Meltdown XXXIII & Fallout 033 || Promo Thread

[Mandalorian]

Promo Deadlines:

Sunday 10th September, 23:59 Pacific Time.
Monday 11th September, 03:00AM Eastern.
Monday 11th September, 08:00AM UK.
Monday 11th September, 17:00PM Melbourne.

No extensions. Good luck!

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[AON]

"When you need a break from this crazy world to see your friends and fill a cup.

Find Lucy, Doug and Dan and see all the trees they've cut.

As step by step, our growing pains are improving home and away, and we're feeling absolutely fabulous on another happy day. We're in different worlds with different strokes, but the good times will not end. SO CHEERS TO ALL OUR FAMILY AND OUR FRIENDS."

LIVING WITH THE LUMBERJACKS IS FILMED IN FRONT OF A LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE

Smash cut to the inside of a small but cosy little shack, namely? The sitting room, in which we see your friend and mine, Mr. Dan Lupone, sitting keenly down on a homemade chair (Wooden) sat at a homemade sanded-down table (Wooden) and staring intently at what looks like what appears to be a half-finished old school alarm clock, with some kind of wooden lining, now I know what you're thinking how on earth can you make an alarm clock from just wood? A clock is made of ever-ticking springs and clogs to keep it tick-tick ticking away; it's a delicate thing to craft. How on earth could a simple lumberjack make a fully working clock with just wood?

Well, that seemingly is what Dan the lumberjack is doing as he carefully adjusts the inner workings of the clock (Wooden) with all the love and care of someone who spends a lot of time working with wood after a few careful, painstaking moments of adjusting and complicated tinkering, closes up the back of the clock pleased and satisfied with his work...

Until it started ringing loudly, which caused Dan to leap about a foot in the air dramatically

-CANNED LAUGHTER-



Dan Lupone: "Morning, fellow lumberjack!"

Dan almost jumps again in surprise as it seems like Dan has crept up on his brother, which is a pretty impressive feat considering how massive Dan is, built like a truck, and moves like a ninja apparently. Dan seems like he noticed his brother's surprise and puts up his hands in mock surrender accordingly.

Dan Lupone: "Hey brother, no need to be ALARMED."

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Dan Lupone: "It's just me. Your twin brother. Who is a lumberjack."

Doug Lupone: "I can see that. I can also see you were up late last night; I had the whole bunk bed to myself, where did you WIND UP in the dead of night "

Dan Lupone: "Oh, I just went down to the Splinter night club with an axe to grind a little for a screw."

Doug Lupone:" WUT WUT WUT!"

Dan Lupone: "Yeah, a screwdriver."

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Dan pulls out a screwdriver with a shrug while Doug settles down from his slight freak out.

Dan Lupone: "You know, for the clock. I just wanted to give you a hand with your job."

Doug Lupone: "A HAND JOB?!"

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Dan Lupone: "A hand, with the job."

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Doug Lupone: "Where's our darling half insane little sister? "

Dan Lupone: "Oh, she's probably still in bed, playing with a clock"

Doug Lupone: DOING, WUUUUUUUUT?!

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Dan Lupone: "....Her...clock, you know, the one she was working on? God, what is with you this morning?! Honestly, you're starting to TICK me off."

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Having settled into their usual sibling banter, Dan settled into his usual morning routine of picking up his "I HEART LUMBERJACKING" mug (Wooden. homemade), Picked up a fist full of coffee beans and started crushing them in his bare massive lumberjack hands. That's how lumberjacks by golly! Taking a sip, he grimaces slightly; after all, crushing coffee beans in your hands is kind of a gross way to make coffee. they should really invest in some kind of coffee machine or something like that, but that's the lumberjack way. Chocking down the bitter taste, Dan kicked a chair out opposite his brother and leaned in, inspecting his work.

Dan Lupone: "Have you figured out how to work the mechanism next? You were having a lot of trouble with that."

Doug Lupone: "Almost-! I'll figure it out; after all, they don't call me the greatest handyman in all of Canada for nothing!"

Dan Lupone: "Well, that's just because they don't call you the greatest handyman in Canada"

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Doug rolls his eyes and shakes his head in a "THIS GUY, Imma right?" kind of way before settling back with the clock, going about his business accordingly, as Dan leans in close, hoping to provide assistance wherever he could...Before the clock once again THUNDERS off, causing both brothers to reel back in surprise and alarm such is the power of the shrill ringing of the alarm.

Dan Lupone: HELL'S HOCKEY STICKS DOUGLAS! Turn it down a bit, Doug. You'll wake the dead with that alarm ringing. You big bearded buffoon!

BOOM. One meaty lumberjack fist smacks down on the alarm clock as Doug shuts down the alarm clock, looking annoyed.

Doug Lupone: "Look, I'm doing what I can, but making things without wood is... impossible! I can't learn how to do this AND wrestle with my family. Who do you think I am? Father TIME?!"

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Dan shakes his head in an oh-so-natural "No, THIS GUY. Imma right?" as from the end of the hallway comes Lucy Lupone, in full-on matching dark red flannel pyjamas (The exact same thing her brothers were wearing) a half-crazed look in her eyes as always.

Lucy Lupone: "Hey guys I-"

-STUDIO AUDIENCE CHEERING-


Lucy Lupone: "....."

Dan Lupone: "Hey, Lucy, what's up?"

Doug Lupone: "...You OK? You were saying something?"

Lucy Lupone: "Ummm...yeah, sure. I just thought you guys wanted to go through how we could possibly talk about the trios match with the YOKAI Death Squad? We really need to beat these guys. If we win this match, we get a shot at the coven. A shot at the trio's titles! This is it, guys! This is our shot, and we can pull this off! I know we can; they might be quick and light on their feet, but we're big and mean! And we can use that!

Dan Lupone: "Huh, hey Lucy, you seem to be a lot more with it today than you normally are."

Doug Lupone: "Yeah, yesterday you told us that the government was being secretly run by Bees and the secret to living for forever was strawberry jam"

Lucy Lupone:" Actually, it was raspberry jam; strawberry jam turns you into a penguin. But that is beside the point. I don't know, guys, I just kind of woke up more with it, y'know. Like I can think clearly for the first time in forever, and I'm not even noticing anything strange going on."

Dan Lupone: Boy, I guess you can call that a good night's sleep.

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Lucy Lupone: "....What was that?"

Doug Lupone: "What was what?"

Lucy Lupone: "That! Who was laughing?

Dan Lupone: "...What are you talking about? No one is laughing."

Lucy looked around somewhat bemused, her eyes wide as she looked around her, as if trying to find the gang of mysterious invisible people that was laughing, that her two brothers couldn't hear or at least pretending not to her.

Doug Lupone: "But you know what, Dan?"

Dan Lupone: "What's that, Doug?"

Doug Lupone: "Lucy has a point; I don't know much in this world. I don't know about maths, or logic, or science, or plays, or colours or how planes stay in the sky or where all those tiny people that live in those fancy Television sets go when you turn off the screens, but I know two things for certain in this life. One, we are lumberjacks.

Dan Lupone: "Indeed we are."

Lucy Lupone: "Cutting down trees. Yep, that sounds like lumberjacking to me.

Doug Lupone: "And might makes right. and we are mighty and strong, and WE CAN PUT UP A PRETTY GOOD SHELF.

-CANNED LAUGHTER-


Lucy Lupone: OK, WHO KEEPS LAUGHING?! SOMEONE KEEPS LAUGHING AT US, AND I CAN'T UNHEAR IT?

Doug Lupone: "...."

Dan Lupone: "...."

The two brothers just kind of share a knowing look at each other as if to say

Doug Lupone: "Should we...y'know...do anything?"

Dan Lupone: "Naa, you know her, she'll be fine. "

Doug Lupone: "Agreed"

Doug and Dan just kind of squeaked both their chairs around away from their system, who seemed to be frantically looking for the source of the studio laughter.

Doug Lupone: "And you know what?

Dan Lupone: "What's that, Doug? That were lumberjacks? Because I do know that.

Doug Lupone: "Well, yes, that. Always that, but Lucy has me fired all the way up, and I'm going to tell you exactly how I feel about the YOKAI Death Squad! You see, the thing about them is-"

Lucy Lupone: "We're trapped in a sitcom. It's a fun house reflection of reality, and the Yokai Death Squad can't see it like I do. Unlike many other houses, Katsu, Cali Hayama, and Ririko live in a house. It is not like any other house; it is also quite unlike many other houses. Given that it is simultaneously not unlike and unlike other houses, the house they live in is exactly like all houses. One way it is not unlike other houses is its shape. It has a house-like shape. They definitely have a house, the Yokai Death Square might say if shown a picture of it. One way it is unlike other houses is its subtly unnatural shape. That's definitely a house that they live in, but there's something else, something beautiful, inside that house, the Yokai death squad might say if shown a picture of it. I don't know if beautiful is the right word. The place where the Yokai Death Squad live is more upsetting...the type that when you show it to people, they beg you to stop. It is terrible, terrible beauty that I do not understand; please stop.

OK, the Yokai Death Squad might reply because they are good and noble people. It is hard to say which one is the most good and caring when you know nothing about a group of women except that they show other people pictures of houses, but there is no sense in going through life presuming awful things about people you do not know.

In any case, it would be safe to assume that the house that the Yokai Death Squad built is an enclosed structure owned and built by people. It would be weird to assume that the sound of the Yokai Death Squad built has a sou. Why would anyone assume that? It is true. It does. But it was weird to assume that. Never assume that kind of thing.

Another way it is unlike other houses is its thoughts. Most houses do not think. The Yokai Death Squad house does. But those thoughts are not visible in a picture. Nor in person, but they find their way into the world, through dreams mostly. While a person sleeps, the house might suddenly have a thought; The Death Squad is not an emotional catalyst. They're practical and bland. No one cries at any shade of the Yokai Death Squad. What is time even? A sleeping person might."

Currently, Lucy is staring straight ahead, her eyes wide and bulging out, as she stands still as a statue, looking dead at something only she can see.

Doug Lupone "...."

Dan Lupone: "...."

Doug Lupone: "Check, please!"

-CROWD CHEERING-


LIVING WITH THE LUMBERJACKS WAS FILMED IN FRONT OF A LIVE STUDIO AUDIENCE.​

 

[Rosie]

Spoiler: Click the picture of Cali in a suit for access

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Spoiler: Plain Text

After their work in the Bahamas ended as a mixed bag for the trio, Ririko, Katsu, and Cali Hayama are in the Canadian’s hometown of Kelowna, British Columbia. More aptly, what is left of it. Walking alongside a road along McDougall Creek, multiple trees are burnt down to just sticks after a particularly destructive wildfire season. All three have cups of Tim Horton’s coffee in their hands with Ririko holding a box of Timbits, doughnut balls that are particularly popular here up North. All three ladies have t-shirts and jeans on along with facemasks on due to near-by smoke from the continuing fires, giving some of the sky a red tint. Katsu’s hair hangs slightly to the side, partially covering her right eye which sports a bruise from the Strut of the FWA World Champion. Cali’s got a hand in her pocket, feeling somewhat sombre, going through the remains of her hometown.

“So, you grow up here?” Ririko says in her broken English, trying to practise it a bit more.

Cali slowly nods. She takes a deep sigh.

“Yep. Just far enough out of town so it’s not overly loud. Still got good internet.”

Looking into the woods, a small catch in her voice.

“I can’t count how many times me and a friend would go out in the woods, swing some sticks like swords, pretending to play Legend of Zelda or Fire Emblem. But a lot of it burnt down.”

Katsu puts her hand on her friend’s back. Feeling sympathy for her friend.

“I am so sorry to hear that. I can only imagine what you and your community are going through. It puts into perspective how little just… a loss of a match is compared to this, even if it may feel like the end of the world-”

Katsu looks up, horrified.

“But in reality it is little. Things move on.”

The Canadian guts through the downward emotions she’s feeling. Cali nods.

“Yeah, I guess. You know, a lot of the time it is so easy to get pissed off after a loss, but it is not the end of the world compared to, well, this. I’m just thankful my parents moved out after I graduated High school to the eastern end of town. It is pretty safe from the fires.”

Cali exhales through her mask before pulling it down for a sip of coffee. She shakes her head.

“Shit, so many childhood memories now burnt to ash…”

“I remember my sister and I as kids.”

Ririko mentions it in Japanese, ready to explain a longer story.

“I was always tasked with watching over her, but we got along despite being so different. I was always cheerful. Adults would tell me to ‘act my age’ as I got older, but I just prefer being fun. Reo and I would play ‘Warrior Princesses’ by going up the mountain to Oku Shrine.”

“You would play at such a sacred place?” Katsu raises an eyebrow. Ririko laughs through her facemask.

“We called ourselves the ‘Dragon Princesses: Rulers of the Shrines.’” Even through her mask, you can tell she has a huge smile.

“That was until the adults threatened to call our parents. It was always so fun, but I had to drag Reo away because she would always scream and be upset.”

“That is quite the visual…” Cali mutters in Japanese.

“Reo always had issues with her anger. I had to break up multiple fights with her in school-”

Katsu, who is coaching her on the newest season of Ground Zero, shares a gem.

“I can believe that.” She covers her mouth, trying to hold back laughter. “I can tell she has quite a short fuse just trying to coach her-”

“That is my sister, alright!” Ririko turns to Katsu as they walk down the road. “I would not change her at all. I really hope she can make it to FWA’s roster after Ground Zero.”

“I believe she has a great chance. Even if she does not win the season.” Katsu gives her vote of confidence to her friend’s sibling. “Though my older brother watched out for me.”

“Your brother, Ryu.” Ririko clarifies. “He’s a talented pitcher! Surprised he hasn’t made the crossover to America yet.”

“I know he is, just had some bad luck with injuries. Since our parents were rarely home, he was tasked with taking care of me after school, so he would often take me to his practices.”

Katsu gives a warm laugh.

“His teammates called me the team ‘cheerleader’ since I was always there. I would bring my DS and play games while he was practising. I went through so many screen protectors.”

“Shit. I remember I was playing my DS once when my friend had softball practice, the screen was torn to shreds from the dirt flying.”

The trio continue to reminisce about their childhood while going through the remains of where Cali grew up.

“I am thankful for Ryu.” Katsu mentions her brother’s name.

“My parents were adamant with me as a kid that they wanted me to be something like a doctor, or teacher, or a lawyer. He knew how much I wanted to be a wrestler. Some nights I would watch wrestling shows on television and he would be there even if he was not as much of a fan as me. He would cheer me up whenever Grand Tiger lost his matches. If he never did that, I don’t think I would have been a wrestler in the first place.”

“That’s nice…” Cali’s voice trails. She looks around at the sky, still having tints of smoke. Ash falling from some of the trees. She turns around, walking backwards, looking at her friends.

“You two are lucky. I mean it.” Ririko and Katsu exchange glances as Cali explains further.

“I was an only child. I never really had a brother or sister. I never really got to experience what it was like to take care of someone of your blood or just someone to look up to.”

She glances to the side.

“My parents were at least decently chill compared to most stereotypical Asian parents, but I still kind of felt a little pressure from them. All their hopes are on one kid.”

“But they also were there to give you love, right?” Ririko asks Cali. The Canadian nods.

“Yeah, I guess. I was their favourite by default.” Her voice has a nervous snicker.

“But it wasn’t easy, you know? I only really had a few friends at school. Not everyone wants to be friends with the nerdy gamer Asian girl who likes to dye her hair random colours.”

She sighs, thinking back to not cherished memories.

“Didn’t help that, when some people found out I was bisexual, a bunch of girls didn’t want to hang out with me thinking I’d want to makeout with them or something. I didn’t even come out properly until I was an adult because I was scared after that. So maybe a sibling could have been nice? Maybe support me through all that, or maybe I could have helped them not make the same mistakes I did.”

Stopping in place, Cali’s mood is down. She looks down the wrecked road. Every other tree is burnt to a crisp. Several houses are damaged with charred wood lining parts of the road.

“Guess I’m pretty thankful I met people like Kimmy online, you know? People around the world with the same interests as you. Not always there, but you know they care, and hey, look at her, she’s in FWA’s production crew and she works on our vignettes together. Small world, right?”

A tear appears on Cali’s face. She quickly wipes it away. The usually strong-willed and vocal Cali, often being a voice of reason, now is the one feeling her emotions take over.

“-I’m trauma dumping right now. Sorry guys.”

“It’s okay!”

Ririko reaches in for one of her signature (very tight) hugs, practically lifting Cali off the ground. The Timbits box bounces on the road. “We’ll be your sisters!”

“Damnit, Ririko, why can’t you let me be sad?!” Cali laughs out loud.

“Ririko always looks for an excuse to give a hug.” Katsu quips. “Sometimes we need to let something out. Going around here is such a tragedy. A part of your childhood community burned down. I understand.”

“Truthfully, this summer has been rough when it comes to fires. All across the country. From St. John’s, Newfoundland, to B.C. to the Yukon-”

Cali stops herself. Yukon, something clicks and she puts two and two together.

“Shit, the Lumberjacks are from the Yukon and they were hit HARD with the fires! I hope their family’s alright.”

Ririko tilts her head. “Yukon? Where’s that?”

“It is in Northern Canada.” Katsu explains, surprisingly brushing up on her Canadian geography. “Lots of land, but not much people. It can be very cold too in winter.”

“Then I guess they’re thankful they have each other right now.” Ririko mutters in Japanese. “They probably only knew their family.”

“Some communities up there are pretty isolated.” Cali mentions. “Doug, Dan, and Lucy all have grown up together, so they know each other well.”

“They are a bit weird.” Ririko mutters. “I think that Lucy does drugs.”

Katsu covers her mouth, trying not to laugh. “I guess they all share their strangeness together.”

“Tell me about it, they’re the only three on the roster more obsessed with ‘wood’ than Chris Peacock.” Cali jokes, though it flies over the head of Ririko. Katsu, on the other hand, points to the bruise left on her face.

“Too soon…”

Hayama raises her hands, apologising like the true Canadian she is.

“Sorry.”

“I think them being close is the reason why they got to the finals in the first place.” Ririko makes a point. “No offence, but they are not nearly as skilled as the Undisputed Xperience.”

“That is what matters the most in Trios wrestling.” Katsu explains. “Being strong with your team. But we can take them-”

“Yeah, but maybe now’s not the time to talk about work.”

Cali exhales.

“Just hope their family’s okay and we’ll deal with them in Botswana. Actually I think my childhood home is just around the corner.”

The group head down the road and around a turn in the road. A short brick wall is seen to indicate a start of a yard. It is covered in soot. Cali takes several steps ahead of her friends to see the home.

Her coffee slips from her grip and falls on the ground. The flimsy lid pops off and her coffee spills on the road as she stands there, frozen in shock.

In front of her, she sees the remains of her childhood home.

The outside walls are a burnt black, all the windows are gone. Plywood lies on the ground in burnt splinters. Whatever framing left on the house looks insecure. A place which was her safe place. The very home she grew up in, spent her many nights playing video games in comfort, watching wrestling, all gone. Tears begin to well up on her face. She’s in disbelief.

“Cali?”

Katsu tries to get her friend’s attention but it falls on deaf ears. Cali runs to the front lawn and gets a closer look. Her friends run after as Cali kneels down on the ground, looking up. She picks up some ash from the ground, the remains of her old home.

“-It’s gone.”

Her lip quivers.

“Everything’s gone.”

The reality is slowly beginning to dawn on her.

“I fucking grew up here. My Mom and Dad sold it to a young family and now they have nothing… It’s not fair…”

Cali’s heartbroken and she begins to sob, her tears falling down to the ash covered ground. Ririko and Katsu kneel down next to her. They don’t even need to say a word. Nothing they can say can help the situation. All they can do is embrace their friend in a moment of grief.

A Few Days Later

“Thank you once again guys for a great stream. Starfield’s been amazing to get into. Keep tabs on my socials to know when my next stream is, but of course, you can also follow to get notifications for when I go live. Until then, I gotta get dropped on my head for a living, haha. Thanks!”

Cali says bravely to her chat as she finishes a live-stream on her Twitch channel from her Vancouver apartment. The chat spams emotes and their goodbyes on the far right monitor before Cali ends the stream. Her desk has her controller, a keyboard, a microphone hanging over. On the end is a small decorative flag with the bi-pride colours, and a very fluffy plush of the Pokemon Zorua. The pink lights glow on her face, shining on her silver hair and lights above her desk read “Cali_X” in green and purple.

Video games and her Twitch channel have always been a distraction for Cali. Anything happening in the outside world seems to go away. But once the game is turned off-

Reality creeps back in.

Cali gives a long sigh as she saves the stream for her channel and boots off her computer. Her face reflects on her screen, showing she’s tired. Lots of travel, stress, everything, on top of life’s hurdles thrown at her where a large portion of her life and memories are burnt to nothing. She grabs the plush from the side and places it on her lap.

Thinking back to the other day, Cali also thinks about her conversations with Ririko and Katsu. Them having siblings around, an extra support system as a kid. People who they, no matter how far they are apart, can connect with when there is a time of need. Even the Lupones have each other and their timber and flower fueled hijinks.

Reaching into her pocket, Cali pulls out her phone and opens it. She goes to her photos where she sees a picture, just of the day before. Cali’s holding the phone on what appears to be a selfie stick, as next to her are Ririko and Katsu, putting on her mask to show the final two people in the photo. It’s an older couple with some grey hairs peeking out in their dark hair. They are of Asian descent.

Her parents. The streamer takes a deep breath and opens up her messages. She gets to Facebook and has a DM open with both her parents. She types a message which her parents quickly reply to.

“Hey Mom, Dad. Stream’s over. But I just want to send you this message saying I’m so glad you two are safe after all those fires.” “I’m glad you enjoyed meeting my friends, even if Ririko is a bit of a hugger. Thanks for everything guys. Love you.” “You’re welcome, Cali! Love you too. It was great meeting them after all you talked about them. Nice girls.” “It was amazing to meet them. But why does that Katsu wear a mask? She’s a pretty young lady!” “Long story, haha.”

She moves to open the Discord app and she opens her friends list. A familiar face is seen with the username “CyberKay.” Kimmy, Cali’s friend, who she asked to accompany Katsu in Europe, leading her to land a job in FWA. She types a message to her.

“Kay, have I ever told you it’s awesome that we work in the same company now and that you’re an awesome editor?” “Well, I’m reminding you again. You’re a rockstar!” “That’s a bit out of the blue, but thanks! It’s awesome to have you there too! You three are killing it!”

In a separate DM, it is titled “YDS” with some Japanese text. A message sent from Katsu which she quickly responds to.

“Are you okay?” “Getting there.” “Thanks for being there the other day when I needed it. Let’s burn through the Trios division and win this tourney!” “Do I need a blowtorch?” “No, Ririko!” “It is not literal. I swear, Ririko.”

She rolls her eyes at Ririko’s response and laughs to herself. Her messaging spree was somewhat therapeutic to her. But, a lightbulb goes off in her head. She immediately calls her mother.

“Hey Mom! -Yeah, I know I was a little mushy. Say, do you and Dad still have the number of the family who bought our old house?”

Nodding her head, she responds.

“If you can find it, or an email, let me know. I’m thinking I want to do something small to help them. Why?”

Cali has a small grin on her face.

“It just feels right. Better than them being buried in the ash. Thanks. Love ya, bye.”

The wrestler leans back in her chair, tossing her plushy up in the air before catching it. Her mood is slowly improving. She takes a deep sigh and mutters to herself.

“Guess my ‘family’s’ a little bigger than expected…”

At certain moments in life it is easy for someone to get sucked in and crumble with the flames of tragedy. This could be a loss of a loved one, or some monumental change. But, Cali seems to be pulling herself out of the ashes with the help of those around her. She may never have had a sibling of her own. But her YDS teammates have filled that void better than she ever imagined.

Her phone gets a notification of a call from discord. It shows YDS’ logo. It’s from their chat. She answers.

“Hello?”

Ririko asks in Japanese.

“Are you really sure I don’t need a blowtorch? I can get one-”

“Ririko!”

Katsu is heard in the background, the two likely sharing a hotel room. Cali bursts out laughing as she mutters with a smile.

“Fucking love you guys. Never change.”

​

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[CakeWalker]

MORE LIKE AN ANCHOR

Chapter One: Friends In Low Places
Madison knew one thing as she sat on the bench in the locker room area, tonight could never be taken away from her. Your first victory is something you never forget, and there was no way she was going to forget tonight. In her mind, the Anniversary show would also serve as the personal anniversary of her first victory as a professional wrestler. However, there was no party, no celebration, and no marching band to mark the occasion. She had to pack all her belongings and head to the airport because the company was heading to Africa, a new destination for her to visit. Before she could even think about adding a new continent to her passport, she had a friend waiting for her, a friend she had made during a sparring session. Another woman with dreams and aspirations of becoming a shining star in the wrestling business.

Madison had successfully convinced the office to hire Laramie as part of the backstage crew responsible for setting up equipment and handling all the logistical aspects necessary for FWA to function on the road. Despite the lack of pay, the experience alone had been a compelling incentive to persuade her friend to 'go on tour,' so to speak. Madison, with her bag slung over her shoulder, walked out into the employee parking garage. She was left somewhat stunned when two arms wrapped around her, offering her a moment of tenderness and security.

Laramie: I thought you were working the jobber circuit like the rest of us, Mads. But color me impressed; now I'm in the presence of greatness. I don’t think I've ever shared a car with a title belt challenger before, and that same person actually knows my name and doesn’t refer to me as Larissa or Leia."

The pair slid into the front seats of the car, with Madison tossing her bag onto the backseat before firmly pulling the passenger door closed. The door was sticky, and she had to give it a hard tug to ensure it didn't pop open again.

Madison: You know I'm not like that, Laramie. It's just one win, and, to be honest, winning the match might end up with me making an even bigger fool of myself when I step into the ring with Kleio. She's someone I'm genuinely worried about facing."

Laramie: But this is like a dream come true, Mads. You get a singles match with a member of the friggin’ Coven. I mean, these are the kind of opponents that people like us can only dream about. Win or lose, you're going to find yourself in a memorable match, and no one is likely to underestimate you again. People are going to recognize you as a top-notch talent, and they'll be eager to align with you as you continue to be one of the hottest stars in the business.

Madison: I have no intention of being just a flavor of the month though. I want to be more than that.

Laramie: One win and you’ve changed. I would do anything to be a flavor inside someone’s mouth.

Madison couldn't help but giggle at this comment. In the short time that Madison had gotten to know Laramie, she had this knack for making even the most ordinary conversations sound dirty and gross. At her core, she was a dark-humored deviant, someone Madison found calming. However, there was a small part of Madison that wondered if the company she kept acted more like an anchor, holding her in place. She pondered if, to make a real impact in this industry, she'd have to use the people around her as stepping stones before they did the same to her. It was a cynical thought, but Madison couldn't help but wonder how many of the friends she had made since joining FWA who were only using her to advance themselves. There was a benefit to hard currency; money had a way of keeping everyone it touched honest because lying to money would often come back to haunt you when you least expected it.

Laramie: Mads! Mads! Madison, where did you go there? It was like I lost you in a day dream.

Sometimes it's just easier to lie.

Madison: I was just reminiscing about the time I spent on the train.

Laramie: Oh, I love that story. Tell me again while I drive you to the airport.

+ + + + + + +

Chapter Two: Bunny Ears
Horatia: Why don’t we reintroduce ourselves to each other first. Drusthalva will enjoy doing this dance a second time much more than me I feel.

Madison was genuinely confused about the whole situation. It was a strange feeling to know that the person she was talking to seemed to know so much more about her than she did about them. It put her at a distinct disadvantage because there was no point in holding her cards close to her chest; her hand might have already been played. However, she had to have faith that she wouldn't have put herself in a dangerous situation.

Madison: So are you going to even give me a clue as to where we met last night? My memory is lost within a fog cloud and without handrails, I’m not sure how I am going to guide myself out.

Horatia smiled at this comment before lifting her own cup of tea to her lips and taking a sip. She seemed to ponder her response for a moment before replying.

Horatia: If I were to say we bumped into each other at ‘The Void’ would that ring any bells for you.

'The Void.' Now, the puzzle pieces were starting to come together, even if a few of them were being punched down and forced into place. 'The Void' was somewhere between a bar and a nightclub, but with a unique twist. It was exclusive, meaning unless you received a formal invitation, you wouldn't be allowed to attend. There was no showing up at the door with a plus one in tow. If you arrived with someone who wasn't meant to be there, you'd likely be denied entry and never invited back.

What made 'The Void' even more intriguing was that it was a pop-up venue. It had no fixed location. One week, it could host an event in an apartment building in New York, and the next, in a wine bar in Sydney. There was no discernible pattern, and attendance depended on a geographical randomness to protect the venue's culture."

Madison: ‘The Void’? I attended an event and I don’t even remember it? Come on now, you’ve got to be pulling my leg now.

Horatia: I have no reason to lie about something like this, Bunny Ears. You made quite the impression last night, and despite the fact that you proceeded to get incredibly drunk after the fact, you're one of us now."

One of us? Now? Madison was genuinely confused about this whole situation. But when you get blackout drunk and wake up on a literal moving train, then it isn't all that surprising."

Madison: Bunny Ears? I wasn’t prancing around like a Playboy Bunny last night, was I?

Just the thought of that made Madison feel embarrassed, and she could feel her cheeks flushing at the mere thought of it. Horatia picked up on this and smiled at her as they made eye contact.

Horatia: Nothing like that, although I would not turn down the opportunity to see you prancing around in that sort of outfit.

If Madison hadn't been embarrassed before, now she was crippled with shyness. She couldn't deny that Horatia was flirting with her, and it felt nice. It had been a while since she had allowed anything of a romantic nature to slip into her night. Although, maybe this was just the result of a lack of good sleep and the influence of alcohol playing tricks on her.

Horatia: You earned the nickname Bunny Ears because you displayed an impressive skill for picking up on when people were talking about you, even when they were being subtle, or at least attempting to be subtle, last night."

Madison: And who are these people, we are talking about exactly?

Horatia: We have quite a distance to travel, and I think you'll have plenty of time to get reacquainted with everyone. But, as I mentioned earlier, we should wait for Drusthalva to wake up before we proceed further down the train."

Madison: Am I being treated like a prisoner or something?

Madison sounded nervous, and Horatia sensed it. She placed her cup of tea down onto a saucer, got up from her seat, and sat next to Madison. She put her arm around her in what could only be described as a delicate hug.

Horatia: If I told you this was all your idea, you wouldn't believe me, would you?

Madison Gray: And what part, exactly, would have been my idea?

Horatia: You'll have plenty of time to find all that out. Although you weren't lying last night when you said you're quite the impatient woman when you don't have the answer you want.

Madison Gray: And I said that when?

Horatia: Within about five minutes of meeting you, you seemed very surprised to have been invited to 'The Void' and were not shy about informing me just how much of an honor it was to be recognized by a secret society. This, despite the fact that your fighting career hasn't started in the manner you would have wanted.

Madison could hear herself groan. It was bad enough that her run with FWA had currently left her winless, and with a potential injury sidelining her for a few months, she really hoped she hadn't been rambling on about her own problems when she had been given the equivalent of a golden ticket to Willy Wonka's Chocolate Factory.

Madison Gray: And please tell me you didn’t let me rattle on for hours about my problems.

Horatia wrinkled her nose and smiled.

Horatia: Don’t worry I have my methods of shutting people up when they start chewing my ear off.

Madison wanted to crawl into a hole and hide. She hated that she had undoubtedly been rambling on with a complete stranger. Yet, there was a warmth and familiarity that emanated from Horatia. Madison had never been one to believe in energy or crystals, but just being close to Horatia made her feel safe. And in that moment, she realized that this was exactly where she wanted to be.

A door behind them slowly creaked open as Horatia turned her head.

Horatia: Drusthalva, you're finally awake! Our new Matador has been very curious and has asked a lot of questions.

Matador? Now Madison was even more confused and had more questions than answers within the blink of an eye.

+ + + + + + +

Chapter Three: Small Blizzards
Madison had all but said her goodbyes to Laramie, who hadn't been hired to come to Africa. Laramie was holding onto Madison's phone, allowing her to record a promo video ahead of her scheduled tag team match in Tanzania. In this match, she would team up with Al Blizzard to take on Jack the Clipper and her future opponent, Kleio De Santos.

Madison Gray: I still haven't really had time to process, so instead of making mistakes and not saying what I want to say, I'm going to change my approach a bit and offer praise to my partner this week. Al Blizzard, you may be a fellow Brit, and you might even come from the same city as Jack. But, based on the amount of greens you must have eaten and the gallons of milk you must have consumed to reach the height of an oak tree, I have confidence that someone who made the right choices as a child is more than likely to make even better decisions as an adult. You might be a whole foot taller than me, but I promise that with my commitment to success and the power of a positive smile, this ferocious lioness will assist you in achieving victory. Let's be friends!"

Madison makes a cheeky “GRRRRR” sound at the camera, before there is a fade to black. ​

 

[Xavien-Marshall]

Spoiler: No Hero

*** We see the dilapidated streets of East Cleveland, Ohio before panning to the most kempt building on the block. Beside the road, a sign reads “East Cleveland Probation and Parole.” ***

The potential of a second chance is like a sunrise after a long, unforgiving night, casting golden rays upon a fractured soul, promising the warmth of a new beginning. It's the whisper of hope in the darkest of moments, the chance to rewrite the script of one's life, and to rise from the ashes of past mistakes, stronger and wiser. It's the spark of resilience that ignites the human spirit, reminding us that even in our darkest hours, the possibility of transformation and renewal remains ever-present, beckoning us to seize it with unwavering determination. An opportunity to enter a villain and leave with the prospect of becoming a hero.

Part 1: The Office

A sweltering September sun bears down on the East Cleveland Office of Probation and Parole, turning it into an oppressive crucible of stifling heat and oppressive tension. Nestled inconspicuously on the ground floor of a dilapidated government building in the rambunctious east side of the city, the office seemed a world apart from the rabid streets outside. The office is one of the busiest places around, and ironically, safest. A place that represents despair and redemption, a haven for misguided souls attempting to navigate the treacherous currents of life after incarceration.

The ECPP office was a study in bleakness, its decor seemingly designed to discourage any lingering sense of hope and thwart redemption arcs before they could muster their beginnings. Faded beige paint peeled away from the walls in thin jagged strips, revealing the ghosts of past layers. The only adornments, if they could be called that, were a scattering of crookedly hung motivational posters, their glossy veneers dulled by time and neglect. These hollow platitudes preached about second chances and the power of positive thinking; their messages lost on all who enter.

A solitary window, obscured by layers of grime and dust, allowed the relentless sun to filter through in an anemic attempt to illuminate the room. A solitary oscillating fan groaned in the corner, its lethargic rotations moving air that was little more than warm breath. The furniture was a mismatched collection of worn-out chairs, their vinyl upholstery cracked and peeling, revealing foam padding that had long lost its resilience. Behind a glass counter sat a receptionist. She was dressed in grey slacks and a black polo t-shirt with the office logo on the left side of the chest. Cinched securely around her waist, a utilitarian belt bore the weight of various tools of her enigmatic trade, serving as both a functional necessity and a veiled testament to the unspoken dangers lurking within the mundane facade of her day-to-day duties.

The air in the office was thick with tension, a palpable presence that seemed to hang in the stifling heat like a suffocating shroud.

Outside, the city's cacophonous symphony of car horns and sirens seemed muted, as if the world beyond those who regularly inhabit it had forgotten this forsaken place. Within its dimly lit confines, parolees waited with bated breath, their futures hanging in the balance. For them, this office was a place of judgment, of scrutiny, and perhaps, just perhaps, a glimmer of redemption. But as the merciless sun blazed through that dirt-encrusted window, it cast long shadows across the room, a constant reminder that, in this unforgiving world, second chances were as elusive as a cool breeze on this strangely hot day.

As Xavien Marshall disembarked from the bus provided by the Department of Corrections that had transported him across the vast expanse of Northern Ohio, he stepped onto the unforgiving pavement of East Cleveland with a mix of trepidation and hope. The weight of eight plus years spent behind bars hung heavily on his shoulders, and the world before him, bathed in the unforgiving glare of the summer sun, felt both foreign and surreal.

His first destination was the parole office, a place he had accepted he would never see again after filling out paperwork here before he was sentenced when he was just 17, barely clinging to the frayed edges of youth when he had first entered the labyrinthine world of incarceration. The memory of those cold, unforgiving walls and the harsh orders from correctional officers still ran freshly through his mind. His last outside experience with officers resulted in him being set up and sent to prison. He was just a child, he thought, lost in the streets. No one gave him a chance.

As he climbed down the bus steps, Xavien felt the weight of uncertainty, his eyes scanning the dilapidated buildings that lined the street, graffiti-scarred remnants of a neighborhood that had seen better days, but they were a lot longer than 8 years ago. The grimy sidewalk beneath his worn-out sneakers seemed like a path into the unknown, a journey fraught with the shadows of his past and the uncertain promises of the future. He was wearing the same clothes he wore to court on the day he was sent to the Ohio State Prison, and they hugged his chest and arms uncomfortably.

Pushing open the weathered glass door of the parole office, Xavien was greeted by the oppressive aura of the waiting room. The air hung heavy with anxiety, as if every parolee who had come before him had left behind a lingering trace of their own despair. The receptionist, her gaze unwavering and shrouded in professional detachment, acknowledged his presence with a nod before returning her attention to a stack of paperwork.

Xavien swallowed hard, his throat dry as he approached the reception desk, his movements hesitant. He knew that the coming moments would decide the trajectory of his life outside those prison walls. His heart pounded in his chest as he prepared to face the parole officer, to lay bare his past mistakes, and to hope beyond hope that this time, the world would afford him the second chance he so desperately sought. He signed his name on the sign in sheet and sat down on the worn furniture to wait.

As Xavien nervously settled into one of the worn-out chairs, his eyes flickering between the aging motivational posters on the wall and the receptionist's unimpressive demeanor, the office door swung open with a low creak. A large officer emerged. He was dressed in a blue button-down shirt with the buttons opened at the top revealing curly black chest hairs and a thin black jacket unnecessarily thrown on top of it. His hair was buzzed low on the sides with the top of it flattened, paired with a goatee in a combination that was as black as the baton on his belt.

Officer Martin stood there, an imposing presence that filled the room with his sheer bulk. Like a living embodiment of authority, His sweaty forehead gleamed under the unforgiving glare of the office's fluorescent lights. Officer Martin radiated an aura of unwavering resolve. His boots, gleaming with a militaristic shine, echoed with each deliberate step he took towards Xavien. The heavy-duty belt secured around his waist bristled with an array of tools and restraints, each item a testament to his role as both protector and enforcer of the law.

As he approached Xavien, Officer Martin's deep-set eyes bore into the young man's soul, a piercing gaze that seemed to sift through layers of pretense and fear. The room seemed to shrink in the presence of this imposing figure, the tension rising palpably and anxiety building in the young man’s heart.

"Xavien Marshall," Officer Martin's voice rumbled with a commanding authority, resonating with the unmistakable timbre of a man who had spent years in the pursuit of justice.

Xavien’s fixated eyes had been on the imposing man since he emerged from the door. He spoke.

“Yes, sir.” He said. He had a long first year in prison because he often forgot to call the officers sir. Officer Martin looked back for just a moment, and then smiled. He smiled a big, ugly grim that showed a wad of chewing tobacco in his bottom lip.

“Come with me, son.” He said, and walked towards the door.

Part 2: The Opportunity

Within Officer Martin's office, there existed a delicate balance between the oppressive atmosphere of dread and a few subtle, personal touches that dared to defy it. On the otherwise barren desk, a framed photograph of an ancient car occupied a prime spot. Positioned before the vintage automobile stood a police officer, his stern countenance softened by a beaming young boy. Closer inspection revealed that the child was none other than Officer Martin himself. It was a poignant reminder that even a man of unwavering authority had once been an innocent youth. Just like Xavien.

Officer Martin descended upon his chair with a force that seemed destined to one day shatter the spindle of wheels that bore its weight. His mere presence exuded a stern and uncompromising demeanor.

"Have a seat, Xavien. Is that what you go by?" he intoned with a deep, authoritative voice that filled the room.

"Xavien or X, whichever works for you, sir," Marshall replied, a hint of defiance simmering beneath his words. He reluctantly pulled a steel folding chair from the desk, settling into it with a measured slowness. Xavien loathed the use of the word "sir," but this was not the time to rebel against authority. The scent of newfound freedom lingered in his nostrils, a scent he was determined to preserve at all costs.

Officer Martin continued, "I've got you lined up to live with your brother. I talked to him today. He said you'd know the place. I also know that isn't a great neighborhood, so I called Coach Jacobs at Euclid. He is staying down in Glenville now. If you have any problems staying out of trouble staying with Zander, call me, and go to Coach Jacobs' house. It's already approved, okay?" Xavien furrowed his brow, perplexed by this unexpected revelation.

"H-h… how do you know all those people already and everything?" Xavien inquired, his unique accent giving his voice a distinct cadence. Officer Martin leaned back in his creaking chair, his hands clasped in his lap.

"Xavien, I went to Euclid High School. I played football at Euclid High School. Every Friday night, I take my family to Euclid High School to watch the team play. I have done so for 20 years now. I have watched you play since you were in junior high. I still remember the first time I ever saw you play," he explained, his gaze unwavering, as if seeking a connection with the young man.

"That ain't me no more, sir. I blew that chance. I'm not an athlete anymore. I'm 26 years old. I don't need Coach Jacobs to help me out," Xavien retorted, his face reddening with frustration. He resented the notion that he could have been saved, and resented that his mother had blamed herself for his choices.

Officer Martin remained unperturbed, his hands bridged on his lap. A prolonged silence hung between them, and Xavien finally averted his gaze, seemingly defeated in an unspoken staring contest.

"Got any ideas for work?" Officer Martin interjected, seeking to break the oppressive silence.

"Ain't thought about it," Xavien replied tersely.

"I can tell you have a few sensitive subjects, so don't let me frustrate you here. Your days as an athlete aren't necessarily over," the officer continued, attempting to navigate the perilous waters of Xavien's emotions.

"Man, I'm 26. I ain't touched a football in 9 years. I'm not going to the NFL," Xavien snapped, his irritation evident. The implication that he could still pursue a football career after all this time felt like an insult. He had that chance. He blew it.

"I didn't say anything about football, son. Will you keep an open mind if I give you an opportunity?" Officer Martin pressed on. Xavien nodded begrudgingly.

"You ever watch wrestling?" the officer asked abruptly, leaving Xavien baffled. Officer Martin didn't wait for a response, sliding an envelope across the desk bearing Xavien's name in black ink.

"I've got all your information in the computer. I'm sure you want to get out and be in the world again. Your brother knows you're coming. In there, there's enough money to catch a cab to his house. There's also a phone number and an address for FWA. It's the Fantasy Wrestling Alliance. You're a big dude, Xavien. An incredible athlete, and that clearly hasn't changed much. You look like you're carved out of stone. You've had a big personality your whole life. This could be your chance at redemption. Give it a try. The information is in the envelope, and I've got you a match lined up with them. It's up to you," Officer Martin explained, his words hanging in the air like an unspoken challenge.

Xavien stared at the envelope, contemplating the whirlwind of change that had thrust him from a prison cell to this pivotal moment in his life. Less than 24 hours ago, he had been confined, and now, he stood on the precipice of a decision that could redefine his future.

"You've got a chance to be a hero, Xavien. The hero you've always had the potential to be," Officer Martin added. Xavien met his gaze, the slightest glimpse of a smile forming on his lips as he extended his hand for a handshake, finally realizing that, in this unlikely setting, a path to redemption may have been laid out before him.

Part 3: The Hero

Night began to fall upon the far east side of Cleveland, Xavien embarked on the challenge to secure a ride to his brother's house. It took a grueling twenty minutes of flagging down a bright yellow cab, a vehicle that most would hesitate to enter. However, Xavien, having endured the daily company of violent offenders and murderers in prison, considered it no more perilous than his previous surroundings. The Ford Crown Victoria cab bore the battle scars of countless urban adventures, sporting a conspicuous dent on its front left fender. The moment Xavien clambered inside, the driver promptly locked the doors, revealing there was no mechanism for unlocking them from the back. In a world where Uber had nearly eradicated traditional taxis, the driver left nothing to chance in this unforgiving part of town.

As he handed the cab driver the $5 bill given to him by Officer Martin, Xavien couldn't help but smile. The scenario felt akin to the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air, a show he had watched every morning on BET during his prison days.

Approaching his brother's front door, he discovered a note awaiting him.

"X, Gone to work. Be home at 6. Can’t wait to see you. – Z"

With his brother at work, Xavien's immediate need was sustenance, and he needed to enter the house to get food. Making his way to the back of the run-down house, he pushed open a window cautiously, acutely aware of the need to avoid suspicion. But, in reality, who would care? In this forsaken neighborhood, breaking in was hardly a cause for concern; it might even be seen as an act of camaraderie.

Climbing through the window, he found himself in a bedroom, a space that had often served as "his" room during past visits to his brother's house. Memories of days gone by flooded his mind, memories that stood in stark contrast to the choices that had led him astray, causing pain not only to himself but to his late mother and his entire family.

Ravenous and fueled by the anticipation of freedom, Xavien wasted no time and headed straight for the kitchen. Yet, his excitement waned as he discovered an empty refrigerator, offering nothing but a few beers and a carton of Coca-Cola. He had eaten nothing but a donut on the bus ride back to Cleveland, and the prospect of finding food became an urgent need.

Surveying the gas station at the end of the street, headlights pierced the night air, Xavien was thrilled to see it open. He exited the house and headed toward the station, paying little heed to crosswalks or passing cars. Arriving at the store, he perused the array of snacks, craving even something as simple as a honey bun to quell his hunger.

Outside, an older man pumped gas into his gray Toyota Camry. Xavien, feeling more at ease speaking with someone who resembled him, approached the man with caution, his massive frame intimidating by nature.

"Hey man, I just got home from Columbus, and my brother ain't home. I'm hungry as hell, man. You got a couple of bucks for maybe a honey bun or something?" Xavien inquired, his gaze steady and arms brimming with strength. His biceps appeared primed to bust out of his tight t-shirt.

"Nah, man. Times are tough out here... nobody's working, it seems like," the man replied, shaking his head.

"I've been gone 8 years, man, and ain't nobody ever been working here," Xavien retorted, his frustration mounting.

"8 years? Well, it's only gotten worse. You're a big guy... but be careful out here, son," the man cautioned. Xavien nodded, his frustration simmering as he walked away empty-handed.

Inside the gas station, another man caught Xavien's eye. Although he appeared white, Xavien's desperation knew no bounds. He approached the man, a plea in his eyes.

"Aye bro, I'm hungry as hell out here, man. Can I get a couple bucks for maybe a honey bun or something?" Xavien implored once more.

"Fuck outta here, man. I got my own shit to worry about," the man snapped, his response stinging like a fresh wound. Xavien's cheeks burned red with anger, his head throbbing in frustration in an instant.

The customer proceeded to the counter to check out, and Xavien walked back near the honey buns, and he felt the cashier's suspicious gaze upon him. As the man exited the store and headed to his black Toyota Tacoma, parked in the lot, Xavien's anger bubbled over. He ran out the convenience store doors.

"Aye, motherfucker. Who you talking to?" Xavien confronted him, rushing toward the man.

"You mothe—" The man's words were cut short by a powerful right hook to his jaw. He crumpled to the asphalt, his leg no longer bearing his weight. Xavien seized his shirt, leaning him against the truck as he contemplated his next move.

"Bitch, I've been in prison for 8 years. I've got nothing to lose. Give me some goddamn money to eat for talking to me like that, or I'm going to leave your body in this parking lot, and you'll be just another statistic in East Cleveland... I ain’t playing with you!" Xavien threatened. Years of rage had flooded back. The rage of losing football, the frustration of losing his mom, the pain of not being home for so long, and the reminders of everything he had lost. The man, semi-conscious, pleaded for mercy.

"What... do you want?" he stammered.

"I just want enough to eat. I could take your fucking truck, I could end your life. I just wanna fucking eat, dawg. You disrespected me. Now you gon’ pay me for it," Xavien declared, his right arm drawn to strike once more.

"No, no, no! Please! I'll give you $50, man. Just let me go. Please. Let me go," the man begged. Xavien released his grip, allowing the man to reach into his wallet and hand him $50. Xavien examined the money but remained stoic, offering no words of gratitude and no agreement of release. Instead, he handed back the $50.

"Give me $20," he demanded. “I only need $20.” The man complied, handing over two tens. Xavien pocketed the money and helped the man to his feet, leaning him against the truck before walking back into the gas station. There, he grabbed a honey bun from the shelf and approached the counter to make his purchase.

"You didn't see shit," he told the cashier, handing her a $10 bill.

“As long as you pay, that’s the only thing that concerns me. I don’t give a damn how you got the money.” She said in response, providing him with $7 and some change in return. He smiled faintly, took his bag, and exited the store. The Tacoma was gone.

With the honey bun in hand, he began devouring it as he strolled along the dimly lit street. Yet, the sweetness failed to meaningfully satiate his persistent hunger.

His gaze shifted to the distant horizon, where the faint silhouette of Golden Arches shined. Thoughts of the money he had recently acquired spurred him to turn on his heel, retracing his steps toward the welcoming glow of McDonald's.

Amidst the rhythmic sound of his footfalls, Xavien's thoughts drifted back to his conversation with Officer Martin. Wrestling, something he hadn’t watched since his childhood, played across his mind. The allure of athleticism, the roar of the crowd, the electric atmosphere.

The day weighed on him. He felt the heaviness of the world. The real world. The free world. All on his shoulders just 12 hours after being constrained to an eight by eight block surrounded by bars.

As he neared McDonald's, a rock drew his attention, and he grabbed it and began absent mindedly tossed it into the air. Officer Martin's words echoed in his mind.

You could be a hero.
The hero you could’ve been…

He turned and launched the rock through the window of a car on the street.

In the solitude of the night, he voiced his disheartened thoughts for only himself to hear, "I ain't no fuckin’ hero... I'm just trying to survive."

 

[Tommy Bedlam]

Spoiler: When Life Meets Death

There's a Promo in Here

​

Spoiler: Plain Text Version

When Life
Meets Death











“Life and death are one thread, the same line viewed from different sides”
-Lao Tzu

Tommy was riding quite the high. Over the course of the last few weeks, he had finally recaptured singles’ gold in the FWA, been reunited with his friend, Chris Crowe, had done what many believed to be impossible by putting Shawn Summers on the shelf, and had just successfully defended the FWA X-Title against XYZ in a brutal match. It would’ve been hard for things to get better than they were in that moment for Tommy Bedlam.

But life is funny that way, isn’t it? Just when you think you’ve reached the highest of highs, life, the universe, God, whatever you believe in, seems to have a cruel way of bringing everything crashing in around you. Our highest highs are often suddenly introduced to our lowest lows. Such is the plight of humanity, and if there was a common theme in the life of Tommy Bedlam, it was the universe’s eagerness to remind him that he was human.

The backstage celebration following the title defense at the FWA 18th Anniversary Show had been more sedate than some post-show celebrations in the past. For the third time in the last six or so weeks, Tommy was getting some stitches in his head. His joke with Randi about her having two boys with softspots in their heads had gone over about as well as he’d expected.

She was proud of him, but she certainly wasn’t in the mood to joke about the fact that he was now involved in wrestling matches that had no rules. She had dealt with the Shawn Summers series of matches at Back in Business, and while she was happy that Tommy was once again a champion, she had voiced her concerns about the fact that he was likely shaving years off of his own life as every day brought them closer to having a child and getting married.

Those truths were also ever-present in Tommy’s mind, which is why he had turned down Chris Crowe’s pleading to go out and party in Barbados following their respective wins. No, he had made Randi a promise before the show even started that no matter how his match with XYZ went, the two of them, along with Rocco Sullivan would be on the first flight that would get them back to Texas the next morning. Chris would have to party alone, not a challenge that he was about to turn down.

Tommy, Randi, and Rocco finally made it back to the soon-to-be parents’ apartment after roughly 12 hours of flights and layovers. Between dealing with the throbbing going through his own head and being worried about Randi’s constant trips to the bathroom to puke on the plane, he hadn’t put any thought into the next show. Tommy cracked open a beer, handed on to Rocco, and guided Randi to the couch so she could put her feet up.

“Where we at next week, Rocco?”

“Africa. Meltdown is in Botswana, Fallout in Tanzania.”

“Listen, I love you, but I don’t see me going to Africa. This trip was almost too much for me, and I’m not trying to have this baby in the plains of Africa.”

“Yea, I’ll sit this one out too. Rocco, who can you text or call and let them know that I’m gonna stay in Texas this round?”

“Too late for that, kid. You’re already booked for Meltdown.”

“I’ve got a kid who’s gonna be here any day. Call Russnow, or shit, let me call Russnow. I’m not going to Africa.”

“It’s fine, Tommy. I’m probably not going to give birth yet. I’m still a little under 36 weeks. I’ll stay with Mom, and you can come back the day after the show.”

“Besides, you don’t need to be calling or texting Russnow. He seems a bit more, let’s say, professional since you left, but he’s still pretty pissed at you, Crowe, Johnson, Douglas, all you guys for letting that whole Deathswitch shit storm die before he ‘changed the face of professional wrestling.’”

“So I’m fucking stuck.”

“You’re a champion, kid. You show up when they tell you to show up, and you make more money than you made before. Comes with the territory. Heavy is the head that wears the crown and all that shit.”

“I’m about to to tell Russnow he can stick his crown up his ass. Who am I facing anyway?”

“Baxter. Bastard. Whatever he’s calling himself now.”

“Baxter. Alright.”

Tommy gave a confident nod, but that was mostly because he was still hung up on impressing Randi and knew that any signs of weakness would incur a lecture from Rocco that included at least three quotes from dead guys who dressed funny, and he truly wasn’t in the mood to hear any of them.

Tommy knew Bryan Baxter. Their most recent direct interaction took place on Meltdown 30, when the two of them were thrown together in what could only be called an uneasy alliance against Mike Parr and Shawn Summers. Bedlam and Baxter picked up the win in front of Tommy’s hometown crowd, but they certainly weren’t friends. Tommy had a healthy respect for Baxter, one that he knew probably wasn’t reciprocated. Bryan Baxter had recently renamed himself “Bryan Bastard,” and Tommy was fully aware of how easily he could live up to the moniker.

“Wait, we’re doing champion versus champion on free TV? Do I have a shot at the North American title?!”

Not two minutes after threatening to tell Russnow to “shove his crown up his ass,” Tommy was already talking about earning more gold. Randi chuckled and rolled her eyes, fully aware of the irony of the moment. But this was the life she signed up for when she fell in love with a professional wrestler.

Part of Tommy hated what he’d become. From the time he found out about his wrestling-legend father, he swore that he’d never be that way. He would never leave his kid at home to travel around the world and brutalize his body for people who would forget about him by the next week. But the taste of gold does something to a man. It caused people to do the unthinkable during the California Gold Rush, and it had the same effect on professional wrestlers.

Tommy wanted to be home with Randi. There was no way in hell he was going to miss the birth of his first child. But he was also a champion, and deep down, he loved the fame and the money that his title brought. Defending it meant being absent, but being present meant being another has-been on a long list of has-beens.

“No, no titles on the line. Just two champions facing off.”

Tommy wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or annoyed. On one hand, he was riding a hot hand right now. He heard the crowds, he saw the stuff on social media, and Randi was a devout dirt sheet reader who kept him constantly apprised on how much the wrestling media was talking about him being one of the “next big things.” On the other hand, he was already in his mid-30s, and knew that he probably wasn’t the next big anything, at least not for very long.

He was also in a constant battle with crippling insecurity, a battle that no one around him knew about. No one held championships forever, and he would be no different. Was he really ready to carry the X-Title and bear the target that it put on his back? Could he really hang with people like Baxter? The win over XYZ was certainly a good confidence boost, but what about the next opponent, and the one after that?

Tommy loved the idea of winning the North American Championship. He could see the “Two Belts Tommy” headlines in his mind. His match with Baxter not being for the X-Title wasn’t anything that he was going to be upset about.

Worrying would have to wait for another time. Tommy killed off his beer and dragged his jet-lagged self toward the bedroom with Randi close behind. Somehow Rocco had decades on both of them, but was still engrossed in answering texts and emails. He would likely work well into the night and be the first one up the next morning.

It didn’t take Randi long to fall asleep, and listening to her breathe, the desire to stay home once again pulled at Tommy, gnawing at him from the inside. But a match with Bryan Baxter was a great opportunity. As he drifted off to sleep, he could hear the ovation of the crowd as Katie-Lynn Goldsmith announced his victory. Tommy could handle Baxter. He had fought bigger, meaner guys than him before. Life looked exactly how Tommy wanted it to look in that moment, and he was going to go to sleep with the knowledge that his career was on the right path, he was starting a family, and he had a couple good friends. Tommy was happy whether he had been willing to admit it or not.

Tommy dozed off with a slight grin on his face, but there was life, ready to bring Tommy down from his streak of what he had considered good luck.

“Tommy, I need you to wake up. I think something’s wrong.”

Randi’s words snapped Tommy out of his sleep and onto his feet. Over the last course of this pregnancy, Tommy had grown so accustomed to Randi getting out of bed multiple times every night that it had stopped phasing him.

As Tommy jumped up, Randi doubled over by the side of the bed, clutching her stomach. He wasted no time throwing on the jeans and t-shirt that he had tossed to the floor near the bed. He jumped into his boots and pulled a ball cap down low over his eyes. Tommy caught a glimpse of the clock. It was 4:06 AM.

He picked Randi up in his arms and carried her down the hallway. The pain had become so overwhelming that she was taking short, desperate breaths as tears rolled down her face. Tommy was worried about Randi while Randi was focused on little Walker.

Rocco had fallen asleep in the same chair Tommy had left him in hours earlier, but the commotion woke him up.

“What’s happening?! Kid, what’s wrong?!”

“We’re going to the hospital. I’ll text you as soon as I know something.”

“Want me to call 911?!”

“I’ll get her there faster myself.”

Tommy sat Randi in the passenger seat of his Toyota Tundra, threw it into drive, and roared the vehicle through the vacant streets of Streetwater. No one was out at such an early hour, and the absence of traffic was a welcome blessing in the middle of the chaos. The soft glow of the street lights and the moon cast enough of a glow into the cab of the truck for Tommy to see the steady stream of tears running down Randi’s cheeks. He placed a hand over on her leg to offer reassurance. He just wasn’t sure if it was for her or for himself.

Tommy pulled into the traffic circle at the front door at Rolling Plains Memorial Hospital, and ignoring the “No Parking” signs, threw the truck in park. He ran around to the passenger side of the truck, once again grabbing Randi in his arms. He carried her through the automatic doors, the panic and heaviness of the moment fully setting in. He threw his keys to a guy he hoped was a valet, and never looked back.

They were quickly whisked into an exam room. The smell of antiseptic hung heavy in the air. Tommy couldn’t hear anything over the beeping of the machines that monitored people in the rooms that they passed and the squeak of the staff’s shoes as they hustled from one room to the next.

“Can somebody please call Dr. Walton?!”

It seemed like no one was listening, so he asked once more, this time with a bit more volume in his voice. One of the nurses gave him an annoyed look and informed him that they were trying to get up with the doctor.

Tommy would never recall everything that went on over the next few moments. A nurse who didn’t seem remotely fazed by the enormity of the situation rattled off a series of questions that covered everything from Randi’s date of birth to her medical history. Tommy didn’t know as much as he probably should have, but Randi was able to offer a few answers through the pain and the vomiting. While the line of questioning droned on, another staff member hooked Randi to an IV and some monitors.

Tommy wasn’t sure if it felt like seconds or hours, but finally, Dr. Walton arrived. Tommy saw him outside talking to the nurse and went into the hallway himself. He got there just in time to hear the word “surgery.”

His heart somehow managed to stop beating while simultaneously pounding out of his chest.

“Surgery? What are you doing?”

“We’re going to do a c-section, Tommy. I need to get the baby out of her. Something is wrong.”

“I got that part, Doc. What is it?”

“I’ll be honest, I really don’t have time to sit here and go over it with you. I’m going up to the O.R. and they’ll be in to get Randi in a minute. There’s a waiting room up there. I’ll go over everything with you after the operation.”

“Is it her or the baby? Is she gonna be ok? What about him?”

“They’re both in danger, Tommy. I can’t stand here and tell you that either one of them is going to be fine, but I do know that if I don’t get that baby out of her soon, neither of them will be.”

Tommy hadn’t felt such a level of helplessness since the last time he was in the same hospital following his uncle Jimmy’s injury during the rodeo. He stepped into the room and eased his way to Randi’s bedside. He brushed her hair out of her face as she opened her groggy eyes to look at him.

“So, this kid’s coming tonight, babe.”

“What? No! I’m not due yet.”

“Doesn’t matter. He’s as stubborn as his mommy. Dr. Walton is upstairs getting everything ready. They’re gonna do a c-section.”

“Is the baby gonna be OK?”

Tommy knew there was no way to make a guarantee like that. It was the same reason that Dr. Walton wouldn’t make him any promises.

“Yea, you’re both gonna be fine. He’s just gonna make it out here a few days earlier than we had planned on.”

With that, two hospital employees stepped into the room and quickly took control of Randi’s bed. One of them told Tommy that he could follow them up and that there was a waiting room directly to the left of the elevator on the sixth floor. As they stepped from the elevator, Tommy leaned down and kissed Randi once more. He took her face in his hands, and for the first time since Jimmy’s death, he felt himself fighting back tears.

“Go rock this thing, Mama.”

“Guess you get to sit in the back and worry this time, huh?”

Randi smiled, trying to lighten the mood, and Tommy returned a grin, as fake as it was. He watched helplessly as they wheeled her down the hallway and stepped into the empty waiting room. The clock on the wall showed that it was 5:07 AM. Tommy sat down, but his nerves took over within seconds as he started pacing the floor.

He packed a fat pinch of Skoal into his bottom lip, grabbed a paper cup to spit in, and checked the clock incessantly. He was sure that he had been pacing around the room for an hour, but that bastard clock only said 5:09 AM. After realizing that minutes felt like hours, he assumed that hours would feel like days. He had to get away from the clock, so he stepped back into the hallway, pressed his back against the wall, and slowly slid down it. As Tommy’s butt hit the cold tile floor of the hospital, he dropped his head into his hands.

Was this how life was always going to be for him? His childhood was shitty and it managed to get worse when he became a teenager. His years as a young adult were certainly nothing spectacular, and now, as an adult, he had finally found someone to build a life with, a child on the way, and a job that he loved. The first two things on that list were about to be taken away, and without them, the last one didn’t mean much, either.

He didn’t bother texting Rocco. Tommy hoped that he was asleep. He didn’t have any answers, and he was certain that Rocco would have plenty of questions. Instead, he sat there and waited. He waited, and he hoped. At least, he hoped as much as someone who had long given up on hoping could.

Tommy had texted Randi’s mother, Suzy, after answering the litany of questions in the emergency room. She hadn’t responded yet, likely still in bed. He sat there staring at his phone screen. He wished he could call his own mother, but that relationship had been severed for too long. Jimmy was gone, and the loneliness of the moment weighed on Tommy’s shoulders like bricks. Getting up with Crowe wasn’t going to help, as he was likely partying somewhere or just turning in for the night. The only person Tommy had was on the other side of one of those damned walls, and there was nothing he could do.

Startled out of the trance he was in by the sound of footsteps coming down the hallway, Tommy jumped to his feet. It was Dr. Walton. Tommy tried to gauge the kind of news he was coming to deliver by looking at his face, but the old man’s expression rarely changed.

“How are they?”

“The baby is out, and Randi is resting. You’ll be able to go see her in just a few minutes.”

“Walker? How’s Walker?”

“He’s in the NICU right now. He was in distress because of an umbilical cord prolapse. See, umbilical cord prolapse occurs when the cord that’s responsible for car-”

“We both know I don’t understand a damn thing you’re saying. Shoot me straight, Doc.”

“The umbilical cord had basically fallen between Walker and Randi’s birth canal. So he was in some distress, and so was she. He’s still going to need some care, but I’m optimistic now. If I’m being honest, I wasn’t when I got here.”

“Alright, I need to go see Randi.”

“We gave Randi some pretty heavy pain medications. She’s probably not going to be too talkative. But you can go to the end of the hallway and take a right. They’ll take you to her room. Someone from the NICU will update you soon I’m sure.”

Tommy knew that “soon” meant something different in hospitals than it did anywhere else. But Randi was OK, and in that moment, that was enough for him. He would get back to worrying about his son once he was in the room with her.

He walked down the long hallway alone, but stopped when he passed by the large nursery window. There was three infants laying there, each of them seemingly sleeping soundly. Each of the small beds had a small board at the end of them bearing a name.

“Baby Bryan,” “Baby Baxter,” and “Baby Kristy” all belonged to parents who probably hadn’t been through what Tommy had endured over the last two hours.

As he stepped into the dimly lit room, Randi was sleeping. He tried to be quiet, but when he moved the chair closer to her bedside it stirred her.

“Where’s Walker?”

“They’re taking care of him. Get some rest. I’ll wake you up when they bring him in.”

He gently kissed her cheek and she gave up the urge to fight sleep. Tommy leaned back in his chair, folded his hands across his stomach, and closed his eyes. If everything went the way he hoped it would, this might be his last uninterrupted hour of sleep for a while. At least, unless life pulled the rug out from under his feet again.

A knock at the door startled Tommy out of his sleep. He looked up at the clock hanging in the hospital room. It was 8:00 AM; he had slept longer than he expected to. He looked over at Randi who was still sleeping soundly as the door inched open.

A man Tommy didn’t know stood there, his buttdown shirt tucked into his jeans, and his gut pushing the bottom three buttons to their wildest limits. Tommy immediately noticed the shiny gold badge attached to his frayed belt.

“Can I help you with something?”

“How about we step out here in the hallway and talk?”

Tommy glanced back at Randi, making sure that she was still asleep as he slowly moved across the floor. He stepped into the hallway, half knowing what this was about and half hoping that it was anything else. But no, Tommy knew better than to hope for anything twice within the same day.

“Do I need a lawyer?”

“Damn, Tommy. I haven’t said a word to you and you’re already trying to lawyer up. Guilty conscience?”

“You’re wearing a badge. Based on the little I know about law enforcement, which is more than enough, I’m betting I need a lawyer.”

“Well, I can’t stop you from calling one, but we’re not at the station. You’re not under arrest. I’m just looking to have a conversation about something. Name’s Ranger Baxter.”

“Well, Ranger, this isn’t exactly a great time.”

“Oh, I know. How’s little Walker doing, by the way?”

How did he know the baby’s name?

“I doubt you’re here to talk to me about my kid. So let’s just cut through the bullshit. What do you want?”

“Well, son. I’m looking into the death of Bobby Ray Gallimore. We got an anonymous tip that you may have some information. Now, you can tell me what you know, and I can go on my way, or you can turn around and walk back in there to your little lady.”

“Well, in that case, I think I’ll head back in here.”

The officer chuckled a bit and shook his head. He took a step closer to Tommy, his voice barely above a whisper.

“You sure about that? See, I forgot to tell you one thing. If you walk back in there, I’m gonna be so deep in your business that you’ll think you’re giving birth to me. Is that really what you want? It’d be a shame if Walker never really got to know you, wouldn’t it? Wait a minute. Did you name that kid after Walker, Texas Ranger? Ain’t that a damn twist?”

This fucking bastard. Tommy glanced down at his phone and finally saw a response from Randi’s mom, letting him know that she was on her way. He sent her a text back, letting her know that he had to step out for a bit. Randi would probably sleep for a few more hours. He would try to make it back before she knew that he was gone.

“Alright. We can have a conversation.”

“Good answer. I’m not gonna go through the hassle of putting you in my truck. You can just follow me to the office. I think I can trust you not to try to take off. You got a whole lot holding you here now, don’t ya?”

Tommy followed Ranger Baxter down the hallway and they stepped onto the elevator together in a stony silence. Tommy slid his phone out of his pocket and sent Rocco a text.

“Find me a lawyer. Send them to the Texas Ranger offices.”

There was life once again, making sure that Tommy couldn’t be too happy for too long.

As Tommy followed Ranger Baxter into the Texas Ranger offices, he was directed to a small room on the right. He went in, sat down, placed his hands on the small table in front of him, and looked up at the camera attached to the wall above him. This conversation was feeling less friendly by the second.

Baxter, the Ranger Tommy was already somewhat familiar with walked in with another man in tow.

“This here is Ranger Bryan. He’s just here to serve as a witness. I’m gonna be askin’ the questions.”

“So, you boys aren’t here to play good cop, bad cop?”

“No, son. I don’t play anything. I’m a grumpy bastard, especially when I’ve got a damn cold-blooded killer in my office. Now, you’re not under arrest. But let’s just be honest. You’re a person of interest in the murder of Bobby Ray Gallimore. As I told you at the hospital, we’ve received an anonymous tip linking you to his death.”

“Who called ya? Shawn Summers? Sheriff Harris? Those two have had hardons for me for months.”

“You clearly don’t know what the word ‘anonymous’ means, Tommy. That’s OK. Probably been fake punched in the head one too many times. Anyway, it wasn’t Sheriff Harris. A couple months ago, he got relocated based on an order from the Governor. Not sure what happened there, and I have no idea who Shawn Summers is.”

Who else was there? This would be the perfect way for Summers to extract his ultimate revenge. Tommy had taken one of his titles and put him on the shelf. Summers had vowed to take everything from Tommy, and it looked like he had finally done it.

“Now, can you tell me where you were on November 29 of last year, son?”

Tommy knew exactly where he was. The F1 Climaxxx tournament was under way, and his match with Caesar had just been canceled. He was scrambling to prepare to face Gabrielle Montgomery instead, and was interrupted by Randi’s screams for help while Bobby Ray Gallimore attacked her outside of Tommy’s apartment. He remembered virtually every moment of that night that started with Randi’s cries and ended with Bobby Ray’s.

“Can’t say as I can. I’m on the road or in the air most of the time.”

“But you were home on November 29. That was the night that Bobby Ray Gallimore jumped your girlfriend outside of your apartment. Think long and hard son. You left your apartment, swung by that hole in the wall steakhouse you used to work at, got Larry to make up some bullshit, weak-as-water alibi, then you went to Bobby Ray’s, beat him up, then you blew his place up with him inside.”

“You sure I don’t need a lawyer?”

“I told you at the hospital, I can’t stop you from calling a lawyer. Pretty sure you sent somebody a text telling them to get you one when we were in that elevator anyway. So, do you dispute anything I just said?”

“It’s all bullshit.”

“But you don’t know where you were?”

“Nope. But I know I wasn’t at any of those places”

“You weren’t? I was hoping you’d say that. Now I’ve got you for lying to law enforcement. Not as bad as murder, but obstruction of justice is a nice little charge to put on the list.”

The Texas Ranger slid an iPad across the table and tapped the screen. The bank across the street from Larry’s Longhorn Steakhouse had a surveillance camera, and sure enough, there was Tommy and Scotty, who the Ranger still hadn’t mentioned, pulling in.”

“So a man can’t go have a steak and a beer with an old friend? That what we’re going with, Baxter?”

“That’s Ranger Baxter, to you. And there ain’t no law against having a steak and a beer, but based on this surveillance footage, you were in there for about nine minutes. Now, unless you ordered your steak so rare that the calf was shittin’ on your plate, I doubt you went in there, had a conversation with Larry, ordered, ate, drank, and paid in that little bit of time.”

Was it Scotty? Scotty was the anonymous tip? There had to be a reason that Baxter wasn’t mentioning the person with him. He didn’t even ask Tommy who the other guy was. He must have already known.

“See, there aren’t any cameras out on the road up to Bobby Ray’s, but based on my math, Randi supposedly got jumped a little after 10:00 PM. You were at Larry’s by 11:00, and Bobby Ray’s place was a pile of smoldering shit by midnight. Seems to me that you had plenty of time to go do what you did.”

The door to the interrogation room burst open, and an older man with perfectly quaffed gray hair and an expensive suit walked inside.

“Gentlemen, I believe you’re done talking to my client. Lucien Carpathia, Mr. Bedlam’s lawyer. I’d like a word with my client.”

“Fine, we’ll give you boys the room.”

“The fuck you will, Baxter. There’s a camera in this room. We will gladly go to the attorney-client room down the hall, or we can walk out of here and I can have your badge for questioning a man who asked for his lawyer multiple times. How do you wanna play this thing?”

“Down the hall and to the left, counsel.”

Tommy and Lucien walked down the hallway without saying a word. They stepped into the room marked “Attorney Consultation” before Lucien placed his finger over his lips, signaling that he didn’t want Tommy to say a word. He pulled a small black device out of his pocket and set it on the table.

“I’m scrambling any sort of bugs that they might have in here. Cops are bastards, and Rangers are worse. What did you say to them?”

“I didn’t give them much of anything. I lied, told them I didn’t remember where I was on November 29. But he has a video of me putting me at Larry’s an hour before…you know. Then you showed up. How did Rocco get a hold of you?”

“Rocco didn’t get a hold of me. I’m keeping close tabs on you. Gotta protect my new investment.”

“So you’re a lawyer.”

“Tommy, I’m Satan. You remember the whole deal, right? Of course I’m a fucking lawyer. Now, I’m gonna shoot you straight. They’ve got something on you. I’m pretty sure I know where it came from, and if I were you, I’d never speak to my ol’ buddy Scott again. I got in touch with the Governor, we go way back. I’ve got Harris neck deep in paperwork down by the border. He’ll never see the field again. I think I can get you out of this.”

“You think?! You fucking think?! I sold you my soul. I’ve got a fiance and a baby who was born all of three hours ago. You’re getting me out of this, Lucien.”

“Watch your tone, Tommy. I’m on your side, but I can either make you or break you.”

“Fine. Just fix this.”

“It’d be a lot easier to fix if you had struck a deal with me before you killed a man and blew his trailer up. Now that I know what they know, we’re at least on a level playing field.”

Tommy could have vomited right there on the table. He inhaled deeply and followed Lucien back out of the room, down the same hallway that they had just walked, and back into the room. The sound of Baxter and Bryan laughing on the inside was infuriating and terrifying, all at the same time.

Lucien confidently strolled back into the room, threw his briefcase up on the table, and leaned across toward the Rangers.

“Gentlemen, my client and I are leaving. When you have a warrant for his arrest, you obviously have the authority to bring him in. Until then, he’s leaving with me. He has already been advised never to say a word to anyone without my be present, so you can rest assured, you’ve heard the voice of Thomas Bedlam for the last time unless I’m standing beside him. Are we done here?”

Baxter, the bastard that he was, stood up slowly from the table, his gut pushing it away from him.

“You fast talkin’ city folk are all the same when you come wheeling in here. Listen, I have a flawless record, counselor. When I pick somebody up, it’s because they’re guilty. Your boy murdered somebody, and while I showed him a video, I didn’t even scratch the surface on what I’ve got. I’ve got a meeting with the prosecutor in an hour. I’m gonna give him the file, he’s gonna present it to a special grand jury that he’s already called, and they’re gonna indict your boy. Before his kid ever sees the outside of the NICU, I’ll pick him back up, throw him in the county jail, and that’s where he’ll be until his trial.”

Tommy wanted to punch the arrogant bastard, but the last thing he needed was more legal trouble.

“His job, if that’s what you wanna call that bullshit wrestling stuff, makes him a flight risk, so he’s not gonna get bail. Remember, this is Texas. We look for reasons to throw people in the chair. Just offed that one ol’ boy back in February, and the seat’s gettin’ cold. Let me make myself real clear, just so there’s no misunderstanding between us: Tommy here is going to die for what he did, and I’ll be in the room watching when it happens. It’s my favorite show.”

“I’ll be waiting for the prosecutor to send the evidence to me. Good day, gentlemen.”

“Good day. Oh, and Tommy, if I find out that your little lady knew anything about this, you can bet your ass that I’ll get her for being an accessory after the fact. That is, unless you're willing to cooperate. Tell Walker that the Texas Rangers say ‘howdy.’ Listen to me boy, they might say I’m a mean old bastard, but I’m a mean old bastard who always fucking wins.”

Lucien led a dejected Tommy out of the room. It was harder for the typically stoic Tommy to hide his emotions than it had ever been before. He knew what he had to do.

“You have my number, Tommy. If they come to get you later today, and I do believe they’re going to, not a fucking word until I’m there. Not a word.”

“Thanks, Lucien.”

Tommy got in his truck and checked his cellphone. He had a text from Rocco:

“What’d you do now?”

Gah it read like a disappointed father being called to the principal’s office. If he only knew. There was a second message from Randi.

“Where are you? Get back here, please.”

She knew about Bobby Ray, but not about Lucien, but Tommy was so resigned to his fate that he didn’t even think the devil himself could get him out of this one. No, Tommy knew exactly what he had to do.

He texted Rocco back first.

“Don’t worry about it. Everything’s fine now. Misunderstanding.”

His hands shook almost uncontrollably as he tried to figure out what to send to Randi.

“Be there soon.”

It wasn’t true, and he knew it. But that was for the best. If she knew what was going on, it would destroy her. She had been through too much, and had too much going for her to make her worry.

Tommy found a Wal-Mart receipt in the console, and pulled an ink pen from the glovebox. He turned the receipt over and began to write.

Randi,
I love you. I love Walker. That’s why I have
to do this. There’s a lot about this that you won’t
understand, but that’s for the best.

Find somebody better than me. Shouldn’t be
hard to do. NOT CROWE

When Walker is old enough, tell him something
. other than the truth. I tried, I promise.
Thank you for the best year of my life.
Tommy
“Dead men can’t have an accessory after the fact, can they, Baxter?”

Could he really do what he was thinking? Would it fuck his kid up for the rest of his life to find out that his dad took his own life on the same day he was born? Randi would just have to lie to him. This was truly the only option.

In some horribly cruel way, this was the perfect ending for Tommy Bedlam. Walker had been alive only for a few hours, and Tommy was on his way out. Life and death, passing in some invisible corridor somehow made sense for the fucked up existence that Tommy had led up to that point.

With that, Tommy shoved the receipt into his glove box. He drove his truck to a long stretch of empty country road that he had drag raced on as a teenager. He pressed the accelerator toward the floor as he watched the speedometer needle move. 80…90…110…120. The last thing he saw was a tree, and then….Nothing. Well, almost nothing.

“How is it that I just had a human being cut out of me and your ass is over there snoring in a chair?”

Tommy struggled to open his eyes as the light shined brightly into them. When he finally managed to get some focus. The clock hanging on the wall said 9:30 and the sun was beaming through the window. Randi was there in the hospital bed, sitting upright and eating Jello. Suzy was sitting in the opposite corner, and Rocco was standing behind Tommy’s chair, texting away like always.

“How long was I out?”

“I’m not sure. I woke up a little after 8:00 and you were snoring so loud I had to hit this morphine pump an extra time to drown you out. They said we can walk down to the NICU and see Walker. He’s on oxygen, but Dr. Walton said they think he’s gonna be fine in a couple days.”

As Tommy stood up from the chair he’d been sleeping in, Rocco tapped him on the shoulder and nodded his head toward the hallway. Tommy rubbed his face with both hands, still trying to shake the feeling of what was obviously a dream.

“What’s up, Rocco? Thanks for coming.”

“No problem. Randi already named me the godfather. Said she needed to make that call before you picked Crowe.”

“Never.”

“Listen, something really weird happened when I got here. Some guy I’d never seen before, an older fella, gray hair, expensive suit, came up to me and said he needed me to get a message to you.”

It was Lucien. The only person in Sweetwater other than Rocco who walked around in a suit was Lucien Carpathia.

“What’d he say?”

“He said to tell you, ‘Don’t worry about the situation. Everything has been handled, and there’s no way for it to ever come back to you.’ What the fuck have you been doin, kid?”

“Nothing, Rocco. Just taking care of Randi and Walker. So, when do we leave for Botswana? Baby’s here, I don’t have to worry about missing it. And I have never wanted to kill Bryan Baxter more than I do right now.”

Randi and Suzy stepped into the hallway with Tommy and Rocco, as the four of them made their way toward the NICU. Tommy was alive, Walker was going to be fine, Randi was good, and somehow, Lucien had put the Bobby Ray Gallimore incident to bed. Life, the universe, God, or whoever was pulling the strings hadn’t decided to knock Tommy down at the height of his joy. Nothing could stop him. Not Bobby Ray Gallimore, not himself, and certainly not Bryan Baxter.

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[Willis]

Spoiler: Brooklyn Steiner Starring In "The Longest Text Message Ever"

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Spoiler: The Longest Text Message Ever Plain Text

Brooklyn Steiner Starring In The Longest Text Message Ever. (Who's in love with you now?) Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania FWA FallOut - Saturday 16th September, 2023 Amidst the bustling backstage of the Uhuru Stadium in Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania. A solitary figure stood alone in the locker room. This was a place where echoes of past triumphs and echoing cheers converged, a place where dreams were fueled and destinies realized. The newcomer, Brooklyn Steiner, found himself in this hallowed haven, his heart racing with a potent mixture of anticipation and nerves. The overhead lights cast elongated shadows across the concrete walls, creating an ambiance of both excitement and solitude. Brooklyn's fingers danced across the worn leather of his wrestling gear, meticulously arranging each piece as if they were the instruments of a symphony he was about to conduct. His eyes fixed on his reflection in the mirror – a mix of determination and uncertainty gleamed in his eyes. Amidst this quiet moment, a FWA backstage worker cautiously approached Brooklyn. The backstage worker approached Brooklyn Steiner wearing a black FWA staff t-shirt, ripped jeans, and with tattoos covering both of his forearms. His casual attire contrasted with the formal request for an autograph, adding an element of authenticity to his fan-like excitement in this quiet backstage moment. Holding out a piece of paper and a pen, stammering with excitement, "Mr. Steiner, could I trouble you for an autograph?!" Brooklyn Steiner's gaze momentarily shifted from his reflection to the eager fan, his expression tinged with annoyance. It was moments like this that reminded him of his Hollywood past, a life he had left behind to focus on his wrestling career in FWA. Nonetheless, he accepted the paper and pen, signing his name with a sense of obligation. The backstage worker sensed the discomfort and quickly changed the topic, wishing Brooklyn luck against Ashley O'Ryan. The Backstage Worker made a somewhat snide remark about not expecting Steiner to last long against O’Ryan, Brooklyn's jaw clenched, but he chose to hold his tongue. Tonight, he was determined to prove his doubters wrong and make a name for himself in FWA, even if it meant enduring a bit of disrespect along the way. With a steely resolve, he nodded, the fire of determination burning in his eyes as he continued his preparations, ready to silence the critics in the ring. Brooklyn goes back to doing prior to the interruption of the backstage worker. Just as he was securing the last buckle on his wrist guard, a soft chime broke through the air, followed by the glow of his phone's screen. With a curious glance, he picked up the device, illuminating his face with its gentle glow. A text message blinked at the top of the screen, and as he opened it, his heart skipped a beat. "Hey, Brooklyn. Just wanted to wish you the best of luck tonight. You've got this!" The message was accompanied by a heart emoji, a signature touch of his ex-girlfriend, Sarah. Sarah Grayson, the pop star who Steiner was previously in a long term relationship with, and since the break he has never really been what some considered “emotionally available” For a moment, time seemed to slow. Brooklyn's fingers hovered over the screen, a whirlwind of emotions rushing through his veins. The memories of their time together resurfaced – the laughter, the shared dreams, the whispered promises. It was as if the text had unlocked a door he had kept firmly shut, allowing a flood of feelings to surge forth. ​ Flashback The Day Before The DOWNFALL New York,City August, 19th,2019 The flashback opens up on a rooftop terrace overlooking the New York City skyline. The soft glow of string lights casts a warm and enchanting ambiance. Brooklyn Steiner and Sarah Grayson, dressed elegantly, are seated at a table for two, surrounded by candles and a spread of gourmet cuisine. Brooklyn: [raising his wine glass] Sarah: [smiling, clinking her glass with his] To us, Brooklyn. It feels like a dream sometimes, doesn't it? That's so corny? Like who says that. Timelapse Effect: The stars begin to twinkle overhead as the city lights gradually come to life. The moon's position shifts in the sky, marking the passage of time. Brooklyn: [leaning in] Remember that time we got caught in the rain during our trip to Paris? We had to take shelter under that little café's awning. Sarah: [laughing] And we ended up having the most amazing croissants while watching the rain dance in the streets. Timelapse Effect: The plates of food are cleared away, and the couple's conversation continues to flow effortlessly. Brooklyn: You know, when I first met you at that charity event, I had no idea you'd become the center of my world. Sarah: [teasingly] Oh, please. You were the dashing movie star, and I was the nervous, up-and-coming singer. Timelapse Effect: The stars have shifted further, and the moon is now casting a soft glow over the scene. Brooklyn: But it was more than that, Sarah. It was the way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up when you talked about music. You were real, genuine. Sarah: And you were the one who always made me smile, even on the toughest days. Timelapse Effect: The conversation continues to ebb and flow, their faces illuminated by the changing colors of the city lights. Brooklyn: [leaning closer] And that night we slow-danced on the beach during our vacation in the Bahamas? Just you, me, and the sound of the waves. Timelapse Effect: The city skyline transforms from dusk to a sea of sparkling lights against a deep blue sky. Brooklyn: You've brought so much meaning into my life, Sarah. I can't imagine it without you. Sarah: [placing her hand on his] And you've shown me a love that's beyond anything I've ever known. Timelapse Effect: The moon has shifted further, casting a serene glow over the couple. Brooklyn: [standing up, extending his hand] Dance with me, Sarah. Timelapse Effect: Brooklyn and Sarah sway to music that only they can hear, their silhouettes illuminated by the moon and city lights. The passage of time becomes a gentle dance of memories and emotions. The two find themselves in a dimly lit interior of a luxurious sprinter van. Soft jazz music plays in the background as Brooklyn Steiner and Sarah Grayson sit comfortably on the plush seats, holding hands and sharing a quiet, as their date comes to an end and they make their way back home. Brooklyn: [smiling] You were amazing tonight. Sarah: [blushing] Oh, come on, Brooklyn. You're just saying that. Brooklyn: No, I mean it. You have this incredible gift, and I feel lucky to be by your side, witnessing your artistry. Sarah: [gently squeezing his hand] And you, Mr. A-list Actor, had me laughing the entire night with your stories. Who knew you were such a comedian? Brooklyn: [grinning] Well, a man's got to have some hidden talents, right? They both chuckle softly, their laughter fading into a comfortable silence as the van continues to move through the city streets. Sarah: [sighing] Tomorrow starts a new chapter for both of us, doesn't it? Brooklyn: [nodding] Yeah, your studio recording sessions begin, and I've got that exclusive live interview on Good Morning America. It's a big deal for me, Sarah. Sarah: [concerned] You seem a bit tense about it. Everything okay? Brooklyn: [pausing] Honestly, I'm nervous. This interview could change everything. One wrong move, and... well, you know how the industry works. Sarah: [reassuringly] You've got this, Brooklyn. Just be yourself. People love you for who you are. Brooklyn: [smiling] Thanks, Sarah. Your confidence in me means the world. As the van continues its journey, the atmosphere shifts slightly. The warm ambiance turns bittersweet, the tension palpable. Sarah: [hesitating] There's something I've been meaning to talk to you about, Brooklyn. Brooklyn: [concerned] What is it? Sarah: [taking a deep breath] It's just... we've been through so much together, and I know our careers are demanding, but lately, it feels like we're drifting apart. Brooklyn: [surprised] Sarah, I thought we were doing great. We just had an amazing night together. Sarah: [looking down] It's not just tonight. I've noticed... changes. We're both so caught up in our own worlds, and I'm scared we might lose sight of what brought us together. Brooklyn: [softly] You're right. I've been so focused on my career, I'm sorry. Sarah: [teary-eyed] Brooklyn, I don't want us to become strangers. We need to find a way to balance our careers and our relationship. Brooklyn: [taking her hands in his] You're absolutely right, Sarah. I don't want to lose you. Let's make a promise to communicate better, to prioritize us. Sarah: [nodding] I love you, Brooklyn. Brooklyn: [smiling] And I love you, Sarah. They share a tender kiss, their love and determination to overcome the challenges evident in the way they hold onto each other. They exchange one last smile before the sprinter van reaches the home as they get out and head towards the door of the building. Both of them mentally see themselves heading into their respective worlds of entertainment and things might be a bit different going forward. Brooklyn gets a text from his agent Vincent Saint “Good Morning America interview tomorrow, be ready dude.” 48 Hours Later News Anchor: Good evening, viewers. E! News is here with the news that right now is shocking the world of Hollywood. Brooklyn Steiner, known for his roles in several hit movies and set to star in an untitled Star Wars movie which recently went into production has found himself in hot water after making controversial statements during a recent appearance on the popular show "Good Morning America." Let's go live to our correspondent, Oliva Johnson, who has more details. Oliva? Correspondent Oliva: Thank you, John. It all unfolded earlier today when Brooklyn Steiner appeared on "Good Morning America" to promote his upcoming film. During the interview, he made some statements that have caused quite a stir. He expressed strong opinions on a range of sensitive topics, including blank, blank, and blank. News Anchor: What exactly did Steiner say that's causing this controversy, Sarah? Correspondent Oliva: Well, John, Steiner's statements touched on a variety of topics. He made remarks that some viewers found offensive and divisive. He shared his personal views on the role of blank, and even criticized certain blank. His statements were quite polarizing and led to an immediate backlash on social media. News Anchor: How has the public and industry reacted to these statements? Correspondent Oliva: The reaction has been swift and intense, John. Social media platforms have been flooded with criticism and calls for a boycott of his upcoming film. Many users are expressing their disappointment in his remarks and calling for him to apologize. In addition, several advocacy groups and fellow celebrities have condemned his statements, citing the need for responsible and respectful dialogue. News Anchor: Has Steiner responded to the backlash? Correspondent Oliva: Yes, he has, John. Brooklyn Steiner took to his social media accounts to address the controversy. In a statement, he acknowledged that his words may have been hurtful to some and stated that he didn't intend to offend anyone. He expressed regret for not choosing his words more carefully and emphasized his commitment to engaging in more productive conversations moving forward. News Anchor: What about the impact on his career, Sarah? Correspondent Oliva: It's still early to determine the full impact, John, but industry experts suggest that this controversy might have consequences for Steiner's career. Brands associated with him are reevaluating their partnerships, and there are reports that some projects he was attached to are being reconsidered. The entertainment industry is closely watching how this situation unfolds. News Anchor: Thank you, Oliva, for that comprehensive update. We'll continue to monitor this situation as it develops. In the meantime, Brooklyn Steiner's controversial statements continue to spark discussions on the boundaries of free speech and responsibility in the public eye. Back to you. Correspondent Oliva: Thank you, John. We'll keep you updated as more information becomes available. TV turns off Brooklyn Steiner sat on the couch in the spacious living room of his New York City loft apartment, his expression a mix of disbelief and exhaustion. It was as though he couldn't fathom that what he was witnessing had stemmed from his own actions. Countless opportunities and promising prospects had slipped through his fingers. All because of one critical mistake: Brooklyn had been outspoken, sharing his beliefs on various controversial topics. The repercussions of his words had exacted a heavy toll on his life, taking away so much that he held dear. As he watched the consequences unfold before him, a sense of regret weighed on his mind. The worst, he feared, had yet to reveal itself. Few months later! Exclusive: Brooklyn Steiner and Sarah Grayson Call It Quits After Controversial Interview Bombshell! In a shocking turn of events, Hollywood's beloved power couple, Brooklyn Steiner and Sarah Grayson, have called it quits following an explosive exclusive interview that left fans and insiders alike stunned. The once inseparable pair, known for their red carpet glam and adoring social media posts, have decided to part ways after five years together. The drama began when Brooklyn Steiner, the charismatic actor celebrated for his roles in blockbuster hits, sat down for an exclusive interview with a prominent magazine. The interview took an unexpected turn as Steiner made a series of controversial statements that sent shockwaves through the entertainment industry and beyond. Sources close to the couple revealed that the interview marked the beginning of the end for their relationship. While details surrounding the controversial remarks remain under wraps, insiders suggest that Steiner's comments were not well-received by his long-time partner, Sarah Grayson. Grayson, a multi-platinum singer with a massive fan base, has always been known for her outspoken advocacy for social causes. Steiner's comments allegedly clashed with Grayson's values, leading to tension that proved insurmountable. Friends of the former couple expressed their surprise at the sudden breakup, with one source sharing, "Brooklyn and Sarah were the definition of couple goals. They seemed inseparable and incredibly supportive of each other's careers. This turn of events is truly shocking." As news of their breakup spread, fans flooded social media with messages of support for both Steiner and Grayson, expressing their sadness over the end of their relationship. Many also voiced their curiosity about the nature of Steiner's controversial statements, speculating on the details that led to such a drastic split. Despite the heartbreak and speculation, both Steiner and Grayson have remained tight-lipped about the specific reasons behind their breakup. Their representatives released a joint statement acknowledging the end of their relationship, but refrained from elaborating on the details. "Brooklyn and Sarah have decided to part ways amicably. They will continue to cherish the time they spent together and ask for privacy during this difficult period," the statement read. While fans may never know the full extent of the controversy that led to the end of this once-idyllic Hollywood romance, one thing is for certain: the entertainment world will be watching closely to see what paths Brooklyn Steiner and Sarah Grayson choose to take next. With a conflicted smile, he typed out a response, his thumbs dancing across the screen. "Thanks, Sarah. Means a lot." As he hit send, the locker room seemed to shrink around him, the weight of his emotions intertwining with the excitement of his debut match. The clash of emotions echoed in the stillness, casting a complex web of emotions that only a solitary wrestler preparing for his first battle could truly understand. The glow of his phone illuminated his face, capturing a moment where the past and present collided. A stagehand urgently calls out for Brooklyn from outside the locker room, catching Brooklyn's attention. "Brooklyn, you've got a promo in about a minute," the stagehand announces. Brooklyn places his phone on the bench next to him and stands up, feeling a bit uncertain about what to say for his first appearance in front of the FWA camera. As he mentally prepares himself for this significant moment, his phone, which is out of his line of sight, suddenly receives a barrage of text messages. It appears that the sender is pouring out their thoughts, but before the sender's identity is revealed, the entire text message thread is abruptly deleted, leaving only a notification indicating that a message was sent and then deleted. Brooklyn Steiner exits from the locker room. Wearing classic maroon wrestling trunks with black stripes running down the sides, Brooklyn's attire exudes a sense of old-school wrestling charm. His eyes betray a hint of nervousness as he steps closer to the backstage set designated for his debut promo. The bright lights, the raucous crowd, and the pressure of competing in one of the top wrestling promotions in the world have transformed this Hollywood actor into a rookie wrestler with a point to prove. Tonight, he faces off against none other than Ashley O'Ryan, a seasoned veteran of the FWA. With the weight of only three years of wrestling experience on his shoulders, Brooklyn knows he's the underdog in this matchup. But as he approaches the set, determination and grit are etched on his face. “I’m home….?” Brooklyn Steiner: “ You know, I heard him say that. I heard my opponent tonight utter those words when he announced his return, the man who has probably done it all here in FWA. And when he said I’m home, I wondered to myself, why did that resonate so much with me? Why did that stick in my core even before I was informed by the FWA higher ups that he was my first opponent here in FWA here on FWA Fallout. Maybe because this is his home and you know, though I would like it to be, it isn’t mine. I know I am a guest to this world and I can still feel it.” The camera captured every detail, emphasizing his isolation. His tense jaw, uncertain gaze, and the significant pause before he spoke all conveyed a man who knew he was an outsider. In that moment, as he stood alone in the spotlight, the weight of expectations was evident. He was searching for a connection with the FWA audience, but the gap between him and them seemed vast. Brooklyn Steiner: Though I’ve been in this business for just three years, I find myself here in FWA where only the best can call it their home. I wish I had an Ashley O’Ryan story, but I don’t. I wish I could say my dad took me to Madison Square Garden as a kid to watch professional wrestling and ever since then it was my dream to be a damn world champion, to be one day FWA world champion, but that ain’t my story. As he used his index finger to point directly at the camera before him, he appeared to settle into a rhythm, growing slightly more at ease. His words flowed effortlessly, and he seemed to enter a state of natural fluency, at least to the extent one can when presenting on camera while clearly battling nerves. “Wrestling wasn't my first love. It wasn't even my second. But sometimes life takes you places you never thought you'd go, and for me, it led me here to FWA. Every sweat-soaked gym session, every bone-jarring hit, it all became a canvas for my reinvention.” “I may not share the same origin story as the rest of the men and women here, but I share their hunger, their dedication, their unrelenting pursuit of greatness. Just look at my opponent, Ashley O’Ryan probably has held more championships in his career than I had matches in mine. I see this giant of a résumé’ and I know all my life I had this chip on my shoulder. I had this feeling that I must tackle everything I do head one and come tonight, I show you, Ashley, I ain’t scared of shit. You will never understand the shit I had to take to get here. The looks, the dirty looks from my family and friends about taking this road, you think everyone was understanding. I knew I had to do this alone and alone I will continue. “ “ You don’t think I read the comments when this match was announced. That “they're going to feed Brooklyn to Ashley O’Ryan in his debut match?” “Good, send his ass back to Hollywood, his story is getting stale fast, I don’t know why FWA signed him. Probably a publicity stunt.” “ I’m aware that this test was sent from the higher ups to see if I can hang in the ring. This is my test, and while the odds are stacked against me. I can only do one thing, that is to swing for the damn fences. Just be that crazy kid with one bullet left in the chamber and ready for whatever happens. Just a kid standing in front of a hall of famer and with every fiber of my being just ready to shock the world. “ “Visibly getting fired up, determined to convince everyone watching at home that he could do what seemed almost impossible—defeat Ashley O'Ryan tonight on Fallout. His confidence might have seemed shaky, but he was doing his utmost to make viewers believe in his ability, even if he wasn't entirely convinced himself.” Brooklyn Steiner: “So count me out, look at Brooklyn Steiner and see someone who flamed out of Hollywood and now looking for the adrenaline of fame here in the world of professional wrestling and here in the world of FWA, but you can look in my eyes and see that the past is that the past and the thing about the old days, that they are the old days, Ashley I’m hoping you underestimate me tonight. That you don’t come prepared, that you slack, that you think you got this in the bag. I want all that energy that I’m almost certain the world of not only FWA but pro wrestling is giving you. I want you to take all that and find yourself on the end of me shocking the world and sending you back to Twitter and back to you putting your boots back where they belong. On your shelf.” As Brooklyn Steiner finished his promo, he nodded to the production team, making sure everything was okay before walking off the set. His mind was already focused on his upcoming match against Ashley O'Ryan, a true legend in FWA. Heading to the backstage area to prepare, Brooklyn was deep in thought when he suddenly came across a peculiar sight. There, in front of him, stood a man wearing a Fedora hat and sporting oversized headphones. This guy was dancing away to the beat of his own world, completely oblivious to his surroundings. But what caught Brooklyn's attention was the fact that a piece of backstage equipment was teetering precariously, ready to fall and potentially harm the dancing man. Without a second thought, Brooklyn lunged forward, grabbing the equipment just in time to prevent any damage. The dancing man, still lost in his own groove, continued to dance on, unaware of the near-miss. Brooklyn Steiner watched in confusion as the segment came to an end, wondering just how this quirky encounter would fit into the chaotic world of FWA.

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[The ScapeDubb]

BIG BRYAN BASTARD

in


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Spoiler: Plain Text

Hey - me again. Thought you wanted to talk?

U there?

Hello?

Me again… I have some questions… please
message me back.


Text after text.

No response.

I suppose a quick recap is in order for the readers who are unaware of Bryan Baxter’s current situation. After engaging in a text exchange with a minor (not like that sicko) in what he thought was a cell phone number mix up, he found out that the number did in fact belong to his ex-girlfriend, Kristy Vance. And Audrey, the seven year old girl offering him some career advice, was actually her daughter.

His ex-girlfriend’s daughter.

His ex-girlfriend that broke up with him… roughly… seven… or was it eight… years ago.

The exact time was a little fuzzy for Bryan. After all, he spent most of those years drunk off his ass. But either way, he knew the timing added up.

But he needed to know the answer. He needed to know the truth. The answer to the obvious question.

Was Audrey his?

The last text he got from Kristy was now almost a month ago. It was a hopeful message. She had said they needed to talk after his match on Fallout with Juan Tothrefor. But she had not been living up to her end of that agreement. All attempts of an outreach had gone unanswered.

After years of barely thinking about his ex, it was now consuming him. It was almost all he thought about. But it would appear she had changed her mind. He couldn’t blame her. Not after the way he treated her back then. Not after the mistakes he had made.

But part of him was also angry with her for never telling him. Assuming Audrey really was his daughter.

The Anniversary Show came and went.

Still nothing.

Being the Bastard in the ring was certainly becoming more and more easy. A way to vent his frustration about his personal life in the ring. Jeremy was missing. Mr. Scorpane was with the Nephews. And Kristy wasn’t responding to him. He was literally a man alone.

Baxter wasn’t known to make friends easily. Part of the reason why he made a point to become so loyal to Jeremy once he had been forgiven. Because otherwise, who would he have? He certainly hadn’t made many, if any, friends in the FWA locker room since his arrival almost two years ago.

The closest thing to a friend outside of Jeremy Best came a couple months ago. In the lead up to Back in Business. It was a random pairing of himself and Tommy Bedlam taking on their BiB opponents, Shawn Summers and Mike Parr. In winning the match, Bedlam and Baxter shared a very rare moment in the ring. There in Tommy’s home state of Texas… Baxter actually showed someone respect.

But that didn’t make them friends.

In fact, Baxter and Bedlam have not interacted at all since then.

Furthermore, Bedlam is best buds with the man who currently has put the biggest target on Baxter and his North American Championship, Chris Crowe.

Not to mention that when Baxter took a look at his next opponent… this week on Meltdown…

Was none other than Tommy Bedlam.

So no, they aren’t friends.

And they aren’t going to be friends.


Despite some of his current distractions, Baxter planned to go out there and continue his path of destruction. Tommy may be the X Champion, and he may have earned a semblance of respect from Baxter previously, but that wasn’t going to stop The Bastard from destroying him just as fast he did Mike Parr and Juan Tothrefor.

He needed to clear his mind in preparation…

But how? How could he possibly take his mind off everything?

Well… there was one thing…

Nope.

No. He couldn’t do that.

Not anymore.

Not after the verbal berating he gave Chris Crowe at the Anniversary Show. He wasn’t going to become the hypocrite who falls back onto his vices after just bashing The Showman for being unable to defeat his own personal demons.

That chapter in Baxter’s book was closed. He wasn’t going back to it.

Not even now.

Luckily for him, perhaps some answers were coming…

Bzzzzz. Bzzzz.

The sound of his phone vibrated on the nightstand of his swanky king suite hotel room in the Proteo by Marriott Hotel in Gaborone Masa Square grabbed Baxter’s attention away from a rerun of Baywatch on the television. His eyes widened as he reached over and grabbed the phone, swiping it open to see the text message.


Hey.

Finally! He couldn’t believe it. She was finally responding.


Wow, hey. I wasn’t sure you would ever respond.


This is Audrey again. My mom doesn’t know.


Ah, shit.

Oh… is your mom there?


No. She accidentally left it here.


I don’t think you’re suppose to be messaging me.


Nope!

But I’m going to delete all these.

I just had to talk to Bryan Baxter again! So cool!


Not sure this is a good idea.
You should listen to your mom.



When did you become such a rule follower?


Hahaha - good point.


Why are you avoiding crowe? I think you can
take him.


What? I’m not avoiding him. And of
course I can. But he don’t deserve it.


Idk. Sounds like your avoiding him.
Yeah, this was a bad idea.


Sorry, just joking with you.

No, it’s fine. Did you know me and your
mom knew each other?


WHAT?


Guess not. Well yeah, we were friends.


NO WAY!


I guess she has never talked about me then.


Just when we watch wrestling. OMG.


I’ve been trying to talk to her but she won’t
return my messages.


She’s been very busy. Didn’t you see?
She’s on Ground Zero.


Wait what? That FWA try out show?


Yep! She’s finally got her chance!


Bryan was really out of the loop. He didn’t follow much of the other axillary FWA things like Ground Zero or NGW. Bryan didn’t realize Kristy was still pursuing wrestling. If she wanted into FWA, maybe he could offer some assistance. Maybe that’s the way he can get back into her life,
Oh, wow. Well that’s pretty cool. Maybe I can
head over there and wish her some luck.

Just don’t tell her I told you.


Of course, not.


So… I haven’t talked to your mom in a while.
Didn’t even know she had a kid.
What’s your dad like?
Who did she finally settle down with?


Can’t tell ya. Never met the guy.


Oh, sorry.


It’s okay. Mom said he was a jerk.
A real bastard.


…
…
…


Even Bryan thought that was laying it on heavy-handed. But as far as he was concerned, that was it. That was enough confirmation for him.

But what now? What did it all mean?

Kristy clearly wanted nothing to do with him.

But if Audrey was his…

This was one instance where… he didn’t want to be… The Bastard.


BIG BRYAN BASTARD

in

Another day.

Another dollar.

It was another late work day for Bryan Baxter and his team at Fitness and Wellness Accessories, otherwise known as FWA Inc. He pulled into his condominium complex, parking his black 2022 Mercedes Benz in his designated parking spot. Arriving home at 8:00 p.m. was not unusual for Baxter. In fact, it was a bit early for him.

Oh, and it was a Friday.

As the North American Director of Sales for FWA, Baxter drove a tight ship. He led his team firmly. Some say his quick climb to the top of the sales department was unorthodox and unprecedented. Some even went as far as to accuse him of cutting corners to do so. But in any event, there was no denying he was the boss now, and he was determined to make sure everyone listened to him.

So despite his employees no doubt wanting to be home earlier than 8:00 p.m. on a Friday night, they instead worked late into the evening on the expense reports that he required them to have done. The reports he told them they needed to have done that day. At 4:55 p.m., no less.

His iron fist, micromanaging, and the fact that he was constantly making them stay late had earned him the unflattering nickname of "Bryan Bastard" among many of his subordinates. They whispered it behind his back and shared knowing glances in the break room, but Bryan didn't mind. In fact, he secretly took pride in the moniker. To him, it was a testament to his no-nonsense approach to business. Whether they liked it or not, his methods were producing results, making him one of the best North American Directors FWA Inc. had ever seen.

Satisfied with another week down, Baxter grabbed his briefcase from his Mercedes and headed toward his condo. The elevator doors opened onto the twelfth floor, revealing a long, dimly lit corridor adorned with plush carpets that muffled his footsteps. Bryan's condo was at the very end, far away from the prying eyes of his neighbors. This was, in fact, a deliberate choice on his part. He didn't like to make new friends or get entangled in the lives of those around him. So when he was looking to purchase, he wanted to make sure he had the least amount of neighbors as possible.

There was just one adjoining neighbor to his end unit condo. A unit that had been for sale for months. Bryan could tell you absolutely nothing about his previous neighbor. He never made any effort to get to know him and neither did the former resident. It was the ideal neighbor relationship for Bryan. It was beautiful.

However, as he approached his condo door, Bryan's keen eye caught something unusual. That previously vacant condo was no longer listed for sale. Lights were on and there was quite clearly someone home. He wasn't sure when the new people had moved in but they had been able to do it while he was working at some point. But considering he spent more time working than at home, it wasn't too surprising they were able to sneak in undetected.

As he entered his own condo, the muffled sounds of laughter and music drifted in from the adjoining unit. It was clear whoever his new neighbor or neighbors were, they were having quite the celebration that evening. Bryan paid it little mind, though. He had no interest in socializing, especially with strangers. All he wanted was to go home, sink into his plush leather couch, watch some mindless TV, and then retire to his quiet bedroom.

Little did he know that the arrival of his new neighbors would not be the only new arrival about to disrupt his life this weekend.


****


Saturday morning arrived with a slice of sunshine that slithered through the gaps in Bryan Baxter's heavy curtains. With a steaming cup of coffee in hand, he sat at his sleek, glass-topped coffee table and opened up his laptop. His Saturday morning routine consisted of reviewing potential new leads for the upcoming workweek. There were no days off for Bryan Baxter.

But this Saturday morning, his normal routine would be interrupted. By a sound he despised with all his heart.

A knock on his condo door.

Irritation rippled through him as he closed the laptop lid with an audible snap. He stood up from his chair and made his way across the room before flinging the door open with an impatient huff.

"What do you want?" Bryan asked with agitation.

Standing outside the condo in the doorway was a tall, dark, strikingly handsome man in a cowboy hat. The stranger's southern charm oozed from every pore as he flashed a warm grin and greeted Bryan, "Well howdy there! Apologies if we're interruptin' anything this mornin'. But we wanted to introduce ourselves! I'm Tommy Bedlam and this here is my fiancée, Randi."

Next to Tommy was the stunning beauty that he mentioned. While her beauty was undeniable, what caught Bryan’s immediate attention was the very obvious nine-month pregnant belly that was impossible to ignore. Tommy couldn’t help but notice Bryan’s lingering stare towards the baby bump. “Yeaaah, as you can tell she’s about ready to pop any minute now!”

Just great, it’s bad enough they were up late partying last night but soon they’ll be bringing a screaming, crying baby into the picture too. Bryan huffed. “Okay, well, nice to meet you. Now, if you’ll excuse…”

“So what’s your name, buddy? If we’re neighbors, we should be gettin’ to know one another. We’re settlin’ down for a good long stay here.”

Bryan let out an audible breath of exasperation. “Bryan. My name is Bryan.”

“Well, it’s a pleasure to meet you, Bryan! We’re gonna be having some friends over this evenin’ for a real rootin’, tootin’ good time. You’re more than welcome to come on over and join us. A housewarming party!”

Another party? Baxter felt his frustration growing thinking that this was not just a one-off thing last night. “Yeah, I’m gonna pass on that one.”

“Aw, well darn! Well, if you change your mind, the offer will stand! Just come on over! Our door is always open.”

“Okay, bye.”

Bryan attempted to shut the door, but before it closed completely, he heard Randi's soft voice. "And, darlin', if you ever need anything, just holler. We're right next door, after all."

With the door firmly closed, Bryan returned to his laptop, but his concentration was broken, and his irritation lingered like an unwelcome guest. He couldn't shake the thought of his new neighbors, and he certainly couldn't understand why they felt the need to intrude on his carefully curated solitude.

Minutes later, there was yet another knock at the door.

Bryan's frustration bubbled over, and he flung the door open, ready to unleash his pent-up annoyance on Tommy Bedlam. "Really? Already knocking on my door again?!? What do you want now?"

But it wasn't Tommy at the door this time.

It also wasn't his pregnant girlfriend.

Standing there, her wide, innocent eyes framed by brunette curls, was an adorable seven-year-old girl. With a pink and purple tye-dye book bag slung across her shoulder, she smiled at Baxter as he opened the door and stood before her. Her eyes met Bryan's with a mixture of curiosity and hope.

Bryan had to blink and rub his eyes in confusion. He was struggling to understand why there was a little girl now in his doorway. His second unwelcome visitor of the morning. But this one is much more peculiar than the introduction of a new neighbor.

"Are you lost?"

The girl simply shook her head no, remaining silent.

Bryan brought his hand up to his head, rubbing his hair. Certainly she must be lost. There was quite literally no other reasonable explanation for a seven year old girl to be at his front door.

"Well.. uhh.. what are you doing here? Who are you?"

The little girl grinned and said, "I'm Audrey, and I'm your daughter."


****


Bryan Baxter stood there, frozen in a state of shock and disbelief, as the adorable little girl named Audrey claimed to be his daughter. He stared at her, his mind racing to process the impossible scenario unfolding before him. His heart pounded in his chest, and he felt a wave of dizziness wash over him. He had never imagined such a moment in his life.

"What did you say?" He asked in continued disbelief.

"I'm your daughter," she repeated with a nervous smile.

"I..... uhh.... ummm..." Normally good with his words, a trait he had to have to be as successful in sales as he has been, Baxter could not find a single word to escape his mouth at this moment.

Audrey, her wide eyes still fixed on Bryan, asked politely, "May I come in, please?"

Bryan hesitated for a moment, torn between the instinct to protect his privacy and the need to know more about what this girl was talking about. In his heart, he knew this was probably a scam. Or a prank. Probably one of his ticked-off employees trying to freak him out.

But he does step aside and allows the young girl to enter his condo.

Audrey walked through the doorway and admired the luxurious condo that Bryan had been able to afford having finally found success in his life. "Wooaaahhh.... this is where my dad lives?"

Baxter shut the door, still struggling to find his voice. He managed to clear his voice and stammered, "So.. uhh... Audrey, right?"

She turned back to him and nodded with a friendly smile.

"Right... Audrey... what... makes you think... I'm your father?"

Audrey took a seat on the edge of his plush couch, her little legs dangling above the floor. She glanced up at Bryan with a look of innocence and vulnerability. "My mommy told me, of course."

That didn't really help. Bryan prodded for more information. "And just who is your mom? Like... her name. What's her name?"

"Oh! Sorry, yeah, that'd be helpful, huh?" The little girl chuckled to herself. "Kristy."

The name resonated immediately within Baxter's head. The name meant a lot to him. But... there's certainly a lot of Kristy's in the world. He felt himself praying in his head that there would be a different answer to this next question.

"Audrey... what's your last name?"

"Vance!" She responded proudly.

Bryan's heart sank at the sound of the name Kristy Vance. It was a name from a past he had long tried to bury.

Years ago, before his friend Jeremy got him his job with FWA Inc., Bryan was struggling. He was just making ends meet as a door-to-door salesman. Back then, ironically, it was Bryan annoying people with the knocks on the doors at the worst times of the day. And when he wasn't doing that, he was drowning his sorrows in the bottom of the bottle.

Kristy was the lone bright spot in his life. He truly loved her but unfortunately, he loved beer, gin, vodka, and whiskey just as much. And it was those that got the best of him. Well, the worst of him, perhaps.

Thus the relationship with Kristy was quite tumultuous. He regretted the way he had treated her and certainly didn't blame her when she finally left him. And it would perhaps make sense that she wouldn't have revealed that she was also carrying his child.

The weight of his past mistakes pressed heavily on Bryan's shoulders as he looked at Audrey, who was now tearing up at the mention of her mother's name.

Feeling uncomfortable at the sight of the young girl's emotions, Bryan rubbed the back of his head as he spoke up again. "Kristy Vance... wow... never thought I'd hear that name again. Well, how is your mother? Does she know you've come here?"

She began to audibly cry as Baxter worried he had done something wrong. "No..." she softly said through her sobs, "no she doesn't. She... died."

Once again, Bryan's heart sank as he now slumped down to the couch next to Audrey. He felt an unfamiliar feeling in his chest. A feeling of compassion. A feeling of sadness. A feeling of sorrow.

At first for himself. Knowing that a woman he once loved and lost, the one that got away so to speak, had died and any hope of reconciliation was certainly gone.

But then he actually felt himself growing sympathetic for this young girl he just met. The only parent she had for the last seven years was gone.

Audrey continued, her voice trembling, "Mommy was really sick, and she couldn't take care of me anymore. She said I had to find you because you were my daddy, and you'd help me."

Unfamiliar with what it means to offer comfort, Baxter anxiously lifted up his hand and placed it on her back as she cried. Meanwhile, he was struggling to process everything that was going on. His life strictly focused on work, ambition, and solitude. Fatherhood was not something he even remotely considered... he could barely maintain a girlfriend, but now a daughter had quite literally been dropped on his doorstep.

“Look,” Baxter took a deep breath, “I dunno how much your mom told you about me. But I’m really the ‘dad type.’ There has to be someone else..”

Audrey sniffled as she shook her head. “No… it has to be you.”

“I don’t get it. She knows the type of person I am. She knows I’m a piece of… I mean… well, I don’t know how to say this… did she not tell you about me? There’s a reason she never told me about you.”

Audrey sniffled again and wiped away her tears. "Mommy said that deep down you are a good man, and you'd do the right thing."

Bryan swallowed hard, his mind racing as he grappled with this unexpected responsibility. Nothing about him was fatherly. He was "Bryan Bastard." He was in no position to be a father. He had worked hard to build his career and become a success as the Director of North American Sales. That demanded all his attention and commitment.

“Look, Audrey,” Bryan said with hesitation, “I don’t know about all this. I mean… I don’t even know how any of this would work… legally. I guess I can call my lawyer and try to figure this out…”

Bryan grabbed his phone and made the call. But the phone just rang and went to voicemail. He shook his head, not bothering to leave a message. He was either on a golf course or on a beach somewhere for the weekend. Not everyone has the work ethic of Bryan Baxter. He sighed, “I guess this will have to wait ‘til Monday.” The realization set in that he couldn’t just kick the girl out with nowhere to go for the weekend.

"Look," he began, "I don't have much here for a child, but for the weekend, you can stay with me... until I can figure this out. I can make some calls on Monday."

Audrey's face lit up with both relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Daddy."

The word "Daddy" hung in the air, unfamiliar and surreal to Bryan's ears. A knot formed in his stomach. "How about you just call me Mr. Baxter for now..."

"Sorry," her head lowered in disappointment, "Mr. Baxter."

"Uhh... or I guess you can call me Bryan."

“Thanks… Bryan,” she responded, taking off her backpack and placing it down on the floor, ready to settle in for the weekend.


****


After a long day of trying to entertain Audrey and struggling to adapt to the unfamiliar, Bryan was finally relieved when he managed to get her to bed. He sighed with exhaustion, hoping for some peace and quiet, but it seemed that fate had other plans.

As the night wore on, the raucous sounds of the party next door in the Bedlam household became increasingly intrusive. The booming music, laughter, and the unmistakable scent of marijuana crept through the shared walls of the adjoining condos.

Audrey, her eyes wide with alarm, tiptoed into the living room, her teddy bear clutched tightly to her chest. "...B-B-Bryan..."

Muting his own television, Bryan sat up in his recliner. "Yeah? Everything okay?"

"I... I can't sleep. The noise is too loud..."

Bryan, his patience worn thin after a long day, could feel his frustration mounting. "Stupid cowboy.." he said to himself as he stood up. "Alright, let me see if I can get them to keep it down."

"Thanks, Da-- I mean, thanks Bryan."

With a heavy sigh, he decided to confront the source of the disturbance. Leaving Audrey in the safety of her room, he quietly exited his condo and walked next door to the Bedlam condo. Bryan knocked forcefully on the door, his irritation evident from the firmness of his knock.

Tommy Bedlam, his cowboy hat still perched on his head and a beer bottle in his hand as he answered the door with a boisterous grin. "Well, howdy there, neighbor! So glad you've decided to come join us after all!"

Glancing past Tommy into the interior of the condo, Bryan could see several people gathered, some with drinks in hand while one balding man openly partaking in a white powdery substance off of the coffee table. The scene was quite the contrast from his previous neighbors that never bothered him and he never bothered them.

"No," Bryan reported firmly, "I didn't come for.. whatever this is."

"Then what is it, neighbor?"

"Look, can you just... maybe tone it down a bit? It's a bit loud. Some people are trying to sleep."

One of Tommy's friends, the balding man, stood up from the coffee table, having overheard Bryan's request, and came storming over. His eyes were glazed over as he leaned into Tommy. "You got a problem with us having a good time, buddy?"

"As a matter of fact I do," Bryan responded

"Easy fellas," Tommy said, stepping between the two before things could get too heated.

"Let me know if this guy is giving you too much of a problem, Tommy. I'll rip his fuckin' head off!"

"Thanks, but I think I can handle this, Chris."

His friend Chris gave Tommy a pat on the shoulder before walking back into the party. Meanwhile, Tommy turned back to Bryan. His expression is much less friendly than it was before. "Bryan, we're just having some fun here. Didn't realize you were such a party pooper."

"Look, I'm not tryin' to ruin anyone's good time okay. But I've got a lot of work to get done and I can't even hear myself concentrate. So if you could just... dial it back.. that'd be great."

Tommy seemed to sense Bryan's anger and reluctantly agreed, "Fine, we'll keep it down a bit. No need to get all worked up about it."

"Thank you," Baxter offered up some actual gratitude before walking away from the party back toward his own condo while the door to the party shut.

Shutting the door, he could begin to hear a difference in the volume of the sound coming from the walls. He walked back into the guest room of his condo where Audrey had been situated for the night. He was ready to explain to her how he had handled the situation, but to his delight, he found that Audrey had already fallen back to sleep.

He couldn't help but feel his usually cold heart start to melt a bit at the sight of the innocent little girl tucked into the bed, snuggling up close with her teddy bear. Even Baxter couldn’t help but crack before slowly and quietly shutting the door behind him, allowing her to continue to sleep.


****

The next morning, Audrey awoke to a strong aroma coming from the kitchen. She crawled out of bed, making her way out of the guest room and into the main living area. The smell of eggs, cheese, bacon, and herbs filled the air as Bryan was carefully crafting up an omelet breakfast for his guest.

“What is all this?” she wondered.

“Figured I’d make you a special breakfast to wrap up our weekend,” Baxter said as he placed an omelet on a paper plate, sitting it down on the table for Audrey.

Audrey blinked her innocent eyes at the omelet and then looked up at Bryan with a shy smile. "I don't really like eggs," she confessed. "Do you have any Lucky Charms?"

Seriously, he thought to himself. Cereal? He put all this effort into making her a nice breakfast and she’s not even going to eat it? She wanted cereal?? Just as he felt some anger brewing in the pit of his stomach, he found himself lost in the charm of her smile. Suddenly the anger disappeared. “You know what… I am actually a pretty big fan of Lucky Charms myself.” Bryan chuckled as he opened up the pantry door behind him and fetched a box. “So you’re in luck.”

Audrey smiled ear to ear, exposing some gaps in her teeth from recently lost baby teeth. She sits down at the table as Bryan places a bowl for each of them. He pours them each a bowl of cereal along with some milk.

Just as they finished off their cereal, once again there was a knock on the condo door. Bryan sighed, hoping for a reprieve from the outside world, but when he opened the door, there stood Tommy Bedlam once again, looking genuinely remorseful.

"Howdy neighbor," Tommy began, "look... I wanted to talk to ya about last night."

"It's fine.." Bryan tried to cut him off, but Bedlam insisted.

"No, no it's not. Sometimes us boys get a little out of hand when we get together. And it wasn't very neighborly of me to be so rude. So, I sincerely want to apologize. Next time we'll be more considerate."

"Okay, got it," Bryan said, trying to shut the door on his neighbor. But Tommy reached his arm out and stopped the door as he caught a glimpse of the young seven year old girl sitting at the kitchen table.

"Well, I'll be darned!" Tommy exclaimed. "You didn't tell us you had a kid!"

"Well, actually.." Bryan tried to interject, not wanting to give this guy he barely knew the full rundown of his personal history.

But Audrey came rushing over, clutching Bryan by the leg. "Yeah! This is my daddy and he is the best!"

"How about that! Ain't that somethin'! Can't believe you were keepin' that from us."

"Well you see, about that..."

"Do you have any kids, mister?" The curious Audrey interrupted.

"Actually, not yet, lil' lady. But any day now, my fiancée is gonna pop out a baby boy."

"Oh my goodness, that's so exciting!"

"It sure is! I'm so excited... well also kinda nervous you know. It's all so brand new for me, you know. I'm sure you remember what that was like, don't you, hoss?"

Tommy laughed as he invited himself in, walking through the door and patting Baxter on the shoulder.

"Heh," Baxter nervously responded. Tommy had no idea just how much he could understand.

"Say, I bet you could give me some pointers."

"Huh? What are you talking about?"

"Well, you've had a few years of practice, right? Being a dad and all. I'm super excited about bringin' my kid into the world and all but man is it scary at the same time."

"Yeah..." Baxter nodded his head, "you got that right. Very scary."

“So, yeah. You must be full of wisdom! This is so great. My new neighbor can be my dad mentor!”

“Yeah, I’m not sure I’m the right guy for this…”

“Oh come on, Daddy! You gotta help him out!”

Bryan couldn’t help but shoot a stern look in the direction of little Audrey. Despite his insistence on not being called ‘dad,’ here she was doing so. Almost as if she was putting on some kind of show.

He rubbed the back of his head as he struggled to come up with any suggestions. “Well… for one…”

“Yeah?” Tommy leaned in eagerly, clearly anxious to hear what Bryan had to say.

“Uhh, well, I guess you probably are gonna have to change some things.”

“Oh, I know. We’ve already started babyproofing.”

“Baby? Proofing?” Baxter responded curiously.

Audrey nudged him. “Yeah, something we don’t have to worry about anymore. I’m not a baby anymore, right, Dad?”

“Oh, yeah, right. Well, no, that’s not the type of change I meant. I mean… like… you can’t be partying all the time once you have kids. You definitely shouldn’t be drinking all the time. And… well, your friends… I’m gonna guess that having a friend snorting coke off your living room coffee table might not be the best type of person to have around your child.”

“What? Nah, Chris is a good guy! Sure he likes some hard shit but that’s just him.”

“Whatever man, you wanted my advice. I’m just tellin’ you what I think. Ten years ago, I was just like you. Drinking, partying, living one hell of a life. But it takes its toll…” Baxter looks over at the product of his bad choices. The innocent little girl smiled back at him on the couch. The fact that she had existed for seven years and he had no idea. He had missed out on so much. All because of the bad choices he made in his life. “Just trust me, livin’ that way can lead to some mistakes you just can’t fix or take back.”

“Well, that ain’t fair!”

“What I can say… life ain’t fair, cowboy.”

Tommy, however, was not ready to accept this advice. He clenched his fists, his eyes narrowing at Bryan. "You don't know a damn thing about my life, Bryan. And you’re right, you suck at this advice stuff. I ain’t just gonna not be friends with my friends anymore and I sure as Hell ain’t gonna stop drinkin’!”

“Well..”

Audrey reached over and tugged on Bryan’s sleeve. “Daddy, maybe we should stop.”

Bryan nodded, realizing that this argument was going nowhere productive. He turned to Tommy with a stern look. "Tommy, maybe it's best if you go now."

"Whatever. Thanks for nothing. I don't need your advice anyway."

Tommy exited the condo, slamming the door behind him. Bryan wondered if Tommy was any more ready for parenthood than he himself was. While he had no intentions of ever being the guy’s friend, he was actually trying to offer what he thought was some good advice. His friend Chris seemed like quite the bad influence on Tommy, but nothing Bryan was going to say could help him realize that.

Audrey, sensing Bryan’s frustration and uneasiness, walked over and hugged his waist. “It’s okay, Bryan. You tried. And like Mommy always said… some people just don’t wanna listen.”

Bryan wondered about her transitioning back into calling him Bryan but thought nothing else of it as he reached over and ruffled her hair. He was amazed at how she seemed much wiser than any seven year old could be. He figured that had to be Kristy’s genes more than his, that was for sure.


****


Bryan sat on the couch with Audrey as both had their gaze upon his extra large mounted television screen. He had decided to introduce her to one of his favorite childhood movies, E.T., The Extra-Terrestrial. As the heartwarming story unfolded, he couldn't help but feel a sense of connection with Audrey as they shared this cinematic adventure.

However, their movie night was abruptly interrupted by yet another knock at the door. Bryan, growing increasingly exasperated by the constant disruptions to his life, flung the door open with a scowl, only to find himself face to face with something almost as unexpected as when Audrey showed up.

It was Kristy Vance.

The mother of the little girl sitting on his couch.

The one she had said was dead.

Here she was. Not dead. Quite the opposite, actually.

Bryan blinked in stunned disbelief, unable to reconcile the image before him with the information Audrey had provided.

"Please tell me she is here," Kristy blurted out in desperation.

"...You mean... Audrey," Bryan stumbled, still in disbelief.

"Mommy!" Audrey shouted out, waving from the living.

"Oh, thank God," Kristy said as she burst past Baxter to rush into the condo and embraced her daughter with a hug.

"What... the Hell is going on here?" Bryan wanted to know. First, it was the daughter he didn't know he had and now her mother and his ex-girlfriend now rising from the dead.

"Sorry..." Kristy said as she let go of her embrace on Audrey. "I... didn't mean for this to be the way you found out."

"Yeah okay, but can someone explain to me why you're not dead."

"I'm sorry, what?"

Audrey, lurking in the background, couldn't suppress a mischievous smirk as her mother looked back at her.

"Oh, Jesus Christ... Audrey... what did you tell him?"

"Oh, just that you had died and now it was up to him to take care of me."

"Audrey Marie Vance! It's bad enough you ran away but to lie to Bryan too. You've done a lot, little lady but this takes the cake. You go down to the car and we're gonna talk about this on the way home!"

"But Mom!"

"BUT NOTHING, young lady! To the car."

"But can't I stay with Bryan a little longer! I was just getting to know him!"

"Look," Bryan interjected, "it's best you go with your mom... she's done a great job so far with you. You don't want to be here with me. Trust me. I'm not that great."

"Hmph!" Audrey crossed her arms as she walked out of the condo. Disappointed and upset, leaving Kristy alone with Bryan.

"So... yeah..." Kristy said nervously, "she's a bit of a handful, as you can see. Loves to put on a show but she's always making up stories and getting into some kinda trouble."

Bryan, despite the deception, couldn't help but feel a glimmer of pride that Audrey had inherited some of his traits. "Well, she definitely takes after her old man in some ways after all."

Kristy chuckled, her relief evident. "I'm so sorry, again. I've always wanted to tell you... but just couldn't..."

"I can't say that I blame you."

"But... Audrey's become really curious about you and I finally just told her..."

"Everything?"

"No. Not everything. I didn't want to completely end any chance you had with her."

"Well... thanks..."

"I guess she found your contact info in my phone."

"I'm surprised you've kept up with me."

"What can I say... I guess I always hoped you could turn things around." Kristy looked around his luxurious condo and smiled. "And I guess it's safe to say you have."

"In some ways," Bryan admitted. "I've at least found what I'm good at."

"Well, I'm happy about that."

“Thanks. I gotta say, I was pretty freaked out when she showed up on my door… but she’s grown on me over the weekend.”

“She does have that effect on people.”

“But there’s no way I could’ve done this alone… but… since you actually are alive… maybe… I could ease into this… maybe be a part of her life?”

Kristy's face softened with a genuine smile. "I think that would be good for her. If you're willing to give it a try, then I'm willing to support it."

Bryan embraced the ghost from his past with a hug. An embrace he never thought he’d be able to feel again. A rush of emotions flowed through him that he hadn’t experienced in years. And as she left, he wasn’t sure what the future had in store for him next… but for the first time in a long time, he was ready to let some people into his life.


****

With Audrey now gone and the condo eerily quiet, Bryan found himself in a familiar silence that he had grown accustomed to over the years. But as the relentless thump of music from the adjoining condo reverberated through the walls for the third night in a row, a slow and ominous smirk curled at the corners of Bryan's lips.

With Audrey gone, he felt himself reverting back to something much more familiar. This unusual “Dad Mode” he had been in the past two days was over. No reason to play "Mr. Nice Guy" anymore.

Bryan rolled up his sleeves as he stood up from his recliner. He made his way to the door, confident in what was about to happen.

It was time for him to make a statement.

It was time to introduce Tommy Bedlam to Bryan Bastard.

​

​

 

[Jabberwocky]

The Kensington Oval in Bridgetown, Barbados.
Sunday 3rd September, 2023.
The Barbados fanbases is still a roar as Ashley O’Ryan makes his way backstage greeted with hugs, handshakes, and the odd side-eye glace. He gradually makes his way to a small alcove and leans against the wall, a deep low exhaled sigh coming from his body. Was this a mistake? What the

O’Ryan Residence outside patio Days later

Raquel Wednesday: HELL WERE YOU THINKING ASH?!

Ashley looked briefly at his cousin, and former FWA wrestler.

Raquel: Did you even think to talk to any of us about this decision? Are you even cleared to fight? My god can you even fight anymore?

Ashley: I’ve been training.

Raquel: ...Wait...when?

A subtle smirk overcomes the Irishman

Ashley: Remember ‘ow you didn’t believe me when I said I joined a book-club?

Ashley’s cousin throws her arms up

Raquel: For crying out...But why keep it to yourself?

Ashley sighs, looking away

Raquel: You were afraid?

Ash lets out a slow sigh.

Ashley: Wot if I couldn’t do it? Wot if the training itself broke me? Wot if the FWA told me nah they don’t need an old-timer roit now. Wot if, wot if, wot if...Wot if I let you all down.

Raquel: And what if we were there the whole way to support you?

Many things had changed in Raquel over the last few years. The biggest, in Ashley’s estimate was how warm and caring her smile had become.

Raquel: Now come on. Four-Leaf will be here any moment with your kids.

O’Ryan Residence Dining room hours later
Ashley sits at the head of the dinner table, to his left is his 15 year-old son Colin. Colin came from Ashley’s first marriage. A woman named Caley who ended up spending much time tormenting Ashley. Colin was the best thing to come from that time. Colin was bright, athletic, and so much more.
Next to him sat Ash’s younger brother Paddy who Raquel refers to as Four-Leaf, a nickname that struck through adolescence, a prison stint, and an underground bare-knuckle boxing career. Ashley and Paddy had been near inseparable during their troubled youth in Dublin. One of the hardest things Ashley ever did was watch in hiding as the police threw his brother in ironically named Paddy Wagon. Worst part is, Paddy had taken the fall for his brother and told him to “not say a damn word”. Paddy was somehow both more rough around the edges and classier than Ashley ever was. No matter what happened, he always had his brothers love.

To his right sits Raquel. If Ash, Paddy, and Raquel had been siblings she would be the middle child. She was also the wild-child of the bunch. If sex, drugs, and rock-n-roll had an avatar it would have been Raquel Wednesday. Ashley had even made Raquel promise to not indulge his children with any of her more colourful exploits until they were older. “You can tell them when they’re 40.” he had insisted, only half joking. Things had changed over the few years for Raquel and now aside from a pack-a-day tobacco habit she had kicked everything else. Her and Ashley had been each others best support in sobriety and he would never forget that.

Next to Raquel was his 13 year old daugher Alexis. She was the seed of his marriage to Moira Crawford. Even though the marriage failed, the daughter they brought into the world didn’t. She was the light in the lighthouse for Ashley. Her firey red hair, and bright emerald eyes shone as she spoke to her “Aunty Raquel”. She was exuberant, bubbly. Whenever temptation befell Ashley, he would reach for the tattered photo of her he kept at all times and that was enough to get him through.

Colin spoke up suddenly

Colin: You're really going back to the wrestle in the FWA dad?

Ashley nodded between bites

Ashley: Aye

Colin’s eyes widened. While Alexis had never directly experienced life as the child of an active wrestler, Colin had. And it wasn’t always a positive experience.

Colin: That’s so.....AWESOME!

Colin beamed proudly at his father and Ashley couldn’t help but smile himself.

Colin: When’s your first match? Who you fighting? Can I come?!

Alexis: Hey! I wanna come too ya know?

Ashley: Aye, aye. Ya can both come. I don’t know who im foitin’ first.

Colin: Well I’m sure you’re gonna kick their a-

Before he can finish he is cut off

Ashley: Colin. Not at the dinner table.

Raquel: Oh that is bullshit!

Ashley: Raquel!!

Ashley looks at his cousin ready to reprimand her for cursing in front of his kids at the dining table. She has her phone in hand.

Raquel: I know who you’re fighting.


O’Ryan residence living room moments later

Colin and Alexis had gone off, Alexis to probably watch Netflix and Colin to game. Ash, Raquel, and Paddy sat in a circle.

Raquel: A rookie. They have you fighting a rookie?! You’re a damn hall-of-famer Ashley you deserve better than.

Ashley: It’s fine.

Raquel: How is it fine?? How do you even prepare?

Ash raises a brow and smirks

Raquel: Are you not at least a little bit worried about -

Ashley: Of course I am! But I’m not worried about losing.

Ashley sees a moment of confusion in Raquel’s face. His brother however smiles knowingly.

Paddy: “I’d rather lose with style, dignity, and respect than win easy and make people wonder.”
He said quoting something an old family friend, Frank Duffy, had said during a card game.

Raquel: I don’t get it.

Paddy: Look, this Brooklyn fellow, he’s new to the big times. If he’s there for the right reasons he will be hungry. He needs this win. Can you imagine
starting your career with a loss?

Ashley and Raquel both glare daggers into Paddy

Paddy: okay well you two turned out okay. But...just...ugh. Look, this kid he NEEDS the win. Ashley just needs to show that he can still go. He doesn’t need the win. He just needs the crowd.

Meanwhile, Ashley’s focus is on his phone as he Googles Brooklyn Steiner. Moments later he lowers the phone.

Ashley: He’s me.

Raquel and Paddy pause their convo and turn to Ash

Raquel: Huh?

Ashley: Brooklyn Steiner. I’ve been reading his bio...his past...everything. I just...I see so much of myself in him. Past failures. Redemptions. I...I think theres a reason behind me being in the ring with him. I think theres a purpose behind it.

Raquel: Seriously? A purpose?

Paddy: No, Raquel, He might have a point.

Raquel turns to Ashley

Raquel: You two aren’t going to sit there a sing Kumbaya you know? He’s going to want to fight you.

Ashley: Aye. I know.

Raquel: He’s going to want to beat you.

Ashley: Aye, I know.

Raquel: So I feel like you’re not taking that seriously!

Ash smiles calmly

Ashley: Fortunately for me, I never weighed me success on a win-loss collum. Do I intend to lose? Of course not. But I’ve ‘ad more loses than this kid ‘as ‘ad matches. Wotever ‘appens, as long as I walk out on me own two feet I’m walking out with me ‘ead ‘eld high. Because I ‘onestly thought the days of me entering that ring and competing were gone forever. And frankly, I still ‘ave that ‘unger for it. I’ve ‘ad it for a while. Stepping out from behind that curtain made me feel...like I ‘ave purpose. For the first time in years I wasn’t Ashley O’Ryan the former wrestler, or Ashley O’Ryan the recovering alcoholic. I was just Ashley O’Ryan.

Paddy: The Irish Switchblade

Raquel: The Bastard son of a bastard son of a bastard son of Dublin

Paddy: Uh we need to talk about that moniker Ash, I’m not sure either of us are bast-

Ashley: It stays.

Paddy sighs as Raquel laughs.

Fade to Black

 

[TOP GUY TIME]

keep your spot
keep your moment
keep your justice
keep your life
don't let him steal what's yours
don't them take your oppurtunity
you'll kill for this chance
they are worth nothing compared to you
tops ruoy peek
tnemom ruoy peek
ecitsuj ruoy peek
efil ruoy peek
sruoy s'tahw laets mih tel t'nod
ytinutruppo ruoy ekat meht t'nod
ecnahc siht rof llik ll'uoy
uoy ot derapmoc gnihton htrow era yeht



Sawyer had a blank stare as Oliver Kemp was speaking towards him. The words were muffled, his ears clogged by the plugs his thoughts placed in his mind.

'The Adobe of Peace. The resting grounds for the prodigal son. The holy site in which the body of Blake Taylor will lay flat, dead upon arrival'

This brought a slight smirk to the face of Sawyer, which gave Kemp the satisfaction that what he said was understood. Sawyer turned to look outside the window of the airplane the two were located on, The Tanzanite Bridge in sight as Sawyer watched traffic flow through the financial hub of a city.

A bunch of fools. A bunch of worthless numbers in a population. They are worth nothing compared to him. Why should he care about what's going on in their lives.

He's willing to bet that a good chunk of them views him as a waste of space. Ironic coming from the disgusting odor of uselessness that reeks from their minds. They are simple beings. They don't understand what it's like to sacrifice every fiber of their being to try and make it in a world that hates you. It's sickening knowing they believe their opinions matter.

Before Sawyer could continue his train, Kemp pokes him on the shoulder, encouraging him to look over.

OLIVER KEMP: Blake Taylor huh. Kids got talent. Fast ass knockout blow, you'd better be careful.

Sawyer smirked a bit, turning to Kemp. He placed his hand on the shoulder of his talent manager, gripping it tightly as he presses a finger on the throat of Oliver, slightly pushing down.

SAWYER XAVIER: Are you underestimating me, Kemp? Do you think I didn't know that Taylor could be a threat? I don't think you're the person who has something to prove, are you? If you are, then please, inform me on what that is.

Kemp shook his head quickly, sweat rolling off his forehead, seeping through his eyebrows.

OLIVER KEMP: N-No, I don't. I don't underestimate you, I just wanted to give you guidance.

Kemp shook slightly as Sawyer tightened the grip, leaning forward as he glares into the soul of his talent manager.

SAWYER XAVIER: Who's the one who actually knows what goes on in that ring? You're just some businessman who wanted to be associated with me. You have no guidance over me. You are simply the guy that makes sure I get what I deserve, got it?

Kemp nods quickly, as Sawyer loosens the grip onto Oliver. Sawyer leans back in his seat, listening to the plane rumble as it rolls across the pavement of the airport.

SAWYER XAVIER: Blake isn't shit compared to me. I already have Madison's number, so Taylor can't stand on my level. There's nobody in this company who truly can be on my level. I'm sure whatever group chat of talent managers you have saw Danny's little outrage. I'm busting my ass and nobody besides me can understand that. So, I don't want your guidance. I don't want to hear what you have to say unless I tell you to say it. Your job is to make sure I don't have to waste the little money I'm being given, and getting me the best accommodations possible ... you may speak now.

Kemp nodded a little more as the plane is announced to have landed successfully. After the pair grab their carry-on bags, they exit the plane successfully. Kemp turns to Sawyer who put on a pair of sunglasses.

OLIVER KEMP: I'm sorry Sawyer, but I just want what's best for you. I mean, I took on this job, I managed to get your sentence lowered. I'm technically your parole officer, don't make me have to send you back.

Sawyer simply ignored the statement as the pair enter the small airport in order to obtain their luggage.

SAWYER XAVIER: Have you heard that Storytelling is rooted deep in the culture here?

Oliver stared at Sawyer, with some slight confusion.

OLIVER KEMP: No, I haven't.

SAWYER XAVIER: That's one difference between me and you. I care about where I go. I should at least care about the culture, even if the people everywhere in the world spite me for who I am. But in Africa, storytelling is key. It's how children learn, and the story of Blake Taylor is no exception. A cocky, arrogant MMA fighter who thinks he can have real graps with a man who busts his ass off week in and week out. The MMA fighter expects everything to be handed to them, and they take their ball and go home when that plug is pulled. Do you think I'll let Blake get a fast one over me? No, I won't. There's a reason why I've defeated so many people that will never see the light of day again. Alexandra, Bronco, Demente, that shitty fucking surgeon who's gonna be performing his own MRI Scan. I'm the only man who's even spoken about some of those figures, for good reason. They all fell to me, and Blake isn't an exception. Whether or not anyone else wants to believe it, I don't care anymore. As long as I'm the new top dog, it doesn't matter what anyone thinks. The only valid opinion is mine, and my opinion is that Blake is a deadman.

Sawyer said that last bit with a sense of spite, staring through the skull of Kemp, so deep that Kemp could see his eyes, filled with hatred, through the blockade of the sunglasses.

SAWYER XAVIER: As they say, 'Kuwa geuzo unalotaka kuona duniani.' I will be the change this company needs. Let's go, we have work to do.

Sawyer would walk away from Kemp, leaving his shorter assistant to quickly follow behind him as the promo comes to a fading end.​

 

[Cyrus Truth]

Cyrus Truth and Konchu Hao Present…

The Dark Roads Alliance in…

“Mongrels Clamoring for Scraps! Foolish, Twisted Loyalty In The Unworthy!!!”

In the dark expanse of a vast ocean in the dead of night, one island…well, perhaps less an island and more a jutting rock serves as the sole beacon of light.

Lightning crashes above head as the waves lap along the rocky, razor stone beaches of this sole mass of land amongst endless saltwater. Simple, waterlogged wooden structures dot the rugged cliffs and peaks of this lonely plot of land, and oil lanterns dot the landscape around the island like a swarm of fireflies.

This is Fanwreall, the Buccaneers’ Paradise. A haven for misfits, miscreants, vagabonds, and thieves…a place where those who can’t or won’t conform to polite, lawful society can indulge their vices to their hearts’ content. Fanwreall is where the lawless find sanctuary, and violence is the means to rising from the gutter to the promised land.

Even so, while backstabbing, treachery, and duplicity are often the tools of choice for those who come to this land seeking to further their fortunes, there is an established hierarchy. Even in a place where the most chaotic souls that traverse the ocean waves seeking fortune and glory, there is still an order that has arisen on this island.

The High Captains, as they were known.

The most ruthless, relentless, and powerful pirates that sail the seas hold domain here on Fanwreall. While their positions are never guaranteed and their status as the rulers and masters of Fanwreall, and more than a handful of them have found themselves on the wrong end of a saber or a pistol? They are the ones that all aspire to either usurp or appease.

So while most pirates who venture here have to endure the lack of comforts and security in pursuit of the freedom to pursue their ambitions, the High Captains get to live in…well, perhaps not luxury, but relative comfort to the squalor of the rank and file swashbucklers and freebooters.

Yet even among these buccaneers who fashion themselves as royalty amongst cutthroats and thieves? Even the High Captains have one in their number that reigns above them all.

The Marauder King.

The man who sits upon the Coral Throne.

Our focus shifts from the dilapidated hovels and converted shipwrecks that serve as minimal shelter from the elements…from the taverns, gambling houses, and brothels that seek to distract,delight, and drain all comers to this destination in the middle of nowhere and the intersection of everywhere…to the very top of a carved stone stairway, slick with ocean spray and the first specks of rain falling from the heavens. Here, situated on a relatively flat outcropping, a much larger and well-constructed house has been built out of the hull of a mighty galleon and serves as both the metaphorical and literal peak of power in Fanwreall. A dozen nameless, faceless pirates in hoods stand guard, weathering the oncoming storm and standing sentry for the man who reigns over Fanwreall, and has managed to hold onto the Coral Throne where many have failed to do so for the last couple of years.

Many Marauder Kings have called The Admiral’s Hall as theirs, the seat of their authority and the pinnacle of their influence on not just the vagrants that called Fanwreall home, but all pirates all over the world. The title of king is one many seek, but few ever hold. Even fewer still hold it for any true length of time. Hell, over the last two years, the Coral Throne has known no less than nine different sovereigns over the course of a dozen or so reigns. Even in a place like Fanwreall, where chaos is a constant companion, this was a time of disorder and upheaval.

But, it finally seems like a new Marauder King might be able to maintain a grip on the throne.

As we move past the masked guards and head into the Admiral’s Hall, we step into a grand…well, “grand” in relation to the rest of the island, anyway…feasting hall. Plates of succulent meats and cheeses, bottles of likely pilfered fine wine and rum, and the absolute finest of cutlery and platters decorate this table. There’s enough food here to easily feast a couple dozen rowdy raiders and still have plenty left over.

But there’s only two people partaking in the feast this night.

The first is a weasley-looking, pencil-thin man with scraggly brown hair and an ugly, ill-kempt mustache. He’s dressed in a very fine suit and tie…well, at one time it was a very fine suit at least. Saltwater and the grime of Fanwreall has stained it and left it tattered, almost to the point where it seems like pulling a single loose thread would unravel it and leave the man wearing it naked and alone. However, he does still wear it. Because his king insists upon it.

And as the man’s gaze turns towards his sovereign, the great Pirate King Kristo, the fact that he’s wearing rags and looks like he is nothing but skin and bones, there’s a look of fanatical devotion and, dare we say, love for the man who sits the Coral Throne.

Kristo, like his compatriot, has long brown hair and a mustache, but that’s the last similarities that exist between the two. Whereas the weasley man is thin, weak, and disheveled, Kristo is healthy, hale, and full even as he bites into ripened baby tomatoes and the haunch of a roasted chicken. The king garbs himself in the finest silks and velvets, and his tricorn is adorned with peacock feathers like the spires of a crown. He laughs and jests, despite the fact that the only person here to listen to his jokes is this wisp of a human being, and by the look in his eyes? He would laugh even if the joke wasn’t particularly funny.

“So then, me and him? We went out to sea and found that crew from Japan. Women, if you can believe that, Allard! What’s the world coming to? But me and him, we sailed right up to their starboard, pulled down our pants, and shot them a little old taste of Kristo’s special sauce! HAHAHA! Ah…funniest shit ever.”

“Yes, sir, Captain Kristo! Absolutely hilarious. You’re a modern-day virtuoso of comedy as well as the strongest, most virile pirate that ever was or ever will be!”

“Aye, you’re absolutely correct, Allard. Gods, I’m glad you’re here to remind me of how amazing I am at every moment of every day. And, I gotta thank you for being the bait that allowed us to sink those harpies and send them to the bottom of the sea.”

Allard’s eyes widen with adoration and a singular gaze of lust and absolute blind devotion as he says in a very serious tone.

“My captain, it was my honor and privilege to serve you in all things and to ensure that you keep your claim to the Coral Throne. I live for you. And I will die for you.”

“Aye, that you will! HAHAHA! Ah…oh, hold on!”

Kristo takes a large bite out of a turkey leg as gristle and fat and small bones have accumulated on his plate. The Marauder King wipes his fingers and hands clean with a very expensive-looking cotton napkin and takes the plate from the table and puts it on the floor below.

Beneath the table, we hear shuffling and the sound of canine whining and grumbling as Kristo chuckles.

“There, there! Ricardo and Santos, behave yourselves. I missed you two something fierce, but if you wanna eat, you gotta behave yourselves.”

Barks of affirmation emanate from under the table as we hear chewing and slovering over the scraps and refuse provided by their master. The two dogs jostle and devour as if there’s a completely separate feast being consumed out of sight, despite the fact that no such feast exists.

As the two dogs continue to chew on what their master deigned to give them while Kristo has an entire smorgasbord to himself, as Allard looks like a scalded dog himself eagerly awaiting his own table scraps, the Marauder King pours himself a bottle of chianti into a gem-encrusted goblet and takes a long sip of it.

“Ah, if only the rest of this damned island would learn from you and these mongrels, Allard. I’m the king that ended the conflicts. I beat down and sent the Golden Devil out to sea to die alone, and fended off the Sea Hag and her crew of Old One worshippers. And that fucking bleeding heart, that Knight of the Wayward. What a fucking joke, right?”

“Oh, yes, Captain Kristo! A pathetic vestige of a bygone era. I’m sure that you would’ve sent him to Davy Jones all by yourself, even without my help.”

That comment seems to irk the normally jovial Kristo, as he shoots a daggered, deathly glare at his manservant.

“Listen to me. I beat him. I’ve beaten him on several occasions. Doesn’t matter how I did it, I DID IT. I’M the Marauder King. No one else. The throne is MINE and mine alone. Do we understand that, Allard?”

Allard nervously nods, gulps. He didn’t mean to insult the man he adores. No, of course not. He…oh, he was so stupid. This man, Kristo…he was the only thing that mattered to Allard. The only reason he wakes up in the morning, the only reason he has to exist. He can’t be so foolish as to disparage him, even unintentionally.

He had to apologize. For what was he without the Marauder King?

The same thing that the king was without the throne.

Absolutely nothing.

But, before Allard could apologize, offer amends for his poor choice of words…

*CRACK!*

The main entry doors to the Admiral’s Hall fly open under the force of a powerful kick. Thunder rolls as the rain outside has begun to truly fall. Entering the hall is an imposing man dressed in black, a bandana covering the top half of his head with eyehold allowing his emerald eyes to see through.

The initial shock wears off as Kristo beams and stands up from his table.

“Seven hells! ‘Black Dragon’ Alexander! About time you got here. The feast is getting cold. Come, have a seat. I have a plate for you all ready!”

This new pirate, this “Black Dragon” approaches the table. However, it’s clear now with the help of the firelight coming from the sconces affixed to the sides of the wooden walls that Alexander is not well. Cutlass gashes, bruises, and cracked flesh paint a tapestry of pain and suffering across the body of this buccaneer as he staggers to a chair at the Marauder King’s right hand. Kristo, graciously, pours him a cup of wine in a much less ornamental cup and passes him the aforementioned plate of food.

And while it’s certainly not the table scraps Kristo fed to his dogs underfoot? Considering the bounty laid out on the table, it’s barely even a drop in the sea of succulent meats, savory vegetables, and tantalizing sweet fruits.

Still, Alexander sits and eats it, glaring at the Marauder King.

“Four fucking pirates, Kristo. I had to fight four pirate upstarts that were plotting to kill you and take the throne.”

“And for that, I’m eternally grateful to you, my good friend!”

“Where were you?”

“Where was I? I was delayed. I told you this, Alexander! And I got there eventually, didn’t I?”

“Delayed?! Seems like a convenient excuse, especially since you were able to clean up nicely after I did all the work and had to carry the fucking bag while you took your sweet time to show up.”

Kristo clicks his tongue dismissively at that as Alexander slams his wine down with a single gulp. The Marauder King simply pours him another drink as he continues to speak with his gracious, disarming tone.

“Look, if you’re wanting to take a shot at me and try to take back this throne…the throne you LOST to the Golden Devil that I took back to defend your honor? You’re more than welcome. But you can’t forget that the reason we’re both sitting at this table is because you’re my friend. My dear, trusted, treasured friend, Dragon! We have enemies all over Fanwreall, enemies that want to slit our throats and feed us to the minnows. Our friendship and our alliance is the only thing that matters, and the only thing keeping us at the top of the mountain while the rest of these pissants can only bitch and moan instead of grovel like they should. You have to believe that, Alexander. You have to trust me…I’m doing everything I can to look out for you.”

Alexander looks Kristo dead in the eye for a long time, as the storm picks up in intensity.

He should know better.

He should know that this bastard is using him and their shared plunder to keep him just outside of arm’s length of the Coral Throne.

Offering him a chance to challenge for it while he’s barely held together by fishgut stitches and a deep disdain for humanity is a treasure offered in one hand with a knife in the other, ready to slit his throat.

But…even knowing the knife is coming, Kristo is a silver tongued son of a bitch.

And damn it…he wants to believe.

So…Alexander simply nods. It’s the smallest nod of acknowledgement that one can give, but it’s one nonetheless.

Kristo smiles brightly. Either the smile of a friend glad that his brother in arms is back home…or the smile of a cat that finally caught the canary. Perhaps both.

Raising his jeweled goblet, Kristo stands up as if to offer a toast. Never mind that Allard was not offered a cup, Alexander prepares to raise his until…

“CAPTAIN! CAPTAIN! HELP!!!”

The doors to the Admiral’s Hall fling open again as one of the faceless guards that were standing watch outside staggers in. He, like Alexander, is bloodied and battered, but his wounds are fresh and still gaping and dripping with sanguine crimson. He looks like the manifestation of human terror as he, on his knees, struggles to get to his feet.

He doesn’t get the chance, as a saber cleanly removes his head from his shoulders.

As the guard’s head falls and rolls, staining the oaken floor with even more blood, the body crumbles as two figures emerge.

One is a man with steely eyes and a clenched jaw. Black hair cut short, slicked back and wet with rainwater, wearing a dark blue commodore’s coat that he likely took from the body of a would-be pirate hunter and claimed for his own. This man stands tall, like a king observing a jester sitting in his throne and contemplating the sheer enjoyment he will take in ending the fool’s life once and for all.

To his right? Another man whose face is half-obscured with a bandana, but this one covering his mouth leaving only his eyes. Dressed in a robe that was likely taken from one of the silk trader vessels in the Far East, he stands tense, as if eagerly waiting for someone to make the first move so that he can There’s a madness, a feral ferocity in this entity’s gaze as he enters with a manic energy, fiddling with a pendant around his neck of a golden locust.

The first man looks to his partner, who gives him an affirmative nod as the duo, from behind, produce a pair of burlap sacks, dripping with blood. The two, simultaneously, open the sacks and dump out the contents.

Eleven more severed heads. Eleven more dead guards.

Alexander reaches for his pistol, but grimaces as his wounds ache him. Kristo stands, but does not move to do a damn thing. He simply smirks as he holds up his wine.

“Knight…and you brought the Locust Shaman with you? What’s the matter? You two here to finally pay the proper respect to your king?”

The man in the dark blue coat, the Knight of the Wayward, says nothing. But the Locust Shaman? He laughs.

“Kehahaha! He doesn’t get it, does he?”

“No. He doesn’t. But we should be more understanding, Locust. After all, he’s clearly either drinking too much rum or smoking too much opium. How else can he keep calling himself a king when all he’s done to keep the crown is survive off the good faith of others and the whims of fortune?”

“True, true. It’s impossible to truly understand how someone could fail so spectacularly upwards, but apparently the gods have a horrible sense of humor to allow a fool like him to sit upon the Coral Throne, but the gods are just as mad as the rest of us!”

Kristo tries his best not to let these barbs get to him. He tries really hard. He’s fended off both of these men, and they have the audacity to come into HIS home and taunt him? They don’t have the right!

But, inadequacy and bravado give way to reality. He didn’t fend them off. He SURVIVED them. Through schemes and the intervention of others, he escaped them.

And Kristo knows this.

“Ricardo! Santos! Sic ‘em!”

The Marauder King slams the table, stirring the dogs underneath to action. We hear them clamoring as they shoot out and we get our first look at them.

These dogs…are not a threat.

At all.

At one point, they might have been. The hounds Ricardo and Santos…big purebred mastiffs that, had it been another time and another place, might have been intimidating. But we see them in the light, and we see them as shells of what they once were…or perhaps, shells of what they never were. Mangy, flea-bitten husks that run with the gait of a mastiff on the verge of death, nonetheless rush at the command of their master…

…and promptly get gutted with a flash of a pair of sabers.

One of the dogs manages to reach the Knight and wrap its big jaws around his calf. But was it Ricardo or Santos?

Who knows?

Who actually cares?

It doesn’t matter at all.

One’s just as toothless as the other, as the dog’s teeth can’t piece through the cloth into the flesh. It has absolutely no bite, and poses no threat. The Knight doesn’t even bother to use his cutlass, instead stomping on its neck and putting the mangy mongrel out of its misery.

With the…well, not a threat, but closer to a minor annoyance dealt with, the Knight and the Locust turn their attention back to Kristos and Alexander. The intruding duo look as if they’re insulted as the Knight points his saber at the Marauder King.

“Really? Kristos, that was your big plan? You lord over Fanwreall like you’re some kind of god, untouchable and deserving of nothing less than complete and utter supplication. You pick fights that could prove you deserve to sit the throne, but you don’t WIN those fights on your own merit, do you? At best, you won the throne well, but have done everything you can to avoid having to struggle to keep it.”

“Indeed! Your most recent battle was practically won because your pet dragon took the brunt of the punishment until you were ready to swoop in and clean up the remnants. Alexander, it must be tiring for you to sit at the table as if this pretender considers you his equal! But, no worries! We’ve at least ensured that these ragged, useless, pathetic wretches have been dealt with, so you can feel free to take your rightful place at your master’s foot. After all, you’ve clearly decided that’s your proper position…being Kristo’s bitch.”

The Black Dragon stands up, and wants to say something. Actually, no…he wants to kill someone. Violence is the world’s universal language, and one he’s particularly fluent in. Kristo fights, but would rather scheme to win. Alexander? He’s a killer.

But even a killer can’t kill if he’s too battered to fight back.

Alexander, as quickly as he stands, doubles over in pain, never stopping to glare at the Knight and the Locust.

Kristos? He fumes. He grits his teeth in indignation.

But he does nothing. Because to do so would be a risk.

And the Marauder King doesn’t take risks unless he knows they’ll pay off.

Allard, however…

“HOW DARE YOU! YOU DARE BESMIRCH THE KING?! I’LL…I’LL…”

Allard, blinded by a love that is only reciprocated insofar as it benefits Kristos, produces a rusty dagger from his hip. He pulls it out, as if he’s about to charge and stab these…these usurpers who would dare to challenge his one true obsession.

But Allard is no fighter. He’s a mouthpiece. He’s a crier that preaches the gospel of Kristos.

And he knows full well, given the steady stream of piss running down his leg showing his terror, that he’s going to die regardless of what he does in this moment and time.

But maybe…maybe in death, Kristos will know how much he loves him.

It’s a real shame that he’s denied that opportunity.

*BANG!*

A perfectly circular hole straight through his forehead emerges with the sound of a musket firing. It takes whatever remains of his brain to register what happens, but when it does? Allard falls, dead as a doornail.

There is no glory.

There is no fleeting moment where he gets to be a hero.

And Kristos could care less.

Behind the Knight and the Locust, a short, squat figure shrouded in shadow stands at the door with the literal smoking gun. With a small salute to the Locust that is returned in kind, the figure vanishes back into the night.

Rain begins to fall harder, harder…becoming a torrential downpour as thunder and lightning become the symphony of this encounter between the king, the man who would be king, and the duo that has united to take back what this king has stolen.

“You’ve made a lot of enemies, Kristos. And you might not believe that there’s any honor among thieves, but there is. There has to be. Perhaps you think so long as you have the crown, you’re above it. But…hehehe…it’s never that simple. Nothing on this island or out there on the seas is settled until someone dies. And if you truly didn’t want to deal with either of us? You should’ve killed us yourself when you had the chance.”

“Agreed! But that would’ve taken moxie that you LACK, you dimwitted dolt! You steal, and think that you’re not going to have to pay for that transgression? You cheat, and believe that your station absolves you of that crime? You pick fights, and hope to whatever impotent gods you pray to that someone else will bail you out and allow you to continue pretending to greatness? Tell us, Kristos…at what point in your master plan to be served and worshiped as the king of Fanwreall did you forget that no swashbuckler worth their sea salt would EVER consider you to be worthy of it, given everything you’ve done to prove that you lack the stones to defend it on your own? Kehahaha!”

As the Locust Shaman cackles at the absurdity of this farce of a king’s rule, the Knight of the Wayward takes a dagger from his belt and runs its edge across his palm, drawing blood. As he holds his hand out and clenches his fist, droplets of blood trickle onto the floor.

A challenge has been made.

“You called down the thunder, and now you have to deal with the storm. You and your pet dragon can pretend that your alliance is something deeper and more emotional than what it is, but ultimately it doesn’t matter. You’ve stolen from the wrong people. You’ve spit in the face of those you demand respect and attention from. And now, we’re going to take it away from you. We’re going to keep coming, and coming, and coming until every fucking obstacle you put up is destroyed. If you want to whip out your dicks at us like you did with the others, we’ll cut them off with a hot knife and toss them to the fishes to nibble on. We’re taking EVERYTHING you’ve ever taken from our brothers and sisters on Fanwreall, because the two of you have proven ill-fitting to rule.

“And the only way this ends?

“It ends when either you two are dead or you stop us. And you’ve already proven neither of you got what it takes to kill us.”

The Knight turns and walks back towards the door. He’s said his piece. Made the challenge. And whatever stupid, cute little rebuke that the Marauding King has doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Kristos’s fate has been sealed, in blood and glory.

However, Locust can’t help but say as he turns to follow the Knight:

“Oh, but do keep sending your dogs after us if you think it’s enough to stop us from doing to you what we did to these others. But, you probably want to make sure they have a bite strong enough to rival your incessant barking. Otherwise, we’ll just keep taking them out back and putting them down like the mongrels they are. Ta-ta for now! KEHAHAHA!!!’

Kristos watches both men leave his hall.

Watches both men just…walk off after throwing down the gauntlet, having just invaded his domain.

He needs to do something. SHOULD do something. He’s the fucking king, after all.

…but that’s apparently too much to expect from a man who drapes himself in glory, but lacks the conviction to embody it.

The Marauding King does nothing.

Just like a scalded dog, no better than the hounds begging him for scraps off his table.

The last thing we see as the scene goes to black is Alexander, screaming at Kristos as the Marauding King just sips his wine, oblivious to the world coming crashing down around him.

“Kristos! KRISTOS! What the fuck, man? You can’t just stand there. You have to do something. WE have to do something!

“Kristos!

“KRISTOS!”​

 

[THEDEVILHIMSELF]

"Long Days and Sleepless Nights"

Blake Taylor is seen in a local MMA gym. As he is working out, sweat is pouring down his face and body. He starts talking into a camera as he talks with anger and passion about his next opponent.




Blake Taylor: "Sawyer Xavier, I am the most dangerous man you have faced, and I’m not in a good mood, so the bones that I’m going to break of yours and the pain that I’m going to cause you are on Madison Gray's hands; the blood will be on her hands. I have had long days and sleepless nights, which leads to desperation, and desperation causes dangerous things to happen. I have no regard for your quality of life. All I think about is that TV title and getting my hands on gold again, so all the pain that I’m feeling will be directed towards you, and it might be the last time you ever wrestle again, as I will make you eat out of a straw for the rest of your sorry and pathetic life."



Blake kicks the punching bag that has a picture of Sawyer Xaviers face as hard as he can, leaving an indentation in the bag and shaking the chains to their core. He then proceeds to hit himself and bust his lip, showing a more aggressive and sinister side to himself.


Blake Taylor: "Sawyer I love the taste of my own blood, and I hope you love the taste of yours because I’m going to hurt you badly, and I’m going to make you feel all the years of pain that I've built up: having to sleep in abandoned homes before becoming a world-class boxer; having to count a number of losses before I got my first big break in the world of combat sports; living off of dinner mints and bottle water for 2 months; living in vacant homes before I received my first real break; I’ve dealt with heartbreak after heartbreak from everyone who’s ever come into my life; all that to become a cold-hearted prick who has no regard for anyone or the well-being of any other than myself. I know you used to live out of a van, but the life that I have lived is only something you will ever see on television. Madison Gray has awakened a side in me that has not been seen in years, a side that, quite frankly, the FWA roster did not want, and Sawyer, a side you did not want. I promise you that I will break your will and crush your dreams. I’m going to take everything from you that has been taken from me. This is what desperation will do to a man like me. A man who has won at everything was shown up at the Anniversary show. Sawyer, let's analyze this, shall we? I’m a man who has had to battle every day of his life; I’m a cornered dog at this moment, and do you know what happens with a cornered dog? They become dangerous."

Blake Chuckles, as blood from his lip continues to pour down, quickly takes his finger and tastes it as he begins to laugh sinisterly.


Blake Taylor: Sawyer you are getting into a match with a man who is very pissed off, who not only was embarrassed at the anniversary show but was humiliated, and a man like me doesn’t like to be embarrassed or humiliated, so how I feel is how I'm going to make you feel; the suffering and the sleepless nights and stomach cramps pale into comparison to what I'm going to do to you, Sawyer. I really hope you don’t show up for this match, because it could be the last time you ever step foot in a FWA wrestling arena again. All the sparring I have been doing is in preparation for you, so much so that people are scared to spar with me. I have a legitimate gripe as well with Russnow: you booked me in the co-main event of your biggest show of the year thus far, then you want me to be a curtain jerker for you; that’s not how Blake Taylor does business. I went from you kissing my ass once my MMA contract was up to being the superstar to eat the pin at the anniversary show to opening up your weekly show, just like Madison Gray has embarrassed Blake Taylor, and I don’t take kindly to being made a joke. Trust me, Russnow, I'll see you soon, pal, and when I do see you, you're going to give me everything that was promised to me. Sawyer Xavier, a man like you will now embarrass Blake Taylor. I'll just separate your jaw from your face and move it 6 inches to the right. I still have nightmares of FWA Anniversary 19. I still wake up with cold sweats and have many sleepless nights. Madison, I want my win back. I had that match won when I drove my knee into the nose of Jack the Clipper until those two bimbo Scissor Sisters got involved. So every person I face until I get back to you, Madison Gray, will suffer. They will suffer the pain and a brutal beating because you did this. The bodies that I lay out, starting with Sawyer Xavier, will be on your conscious at night. Madison Gray, can you live with yourself realizing that I'm hurting an entire roster because of you? You took away my opportunity, you took away the moment I had after a great debut, and now until you give me my rematch, I'm going to take everything you love away. I'm going to cause as much pain on the FWA roster as I want until you give me my rematch. So what I do to Sawyer Xavier will be a precursor of what is to come to you. One way or another, Madison, I will get my hands on you, whether it's in a FWA ring or in a parking lot. I will not ever recover until I get what's mine. I had both you and Jack the Clipper beat; you should be thanking the heavens that the Sisters got involved because it would be Blake Taylor walking into the TV title match."


Blake Taylor stops talking as he begins to show off his striking ability to the camera. He hits the punching bag with a hard left, then a spinning round house kick, followed by four elbow smashes, and ends the sequence with a straight kick to the punching bag. Blake, as angry as ever, begins to frantically pace the gym, knowing that Sawyer Xavier stands a good chance against a striker like himself.

Blake Taylor: "Sawyer, you've been in this company so long, and you still have done nothing with your opportunities. While In my very first match, I walked into the anniversary show in the co-main event and almost won a TV title opportunity. That’s the difference between me and you: I step up to big situations where you crumble at something like that. I really hope you're ready for this match because I train for 5 rounds, which are 25-minute matches, and I don’t think you have the ability to last in a ring with a desperate Blake Taylor, for 25 minutes, what I'm going to do to you will be something that you only see in movies; they aren’t going to be able to air on television what I do to you, Sawyer. FWA, nobody has any idea what I'm capable of. Do you not realize, Sawyer, the beating that stands in front of you? This was a huge mistake, Mr. Xavier. Sawyer I don’t know if your dad ever sat at the edge of your bed and told you fairy tales, but one day you're going to encounter a man who's going to knock your ass down, and you're going to stand up, and every time you do, he's going to continue to know you down. Then that same man isn’t going to let you up, and you won't be able to stand up once I’m done inflicting this punishment on you. Once I'm done with you, I want you to go to the back and thank the two people, Madison Gray and John Russnow, because because of them embarrassing me, you’re the one who will have to suffer the consequences. I don’t feel bad for what I'm going to do to you; it's over, my friend!
Sawyer Xavier You are just a casualty of what I'm going to do to Madison Gray; you are just an example that I'm going to set. Sawyer Xavier, when I'm done with you, you're going to not be able to show that ugly face of yours again. You should go back to living in your van and hide after what Blake Taylor does to you. Because FWA wants to screw me and John Russnow wants to screw me, I'm going to hurt everyone that gets in front of me. I let the Scissor Sisters get the best of me, but Sawyer, you will never get the best of Blake Taylor, and when I'm done with you, you will become a footnote in FWA history. When I load this knee up, it goes across your face much like it did Jack the Clipper. I promise you, there will be no getting up from it. I promise you that I will break every bone in your pathetic face, Sawyer. This isn’t Candy Land. Sawyer I am like nobody on the FWA roster, and John Russnow booked a beating for you; he booked an ass kick that maybe you don’t deserve but are going to get anyway. That was supposed to be the biggest night of my career, becoming the only man to ever win a match in pro boxing, MMA, or pro wrestling, but that was taken from me by that BITCH Madison Gray."


Blake Taylor begins to hit huge knee strikes to the punching bag, some of the running, standing, jumping, and clinched variety. Remembering that Sawyer's face is on the punching bag, he moves the picture of Sawyer as he begins to hit knee strike after knee strike, leaving a message to Xavier that can be heard loud and clear. Remembering that the taste of his own blood makes his adrenaline flow even more and pumps him up even more, Blake begins to aggressively blast himself in the face as blood begins to flow from his head. He smiles and chuckles as he wipes the blood from his forehead, tastes it, and nods his head.


Blake Taylor: “The taste of my own blood really gets me going. Sawyer, so think about what you could possibly do to a man who busted his own self open to taste his own blood; what can you do to a man who has nothing to lose; what can you do to a man that has a legacy at steak? Sawyer, if this were any other situation, you might have a chance, but because of how Madison Gray has made me feel since the anniversary show, nobody has a chance against me; and the brutality that I'm going to cause this roster until I get my hands on Madison Gray again. You think the movies that people see on television are sick and twisted, but Sawyer buddy, what I'm going to show you is going to be what nightmares are made of; they are going to be what little kids are afraid to watch at night before bedtime. Who remembers my last MMA fight? How I destroyed the guy so badly for 5 rounds that he was wheeled away on a stretcher and in a coma for nearly 2 weeks—that's the kind of brutality that’s going to happen to you, Sawyer. Sawyer Xavier, mark my words, at Fallout, it's going to be your last night in this world. It almost brings a tear to my eye.”


Blake Taylor turns from the camera and walks out of the view as hes walking the camera slowly pans to his muscular shadow as Blake contiunes to walk away.​

 

[Blizzard Boi]

Chapter 1 - The Fearless Four

“TO ALL CITIZENS OF NAHARUT’S PASS! WE FACE THE THREAT OF INVASION HEAD ON!”

We see a crowd in front of a wooden stage area. On the stage, a man in a royal red and white robe. Long grey hair and a clean-shaven face.

“HOWEVER, I HAVE STRUCK A DEAL WITH THIS SO CALLED ENEMY.”

The crowd look, puzzled. As if they were expecting some sort of rallying war speech. A few of them look at their fellow townsmen.

“FROM THIS DAY ON, WE ARE ALLIED WITH THE ORC REBELLION AND WILL FIGHT BY THEIR SIDE!”

The man looks joyful, but his emotions are not shared by the village people as they start to boo him.

“WHY DO YOU BOO ME? I HAVE ENSURED A SAFER FUTURE FOR ALL OF US! YOU ARE STUPID! I HAVE BEEN LEFT WITH NO CHOICE! STRIKE THEM DOWN!”

Suddenly, out of the trees and shadows. A large Orc army descends upon the townspeople. A few of the townspeople try to run but are caught in the hands of Orcs who just completely crush the townspeople’s bones. Screams echo from the group as they try to disperse.
“END THEM! TEACH THEM THAT YOU NEVER CROSS KAVAR WITHOUT CONSEQUENCES!”

The orcs continue to cut down members from the crowd with their battle axes. However, suddenly, a woosh of cold is heard, and the Orcs stop in their bloodshed, as does ‘Kavar’ on the stage.

“PROTECT ME” His voice lowers “They are here…”

Suddenly, we see a bolt of ice split through the bushes and hit one of the orcs in the stomach, throwing it back around 11 feet.

“FOCUS YOUR ATTACKS!!”

Before any of the orcs can react to this command, a figure comes flying out of the bushes, a large hammer in hand. The figure comes crashing down into one of the Orcs. We see another orc turn to the figure, ready to charge but from out of nowhere, a large White Wolf leaps at the orc and lands next to the orc. The wolf bites the orc and picks him up in his mouth. An orc swings from the large wolf but from the bushes we hear “GLACIUS!” and then we see a ray of frost fly toward the orc, hitting it and freezing it in place.

“YOU MEDDLERS! YOU CANNOT STAY OUT OF ANYTHING THAT ISN’T YOUR BUSINESS CAN YOU!?”

From the bushes, we see The Wolf, the figure with the hammer and the second figure all walk toward the stage and they line up in front of it.

“You know we can’t stay away…. we’re protecting the people. It’s our duty.” Says the third figure who walks into the light of a torch, revealing himself to be Alex ‘The Righteous’ Blizzard.

The wolf starts to shudder and slowly morphs into a human who is revealed to be Jason ‘The Wolf’ Quinn. “We swore to protect anyone who needs protecting.”

The man with the hammer slowly moved forward, revealed to be Robert ‘The Enforcer’ Steel. “And we swore to stomp out any evil threatening our peaceful land.”

“And by stomp out... you mean?” Says Kavar. However, Kavars’ arms are pulled behind his back and he appears to be kicked onto his knees. “WHAT IN THE NINE HELLS?!”

Behind Kavar, we see a figure slowly fade in. A knife quickly pressed against Kavar’s neck.

A hooded figure pokes his head around Kavar’s. “You forgot Mr Kavar… we’re the fearless four.” And before Kavar could even react, his throat is slit. Blood spurts out of the wound as the limp, lifeless body of the tyrant falls to the ground with a thud. The hooded figure stands up and wipes his blade on his sleeve.

Alex steps up toward the stage. “That’s one more tyrant rid of… just three more to go. We will continue the hunt at dawn, For now, we will head back to camp and rest up, we’re going to need it.” The group all head into the village toward their camp into the darkness.

“You have failed me, Kavar…” Behind the lifeless body of Kavar, we see a blue light and in front of this blue light, we see a tall, dark figure. “I trusted you to lure them in and save them for me… but you were weak and gods must be strong. I will finish them… the empire wills it so.”


Chapter 2 - Unexpected Guest


Daylight shines upon a campfire, surrounded by four sleeping bags, three of which are occupied but one isn’t. Alex proceeds to wake up, he yawns as he sits up, basking in the daylight. Standing on a ridge, he spots the unknown hooded man over in the distance. Alex stands up and proceeds over toward the ridge. “Long night?”. The hooded man slightly turns his head. “Couldn’t sleep…”. Alex bends down to pick up a pebble and he throws it out into the wilderness. “I know the feeling. I’ve been having nightmares about us failing in our quest.” Alex picks up another pebble and throws it but before he can continue speaking, a loud yell is heard.

“STAY BACK!”

Alex and the mysterious man both turn and run back towards camp. As they get back into the camp perimeter, we see Jason and Robert on alert, facing… a small young-looking woman. “What in the nine hells is going on here?!” Alex asks Robert. “She just… appeared. Out of nowhere, she must be a shapeshifter.” Alex looks over toward the girl, she stands in a scared manner. She has dirty brown hair and is substantially shorter than the men around her.

Alex approaches the naive girl. “What’s your name, young one?” She shyly turns toward Alex.

“My name is Madisonia.” she says quietly.

“That’s a pretty name… where have you come from?” Alex asks whilst he takes a knee.

She stammers a bit “I am from Portsmouthonia” She looks at Alex shyly.

“Ah yes… I know of the place, it seems as if we have our country of origin to be the same. I am also from the Kingdom of Engladia, as are you.” Alex gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’ll be safe with us. You may take shelter at our camp.”

Her eyes light up, filled with glee and happiness. “Thank you, mister. Thank you so much.” She hugs Alex and he hugs her back.

“So where did you come from?” Alex asks as he pulls away from the hug.

“I don’t know… I was with my dog Ruffles one moment and then… I was here.” She says in an awfully naive way.

“Look, you’ll be safe with us. Just make sure if that man shouts at you again.. shout at him back.” Alex chuckles and smiles at her.

“I will, he’s not so big and strong!” Says Madisonia in a confident way.

Suddenly, the ground begins to shake and a voice is heard.

“THE FEARLESS FOUR. I HAVE FOUND YOU.”

Out of reflex, we see Alex unsheathe his Sword, Robert wields his hammer, the mysterious man fades into the shadows and Jason transforms into an Owlbear.

“YOUR RESISTANCE IS FUTILE. YOU MAY HAVE KILLED KAVAR… BUT HE WAS MERELY A PUPPET IN MY GRAND PLAN. HOWEVER, YOU THREATEN THE VERY EXISTENCE OF MY PLAN, THEREFORE I WILL DESTROY YOU… ONE BY ONE.

A crackle breaks through the sky. The clouds darken, and the sun gets blocked out by the clouds.

“WHEN YOU WERE TOLD THAT YOU HAD TO SAVE THIS WORLD… YOU CLEARLY WEREN’T TOLD THAT YOU WERE FUCKING WITH A GOD…”

Lighting strikes the ground around the heroes until one large bolt hits the ground in the middle of everyone. Emerging from the bolt we see a few Orc’s and some skeleton rangers.

“Well, here we go.” Says Alex, bracing himself.

The orcs proceed to pounce at our heroes with a large roar. One orc pounces toward Jason who umorphs from an Owlbear, places his feet and with a yell “IGNIS!” shoots a fire bolt from his hands, which strikes the orc in the chest. We see the girl run to safety as an orc chases her, however, an ice bolt thwacks the orc away from her. “INTO THE BARN!” Alex yells at her as she retreats toward the barn. Alex then turns and cuts down a skeleton with his sword. “FACE US!” He screams.

The ground shakes and cracks at the feet of our heroes, All three stumble to the ground as another bolt of lightning strikes the ground and from the bolt, we see a figure walk out.

“You get what you ask for…” says the mysterious gentleman.

“Funny seeing you here, I thought I killed you a long time ago." Alex says toward the man, who slowly emerges from the darkness to reveal an old face of Alex’s past.

“You had to realise that traditional death does not put me out for good. I’m a god Alex… even you should know that by now, being my son.” The man laughs in Alex’s face and before Alex or any of his teammates can react, they’re sent flying backwards via a shockwave.

“You must realise that your resistance is futile and you will fail. You cannot defeat me. You’d have to remove me from existence entirely. And there’s not a chance four mortals can do such things. I’m sad for you Alex. I’m sad you inherited more from your mother’s side and not mine, you could’ve made such a good god.” Suddenly he shocks the four again, sending them back again. “As my good friend once said… now, down with the claw.”

Suddenly the ground shakes again and the evil entity in front of our heroes summons a giant glowing sword. He hovers into the air and points the large sword toward the heroes. A horde of 100 orcs appears from the darkness and charges at the heroes. The four of them scream out and charge toward the orcs. A few of the orcs are cut down by our heroes as they reach each other but the orcs easily outnumber the heroes.

The four of them get swarmed and pushed down onto the ground. Alex reaches out toward his friends who are also being piled on. They begin to fade but out of nowhere, a large shockwave pushes back all the orcs. Alex looks toward the camp and sees Madisonia walking from the camp, hovering two feet above the floor, eyes glowing a bright white. Bright white balls of light emit from her hands.

“Madisonia… what the-” Alex says whilst struggling to his feet.

“No time for questions. Only time to defeat him.” She says as she floats toward the four.

“Impossible…” the ‘god’ sneers as he looks at Madisonia. “She’s… She’s Agrils’ Chosen. As you were supposed to be mine, Alex.” Before Madisonia can do anything to this ‘god’, he opens a portal behind him and retreats through it and it closes behind him.

Our heroes stumble to their feet and all turn to Madisonia.

“You’re Agrils Chosen?” asks Jason, still in wolf shape.

“I was scared to tell you… I figured you would be scared of me.”

Robert turns toward her “Why would we be scared of you? You’re chosen.”

Alex brushes himself off and places his hand on his teammate's shoulders “It’s no matter… we move on. To the House Of Eternity. We face him once and for all. My Father will fall. Madisonia, you can end him for good this time. We cannot fail. If we do fail, it’s been an honour.” Alex smiles at his friends.

The mysterious man looks toward them and removes his hood, revealing himself to be “The Masked One” Blackjack “Let’s kill him properly this time.”

[TO BE CONTINUED]​

 

[Mandalorian]

RICARDO VANCE
AND
SANTINO DONGARELLI

ARE

DIAMOND DOGS

WITH

ALLEN PRICE

IN

“I’ll be completely honest, Rick. I thought training with the two of you would involve going to the club and talking to hot women or something like that…”

The ill-thought comment caused ‘Slick’ Rick Vance to stop in his tracks on the New York sidewalk. Allen Price continued for a few steps further and then turned around to see Rick with his hands on his hips. Immediately, Allen knew that he had offended the Diamond Dog.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Rick,” Allen apologised. “Why would I have a problem with something like that anyway?”

Rick took a couple of steps closer to Allen, “Hey, I think you need to remember that before we started rollin’ with you and Chris, me and Sonny were a pretty damn successful team over there in CWA. Shit, we still are, man!”

Deep down, it bothered Rick that there were some that merely thought of him and Sonny as pawns for Chris Peacock, and now supposedly Alyster Black, too. They didn’t feel like it, although Chris has of course had his moments when he could have perhaps been a better friend to them. But anyone who is friends with Chris Peacock can say that - it is par for the course with the FWA World Champion.

Rick caught up with Allen and the two of them continued on to the address that Sonny had provided them. All the text had said apart from the address was that he had something special planned to get Allen ready for their upcoming match against what Sonny called the “Dork Choads Alliance”. Juvenile, but it garnered a chuckle from both Price and Vance.

The contents of Allen’s training was not the only thing that Sonny had been secretive about recently; in fact he had spent several months away from his tag team partner working on a mysterious “business venture”. It was because of this, Rick was on his own to lend a hand to Peacock at The Grand March. No one knew where Sonny was or what he was doing and therefore, it was familiar to both Rick and Allen to feel left in the cold as they neared in on the address. “It should be just around this corner.”

“Seriously though, Allen… you’ve got to start taking the two of us a bit more seriously. We meant what we said at the Anniversary Show. When we beat those freaks, we want the shot at Chris and Alyster at Lights Out. That’s why it is important that we get you ready for it.”

It came as a relief for Allen that his partners for this match were taking it seriously, as they would have to do the heavy lifting. In fact, Allen did not intend on tagging into the match once, lest Cyrus Truth make good on the promise he made to him on Fallout 032; the Rasputin’s Revenge from Konchu at Back in Business was more than enough.

He was terrified when Sonny’s Freudian slip resulted in his inclusion in the match, but at this moment felt reassured. Rick was motivated by an incentive and a potential tag title shot, whilst Sonny had clearly put some thought into preparing Allen for the match as much as he could. It was at this point he felt guilty for assuming that the Diamond Dogs would not be taking this very seriously, as it was the polar opposite.

Rick checked his phone and then deposited it into his pocket as the two of them stopped in front of a blacked out door in the middle of the block. “This is it. So look, before we go in there and go through whatever it is that Sonny has planned for you, just remember… we’ve got as much skin in this game as you do. We beat these guys and not only is Cyrus Truth in all of our rear view mirrors, but me and Sonny get our shot. So do your best. Take this seriously.”

Allen nodded his head; seeing Rick like this was strange as he was so used to the cool and laid back demeanour Rick usually employed. Rick swung the door open and immediately they were both greeted with the sound of pounding music coming from the top of the staircase. The door closed behind Allen, extinguishing all natural light, and it was just the red and purple flashing lights coming from the room at the top of the staircase to provide a light source for them as they ascended.

As Rick rested his hand on the door to the room where the music was coming from, Rick turned to Allen one more time. There was literally a centimetre between their noses and Rick spoke in a hushed voice. “Just remember, Allen. Sonny is taking this as seriously as I am. Whatever is going on behind there, just remember that.”

Rick went to open the door and then turned one last time, putting a finger in front of Price’s face. “Remember.”

Rick opened the door…

“AND TWO, THREE, FOUR, FIVE!”

The sudden blast of techno music exiting the room as Rick opened the door almost knocked both he and Allen from their feet. Once they had regained their faculties, they looked on in exasperation as Santino Dongarelli was at the front of a dance studio with roughly a dozen women copying his moves.

“AND KICK! AND PUSH! AND KICK! PUSH! NOW HOLD IT LADIES… HOLD IT! HOLD IT!”

As Sonny demonstrated his squat holding abilities and the women mimicked, both Rick and Allen’s arrival in the room caught his eye. He reached into his pocket and pressed a button on a small remote, which stopped the music and caused the lights to stop flashing. “Alright ladies, take five, and we’ll get back on it soon!”

Neither Rick nor Allen knew what to make of what they had just seen their partner for their upcoming match doing. As such, both were stunned into silence as Sonny approached them, wiping his brow with a wristband. “Guys! You made it! What do you think? Pretty cool shit, right?”

“Dude, this is what you’ve been doing?” Rick could not believe what he was seeing, “You went missing for months. I had to run the club on my own, you weren’t there to help Chris-”

“CRIPSY COCK!” All of the girls shouted in unison and began cheering upon hearing the FWA World Champion’s name. Rick ignored them and continued talking;

“We needed you and you’ve been teaching fuckin’ aerobics or whatever this shit is? That’s not cool, man. Why couldn’t you do this on the side? You didn’t need to disappear!”

There was a moment of silence as Rick turned around with his hands on his hips, not wanting to look at his best friend and tag team partner. Allen considered interjecting, but even he knew that this was something that these two should figure out for themselves. Rick was clearly hurt by Sonny’s disappearance over the course of several months and Sonny obviously expected a more positive reaction to this situation, perhaps even some support.

“Listen, Slick… you’ve got it all wrong. This wasn’t just some random thing that happened. I planned it out properly. I’m not just instructing them, I’m training them.” Sonny motioned back to the women, who had started changing into some different working out clothes, not caring that they were exposing themselves to the three men. Allen did not know where to look. “I’m giving them a chance to do something with their lives. Look at this.”

Sonny pulled out his phone, and pressed play on a video.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

The same pounding music that was playing in the studio overlaid a close up shot of a man’s crotch in a pair of tight white shorts as he thrusted. Not much was left to the imagination. A wider view showed that the crotch of course belonged to Santino Dongarelli. As he began to speak, the viewer is shown various shots of Sonny doing different exercises.

“If you want to get in the best shape possible, then you need the best possible guidance that money or other exchangeable goods can buy! I’m Sonny and I am solely responsible for training the FWA World Champion Chris Peacock-”

Sonny’s narration is cut off by a group of women, some of them the same as those in the studio, shouting “CRISPY COCK!” loudly once again.

“Without me, Chris wouldn’t be the success he is today. Don’t just take it from me, let’s see what the man himself says!”

The video then cuts to Chris Peacock - or at least someone who looks like him. In fact, it is Drew Peacock wearing an obviously fake Krash moustache which can be purchased from fwashop.com. When Drew speaks, he clearly slurs his words.

“I wouldn’t be… shit… without Sonny’s help. He-he… hic… he got me in the great ship… shape… that I am in today. Sonny… give me that drink you prom-”

“See? You wouldn’t be seeing the champion of the world in such good condition without my guidance. So, what are you waiting for? If it is good enough for Chris Peacock-”

“CRISPY COCK!”

“Then it is good enough for you.”

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

“So, what do you guys think?” Sonny asked, excitedly. Whether or not he actually believed his claims was not evident to the other two, but in Sonny’s mind, he had built something and he was actually proud of it. “My editing skills aren’t great, but I was thinking when I get a bit better at the computer stuff I can throw together some promo packages for the club?”

“Uhm…”

“I…”

“So…”

“Does Chris-”

“CRISPY COCK!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

It was not the time for silliness in Allen’s eyes. He was here for a specific purpose. Allen’s outburst took both Rick and Sonny by surprise, and the women began hurling insults at Price in various different Eastern European languages. “Sonny, where did you even find these women? Who are they?”

“Umm… Croatia, Romania, Slovakia… places like that. They all wanted to come to America, but couldn’t… so what I did was was I went on the internet and found all of these lonely men and basically they agreed to marry one of the girls if they came over here. Then some of the contacts that I made back in Europe-”

“Did you traffick these women, Sonny?”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“It really sounds like to me that you’ve trafficked them.”

“This isn’t good, is it?”

Sonny dropped down onto his haunches, and all three men were immediately exasperated by the situation that they had found themselves in. There was nothing that the three of them wanted more at that moment than to just be taken seriously.

For Allen Price, that is all that he has ever wanted. He had been continually undermined, underestimated and underappreciated by literally everyone his entire life and that treatment continued in the FWA. Despite all of his efforts to improve his commentary skills and not rock the boat, he had been continually shunned and ostracised. Many had cited him and Jean-Luc as the best commentary team in the world, because what Allen may have lacked at one point in wrestling know-how, he made up for in passion and willingness to learn. Allen regularly studied JLW to learn more about the business.

Despite all of this, he was still the person that did not deserve the spotlight he had been given; still looked down upon by the wrestling purists. People like Cyrus Truth. The person who had taken on the mantle as the FWA’s biggest choke artist dared look down at someone who had worked his way from the bottom, just like Chris Peacock. There was no way that Allen was going to let that stubborn elitist beat his best friend at Back in Business of all places.

It was there that Allen realised his value, and again on Fallout when FTN faced Aka Manto. He may have stepped over a line with Cyrus, but that wasn’t going to stop him. He wasn’t going to let someone like that stop him, because he never had before. He was scared about this match, that cannot be mistaken, but it didn’t mean that he was going to put his head in the sand.

“Sonny… not everything in that video was bullshit, okay? You’ve built whatever this thing is from the ground up. That was YOU. Now, we may have to find you a good lawyer to get you out of this… but that can wait.

“Rick… you’ve been by our side when we’ve needed you and I don’t think there’s anyone on this planet that can say that you have not been an invaluable member of this group. No, this team. Because that’s what we are, gentlemen. I’ve watched from the sidelines enough but now I need to start pulling my weight. For that, I need the two best coaches I can find, and I’m looking at them right now.

So please… train me for this match. I’m ready.”

Both Diamond Dogs nodded their heads. Allen was right. Not many people had learned how to withstand being around Allen despite his many flaws and personality defects, but they had. They felt proud to stand alongside him and as both looked around the studio and thought of how they can use the equipment to help Allen prepare, they were filled with a sense of optimism.

“We got you, man.”

“That’s right. Hey, when we’re done with you, you might be better than Chris-”

“CRISPY COCK!”

“Okay, now I hear it.”

​

 

[Jimmy King]

Jackson Fenix in...
Game Over


Blink, and you miss it.

That's how one would feel about the recent FWA 18th Anniversary Show. It's come and gone in a blink of an eye. It was an eventful night filled to the brim with fantastic action and stories that were told. There were winners, and there were losers. Unfortunately, Jackson Fenix falls into the latter column. Not only did he come up short in a trio match early on in the show, but he also fell short of capturing the FWA World Heavyweight Championship in a Steel Roulette match.

It was Jackson Fenix, along with five other competitors inside the steel structure, one of them being the current world champion, Chris Peacock. All that pressure Jackson had on him going into that match is gone. A weight has been lifted from his shoulders. He doesn't feel the nerves, and he's not losing sleep.

He's not feeling anything at this current moment following the match.

Jackson sits beside Nate at the airport, waiting to board a flight to return home for a few days. Jackson is looking forward to going home so he can unwind. He wants a chance to decompress and forget about everything else in the world for a few days.

"Hey Jack, are you okay?"

Nate Savage queries as a look of concern for his friend washes over him.

Jackson snaps out of whatever he is in, glancing over at Nate.

"Yeah, I'm okay."

Jackson responds with a hint of deflation in his tone that Nate picked up on.

"Look, I know it sucks that you lost, but I'm proud of you."

Jackson hears the words from his words and gives Nate a half smile as an acknowledgment. Nate doesn't accept that as the end of this conversation, and he puts his hand on Jackson's shoulder.

"I mean it."

Jackson looks at Nate and can tell Nate isn't kidding around.

"I'm not saying that to soften the blow and help you feel better. I truly mean it. I am so proud of you and how far you made it. Not only that, but I'm proud of how far you've come along with this shift in attitude. If you had told me this time last year that the fans love you, I would've thought you were crazy."

"Honestly, I didn't think it would last at first. When you told me that you wanted to try to be a good guy, I laughed it off. I let you do what you wanted, but I knew it wouldn't last. I knew you'd resort back to your old ways, and we'd look back on that era of you being the good guy, and we'd have a laugh."

"How wrong I was ever to doubt you. You stuck with it, and look at you now. You made it to the main event of the FWA's Anniversary Show inside of a Steel Roulette match with the world title on the line. Not a lot of people can say that, man. Only five other people besides you can say they did that. One of them being the current world champion. You stood toe to toe with Peacock and hit him with your best shot. You didn't back down, not once. You went in there and gave them hell."

"For all of that, I'm proud of you. We're all proud of you—Xtacee, Monica, Antonio, Hazel, Bubbles, and the fans. Don't beat yourself up over this. One door closes, but another will open. There is more to main event, Jackson Fenix. Not by a long shot. You'll get there again."

Jackson sat in silence and listened to his friend pour his heart out. Nate was never one to share his feelings or speak from the heart, so it was special for it to happen right now. Then, Jackson knew that Nate meant every word he had said. Jackson looked at his friend, and his face lit up with a smile. The two of them shared a fist bump and a curt hug.

"Thanks, man, I appreciate that, but I couldn't have done this without you at my side. You've supported me throughout all of this when most friends in your position probably would've stabbed their friend in the back, but you didn't do that. You stuck by me, and your unwavering support has meant a lot."

"I would never, ever turn my back on you. I had my time; now it's your time."

The two friends smile at each other, and Jackson looks down at his Apple Watch for the time.

"Boy, when are we going to board? I could fly one of those planes and get us out of here in no time."

Nate shakes his head and chuckles.

"Jack, we've been over this; you're not going to fly a plane."

"Hey, I'm just sayin'."

"Don't even think about it."

"Fine."

Jackson nods and looks down at his watch again after receiving a message. He is booked in a match for Meltdown on September 14th.

"Huh, I have a match on the 14th at Meltdown in Botswana. Botswana, I wonder what the capital of that place is?"

Nate gives Jackson a perplexed look after that question, but he shakes it off.

"Who are you facing?"

"Death Walker and it's a number one contender's match for the North American Championship."

Nate smiles, and he gives Jackson a pat on the shoulder.

"There you go, one door shut, but there's that next door opening. You got this man."

Nate was right.

Jackson wasn't going to let this door shut on him. He's going to kick it down and make sure it stays open.

First, he has to defeat a demon.

*****

A few days later, Jackson Fenix was already in Botswana for Meltdown. He has a few days before the show, and he wanted to take in some sights. It gives him a chance to unwind after an eventful week prior. It's now the day before the event, and Jackson is in his hotel room, where he's staying at the Protea by Marriott Hotel in Gaborone Mesa Square. After seeing some sights and enjoying his time alone, he decided to use this day to take it easy and play some video games. It won't be a casual gaming session because Jackson will be streaming live on Twitch.
​

@Fenix69
Hey everyone, today I'm going to try something different. I've never done this before, but I wanted to try it. I'm going to play some games and stream live on Twitch. I've seen a few other peeps in FWA do this thing, so I decided to try it. You can catch me there soon!​

Jackson gave the link to his Twitch channel in the post he sent to his fans. The stream had begun, but Jackson didn't realize it at first. He was busy adjusting his headset and ensuring everything was ready. He looks at the screen and sees the chatroom buzzing with excitement. Jackson quickly composes himself before he starts to speak.

"Hey, everyone, I didn't realize this had already started, so I guess we're off to a bumpy start."

He reads more of the chat, and it's going by so quickly that he can't keep up.

"I'm new to this, so please bear with me. I see your questions, and to answer some of I wanted to do this as a way to interact with you all. I travel a lot with my job, as you all know, and with that, I don't get a chance to interact as much as I'd like to with all of you. I never did this before because I thought it was for geeks. Yeah, the old me wouldn't have been caught dead on here, but that's not me anymore. I'm more open to new things, and I wanted to do this to interact with you all. I've watched streams from Nova Diamond and Katsu's friend Cali Heyama, and I thought it looked fun and something I could do, so here I am."

Jackson reads more of the chat, and he's blown away by all the questions.

"I don't know if you know this, but I've never been much of a gamer. I played a lot of Nintendo games when I was a teenager. I played games like Super Smash Brothers and Mario Kart. I like those games, especially Mario Kart—my favorite to play is Princess Peach. I won't be playing those games, though. I wanted to try different games. I wanted to play games where I dealt with fighting a demon. As you all know, tomorrow night on Meltdown, I go one-on-one with Death Walker, and I figured what better way to get ready for my match with a demon than to play video games with demons."

"I have an Xbox Series X set up, and I have to say that this thing looks like a mini refrigerator! Either that or a speaker. Anyway, big thanks to our new intern in The Undisputed Alliance, Lone Shark, for helping me set this up. Yeah, new intern. Jimmy and Karl are still our interns, but we brought Lone Shark to help. I don't know what's gotten into Jimmy and Karl lately. They've been obsessed with a trash creature and beat it up at the Anniversary Show. After the creature disrespected us, they claimed they defended my and Nate's honor. I don't know, but we have Lone Shark, and he's been a great help."

"The first game I'm going to try is Doom Eternal. I don't know anything about this game other than it has demons, and I'm here to fight demons in video games to prepare for Death Walker, so let's do it!"

The game boots up, and Jackson watches an opening cutscene. Jackson's focus trails away from the game and back to the chat room.

"Nate isn't here now, but he'll be in time for tomorrow's show. He's on his way now, and I think he's watching this stream while he waits to board a flight. Do I think Nate is jealous, and do I think he'll betray me? To answer both of those questions, I don't think he's jealous and won't betray me. Nate and I are like brothers. I used to say he's The Hulk to my Iron Man, but he's more like the Samwise Gamgee to my Frodo Baggins. He would never turn his back on me, no matter what."

Jackson feels his Apple Watch vibrate on his wrist and sees a text message from Nate.

"See? Nate is watching and says whoever asked that question is an idiot. I'm sorry to whoever asked that. I don't think you're an idiot. Nate also said some other stuff I don't think I'll repeat here because I don't want to get kicked off Twitch on my first day."

Jackson starts playing the game, and after a while, he encounters his first demon. He tries to fight it but has no luck, and the demon beats him quickly.

"Well, that didn't go as well as I'd hoped. I can't let that happen to me against Death Walker. I dealt with him inside the Steel Roulette; he manhandled me well there. It took four of us to eliminate him, but this time there will be no Katsu, Alyster Black, and Chris Peacock to help me beat him. It'll just be me dealing with him."

"Are there any hard feelings between me and Katsu after she eliminated me from the match? Listen, I know I looked upset, and I was, but I know that it was every person for themselves in there. I would've done the same thing if it was her in my spot. To answer the question, there are no hard feelings. I respect Katsu as a competitor and consider her an ally. I won't let something like that happen again though, I promise you that."

Jackson closes out the game and switches to Mortal Kombat 11.

"I'll play online for this one. Oh, cool, there's a guy named Jax. He has to be good. With a cool name like that."

He matches up with someone playing as Baraka.

"Oh, this guy looks like a demon. Perfect."

He plays the match, and he's instantly dominated by the person he's playing against. After the game, he gets a message from the player.
​

Get wrekt noob.​

"Wow, that's rude. I'm a noob, but you don't have to be a jerk about it. Also, this person should learn how to spell. I'm sure that's not how you spell that. Anyway, I've had enough of this game.

He shuts off the game and leans back in his chair. He reads the chat and decides to answer more questions.

"Yeah, this isn't going as well as I had hoped. I know it's just a game and not real life. I know Death Walker is real, and he's a tough customer. I won't let him stand in my way, getting another shot at gold. I can beat him and face Bryan Baxter for the North American Championship. It's been a while since I've held gold in FWA. There was when Nate and I won the tag titles, and then you could count me winning the 24/7 title. It's a good feeling, though. I want to have that feeling again."

"Death Walker stands in my way of that, and I'll have to super kick him out of my way. It'll take more than one super kick to get the job done, but I can manage. I'll do whatever I can. He's just a lousy demon. I'm Jackson Fenix. He's not so scary. He's tough, but that won't stop me. He can use tricks or whatever he does to intimidate me, but I won't back down. I've gotten too far to back down. It sounds like I'm discounting Death Walker and underestimating him, but I'm not. I've said before that I know what he's capable of and what he has in store for me. I know he wants this just as much as I do. Sorry, but he must wait because this is my time."

Jackson sees questions about Bryan Baxter and what he'll do when he faces him.

"I'm not trying to look that far ahead just yet, but if I do manage to get past Death Walker, then I'll do what I do best, and that's super kick Bryan Baxter in that ugly mug of his and take that title from him."

Questions about Jeremy Best start popping up in the chat. Soon, the discussion is filled with questions about Jeremy, and Jackson looks like he's about to have a panic attack. He stares at the screen and tries to answer.

“Uh…I don’t know…”

Jackson is stumbling over his words and about to break down, but he snaps out of it when he gets another message from Nate.
​

"Jax, are you okay?"​

Jackson looks at the screen and sees all of the questions about Jeremy are gone. He doesn't know if they were there at one time and they're now gone or if all of that was his mind playing tricks on him.
​

"Yeah, I'm fine."​

He sends the text back to Nate and receives a quick reply.
​

"Are you sure? You didn't look so good."​

​

"Yeah, I'm sure. It's nothing, I'm fine. Don't worry about me."​

Jackson looks at the chat room again.

"Sorry about that. I started to space out there, but I'm fine. Nothing to worry about."

A few more questions about Jeremy pop up, and he wants to ignore them but decides to answer.

"I don't know where Jeremy is, but I hope he's okay. Things didn't go well the last time I saw him. I know it might be hard to believe, and some of you might not like to hear it, but a part of me still cares about him. I hope he's okay, wherever he is."

He reads more of the chat.

"More games with demons? I don't know. You all saw how the last two turned out. Diablo IV? If I couldn't take the demons in Doom or Mortal Kombat, I don't think I could handle Diablo. Dark Souls? Is that even on Xbox? I couldn't take those demons, but I think I can take Death Walker."

"FWA 2K23? I don't know; I'd rather fight the real Death Walker.

“Powerwash Simulator? What's that? Does it have demons in it? You wash things? That doesn't sound fun."

Jackson shrugs and boots up Powerwash Simulator. He's a few minutes in and seems to be enjoying himself.

"Who would've guessed that a game where you wash stuff could be so fun? I found my new favorite game. It's too bad I don't have a power washer, and I could power wash away Death Walker just like that."

Jackson continued to play his game for the rest of the day. His mind is at ease for now, but tomorrow at Meltdown, he'll be entirely focused on taking down a demon. ​