would be given a ticket, which later she would be able to exchange for the axes, or at any time, she may look at the ticket and remember the axes. Remember, the axes are free.

She was leaving the story now. She was only an example, and it is probably safer for her not to be in this story anyway.

"Hey, Doug?"

"Yes, Dan,"

"Should we be worried we sent Lucy out to pick up our Axes from the store and she's just been staring at a wall crying for an hour?"

"Nah, she's fine."
 
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BattleTank

What A Maneuver!
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Badlands Trailer Park
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|| VOLUME II || CHAPTER I ||

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|| 1 || One Year of Dust || April 2023 ||

The opening guitar rift of “What It’s Like” by Everlast slowly plays as we see a scenic shot of the big billboard that engulfs The Badlands Trailer Park appears. The once vibrant and colorful sign is now reduced to the “B” and “S” in Badlands still visible, while the rest of the letters are so faded out that only a townsperson would know the original signs intentions.

We then head to a familiar place- “The Showman” Chris Crowe’s double-wide trailer, which has certainly seen better days. To the random outsider, this trailer is abandoned. There is no possible way that one, let alone two people can reside here. Overdue bills form a mound on the front porch. The front window is broken, with a bedsheet cut out into its mold, held together with duct tape.

The infamous lawn chair set-up in front of the trailer where Crowe and Crazy Harry would shoot the shit about general FWA chatter, their upcoming opponent, and life as it was is covered in one year of dust. Yes, surprisingly enough, it has been over one year since “The Showman” was on top of the world. He had anything and everything he ever wanted, more than 99 percent of the people he lives with in The Badlands could ever dream of.

But it all came crashing down for Chris Crowe as quickly as he ascended. This time, it wasn’t drugs, nor was it alcohol that led to Crowe’s demise. It was himself. His 31-going on-71-year-old body wore down. His thoughts and worries engulfed his days and nights. Sleepless nights led to days filled with bad habits. Sure, the drugs and alcohol didn’t help, but Crowe wasn’t dependent on them.

It was the pressure. The pressure of carrying himself and Crazy Harry to a professional standard. They weren’t “corporate” by any means, but the pressure of having to say and do things that they knew deep down wasn’t the carny way they were brought up doing-for the lack of a better term- it took its toll on the both of them. For the first time in his professional wrestling career he had a title-not just any title, but the prestigious North American title- and held it for more than a cup of coffee. He put meaning behind the title, holding it for close to nine months. With that title came press conferences, meet-and-greets, and everything else in between related to publicity. “The Showman” was not a public man. It ate away at him so much that he had to step away for over a year…

So…what have “The Showman” and Crazy Harry been up to for the last year?

“We've all seen a man at the liquor store beggin' for your change
The hair on his face is dirty, dread-locked, and full of mange”

The front door to Crowe’s trailer swings wide open with the early morning wind. Inside we see Crazy Harry fast asleep on the couch inside “The Lab” where Crowe and Harry break down matches and take notes on their opponents. It is no longer “The Lab,” but more of Harry’s sleeping quarters. An almost empty bottle of Jack Daniels lay beside Harry on the table next to the couch.

Chris Crowe’s best friend and trusted confidant inside the squared circle snores loudly. Harry has given up on hygiene. His crazy hair is crazier than it has ever been before. His beard is long and patchy and filled with leftover food crumbs. Pizza grease engulfs the front of his shirt.

Beside the empty bottle of Jack Daniels sits Harry’s favorite picture, with the frame kept perfectly in-tact enough for one to think it’s the only thing not broken or beaten inside the trailer. The picture is from after Meltdown X, where Chris Crowe defeated Gerald Grayson to retain his North American Championship. It was one of Crowe’s hardest defenses, and probably his most proud defense. In the picture, Crowe has his arm around Harry, who holds the North American title high above his head. The two are genuinely smiling, something that is a rare occurrence. It was such a happy time. Although it was only some fifteen months ago, it feels like the photo was taken fifteen years ago…

“He asks a man for what he could spare, with shame in his eyes
"Get a job you fucking slob, " is all he replies…”

On the opposite side of the trailer sits Crowe’s bedroom. We pan in as the floor is covered in clothes. A stack of boxes with unsold merchandise, such as the best-seller “Fuck Em Up Showman!” t-shirts, now casts as Crowe’s dresser. All of Crowe’s personal belongings sit atop of the stack of boxes.

Inside Crowe’s bed lies Crowe in between two women. No, these are not the expensive type of women that Crowe used to go for. The budget is low for Crowe at the moment. The two women might have twelve teeth between the two of them, and they outweigh Crowe by a substantial amount. Their arms and bodies are flanked with tattoo ink. Each one snores loudly. So loud that it quickly wakes Crowe up out of a sound sleep.

“The Showman” awakens from his slumber and looks at each woman, shaking his head in disgust. He attempts to reach over one of the women for his tin of Copenhagen mint tobacco. The woman is too big and Crowe is too deep in his bed. He jolts forward and grabs his tin. He proceeds to pack a nice early morning hefty lip as he sits up, head in his hands, pondering about his current life situation.

Off to the side is the same picture Crazy Harry has kept in immaculate condition of the two after Meltdown X. Crowe looks over at the picture and lets out a dismissive laugh, knowing that the highest of highs are so far gone that he is relegated to a fat chick threesome to attain normalcy.

“God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in his shoes
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to sing the blues…”

“The Showman” climbs over one of the women and puts on a pair of shorts. He looks down at the stack of boxes from yesteryear and opens the top one. He digs down deep into the box until he pulls out his lucky gold coin- the one that was given to him by The Ghosts of All Souls Past after he successfully made it through Hallow Soul Valley back on Halloween of 2021. Crowe holds the coin in his hand, rubbing his mother’s engraved initials. He really studies the coin, thinking about all of the good it has brought him. He lets out another dismissive laugh as he looks at the coin and then his bed, which is still occupied by the two dollar store hookers.

“Lucky coin my ass!”

Although the lucky coin hasn’t brought Crowe much luck in quite some time, he still puts it in his pocket every single day. Part of him does it out of habit, but the other part does it with the hopes that maybe, just maybe, today will be the day his luck changes for the better…

Out of habit, Crowe turns his phone on to check for any messages or voicemails. He then realizes he hasn’t paid the bill in over six months. It’s a phone without a carrier. It’s a pair of tits on a bull- it’s useless!

Crazy Harry jolts out of his slumber, sitting straight up…

“Where the fuck is it? I just had it in my hands!”

Crazy Harry is looking for the legendary blood-stained North American title that he slept with every single night during Crowe’s historic reign. After realizing he hasn’t had the title alongside him while he sleeps since July of 2022, he slowly and sadly snaps back to reality, throwing his hands up in frustration…

“Aww fuck man! I can’t do this anymore! I can’t live like this! WHAT THE FUCK!!!”

Crowe, now standing in the kitchen, looks over at his best friend.

“Pipe down over there. You’re gonna wake our guests. And I haven’t paid them yet. The longer they sleep, the longer I don’t have to empty out the loose change jar.”

Harry stands up, stretching. He looks over at Crowe who is scrounging through the cabinets, looking for anything to eat.

“Showman, you think today’s the day our luck changes?”

Crazy Harry asks his best friend. Crowe is preoccupied with finding a box of cereal deep in the back of his overhead cabinet. He doesn’t have any bowls to eat it out of, as he and Harry smashed them all against the side of the trailer to get their daily frustrations out. Crowe digs his hand into the box and pulls out a handful of cereal.

“Don’t see why today will be any different than the past six months…holy shit these are stale! I think I broke my tooth!”

Crowe tosses the box of stale cereal to Harry who puts it down. Harry then reaches into his pocket and pulls out his food stamp card.

“No need for government assistance today, my friend! I forgot. My two companions Door Dashed McDonalds late last night.”

Harry looks at Crowe with a wave of confusion…

“What the fuck is a door dash?”

“No fucking clue. But that’s what they said they did. The one started tapping away at her phone. And then poof! Ten minutes later there’s two big bags of McDonalds on the front step.”


Harry nods curiously, trying to wrap his head around the fact that there is a way to order McDonalds directly to your house.

“I’m feeling different today, man. I think our luck is gonna change today. I can feel it…”

Harry tries to keep morale high…

“If we manifest it enough, eventually it will happen. But for now, let’s enjoy the floating fries on the bottom of the bag that they missed out on…”

Crowe and Harry sit in the kitchen, pouring the rest of the French fries on the table.

Suddenly, Crowe hears a phone ring. It’s been so long since anybody has called that he even forgot what his ringtone sounds like.

“CHRIS!”

Crowe looks over at Harry, who has a giant smile on his face.

“That’s you’re fucking phone ringtone!”

Crowe looks at Harry in amazement as he rushes into the bedroom, searching for his phone. He is able to answer it on the last ring.

“Hello?”


Crowe anxiously answers his phone for the first time in nearly a year…

“Showman! How the fuck are ya!”

Crowe immediately recognizes the voice on the other end.

“Tommy fucking Bedlam! Is that really you?”

Harry lets out a big fist pump, as he loves Tommy Bedlam…

“Yeah, buddy! It’s me, alright. The fuck you been up to, partner?”

“Not a whole lot, to be honest. Had a threesome with two chicks that you would be very proud of! But how did you get through? I haven’t had a call come through since I left the FWA!”


Crowe and Bedlam share a laugh.

“Well, I needed to get in touch with you. And I didn’t feel like driving all the way through God’s country to The Badlands because I didn’t know where you are shacking up these days. So, I did the next best thing, I paid off your phone bill. I never new BadlandsMobile was an actual thing!”

“Ah shit, Tommy. Thanks for paying my bill! I guess whatever you needed to reach me about was that important…”

“I’m not one to get teary eyed but I miss the shit out of you and Harry. I miss Deathswitch. The way we ran shit. I went to bat for ya. Now, I’m not promising ya the moon and the stars, but I at least got you a date to meet with FWA management. Clear the air. They miss you too. We all miss you, Showman. You belong in FWA. You don’t belong wandering around The Badlands all night. We need to get you and Crazy Harry back in the ring. Back in FWA. Back where you two belong…”


Crazy Harry is hanging on every facial emotion Crowe makes. Crowe eventually hangs up the phone with Tommy. He looks over at Harry as tears stream down his face…

“The FWA wants us back!”

Crazy Harry lets his emotions run free as he begins to sob tears of joy. He hops into Crowe’s arms as the two run around the kitchen with excitement.

“I knew it was gonna happen eventually!”

Harry says as he shares a long embrace with Crowe. It’s a serious embrace. It’s a life and death embrace. They only have one shot to right the wrongs. To get back on national television. Once shot to turn everything around….

One more shot at a better life…

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|| 2 || Choices || January 1992 ||

“Mary got pregnant from a kid named Tom that said he was in love
He said, "Don't worry about a thing, baby doll, I'm the man you've been dreaming of"

We cut in to what appears to be the same trailer Chris Crowe and Crazy Harry occupy at the moment. The inside of the trailer is a lot nicer than how Crowe has it right now. Picture frames, flowers, pillows, basically everything you could buy at JC Penny back in 1992, hang from the walls. The smell of sweet apple pie fills up the small trailer. Off to the side, a woman takes silver wear out of the drawer and places it down on the small kitchen table.

The woman is visibly pregnant. She holds her pregnant stomach and takes a seat over on the couch.

“A few more weeks and you get to meet the world!”

The woman says as she rubs her stomach, talking to her unborn child. She smiles and sings it a faint lullaby as she holds back tears. On the side table next to the woman sits a stack of bills. “OVERDUE” is the word that keeps appearing as she flips through the envelopes.

So…who is this pregnant woman?

She is Madeline Crowe-mother of “The Showman” Chris Crowe. Growing up, Chris Crowe never knew his father. His mother would quickly change the subject whenever the little Showman brought it up.

Madeline hears a knock at the door. She gets up as quickly as she can and answers it, expecting to see her then-boyfriend Fred. Instead, she opens the door to see her boss, and possible father of her unborn child, Lucian Carnivale. Yes, that Lucian Carnivale- the illustrious carnival and wrestling promoter. Chris Crowe’s father figure growing up. Ultimately, the man that was never seen again following the forest fire that transpired after he took Crowe and Harry hostage back in 2021.

“Three months later he say he won't date her or return her calls
And she swear, "Goddamn, if I find that man I'm cuttin' off his balls"

Back in January 1992, Lucian was running wild with Grave Danger Promotions, and Madeline Crowe was his secretary. We will leave it to you all to fill in the blanks…

“Mr. Carnevale, can I help you?”

Lucian lets himself in while patting Madeline on the shoulder.

“Please, it’s Lucian. We’re off hours.”

Madeline quickly shuts the door and changes her tone…

“Lucian what the fuck are you doing here? Fred is about to come home from work!”

Lucian makes himself at home as he takes his shoes off, sits down on the recliner where Crazy Harry now parks himself for most of the day inside “The Lab” and kicks back.

“Y’know, Maddy. I’ve been thinking long and hard. I think that *points to Madeline’s unborn son* isn’t what we need right now.”

Madeline is taken aback at Lucian’s comments.

“What WE need? You already told me this boy will never know you even exist. I’m raising this boy on my own. He will never know the ugly side of Grave Danger Promotions, because he will never be involved!”

Lucian dismisses Madeline’s words as he takes a look at all of her overdue bills. He flips them through his hand like a stack of cards. He then pulls out a wad of cash.

“C’mon Maddy. The electric bill? How’s your son supposed to watch television if you can’t pay the bill?”

Madeline stands stern in front of Lucian.

“I want you to get the fuck out of my house, now!”

Lucian snaps his head around, anger forming across his face.

“Listen here. And listen good. You are NOT having that baby! I’ve already scheduled you tomorrow at the Covenstead Clinic. You’ll meet a very nice doctor. And a very nice receptionist. I’ve arranged it all. Just drive to Ravenwood Road, and they’ll take care of the rest…”

Madeline attempts to reason with her boss and possibly father of her unborn son, but Lucian has the gift of gab and wields more power than anybody else combined in The Badlands…

“This is not up for discussion. Don’t bring the kid into this fucked up world. It’s for the best…”

Lucian gets up and leaves as Madeline sits down on the couch, tears begin falling down her face.

“And then she heads for the clinic and she gets some static walking through the door
They call her a killer, and they call her a sinner and they call her a whore”

“Madeline, the car is running. Are you ready?”

Harriet, Madeline’s best friend and pseudo-midwife is at the door. It’s been a mere twelve hours since Madeline was paid a visit by Lucian, and she has decided to obey Lucian’s orders. Madeline and Harriet are heading to the COVENSTEAD CLINIC, as Lucian’s words spoke true to Madeline. A bastard child, coupled with the mounting overdue bills, dust on lawn chairs, and just an overall shitty way of life, Madeline has decided to follow through at the clinic…or has she?

Harriet helps Madeline into the car as the two drive out.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Maddy?”

A concerned Harriet asks her best friend.

“I don’t really have a choice. You know Lucian runs The Badlands. I don’t know what would happen if I didn’t follow through with this.”

The two continue to talk about life and everything else in-between as they take the long Ravenwood Road towards the clinic. An ominous feeling overcomes Madeline as they park in front of the clinic. She looks up to see hundreds of black crows “cawing” through the massive trees surrounding the small building.

“Look at all them crows…”

Madeline points up, but Harriet can’t see them.

“Maddy, you must be seeing shit. There aren’t any crows in the trees…”

“God forbid you ever had to walk a mile in her shoes
'Cause then you really might know what it's like to have to choose.”

Maddy and Harriet walk up the front walkway towards the Covenstead Clinic. There are a few heckling protesters on each side of the walkway. Harriet covers Maddy with her coat as they head inside.

Once inside the Covenstead Clinic, a very ominous feeling falls over Madeline. She can’t figure out just quite what it is, but something is terribly off. Madeline puts her ominous feelings aside and heads to the front desk. A woman with a very mysterious complexion awaits her. She has on a nametag that reads “CELESTE.” Celeste has very dark eyes and raven hair. A noticeable witchcraft type ring sits on her right index finger. It creates a reflection as she types away at her computer as if sparks fly from her fingertips.

“Umm, hello. I’m Madeline Crowe.”

Celeste is less than interested in Madeline as she continues to type away. After a long pause, she looks up at Madeline with a snarky look on her face.

“Lucian’s whore?”

Madeline is taken aback at the comment. Harriet, being Madeline’s best friend is ready to throw down, but Madeline backs Harriet up from the front desk.

“You don’t need to sign anything. I know most of you Badlanders can’t read or write. Just go down the hall to the second door on the left.”

Celeste goes back to typing away as Madeline stares down the long hallway. Harriet holds her hand for comfort until Madeline lets go and begins to walk.

She sits down on the doctor’s table as her thoughts begin to consume her.

“Is this really the right choice?”

“I’m tough enough to raise a child by myself!”

“But what about money? How can you even afford diapers?”

“We can make this work, I know it!”

Finally, the doctor pops open the door. He is a large man with slicked back silver hair. His shirt and tie are too short for the size of his body, and he has a rather disheveled quirk to him.

“Hello. I’m Doctor Blair. Lucian told me alllll about you.”

Dr. Blair says in an almost sarcastic tone.

“So, uh, Mary, ah, no, Megan…hold on, Madeline! That’s it. Madeline…we doing the standard procedure today?”

Dr. Blair seems a bit too over-anxious to get this done with.

“To be honest with you, Doctor Blair, I’m still unsure about this whole thing.”

Dr. Blair’s demeanor changes to a bit more aggressive as he slams down his clipboard.

“Look, I’m not here to cast judgement. But obviously your life choices aren’t the greatest, or you wouldn’t be here in the first place…am I right?”

Madeline grows angrier with each passing word from Doctor Blair…

“I already have a name picked out…baby Christopher!”

“Well, I’m sorry to inform you but baby Christopher doesn’t stand a chance to leave the gutter…”


Meanwhile, in the waiting area, Harriet has her eyes locked in on Celeste. She has stared a hole through Celeste since she sat down. “Come As You Are” by Nirvana plays quietly over the radio inside the office. With each amazing guitar rift, Harriet grows more pumped up and angrier…

“What the fuck are you staring at, bitch?”

Celeste shouts as she snaps up from her computer chair…

“You better watch your fucking tone, Celeste.”


Suddenly, a male orderly appears. He is a large man, with long black hair and a big beard. His nametag reads “TOMMY.”

“Ma’am, is everything alright out here.”

Tommy asks Harriet.

“It won’t be if this bitch keeps talking. You’re used to having things stuffed in your mouth honey, why don’t you go find somebody to help you with that…”

Celeste tosses her cup of coffee half way across the room at Harriet!

“I’ll kick your white trash ass, and knock out the two teeth you have left, you Badlands whore!”

Celeste shouts. Harriet has had enough and stands up, wiping the hot coffee off of her lap as she races towards Celeste. Tommy tries to stop Harriet but to no avail. Harriet is on a war path! She grabs a stethoscope off the wall and swings it at Celeste, drilling her across the face! Celeste falls to the ground as Harriet mounts her, wildly swinging lefts and rights! CATFIGHT AT THE CLINIC!

Tommy is amused by this, and waits for Harriet to get a few more digs in before grabbing her.

“C’mon, we gotta move fast. I know what that son of a bitch Lucian has in store for your friend. Now, I may work here, but I don’t agree with any of this shit that’s supposed to go down right now…”

Back in the doctor’s room, Dr. Blair pulls out a vile. Madeline can see on the top of the vile, in somewhat invisible ink, is a skull and cross bones. Dr. Blair has some sort of poison in his possession!

“Now, just sit back, relax. I’m gonna give you a calming agent so we can start this process.”

Dr. Blair draws the liquid from the vile.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go through with this…”

Madeline is extremely apprehensive about this whole situation right now.

“God damnit, you’re doing it! Lucian promised me the big bucks!”

Dr. Blair has the syringe in hand as he forcefully grabs Madeline’s arm. Just as he does…

HARRIET AND TOMMY BLAST OPEN THE DOOR!

Tommy drills Dr. Blair with an uppercut that sends him flying over his chair and onto the ground!

“C’mon, Madeline. Let’s get the fuck out of here!”

Tommy guides Madeline and Harriet through the long hallway towards the fire exit. Celeste and Dr. Blair are hot on the trail as Tommy, Madeline and Harriet bust through the fire exit. They begin to run through a vast open field. Dr. Blair and Celeste have now morphed into super-humans who are practically flying through the air, making up a lot of ground on the trio. Madeline trips up and falls to the ground.

“Ah, fuck. I think he’s coming! My water just broke!”

Dr. Blair and Celeste tackle Harriet and Tommy to the ground. They stand up and circle Madeline, who is now clearly in labor.

“You are NOT having that baby!”

Suddenly, thousands of crows begin to form a tornado-like funnel around Madeline. Everything goes completely pitch black for over ten seconds. The crows squawk loudly as the speed in which they surround Madeline can only be described to an oncoming locomotive.

And just like that, the crows disappear. Dr. Blair and Celeste also disappear. Tommy and Harriet snap back to reality to hear…

A baby crying…

Not just any baby…

Baby Christopher…

Crying in his mother’s arms…

Wearing a black baby top hat on his little head…

Madeline holds her new son as tears weep down her face.

Tommy looks over at Harriet in astonishment, befuddlement, and everything else in between.

“Uhh, what the fuck was that?”

Madeline looks over at Tommy with a smile on her face…

“That was fate…”

Harriet races over to Madeline and embraces her. She takes a peek at baby Christopher wearing his little top hat.

“Baby Christopher, born by fate.”

Tommy, who didn’t know either of these women until about ten minutes ago also embraces Madeline.

“Look at his hat. He’s like a….little showman!”

Madeline smiles as the kisses Christopher.

“He’s my little showman…”

The three continue to embrace as Madeline grips baby Christopher as tightly as she can. He was supposed to be born, and he will do great things. He will reach great heights. He doesn’t have a choice, but his mother did…

sTKclKj.png


|| 3 || Fate || July 2023 ||

“I've seen a rich man beg
I've seen a good man sin
I've seen a tough man cry”

We head back to The Badlands, and present day, as Crowe and Harry sit outside of their trailer on their tried and trusted green lawn chairs. It’s been a few months since Crowe’s surprise appearance in the Carnal Contendership match, a match that put Crowe back into the good graces of FWA management. So much that they offered him and Crazy Harry a new contract, and basically a new lease on life.

The duo sip on cold Budweiser beer cans as they ponder life, and we cut in while they are in the middle of a very serious conversation…

“How much did those two charge you for the night?”

Crowe looks over at Harry and laughs, while he finishes his beer.

“Harry, that was like three months ago. I don’t know the exact rate. I do know they got mad we ate the rest of their bag of McDonalds…”

Crowe winds up and tosses the beer can at the light post- the one that he used to throw at- and drills it right in the center.

“Bullseye mother fucker!”

Crowe shouts as he and Harry fist bump.

“Oh, don’t forget. Today we gotta go downtown and get our physicals from the doctor. We need to get cleared before returning to action.”

Crowe hates doctors, and is not happy about it.

“I’m not looking forward to some creepy old doctor fondling my junk, Harry.”

Harry looks up at the sky as he nods in approval…

“Hey, he probably won’t be the worst person to ever do it.”

Crowe and Harry share a laugh as both men shake their heads before Harry changes the subject…

“So, we’re back at it. Heading to Jamaica, mon!”


Crowe nods his head at Harry.

“That Tommy fucking Bedlam, man, we owe him everything!”

Harry agrees as he sips back on a Budweiser.

“Now we gotta do right by him, and by ourselves. What do we know about The Coven?”

Crowe scratches his chin as he takes in the fresh Badlands air on his face…

“Two witches. Pretty fucking tough. Pretty fucking hot, too.”

Harry nods in approval…

“I love tough, hot women!”

“But they’re a lot tougher than they are hot, Harry. These two can wipe the fucking floor with us if we’re not ready.”


Crowe knows how much this match means to not only him, but to Harry. They NEED to return with a win. Anything less will be viewed as a failure.

“You know, I haven’t been pinned in like two years. I can’t come back and get fucking pinned. It can’t happen. If Blair Ravenwood hits me with that fucking Shining Witch, it’s all over. Nobody kicks out of that. I think she casts some sort of spell on her fucking feet before connecting with that thing.”

Harry nods, takes another sip before aiming for the light post. He completely misses.

“Well, then I guess we better hit the fucking weights, Showman!”


Crowe finishes one more beer before tossing it at the light post- and once again, drills it right in the center!

“Let’s go fuck some witches up!”

Crowe and Harry head towards the side of the trailer, ready to hit the weights and get training for the big tag team match on Fallout between Chris Crowe and Tommy Bedlam against The Coven!

“I've seen a loser win
And a sad man grin
I heard an honest man lie”

“The Showman” Chris Crowe and Crazy Harry are driving in Crowe’s old, beat up pickup truck. “King Nothing” blasts from the radio as the two rock out.

“Where’s ya crown kiiing showmannn!”

Harry sings along with his own words as he plays a mean air guitar. Crowe isn’t in the mood to bust out his air drum solo. Something isn’t right about this car ride. Cruising on the road is where the two do their best thinking and bonding. However, today feels different…

“Something is off about today, Harry. I can feel it.”

Harry sits up from his seat and looks over at Crowe.

“Not another Hallow Soul Valley?”

Crowe shakes his head as he concentrates on the street signs.

“Nah, but something. Hey, where are we going again?”

Harry looks down at the physical form, tracing each letter with his head.

“Uhh…River…no…Ravenwood Road…”

“Ravenwood Road, are you sure?”

“Yes, Showman. I know how to read…remember you taught me?”’


Crowe shakes his head as he begins to look for the signs to Ravenwood Road. He finally makes out a sign for Ravenwood Road and hooks a left off the main road in town.

Right away, Crowe can tell something is up. Ravenwood Road is filled with bumps, unpaved patches of road, and gigantic pot holes. Crowe swerves around the holes and continues down the ominous road until he sees what appears to be the only structure not a trailer on the road.

“Is this it?”


Crowe asked, a bit confused.

“Must be, let’s go. Get this shit over with. I’m hungry.”

Harry says as Crowe pulls up and parks the car.

The two get out of the car when Crowe can’t help but to look up into the trees.

“Harry, look at these fucking trees. Filled with crows!”

Harry looks up, but all he sees is the vastness of the forest surrounding this doctor’s office. No crows...

“Ah, maybe. I can’t see shit. I should ask this guy for a new pair of glasses.”


Crowe’s overcome with a bad feeling, and reaches into his pocket, rubbing his lucky gold coin.

The two walk in as the place appears to be abandoned.

I've seen the good side of bad
And the downside of up
And everything between

“Hello?”

Crowe shouts as Harry looks around. Everything is dusted over…

“It feels like I’m stuck in 1992 in this shit hole. Look, wood paneling on the walls. A tape cassette. A box television. Showman, what the fuck is going on?”

Suddenly, two people begin walking down a long hallway.

“Excuse me, can I help you?”

A woman says. She emerges through the darkness of the hallway.

“Wow!”

Harry says as he is amazed by this woman. A bit older in age, but aged like a fine wine. She has streaks of gray in between her raven colored hair. She has dark and mysterious eyes that cut right through Harry. Harry is in love.

Standing next to this woman is a very old man. He can barely stand upright. His silver hair is all disheveled, shirt almost fully untucked from his pants. Definitely not the beacon of health for being a doctor…

“Hey doc, I need a physical. For my job. You just need to sign a few papers, no fondling, please…”

“Speak for yourself, Showman! Hi, I’m Harry. Nice to meet you…”


Harry puts out his hand for the mysterious woman to shake but instead she stares down at Harry’s hand in disgust.

“I’m sorry, what did you say your name was?”

“I didn’t. But it’s Chris. Chris Crowe…”


The doctor and his assistant immediately look at each other. Anger begins to form across their faces. It sharply turns into smiles after making eye contact.

“Chris Crowe. Sounds familiar…Chris Crowe…Chris Crowe…”

“You probably know me from FWA…”


“No, sorry. I don’t watch baseball….Chris Crowe…wait…Christopher Crowe?”

The doctor’s eyes light up…

“That’s my given name, doc…”

“Your mother…Madeline Crowe?....”

“God rest her soul…”

“Ah, anyways. Of course, I can give you a physical for your job. Come right this way. And Harry, was it? Harry, go right ahead with my assistant, she can sign off for you…”


“I licked the silver spoon
Drank from the golden cup and smoked the finest green
Stroked the baddest dimes at least a couple of times

Before I broke their heart”

Harry happily skips down the hallway, following the doctor’s assistant. Crowe follows the old decrepit doctor into a room.

Crowe sits down on the table as the doctor stares intently into his eyes.

“So, are you up to date on all of your shots?”

“Well, I got a tetanus shot a few months ago. Totally a job accident. Nothing else…”


Crowe smirks at the doctor, but the joke clearly went right over his head. No, this doctor is hatching a far more sinister plan right now in his head.

“Okay, well, just to be safe. Let me give you another one. Then I’ll sign off on your papers and you can get back to work…”

The doctor reaches deep into the back of his cabinet and pulls out a vile. It has a skull and crossbones on the top of it, but with Chris Crowe being the fucking Showman with secret powers, he clearly can see it, and immediately knows something is up.

“Okay, first...this is just a calming agent. I give this to all of my patients to let them settle in. And you, young man, you seem quite tense. This will be good for you. It will ease all of your tensions…”

The doctor draws from the vile…

“The fuck it will!”

Crowe smacks the vile and syringe out of the doctor’s hand, shattering it on the floor! The doctor and Crowe get into a full wrestling match on the floor. Crowe gets to his feet and is met with a hard right hand from the doctor. The doctor picks up the syringe, half full of poison and goes to stick it in Crowe’s arm. Crowe moves out of the way, kicks the doctor in the gut…

AND HITS THE DOCTOR WITH THE CLOSING ACT!!!

“Mother fucker that felt GOOD!”


Crowe smiles as he hits The Closing Act for the first time in what feels like a hundred years. Crowe has no time to rest on his laurels, as he hears shouting in the room over.

“Chris! CHRIS! This bitch is crazy! We gotta get the fuck out of here!”

Crowe and Harry rush down the long hallway, sprinting for an eternity until they find a fire exit. They barrel through the door and end up in a gigantic, open field.

“What the fuck was that?”

Harry asks, but they have no time to stop as the doctor and his assistant are hot on their trail! Crowe and Harry sprint through the field until Crowe gets caught up on an old piece of barbed wire fencing. He falls to the ground as Harry races back to Crowe. The doctor and his assistant now circle Crowe and Harry…

But they aren’t the only thing circling “The Showman”….

A hoard of witches, dressed in all black from head to toe begin to circle Crowe and Harry.

“You might have gotten away some thirty-one years ago, baby Christopher! But not today!”

Crowe and Harry look at each other in confusion. One of the witches has a torch in hand, and slowly closes in on Crowe. Instead of lighting Crowe on fire, she strikes the torch down on the ground, and now a WALL OF FLAMES engulfs Crowe and Harry!

BUT THAT’S NOT THE ONLY THING CIRCLING THE CIRCLE!

A flock of crows, moving at break-neck speed begin to form a tornado-like funnel around Crowe and Harry. Everything is completely pitch black. The only sounds Crowe and Harry hear are loud squawks and wings flapping…It feels like an eternity, but in reality is only mere seconds…

And then suddenly…

The skies brighten up…

The circle of fire has been put out…

The witches are gone…

Crowe quickly checks on Harry…

“I’m fine. I’m fine. What the fuck was that?”


“What the fuck was that? That was a fuckin save!”


A familiar voice answers Harry, and it wasn’t Crowe.

Harry and Crowe look up to see INSANE LARRY! Insane Larry-Crazy Harry’s older brother who is the general of the Ghosts of All Souls Past Army, who has saved the duo multiple times in the past!

“Insane Larry, you fucking did it again you crazy sum bitch!”

Crowe shouts out. The heap of a skeleton rides his horse up to the duo, tipping his green and black top hat out at them. Harry embraces his brother for a brief moment as tears stream down his face. It’s always an emotional time for Harry whenever he gets a chance to see Insane Larry, as the times are few and far between…

“Welcome back, mother fuckers! Now go kick some ass on Fallout, we’re all pulling for ya!”

“You know where it ends, yo,
it usually depends on where you start…”

And just like that, Insane Larry lets out a loud whistle as the Ghost Army vanishes into thin air. Crowe and Harry stand in the middle of the field, looking at each other.

“How did that doctor know who you were?”

“I have no fucking idea! But I do know one thing…I’M BACK!”


Crowe and Harry share a high five as they just escaped death for another day. The two wipe the dust off their clothes as they begin to walk back to the truck. The doctor’s office has vanished into thin air along with basically everything else sans Crowe and Harry. The two get into the truck, shaking their heads.

Crowe looks down at the papers they needed for their FWA physicals. He stares at the top of the page.

“Harry…”

Harry has somehow found a bag of chips, and is snacking away on them.

“What? I told you I was hungry! Here, I'll save some for you...”

“Harry…”


Crowe continues to stare at the paper.

“This doesn’t say Ravenwood Road. It says River Wind Road.”

“Close enough. I thought I told you River Wind Road? What does it matter?”


Crowe shakes his head, laughing. He now knows about everything that just went down…

“Because Ravenwood Road is a story that my mother used to speak of when I was young. There was some type of clinic that housed a fucking witch coven. A bunch of bat shit crazy witches that Lucian paid off after he heard my mother was pregnant with me.”

Harry pours the bag of chips into his mouth, looking for the last crumbs.

“That mother fucker's been trying to kill you since before you were even born! Guess we're still one up on Lucian, huh? That doctor must have been his goon. He looked pretty tough...”

Crowe places the papers down and lets out a sigh of relief. Throughout their time at this doctor’s office, Crowe found the one thing he was looking for- his confidence.

“Not after I hit that fucker with The Closing Act!”

Harry nods in approval…

“Guess it was fate that I read the wrong street name after all…”

“Yes. It was fate.”


“Good ol fuckin fate…”

“Fucking fate! Me and Tommy fuckin Bedlam are gonna kick some ass!”


The two drive off as “King Nothing” blasts on the radio. “The Showman” had found everything he needed to step back into the FWA with both feet before today except his confidence. Once he hit The Closing Act, it was like a new lightning of confidence was shot back into him…

All because…

…of fate…

sTKclKj.png
 

Grimoire Lenin

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The House at the End of Forever

Chapter 3
Thalassophobia


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“Ḯ̶̪̫̳͇̰͙͔̳͜ ̸͓̭̙̠͎̻͕̥̲̲͇̮͉̟̤͋̈́̅̇͛̌̈̎̚̕d̴̘͈̬͚̗͔̱͗r̸̡̺̯͙̯͉̟̰̈́̈́̉͑͐́̑̅̋̓́̃̕͝͠ͅè̸̢̡͕̲̱̼̞̥̘̭̒̀̾͒̊̔̉̏̍̀̚a̷̧̛͖͙̝͎̜̳̠̳̱̓̀̋͂̔̌͜͝ͅͅm̶̟̦͖̻̟̬̪̗̮̽̏̀͘̚ ̶̧̢͙̠̦͇͌͂̉͊̓̒ő̸̤͇̣̯̞̙͉͍̅́͊͆̋̏ͅf̵̘̼͓͓̰͠ ̴͓̪̱͈̳͇̱̦̠͉̭̫̿́̏̒̎̍͆̆̓̀̽̇̓̎r̵̛̝̈́̅̓̀̉̈́̈́̏̌͋̕͠ȅ̴̟̯̼͑̓̑͛͆̇͛͛͐͛̇͠d̴̦̰͖̖̬̜͛͑͜ͅ ̸̗̥͎͚͎̺̹̜̪̮͑̈͜͜w̷̭̝̬͈̰͎̟͉̫͇̏͊͋͘ͅą̶̛̯͙͔̠͗͂͛͋̑̏̑̕t̸̢̨̻͈̦̯̝̜̩̬͋̈̔̒͂͘͠ͅͅė̴̳̌́̃̐͆͌͊̊̋̎̂̚͝r̸̬͙͙͙̄̒̽͂͐͝,̷̨͍̩̟͎͙͓͚̱̺͉̪̼͓̉ ̸̤̻͓̣̻̹̔̄̈́̌̊͛̀̂̋̒̚͝ͅa̶̫̼͠ͅn̴̢̢̝̖͓͊̂̈͋̌͂ͅd̷̯̼͈͇̟̱͓͔̱͒̂̏͆̈́̀͛̄͑͜͜͠ ̷̣͚̗̎͊̃͆̇̃̒̀s̷̱̦̠̉̓͒́̊͐̾̂̋͑͂̈́͆̇͝į̷̞̫͎̫̳̗̜̦̲̻̫̈̄̽̒̀̌̈̈́̌̆͐͗̾͘n̷̢̢̢̘̼̫̤̟̗̥̈̍͊̆k̵̨̨̭͉̳̠͓͖͖̻̇͐͛̂i̵͙̙̳̠̝͎̭̩͚͇̘͕͔̍̉͗̆̈́̿̑̇̆̿̽̚n̶̰͂̇̑̌͊͝͝͠͝g̵̨̘̘̮̹̝̘̟̮̮͒͊̊̉̈̃ ̴͔̽̏̆͛̕u̸̥͛̃ṋ̶̛͈̗̘̖̪̟̘́̉̇̑̿̓̉d̸͈̟̜̯̣̂͋̓̔̀͘̚ĕ̵̝̰̝̄̾̐͑͆͒͋͆r̶̠͙̻̫̻̮͕̖̟͖͍̲̽̋̾̂̒̊̋͘n̴̢͍̼̭̣̅͒̓͋ͅe̸̡̦͉̝̞̣̦͓̊͌̀͂͜͝a̸̧̱͔̻̫͋̈̀͛͒̂̓̐̕͜t̴̛͕̜̯̙͚̥̦͎͍̜̾́͝h̷̼͙̖̮͕̤̊̀̄̽̒͒͆̂͊̆̂̉.̸̜̰͈̰͓̫̻̠̪̐͛̒̈́̈́̄̅̓̑͆̊͜͠͠”



She can feel herself sinking, slowly being driven down into the inky crimson blackness of this void. She watches the surface go further and further away from her. Her breaths escape her, and her will to resurface drains away. All she can think about now is… simply to keep going. Further and further down, into the darkness below. What is the point of coming back up? The red, watery depths are where she belongs. There is nothing in this world for her anymore. The crimson waters have washed away all the glory, prizes, and missions. Any safe harbor has been swept into its clutches. The sun that once fed the world life has given way to worrying clouds of darkness. The world is no more; all that is left is to sink.

It is destiny that she should not fight it any longer. It’s her place in the world, after all. Like all those with hope, dreams, and fantasies, she will be swept away by time and her superiors. They tell you to “shoot for the moon, and even if you don’t land, you’ll be among the stars.” Yet they don’t tell you how triumphant pride precipitates a dizzying fall. Oh, how to come so close to your dreams… yet be so far from touching them!

All that’s left for her is to be swallowed whole by the abyss; for her breath to draw to an end, and to be embraced by the cold touch of death. She feels so constricted now as she clutches her throat, and her eyes grow wide in shock and despair! She isn’t ready for the end yet! The light on the surface grows weaker and weaker. She reaches for it, crying out wordlessly for it to return to her. Yet she can’t get there…
Aka Yurei awakes in her bed, caked in a cold sweat, grasping the air for something. Anything. Some sort of feeling she can grab onto other than the wallowing pit of despair and misery she keeps finding herself in. She isn’t sure where she is. Her other hand reaches about on the surface that she lies on… It’s soft, comfortable, and for lack of a better term, it’s… safe. Yet she feels so distant and out of place. When she rises from her prone position, she peers over to the alarm clock that sits on her desk that sits on her nightstand. In luminescent LED green, the clock flashes the time. 04:35 AM… It’s too damn early, but Aka’s seemingly been getting up at this time the last few nights. She looks around more into her surroundings. Yeah, this is her bedroom, alright– So what is this nagging feeling eating away at her?

There’s this sense that she doesn’t even exist, a feeling of identity lost. She’s dissociated from herself. It’s all she can do, to be honest. To keep from screaming, crying, and perhaps from feeling so much vindictive anger in her soul. Not some time ago, Aka Yurei and her partner were in a wrestling ring. Not just any squared circle– but the biggest stage of them all. Back in Business: The grandest event in the FWA. The show from which legends are made. So where’s Aka Yurei’s epoch? Well, it doesn’t exist. Maybe it never really existed in the first place. I suppose it was just some faint dream held onto with naive apprehension. It wasn’t so much losing that hurt Aka Yurei. She’s been defeated before, and she’ll continue to do so time and time again. It was who she lost to, and the way she lost. Once again, she never even mattered. An afterthought in the aftermath. It all came down to the Champions, and their little drama– Their little issues– THEIR STORY.

What even is the fucking point? Aka Yurei continues to have these thoughts float in the back of her mind. She tries to shake it out as she crawls her aching body out of bed. All she needs is a hot shower and some hot coffee, which’ll be like the last few days. Continuing, ongoing, and void of any real meaning, all while horrid dreams plague her at night. She turns and looks at herself in the mirror propped up in the wall. Who even is that in the mirror? Well, she’s pretty, that’s for sure, but how come Aka Yurei doesn’t feel like herself anymore?

On the other side of the house, there was Aka’s partner. She sat at a desk, reading through pages of a black leatherbound tome. On the front came bold Chinese lettering, and underneath it, sat its English translation: “The Art of War” by the legendary philosopher Sun Tzu. Keiko Hirabayashi looks dead to rights. She has not slept since the day of the fateful fight. Deep bags form under her eyes. Yes, it has been three days since she last slept. It is this unhealthy obsession, that seems to have completely taken over her. She relives the event of Back in Business over and over again. She couldn’t do anything to affect the outcome; she was not responsible for the final decision. She and Aka Yurei didn’t win, but… everyone will say they lost, despite not being soundly or decisively defeated. The words of Sun Tzu echo in her head, “Victorious warriors win first and then go to war, while defeated warriors go to war first and then seek to win.” A simple quote, but Keiko peers over it again and again. Behind her, in the back of the room, sits a mirror, halfway covered, but just enough to keep anyone looking above the waist from being able to see themselves…

Keiko slams the book down after a bit of time in frustration and grasps another book. This black paperback piece, with gold-colored indentations on the spine. In the same lettering, the book's name is written: “Necronomicon: The Best Weird Tales of H.P. Lovecraft”. In these tales, there is an overwhelming theme of unknowable, and inexplicable horrors, that come from the stars, or the seas. Perhaps the thing that captures Keiko’s imagination is the horrible mysteries of the sea. In the history of mankind, we have explored nearly every plot of land on Earth by the late-20th Century; there are no more worlds to discover, and there is nothing left to colonize by the powers that be.

Yet in the vastness of the world, we have only discovered a fraction of the world underwater. Indeed, the ocean is so vast in its mystery that we will likely never discover everything there is to know. Some people cannot fathom what lies below; thus they fear it. Such a thing is called Thalassophobia: the fear of the ocean deep. Its unknowable and aquatic depths bring much mystique to so many people. Yet as time passes, the ocean has begun to swallow lands whole.

The many stories of Lovecraft detail this point profoundly, such as his most famous writings: Dagon, The Call of Cthulhu, and The Shadow Over Innsmouth. Keiko pours over these pieces of text as if her life depends on it. Yet her head continues to droop and nod. She’s tired, desperately so; that tends to happen when you’ve gone nearly three days without sleep. “I refuse to be humiliated like this–!” She exclaims and slams her hands down upon the wooden desk. She mutters to herself and walks out of the library, looking to make herself yet another cup of coffee in the kitchen. It’s all the thoughts of her being considered a failure that pops into her head– She hates these thoughts. They pull some deep, long-repressed memories from her subconscious out, like a zombie rising from the proverbial grave. If she sleeps, it’ll come to her in the middle of her slumber, and snatch her mind like a robber. This is why she can’t sleep. She needs validation, she needs proof that she isn’t a failure.

Steam begins to build up in one of the other rooms of the house. Hot water shoots from a shower head down into the bath basin below. Aka washes her face with this stream of comforting water. Sometimes, the only thing someone needs is a nice hot shower. Her hands gently press themselves against the white tiles of the shower. Her head nods a little bit, she still feels tired after that horrible dream she’s been having, then rests her forehead against those porcelain tiles. Their cold stony feel is nice against the incredible warmth of the falling water upon her body. Droplets of water bounce against Aka’s skin, and she closes her eyes for a second. It’s the only moment of solace she seems like she’s able to get lately.

After a few moments though, her mind seems to slip away. It becomes blank as the torrent of hot water rains down on her repeatedly. It’s kind of nice, to be honest; to not have to think about anything, to not feel anxiety or frustration or sadness over not achieving her goals. It’s the blankness of the moment, and the simplicity of a hot shower that she chose, rather than a cold one, that puts her mind at ease. It doesn’t last for long though.

A few seconds is all that was needed for that sinking feeling to settle in. Aka opened her eyes and looked to see herself sinking yet again. The bottom of the tub completely disappeared, and the water that rushed down and pooled more and more into the tub was that remarkable shade of red, like in her dream. At first, it was slow, but the moment Aka opened her eyes, it became a sudden drop. Deep into the inky-red watery depths. Her entire body is submerged, and she struggles mightily to keep her head above. She flails and desperately attempts to cling to something, anything. Yet she fails, and underneath she goes. She gasps for breath as water rushes into her lungs. She chokes and coughs and violently thrashes for anything to help save her. There is nothing that will come to her aid. The light from the bathroom seemingly continues to grow fainter and fainter, the deeper she goes into this oceanic body that has emerged from her tub. She feels the darkness taking her, and as if the hands of fate pull her down, she finally relents and releases herself into the cold embrace of death.

Of course, when she opens her eyes for real, she finds herself lying in the fetal position of her bathtub, the hot water still coming down on her. She feels something other than the running water coming down her face. It’s instead tears falling from her eyes. This has been her nightmare ever since the loss. The same dream every time she closes her eyes. At first, it was once a night. Then it became when she slept in bed. Now it’s even when she naps; something has overtaken her dreams, and she does not know how to purge it. She crawls out of the shower, and wraps herself in a towel, kneeling onto the toilet. Aka simply rests her head against her knees and silently weeps. It’s too much for her. First, that incident with that ladder that kept growing; now this? Nevertheless, she needs to push forward. She has to be strong; so she might as well get on with this abnormal day. Some coffee will be nice.

It is here where these two girls, our protagonists, victims, and mentally fucked human beings run into one another, just getting a cup of coffee to keep from thinking about other things. Keiko hasn’t changed out of her clothes from yesterday; they’re pretty much not as clean as they were 24 hours ago. Her own branded T-shirt, thigh-long jean-shorts with some blue DC sneakers, and some black socks. Pretty good-looking in casual attire, if you ask me at least. Aka on the other hand, just got out of the shower, and to be honest, changed into whatever worked today. A red tank top over a black sports bra, and shorts that were even shorter than Keiko’s. They both make eye contact with one another, as Keiko pours some of the brown caffeinated nectar into a white mug emblazoned with the English ship the HMS Victory, the oldest serving vessel in naval history.

There’s an awkward silence between the two. They haven’t exchanged much talk since Back in Business. Maybe they were too embarrassed to admit that they couldn’t face such a huge defeat. Maybe they both understood that they needed space. It doesn’t matter, does it? Nevertheless, we see a great juxtaposition between the two. Aka has slept every night but with this recurring dream of hers, this nightmare of suffocating under pressure. Keiko has refused to sleep and knows that doing so may bring some terrible thoughts back to the surface. Keiko’s hands seemingly tremble a little bit, not out of tension or fear… she’s just so tired.

“H-hey– Keiko. Another sleepless night, huh?” Aka calls out to her partner and, I guess friend? “Ah, A-chan. Yeah… still can’t sleep.” Keiko calls back, taking a seat after finishing pouring some coffee out. Aka sits on the opposite side of the table, and isn’t sure how to start a conversation… Keiko sighs and turns to Aka, following a sip of coffee from her cup. “Well, they’re giving us a rematch against the champions…” Aka’s eyes flicker a little and her ears twitch upon hearing the news. “Oh– Is that so? That’s nice of them.” Aka stares down at her drink. She doesn’t want to get her hopes up. It’ll just be the same story; her white whale: The FWA Tag Team Champions still have the FWA World Heavyweight Championship in their possession. As long as that fact remains, there’s no reason to be excited. She couldn’t do it against Golden Rock, and she couldn’t do it against FTN. “Why in the hell does FWA allow double champions in the first place?”, Aka thinks to herself. Maybe it’s not fair to judge a company for having such good competition, but she does feel a sense of bitterness.
“You know, something A-chan? I fucking hate this.” For the first time since they’ve teamed up again, there’s a sense of anger and frustration from Keiko. She’s supposed to be the one who’s calm and cool under pressure. Yet here she is, livid at the circumstances. “I hate everything about this. I can’t sleep knowing that people think we’re just another team now. How we didn’t win at the biggest show of the year. Most of all, I hate those pricks, Peacock and Black. They waltz out there, in their goddamn truck, acting like fools. I don’t care that one of them is the World Champion. Why should we go out there and wrestle if they’re not gonna take anything seriously?” It’s cutting words, but she means every word. Keiko’s aggravated at everything.

“I know how you feel. I’m still upset over the loss too–” Aka begins to speak but she’s immediately cut off by Keiko slamming a fist down at the table, causing Aka to jump a little. “We didn’t lose! Don’t ever say we lost that match! We weren’t pinned, and we didn’t give up! I don’t care what anyone says.” She speaks in a rough tone, not necessarily angry at Aka, but stern enough to point out that she isn’t happy with the idea of being labeled a loser. Aka’s unfortunately fallen into that sort of line of thought. “Sorry, Keiko. I get it though. It just… happened again to me. To be so close and to have it ripped from me by some other team’s issues.” She reminds herself yet again of that Golden Rock match. The kick that knocked her out still reverberates in her mind, and how Devin Golden and Randy Ramon tore apart during the match. Then it flashes forward to Back in Business, with Alyster Black pushing Chris Peacock off the ladder and into the mass of humanity below. It wouldn’t be so bad if it wasn’t so deliciously ironic.

Not to mention that the one time Aka beat a legendary team, she lost the title immediately to another legendary team, and was betrayed by her partner afterwards. Now she has to attempt to push all that aside one more time, and now face off against FTN one more time, where they could definitively lose here. It’s so suffocating. “So what did you dream about tonight, A-chan? The same thing again?” Keiko breaks up the thoughts by asking the same question she’s asked Aka every morning: what has she been dreaming about? “Yeah– I keep dreaming of the same thing. Ever since that loss. It keeps coming back to me and I feel scared, Keiko. I dream of red water, and sinking underneath.” Aka answers honestly. She doesn’t understand why it’s this dream in particular, but she feels some sense of deep, underlying dread. Keiko looks at Aka, and this expression of concern and worry washes over her face, if only for a moment. “I think you keep putting too much pressure on yourself, A-chan. I’m sorry that I may push you hard too… I just want us to be the best. I’m sorry you’re struggling with this…” Keiko sighs a little and stands back up, shifting everything over to be next to Aka.

Aka peers over to Keiko, and realizes she’s much closer now. A little red tint glows on her face before Keiko rests a hand on Aka’s shoulder. “I don’t know why, Keiko. I just don’t feel like myself lately. I’m starting to feel more and more like the ghost I pretend to be. Part of me just… feels like I’m slowly only able to feel alive when I put on that facepaint. Maybe I’m just tired, or maybe this dream is making me feel like I’m losing it. I just– I don’t want to feel like I’m going crazy anymore.” Before Aka knows it, she’s embraced in a tight hug. Keiko holds her closely and refuses to let go for a long time. “You’re not going crazy, A-chan. We’re both just frustrated and angry. Those two champions get to walk away from things without a care in the world. Y’know what the issue is, I think? I don’t think Alyster Black or Chris Peacock even know what it’s like. They do what they like and they don’t care about anyone else. Not really, anyways… I– They’ve never struggled with personal stuff, and they have all the success in the world. You had to claw your way off the streets after running from an abusive family, and you were strong, A-chan. Even with your problems, even though you sold yourself on the streets, even though you felt like killing yourself… You held on and you made something of yourself. You’re stronger than anyone else in this company. You’ve got a lot more heart in you than many others.”

Aka feels a little comforted by the words. Her heart beats a bit from it, and she does feel that sense of lost identity begin to dissipate from her. “Thanks, Keiko. I appreciate it… You’re pretty strong too though. What with how your childhood was, from how you told me about it. It was rough for you but you held on and were stronger for it. How many people in the FWA can say they’ve struggled the way we have?” The two share a smile with one another, and Aka leans over a little closer to Keiko. Their tired bodies rest up against one another, and they both seem to soften up their troubles with one another. At this moment, they feel a sense of emotional warmth together that seemingly pushes away their troubles. “Do you think we have a chance against FTN? I mean, genuinely, seriously?” Aka sighs and wonders aloud.

“If I’m honest, A-chan? I think we do, but… it depends on how things play out. It’s just… we both know we’re not established yet. You may be a former FWA Tag Team Champion but… we’re not exactly the stars that maybe FTN are. Maybe that’s what’s holding us back. I know we’re better than them. I know that they still have problems, as much as they want to pretend they don’t. You don’t think Alyster Black doesn’t want the World Title for himself? Not to mention I’m sure Chris is thinking about Randy Ramon–” That name that gets mentioned has Aka turn to Keiko, with a bit of a sad face. “You don’t need to remind me. He still gives me nightmares.” Aka laughs a little, but she wishes she was joking. That Golden Rock match stood as the white whale; the abyssal shame of her career. “Could you imagine if Golden Rock got back together? I think I’d die a little on the inside having to compete against them.” Keiko snickers a little and pats Aka’s head. “I don’t think that’s going to happen any time soon.”

“I know that, Keiko. Just trying to find a little humor in things, knowing that we’ve gotta focus on FTN. I don’t want to let you down again. They’re really good; they’re just like Golden Rock, The Connection, and honestly, even a little like Executive Excellence. I am so blessed to have been given that opportunity and won against Excellence… It’s just hard to keep going like that. When I won the title I… guess I froze a little. I wasn’t sure where to go from there. I let that excitement get to me and I lost it all in the blink of an eye. The Connection and FTN are just more people ready to pound me into the dust and ruin my dreams. It’s why I’ve been feeling so out of place, especially after Back in Business ended. All I could feel was pain, but nothing else; I didn’t even feel any sense of life in me. Like everything had been washed away and all that was left was… just this husk. Maybe that’s why I’ve been dreaming about suffocating and drowning in this darkness. The pressure’s getting to me, Keiko. Not to mention this house continues to weird me out sometimes–” Keiko cuts Aka off immediately, a bit of an annoyed tone in her voice, but still firm in her trust in Aka. “That’s why we have to do our best here. We both need this match more than they do. That Back in Business match should have opened our eyes to that fact. Maybe FTN doesn’t think this match matters all that much. They already won at Back in Business… but A-chan– Yurei Aka…” The formal name-calling of Aka Yurei catches her by surprise. Keiko never calls her by her name. It’s always the nickname affectionately given by Keiko. Aka turns her head and sees fiery desperation and determination in Keiko’s eyes.

“I need this match more than life; more than God himself. I’m desperate for this. I have to win. I need to win, Aka. We need to win. Life will go on regardless of the outcome, but can we say for certain that we belong here if we cannot win this second chance that has been so graciously given to us? Can either of us live with ourselves if we can’t do what we’ve always dreamed of? Will another opportunity like this come again? Simply put A-chan… If we lose this match… then my entire belief in us is proven wrong. We aren’t the best then. We…” Keiko peters out a little after that, mumbling something incoherently to herself. She turns away from Aka and rests her head on the table. Even with a fresh set of coffee, her tiredness is definitely starting to kick her ass. “If we aren’t the best, then we might as well drown in the deepest depths of mediocrity… your red ocean from your dreams.”

Aka frowns a little and understands the feelings. It’s the first time Keiko’s ever felt vulnerable to Aka, for as long as they’ve known one another. Keiko’s supposed to be the rock of this team; she’s cool, calculated, and she is the motivational force. Aka’s the heart, but Keiko’s supposed to be the soul of the team. Yet the “soul” is feeling an identity crisis, while the heart’s suffering from murmurs. This team is close to breaking under the weight of their wishes, hopes, and dreams. Aka reflects for a moment on her time spent feeling isolated. For many things, she has always had to do it alone. In the streets, the only company she ever spent time with was a paying customer. Though that company’s warmth was welcome, it was only fleeting and entirely finite. That kind of bond was still superficial, to begin with. It wasn’t real. It was never heartfelt.

Aka thinks back to her mentor’s warmth. Brian Zewbowski, to whom was his most dedicated disciple. She wonders where he is now; Aka supposes he’s back in his home of Sleepy Oak, Minnesota, “The Most Haunted City in America”; she also wonders if he’s still hanging out with that weird private investigator or something. She does think about the possible excitement of his daughter potentially joining the FWA soon, but she knows that it’s a pipe dream for someone so young. Sarah Dubois jumps into her memory too, the conversations they’d have. Sarah still texts Aka sometimes too. The last time she texted was after Back in Business. [“It’s a shame you didn’t win, Aka! You guys put on a hell of a match; Brian and I were cheering you on the whole way!”] At the time, it was a little consolation knowing that her mentor and friend were watching… but it didn’t put her mind at ease.

Aka then thinks about Keiko. For a time before this, they were thick as thieves, and it was the first time that Aka didn’t feel– completely alone. That was before they split apart the first time. Yet they understand each other better now. Maybe Aka hasn’t completely accepted some things deep inside her, but, speaking candidly, Keiko has accepted Aka now for who she is. A deeply flawed person with so many wonderful qualities. Aka wonders if Keiko had anyone besides her back then, or if Aka was, and is, all Keiko has. The Mistress, as she was known in Japan, didn’t seem to have very many friends back then.

“I– I know I’m always a downer, but to be honest… I want to win as much as you do. I also need this win, you know. I know I won the titles, but everyone thinks it was just a fluke. That’s all my career’s been, to some people. Fluke win after fluke win, but when I’m up against real competition, I fold like a deck of cards. It’s true; I’m scared of failure and not being able to live up to all the potential that my mentor thought I had. His words still ring out to me, ya know? There was a time when… I almost quit. I almost decided to quit and go back to being miserable, because I just… thought I couldn’t make it here.” Aka takes a moment to reflect on that time, a year and a half ago, before the Golden Rock match. The anger and sadness and frustration exuded from her mentor’s voice. The words were harsh, but they also were meaningful. Brian meant what he said about Aka back then. She shifts her eyes to check up on Keiko, who hasn’t risen her head from the table. Aka isn’t sure if Keiko’s even listening anymore, or maybe she finally fell asleep. It doesn’t entirely matter though. “Yeah– Sensei was pretty pissed. He hurt my feelings, but he was right in the end. He told me, ‘You had the whole damn world in your hands, and all it would have taken was even a little caring, and you could be a champion…’ Well, he proved me right. I had to focus, and lo and behold, I became a champion here. It just wasn’t at that moment. I wasn’t ready yet. But you know something, Keiko?”

“Yeah, A-chan…?” Keiko grumbles out, keeping her head resting on the table. Aka has a small grin on her face, now knowing Keiko was responsive and had been listening the whole time. A sort of revelation hits her. Both girls have suffered through their struggles alone, in some fashion. “I think we’re a pretty damn good team. I think you and I could be champions if we also focused: together. However, part of life is overcoming failure. So honestly, Keiko. Whether we win this match or not… it doesn’t matter in the end. It’s how we stay true and believe in ourselves. Maybe we’ll lose this match. Sure, it might feel like we’ll just drown in our failure, dream more of red water, and how we’ll sink underneath… maybe that’ll happen. But to be honest; I’d rather do it together, than alone, which is what the both of us have done all our lives. I don’t want to be afraid of the abyss if I know I won’t be going down alone but with my partner.”

Keiko is silent for a few moments, but then an audible chuckle is heard emanating from her. Keiko understands what Aka’s talking about, and to be honest, those words do hit her hard. Keiko knows that Aka has problems, but Keiko’s got issues too, and she shouldn’t have to be afraid of dealing with them alone. She has someone very near and dear to her right now. “Heh… Not just your partner, A-chan. Your best friend, and someone who loves you very much. I’m glad I have someone like you– I also wanted to hear you say we’d get through this together. It honestly makes me feel… better about myself, knowing I won’t have to be alone in my struggles either. We both need this match, but– we need each other more than anything. I really really want to win this match, and prove everyone wrong but… even if it doesn’t happen, the blow will be softened knowing you’re here… Thanks…” Keiko trails off again, and after a few seconds, we begin to hear some soft snoozes. Keiko has slept for the first time in three days, and all it really took was a little talk with Aka. Aka, for her part, just smiles and rubs Keiko’s head gently. Her eyes glisten as she watches Keiko sleep. A little red blush appears on her cheeks too, after Keiko told Aka that she loved her. It’s a weird feeling, and Aka doesn’t quite know what to make of it– but she accepts it graciously because it’s something heartfelt from Keiko.

Thalassophobia is the fear of the ocean deep. Many are afraid of drowning in this part of the ocean alone, in the vast emptiness that is underwater. Keiko and Aka are both afraid of their own problems, which could very well bring them to drowning in misery themselves and falling into an ocean of despair. The fear of the deep sea or in the case of Aka Manto, suffering alone, can be broken, with lots of work. Keiko Hirabayashi and Aka Yurei both would rather they work through their issues together, than go it alone. Maybe there really was something to Aka’s dreams and Keiko’s book obsessions. Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe Aka Manto will overcome FTN. Maybe they won’t. As Moses of the book of Exodus spread the Red Sea for the Jewish people leaving Egypt, they caught a glimpse of what the bottom of the ocean looked like. For that solitary moment in time, they all sank to the bottom together and crossed safely into new horizons. It’s time for Aka Manto to also cross through the dangerous threshold, and into their own horizons together.
 

Blizzard Boi

Al F'N Blizzard
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sethrollins
The Perfect Path

We see an old building, yet it looks rejuvenated. We make our way toward the entrance and before us, we see three figures turned away from us. As we get closer, they all turn around, revealing Robert Steel, Al Blizzard and in the centre, Jason Quinn. All wearing dark grey cloaks.

Jason Quinn: Well hello there my lovely audience. As you can see, the prodigal sons have finally returned. Myself, Jason Quinn. The Perfect Storm, Al Blizzard and the Enforcer, Robert Steel. We present, the Path.

Al Blizzard: To think the blindness that was bestowed upon me was keeping me from realising the truth and the future that god has planned for us.

Robert Steel: We’ve had the benefit of god’s will and we have succeeded in his trials.

The pair smile and turn to each other.

Jason Quinn: Myself and my humble brothers would like you to join us on our trip through our new place of residence and where you’ll see us more often than not. Come on in.

Jason gestures for us to follow him. The trio all turn in sync and head toward the building. The large oak wooden door opens as they get toward it.

Robert Steel: We pay homage to the history of this building and what it was in a former life.

As Robert says this, we pan toward the walls. Hung up on the walls are glass cubes with items that look awfully familiar. A red hair strand, a smashed glass bottle and a burnt and ripped mask. As we pass the mask, Al shivers a little.

Al Blizzard: This was a place of joy once, a play of laughter, fun and most importantly, love. It was a playground for all. Until a fire struck the heart of the building and destroyed the lives of many.

We pass by a room. In the room, we see a few people chatting, but the door is quickly shut on our trio.

Jason Quinn: It is always rather joyful to see our Path goers convening.

The trio move into an empty room. They all sit in an armchair and face toward us, Jason in the centre of the two.

Jason Quinn: What happened you may ask? Well to put it simply. After my match with this silly goose over here. We realised that fighting was not the way forward and that we were not on the right Path. So what did we do? Well, we founded “The Path” of course… We are not a cult…

Al Blizzard: We are a family.

Robert Steel: We are the Path.

The three smile eerily at the camera.

Al Blizzard: So Jason… tell me about your upcoming match with… who?

Jason Quinn: Who…? Exactly!

The three chuckle at Jason’s off-handed remark.

Jason Quinn: Mr Konchu Hao… I looked you up and honestly, I did not find much. You seem a bit crazy and I think you need some medical help. But I tell you what… I do have a solution for your madness. Walk the Path and the door will open for a brighter you and a brighter everyone. You’re an enigma. I know someone just like you.

Robert Steel: Who?

Al Blizzard: Yes… Who?

Jason Quinn: You two are correct… Who? Is in fact a disciple. And I think you would make a good fit Mr Hao, as much as Mr Epsilon or whatever the Oompa Loompa’s name is.

Robert Steel: HA! I get it… because he’s like… 4 feet tall!!

Al Blizzard: 3 foot 8 to be exact.

Jason Quinn: So Mr Hao. The Offer is on the board and I’m willing the take you in as a member of the Path and teach you the way.

Al Blizzard and Robert Steel both stand up simultaneously and turn toward Jason.

Al & Robert: Brother Jason, we request to leave as we have been summoned.

Jason Quinn: Granted my brothers.

They both turn toward the camera and walk briskly past and exit the room, shutting the door behind them.

Jason Quinn: It seems as if the brothers have been requested, they shall be back shortly. But in the meantime…

Jason stands up, removes his cloak and smirks.

Jason Quinn: Sometimes you just have to appeal to people to gain their trust. These followers that I have, don’t mean anything. They’ve walked into my trap. They’ve walked into my mind and they cannot escape it.

Jason smirks and chuckles to himself.

Jason Quinn: It’s ironic because I knew that Al and Robert would not go quietly. So I had to siphon the power of that fucking mask. I know more about that mask than anyone. Because I made it. I crafted that mask for Al when he needed it most. It was the greatest thing that ever happened to him. The Outlaw, Al Blizzard… became the Psycho King, Blackjack.

Jason turns toward the back wall. He presses a button that reveals a mannequin with the old Blackjack gear on, a pristine mask included.

Jason Quinn: The mask I threw at Al Blizzard, the mask on show out there. That is a fake. This one… this is the real deal.

He looks up at the mask, seemingly admiring it.

Jason Quinn: The reason I beat Al Blizzard was because of this mask. I used the power to bring Robert to the right side and betray his own best friend. I had to do it. My own brother is a tyrant. He’ll make you believe in him, feel for him and then he’ll throw it back at you just to wrap gold around his waist. I stopped him for you. I am the good guy. Jason Quinn. I am the guy who stopped Al Blizzards’ reign of terror. For your sake, not for mine.

We hear a knock at the door. Jason scrambles to put his cloak back on and as he’s getting it back on, he presses a button that hides the Blackjack gear behind a compartment.


Jason Quinn: Enter.

We see Robert and Al enter the room and they bow to Jason.

Al Blizzard: We apologise.

Jason Quinn: All is forgiven, brother.

The two join Jason near the wall and they turn toward us again.

Jason Quinn: Our time is up. We shall revisit this again and we will see you soon. Stay Right, Stay True, Stay on the Path.

The three once again smile as we fade to black.
 

Cyrus Truth

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Devious Productions Presents…

Konchu Hao in…

“The Shifting Tides of Chaos! A Shattered Path Forward to the Future!!!”

The final moments of the final match at Back in Business have arrived.

The capacity crowd in the Estadio Azteca stadium are roaring with every move, every strike, every collision between the stalwart Exile and the increasingly desperate World Champion.

However, backstage? It appears that most of the FWA talent that had been on hand for the promotion’s biggest show of the year have already left, heading out into Mexico City to find comfort and reverie wherever they could.

Not that Konchu Hao could blame them, per say. This year’s edition of Back in Business was certainly action-packed and full of amazing contests and culminating feuds. However, this main event? While it has lived up to the expectations and, in ways, exceeded them with the level of brutality and athleticism, it’s not as if either man is particularly popular with the rest of the locker room.

For Cyrus, it’s not anything new. Konchu has known Cyrus for a long time, ever since the Mad Wizard and The Exile first crossed paths during one of Konchu’s excursions in the Middle East, searching for ancient Mesopotamian artifacts dating back to the time of the Old Testament. Cyrus Truth was a great many things, but one of those most certainly is not sociable. Certainly, when he speaks, he speaks with the authority and conviction of a former Observer, but many in the bravado-drenched world of professional wrestling dismiss his words and actions as something less than those of a warrior committed to unblemished glory.

To put it more bluntly, most of FWA’s locker room can’t handle it when the Truth is forced upon them.

But in this instance? It’s not Cyrus that’s the real problem.

The problem is the cretin that has continued his unrelenting assault on Cyrus’s knee. An assault that should have never happened had Chris Peacock…or more specifically, his weasley little cheerleader hadn’t interjected.

Konchu had known well before anybody else that Chris Peacock was not nearly as talented or virtuous as his accomplishments and facade had made him out to be. “Disco’s Last Warrior” was anything but. Sure, he was a solid enough wrestler, but most of Chris’s so-called “successes” were due in large part to circumstances lining up just right for him to take advantage of. And while that talent has accrued Peacock a treasure-trove of championships in a short time, certainly more than Konchu? It’s led to Peacock’s aura and ego being overly inflated.

And because of that? Peacock and his masked accomplice Alyster Black have bought wholesale into their hype and have become little more than sophomoric clowns who debase themselves because they believe it’s their right to, regardless of how it affects the roster. Driving down to the ring in a truck filled with synthesized human ejaculate and spewing it around was simply a message to the rest of the roster that nobody truly cared for and felt disgusted by.

But this wouldn’t have been a problem. Even the FWA wrestlers who normally wouldn’t care for The Exile were soundly behind him, if for no other reason than to put Peacock in his place.

And that’s what SHOULD have happened.

And it would’ve…

Had it not been for Allen Price.

Yes, the reason that Chris Peacock is still in this World Title match and even has a chance of surviving it to retain was due to the interference of a mealy-mouthed announcer and agent who would gladly suckle at the metaphorical…and perhaps literal, who knows?…penis of a man who seems to think that everyone on the roster should.

Konchu did what he could. And the Mad Wizard would be lying if he said that it wasn’t immensely satisfying to hear Allen Price’s skull crunch under the force of Rasputin’s Revenge.

However, as the match reaches its climax, it would seem that the damage was done.

And all hope in the FWA locker room to have Chris Peacock get humbled were dashed that night.

So…they left. Heading out into the night away from what was surely going to be a heartbreaking and frustrating finale where the unworthy degenerate would triumph in yet another scenario he damn well shouldn’t have.

But Konchu remained. Alongside Epsilon, Konchu watches from behind the curtain separating backstage from the entrance ramp. Because even now, as Cyrus’s knee buckles and this match reaches its end, knowing that it was all over?

It would be disrespectful to The Exile to not stay. And in spite of how aggravating and sanctimonious he could be, Cyrus Truth was still Konchu’s friend.

1…

2…

3…

Chris Peacock has won and retained.

No, that’s not right.

Chris Peacock SURVIVED and escaped with the World Title when, by all rights, he damn well shouldn’t have.

The Mad Wizard sighs.


“Well. That’s terribly disappointing, isn’t it? I can’t say I’m looking forward to the absolute filth that this malcontent is going to spew for days to come.”

“Yubek polzi?”

“Afraid not, Epsilon. There’s nothing that can be done to make this right. And it’ll likely be a long time before Cyrus will get another shot at the World Title. Despite the fact that he damn well deserved it.”


Epsilon growls a bit before replying:

“Quelvit tok hazaraw.”

“No…no, it’s not right or fair.”


Cyrus, pushing referees and training staff aside, staggers up the ramp. And as if to put further salt in the wound, he would get no solace from the crowd, no cheers of encouragement from a fanbase that clearly backed him to win. Because another ghost from the past emerges to steal the spotlight.

And while seeing Chris Peacock dead and motionless on the mat thanks to a Remix superkick was somewhat amusing, it was infuriating for Konchu Hao that yet another egomaniac continues to steal attention away from his friend.

Cyrus eventually limps past the curtain. He looks absolutely deflated, drained and frustrated from what had transpired. The Exile says nothing, but nods at Konchu who returns it.

As Cyrus staggers off, Epsilon attempts to shout for him and stop him. However, before Epsilon can chase after him, Konchu stops him with a hand on his shoulder.


“No, Epsilon. Let him be.”

The Primogen of the Black Mass looks up from Epsilon and turns his gaze towards Cyrus Truth. Even wounded and broken, The Exile still stands tall.

This loss will leave a scar that will take a long time to heal. Konchu knows this. Cyrus’s pride was wounded far more than his knee, and being denied the prize due to no fault of his own is a bitter pill to swallow.

But even now, dejected and shattered? The Exile stands and walks with purpose, as the World Champion he damn well should’ve been…and always will be.

Konchu Hao can’t help but crack a small smile beneath his mask.

He couldn’t be more proud of his friend than in this moment and time.


*******

Days before Fallout’s airing, a new video is uploaded to Konchu Hao’s YouTube channel: Mad Wizard Productions. We join the video halfway through what appears to be a lesson in werewolf mythology, its roots in early pagan folklore and how the rise of Christianity during the Middle Ages affected those early tales.

It’s a very enthralling lesson thanks to Konchu’s enthusiasm about the subject and his bombastic delivery of the material. There’s all sorts of teaching aids accompanying his lesson: pictures of art and artifacts depicting lycanthropes are strewn about this makeshift classroom, various articles and excerpts from stories are present and are affirmed or refuted by The Mad Wizard, and Epsilon is even stationed at a chalkboard that has a handful of biological diagrams that show off the changes that occur when a human would transform into a werewolf.

It’s clear that Konchu has a passion for the subject, and he’s presenting the lesson with a level of respect and affirmation of the subject material.

After all…while he never says it out loud? Konchu Hao knows werewolves aren’t just myth.


“So, in summation? If you find yourself lost in a Central European country far away from civilization, best hope you have some silver handy, kehahaha! There are, of course, alternative methods to defend yourself against one of these creatures, but they’re a bit obscure even for me, and I wouldn’t put much faith in them. Silver is your best friend. Further proof that gold is overrated and for arrogant blowhards who think they’re gods!

“Ah…well, my faithful minions, I hope you enjoyed that lesson. And, coincidentally, it does lead me into my next topic. I know that many of you watching this have been disappointed by my absence from FWA television. And doubly so that I was not on the card for Back in Business. Believe me when I say that it was not my choice. However, I will say that my absence had been approved by FWA management because…I’ve created my own tabletop roleplaying game!

“Yes, coming this fall to your friendly local gaming store is the most highly anticipated tabletop game to ever grace your friend groups: ‘Tales from the Shadow Collective!’ For those who like a bit of spooky investigating and titanic battles against overwhelming dark powers, this is the game for you! I can’t wait to see your reactions when this game launches October 20th! It’s sure to be a smash hit, and I’m ever so grateful to my loyal Army of the Night for the support I needed to get this passion project created. KEHAHAHA!”

As Konchu cackles, Epsilon excitedly holds up a game box with a very stylized portrait of Victorian-era monster hunters and investigators facing off against vampires, ghouls, and indeed werewolves with the name of the game in bold, English script letters on top. Epsilon chitters excitedly as Konchu looks particularly pleased with himself.

“That being said, FWA has seen fit to call me in for…special attraction matches when certain individuals need to be tested. And while I can’t say that I’ve had the best of luck in those matches, not a single one of those men will ever forget the hell I put them through, kehahaha!"

Konchu snaps his fingers as the study materials from his lycanthropy deep dive start to fade away and are replaced with the massive Old World-style leather chairs in a familiar-looking study. Both Konchu and Epsilon take their respective seats as The Mad Wizard leans forward, fingers steepled contemplatively.

“Now, that brings me to this upcoming episode of Fallout. You see, the preceding lesson in werewolf science was not just for the sheer wonderful pleasure of it. No, no! It is somewhat fitting given the opponent that FWA management has brought before me.

Konchu cracks a mad, excited grin.


“You see, my opponent is quite a legendary figure in FWA in his own right. While he’s almost certainly NOT a werewolf, he’s just as imposing and as vicious!”

Epsilon, who had been nodding along, immediately stops as he looks at Konchu confused.

“Yes, my minions! I am facing a man who has terrorized and victimized a Who’s Who of FWA wrestlers over the years. A two-time former World Champion and multiple time North American Champion!”

“Erg…Jubakara?”

“A titanic force of unrelenting devastation that has left scars on FWA and bodies in his wake!”

“Jubakara?”


“A foul, wretched beast of a human being that can only be foiled by a superior intelligence like myself! A returning Hall of Famer whose bloodlust can only be met by the overwhelming power of the Dark Arts! Yes, my faithful minions, I will be facing off against…”

“JUBAKARA!”


Konchu stops mid-rant as he looks over to Epsilon.

“Epsilon? What the devil is it? Why are you interrupting me?”

“Upak ve quizao trai?”

“Yes, yes, of course I read your dossier on my opponent. I always do!”


Epsilon’s mask hides his face, but it’s evident by the way he’s looking at Konchu that he doesn’t buy it for a second. Konchu, sheepishly, wilts under Epsilon’s withering gaze and scratches the back of his head.

“Well…all right, fine. I skimmed through it. But you can’t blame me, Epsilon! I’ve been incredibly busy with the marketing campaign for “Tales from the Shadow Collective.’ Besides, I thought I got enough to realize that I was fighting a returning Wolf.”

Epsilon shakes his head as he grabs his trusty tablet out of his goblin backpack and thrusts it at Konchu.

“Reilu vok!”

Konchu, a bit miffed at Epsilon’s forceful, sassy insistence, grabs the tablet and looks it over. He even grabs a comically small pair of pince-nez glasses as he reviews the information.

After a literal seven seconds of reading, Konchu looks over at Epsilon and shouts:


“WHO THE BLOODY HELL IS JASON QUINN?”

Epsilon shrugs and chitters back at Konchu.

“WHO THE BLOODY HELL IS AL BLIZZARD?”

Epsilon shrugs again. Konchu, almost apopletic, puts the tablet down on a small table between his and Epsilon’s seat as he tries to sort this out in his head. After a second, he picks up that tablet again and starts to read it thoroughly.

“Blasted hells…you know, I figured when I breezed through this and saw that his finisher’s name was the Final Howl that he was Wolf. I mean, you don’t just ape the name of another wrestler’s signature move when you’ve been in a company for literally a cup of coffee, much less a Hall of Famer’s signature move! And the more I look at it, this isn’t even the Final Howl! It’s some kind of rolling cutter-type move, not that bone-rattling power move that The Beast was known for.

“...Wait. This cretin competed at Back in Business? OVER ME?! Why?!”

“Ilok tequp nommi.”

“‘Because he wanted to murder his brother?’ This ‘Al Blizzard?’ So, let me see if I can get this straight. Instead of the fans in Mexico City being graced by the amazing technical prowess and entertaining aura of the one and only Master and Ruler of All Time and Space, we instead got to see family drama between a man who I didn’t realize was an active competitor and another who literally just SHOWED up?


“Epsilon…I’m Konchu Hao! I’m the man FWA calls to fight CHAMPIONS! Not petulant children who spend their entire lives complaining that their siblings are more successful, talented, and respected than they are. I mean…what the blazes am I supposed to do with this? I have literally nothing to work with.”

“Otopoloi ailovak?”

“NO, I don’t care if his nickname is ‘Wolf Blood.’ What does that even mean? I mean, yes…if you REALLY stretch it, you could make some kind of analogy between that and the lycanthropy lesson we just conducted…but it’s not the same! It’s the kind of sobriquet that a teenager gives themselves when they are going through a rebellious stage and think that listening to grunge music and buying outfits at Hot Topic make them a rebel against society. What an absolute farce! REAL rebellion is spending two months in a gulag listening to the ramblings of a half-dead, drugged-out magi for the express purpose of learning the secrets behind Russian psycho-transmutation!”

“Jubakara?”

“Yes, yes! I know I’m getting off-topic. But…what am I supposed to say? This Jason Quinn is…who is he? How the Hells am I supposed to tear into him and destroy his morale when he’s literally nothing more than a caricature and facsimile of the angry and bitter malcontent wrestler who complains and moans about how unfair his life can be when it’s clear to anybody watching and listening that he’s just…there? An absolute black hole of bad attitude and all the awful, stereotypical tropes that comes along with it?


“No…you know what? I can do this. I can find…SOMETHING. Let me read this again.”

Konchu takes the tablet that has Jason Quinn’s dossier downloaded on it as he again, slowly and methodically, reads through it. Epsilon, realizing that he might be here a while, hops off his chair and waddles off to go fix some tea.

A candle on the central table flickers as time passes. It starts at nearly a foot tall. And while we, the viewers, don’t have to sit and wait thanks to the magic of editing magic, we come back to see that the candle has been reduced to its last couple of inches. Epsilon, dutifully, has made sure to provide tea and refreshments for Konchu as he pores through his minion’s handiwork, attempting to get something on his opponent.

Eventually, Konchu puts the tablet down and takes a sip of his tea, which he scrunches his lips at realizing it had gone cold a long time ago. Sitting the tea cup back in its saucer, The Mad Wizard leans forward in his chair and lets out a long, drawn out sigh.


“Fine, okay…I think I have SOMETHING.”

Konchu snaps his fingers as the scene fades away and reforms. This time, the antiquated study has been replaced by what looks like a therapist’s office, complete with the traditional psychologist sofa. On the sofa is a mannequin. One would THINK that the dummy would’ve been made up to look like Jason Quinn, but it seems that The Mad Wizard didn’t bother.

After all, to him? The blank, meaningless dummy was as good a stand-in for his opponent as anything.

Konchu, seated in a chair opposite the sofa, has adorned a tweed suit and has a very ornate smoking pipe in one hand and a pen in another, with a notepad on his lap. However, the pipe is just for show; Konchu doesn’t smoke and when he does take a puff, it just blows out soap bubbles.

Straightening his tie and taking faux notes, The Mad Wizard gives a diagnosis.


“At the most basic of basic levels, Jason? I understand having issues with blood relations. Sometimes, the people we’re closest to are the ones who disappoint us the most. However, in your case, I can’t see what your problem is. Your brother has some mediocre success and you…didn’t. So for the crime of your own greater incompetence in comparison to your brother’s lesser incompetence, you swear bloody vengeance against your kin. Clearly? You suffer from a terrible case of delusional entitlement and a MASSIVE superiority complex.

“Certainly, you must see that this little spat with your brother Albert or Allen or whatever his name is was absolutely meaningless, yes? An excuse to mask your own inadequacies, that’s all this is. But the real problem? Somebody in FWA’s staff actually enabled you to indulge in this nonsense! Instead of rewarding some of FWA’s harder-working, more deserving talent with a marquee match and the rewards that come from it, you and your equally incompetent sibling actually got a match at the biggest show of the year in a contest that only your family could’ve possibly cared about, and you COULDN’T EVEN GET THE JOB DONE WITHOUT SOME PARASITIC MALCONTENT INTERJECTING!”

Konchu’s psychologist facade cracks as he’s almost apoplectic at this whole situation. Epsilon waddles in, wearing a miniature copy of Konchu’s tweed suit, bringing him a bottle of aspirin to help alleviate his growing headache.

Konchu shakes some pills out of the bottle and downs them with a bottle of water, also provided to him by Epsilon.


“Ah, thank you, my friend. Look, Jason…the bottom line is that everything you’ve done and said to this point has been in pursuit of your ill-conceived concept of revenge. Congratulations, mission accomplished. Now, what? Hmm. Oh sure, you can win a few titles here and there, but the ultimate truth of your situation is that there’s nothing left. Indulging in revenge is all well and good, but it’s a hollow pursuit if the reason behind it is so flimsy. And even then, revenge is a temporary game. There must always be a purpose beyond it, because achieving vengeance on its own will never truly satisfy the needs of the soul.

“But again, none of this matters. You are destined to be just another flash in the pan that people will stop caring about, yet another clone in the mold of our World Champion that lacks any of the nuance, pomp, or subtlety. Maybe you might be able to pull a Peacock and secure victory through the use of trickery so base and without any semblance of panache, but I doubt it. I am the Primogen of the Black Mass, master of all things dark and shadowy. Trickery is but one of my many talents…but even that pales in comparison to my mastery of the art of wrestling and making people regret their many, MANY terrible decisions.

“I can’t say I’m looking forward to this match, Jason. But…maybe there’s something I can get out of it. Perhaps driving my forearm and elbow through your skull will be amusing. Not unlike the sick pleasure some sadists get in clubbing a defenseless baby seal! But Jason? When I thump you and batter you on Fallout? There’s not going to be a celebrity infomercial raising awareness and providing a direct line for charitable donations to fix your broken face."

Konchu stands up from his seat, adjusts his tie, and smiles wickedly.

“After all, nobody’s going to care enough about you to feel bad for what I’m about to put you through. Kehahaha!”

The Mad Wizard snaps his fingers again as the dummy and the sofa start to spontaneously combust. The mannequin and sofa start to melt together into a slagged heap, indistinguishable and completely and utterly useless.

How fitting.

As Konchu and Epsilon exit the scene, we hear Konchu go into another mini-rant.


“Seriously, Epsilon, this Jason Quinn is completely and utterly devoid of anything remotely interesting. He’s not even related to CHRISTIAN Quinn. That would’ve at least been SOMETHING amusing…”
 

WelshyBOI

Well-Known Member
Joined
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Age
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Location
Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysilio
Favorite Wrestler
shawnmichaels
Favorite Wrestler
cmpunk
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Favorite Wrestler
X2VL4FM
Favorite Wrestler
lita
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Bellatrix Bordeaux is…
DX9o7BlTbAQf4bLV0oPSmza7GOxfTLkJC1p39a9tfJG6PopC6b-XdbkK8GvlQHoiYt4Y_QSUiGzxCxCORk7GNtsE6k0rGXblmSUSdUKUE7a2XdYHZvXbTHkl7SYU6UpPJsWvlhh1laTuMi1TCLDNxtA


T7TDawfkFOblqddZS4rd_VK-1IkoD3kwM3M7DxiXyGUf5DwgADoKrlU5EKCzp3D-US_7ZTWltmEdLEwYe9qt6wESRAYINyOb8f6EWZ7KocvZ2NA4--IAu3qsJDyv3y4xpJTbwX88_3t-MfkwWFCYq-8



Carpenters - Top Of The World (Lyrics)


As the beautiful music resonates from an unknown source, we see a pretty young blonde woman in a cute flowery summer dress, frolicking merrily through the meadow, skipping and twirling and dancing as she moves through the tall grass on this cozy spring morning. She looks almost euphoric as she looks up to see a flock of chirping little birdies, swooping around and seemingly playing a game of tag. The birds seem almost unnaturally beautiful, as though they sprung from the imagination of a great painter. As the young woman skips along, a hopping young dear catches her eye. This dear, that looks a mirror image of Bambi, gallops through the meadows, a cartoonish smile on its face as it turns around to see it’s mother skipping towards them, before the pair gallop off into the distance…let hope nothing bad happens to them this time.

The young woman slows her pace, as she sees something rustling around in the tall grass. Cautiously yet bravely, she creeps toward the disturbance in the grass, until…

“HI TRIXIE!” It yells, as it leaps out from the grass with a excited smile.

Trixie, prone to startlement, yelps out in surprise as she tumbles backwards into the grass, landing on her bum. She looks up to see…a gold-plated face, beaming it’s shiny smile at her. It stands at no more than three-foot tall, and it’s body looks to be made of black leather, with little black arms and legs, and big white hands and feet. As it stands above Trixie, hands on hips, with a beaming smile, we see what looks to be some gem-encrusted writing on its head, that reads “TRIOS Championship” in big letters. Trixie looks up with an excited smile of her own.

“GOLDIE!” Trixie calls out excitedly.

“Hey Trixie! Hope I didn’t scare ya!” Goldie says with its goofy voice as it extends its hand, offering to help Trixie to her feet.

Trixie obliges, and grabs hold of Goldie’s big white hand, before being helped up off the ground.

“Whatchu doin’ her, Goldie?” Trixie asks, her heartbeat gradually slowing after literally being jumpscared out of her shoes. “Where are your sisters?”

“They’re playing hide and seek with Blair and Celery,” Goldie responds, as Trixie hops back into her shoes, “see, I don’t really like hide and seek, so I was hoping we could think of something else to do?”

“Like what?” Trixie chirps excitedly, “Ooo, Ooo, I know! We could go SWIMMING!”

“Can’t,” Goldie frowns sadly, “I’ll rust.”

Trixie’s excitement fades slightly, as the prospect of splashing around in the water diminishes.

“Oh, okay, umm…maybe we could play tag?” Trixie asks. She likes tag…not as much as she likes swimming, but she doesn’t mind making a compromise for her new friend.

“Uh, nah, you’re way to fast for me. My little legs would never catch you.” Goldie says, ashamed of her slight stature.

Seeing this, Trixie thinks…

“Ooo, Ooo! I GOT IT!” Trixie exclaims, bouncing up and down in excitement. “We can borrow Blair and Celery’s broomsticks, and we can play flying tag! You’re lighter than I am, so you’ll be faster than me on a broom!”

“Hmm, I dunno…have you ever even rode a broom?”

“Well, not really…I seen them do it in Harry Potter, though! It looked easy enough. They just sat on it and it went!”

“I think there’s more to it than that, Trix,” Goldie responds, a look of apprehension on his gold-plated face, “what if we fall off? Won’t we just go splat on the floor like a fly on a windshield?”

Trixie giggles. “No, silly…I‘ll splat on the floor, but you’re made of gold! You’re indestructible!”

Goldie stares at Trixie, concerned.

“But, ain’t you scared you’ll fall off and go splat?”

Trixie shrugs. “I’ll be fine. Kleio’s like, the most powerfullest witch EVER! If I go splat, then she’ll just put me back together!”

“…I don’t think Kleio can do that.”

“Of course she can! I mean, look at nanny Ethel! She was dead for ages, and they brought her back!” Trixie says, her blind optimism and faith in the powers of The Coven on full display. “I can’t wait to learn how to do magic stuff like that. If I had that sorta power, I’d never let any of my friends die. I’d keep us alive forever and ever!”

As Trixie’s imagination drifts off, envisioning an eternity where she could hang out with all her friends, Goldie stares at the dotty young woman, a look of bewilderment on her face.

“Uh, T-Trixie?” Goldie asks, as she lightly shakes Trixie’s shoulder, trying to bring her back to ‘reality’. “Trixieeee.”

After a couple of seconds, Trixie is shaken out of her daydream.

“Uh? What? Oh, hello Goldie!” Trixie says, looking surprised, before looking around and remembering where she is, and what she was about to do. “Right then, TO THE BROOMS!”

And before Goldie could further question the safeness of Trixie’s plan, the dotty young woman shoots off, her hair floating like a cape in the wind as she skips through the tall grass, hoping to acquire some brooms.



Having seemingly been successful in “borrowing” Blair and Celestia’s broomsticks, we find Trixie and her newly acquired best buddy, Goldie, swooping through the air at a terrifying speed…well, judging by the expressions on each of their faces, terrifying for Goldie.

Trixie, with the wind in her long blonde hair, looks as though a whole new world has opened up in front of her. Her eyes tell of someone who would rather be nowhere else but here, on this broomstick, several thousand feet in the air, flying though the sky with her friend. She laughs gleefully, looking as though she’s having the time of her life, before remembering why they came here.

…suddenly, Trixie changes direction, plummeting straight towards Goldie, who sits unsteadily on her broom a few hundred feet below Trixie. Given that this is the first time she has ever plonked her butt on a broomstick, the speed with which Trixie seems to have taken to flying is astonishing. She looks every bit as comfortable on a broomstick as Harry Potter during his later years at Hogwarts.

As Trixie builds up her speed with the help of gravity, she sees Goldie growing ever closer, and seemingly unaware of Trixie’s forthcoming kamikaze-esque approach, as Trixie grows closer…and closer…and closer, until…

“TAG, YOU’RE IT!” Trixie shouts as she shoots past Goldie, smacking her on the wrist as she passes.

Goldie, taken completely off guard, screams in terror as the gust of wind created by Trixie’s body blasting past at a couple hundred MPH sends her spinning out of control. It takes a couple of moments of sheer panick, but eventually Goldie regains control of her broom and comes to a stop mid-air, taking a moment to catch her breath…that is, until Trixie swoops past once more, and begins to circle the exasperated, gold-plated being.

“NEH, NEH, NEHNEH, NEH, YOU CAN’T CATCH ME!” Trixie taunts from above, giggling all the while.

Seeing Trixie circling and taunting and giggling overhead, a mischievous grin forms on Goldie’s face as the nerves begin to dissipate.

“OH YES I CAN!” Goldie screams in response as she zooms forward, attempting to do just that.

Trixie, seeing her friend charging towards her with a mischievous grin, turns her broom in the opposite direction and attempts to flee, laughing hysterically all the while…the chase has begun.

Their death-defying game send them darting in and out of trees, blasting past houses, and zooming through the streets of god knows where, with the apparent natural broom rider that is Trixie managing to avoid being “tagged” by Goldie, who looks to be doing everything in her power to catch the dotty young woman.

Leaving the streets of the mysterious town, Trixie and Goldie zoom towards what looks to be a castle. Seeing the castle, Trixie plummets towards it at an incredible speed, with her friend giving chase. As they pass by, we see Blair Ravenwood, who looks to be poorly hidden considering she’s playing hide and seek, as she hides between some boxes on top of the castle wall.

Noticing Trixie and her championship title zooming overhead, Blair jumps to her feet, screaming, “HEY, THAT’S MY BROOM!” in shock and anger, and in doing so, reveals herself, as another championship title, who looks the twin of Goldie, points at Blair, shouting, “HAHA, I FOUND YOU!”.

Unfortunately for Blair, by the time she fully comprehends what is happening, Trixie and Goldie have blasted off into the distance, heading towards an area that looks to be inhabited by a children’s play area.

With Goldie narrowly missing an attempted tag and losing balance momentarily, Trixie builds up quite the gap as she flies over the play area, looking down and seeing swings, slides, rocking horses, climbing frames and more of the same. Suddenly, Trixie begins to feel something pulling at her…not in the physical sense, more as though she’s being drawn towards something. She had felt this feeling before, when she first came into contact with her Great-Grandmother’s diary, and had felt this same sensation a few times since then, but the book was always near her when this feeling would occur. Why then, a few hundred miles away from home, and the diary, is she having this feeling?

Trixie wonders to herself momentarily, before her eyes are pulled, almost against her will, towards an extremely old-looking woman, who’s sat alone on a bench, staring at the empty play area. There’s something familiar about this woman, but Trixie can’t quite put her finger on wha-WHACK!

Before she has time to react, Trixie is knocked completely off of her broom by Goldie, who, judging by her yelp of horror, seemingly misjudged her tag, and wound up crashing straight into Trixie.

Trixie, for her momentary lapse in concentration, can be heard screaming in terror as she plummets towards death. After a brief moment of panic, Goldie regains her composure and plummets towards the rapidly accelerating Trixie, hoping to catch her before she becomes a pile of guts on the ground…

…unfortunately for Goldie, and more importantly, Trixie, it looks too little too late. Trixie cries in horror as she grows ever closer to her death. Suddenly, all the confidence that she had in The Coven’s ability to resurrect people seems to have vanished.

“TRIXIE!” Goldie calls out helplessly, as she continues her descent…

…goodbye cruel world…

…SPLA-

…no?

There’s a brief moment of silence, as Goldie sits motionless on her broom, her gold-plated face one of complete bewilderment…the sentient championship title stares at Trixie, as she hovers, mere inches from the ground. Mere inches from death.

Trixie opens her eyes, and she finds herself staring at a particularly uninteresting spot of dirt on the ground.

“Uh, am I in heaven?” Trixie asks, possibly expecting some divine voice to give her an answer.

Instead, the voice that responds sounds weak, and heavy with the weight of a long life, and has a French accent.

“From what I’ve witnessed up to now, young Trixie, I’d be tempted to say yes.”

Trixie’s head turns to the direction of the aged voice. Sat on a bench a few meters away, an old woman who, despite Trixie having never laid eyes on her before, looks, sounds, and feels familiar. The old woman’s hand is outstretched, and aimed at the hovering and confused Trixie.

“Uh, h-h-hello, m-miss…?” Trixie greets politely, but in a confused voice. “D-Do I know you?”

The old lady smirks.

“We’ve met a few times through…unconventional means,” The old lady answers, “I am Amelie, your Great-Grandmother.”

Trixie’s eyes widen in instant recognition at the name, but her confusion only intensifies.

“B-b-but, I thought you died and became a book?”

Amelie smiles amusedly, apparently never having heard her departure from the physical plane described in such a simplistic yet incredibly accurate way.

“Well, yes, I suppose I did. The body you see before you isn’t entirely real. I’ve managed to create…a projection, so to speak. Ever since our minds linked a number of months ago, I, and you, have felt our connection to each other grow ever stronger. The force that draws you to my book is the same force that has allowed me to appear before you here, in your mind.”

Amelie gently lowers her Great-Granddaughter to the ground, and Trixie climbs to her knees, before remembering something. Her head darts up, trying to find her careless friend Goldie, but the championship is nowhere to be seen.

“Where’s Goldie?” Trixie asks, hoping the wise old lady has the answer.

“I’ve temporarily removed your trinket, Goldie, so that we may speak without interruption. I shall return her, and you, to your merry fantasy once our conversation has come to an end. Now please…” Amelie gestures for Trixie to come and sit next to her on the bench.

After a brief moment's hesitation, Trixie climbs to her feet and dusts herself off for not the first time during this little adventure, before walking over to, and sitting on the bench, next to her deceased relative…

…and thus follows a loooooooong awkward silence, where Trixie twiddles her thumbs, looking as though she’s waiting to be interrogated.

“I see you were successful in your battle for gold and glory. Congratulations Trixie.” Amelie says with a look of pride on her wrinkled face.

“Uh, th-thank you,” Trixie responds nervously, looking a little uneasy, “I’m so happy I didn’t let my friends down.”

Amelie glances at Trixie, whose demeanor is that of a child sitting outside the principal's office, and smiles slightly.

“An interesting choice of words,” Amelie responds, before letting out an amused chuckling, “so selfless. You were fighting for your friends. You didn’t want to let them down…what about your friend Katsu, or miss Cali, hmm? Were you fighting for them too?”

Trixie shuffles uncomfortably in her seat, looking ashamed as her head dips.

“I-…” Trixie struggles to find an answer.

Amelie continues to dig for an answer.

“You didn’t want to let Blair and Celestia down, which is admirable. They are your friends. Your partners. You wish to be like them. You wish to be a part of their…little Coven,” Amelie says, letting out a patronizing tone as she mentions The Coven, “but in fighting alongside them, you found herself warring with Katsu, Cali, and Ririko. Are they not your friends too?”

“Th-th-they are,” Trixie responds, trying to come up with a good response so that this uncomfortable line of questioning can be put to rest, “but….”

Trixie is unable to come up with a response as she squirms in her seat, looking trapped.

“But…maybe they were in your way?” Amelie asks rhetorically, looking as though she’s thoroughly enjoying this conversation. “As someone who has delved deep into the annals of your mind, I understand you better than most…perhaps even more so than your brother. You value friendship above almost everything, Trixie…almost everything.”

Amelie’s eyes rest upon Trixie, as though she’s reading the young woman as if she was a book.

“There is one thing that surpasses your desire for friendship, Trixie, and I would like for you to be honest with yourself and tell me truthfully…what is it that causes this sweet, caring, innocent girl that sits before me to battle so aggressively. So violently. Scratching, clawing, and biting. What is it that draws that savagery out of you, hmm?”

Trixie’s eyes dart in random directions, as if trying to find a means of escape.

“Cali Hayama is your friend, and yet when it came down to just you and her, and she was the one standing between you and your shiny little trinket, you fought her as if she were an invader to your home. You clawed at her eyes and face. You were willing to rip flesh from bone in order to remove Cali Hayama from your path to glory. You, in that moment, were content to savage and maim one of your closest friends to get what you wanted.”

Trixie’s hands begin to tremble as her Great-Grandmother recalls what Trixie had done, and was willing to do to one of her best friends, in order to become a champion. If this is a dream, then she would really like for it to stop right about now.

“It wasn’t just a fear of letting your team down that drove you to that place, Trixie. As our connection has grown, I have delved deeper into the annals of your mind, and I know the answer to my question, but I wish to hear it from your lips…what is it that takes you to that place?”

There is a long silence, as Amelie waits patiently for an answer that Trixie either doesn’t know, or doesn't want to give. Trixie’s lips remain sealed.

“Trixie, I have the power to keep you here for all eternity, and I will, unless you give me an honest answer.” Amelie says, exuding an air of power and control.

Another long silence follows. Not wanting to be trapped here forever, Trixie finally, and reluctantly, gives an answer.

“I-…” Trixie struggles to find the words. “I jus-…I just want to-…no, I need to win. I-…I need to win, because I’ve-…I’ve been a loser my whole life.”

Amelie nods her approval at Trixie’s honesty, as Trixie begins to pour out her heart.

“I never had any friends before this wrestling thingy. I always got bullied and told that I was stupid, I failed every class in school because the bullies were right…I’m stupid, and I’m no good at anything, and I’m FUCKING SICK OF IT!”

Amelie smirks as Trixie’s frustrations towards herself reaches a boiling point.

“I’M SICK of being a loser! I’M DONE being a loser!” In a moment of defiance at her own inner-most doubts, Trixie continues, “I’M NOT A LOSER!” She exclaims, jumping off the bench with a great deal of energy.

Amelie chuckles, “Well, if Bellatrix Bordeaux is not a loser, then who is Bellatrix Bordeaux, hmm?”

“I’m…I’m a-…” Trixie’s eyes widen, as though it has only now truly dawned on her, “I’m a champion…” She says in a manner that suggests that she’s still contemplating the validity of her statement…

“…I’M A CHAMPION!” Trixie exclaims, her hands resting atop her head in sheer disbelief.

As it begins to truly sink in, all of the unbridled excitement that was lacking when she was handed the championship at Back in Business comes rushing to the surface as Trixie, giddy as can be, starts bouncing on the spot with her hands raised triumphantly.

“I’M A CHAMPION! OH MY GOD! I-…I-I did it…I-…I’m not a loser! I’M NOT A LOSER!!!”

Amelie, a proud smile donning her face, slowly applauds her Great-Granddaughter as she jumps up and down in sheer unbridled glee.

“No, Trixie, no you’re not a loser.” Amelie says smiling.

“Trixie?” A male voice calls out. The voice echos, sounding bodiless, though it’s calling out to her from another dimension. “You alright?”

The voice is accompanied with a persistent knocking sound.

As Trixie’s head darts in every direction, trying to find the person the voice belongs to, Amelie speaks up.

“Well, Trixie, it would seem that our conversation has come to an end.”

“Wait, what? What’s happening?” Trixie asks her wise dead relative.

Amelie smiles amusedly, “It’s time to wake up.”

And just like that, the scene vanishes, along with Amelie, and Trixie finds herself lying in the comfort of her bed, cuddling her Trios championship like a child would a teddy bear.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Trixie? You alright?”

Trixie recognises the voice as her brother Bret. Taking a moment to collect herself, Trixie responds. “Yeah, I’m okay, why?”

“You were yelling something about not being “a loser”. You woke me up.” Bret says, a tinge of annoyance and fatigue in his voice.

“Oh, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” Trixie apologises.

“Well, try to get some sleep. You’ve got an early flight to Cuba tomorrow. If you miss it, you’ll wind up jet lagged for your match with that Xavier guy. Okay?”

Trixie, having regained a little of her composure, responds, “Okay. Night bro.”

“Night, Trix.”

As the sound of footsteps growing ever quieter signals that Bret is heading back to bed, the last image we see is Bellatrix Bordeaux lying in her bed, clutching her portion of the Trios Championship tightly. She is not a loser…

…she is a CHAMPION.

7FjTqvOI_4b_pmEumYuWCDfw0JPGTpnm8JE1JELnattvpMO5wOWAXThvSBKzRsgubYtxmmG8LCyhxkN91FDk-EyUFiQUB1ORyQ5vyTZoGGiFfo5A2cijHW7CH0gsGA7VnQYWTNvd-_2d3e4ZST1lStQ



THE END
 
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Tommy Bedlam

E-Fed Staff Member
Joined
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3,008
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1,982
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Backstage at Estadio Azteca
Mexico City, Mexico
Sunday July 23, 2023

The news of Shawn Summers forfeiting the TV Title and walking away from the FWA hadn’t broken yet. In fact, Summers was still lying in the ring, being attended to by the on-site medical staff. As Tommy made his way back through the curtain at the top of the ramp, he could still hear the clanging of steel chairs, reliving the moment that he and the returning Chris Crowe took Summers out. He had no idea how far out they had taken Summers. No one did.

Surrounded by Randi, Chris Crowe, and Rocco, Tommy stepped into the backstage gorilla position with the X-Title over his shoulder. While he was thrilled by the fact that he had finally captured another FWA Championship, that was secondary to the fact that he had finally slayed his dragon. The hell that Shawn Summers had put him and everyone he cared about through over the last several months was over. Tommy had put everything on the line when he agreed to put the naming rights to his child, who was due anytime, on the line, and it paid off. The Cowboy had bet on himself, and he won.

“Where we going? We have got to go celebrate.”

“You’re gonna go get checked out before you celebrate anything.”

Randi was right. There was still blood coming from Tommy’s head, and he was pretty sure that he had some broken ribs. It was hard to focus on the pain he was feeling, but there was no doubt that a trip to the backstage doctor was necessary. As the four of them made their way down the hallway, Tommy was greeted by FWA staffers, and even some other wrestlers who wanted to congratulate him. He hadn’t swept all three stages in his 3 Stages of Hell match, but he had taken one of Summers’ titles, and had protected the future of his child.

This wasn’t the first time that Tommy had been to see Dr. Hazelett after a match, but it may have been the most he had ever needed him. The doctor took one look at the gash on Tommy’s forehead and told the nurse to grab a suture kit. Tommy hadn’t seen her before, and judging by the look on Rocco’s face, he didn’t know her either. That was strange since Rocco knew everything that went on in FWA. She turned around long enough for Tommy to see the words “Nurse De Santos” stitched into her scrub top.

“Where you wanna head to, partner? My treat.”

“Your treat? What do you plan on payin’ with? Your good looks?”

“Fine, then it’s your treat.”

Tommy chuckled as the doctor shot a numbing agent into the gash on his forehead.

“Shit, I don’t know where anything is down here. Get online and try to find somewhere we can go.”

As the doctor placed the sixth of the ten stitches that Tommy’s head wound required, the nurse spoke up.

“Casa de la Brujas is wonderful. You should go check it out.”

“That sounds fine. What does that mean, ‘Case de la Brujas?’”

“It means ‘House of the Witches.’ Fun bar, good drinks. You should go there.”

Crowe was completely on board, and Tommy was open to just about anything.

“I think I’m gonna head back to the hotel. My ankles are swollen, my feet are killing me, and I barely slept last night. But you go out with Chris. Have a good time.”

“You sure?”

“Yea, but don’t be picking up any of those witches.”

“Nothing to worry about, babe.”

“I think I’ll head back with Randi. You boys know I’m a little too old for partying. If Randi needs anything, I’ll be in the next room.”

With a forehead full of stitches and a bandage wrapped around his ribs, Tommy made his way back down the hallway to his locker room. He gave Randi a kiss, pulled Rocco in for a hug, and sent them on their way. What no one in the Bedlam party knew was that Nurse De Santos had also made her way out of the exam room. She made her way out the rear exit of the building and made her way toward Casa de la Brujas. If Tommy and Chris were going to celebrate, she was going to get there first.

“I won’t be out too long. I’m beat, my head’s pounding, and I’d like to get back to Texas pretty early tomorrow.”

“Enjoy yourself. You’ve earned it,” Randi said with a wink.

After Tommy had washed the sweat and dried blood from his body, he gingerly changed into his jeans, a t-shirt, a cowboy hat, and his boots. He was already feeling the physical effects of his match with Summers. He was sure that the mental scars would last even longer, but he would worry about all of that starting tomorrow. That night was about celebrating. Celebrating a title win, the end of the Shawn Summers feud, and the return of Chris Crowe.

“If I’m buying, you’re driving.”

Tommy and Crowe hopped into Chris’ car and set out for Casa de la Brujas, House of the Witches. What they didn’t know, was that that the witches were waiting for them







EqPasWxwdl1CBad8Q9F01NZcG7XECOIyx2W-chg7y0kNNnz2ZJrzuQABwSkF_3F5jMXlrlnWDASL-OwnpPKIIpW-dMkdYqW0f5_EaCzQciZ30O6-PtT6RhKu_AZkek-SYBTXo6XdBIzOy6uClOfVljM




Woo-Hoo Witchy Woman
See how high she flies
Woo-hoo Witchy Woman
She got that moon in her eyes

“They should be here any minute. I made sure of it.”

Kleio de Santos was prepping things in the VIP Lounge downstairs at Casa de la Brujas. She was sure that Bedlam and Crowe were going to show up based on her recommendation when she was working as the FWA nurse. She was always one step ahead, and had a track record of using her sorcery to put herself in the right spot at the right time.

“Why are you so hung up on getting Tommy Bedlam and Chris Crowe here tonight?” Blair Ravenwood was wiping down some glasses behind the bar.

“Because you girls are going to face them on the next Fallout.”

“What do you mean? The cards haven’t even been announced.” Celestia Ravenwood, Blair’s sister and one of fellow Trios Champions, checked her hair in the large mirror behind the bar.

“God, has Trixie rubbed off on you that much? We’re fucking witches. We have powers. I promise, sometime later tonight, it will be announced that you girls are going to fight Bedlam and Crowe. It appears that Deathswitch Initiative has been reborn, and you’re their first challengers.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“You’re going to destroy them before they make it to the next show.

“Destroy them?”

“Yes. I’d prefer we kill them, but if that doesn’t work, I want you to destroy them from the inside out. They both like to drink, so it shouldn’t be too hard to slip them some sort of potion. If that doesn’t take them out, it should at least make them pliable enough for you to take advantage of them. Wreck their minds, destroy their souls, do whatever you have to do. Their men, they’ll fall for virtually anything that you two throw at them. Once you have them, use their desires, their fears, their pasts, their insecurities, and anything else you can summon from the other side to break them.”

Blair and Celestia were dressed in upscale black uniforms which were cut in all the right spots and hugged their curves perfectly. Kleio hadn’t left anything to chance. If Deathswtich was going to make a comeback, they were going to have to survive The Coven. Her girls were dressed to kill, and we’re ready to do just that.





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Raven hair and ruby lips
Sparks fly from her fingertips
Echoed voices in the night
She’s a restless spirit on an endless flight




The bar looked like every other one on the bustling streets of Mexico City. There was nothing particularly special about it, but both Tommy and Crowe felt an inexplicable draw to go inside. Was it because of the suggestion from the phantom nurse they had never seen before and would likely never see again? Or was it something deeper? Neither of them had any answers, but they weren’t truly looking for any, either. The two old friends were back together, Tommy was the X Champion, and the sky was the limit.

Crowe and Tommy walked into the crowded bar, and were both immediately taken by the beauty of the bartenders. Tommy was hopelessly, irretrievably in love with Randi, but there was no denying that the women staffing Case de la Brujas were gorgeous. Crowe, the untethered, free spirit that he was, had no desire to hold back how much he was enjoying the sights.

The smell of smoke hung heavy over the bar, as the neon lights gave off a deep, blood-red glow through the haze. Tommy and Crowe were just about to give up on finding a seat when they heard a voice behind them. It sounded vaguely familiar, but neither man could place it.

“Welcome to Casa de la Brujas. I’m sorry, but haven’t I seen you gentleman on TV?”

The voice sounded a lot like the nurse, but Tommy quickly brushed it off. The bar was crowded, noisy, and he likely had a concussion. He still hadn’t grown accustomed to being recognized in public, but “The Showman” was quickly getting back into the swing of things.

“Only if you’re a wrestling fan, senorita. My good friend here is the newly crowned FWA X-Champ, and we just crushed that bastard Shawn Summers’ head between a couple chairs. We’re here to celebrate!”

“Ah, yes! That must be it! Professional wrestling is so very popular here. I didn’t get to attend the show, I had to work. Tommy Bedlam and Chris Crowe, right? It’s so nice to have you here in our little establishment. Hopefully you can find a potion that quenches your thirsts. It’s a bit crowded out here. Could I interest you in going to our VIP Lounge?”

Before waiting for their answer, the woman turned around, motioned for both men to follow her, and as though they were in a trance, they went.

“Chris, why do you think she said she hoped we’d find a potion? Who the fuck calls drinks a potion?”

“Tommy, we’re in a fucking witch-themed bar, dude. I’m sure it’s all just part of the gimmick. Loosen up, Champ. Tonight’s a party.”

Kleio led Tommy and Chris through a side door and down a steep flight of stairs. The exposed brick on the walls didn’t match the motif upstairs. A row of small, dim, swinging lights barely provided enough illumination for them to see their way down the steps.

As they reached the bottom of the steps, Kleio pulled on a large wooden door that appeared to weigh more than her. The scene on the other side of the door made Tommy and Chris think that they were stepping into another world.

While the party continued to rage upstairs, the eerie silence of this VIP Lounge was almost overwhelming. Tommy and Crowe, overwhelmed by a sense of curiosity and the desire to celebrate their reunion and Tommy’s recent title win, stepped inside. They quickly regretted their decision.




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She held me spellbound in the night
Dancing shadows and fireflight
Crazy laughter in another room
And she drove herself to madness with a silver spoon



The low-hanging, swinging, dim lights that barely provided enough illumination to guide them down the steps were replaced by lavish fixtures that gave off a bright purple glow. The creaky wooden stairs were replaced by a thick, lush carpet that wreaked of opulence. The upstairs bar looked nice enough, but this VIP Lounge? This was the kind of place where rock stars and movie stars partied. And for a night, it was going to be the host of a party for Tommy Bedlam and Chris Crowe.

The extravagance of the room quickly wore off, as both Tommy and Chris realized that they were the only two people there. In a place as large as Mexico City, it seemed unlikely that there were no other VIPs. When Tommy turned around to ask Kleo where everyone else was, she was gone. Chris grabbed the door, which appeared to be made of steel from the inside, and realized that it was locked.

“Quit fucking around Crowe. Let’s get out of here and go somewhere else.”

“Who’s fucking around? This motherfucker is locked.”

The two men shared a long gaze. Tommy’s mind immediately went to Randi and his unborn child. She was due any day, which was largely why he wanted to get back to Texas early the next day.

As Crowe and Bedlam turned from the door to try to find another exit, they were startled by two gorgeous bartenders. Apparently they weren’t the only people in the VIP Lounge, they were just the only two guests.

“Hello, gentlemen. We’ve been waiting for you.”

The gorgeous blonde waitress had eyes that shot straight through Tommy. It was almost like she was looking into his soul.

“Waiting…for us?”

Another breath-taking blonde popped up behind the first. She shot the first girl a glare that spoke volumes. She had said too much. They looked vaguely familiar, but for some reason, Tommy simply couldn’t place them. Under any other circumstances, he would’ve known exactly who they were, but it was as though some sort of spell had been placed on him.

“Yes. Kleio, the manager, radioed down and let us know that she was bringing Tommy Bedlam and Chris Crowe down. We’re both huge wrestling fans, so we wanted to make sure that everything was ready for you. We’ve been waiting ever since she told us you were looking for a seat upstairs.”

“Why don’t you guys grab a seat and look over the drink menu?”

The first waitress, the tall, breathtaking blonde with the soul-piercing eyes, handed Tommy a small black card with a list of speciality drinks. The names were bizarre. “The Cowboy Casanova,” “The Show Stopper,” “Old Friends and New Enemies” and “Spellbound.”

“I’ll have a Jack and Coke.”

“Make that two.”

The other waitress, the shorter of the two, gave Tommy and Crowe a wink, and made her way behind the bar. While she mixed the drinks, her companion, who had introduced herself only as “B,” sat down at one of the sleek looking, modern couches that covered the perimeter of the room. She crossed her long legs, and motioned for Chris and Tommy to grab a seat.

Reluctantly, they sat down across a small table from her.

“Have you guys ever had your fortunes told?”

“I got my start wrestling for a carnival company. I’ve seen all the fortune telling I need to see for a lifetime.”

“Oh, dear. I’m not talking about silly little carnival games. We offer a much more…comprehensive reading to our VIP clients. Are you interested, Tommy?”

He wasn’t remotely interested in having his fortune told. He didn’t believe in this sort of bullshit, but something wasn’t right. The locked door, the VIP Lounge that looked nothing like the upstairs, and this odd feeling of having lost control had left Tommy feeling incredibly agreeable.

The other waitress, who B had referred to as Celeste, made her way from behind the bar, and sat the two drinks down in front of Tommy and Chris. They looked like Jack and Coke, they even smelled like Bedlam’s favorite drink. But as soon as the first sip hit his tongue, Tommy knew that something was amiss. The liquid was ice cold, but it burnt his lips, as it slid down his tongue. Crowe immediately noticed the same thing. The two old friends had drank together plenty of times, and neither of them had ever felt a buzz from a single drink. This was no buzz; this was poison.

The room began to spin, and for a moment, it felt as though everything was slowing down. Tommy struggled to hold his eyes open. Was it the head trauma from the match, or had he been poisoned? His breathing felt labored, but he fought to keep his eyes open. Crowe was still sitting there to his right, but Tommy struggled to get any words out.

“I think you’re open to a reading now, Tommy.”

B reached behind her back and pulled out a stack of tarot cards. Tommy had never believed in any of this stuff before, but he was in even less of a position to put up a fight than he was a few moments ago.

iMdkZUdhX5UutRm7I10q0MxpEZKBX2it1THAJEpeTGdFYWuyjZsBVXjM8Lbn_zIt8Pg4nDA0h4IVst6EMeU0AtcW0g5tO5jnFrVTROUxAcGmSlGJZ3FfKrBw6WZ3yaOTPx91Pbk5L4mNQEzUn_7Qre0

“Oh, The Lovers. You have someone in your life who means a great deal to you. A beautiful soul who came to you at the very moment that you needed her the most, no?”

Tommy nodded. Of course she knew that. If the pair of waitresses were truly FWA fans, Randi had been with Tommy on-screen for the last several months.

“You have secrets that you’re keeping from her, though. Secrets that have the power to destroy your relationship.”

That was all certainly true. Randi knew about what had happened with Bobby Ray, but she still had no clue about Tommy’s deal with the devil himself. B reached down for the second card, never taking her eyes off of Tommy.

hx-eUAwv6en0jDBBDmItGXsxZ4vC47JEy8yOyCzKzp0MRdpUV_fOC43USHoVkrr5nUMYiZ1ZPxlUUExoZBW1-OMf4IVQLOiYl9dlQ1QjAktDhFcQcUCiN87xdwWGMhRb-1pr9AbopNh8ZRjghlQe3q0


“My, my. I see that you have taken the steps to pursue the finer things in life. Fame, fortune, accolades, titles that people place on you. I believe you had always sworn that you would never be moved by those things, but here you are, chasing the very things that you once claimed didn’t matter.”


How did she know about the deal?! Tommy’s mind began to race, or at least it tried to. The concoction that he had taken a single drink of continued to render him feeling like his mind was moving at a snail’s pace.

Tommy managed to look over at Crowe, trying to see if his partner had picked up on what she was saying, but Crowe appeared to still be trying to shake off the effects of whatever they had drank. Crowe wasn’t paying attention to anything going on with Tommy. His eyes were locked into a scene that was unfolding in Celeste’s crystal ball.

Tommy could see enough of the crystal ball to realize that Celeste had somehow drummed of images from Crowe’s past. He could see a younger Crowe fighting for the Carnivale Championship Wrestling World Championship. Then, Tommy saw a bright flash in the crystal ball, as the image inside became a young Chris Crowe, falling to the ground, screaming and holding his leg. For a moment, the sounds of Crowe’s screams from the past drowned out the music that filled the VIP Lounge.

WF1WhwB8-BlDeyiEdGnDD0MmVan0J8eTiirkazluZ88qqKgU18YAa5qTxaYOGyoQKyZVWFOzGXRHcFgPXutLVk4At2P8Uhf68C2BqTFkvAe0ly4ViqraGOC5RhziC-AbS0FZTjcFmkoC8gozTx1YfKY

“Christopher, I see a rollercoaster. Every time your life has a high point, it’s followed by a dramatic fall. You were once considered a wrestling prodigy, then you suffered a horrendous injury. You found your way to FWA, you even formed an alliance with some very dangerous, very talented performers, but it all crumbled, and has passed through your hands like sand through an hourglass.”

Chris Crowe was growing more and more uneasy. This wasn’t the first time he had found himself in a situation like this, and the wheels in his mind were already in motion, determining the best way to get himself and Tommy out of this.

“You made your way up the ranks of FWA, even when your unholy alliance fell apart, but then, you came crashing back down to earth. Now, now you’re waking up in a run down trailer surrounded by women who you’d be ashamed for anyone to know you’ve been with. The rollercoaster was at yet another low point, at least until earlier tonight, wasn’t it, Christopher?”

This certainly wasn’t another example of the carny fortune telling that Crowe had spent years around. The medium who sat across the table could truly see the details of Christopher’s life that he was sure no one outside of himself and Harry knew about. He had always prided himself on not letting people get to him mentally, not letting people break his psyche, but the wiccan waitress whose eyes looked directly into his own was getting to him.

“Tonight should have been another example of an unparalleled high, but no. Things are going to get bad for you again, Christopher Crowe. And this time, there is no coming back from it. Your rollercoaster hasn’t just found its final lowpoint. It’s gone off the rails, and tonight is the night that everything ends for the very last time.”

The emphasis that she put on those last three words were all that Crowe needed to hear. The girl who had looked like a gorgeous bartender all of an hour ago suddenly looked like something out of a horror movie. As her hands slowly glided around the glass orb that she had set on the table between her and Crowe, her skin took on a translucent shade of white, almost exposing her bones. The glimmer in her eye that Crowe, a man who was always looking for his next dose of female companionship, had noticed had been replaced by an evil, a flame of hatred that burnt so wildly that it was palpable. Gone was the cute smile from a bartender who had planned on getting a good tip. It had been replaced by a sinister smirk that sent chills up and down The Showman’s spine.

Crowe’s eyes remained transfixed on the crystal ball, almost as if he had been hypnotized. He saw himself standing in the middle of the ring with the North American Championship high above his head, and he sat in stunned silence as the ring slowly engulfed into flames, the gold of the title melting and pouring from his hands until he was drawn deeper and deeper into the flames.
vLHPpF6LJUx_lTC3sCpHZQxEBD_GDmrxcwNHBU4d6UIwcaRCIsgxW8paFfFMDSOhdls-r_VH0rUedg48zUX2egTAM1aRWT9gCLkFbukOUY5KUkmLleuX9UXx1UnEzlo9uPk6dRpFZKfcqhBHN7Kf_aU



“You have one more card Tommy. I want you to pick a card from the deck this time.”

Tommy’s arms felt like they weighed a hundred pounds. He was struggling to form a coherent thought, but instinctively, he reached for the deck of cards in her hands. It appeared as though one was glowing, an ominous purple glow coming from a card near the middle of the deck. Tommy reached in, grabbed the card, and flipped it over onto its back in the middle of the table.

“Oh my. The death card. Tommy, it appears that death and destruction follow you everywhere you go.”

Once again, she was right. Tommy had been well-acquainted with death dating back to his childhood. His grandparents had died when he was young, the death of one of his uncles had led to his dropping out of school to go work on the ranch. The events surrounding his uncle Jimmy’s death led to him meeting Randi. Then, there was Bobby Ray.

“So much death and destruction. Death has caused you to grieve, but it’s also caused you to feel incredibly powerful, hasn’t it? And now, death, the cold, heartless beast that he is, is coming for you, Tommy Bedlam.”

The skeleton on the death card’s head slowly protruded from the card, slowly slithering toward Tommy as if it was attached to a large serpent. The lights in the once lavish VIP Lounge flickered wildly as Tommy felt the hot breath of this other-worldly beast against his face. The sulfuric smell of the beast’s breath turned his stomach. All the while, the same flames that Chris Crowe was watching devour himself at the height of his FWA success were inching their way out of the crystal ball, slowly engulfing the side of the couch on which he sat.

Blair and C, the waitress witches, had taken two large steps backward from the scene that they had caused. They stood there, their eyes lifted up toward the sky, their hands raised, palms up, as they summoned spirits from the other realm who were there solely to destroy their upcoming opponents.

PSKqjzDB2AF6xDYA_pKk3C1ohLqJv4nydB8LmA4q21AOS-_4_7UkvorErN2paXmwLCShXaMzyh7DlpJi_8X55s8zJYOhshoLlIuKa2Wnl21c9BWQuGx3y8FZ3frZ3W4FyD7sQKGpftuwfXJtzI1b6jc

As the skeletal beast, who had fully slithered from the card that Tommy had flipped from the deck, slowly wrapped its cold, lifeless, boney fingers around his throat, Tommy was still too incapacitated, either by the poisonous drink he had taken earlier or by the fear of this demonic creature. It was then that he was snapped out of his near catatonic state by a large crash.

“Really thought I was done breaking crystal balls over peoples’ heads after the last time.”

Chris Crowe had grabbed the crystal ball that had depicted the ebbs and flows of his own life and smashed it over the head of the beast. A mixture of crystal and bone flew through the air, falling onto the plush, purple carpet. The beast let out a guttural screech as it whipped through the air like a balloon that had been deflated. A heavy black fog settled in over the room as lightning flashed across the room. As a clack of thunder rang out over the cackling sound of the witches, the skeletal figure was taken up into the ominous black clouds that hung over the room, presumably being welcomed back into whatever sort of demonic otherworld from which is had come.

B and Celest, who both Tommy and Chris now recognized as Blair and Celestia Ravenwood, two-thirds of the FWA Trios Champions, both lunged across the room, levitating and driving both men into the wall behind them.

Crowe and The Cowboy crashed into the wall with enough force to leave human-sized dents in the drywall. Tommy felt a familiar throb in his head. The injuries that he had suffered earlier in the night at the hands of Shawn Summers were still very fresh. His head was throbbing so badly that it blurred his vision. Undoubtedly concussed, Tommy dragged himself from the rubble of the destroyed wall with the help of his friend, who had extended a hand toward him.

“Looks like we’re doing this again partner.”

“Flip the switch, Crowe. Flip. The. Switch.”

WjhfYQysJc3BI75_dQcEROEgnzodk8IBmJTGsUJLY6WY2s16JQxlRplPwsi0yYQbIPEKg6pVJ11GY6sY2lCvU5gjAtmC3vSvfNENd7VS0SvVeTcBHzOkEdmcHg-_jfrX6LHxQFbaJhNFLM-B9E0tuhk


As Celestia and Blaire continued to stare upwards, calling for whatever sort of supernatural power that they believed necessary to help them kill the returning Deathswitch, Tommy and Crowe both ran across the room.

As Tommy lifted up his size-13 boot, planting it squarely into Celestia’s jaw, Chris Crowe leapt into the air and delivered a crushing knee to Blair’s mouth. Both women fell backwards, rolling into the front of the bar.

Tommy picked Blair up from the ground, grabbed her by the hair, and dragged her down the bar headlong, breaking a series of glasses and bottles along the way. All the while, Chris had his hands firmly planted around Celestia’s throat pounding her head against the large door that had locked behind them when they were ushered downstairs. Chris and Tommy picked up their nearly-lifeless opponents, and smashed their heads together, sending them to the ground in an unholy heap.

The Cowboy and Crowe knew that this was no time to allow them to regroup, so they seized the opportunity and dove onto their fallen foes. With a bevy of rights and lefts, Tommy and Chris delivered blow after blow to the heads, bodies, and whatever parts of the pair of sister witches that they could hit.

The sounds coming from the women were not human. With the landing of every shot, demonic groans came out of the pair. Neither Tommy nor Chris had ever heard anything like it.

A deep, evil voice came from the black fog that continued to hang over the room.

“In the name of the god of the netherworld, sisters of the night, ARISE!”

As Tommy and Chris continued to swing wildly at The Coven, it suddenly became apparent that their punches and kicks were accomplishing nothing. The sisters seemed to be unphased by the blood that they were losing. As droplets continued to spatter over the front of the bar, each of them, endued by a strength that was not their own, raised up slowly, grabbing Tommy and Chris by the throats.

Celestia lifted Tommy into the air, as Blair did the same thing to Chris. Each man’s struggle to break their grips was futile. As the pair of witches carried Tommy and Chris across the room by their throats, the ground began to shake and rumble. Suddenly, as though Casa de la Brujas had been constructed on a fault line, the floor split in half. The fires of hell nipped at the heels of Tommy and Chris, sending painstaking burning sensations up their legs. The witches were clearly unphased as they began to chant some sort of incantation in perfect unison.

“Doomed by the power of the witch
The reformed members of Deathswitch
Stories they never got to tell
As their souls go straight to hell”

In a moment of sheer desperation, Chris reached down and managed to grab a piece of the shattered crystal ball that had embedded itself in the back of the couches where he had been sitting just moments earlier. The piece of crystal was almost too hot to hold, searing a jagged line in Chris’ palm.

Meanwhile, Tommy managed to find a jagged piece of the skeletal skull that had tried to kill him before this supernatural brawl broke out. Unlike the crystal, it was so cold that it was hard to handle. Armed with weapons that had been provided from their recently-ended near-death experiences, Tommy and Chris slashed wildly at the witches who held them precariously over the flames that were growing hotter and higher by the seconds.

Just as Chris managed to slash Blair’s throat, Tommy plunged the long, cold, piece of skull into Celestia’s stomach. With a screech that sounded as though it was part human and part demon, Tommy and Chris were flung into the air, landing just on the edge of the fiery pit.

The witches charged in once more, but they were wounded. Unfortunately, so were Tommy and Crowe. As the witches moved in, Tommy and Chris delivered simultaneous kicks to their midsections. Tommy grabbed Blair’s head and threw it under his arm, as Chris did the same to Celestia. They hooked the arms of the witches behind their flailing, damaged bodies as Chris delivered “The Closing Act,” and Tommy hit “The Bullseye.”

Between the heavy black cloud that hung ominously over the room and the fires of the underworld, there stood a tall wooden pillar that seemed to support the Casa de la Brujas.

Tommy dragged Blair towards it, affixing her body to the post by driving the jagged piece of skull through her stomach and into the pole. Chris managed to hold onto the blazing hot piece of crystal ball, as he jammed it through Celestia’s forehead, affixing her to the same post.

Both men scrambled backwards as the blood of the witches streamed down the post and into the seemingly bottomless pit of fire. A group of faceless demons appeared at the base of the makeshift sacrificial altar, ready to welcome the souls of the dead to their midst.

Tommy and Chris had no doubt that the demons were expecting a Showman and a Cowboy. Hopefully they would be satisfied with the souls of a pair of witches. As the flames moved up the pole, the black cloud appeared to move down it. As the screams of Blair and Celestia Ravenwood slowly faded into the nothingness of what awaited them below, the lights flickered once again, and…

TJrkLOAXAJobUQwdU0gz26CtK0EBPaXjYsdy_Z-ZskcYGXOzXdtuW79XT_6p8-8wjYfAA48qz04HjvX1BZTEUlsMb4uywUQPxjBznzgOmKF0_6RY8WAQ3XAYpf0t6xH27ukjqeb4AA22Lw_vb8WtX9I


Backstage at Estadio Azteca
Mexico City, Mexico
Sunday July 23, 2023

Tommy felt the cold tile against his back and as a throbbing sensation shot through his head. His midsection ached as he struggled to get a deep breath. A bright light shone into his eye, causing his pupil to dilate.

“Baby? Baby?!?! Oh my God, Tommy. You’re awake.”

“Hey, y’all back the fuck up and give him some room to breathe. Goddamn.”

“Shake! Hey, Meltzer. Get that fucking camera out of here. So help me God, I’ll make it impossible for you break another story as long as I fucking live, you piece of shit!”

Tommy managed to look around a bit and realized that he was surrounded by Randi, Chris Crowe, and Rocco Sullivan. As his eyes struggled to find their focus, he looked beyond them and realized that he was at the gorilla position just behind the curtain. He could still hear the crowd cheering from inside the arena. He heard someone on the production team barking orders.

“Go to the XYZ segment. NOW! NOW! NOW! Get it live. We’ve got a situation back here.”

Tommy struggled to sit up, but with help from Rocco and Chris Crowe, he managed to get up onto a knee as he inched his way closer to one of the nearby walls backstage at the arena. He looked down and realized that he was still holding onto the X Title that he had just won, his blood dripping onto it from the open wound in his forehead.

The doctor who was shining his light in Tommy’s eyes slowly stood up.

“I think he’s gonna be fine. We’re gonna need to get that gash in his head sowed up. Summers is in the exam room right now, so I’m just gonna have the nurse fix him up right here. I’ll check him out once we get Shawn out of the room and on his way to the hospital.”

“Thank you, Dr. Hazelett.”

“Hey baby, I’m a champion.”

Tommy managed to smile through the pain that was slowly overtaking his body. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the wall. He was suddenly startled awake when he heard the voice of the nurse who was there to stitch up his forehead.

“Hello, Tommy. I’m Nurse De Santos. I’m going to take care of you.”

Fuck.


 
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BIG BRYAN BAXTER


IN


LUCHA 101


LUCHA 101


:::Twenty Four Hours Before Back in Business Night One:::

Bryan stared at his phone. His eyes glue to the screen as he lay back on the bed in his dimly lit hotel room. He has been doing this every night. Every single night. Wrestling with his emotions when he should be worried about who he was wrestling in twenty four hours.

He had never wanted to think about that night with Kristy, the night that changed everything. The memory of that drunken rage and the accidental strike haunted him like a relentless demon. He had lost control, and it cost him the woman he loved.

Seven long years had passed since they last saw each other, and he often wondered where life had taken her.

Did she hate him?

Did she move on?

Did she ever think about him?

He looked at Kristy’s name and phone number on the contact screen. A couple times he had gone as far as actually clicking on the number and typing out a message.

Hey… it's me… yeah…
I know… been a minute…

DELETE.

Stupid. Come on Bryan, you’re better than this. Just put the phone down and get ready for Back in Business. What was the point anyway? She had to hate him. She wouldn’t want anything to do with him.

But with every passing night, the ghost from his past continued to haunt him every night. Wearing him down more and more. This was a ghost he felt like he was going to have to confront.

Heeey… it’s Baxxy!
Long time no talk!

DELETE.

Really? Really Bryan? That’s what you want to lead with? You sound like a damn fool.

Bryan sighed as he considered tossing the phone across the room, shattering it against the hotel wall. But he stopped himself and instead just set it down on the night stand beside his king sized bed.

He rested his head against the headboard. Why was it so hard? He was one of the baddest motherfuckers in the FWA… he was the current dominant North American Champion… but here he was, afraid of hitting send on a goddamn text message to someone he hasn’t seen in years?

Fuck it.

Bryan reached over and snatched the phone, typing furiously.

Hey, it’s Bax… I dunno if you’re
gonna get this msg or not and if you
do, you probably don’t really want to
anyway. But… lately I can’t get you
off my mind. I can’t stop thinking about
what I did to you. I like to think I’ve
changed since then… I got clean.
I had to. What I did to you was a
low point in my life. And I just wanted
the chance to say I was sorry.

Knowing if he paused or hesitated at all, he’d probably chicken out again… he hit send without thinking. He let out a sigh. Was it relief or even more anxiety? Even Bryan wasn’t sure about that.

He dropped the phone down to the bed and closed his eyes. At least now he might be able to get some sleep. He didn’t expect to hear back from her. He didn’t deserve to anyway. But at least he had finally gone through with it.



DING.

No way.

Already?

Bryan pulled the phone up and looked at it. It was a response!


Who is this?

Bryan’s heart sank. There’s no way Kristy would’ve forgotten about him. Maybe she’d suppressed the entire memory of him. Or perhaps, more likely, she had moved on and gotten a new number.

Oh well, it was worth a shot.

It’s Bryan Baxter.
Who is this?

This is Audrey.


Oh… I guess I must have
the wrong number.



Wait. Omg wait… Bryan Baxter?
As in BIG BRYAN BAXTER?!
FWA NORTH AMERICAN CHAMP?!


Uh, yep that’s me.


NO FREAKIN WAY!
Omg!


Right… well anyway, sorry
again about the wrong number.


Wait! I’m actually a fan!


Bryan rolled his eyes. Yeah, okay. No one is actually a Big Bryan Baxter fan.

I find that hard to believe.


No I am 4 real. Me and my mom
dont miss Meltdown or Fallout.


Mom? Wait, how old are you?

Seven!

Nope.

Nope.

Nope.

This is how you end up on Dateline. Bryan knew he needed to end this conversation right away. What in the world is a seven year old doing with a cell phone, he wondered. Ugh, whatever… gotta end this now.


Ok, well… I appreciate both of
you… watching… but I gotta go.


Yeah! You got 2 worry about
bib rite?


Right. Good bye.


My mom thinks you are going
to lose.

Bryan was about to put his phone away when he found himself triggered by those words.

Excuse me?

Yeah she said you were
going to lose ur focus.


Some fans you are.

I never said she was a fan.


Ok sure. But I think you’re mom
knows nothing about me.
I’m a bit of a bastard.


She doesnt think so. She thinks
ur a phony.

Bryan could feel the steam building up in his head. This chick knows nothing about him and wants to accuse him of being a phony? She knows nothing about what he can do. What he has done. What he is capable of. Bryan could walk out there at Back in Business and make sure Mike Parr never wrestled again.


but me I think ur great! I dont really
like ur friend jeremy…. Mom says youd
be beter off without him.


Yeah, well sounds like your mom
doesn’t know much about anything.


Hey thats not nice!
My mom is awesome!

Realizing he was still talking, much less arguing, with a child, Bryan shook his head. Once again, his anger was getting the best of him.

Yeah, I am sure she is. My bad.


its ok. I think we both think
u r being held back.

Maybe. So ya’ll want me to show people
what I’m really capable of huh?

Yeah!

Be careful what you wish for, little lady.
You may not like what you see.


LOL! I guess thats why my mom
always calls you a basturd.

Bryan couldn’t help but chuckle to himself.

You don’t know the half of it.
Be sure to watch tomorrow night.
You’ll see what I’m capable of.

Bryan finally closed out the phone and placed it on the night stand once again. Maybe they were right. Maybe he had been holding back. Maybe it was time the FWA found out what Bryan Baxter was really capable of.

Maybe it was time to meet Big Bryan Bastard.








The rhythmic thud of gloves against the punching bag echoed through the mostly empty gym as Bryan Baxter unleashed his frustrations. Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, mingling with the intensity of his thoughts. Back in Business had been a defining moment for him.

He had done it.

FWA had met the Bastard.

Baxter figured it would be a while before we saw Mike Parr again. If at all. Baxter assumed he might be too embarrassed to ever show his face in the FWA again. Or perhaps in wrestling at all.

All that mattered was that he was still FWA North American Champion.

Though it wasn’t all positives for Baxter coming out of Back in Business.

His partner and friend Jeremy Best was buried alive at the hands of that little punk Krash.

Of course, Baxter knew that Jeremy wasn’t really buried alive. He’d be okay. He’d be back. Baxter wasn’t so delusional to not realize Jeremy was not the most mentally stable guy around. He knew Jeremy would need some time to recover from this. Wherever Jeremy was, Baxter hoped he would be back soon and have found some peace.

But for now… Baxter was on his own. For the first time since joining FWA.

“He’s gone! He’s really gone!”

Well, maybe not completely alone.

Those cries belonged to the masked man that Jeremy had been masquerading around as “Krash” for the past several weeks leading up to Back in Business. Bryan preferred to call him by his actual name, Frank.

“Why are you still here?” Bryan said, stopping his all out assault on the punching bag to address the moping masked man as he sat on a nearby weight bench, his head lowered solemnly.

“What are we gonna do Bryan? What are we gonna do without Jeremy?”

Bryan sighed before delivering another series of hard punches to the bag, imagining Frank’s masked mustache face instead.

“I dunno, maybe take that stupid mask off and go back to whatever sad life you had before this?”

The sad masked man looked up from the floor, a pair of puppy dog eyes beaming from behind the mask. “I have no life to return to. I have no one. No family. No friends.”

Cry me a river, Baxter thought as he pounded on the bag, hoping he would just maybe get up and leave. No such luck.

“We’ve gotta do something, Bryan. Look what Jeremy did when Krash went missing last year!”

Growing frustrated, Bryan stopped his punching, grabbing the bag. “I think Jeremy is just going to need some time, okay? He’ll be fine.”

Would he though? Bryan couldn’t help but wonder what if this was the breaking point. What if there was no coming back for him after being rejected by Krash?

“WWJD.”

“What?”

“What Would Jeremy Do?”

“C’mon Frank…”

“My name isn’t Frank anymore.”

“Well it sure as fuck isn’t Krash.”

“No… no you’re right. Krash is a big ole jerk! Who would do such a thing to a great person like Jeremy?”

“Well, if you’re not Frank and you’re not Krash. What the fuck am I supposed to call you? Man?”

“Uh… how about… Sir Stache.”

“Fuck off.”

Bryan began punching at the bag again, resisting the temptation to cave in Frank’s face.


DING.

Ugh, what now. Bryan stopped his workout/venting session to reach into his pocket and retrieve his phone.

Hey! Way 2 go at bib.

Not this again. Bryan ignored it, putting the phone back in his pocket.

“Was that Jeremy!?!” Frank asked with excitement.

“No,” Baxter firmly shot down any hope for ‘Sir Stache.’ His frustration was evident in his voice.

Baxter didn’t feel like dealing with any of this. He didn’t feel like dealing with the fact that he may have lost his friend. That Jeremy may be too far gone to come back. That he has some pathetic sad sack now riding his coattails with Jeremy not around. And he certainly didn’t want to deal with some kid harassing him on the phone.

DING.

Aw sonuvabitch.

Hello????

Are you egnoring me?

Don’t be rude!

Hey! Let’s talk about your next match!

Ugh, make it stop.

“You should really answer your phone,” Sir Stache advised. “Seems pretty important. Someone really wants to talk to you.”

“Yeah, well it’s not. Probably someone wanting to sell me somethin’,” he lied.

Baxter hadn’t given much thought to Fallout with Back in Business still fresh in his mind. Juan Tothrefor? Baxter wasn’t even exactly sure who that was.

I can help again!

Again? Does she really think she helped before?

It had only been a matter of time before The Bastard showed up. With the shit Bryan was going through. With the amount of people putting a target on his back. The Bastard is how he was going to survive.

I don’t need your help.
Don’t message me anymore.


Aw! Don’t be so mean!

I think you saw who I am.
Don’t be so surprised.

Fine. But I just thought you
might want some lucha advice.

Lucha advice? What kinda advice
is a kid gonna give me on that?

My family really loves wrestling.
And luchadores are so cool!

I think I can handle myself against
some guy I’ve never heard of.

Did you know he’s a Art of Lucha
Champion???

Art of Lucha? Sounds like one of
those easy college classes
I took to make sure I stayed
eligible for football.

Omg. You DO need my help!
Art of Lucha is like the best of
the best. Trust me, you should
not take him lightly.

I can handle myself.

Ok! Dont say i didnt warn you!

Bryan tucked his phone back into his pocket, turning his attention back over to Frank, err… Sir Stache. “Hey you. Tell me everything you know about Lucha Libre.”

Sir Stache snapped out of his apparent day dream, tilting his head to look back over at Baxter. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Lucha Libre? You’re a Luchadore aren’t you?”

“What?”

“I dunno… with the mask and everything… I just…”

“I dunno man, Jeremy gave me the mask.”

“Ugh, you’re so useless. Well look up Art of Lucha, would ya?”

Stache pulled out his own phone and began to search the internet. “Looks like a pretty cool place. Lots of cool masks… and um… wait… Bryan…”

Another sigh of frustration from Baxter. “Yeah? What now?”

“Take a look at this.”

Sir Stache handed the phone over to Bryan. The screen advertised a show in just a couple days for Art of Lucha, featuring the debut of Mejor Amigo.

“Mejor Amigo? I took enough Spanish in High School to know that means… BEST FRIEND. And look at that guy… he looks just like Jeremy if he was wearing a mask! We found him, Bryan! Jeremy has become a Luchadore!”

Bryan stared at Sir Stache and suddenly just began to laugh, much to the chagrin of the masked man.

“What’s so funny?”

“Hahaha… no… sorry, yeah no, that’s not Jeremy.”

“What? It has to be. Look at him! His bio on the website even says he uses the Spanish version of You Got a Friend in Me and his finisher is basically the same move and everything…”

“Yeah, I know. Here’s the thing… about a year ago, Jeremy met this guy in Mexico who was an aspiring wrestler… but was struggling to figure out what to do to make himself stand out amongst the colorful personalities down there… and well… Jeremy offered him up basically his own personality. So yeah… he’s basically the Lucha Jeremy Best but he is not the actual Jeremy.”

“Oh…” Sir Stache once again lowered his head in defeat.

“But… maybe it’s time Mejor Amigo returned the favor…”

“Wait, what?”

“Come on Frank, we’re heading to Mexico!”

For the first time in forty eight hours, Sir Stache felt some excitement as he leapt to his feet. “Woohoo! Road trip!”









“¡Hola amigos!” The friendly masked wrestler known as Mejor Amigo welcomed Big Bryan Baxter and Sir Stache as they climbed into the Art of Lucha ring inside the empty arena, the actual show not taking place for another day.

“Hi…” Sir Stache said cautiously as he moved in close, examining Mejor Amigo’s entire body very carefully and suspiciously. “Mr. Amigo… IF that is your real name.”

“Ah ha! As you will soon learn, Señor Stache, that is one of the beauties of Lucha! It is in fact NOT my real name!”

“AH HA! IT IS JEREMY!”

Baxter shook his head while bringing up his right hand to rub his forehead. He could feel a migraine coming on. “You’ll have to excuse my… uh… associate… he is not handling Jeremy’s loss very well.”

“Ahh, no worries, my friend. I too was disappointed to see Señor Best not walk away from Back in Business victorious!”

Baxter nodded his head before cutting to the chase. “Look, I don’t wanna waste too much of your time here…”

“Oh, it is but my pleasure! Please! You are wasting no time at all! A friend of Jeremy’s is a friend of mine!”

This guy really was the Lucha version of Jeremy…

“Right… okay, cool. So, yeah… I appreciate you giving me the rundown here. So… what do I need to know to make sure I kick this one guy’s ass.”

“It’s Juan, actually,” Stache corrected.

“I know his name. I just was saying he’s one guy.”

“Ahh! Juan Tothrefor!”

“Do they count to four instead of three in Lucha?” Sir Stache questioned the rules. “And no one’s shoulders are pinned… I’m still learning a lot about wrestling but I believe that’s pretty important.”

Baxter slapped the back of Frank’s masked head. “Shut up.”

“Haha! Your friend is quite the comedian! But no, you are wise to come to me. Juan Tothrefor is a formidable opponent. A champion and big name here in Art of Lucha! I have not had the pleasure of grappling with him just yet, but perhaps one day!”

“So I hear. So what do I need to know to beat him.”

“Allow me to start with the basics. You see, my friends, not all wrestlers are created equally in the world of Lucha. In Lucha, you are either a técnico or a rudo. And when it comes to técnicos, Juan is one of the best. These are the… how do you say… heroes… of Lucha.”

“So, what. That makes me a rudo?”

“That makes sense. You’re very rude.”

“Si. You are the bad guy. The villain. You are El Bastardo.”

“El Bastardo. I like it.”

“Si! I think we know your Lucha name now! Wonderful! Now the other thing about Lucha is the costumes. The best Luchadores are the ones that make their costumes… their masks… part of their persona. That was what I was missing before Jeremy helped me out.”

“Hey, me too!” Sir Stache expressed with jubilance as he aimed to further a connection with this Jeremy Best surrogate.

“Ah, si, si… your mask certainly fits the persona Jeremy created for you.”

“So what, I should wear a mask?”

“Well, not necessarily, amigo. But I do think your gear is a bit… well, uh, generic, for Lucha. I do like the black… it fits your rudo personality.”

“Oh, I definitely think you should get a mask. We can be mask buddies!”

Bryan felt that migraine again.

“Look, I don’t really care about what I’m wearin’ or if I’m getting booed or not. I just want to make sure I kick this guy’s ass.”

“Ah, why didn’t you say so!”

“I mean I thought I was pretty clear…”

“Well then amigo, we should skip ahead…”

“Great. Yes. Please. Skip ahead to the part where I can bash this guy’s brains in.”

“Oooookay! A little more violent than I’m used to but I like your enthusiasm. Then let me demonstrate some of the moves of Lucha. Now typically you’ll find that Luchadores are quite agile… quick on our feet. Juan on the surface may appear perhaps… a little… more portly… than your typical Luchadore…”

“Like Bryan!”

“Oh no, not that portly.”

“Hey!” Bryan said, not amused at their comments.

“Sorry señor! Many apologies. I am just saying that don’t let looks deceive you, my friend. Juan’s agility is deceiving and that is a mistake many of his opponents have made over the years!”

“Alright, what types of stuff should I look out for.”

“Allow me to demonstrate. Señor Stache… may I?”

Stache didn’t seem to be paying attention, but nodded his head in agreement, unsure of exactly what he was agreeing to. Mejor Amigo moved in and grabbed the surprised Stache by the arm and he whipped him into the ropes. Sir Stache came back off the ropes and Amigo leapfrogged over him.

Amigo ran to the opposite ropes as Stache bounced back toward him once again and Amigo twisted his body around Stache, taking him down to the mat with a tiltawhirl headscissors.

Stache stumbled back to his feet. “Hey! What’s the big idea…”

Amigo’s motions were fluid as he leaped onto the ropes, flipping backward into a springboard moonsault body press to take Stache back down to the mat!

“You must always have your eyes on your opponent,” Amigo stood back up, offering a hand to Stache to help him back up to his feet. “Your opponent will always be in motion. Looking for the attack of the counterattack. His speed is the biggest threat.”

“I’ve dealt with speed before,” Baxter dismissed. “Because, I can just do this.”

Baxter grabbed Stache, lifting him up into a Gorilla Press with ease before tossing Stache over the top rope to the floor at ringside!

“Your strength and power is quite impressive, Señor Baxter. But do not underestimate your opponent. Because you never know… when he might strike!”

Amigo then ran to the far ropes before charging toward the side of the ring where Stache was trying to get back up at ringside, diving through the ropes with a tope suicida!

Baxter couldn’t help but crack a smile at watching Frank getting knocked to the ground over and over again. It was quite cathartic. He gave Amigo a sincere round of applause as the masked man stood up at ringside and took a bow. “Impressive.”

“Gracias! How about you give it a shot?”

“You want me… to dive out of the ring?”

“Si! I warn you about not underestimating your opponent… but perhaps you should also keep your opponent on your toes. Do something… they would never expect!”

Baxter scratched his head, giving it some thought as Stache struggled to pull himself up using the ring curtain. “Fuck it, why not…” Baxter surprisingly built up a head of steam as he bounced to the ropes and charged just like Amigo did…

And all three hundred pounds of Baxter went sailing through the ropes, recklessly crashing into Stache, sending the much smaller man flying back and crashing into the safety railing at ringside!

Baxter pulled himself up, his eyes wide with surprise in himself but a huge smile on his face. “That… was AWESOME.”

“Muy bunito! That was quite impressive, my friend! You pull that off during your match with Juan… I guarantee no one will see that one coming! But… you still must finish him off!”

Amigo helped pull Stache to his feet. “Ow…” Stache said, trying to catch his breath. “Thanks for the hel–” before tossing him back into the ring under the bottom rope.

Mejor Amigo climbed back in as Baxter followed, closely watching Amigo at work. “With as quick as the offense is in Lucha… a finish can be just as quick.” Amigo grabbed Stache by the legs and rolled him up into a La Magistral Cradle

“UNO! DOS! TRES!”

Amigo released the cradle and popped back up to his feet. “Just that fast and it could be all over.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. But I prefer to end matches my own way… much more… decisively, so to speak. Allow me to demonstrate.”

Baxter clobbered Sir Stache from behind as he tried to get back up. He then lifted him back up by the mask, and drilled him with the Baxter Driver in the middle of the ring. He hooked the leg and smirked as now he counted. “One! Two! Three!”

Baxter tossed Stache’s leg away and stood up. Frank was now motionless in the middle of the ring as Baxter stood up, proud of his handiwork.

“That is quite impressive, señor. However, piledrivers are illegal in Lucha Libre and you’d immediately be disqualified.”

Baxter shrugged. “Good news, this ain’t Lucha Libre rules at Fallout. And even if it was… what the ref doesn’t know won’t hurt anyone… well except him,” Baxter motioned toward the unconscious Sir Stache.

“I suppose that’s a good point.”

“Well, Amigo… it’s been… well, interesting. I didn’t know what to think going into this, but I may have actually learned a thing or two today.”

Mejor Amigo reached out and shook Baxter’s hand enthusiastically. “It was my pleasure, my friend. I’m always happy to help out where I can.”

Baxter gave a nod to Amigo before exiting the ring while Amigo knelt down next to Sir Stache, who finally began to show signs of life. “Are you okay, amigo?”

Sir Stache shook off the cobwebs, sitting up on the mat. “I think I need some Advil.”

“It was an honor to train with you today! I hope that one day you and Jeremy are able to reunite!”

Beneath his mask, Sir Stache’s eyes grew wide as he turned to Mejor Amigo. “I know he’s alive and he’s out there somewhere. And I will find him! I’d love to have your help in my quest. My… crusade.”

From his position seated on the mat, Stache lifted his arm up. The unmistakable symbol associated with Jeremy Best. The handshake.

“It… would be an honor.”

And so they shook on it… signaling both the start of a new friendship and a new crusade.







DING.

So close to getting back on the plane to head to Jamaica for Fallout when he saw another notification of a text from his young fan Audrey. Might as well respond, he probably did owe her a thanks for the advice after all.

Hello?

I can’t believe I am going to say
this but I guess I should thank you.

Who the fuck is this??

Ummm..

Who are you, creeper.
You’ve been talking to my
daughter on my phone.

Wait, I can explain…
It was a wrong number…
But I’m Big Bryan Baxter…
From FWA, she said you were fans…




Sorry. I know it’s weird.
But she kept messaging me.
Trust me, no more messages
from me.

Bax?
It’s me… Kristy.
Audry is my daughter…

Wait… Kristy…
I was trying to get in touch
with you. That’s how this started.

Sorry, she’s been using my
phone a lot lately. But yeah…
I never thought I’d be hearing
from you.

I know…
And I know you probably don’t
care to hear from me.

Where are you now?

About to jump on a plane to Jamaica.
Have to get to Fallout.
Why?

Idk… this is probably a bad idea.
But, give me a call after Fallout..



We probably should talk.
 
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Nothing comes easy in life. It’s a harsh reality to cope with. You have to desire victory, you have to love victory. But, what happens to a man who can’t love victory? What happens to a man that needs to learn to love himself before he can love victory?

The street lights dim under the beautiful night sky of Atlanta, as people stretch their legs upon the sidewalk, living their life the way they wish. It’s a lucky thing really, to have control over the direction your life takes.

Some people aren’t lucky like that. Such as the elderly man, shivering in an alleyway, his body coated with dirt and surrounded by a blanket of old cloth. Did he choose to suffer? It’s a disgusting sight to see, someone who found themselves on a downward spiral that they couldn’t climb out of.

That downward spiral is like a vortex, it draws you in with its awe and then it traps you, relentlessly forcing your breath away until you give in to it, falling victim. Anything can be this vortex. Addiction, Mental Issues, Failure …. Failure rings a bell.

Failure can bring out the worst in mankind. What’s the point in continuing on if every single thing you do in life is destined to fail. Your goals, your hopes, your aspirations all mean nothing because you cannot succeed.

Failure creates men like Sawyer Xavier.

In one of these alleyways, a van is parked beside a dumpster. It’s unkempt, dirty, the sides are slashed, and it clearly has had better days. The smell of it was a dirty one. It smelt like someone who just wants to numb all the sorrow and depression of the world. Smoke slid out the slivers of the windows, as coughing could be heard from the inside.

COUGH COUGH COUGH

“ACK! SHIT!”


A disgusting figure sat in the front seat, coughing up his lungs as a part of the blunt in his hands fell to the floor. He dropped his head on his steering wheel, which was falling apart. The horn slightly honked as the figure began to cry. It was a miserable sight to behold, as the figure, leaned back. His beard was scuffed, with some of the paper mixing into it.

“Shit … shit. Why the hell do I do this.”

He banged both his fists against the steering wheel, a loud honk blaring out, one that woke up the elderly man near the van. The figure was angry and lost, as he tried to compose himself. His fingers shook as he grabbed his keys, sticking them inside of the keyhole of his car. He cranked it with struggle, as he took a few breaths.

“Just … need to get back to Jayson.”

He muttered to himself, as he slowly drove out of the alleyway. As he drove down the road, he felt himself jerking at any sort of noise, as he swerved slightly on the road. His breaths heightened, as he gripped the steering wheel tightly, plastic somewhat piercing his skin as he stared off into the road, not watching.

The staring off was ended when he felt himself …

CRASH

The thought wouldn’t be finished as he jolted forward in his seat, the windshield of the van shattering into immediate pieces as the street light he ran straight into fell right on top of his van, denting it. In a simple moment, he couldn’t comprehend what was going on as the blaring alarm of his car faded into the background. His vision went narrow as he stared at his hands, which were shaking with every single nerve.

Time was an incomprehensible facet as an eternity and a second passed at the same time. As he stared at his hands, the events around him didn’t seem to register. All he could focus on were his sweaty palms, not being able to stay still. His pupils stared at them intently.

Then, the next moments flashed by like a passing train. A cop helping him out of the car, him being taken to a hospital, being tested for drugs, being fingerprinted, getting his mugshot, and living in a jail cell. All while this was happening, nothing registered in his brain. He was broken, he was lost. There was nothing left of Sawyer Xavier. All he had was himself, but even then, what was he … who was he?






TWO AND A HALF MONTHS LATER

18:00

Leisure time. The one time that wasn’t such a tax. Orange seemed to fit Sawyer. That seemed to be a running gag in his head. Sawyer sat inside of one of the recreation rooms at the prison, staring into the empty abyss of the tv. His face was a little less unkempt. It was cleaner than usual, and he had trimmed his beard down a good bit. But while he looked like a better man, he didn’t feel like a better man.

No emotion was able to be recognised on his face as he stared at the television. This television represented what he desired in life itself. Anything could happen, and you’d know it end in a happy ending. The prince gets the princess, the bad guy is defeated, and the hero gets a welcome from everybody. Sawyer wants to be the hero, he wants to feel like something useful has passed him by. Yet, for years, what truly has been Sawyer Xavier. What use has he provided to this world? What has he done that anyone else couldn't? Why was he here?

He didn’t know that yet. He never knew. He went into the real world with nothing but a dream, but now he’s decaying away inside of prison. A laughing stock of the business he loved. It never loved him back. So what’s the pur-

He felt his thoughts being cut off by the interlinked sounds of a knocking of a door and some keys ringing. He turned around, seeing one of the guards standing outside the door to the recreational room. His badge read “Dep. Carter,” he wasn’t anything unique. All the officers had become numb to his head, they were only distinguished by their badge names. Other than that, what’s the point in recognizing them. He couldn’t even recognize his own surroundings.

“Inmate! Come with me.”

His voice was stern. No matter what the occasion was, it was always stern. It could be the worst news of your life, or your best. It seemed though that the next few hours flew by within an instant, yet were probably the longest he’s ever felt alive. Papers strapped across the table, the notice that he had served his sentence. It all felt fake, but it all felt real at the same time.

Hours crossed through time as his hands shook, the pen in his grasps growing in weight and density every time he signed a paper. It was unusual, but it was almost like a weight off his shoulders, dragging itself down to his hands.

After what felt like an eternity. He was told the magic words. That he was free. It was almost uncanny. Why was this suddenly happening to him. After nearly three months locked inside of a prison, he was a free man. Yet, a free man with a changed life. He was never going to be normal again. He was always gonna be trapped by the haunting memories of what he’s done. He’ll be judged, spat at, he’ll never be seen as someone who’s useful.

It was late at night now. He was lead out of the jail, and now he sat in the reception. He was wearing khaki’s that didn’t even fit, with the ugliest colored shirt. It felt almost humiliating, waiting for someone to pick him up. His license was suspended from the short bit he actually comprehended, so he had nothing. No family, no friends, no car. It felt like he was going to spend an extra night in prison when he heard a voice above him.

“Hello Sawyer.”

He didn't recognize this voice. He turned his head up, seeing a man dressed up in a lighter suit. He extended his hand out to Sawyer, which Sawyer took. He was pulled up to his feet as the man firmly shook his hand, staring into his beady eyes.

"I'm Oliver Kemp from FWA's Talent Relations Department. You've probably emailed me a few times."

Sawyer stood confused, shaking his head. Kemp didn't look disappointed though, instead turning towards the door.

"You need a ride, right? I'll get everything situated for you, let's get out of here though. Wouldn't look any better for your image. Though, from how you act, it seems you don't care in the first place."

Kemp chuckled a bit as Sawyer looked dazed, following him outside of the prison. After what felt like an eternity, Sawyer opened his mouth.

"Why?"

Kemp stopped in his tracks, turning back toward Sawyer.

"Hmm, why? Well, we all have our favorites. You just happen to be mine. Besides, you're still under contract with us. It looks bad on us if one of our talents are incarcerated."

Kemp chuckled a bit, leaving Sawyer with a slightly bitter look on his face.

"Is this funny to you? You're the first person that's not a hardened criminal or a cop that I've spoken to and you just ... laugh at me?"

"Seems hard time broke your funny bone. Would you rather me talk about the business complications and all that jazz? No. What matters most is that you're out on parole, and that you're back with the FWA."

"That ... doesn't make sense. Why do y'all want me back? I keep constantly fucking up every single chance I get, what's the point of it?"

Kemp doesn't respond, instead leading Sawyer to a nice looking car, especially compared to his now fucked up van.

"Hop in. Since you don't have a license anymore, technically you need someone to transport you. Your lucky I volunteered or you'd have to start hitchhiking your way across the world."

Sawyer stared at the car, a bit skeptical of the entire situation. However, realizing it was this or being to his own wits, he crawled into the passenger seat. He felt a sense of slight comfort, enjoying a luxury that he seemed to desire.

"So, I recommend you get yourself up to researching. You got a match coming up soon in Cuba. But, take your time. I'll take you to your hotel room and we can talk more in the morning."

Sawyer nodded, leaning back into the seat. It was simple. It was different than having to lie on a thin mattress, with the only thing keeping you with some comfort was the clothes on your back. And, for once in months, Sawyer managed to peacefully shut his eyes.

**HOURS LATER**

It seems time passed for the first time in months. Sawyer's tired complex would be ended as the car came to a halt. He would stretch slightly, flickering his eyes open as he stared through the windshield of the car. Instead of seeing fear and obsoletion, he saw hope. He saw a hotel, brightly lit. It wasn't ran down like the motels when money was tight and he had no gas until the end of the week. It wasn't filled with roaches, it was a place where he actually could live like a human.

"And here we are. I've scheduled you ahead of time. So, you should just be able to go to reception and get your key. And, if you need anything, give me a call."

Kemp handed Sawyer a business card, which Sawyer promptly put in his pocket. After a short bit, the two waved each other off as Sawyer stepped towards the hotel, a sign of new life and new hope. The next moments felt like forever. Talking to the receptionist, getting his key, and heading up to his room. His hands shook, the same way they shook two and a half months ago, as he approached his door. He slid the key into the door, and the shaking stopped. The cool breeze from the air conditioned room hit his face, freezing a smile onto his face.

Was life for once going to pity him, helping him out? Was this chapter in his life going to be the reason that he was saved? Is this truly his first moment as a new man? Even in a scenario like this, he'll question himself. But, if he doesn't question himself, it'd be too draining to tell whether or not he earned this. What he does know right now though is that someone believes in him. That gives him the courage to believe in himself. Win or lose, this moment could be the moment that changes him forever.

 

The Golden One

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Letter to Death

"Mom ... where are we?"

XYZ wishes he never asked the question …

"Take this. Take your bag."

Out comes a black labrador retriever …

"Take Al’s leash, son."

...

“You’re still my superhero."

Those words — spoken in May of 1996 — were the last words this 9-year-old boy ever heard from his mother.​


XYZ was just 9 years old when his mom abandoned him on the side of the road – leaving him with nothing but a leash in one hand, a duffel bag in the other hand, and a makeshift cape from a green cloth tied around his neck.

That was May of 1996, more than 27 years ago. XYZ is still recovering from it. As he drives the Magic School Bus through space, the memory of that night in Sitka, Alaska, hits. That memory hits at least four times per day. It used to happen more than 20 times in a day. It has gotten less frequent, but it'll never go away. Never. It will always and forever stick with XYZ, no matter where he is or how he's doing. So even now, as the Magic School Bus putters along through the Pinocchio Galaxy, the memory hits.

"Can children really get psychosis?"

"You mentioned his parents abandoned him a year ago?"

"A couple years ago."

"Enough to be considered severe trauma."

"He says he has power from the stars and the moon and the sun."

"The way we can tell if he is experiencing psychosis is whether or not he believes in ... what he says. He will have ... visions ... or delusions. He may believe he's in ... unrealistic situations. Maybe space, perhaps."

XYZ remember this one, too, and thinks about it every day.

XYZ was 11 years old when a doctor eventually diagnosed him with childhood schizophrenia, characterized by psychosis and multiple personality disorder. He had trouble making friends at school, or at the Foster Home, or the next Foster Home, or the next one. He never had a girlfriend, never even went on dates or tried extracurriculars. Never played sports. All he wanted to do was come home and spend time with his dog, Big Al, his best friend in the world.

In the Pinocchio Galaxy, there are no stars around and no planets within 573 lightyears. It’s pitch black aside from the Charmander nightlight XYZ keeps on the dashboard right above the steering wheel. That nightlight reminds him of yet another memory he'd prefer to forget ... for at least a day.
11-year-old XYZ is sitting in the room of his foster home. It’s the beginning of 5th grade, but it’s Tuesday afternoon. You know what that means?

Tuesday afternoon around this time in 1998? That’s the time Pokemon: Indigo League would air new episodes in the United States and Canada. September 22, 1998 was a particularly important episode, too.

Young XYZ sat with his green cape tied around his neck and his black labrador retriever, Big Al, sitting right next to him like a real good boi. Big Al was incredibly loyal and patient. He would sit right next to XYZ and watch Pokemon with him just to make sure XYZ wasn’t alone.

“Charmander — The Stray Pokemon” was the episode’s title. If you’ve seen it, then you remember it. You know exactly why this episode was particularly poignant for the story of a little kid with childhood psychosis who ended up with this disorder because he was left on the side of the road with nothing but Big Al, the leash connecting him and Big Al, and a duffle bag.

At some point, near the end of the episode, Big Al begins coughing.​


In January of 1999, a little more than two years after XYZ became an orphan, his dog Big Al died of lung cancer. XYZ was 12 years old when it happened. It has been more than 24 years since then, but he’s still recovering from the trauma of that event.

XYZ considers the day Big Al, the dog, died as the second worst day of his life. It’s why he concocted a new version of Big Al, to serve yet again as his best friend, only to yet again be taken from him due to the same exact disease as his dog had.

The Pinocchio Galazy provides one of those soothing, peaceful times when everyone is asleep – and has been for a few days, as time is a little foggy in the Pinocchio Galaxy. XYZ looks behind him and sees everyone sleeping: Frank and Wild Jerry in rows closest to the front, PacMan Bert about halfway to the back, and Sierra, Christian Howard, and young Lizzy Golden in the last two rows.

Then, suddenly, a memory he hasn't thought about in a long time hits him like a wave.
Fastforward to some time in 1999 – a few months after the death of Big Al – and the young XYZ, still either a preteen or just barely a teenager, sits in a doctor’s office for his mandated psychiatry screening he has every month. It’s government-funded, which means it's lacking for quality, but it’s the best he’ll get as an orphan. Since he has been diagnosed with pediatric schizophrenia, it’s especially government-mandated. He does it twice a month rather than just the once a month for all other kids in orphanages.

XYZ swings his legs off the black couch while a doctor who is not important enough to describe or name sits in his chair just a few feet away. The white walls and ceiling and strong lighting creates sort of a purgatory feeling, like a middle ground train station aura. The doctor's desk includes a large computer monitor, one of those oversized bulky ones that look like they could be mistaken for tube televisions if not for the big power button in the very center of the plastic horizontal bottom, below the actual screen.

“I know you’re still struggling with Big Al’s death.”

XYZ does not respond. He’s had a difficult time talking about it since it happened. He shells up and won’t even talk to his Foster Mother about it.

“I have an idea.”

More silence.

“Do you ever write?”

“For school.”

“Do you like to write? Do you think you’re good at it?”

“I dunno.”

“Well, your teachers say it’s actually your best subject in school. They say you’re a very good writer.”


More silence.

“How about this … and you don’t have to do it. How about you write down how you feel? It can be any form. Hey … it can even be a letter. A letter to Big Al. What about that? Maybe that will allow you to express your feelings and release this weight on your shoulders rather than bottling everything up.”

XYZ sits on the couch and slowly nods his head. He’s not sure of this tactic, but he’s also willing to try. He’s usually willing to try any suggestion from the psychiatrist, or anyone else in his life who seemingly is trying to help him.

“Write whatever you want. You don’t have to show me. You can show me if you want, but it’s mostly for you. Okay?”

“Okay. Thanks.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks. Same day and time, yeah?”


XYZ did write something. He wrote a letter ... a letter to cancer, to be specific ... and he still has it. XYZ keeps this letter ticked in the glove compartment of the Magic School Bus. He hasn't read it in a while, but with thoughts of Big Al coming back, he figures it's due. X reaches over, opens the compartment, and fumbles through insurance cards and title papers and maintenance receipts before finding four sheets of paper folded about five times into a square small enough to fit in a chest pocket.


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Reading this letter, along with the tranquil and quiet setting he's in, has XYZ thinking about the latest version of Big Al and what he would think if he were here and saw Back in Business. What would Big Al think about XYZ’s win against Death Walker and “The Wildcard” Jason Randall? Would he be proud of him? Probably. Would he be in a celebratory mood? Probably not, as Big Al didn’t say much.

Big Al isn’t here, though, and while XYZ hasn’t vocalized his difficulties recovering from the trauma of what happened those months ago, he has been struggling with it mightily.

So, with the Magic School Bus on autopilot and cruise control, drifting through a meteor shower with ease, XYZ does what he knows how to do in this situation. He writes. He always has a pad of paper to write. Most of it is gibberish. Some of it is drawings. Every now and then he writes something ... that has long-term meaning. This is one of those times.

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The Golden One

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As XYZ writes his letter to death, Wild Jerry pretends to sleep near the front of the Magic School Bus. He opens one eye and makes a "psst" sound across the aisle to Frank.

"Frank," Wild Jerry whispers.

No response.

"Hey ... Frank."

XYZ is too entrenched in writing his letter to notice, and Frank is too deep in a dream to notice.

"Psssssssssssst."

Nothing again.

Finally, Wild Jerry takes off one of his shoes, reaches across the aisle quietly, and smacks Frank in the face with it.

"What the ..."

"Shhhhh!"

"If you wanted me to be quiet, then why'd you hit me in the face with a shoe?"

"Hey ... you think we got a shot on Fallout?"

"A shot on Fallout? What ... what you talking about now, Jerry? Damn."

"Yeah ... me ... Christian ... and Sierra ... in that trios match."

"Oh ... right. Wait ... who you up against again?"

"Them Triple J Security gringos."

"Ahhhh."


Frank smirks and then closes his eyes once more as he lays back down on the seat.

"I dunno, man. They're tough. Real tough."

"Pshhh. Those wackos ain't tougher than me. I'll get them gringos. We'll get 'em good. For The Menage, yo"

"If you say so, man."


Wild Jerry then turns behind him and spots PacMan Bert, who's also seemingly asleep about four rows back.

"Pssst."

No response.

Wild Jerry removes his other shoe and takes aim ...​